Chapter 640: Morning Light of the Persian Gulf

When the Bismarck entered the Persian Gulf, the sky was still dark.

The sea was as smooth as a mirror. No wind, no waves, only the low, muffled sound of the bow cutting through the water. On the eastern horizon, a faint line of fish‑belly white was slowly spreading.

She Er stood on the bridge, having stood continuously for twelve hours. Since withdrawing from the battlefield yesterday afternoon, they hadn't slept a single minute. Their eyes were gritty as if sand had been poured in them, their legs a little weak, but they didn't want to sit. They wanted to watch the ship enter the harbor with their own eyes.

"General," Navigation Officer Lieutenant Colonel Brunk walked over, pointing ahead, "Port side fifteen degrees, lights spotted."

She Er raised the telescope.

In the lens, a few lights appeared on the distant sea surface. They weren't the navigation lights of a ship, but fixed lights on land. The lights merged into a sheet, outlining the rough shape of a port—wharves, warehouses, and those towering gantry cranes.

Dubai Port.

"Distance?" they asked.

"About fifteen nautical miles. At the current speed, we can reach the outer harbor in forty minutes."

She Er nodded.

Forty minutes.

He set the telescope down and turned to look at the officers on the bridge. Each face was weary, eyes sunken, stubble jutting out messily. Yet every pair of eyes held a light—the light of surviving a disaster and finally seeing hope.

"Relay to all ships," he said, "once in port maintain formation and await Lanfang's arrangements. No one may leave the ship on their own, nor engage in any provocative actions."

He paused, then added, "We are guests now."

The order was issued.

Twenty minutes later, the fish‑belly white on the eastern horizon turned golden‑red. The sun rose, dyeing the Persian Gulf's surface with a brilliant warm hue.

Dubai Port's outline grew clearer.

She Er saw through the telescope that people were already waiting on the wharf. Not many, but their positions and posture—upright stance, orderly ranks—showed they were soldiers.

On the wharf, a flag fluttered in the morning breeze.

Red field, golden dragon.

Lanfang Navy flag.

At exactly seven a. m., the Bismarck slowly docked at Pier Three.

The mooring rope was cast down, the steel cable slid over the bollard, producing a harsh screech. The gangway was placed onto the pier, emitting a muffled thump.

She Er straightened their uniform. The officer's coat, faded from washing, had been worn for over a month; the cuffs were slightly frayed, the collar a bit yellowed, but they had no other clothes. They put on their cap, checked that the insignia sat correctly, then stepped down the gangway.

On the pier, a middle‑aged man in a dark‑gray service uniform stood there, followed by several officers.

Chen Feng.

She Er had seen his photo before, but this was the first time seeing him in person. Medium build, slender face, eyes bright— the kind of brightness that seems to pierce everything when looking at someone.

She Er walked up to him, stood at attention, and saluted.

"President Chen," he said, "Commander of the German Imperial Navy's First Strike Fleet, Franz She Er Major General. Thank you for permitting us to enter the port."

Chen Feng returned the salute, then extended his hand.

"General She Er," he said, his German thick with accent, but each word clear and forceful, "welcome to Dubai."

She Er grasped the hand.

"President," he said, "according to international law, a belligerent warship may remain in a neutral port for only twenty‑four hours. We…"

"Twenty‑four hours," Chen Feng interrupted, "I know."

He smiled. That smile, She Er later recalled, was a "I've got a way" smile.

"But international law doesn't stipulate how long repairs must take," Chen Feng said, "the Bismarck has four battle damages, Tirpitz has three. According to my engineers' preliminary assessment, at least… seven days."

He paused, "Within seven days, you may stay in Dubai under the pretext of 'emergency repairs.'"

She Er was silent for a second.

"President," he said, "this will cause you trouble. The Yingguo will notice. They will protest, they will pressure, they will—"

"I know," Chen Feng interrupted again.

He looked at She Er, at that weary yet stubborn face.

"General She Er," he said, "you sank the Royal Oak and Determination in the Arabian Sea, heavily damaged the Sovereign. You made the Yingguo realize that a tiger has entered their backyard. That's enough."

He turned, pointing at the engineering equipment being prepared on the pier:

"Now it's Lanfang's turn to help this tiger heal."

At seven thirty, Lanfang's engineers boarded the Bismarck.

The leader was a man in his early forties, surname Tang, said to be the chief engineer of the Dubai shipyard. He brought thirty men, backpacks, and blueprints, and began inspecting the ship as soon as he stepped aboard.

She Er accompanied him, walking from the forward Main Gun to the aft deck, from the bridge to the engine room.

Engineer Tang examined everything carefully. At each damage site, he stopped, tapped the steel with his hand, shone a flashlight on the breach, then jotted a few notes in his notebook.

"General," he finally spoke, his German not very fluent, but the meaning clear, "the Bismarck's damage is lighter than we expected. Yingguo's shells were quite accurate, but your armor is thick enough."

He pointed to the breach near the starboard waterline: "This is the most troublesome. The inlet is about half a meter in diameter, the surrounding steel is deformed. We need to cut away the deformed part and replace it with a new plate. Three days will suffice."

He also pointed to the B turret: "The hydraulic line was severed by shrapnel and needs replacement. We brought spares; the model matches perfectly. Two days."

He listed the damage below the bridge, the secondary gun deck damage, the radio room damage—each with a solution and a clear timetable.

She Er listened, feeling the stone in his heart gradually lift.

"Engineer Tang," he said, "seven days. Can you really finish the repairs within seven days?"

Engineer Tang looked up, meeting his gaze.

"General," he said, "the Bismarck Class is our design. Every steel plate, every pipe, every screw we have drawn and calculated. If even we cannot fix it, no one in the world could."

He paused, "Seven days. We guarantee you will regain ninety‑five percent combat effectiveness."

She Er extended a hand.

Engineer Tang grasped it.

"Thank you," She Er said.

At three in the afternoon, She Er was asked to disembark.

Chen Feng's adjunct officer told him that the President had arranged a residence and asked him to go there to rest.

She Er originally wanted to refuse—he wanted to stay on the ship and watch the engineers work. But the adjunct officer said, "General, the President says there is someone you must meet."

She Er followed the adjunct officer, got into a black car, left the dock, and drove toward Dubai city.

The car passed several streets and stopped at the gate of a courtyard. The courtyard was not large, but very quiet, and two soldiers of the Lanfang Marine Corps stood at the gate.

She Er got out of the car and followed the adjunct officer into the courtyard.

Passing through a corridor, pushing open a door, She Er entered a living room.

In the living room stood a person.

All his hair white, wearing a bleached general's service uniform, the wrinkles on his face were especially deep in the afternoon sun. He stood there, looking at She Er, his eyes a little red.

She Er was stunned.