Chapter 67

He turned around, looking at everyone:

"So on the technical level, we dominate. Then the only problem left is: politically, how do we fight?"

The meeting room fell silent. Everyone understood Li Te's meaning—fighting is easy, but the chain reaction after the fight is the hardest to handle.

"Captain," Xu Wen pushed his glasses, "I suggest a three-step plan. First, after arrival, conduct a demonstrative bombardment, targeting an uninhabited island or barren hill to show firepower. Second, via public channel send a formal note to the Dutch authorities, demanding they stop violence, hand over the perpetrators, and compensate losses. Third, if they refuse, gradually escalate pressure, such as blockading the port and detaining ships."

"What if they still don't back down at step three?" Zhao Tieshan asked.

Xu Wen fell silent for a moment: "Then we move to step four—selective destruction of military targets. But we must strictly control it, striking only military facilities, not civilian ones."

"And then?" Li Te stared at him, "After the fighting, do we leave or stay? If we leave, how do we handle Dutch retaliation against local Chinese? If we stay, how long? What will the British and French reaction be?"

A string of questions left Xu Wen speechless.

"So," Li Te walked back to his seat, "what we need is not a perfect battle plan but a clear strategic objective. The president said: 'Show dignity, stop when you have the advantage.' What is 'the advantage'? My understanding is: make the Dutch bow and admit fault, ensure local Chinese safety, and let the world see—the cost of bullying Chinese is too high for them."

He paused, then raised his voice:

"As for the specifics… Lin Hai!"

"Here!"

"Notify the entire ship: in one hour I will speak on the deck." Li Te said, "All off-duty personnel must attend. Engine room, prepare to raise speed to 28 knots. Gun department, check all main guns and ammunition. Navigation department, plan the patrol and guard routes after arriving at Java."

"Yes!"

Everyone stood up, preparing to leave.

"Wait." Li Te called them, rising from his seat, "There's one more thing."

He looked at each person, speaking word by word:

"Tell everyone, this trip might get us killed. The Dutch might go mad, the British might intervene, even the Japanese, Germans… nobody knows what will happen. If anyone wants to pull out, you can say so now—I won't blame you."

No one moved.

Zhao Tieshan was the first to laugh: "Captain, three years ago I ran from Tianjin to the South Ocean, then from the South Ocean to the Persian Gulf—what for? Wasn't it for today? To sail our own Chinese big ship back to back our compatriots—worth dying for!"

"Exactly!" Zhou Dayong wiped his face, "My father died in the Yellow Sea during the Jiawu year. Before he died he said his greatest regret was never seeing China have its own ironclad. Now I not only have seen it, I am commanding it… I must take a few extra looks for my father."

Chen Qiming nodded firmly, though he said nothing, his eyes blazing frighteningly.

Li Te looked at this group—average age under twenty-five, three years ago they were miners, farmers, students—and suddenly felt something block his chest.

"Alright." He said just one word, "Then go prepare. See you on the deck in an hour."

At five a. m., the deck of the Restoration Ship was packed with people.

One thousand two hundred officers and men, aside from necessary watch posts, were all present. They wore dark blue training uniforms, standing in neat ranks in the cool morning breeze. Searchlight beams swept over young faces, those faces showing fatigue, tension, but more so a long-suppressed fire.

Li Te walked onto the forward platform of the bridge. He changed into the formal captain's uniform, the gold shoulder boards glinting slightly in the light.

Without a microphone, he had to shout at the top of his lungs.

"All hands, attention!"

One thousand two hundred eyes focused on him simultaneously. The deck was so quiet you could hear the waves hitting the hull.

"Five minutes ago," Li Te began, his voice carrying far across the silent night sky, "I received the president's authorization. The Restoration Ship changes its sailing plan, no longer heading for Colombo. Our new destination is—"

He paused, letting everyone prick up their ears.

"Java. Batavia."

A suppressed murmur rippled through the crowd. Some sucked in cold air, some clenched their fists.

"Why go to Java?" Li Te raised his voice, "Because just this early morning, Dutch colonial police in Batavia opened fire and massacred our compatriots!"

He held up a copy of the telegram:

"This is an urgent bulletin from the Dragon Eye Network. Forty-seven dead, over a hundred wounded. Bodies piled on the dock, blood flowing in streams. And the last sentence the local Chinese chamber of commerce sent us was: 'Where is the motherland?'"

The last four words he almost shouted.

The deck fell deathly silent. Then a first sob came from a corner; soon sobbing rose all around. These young sailors, many of whom themselves had fled the South Ocean, still have relatives and friends living under Dutch, British, French colonial rule.

Li Te waited a few seconds for the emotion to ease slightly, then continued:

"Three years ago, when we left Kun Dian and embarked on the road of exile, someone asked me: 'Li Te, can we still come back?' I said yes. He asked again: 'How long?' I said I didn't know."

His voice lowered, but each word weighed heavier:

"Now I think I have the answer. Home is not just returning to that land. Home is when our brothers and sisters abroad are bullied, we can sail our warship to fetch them. Home is when someone asks 'Where is the motherland?' we can point to the yellow dragon flag on the mast and say—'The motherland is here!'"

He pointed to the main mast. There, a huge yellow dragon flag snapped in the night wind.

"So now I order!" Li Te's voice rose again, "Restoration Ship, turn south! Speed 28 knots! Target—Java Batavia!"

"We will tell the Dutch: those who kill our compatriots, no matter how far, will be pursued!"

"We will tell all overseas Chinese: you are not orphans, the motherland has not forgotten you!"

"We will also tell the world: the era has changed! Chinese are no longer sheep to be bullied at will! We have ships, guns, backbone—whoever dares to reach out, we'll chop off their claws!"

"All hands—" he drew a deep breath, shouting with all his might the final words:

"For compatriots! For the motherland! For—home!"

A brief deathly silence.

Then the deck erupted with a response like mountains and seas shouting:

"For compatriots! For the motherland! For home!"

"For compatriots! For the motherland! For home!"