Chapter 68: Java in Sight

The sound waves rose higher and higher, echoing through the night sky over the Indian Ocean. Some wept with tears streaming down their faces, some shouted hoarsely, some tossed their hats into the air. The emotions suppressed for far too long finally erupted at this moment.

Li Te stood on the platform, watching it all. His eyes were red too, but he did not cry. He simply raised his right hand and gave the most proper military salute to the twelve hundred brothers who shared life and death.

After the salute, he turned and stepped down from the platform, saying to Lin Hai, who had been waiting beside him:

"Order the engine room—full speed ahead."

"Yes!"

Five minutes later, the Restoration Ship's massive hull began to turn slowly. Four steam turbines roared lowly, the smokestacks belched thick smoke, and the speedometer needle climbed from 18 knots—20, 22, 25, 28…

The steel behemoth ripped through the sea, a white wake trailing several kilometers behind. The spray split by the bow glowed a ghastly white under the searchlight, like paper offerings scattered on this road of no return.

Inside the bridge, Li Te stood before the chart, watching the marker for the Restoration Ship inch toward Java.

Lin Hai walked over, handing him a cup of hot tea: "Captain, you should rest for a while. The next fifty hours will be busy."

Li Te took the cup, shook his head: "Can't sleep. Old Lin, tell me… are we really doing the right thing?"

"What's right or wrong?"

"For the forty‑seven people of Java, we're disrupting the entire strategic layout," Li Te said, looking at the darkness outside the window. "Yingguo might seize the chance to cause trouble, Deguo might reassess our reliability, even Faguo… who knows? The President spent three years setting up this plan, and it could be undone by this single operation."

Lin Hai remained silent for a long while.

Then he said, "Captain, let me tell you a story."

"Hm?"

"My hometown is in Fujian; when I was a child, there was an elder in the village who had fought in the Sino‑French War," Lin Hai leaned against the bulkhead, his voice soft. "He said that during the Battle of Mawei, French shells rained down like rain. Our ships sank one after another, people perished in waves. He clutched the mast, watching the comrades he lived with day and night scream in the fire, and only one thought filled his mind: why? Why couldn't we win?"

He paused briefly:

"Later he survived and returned to the village. When people asked about the naval battle, he never spoke of it. Until his deathbed, he called me to his side and said, 'Ah Hai, the deepest pain in my life isn't the physical wounds, but the suffocating resentment in my heart. We're not afraid of death; we're afraid of dying without value—because even if we're all dead, nothing changes.'"

Lin Hai turned his head, looking at Li Te:

"Captain, what do you think—if we don't go to Java today, three or five years from now, when we finally retake Borneo, how will the Chinese of the South Ocean view us? They'll say, 'Oh, Lanfang has returned. But back then they didn't even dare to rescue their compatriots in Java; what are they doing now?'"

Li Te's hand gripping the tea cup trembled slightly.

"So," Lin Hai patted his shoulder, "some battles aren't judged by whether they're worth fighting, but by whether they must be fought. Today's battle is a must‑fight. If we lose, we'll accept it. But if we don't fight… we'll never get past this hurdle in our hearts this lifetime."

Having said that, he turned and left the bridge to check the readiness of each department.

Li Te stood alone before the chart, watching the light point that kept moving southward.

Outside the window, the sky gradually brightened.

The first ray of dawn fell on the Restoration Ship's gray armor plates, on the massive barrel of the main gun turret, and on the Yellow Dragon flag fluttering at the top of the mast.

Li Te suddenly recalled the final line of Chen Feng's telegram:

"The motherland and three hundred thousand compatriots are your backing."

He raised the tea cup toward the sunrise beyond the porthole and said softly:

"Then let's fight. For those forty‑seven who can never return home, and for the countless others still waiting for us to come home."

The water in the cup rippled gently.

"Course 165, speed 28 knots, Distance to Batavia twelve nautical miles."

The voice of Chief Navigator Chen Qiming rang through the bridge, steady yet with a barely perceptible tension. Li Te stood at the observation window, holding a high‑power telescope. In the lens, Java's coastline had already emerged from the horizon, a dark‑green ribbon wavering in the morning mist.

"Visibility?" Li Te asked, his eyes never leaving the telescope.

"The morning fog is expected to clear within an hour," Chen Qiming replied quickly. "Current visibility is about five kilometers, sufficient for us to observe the port's outline."

Li Te nodded. He adjusted the focus, sweeping the lens across the shore. First came scattered fishing villages, thatched roofs showing vague peaks through the mist. Then increasingly dense structures—colonial‑style white walls with red tiles, church spires, and dock cranes.

Finally, he saw Batavia Harbor.

The port was larger than he imagined. At least twenty berths, three of which were deep‑water docks holding several cargo ships. Farther away, the port authority building's clock tower rose high, its roof flying a red‑white‑blue tricolor—the Dutch flag.

Li Te's hand pressed slightly harder, the telescope's rubber eyepiece pressing against his browbone, causing a bit of pain.

"Have we located the Dutch warship?"

"Searching," Gunnery Officer Zhao Tieshan said, standing at the fire‑control station, his hands deftly operating the Optical Rangefinder. "On the east side of the harbor, near Pier No. 3… got it. A pre‑dreadnought, appears to be a 'Seven Provinces'‑class. Its smokestack isn't emitting smoke, likely under maintenance at the berth."

Li Te turned the telescope that way. Indeed, a gray‑blue warship was moored at the dock, its hull riddled with rust, the canvas cover over the main gun barrel still in place. Compared with the nearby merchant vessels, it looked old and forlorn.

"That's it?" Li Te set the telescope down, his tone tinged with disbelief. "The Dutch rely on this antique to guard their most important colony in the Far East?"

"Intelligence indicates the main force of the Dutch East Indies fleet remains at home," Intelligence Officer Xu Wen replied. "Their Asian colonies rely more on diplomatic balance than military might. This 'Seven Provinces' ship is largely symbolic."

"Symbolic?" Li Te sneered. "Then today we'll show them that some symbols need to be replaced."

The bridge door swung open, and Deputy Captain Lin Hai hurried in, holding a freshly translated telegram.

"Captain, the latest on Dragon Eye Network South Ocean‑7," Lin Hai's voice was low. "Details of yesterday's clash."

Li Te took the telegram. This dispatch was much longer, densely packed with tiny script. He skimmed it quickly, his complexion growing increasingly grim.

"…The Dutch colonial authorities, under the pretext of 'anti‑smuggling inspections,' forcibly raided the Chinese shop 'Guangfa.' Shop owner Chen Afu tried to block them and was knocked to the ground by a shell from the military police. His son, Chen Wenjun, sixteen, stepped forward to argue and was shot dead on the spot. The incident sparked outrage among nearby Chinese merchants, with about two hundred gathering to protest. Dutch garrison Lieutenant‑Colonel Fan De Haiden ordered his troops to open fire and suppress…"