Chapter 70: It turned out that wasn't an excuse. It was a warning

Uncle A Fu, two meat buns.

A young man's voice pulled him back to reality. Chen Jin Fu looked up; it was dockworker A Qiang, in his early twenties, all muscle.

"A Qiang, why so early today?" Chen Jin Fu quickly wrapped the buns in oil paper and handed them over.

"I can't sleep." A Qiang took the bun, took a big bite, and mumbled, "Uncle A Fu, have you heard about that thing? The big ship at sea..."

"I've heard." Chen Jin Fu lowered his voice, "but I don't know if it's true or false."

"It's probably true." A Qiang leaned in, "My cousin works at the telegraph company; he said all the Dutch staff were called back last night and still haven't clocked out. Something big must have happened."

As they spoke, a whistle sounded in the distance.

It wasn't the low whine of a merchant ship, but a deeper, more powerful long cry, like the roar of some giant beast. The sound came from the sea surface, and even several kilometers away one could feel the air vibrating.

Everyone on the dock stopped what they were doing.

Chen Jin Fu lifted his gaze to the sea. At first he saw only a stretch of deep blue. Then, where sky met water, a gray speck appeared.

The speck quickly became a line, the line became an outline.

"Good heavens..." A Qiang's bun fell to the ground.

It was a ship.

But it was no ordinary ship. It was huge—far larger than anyone could comprehend. Chen Jin Fu had worked thirty years at Batavia Port, seeing British battleships, German cruisers, French armored frigates. Yet none had this size, this... oppressive presence.

The hull was cold gray, its lines sleek as if carved by a knife. Three tall smokestacks, four massive turrets, each turret bearing two terrifyingly thick gun barrels. The bow cut waves five or six meters high, leaving a long white wake behind.

And most striking was the flag on the mainmast.

Yellow field, an azure dragon, encircled by gears.

In the morning sunlight, it snapped loudly.

The dock grew quiet. Chinese, Indonesians, Dutch—everyone watched the massive ship slowly approach. Some raised binoculars, others simply climbed onto cargo piles.

Chen Jin Fu felt his throat dry. He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

That flag was real.

"Lanfang..." he whispered the two syllables, his voice so soft only he could hear.

Then he saw an even more astonishing sight.

The giant ship began to turn about ten kilometers from the harbor. It didn't enter port but sailed parallel to the coast, its broadside facing the harbor. During this maneuver, the four main turrets started to rotate slowly.

Eight thick gun barrels, like steel fingers, rose one after another.

They were aimed at Wangfu Cliff on the west side of the harbor.

"What are they going to do?" A Qiang's voice trembled.

Chen Jin Fu didn't answer. He just watched, watching the gun barrels adjust their angle, watching the observation ports on the turrets reflect cold light.

Suddenly he recalled the morning's rumor: artillery calibration drill.

It turned out that wasn't an excuse.

It was a warning.

"Distance to Wangfu Cliff: eight kilometers. Wind from the southeast, force three, wave height 0.5 meters."

In the fire control room, Zhao Tieshan's voice came through the speaking tube clearly to the bridge. Li Te stood by the observation window, holding binoculars, but this time he wasn't looking outside; he was staring at the clock on the wall.

7:55.

"Target parameters entered." Zhao Tieshan continued, "Main gun loaded with high-explosive shells, fuse set to delay 0.5 seconds. Turret follow‑up system normal, fire‑control computer operating normally."

"Received." Li Te replied, then turned to the communications station: "Wang Xiao Hua."

"Here!"

"Was the final notice sent?"

"Sent! Sent at 7:45, same content. The harbor authority didn't reply, but the ships in port indeed stopped, and a few that had started to leave turned back."

"Good." Li Te nodded, then switched on the shipwide broadcast: "All hands, this is Captain Li Te."

His voice traveled through the pipes to every corner of the ship.

"The time is now 7:56. In four minutes we will conduct the main‑gun calibration drill. This is not training, not a demonstration. It is telling everyone—the Lanfang navy has arrived."

He paused, letting those words sink in:

"I know many of you still have family and friends in the South Ocean, still under Dutch, British, or French rule. I know you miss home, want to go back and see."

"Today this shot is the first step home. We will use the roar of the guns to tell everyone: Chinese are no longer meek sheep to be bullied at will. We have ships, we have guns, we have backbone."

"So, take your positions. I want to see the most accurate shooting, the most professional operation. Let the Dutch see what a modern navy is. Let the world see what Chinese strength is."

"Done."

The broadcast ended. The bridge fell silent save for the ticking of instruments and the hiss of steam pipes.

Lin Hai walked up to Li Te and whispered, "Captain, all preparations are complete. But… are we really going to fire? Once we fire, there's no turning back."

Li Te glanced at him: "Old Lin, do you think we still have a way back?"

"I mean the political repercussions..."

"Politics?" Li Te cut him off, pointing out the window, "Do you see that mountain? It's Wangfu Cliff. Legend says over a hundred years ago, a Chinese man's wife waited there every day for her husband to return from sea, waited three years, then leapt off the cliff. Why? Because her husband had been seized by the Dutch for forced labor and died in a tin mine."

He turned and looked at Lin Hai:

"How many such stories are there in the South Ocean? A hundred? A thousand? Ten thousand? Today the Dutch dare to shoot forty‑seven people; tomorrow they'd dare to shoot four hundred seventy. If we don't fire this gun today, we're no different from that husband a century ago who watched his wife jump to her death, powerless."

Lin Hai fell silent.

The clock pointed to 7:59.

Li Te walked back to the command station, put on his headset, and said, "All turrets, final check."

The headset carried the replies from the four turrets:

"A turret ready!"

"B turret ready!"

"C turret ready!"

"D turret ready!"

"Fire control room?"

"Fire control room ready!" Zhao Tieshan's voice said, "Target locked, all parameters computed. Ready to fire at any moment."

Li Te looked at the clock.

The second hand ticked notch by notch. 7:59:50… 55 seconds… 58 seconds…

Everyone on the bridge involuntarily held their breath.

Li Te's hand rested on the console, his fingers lightly hovering over the red launch button.

He closed his eyes, and the numbers from the transmission flashed in his mind: 47, 9, 3, 6…

Then he opened his eyes and pressed the button.

"Fire."