Chapter 71: Three Simultaneous Salvos

Fire

The sound arrived later.

First came the light—A turret and B turret's four Main Guns simultaneously spewed blazing white fire, the muzzle storm exploding a visible shockwave on the sea surface. Then came the vibration; the over‑40,000‑ton warship was shoved sideways a full three meters by the massive recoil, and the hull emitted a low groan.

The sound came last.

It wasn't an ordinary gunblast. It was a primal, ferocious roar, like a thousand thunders detonating at once beside the ears. The sound wave spread across the sea at a visible speed, rattling the glass of the port buildings and causing the dockworkers to instinctively cover their ears.

But it wasn't over.

Less than two seconds after the first round of Shells left the barrel, C turret and D turret also fired. Another four tongues of flame, another sideways shift, and another deafening blast that nearly tore the eardrums.

Eight 381‑mm high‑explosive Shells, each weighing 870 kg, flew at 800 m/s toward Wangfu Cliff eight miles away.

Flight time was about ten seconds.

During those ten seconds, time in the whole Batavia Harbor seemed to freeze.

On the dock, Chen Jinfu stood with his mouth open, watching the eight faint smoke trails cross the sky. He recalled the firecrackers he set off during New Year as a child, but even the loudest of those were nothing compared to this one‑ten‑thousandth.

The Dutch military police stood dumbfounded, unaware even when someone's rifle fell to the ground.

Inside the Port Authority building, Fan Dewei rushed to the window, his face as pale as paper.

In the Governor's Office, Governor Fan De Linden, just woken up in an emergency, wore his nightgown, and the coffee cup he held trembled violently.

Then, the first Shell hit its target.

It didn't land at the foot or the middle of the mountain. It pierced straight into the summit rock of Wangfu Cliff, where a delayed fuse detonated inside. Thus the upper half of the mountain exploded from within, like an egg struck by a giant's hammer.

A massive fireball erupted from the mountain, followed by soaring dust and debris. The explosion's roar was deeper than the gunblast, yet more terrifying—it was the earth itself wailing.

Then came the second, the third… up to the eighth.

Eight explosions, almost merging into one. Wangfu Cliff, a rock mountain that had stood for ten million years, was utterly reshaped within thirty seconds. Its summit was shaved down by at least twenty meters, three huge gaps were blasted into its sides, and the debris cascaded like a waterfall, stirring continuous surges on the sea.

When the smoke from the last Shell also began to clear, the port remained dead silent.

No one spoke. No one moved.

Only the sea breeze, carrying the scent of gunpowder, drifting over the dust still slowly falling from the sky.

Chen Jinfu was the first to kneel.

He wasn't afraid. He could no longer stand. His knees gave way, his heart hammered, tears welled up uncontrollably. He stared at the ravaged mountain, at the gray warship on the sea, and at the yellow‑dragon flag.

One hundred years.

Since his grandfather's generation, Chinese here have been used as beasts of burden, called at will, heavily taxed, beaten arbitrarily, even shot on a whim. They grew accustomed to bowing their heads, to endurance, to telling themselves: this is fate.

But now, someone came to tell them: this is not fate.

Someone sailed a ship, manned a cannon, came from thousands of miles away, and in the most violent, direct way said: you are not orphans; the motherland has not forgotten you.

A Qiang also knelt. Then the worker beside him, then another, then another. Soon, all the Chinese in the South Dock area were on their knees. No one organized, no one called. They simply knelt, watching the ship, shedding tears yet smiling.

On the Dutch side, it was a completely different scene.

Fan Dewei slumped in his chair, his hands shaking so much he could barely hold a pen. The only thought in his mind: it's over. Everything is over.

This wasn't a protest, not a provocation. It was a declaration of war—written with Shells.

In the Governor's Office, Governor Fan De Linden finally reacted, hissing at his adjutant: "Quick! Send a telegram to The Hague! No, first to the garrison command! Tell them… tell them to prepare for battle!"

"But Governor," the adjutant said, his face ashen, "our coastal artillery's maximum range is only six kilometers; that ship is eight miles out…"

"Then let the Seven Provinces set sail! Intercept it!"

"The Seven Provinces is still under maintenance, its boilers not lit, needs at least two hours…" (No record of how long it takes a warship's boiler to reignite after cooling, but it's irrelevant.)

"Then two hours! Go quickly!"

In the bridge of the Restoration Ship, likewise a silence.

But not shock, not fear. Rather, a kind of… relief.

Li Te set down his telescope. His fingers were a little numb, his ears still buzzing. Yet he saw clearly that the mountain had changed shape, and he also saw clearly the kneeling figures on the dock.

"Bombardment results?" he asked, his voice a bit hoarse.

Zhao Tieshan replied promptly: "All eight hit the target area. The impact point distribution matches expectations, with maximum deviation under fifty meters. Barrel temperature is normal, loading mechanism operating normally. Ready for a second round at any time."

"No need," Li Te said. "One round is enough."

He walked back to the command post and sat down. Lin Hai handed him a glass of water, which he took and drained in one gulp.

"Captain," Lin Hai whispered, "on the dock… many Chinese have knelt."

"I know," Li Te said. "I saw it."

"They…"

"They are crying," Li Te interrupted him, "but also laughing."

He stood up, returned to the observation window. The port scene came into clear view through the telescope. He could see the tears on the Chinese faces and the panic on the Dutch faces.

"Lin Hai."

"Here."

"Tell me, what can today's single salvo change?" Li Te asked, without turning around.

Lin Hai thought for a few seconds: "At least, the Dutch won't dare fire recklessly again."

"Anything else?"

"Also… those Chinese can now walk upright."

"Anything else?"

Lin Hai couldn't answer.

Li Te turned, looking at him and at everyone on the bridge:

"Also, from today onward, ten million Chinese in the South Ocean will know one thing: in this world, there is a place called Lanfang. There are ships, there are cannons, and there are people willing to travel countless miles to fire this very shot for them."

He paused.

"This shot, we didn't knock down a mountain. We knocked away a hundred years of humiliation, a hundred years of fear, a hundred years of 'resignation'."

The bridge fell silent for a few seconds. Then, whoever started first, someone clapped lightly. Soon, the applause merged into one. Though not loud, it was steadfast.

Li Te did not intervene. He waited for the applause to naturally cease before continuing:

"All right, the moving moment is over. Now back to reality— we fired this shot, and the Dutch will certainly not be satisfied. Zhao Tieshan!"

"Present!"

"Main Gun stay in loading state, aim the target at the Dutch ship 'Seven Provinces'. But do not fire unless I order."

"Affirmative!"

"Lin Hai!"

"Present!"

"Notify the engine room, reduce speed to five knots, maintain maneuverability. We will 'exercise' here for thirty minutes, so stay the full thirty minutes. Not a second less."

"Affirmative!"

"Xu Wen!"

"Present!"

"Begin drafting the formal note. The content must be tough, but the wording must comply with international law. Three points: first, demand the Dutch authorities immediately cease violent actions against Chinese; second, hand over the soldiers and police who fired yesterday for us to try; third, compensate all casualties for their losses and guarantee Chinese rights in the future."