Chapter 76: Ultimatum

The conference room was dead silent.

Seven Dutch men's eyes were all fixed on Fan Dewei'er. He is the governor's envoy, the highest civil official here. In theory, he has decision‑making authority.

But in reality, Fan Dewei'er just wanted to cry.

He is fifty‑three this year and has worked in the colony for thirty years. He rose from a tiny tax inspector to port authority director through caution, smoothness, and never standing on the wrong side. He has handled strikes, suppressed riots, and even taken part in several small‑scale "pacifications." But those are all different from today.

Back then, the Dutch had guns in their hands, while the other side only had machetes and bamboo spears.

Today, the guns are in someone else's hands. Moreover, they're not ordinary rifles; they're 381‑mm rifles.

"Captain…," Fan Dewei'er's voice was hoarse, "I need… need to consult the governor."

"Fine." Li Te nodded, "I'll give you two hours."

"Two hours?!" Fan Dewei'er shouted, "From here to the governor's office and back takes an hour! And we still have to hold a meeting to discuss…"

"That's your business," Li Te said, glancing at the clock on the wall, "It is now 10:20 AM. At 12:20 PM, if I haven't heard a satisfactory answer…"

He pointed outside the window, where the "Seven Provinces" was still rocking in the waves.

"The second round of exercises will begin, and this time I won't give advance notice."

Judge Fan De Sangte suddenly spoke, "Captain, this is a naked show of force! It violates International Law!"

"International Law?" Li Te laughed, "Mr. Fan De Sangte, when your troops fired yesterday, did you think of International Law? Were those bullets engraved with the Hague Convention?"

"That's a different matter!"

"No, it's the same matter." Li Te stood up and walked to the judge, "International Law protects those who respect the law. When you yourself don't take the law seriously, on what grounds can you demand others to obey?"

He surveyed all the Dutch delegates:

"In two hours, I want to hear three things: first, agreement to full compensation; second, agreement to sign a rights‑protection treaty; third, agreement to hand over those nineteen people. Miss any, and I will open fire."

Fan Dewei'er closed his eyes, took a deep breath, "We need… need to contact the shore."

"Use this." Li Te gestured for the communications soldier to bring the wireless telegraph, "Send a clear code, tell the governor you are guests aboard the Restoration Ship. Also remind him that 12:20 PM is the deadline."

"Clear code…" Fan Dewei'er forced a smile, "Then all of Batavia will know…"

"Exactly, I want them to know." Li Te said, "I will have the Chinese at the dock hear with their own ears how the Dutch governor decides—whether to protect the murderer or to protect the port."

Fan Dewei'er's hand trembled. He picked up a pen and wrote on the telegraph paper:

【To Governor Fan De Linden:

We are negotiating aboard the Restoration Ship with Lanfang representatives. They demand compensation, rights protection, and surrender of the involved troops and police. Time limit: two hours.

Additionally: the other side has carried out deterrent shelling; the water hundred meters ahead of the "Seven Provinces" was hit by eight Shells. They threatened that the next round will directly target a battleship.

The situation is critical; please decide quickly.

Fan Dewei'er, 10:25】

After writing, he handed it to Li Te, "Is this okay?"

Li Te glanced over, "Send it."

Batavia Governor's Office, conference room.

The telegraph arrived at 10:32. When the translator rushed into the conference room, the routine morning meeting had not yet ended. Governor Fan De Linden frowned as he read the telegraph, his complexion turning pale at a visibly rapid rate.

"Gentlemen," he pushed the telegraph across the table, "The situation is worse than we imagined…"

A stationed officer, Major Fan Peixi, was the first to snatch the telegraph. After reading it, he slammed his fist on the table, "They dare?! That's a Royal Dutch Navy battleship!"

"They already dared that just now." Finance officer De Rong's deputy—a middle‑aged man named Fan De Zanden—said coldly, "Eight Shells, less than a hundred meters from the 'Seven Provinces'. This is not a question of daring, it's already done."

"Then we counterattack!" Major Fan Peixi roared, "All coastal batteries go to combat status! Let the 'Seven Provinces' set sail to meet them!"

"Major," the governor said wearily, rubbing his forehead, "The 'Seven Provinces' is still under maintenance, the boiler is cold. It will take at least two hours to fire up and weigh anchor. As for the coastal guns…"

He looked at the artillery commander.

The fifty‑something senior officer's face turned grim, "Your Excellency, our coastal guns have a maximum range of only six kilometers. The Restoration Ship is stationed eight kilometers away… we can't reach it."

"Then let it come closer!"

"It won't come closer," Fan De Zanden shook his head, "The opposing commander is clever. He stays out of our range while we stay within his. That's the simplest tactical advantage."

The conference room fell silent.

The governor looked out the window. From here one can see a corner of the harbor and the tiny silhouette of the "Seven Provinces". Farther away, the gray dot on the sea surface is the Restoration Ship.

"Fan De Zanden," the governor said, "You are the finance officer; you have done the accounting. If war breaks out… how large would the loss be?"

Fan De Zanden was prepared. He opened his notebook:

"First, the 'Seven Provinces' cost 3.2 million Dutch guilders, with 273 sailors aboard. If sunk, it's a total loss."

"Second, port facilities. The main dock cost 850,000 guilders, the warehouse area about 1.2 million guilders, cranes and other equipment about 400,000 guilders. If hit by shelling, the loss is incalculable."

"Third, trade interruption. Batavia Port handles about 150,000 guilders of import‑export goods daily. Once war starts, the shipping lanes will inevitably be cut. Over three months, loss will exceed 13 million guilders."

"Fourth, personnel casualties. The port area has over 20,000 permanent workers, merchants and residents. If the enemy shells the city… Your Excellency, I cannot imagine."

With each point, the temperature in the conference room dropped by a degree.

When he finished, even Major Fan Peixi fell silent.

"One more thing," said the trade representative Fan De Bo Ge, the white‑haired old man, "If war breaks out, our trade reputation across the Far East will collapse. British, French and German merchant ships will avoid our port, insurers will refuse to underwrite our routes. The colonial economy… could be completely ruined."

"So surrender then?!" Major Fan Peixi stood up again, "Hand over our soldiers?! Where will the Dutch Kingdom's face go?!"

"Is face more important, or the colony?" Fan De Zanden retorted, "Major, tell me, if we fight that ship today, what will be the outcome?"

"We… we can repel them!"

"With what to repel?" the artillery commander smiled wryly, "Our guns can't reach them, their guns can reach us. It's like a duel: one man with a pistol stands twenty meters away, the other with a dagger stands fifteen meters away—who do you think will win?"

"We can wait for local reinforcements!"

"From Rotterdam to Batavia, the fastest warship takes forty days," the governor finally spoke, his voice weary, "In forty days, this place may already be a ruin."

He paused.

"And even if reinforcements arrive… can we beat it? That Restoration Ship, according to the intelligence we bought from the British, has a standard displacement of 38,000 tons, a speed of 30 knots, and a 381‑mm Main Gun. Which ship in the Dutch navy can match it?"

No one answered.

Because the answer is no.