nashuaworldcup Chapter 342 Japan Needs to Prove the Value of its Army
Chapter 342 Japan Needs to Prove the Value of its Army
Wang Wenwu smiled wryly: "Will the Chinese people accept cherry blossoms?"
"They will accept it," Chen Feng said confidently. "Because they need victory, they need battle achievements, they need to prove the army's worth. For this, they are willing to pay any price."
He walked to the wine cabinet, poured two glasses of wine, and handed one to Wang Wenwu.
"You know, sometimes I feel that we are very similar to Japan. We are both Asian countries, we both want to break free from Western control, and we both want to rise. But we have chosen different paths."
He took a sip of his drink: "They chose to expand by force, to prove themselves through war. We chose to accumulate strength slowly through business, technology, and gradual growth. Tell me, which path is smarter?"
Wang Wenwu pondered for a long time: "Their approach is quick to show results, but risky. Our approach is slow, but stable."
"That's right." Chen Feng nodded. "But during wartime, quick results are an advantage. So Japan looks very successful now—a great victory on the eastern front, a triumphant army, and domestic fervor. But these are castles built on sand; they will collapse when the tide goes out."
He walked to the balcony and looked at the distant sea: "What we are going to build is a stone castle. Brick by brick, we will slowly lay it up and slowly reinforce it. Maybe it doesn't look tall enough or bright enough now, but when the storm comes, only the stone castle will stand."
The sea breeze carries the salty smell and the distant sound of ship horns.
Wang Wenwu walked to his side and also looked at the sea.
"Commander-in-Chief, when do you think... this war will end?"
Chen Feng did not answer immediately. He gazed northward, as if he could see across mountains and rivers, at the warships on the North Sea, at those steel behemoths about to collide.
"It'll be over soon," he finally said. "When the cannon fire in the North Sea stops, when both sides have shed enough blood, when everyone is exhausted... it will be over."
"And then what?"
"After it's over," Chen Feng turned around, a complex light flashing in his eyes, "that's when the real beginning begins. The funeral of the old order, the birth of the new order. And we..."
He paused, his voice soft but firm:
"We want to be the shapers of the new order, not the shapers. That's what we're going to do for the next ten, twenty, even fifty years."
A bell tolls in the distance. Midnight has arrived, and a new day begins.
Chen Feng raised his glass, looking up at the northern sky.
"A salute to those who are about to fight," he whispered. "A salute to those who are about to die. A salute to this mad age, a salute to us who walk on the edge of a knife."
Then he drank it all in one gulp.
In the central part of Beihai, at 57 degrees north latitude and 3 degrees east longitude, at 4:00 AM.
A thick fog blanketed the sea like a heavy gray velvet carpet, reducing visibility to less than 500 yards. In this gray-white chaos, the steel behemoths sailed silently at 16 knots, like a group of ghosts moving through a dream.
Jellicoe stood on the bridge of the Iron Duke, his hands gripping the railing tightly. He tried to peer through the thick fog at the fleet, but all he could see was a vast expanse of white. Occasionally, the outlines of nearby warships would appear in the fog—dark hulls, towering masts, massive gun barrels—and then vanish again as if they had never existed.
"General, weather report." The communications officer handed over a damp telegram. "The fog will persist for the next six hours, and visibility may drop further to 300 yards. Wind force level 2, sea conditions stable."
Jericho took the telegram and glanced at it in the dim light of the nautical lamp. His expression appeared particularly grave in the yellowish light.
"Three hundred yards..." he repeated the number in a low voice, "At this distance, we can't even see the hull number of our own warships."
First Sea Lord Vice Admiral Study approached him, his expression equally grave: "In this weather, sonar interference is severe. What if the Germans suddenly appear in the fog..."
"That will be a free-for-all," Jericho replied, "the most primal, chaotic, and bloody kind."
He turned and walked to the chart table. A complete map of the North Sea was spread out on it, with two red arrows representing the British fleet converging from opposite directions. Beatty's fleet was about eighty nautical miles to the northwest, still pursuing the German reconnaissance fleet. His own main fleet was to the southwest, proceeding as planned towards the designated rendezvous point.
Between the two red arrows is a blue shadow representing the German fleet—its location, number, and intentions are unknown.
"Betty's latest location?" Jericho asked.
The staff officer quickly marked on the nautical chart: "According to the radio bearings an hour ago, Beatty's fleet is at 57°15′N, 2°45′E. Heading 115 degrees, speed 22 knots. Still pursuing the German Hipper fleet, which is on the same heading and about fifteen nautical miles away."
"Fifteen nautical miles..." Jericho drew a line on the chart with his finger. "Hipper is leading Betty southeast. What's in that direction?"
The staff officer leaned over to examine the nautical chart, using a compass to measure distances and angles: "Southeast... is Dogg Shoal. Further on is Heligoland Bay. If we continue deeper..."
“If we continue deeper,” Study continued, “Betty might run into Scheer’s main fleet. And we have no troops in that direction.”
Jellicoe stared silently at the nautical chart. The bridge was quiet, save for the low rumble of the engines and the rhythmic ticking of the navigation clock. Everyone awaited his decision.
"Send a message to Betty," he finally spoke, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable authority. "I suggest adjusting the course to 100 degrees to slow the pursuit. Repeat, I suggest adjusting the course to 100 degrees to slow the pursuit."
"A suggestion?" Study raised an eyebrow. "Not an order?"
“Betty is the battlefield commander,” Jellicoe said. “He has the authority to make decisions on the spot. And…” he paused, “if we force him to change course now, we might miss the opportunity. What if Hipper really is using a single ship to lure the enemy?”
The communications officer ran off to send a telegram. Jericho continued to stare at the nautical chart, as if trying to see the real sea through the paper, to see the warships sailing in the thick fog, to see the fates that were about to collide.
"General," Study lowered his voice, "you're actually worried about another possibility, aren't you?"
Jericho glanced at him and nodded.
"You're worried that Beatty is too eager to fight, too eager to prove the value of battlecruisers, and will pursue them recklessly," Study said. "You're worried he'll fall into a trap, but you can't just order him to retreat because that would damage morale and the entire fleet's fighting spirit."
Jericho did not deny it. He walked to the porthole and looked out at the thick, impenetrable fog.
"David Beatty was the bravest and most combative naval commander I've ever met," he said slowly, "but perhaps also the most reckless. He craved battle, craved honor, craved to be remembered like Nelson. This craving was a driving force in peacetime, but on the battlefield... it could be fatal."
The bridge door was pushed open, and a young lieutenant hurried in, holding a newly deciphered telegram.
"Admiral! Intelligence has intercepted and deciphered part of the German fleet's communications!" His voice trembled with excitement. "Although incomplete, the keywords indicate... 'Plan A,' 'Rendezvous Point,' 'Time Window'!"
Jericho grabbed the telegram. The text on the paper was fragmented and incomplete, but several keywords were clearly visible:
"...Execute Plan A...Hipper's fleet will maintain contact but avoid a decisive battle...Schear's main force will arrive at the rendezvous point at 0600...The time window is approximately four hours..."
"Where is the rendezvous point?" Jericho demanded sharply.
The staff officers immediately rushed to the nautical charts and used the fragmented location information to perform triangulation. A few minutes later, a location was circled—56 degrees 10 minutes North latitude, 5 degrees 20 minutes East longitude.
"Southeast of Dogg Beach..." Jellico gasped, "about sixty nautical miles from Betty's current location, and about one hundred nautical miles from us."
He quickly calculated the time. It was 4:20 a.m. If the German's statement of "arriving at the rendezvous point at 06:00" was accurate, then there was still one hour and forty minutes left.