AWB Chapter 551 The Atlantic Conspiracy
Chapter 551 The Atlantic Conspiracy
Wang Wenwu followed his gaze. On the dock, several small boats were moored around the "Huaihe," and some technicians from the American Navy were observing the ship's outline with measuring instruments in the distance. Further away, two PBY reconnaissance aircraft were taking off from the water to begin their routine patrol.
"General Rodman is still not giving up."
"I wouldn't do the same either," Chen Feng said, taking a sip of his coffee. "Seeing a warship a generation ahead of our own docked in our port would keep any naval commander up at night. But... let them see. Sometimes, a proper display of strength can prevent misjudgment."
At nine o'clock in the morning, Lieutenant General Rodman arrived in his car on time.
"Mr. Chen, if you don't mind, I'd like to show you another side of Pearl Harbor today—our air power." Rodman looked exceptionally energetic today, but there was a hint of worry deep in his eyes.
"I'd be happy to." Chen Feng and Wang Wenwu got into the car.
The vehicle drove towards the naval air station on the other side of Ford Island. It passed maintenance workshops, fuel depots, and pilot quarters before finally stopping in front of a massive hangar. The hangar doors were open, revealing twelve Curtiss HS-2L seaplanes, with ground crew busily performing maintenance.
"This is the mainstay aircraft of our Pacific Fleet Air Force," Rodman explained. "It is primarily used for reconnaissance, anti-submarine warfare, and search and rescue missions."
Chen Feng carefully examined the aircraft. Biplane structure, wooden fuselage with canvas skin, open cockpit—typical late World War I design. Compared to Lanfang's AR-1, they appeared bulky and outdated.
"Maximum range?" Chen Feng asked.
"About 500 kilometers. The improved model can reach 700," the air force commander in charge of the introduction replied with pride.
Chen Feng nodded, offering no further comment. Wang Wenwu, standing beside him, recorded the data, maintaining a polite expression of interest.
Next came the flight demonstration. Two HS-2Ls were towed to the water's edge and took off with a roar of their engines. They performed several standard turns and climbs over the harbor before dropping training smoke grenades to simulate an attack on a submarine.
The performance was well-structured, but lacked highlights.
After the demonstration, Rodman asked casually, "Mr. Chen, what are the performance parameters of the seaplane I saw on the 'Huaihe' yesterday? Of course, if it doesn't involve classified information."
Here's the problem. Chen Feng was prepared.
"The AR-1 has a maximum range of 1,200 kilometers and a maximum speed of 320 kilometers per hour. It can carry two 100-kilogram bombs or light torpedoes." He provided publicly available data, adding that it was "primarily used for fleet reconnaissance and limited anti-ship attacks."
The air commander beside Rodman stared wide-eyed: "1,200 kilometers? That's almost twice the distance our planes travel!"
"Technological progress is always rapid," Chen Feng smiled. "I believe that Miracar Aviation Industry will soon have even more advanced models."
"But how did you manage to do it in such a short time..." The commander stopped halfway through his sentence, realizing that the question might have crossed the line.
Rodman picked up the thread: "Mr. Chen, I have a more fundamental question. What is the core philosophy behind the development of Lanfang's aviation industry—including its naval aviation? I've noticed that your aircraft design, pilot training, and tactical concepts all seem to have a complete system."
This is a profound question that touches upon the essence of Lanfang's military development.
Chen Feng pondered for a few seconds and decided to give a valuable answer: "General Rodman, Lanfang's military development has a fundamental principle: asymmetric advantage. As an emerging nation, we cannot compete with traditional powers in terms of scale, so we must seek breakthroughs in quality and ideology."
At 12:30 pm, they received an encrypted telegram forwarded from the "Huaihe" ship. After Wang Wenwu decoded it, his expression turned serious.
"News from Berlin. The German Naval Command has decided that, starting February 1st, the scope of unrestricted submarine warfare will be expanded to the entire North Atlantic region east of 20 degrees west longitude. Any vessel entering this area, regardless of nationality or cargo, will be considered a legitimate target."
Chen Feng closed his eyes and took a deep breath: "Foolish."
"Worse still, the telegram mentioned that this decision was made hastily after learning of our meeting with Wilson. The Germans believed that since the possibility of Maryka entering the war was already very high, it would be better to preemptively force Britain to surrender using the most drastic means."
"Typical military thinking—simplifying complex political issues into military calculations." Chen Feng walked to the window. "They don't understand that this decision will precisely turn the possibility of the US entering the war into an inevitability."
"Should we notify Wilson?"
"No," Chen Feng shook his head. "This news will soon reach Meilika through other channels. If we say it out loud, it will seem suspicious. Besides... it will put us in an awkward position."
He glanced at his watch; there were still more than two hours until his tea meeting with Wilson.
"Prepare for this afternoon's conversation. This decision by the Germans will make Wilson's situation even more difficult. We need to give him... a less hopeless option."
At the same time that Chen Feng and Rodman were visiting Pearl Harbor Air Station, in the mid-North Atlantic, at 45 degrees north latitude and 35 degrees west longitude.
The sea was leaden gray, and thick clouds hung low in the sky, reducing visibility to less than five nautical miles. A convoy of eight cargo ships was sailing eastward, the Stars and Stripes flying from their masts. This was NY-107, bound for Liverpool from New York, carrying wheat, cotton, machine tools, and auto parts.
The convoy sailed in standard anti-submarine formation: two columns at a speed of ten knots. Two nautical miles ahead of the convoy, two Royal Navy destroyers, HMS Courageous and HMS Vigilant, were sailing in a zigzag formation, their sonar continuously activated.
On the bridge of the HMS Courageous, Lieutenant Commander John Harris held up his binoculars, observing the sea. He was a forty-year-old career soldier with twenty years of naval service, his face etched with wrinkles from the sea wind and the passage of time.
"How far are we from the designated handover point?" he asked the navigator.
"Sixty-five nautical miles, Captain. As planned, we will hand over to the escort fleet departing from Britain in four hours, and then return to port."
Harris nodded, but a hint of unease flickered in his eyes. He had received a special order from the Navy's intelligence department, worded vaguely but with a clear intent: "When NY-107 convoy reaches the 35 degrees west longitude area, the escort deployment may be adjusted as needed to test the German submarines' reaction patterns."
Testing reaction patterns? Harris wasn't stupid. He knew this area was one of the most active zones for German U-boats. The so-called "test" likely meant exposing the fleet to danger.
But an order is an order.