AWB Chapter 53 advises paying attention to navigational safety. Please call upon us if you require assis
Chapter 53 advises paying attention to navigational safety. Please call upon us if you require assis
"Sir!" the lookout's voice suddenly rose, "Attention! Enemy ship... enemy ship's main guns are firing!"
Everyone's heart tightened.
Abbasnot rushed to the observation window. Indeed, the four massive turrets were slowly rotating, and the eight thick gun barrels were gradually pointing towards the Dauntless.
"All ships on high alert! Turrets loaded with live ammunition!"
The piercing alarm blared throughout HMS Dauntless. Sailors frantically rushed to their battle stations, the ammunition hoists began operating, and shells and propellant charges were lifted from the magazines.
Sweat soaked everyone's backs.
But ten seconds later, the lookout shouted again, "Stop! Their gun barrels... their gun barrels are raised!"
Abbasnot raised his binoculars. Indeed, the gun barrels, after pointing at the Dreadnought, had been tilted slightly upwards. Now they were aimed at the sky behind the Dreadnought, not at the ship itself.
This is an ancient naval etiquette: I see you, I can destroy you, but I choose not to aim at you.
In a situation of overwhelming power, such etiquette is more humiliating than direct aim.
"They're playing a trick on us," Abbasnot murmured.
Engine room of the "Intrepid"
Foreman James McCarthy was frantically shoveling coal. The 45-year-old Irishman was soaked in coal dust and sweat, cursing with every shovelful.
"Hurry! Faster! The pressure gauge is still fifty pounds short!"
"It's already at maximum heat, foreman!" a young stoker shouted. "The boiler's about to explode!"
"Let it explode! It's better than getting killed by that monster outside!"
Through the only small porthole in the engine room, McCarthy could see the silhouette of the gray behemoth. It was so quiet—only a faint wisp of smoke rose from its funnels, indicating extremely efficient combustion. Meanwhile, the Dauntless's funnels were spewing thick smoke, like a dying beast struggling for its life.
Technological gap.
The word suddenly popped into McCarthy's mind. He had served in the Navy for twenty-five years, witnessing everything from sailing warships to ironclads, and now to dreadnoughts. He had seen it all firsthand.
But this time is different.
This time, it was the Royal Navy that was left behind.
"Stoker!" came the voice from the bridge through the loudspeaker, "The commander orders: attempt to accelerate to 22 knots! Push the design limits!"
McCarthy gave a wry smile. Pushing the design limits? That meant tripling the risk of a boiler explosion and increasing turbine wear fivefold. But an order is an order.
"We heard it! Full boost! God bless us!"
"Kuangfu" bridge
"The British are accelerating," the navigator reported. "Speed has increased to... about 22 knots. They are trying to overtake us."
Li Te raised an eyebrow slightly. 22 knots—that already exceeded the design limits of the "Dreadnought." The British were working incredibly hard.
"We're accelerating too. 25 knots."
"Understood, speed 25 knots."
The order was given. In the engine room of the "Guangfu" ship, the watchman simply pushed a few control levers. The combustion chamber of the oil-fired boiler increased the amount of oil injected, the steam pressure rose steadily, and the four turbines accelerated their rotation.
There was no clamor of shoveling coal, no roar of the boiler, only a low, steady hum.
Three minutes later, the "Kuangfu" trains once again increased their distance.
"The distance has been reduced to 5,200 meters." The navigator's voice carried a hint of amusement. "They can't catch up."
Li Te nodded, but his expression remained serious. He knew the real test was yet to come.
"Communications officer, send the signal again using the light signal."
"content?"
"We have noticed that you are accelerating. The swells in this area are quite large; please exercise caution while navigating. Please feel free to call for assistance if needed."
Signalman Wang Xiaohua burst out laughing: "Captain, what are you doing...?"
"Send it out."
"yes!"
Lights flashed. This time, the British fleet reacted even more violently.
Bridge of the "Intrepid"
This time, the communications officer didn't hesitate and read the message aloud: "Notice that you are accelerating. The swells in this area are quite large; please exercise caution while navigating. Please feel free to call for assistance if needed."
silence.
A silence that lasted for half a minute.
Then, the artillery sergeant cautiously asked, "Sir, are they...are they concerned about us?"
"They're telling us they can get rid of us at any time, but they're choosing not to," Abbasnott said, his voice weary as if he'd aged ten years. "They're demonstrating absolute control."
He looked at the nautical chart. The two fleets had now entered the central Gulf of Oman, less than a hundred nautical miles from Dubai. According to the original plan, they were supposed to sail triumphantly to each other's doorstep and "invite" them to negotiations with their cannons.
but now……
"Chief Communications, send a message to London." Abbasnot walked to the chart table, picked up a pencil, but hesitated to put it down. "Content: Contact made with the target. The situation... the situation is beyond all expectations."
He paused, then continued with difficulty:
"The target warship, 'Kuangfu,' has been visually confirmed to have a displacement of over 35,000 tons, a main gun caliber that appears to be around 380 mm, and a speed that easily exceeds 25 knots, with an estimated maximum speed that may exceed 30 knots. Its technological level far surpasses that of our 'Dreadnought,' by at least one generation."
He put down his pencil and rubbed his temples.
"The enemy is restrained but extremely confident. They are currently using overwhelming superiority to intercept our fleet's advance. I suggest a reassessment of the overall strategy. Awaiting further instructions. — Abbasnott"
After the communications officer finished taking notes, he hesitated and asked, "Sir, isn't the expression 'at least a generation behind'... a bit...?"
"Won't this embarrass those old men in the Navy?" Abbasnot smiled wryly. "My dear communications officer, embarrassment is better than total annihilation. Send it out."
"Yes."
The telegram was sent. But a reply from London wouldn't arrive for at least six hours. During those six hours, Abbasnot would have to face this nightmarish standoff alone.
"Sir!" the lookout shouted again, "The target is... is approaching!"
Abbasnot looked up sharply. Indeed, the gray behemoth was slowly turning, its bow aimed at the "Dreadnought," and the distance was closing.
Four thousand five hundred meters... four thousand meters... three thousand eight hundred meters...
This distance is within the kill zone of a battleship's main guns.
"All ships, prepare for battle!" Abbasnot roared. "But do not fire unless I give the order!"
The order was given. But this time, even the most well-trained sailors hesitated.
Inside the forward main gun turret of the "Dreadnought"
Loader Tom Harris's hand rested on the hoist handle. Through the observation slit, he could clearly see the details of the gray behemoth—the weld lines on the armor plating, the small observation windows on the turrets, and even the figures of people moving on the bridge.
The distance is too close.
He was so close he could feel the oppressive aura emanating from the other side. It wasn't a warship; it was a moving mountain of steel, slowly tilting towards him.
"Jack..." his voice was dry, "Can...can our cannons penetrate it?"