AWB Chapter 51 The Standoff in the Gulf of Oman
Chapter 51 The Standoff in the Gulf of Oman
The two stood side by side by the window, gazing at the harbor in the night. In the distance, the night shift whistles of the steel mills and the deep rumble of the power plant's steam turbines drifted in. It was the heartbeat of a newborn nation—powerful, resolute, and unstoppable.
"Notify everyone," Li Te gave the final order, "Get some rest. We'll depart at dawn tomorrow."
"yes!"
The order was relayed throughout the ship. One by one, the lights were turned off, leaving only the essential watch lights on. The massive warship blended into the night, like a behemoth about to awaken.
On the top floor of the administration building, in Chen Feng's study, the light was still on.
He stood before the sand table, holding a model representing the "Recovery" ship, and slowly moved to the location in the Gulf of Oman. Beside him, several small flags representing the British fleet were approaching from the direction of the Red Sea.
"Young Master, you should rest now." Uncle Wang brought in a late-night snack.
"I can't sleep." Chen Feng put down the model. "Uncle Wang, what do you think the British will do? Open fire directly? Or will they just put on a show of force?"
The old man put down the tray and walked to the sand table to look at it for a while.
"I've lived for sixty years, and I've seen the British do business and they fight wars," he said slowly. "They are very particular about 'cost.' If the cost of starting a war is too high, they will choose to negotiate. If the cost of negotiating is too high, they will choose to start a war."
"So the key is to make them understand that the cost of going to war is unacceptably high."
"Exactly." Uncle Wang nodded. "That's why tomorrow's hurdle with Little is crucial. The better he performs, the less the British will dare to make a move."
Chen Feng walked to the window and looked at the silhouette of the "Guangfu" ship in the night.
"I have confidence in Li Te. I have confidence in all those young people." He said softly, "Uncle Wang, you know what? Sometimes when I look at them, I feel particularly... particularly envious."
"envious?"
"They're pure. They know what they're fighting for, and they believe they're doing the right thing. Unlike me," Chen Feng smiled bitterly, "I'm calculating, weighing options, and strategizing every day. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and suddenly ask myself: Is this the right path? Will it lead everyone into the abyss?"
Wang Bo remained silent for a long time.
Then he said, "Young master, I don't understand those grand principles. But I do know one thing: three years ago when we came here, 300,000 people were crammed into temporary tents, worrying about a sip of water and a piece of bread every day. Now, we have electricity, running water, factories, schools, and even our own warships."
He walked over to Chen Feng and looked at the lights outside the window.
"Whether this path is right or wrong, I don't know. But I do know that this path has enabled 300,000 people to live with dignity. That's enough."
Chen Feng turned his head and looked at the old man's wrinkled but determined face.
"Thank you, Uncle Wang."
"It is I who should be thanking you," Uncle Wang smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothing out. "Thank you, young master, for allowing me to see our own Chinese warships before I am laid to rest, and for allowing me to see... the hope of returning home."
Neither of them spoke again.
Outside the window, the night was deep. But the eastern horizon was already faintly showing a hint of dawn.
The bridge of HMS Dreadnought, Royal Navy, at 9:3 AM on March 17, 1906.
"Unidentified ship spotted at 15 degrees starboard, approximately 12,000 meters away!"
The lookout's voice came through the megaphone, trembling almost imperceptibly. Rear Admiral John Arbasnot lowered his binoculars, his brow furrowing deeply. As the commander of this deterrence squadron, he was forty-eight years old and had served in the Mediterranean and the Far East for over twenty-five years, but he had never seen a report like this—the voice didn't convey the excitement of spotting a target, but rather a kind of…confusion.
"Confirm the features," he said into the microphone, his voice so calm it betrayed no emotion.
A brief silence followed. Then the lookout's voice rang out again, this time more uncertain: "Sir...it's huge. Very huge. The funnel layout is strange, only three, but the hull length...God, it's at least a third longer than us."
All the officers on the bridge stopped what they were doing.
Abbasnot raised his binoculars again. The morning mist was dissipating, and the gray dot on the horizon was gradually becoming clearer. At first glance, he thought the lookout had made a mistake—it couldn't possibly be a warship. It was too large, its lines too sleek, completely lacking the heavy, solid feel of a Royal Navy warship.
But on his second glance, he saw the turret.
Four guns. Twin-mounted. The length and diameter of the barrels, even at this distance, indicate that they are definitely over 12 inches.
"All ships to level three combat readiness." Abbasnott's voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail driven into the air. "Notify the escort formation to maintain formation. Chief gunner, calculate the target's distance and speed."
The order was relayed swiftly. Rapid footsteps echoed on the deck of the Dauntless as sailors rushed to their battle stations. The turrets began to slowly rotate, and the gun barrels rose. But unlike the smooth confidence of their usual training, today's movements carried a strange hesitation.
Inside the forward main gun turret of the "Dreadnought"
Loader Tom Harris is inspecting the ammunition hoist. The twenty-year-old Yorkshire lad joined the Navy last year and was selected for the turret crew because of his strength. At this moment, he looks out through the observation slit, his mouth slowly opening wide.
"Jack...look at that."
Gunner Jack Robinson leaned closer. He was a veteran, a naval support officer from the Boer War, who had seen German and French warships. But this one…
"What the hell is that?" Robinson muttered.
The warship was approaching at an astonishing speed. The smoke billowing from its funnels was very faint, indicating extremely efficient combustion. The wake left by its hull on the sea was wide and flat, suggesting a speed exceeding 25 knots—while the HMS Dreadnought's top speed was only 21 knots.
Even more frightening is its posture. Despite its massive size, it sails as smoothly as if gliding on ice, with almost no pitching. In contrast, the Intrepid is experiencing slight turbulence, a normal reaction for North Sea design in the swells common in the Indian Ocean.
But the opposing warships are not behaving properly.
"It's too fast," Harris's voice was a little dry. "And... is it turning?"
Indeed, the gray behemoth was turning to starboard, its movements so fluid they seemed unlike those of a 10,000-ton warship. Its wake traced a graceful arc across the sea, cutting directly ahead of the British fleet.
"It's stealing the T-head..." Robinson's expression changed.
The T-bow advantage is the most lethal positional advantage in naval warfare. It means that all of the enemy's main guns can be pointed at you, while you can only return fire with your forward main guns.
On the bridge of the "Dauntless", Abbasnot also realized this.
"Hard to port! Adjust heading to 270! We can't let it gain the lead!"
The helmsman jerked the steering wheel. The nearly 20,000-ton "Dreadnought" began to slowly turn, its steel keel groaning in the sea. But it was too slow; the gray warship opposite, like a nimble shark, easily cut into its intended course.
The distance has been shortened to eight kilometers.
Now even ordinary sailors can see the details clearly.