AWB Chapter 49 Restoration
Chapter 49 Restoration
At 10:00 a.m., the "Kuang-Fu" ship sailed out of the harbor and into the open sea.
Dubois and the experts stood on the reviewing stand at the rear of the bridge, their collars fluttering in the sea breeze. Ritter issued orders from inside the bridge, his voice clearly transmitted through the megaphone.
"The entire ship is now in demonstration mode. Engine room, output power at 80%."
"The engine room understands, output power at eighty percent."
The ship trembled slightly, and the smoke billowing from the funnels suddenly thickened. The giant ship began to accelerate, the waves it cleaved through with its bow rising higher and higher, leaving a long white trail in its wake on the sea.
"Speed 25 knots... 27 knots... 29 knots... 30 knots!"
The speedometer needle remained steady at 30 knots, and the giant ship sped across the sea at this incredible speed. The Frenchman, gripping the railing, felt the surging power beneath his feet and the almost negligible vibrations.
"Now show the transition."
As soon as Li Te finished speaking, the helmsman jerked the steering wheel. The massive hull began to tilt and turn, drawing an arc less than 500 meters in diameter on the sea. This turning radius was practically defying common sense for a behemoth of over 30,000 tons.
"How is this possible..." Moro gripped the railing, his face pale. "This tonnage, this speed, this turning radius... it doesn't make sense from a fluid dynamics perspective!"
"We've redesigned the bow hull and rudder surfaces," Little said, appearing on the reviewing stand at some point. "In addition, the four steam turbines can be controlled independently, working in conjunction with the rudder to achieve vector propulsion. This is crucial in complex sea conditions and tactical maneuvers."
Next up is a demonstration of firepower.
"15,000 meters ahead of the target ship, simulated enemy ship."
The four main gun turrets began to rotate, and the eight thick gun barrels slowly rose, aiming at the distant sea horizon. The turrets rotated smoothly and silently, completely lacking the ear-piercing noise of gears meshing on European warships.
"Fire!"
There was no live ammunition, but the flashes and roars from the cannons were still awe-inspiring. The recoil from the simultaneous firing of eight giant cannons caused the more than 30,000-ton ship to shift slightly to the side, and the muzzle storm created a ripple that spread across the sea.
"The interval between salvos?" Dubois asked the most crucial question.
"Theoretically, a salvo can be fired in one and a half minutes at the fastest," Li Te replied. "In actual combat, considering target correction and barrel cooling, it takes two minutes per salvo. But our fire control system allows for continuous calculations, so the parameters for the second salvo can be calculated while the first salvo is still in the air."
silence.
A long silence.
Only the sound of the sea breeze and the low hum of the engine could be heard.
Dubois walked to the edge of the viewing platform, leaned on the railing with both hands, and gazed at the horizon where the sea met the sky. His figure appeared exceptionally tall in the sunlight, but it also conveyed a complex emotion—shock, envy, and a hint of unspeakable sorrow.
France needs warships like these.
France must possess such warships.
"Captain Little," he turned around, his voice calm but firm, "please return to port. I need to see Mr. Chen immediately."
The Admiralty Building in London.
Fisher stood before the enormous nautical chart, holding a newly received telegram in his hand. His face was as somber as the sky before a storm.
"They really signed it."
He slammed the telegram on the table. The paper slid open, revealing its brief but deadly contents: "Paris confirms an agreement with Lanfand for the purchase of five 'Courbet-class' battleships. The lead ship, 'France,' will be delivered within twelve months."
The conference room was filled with key personnel from the Navy Department, and everyone's expression was solemn.
"The French have gone mad," muttered Sir Philippe Watts, the shipbuilding director. "Do they know what this means? This is open defiance of the Empire!"
“They knew,” Fisher’s voice was icy. “That’s why they did it. Because we refused to sell them ships, because the Germans had six dreadnoughts, because they were afraid of being left behind by the times.”
He walked to the window and looked at the traffic on Whitehall Street outside.
"The situation is clear now. The Germans are arming that Chinese force, and the French are joining in; they want to jointly establish a force in the Indian Ocean to counterbalance us. And that Chen Feng..." Fisher turned around, a dangerous glint in his eyes, "He's playing a dangerous game. He thinks he can manipulate two of Europe's greatest powers at the same time and profit from it."
"Where is our fleet?" someone asked.
"The squadron led by the 'Intrepid' has passed through the Suez Canal and is now sailing in the Red Sea." Fisher returned to the nautical chart, pointing to the northern end of the Red Sea. "We will enter the Gulf of Aden in three days and reach the outer waters of the Persian Gulf in five days."
He drew a circle around the location of the Persian Gulf.
"I want Chen Feng to understand one thing: in this world, some games are not for everyone. Some tables, once you sit down, come at a price."
"What if... what if he really has a warship more advanced than the 'Dreadnought'?" Watts asked cautiously. "The French are willing to pay three million eight hundred thousand pounds for one ship, so it must be something extraordinary."
Fisher fell silent.
He recalled the blurry photograph in the MI5 report, and the enormous shadow in the dry dock. He remembered the provocative telegram sent by the French in plain text.
"Then we must eliminate it before it becomes combat-ready." His voice was low, almost a soliloquy. "As Napoleon said, the best defense is a good offense."
Berlin, Sanssouci Palace.
Wilhelm II was in high spirits. He sat in his study, holding two telegrams in his hand—one from a spy in London reporting on the movements of the British fleet; the other from a German engineering corps in the Persian Gulf describing the demonstration of the HMS Reconquista.
"Alfred, did you see that?" The Emperor handed the telegram to Tirpitz, his face beaming with barely suppressed excitement. "That Chinese man, he really built it! 38,000 tons, 31 knots, 381mm main guns! The British must be in a panic right now!"
Tirpitz quickly glanced at the telegram, but his brow furrowed slightly.
"Your Majesty, this is both an opportunity and a risk."
"Risk? What risk?"
"Chen Feng has demonstrated too much power," Tirpitz said cautiously, putting down the telegram. "Powerful enough that it might be beyond our control. We originally hoped he would be a tool to contain Britain, but if he grows too quickly..."
"Then let him become the sword of Germany!" Wilhelm II stood up and walked to the world map. "Think about it, Alfred. If we had ten Westphalian-class destroyers in the North Sea and an ally in the Indian Ocean with a warship like HMS Reconquista… the British would be caught in a dilemma, unable to defend themselves on both ends!"
His finger traced across the map, from the North Sea to the Indian Ocean.
"Then, the Empire's fleet will truly be able to traverse the globe. Africa, Asia, the Pacific... 'Land under the Sun' will no longer be just a slogan!"
Tirpitz watched the emperor's excited retreating figure, hesitant to speak.
He recalled his meeting with Chen Feng, and the young man's calm yet unfathomable gaze. It wasn't the look of someone content to be subservient; it was the look of a chess player.
"Your Majesty," Tirpitz finally said, "I suggest that we immediately send additional technical delegations and propose new cooperation plans. We must consolidate our position before the Frenchman fully gains his trust. Ideally, we should acquire 'Restoration' level technology, even if only in part."
"Very well!" Wilhelm II turned around. "Go and make the arrangements. Tell Chen Feng that the German Empire is willing to offer its most advanced technology and the most favorable prices in exchange for deeper cooperation. He can name his terms; as long as they are not excessive, I will agree to them."
Tirpitz saluted: "Yes, Your Majesty."
When the admiral left his study, his brow was still furrowed. He had a premonition that the game was becoming increasingly complex and dangerous.
That young man in the Persian Gulf is probably more difficult to deal with than anyone imagines.