World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Chapter 158 We need an excuse, not a massacre.

Chen Feng returned to the car and said to Liu Yongfu, "Do you see that? This is the future. This little boy won't think of himself as either an 'Arab' or a 'Chinese'; he'll think of himself as a 'Lanfang native.' He'll be proud of Zhou Afu—a Chinese pilot."

Liu Yongfu remained silent. After a long while, he said softly, "I understand, Commander-in-Chief."

The car continued driving towards the administration building.

As dusk fell, the city's streetlights gradually illuminated the night sky. The port's lighthouse began to rotate, its beam piercing the darkness.

At 8 p.m., Chen Feng returned to his office.

The table was piled high with documents awaiting approval: the Ministry of Finance's budget proposal, the Ministry of Education's school expansion plan, the Immigration Bureau's new batch of resettlement plans... He rubbed his temples and picked up the top document.

This is a report from the Ministry of Petroleum Industry. Last year, Lanfang produced 12 million barrels of oil, of which 7.5 million barrels were exported, earning £4.5 million in foreign exchange. The remaining 4.5 million barrels were split, with half used for domestic consumption and the other half stored in strategic reserves.

The report concluded with a handwritten note: "As of December 31, 1913, strategic oil reserves had reached 12 million barrels. At the current rate of consumption, this could meet the nation's needs for three years." (There were not many civilian cars; the majority were for military use.)

Chen Feng nodded in satisfaction. This was one of his trump cards for the future.

A knock came at the door.

"Enter."

The door opened, and Uncle Wang came in carrying a tray with a bowl of hot soup noodles and several side dishes.

"Young master, you haven't had dinner yet." The old man placed the tray on the coffee table. "I cooked a bowl of noodles. Please eat it while it's hot."

Chen Feng then realized his stomach was painfully empty. He walked to the coffee table, sat down, and picked up his chopsticks. The noodles were handmade, and the broth had been simmering with chicken bones and ham all day, topped with a few pieces of greens and a fried egg.

"Uncle Wang, please have a seat." Chen Feng gestured to the sofa opposite him.

Uncle Wang hesitated for a moment, but still sat down. He was sixty-eight years old this year, with completely white hair and a slightly hunched back, but his eyes were still clear.

"Uncle Wang," Chen Feng said suddenly after taking a few bites of noodles, "the transport fleet departs on February 4th."

The old man's body trembled slightly.

"You...really want to go?" Chen Feng looked at him.

Uncle Wang remained silent for a long time. The clock in the office ticked, and the sound of ship horns from the distant port could be heard outside the window.

"Young Master," he finally spoke, his voice a little hoarse, "I'm getting old, but I still want to do something for Lanfang."

Chen Feng got up, walked to the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses of brandy, and handed one to Uncle Wang.

"Take a sip."

Uncle Wang took it, his hands trembling. He took a big gulp and choked, coughing.

"Forty-four years." He caught his breath, his voice calming down a bit. "Every year during Qingming Festival, I burn paper money facing the direction of Southeast Asia. I burn it for my father, and for those fellow villagers who died at the hands of the Dutch. But no matter how far the ashes fly, they can never fly back to Borneo."

He looked up at Chen Feng:

"Young master, you said you would take us home, and I believe you. Over the years, I've watched you build warships, construct factories, and train a new army; I know you're serious. Now, the ship is about to set sail, and you want me to stay behind and wait for news? I can't wait. I want to go back, I want to stand where my father fell, and tell him: Dad, your son has returned. Not only have I returned, but we've returned with a fleet, with a great army. The Dutch flag should be pulled down."

Chen Feng looked at him, at the old man who had taken care of him since childhood. There was a light in Uncle Wang's eyes that Chen Feng had never seen before—not the cloudiness of old age, but the fervor and determination of a young man.

"The sea is tough, Borneo is dangerous," Chen Feng said. "You're getting old..."

"I know my own body best," Uncle Wang interrupted him. "I can still walk, I can still carry things. Besides, it's not like I'm being sent to war. It's just a boat trip to go ashore and take a look. Even if... even if something really happens, dying on the way home is better than dying in a foreign bed."

Having said all that, Chen Feng knew there was no point in trying to persuade him further.

He walked back to his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a gold badge. The badge was simply designed: one side featured the yellow dragon flag of Lanfang, and the other side was engraved with the words "Returning Home".

"This is a commemorative badge for the 'Homecoming Operation'." Chen Feng placed the badge in Uncle Wang's hand. "I originally planned to wait until it was successful before issuing it. But you... you deserve to receive it now."

Uncle Wang held the badge, his hands trembling even more violently. The badge gleamed warmly under the lamplight.

"Young Master..."

"Go," Chen Feng patted his shoulder. "Set off with the transport fleet. I'll tell Li Te and Amir to take care of you. But you have to promise me one thing—"

He stared into Wang Bo's eyes:

"Come back alive. When we officially reclaim Borneo, we will build a memorial hall in Pontianak to commemorate all those who sacrificed their lives for Lanfang. At that time, you must stand at the entrance of the memorial hall and tell the children the story of what happened back then, how we returned home."

Uncle Wang's tears finally fell, dripping onto the badge.

"I...I promise you," he choked out, "I will definitely come back alive and pass on the story."

The old man left, and the office became quiet again.

Chen Feng walked to the window and looked at the night view outside. Dubai's lights stretched all the way to the sea, and in the harbor, the outlines of four Bismarck-class battleships were faintly visible in the moonlight.

He recalled that many years ago, in this very office, he had said to Uncle Wang, Wang Wenwu, and Liu Yongfu, "We want to go home."

At the time, no one dared to fully believe it. The Netherlands was one of the major European powers, having operated in the East Indies for three hundred years, with a fleet, an army, and fortresses. What did Lanfang have? Three hundred thousand refugees, eight small docks, and two thousand old guns.

But now, they have four world-class battleships, millions of people, a complete industrial system, and a well-trained army of 200,000.

Only one step remains to reach my dream.

Chen Feng picked up the phone and cranked the handle.

"Receive General Li Te from the Naval Headquarters."

A few seconds later, Li Te's voice came from the other end of the phone: "President?"

"Li Te, the plan is ahead of schedule," Chen Feng said. "The task force will depart on February 1st, and the transport fleet will depart on February 2nd. All deployments will be moved up by three days."

"Why the rush?"

"Because Uncle Wang can't wait any longer." Chen Feng looked out the window. "I can't wait any longer either. We've waited too long; every day has been torture. Now the fleet is complete, the army is trained, it's time to go home."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Understood," Li Te said. "I will immediately revise the schedule. The fleet will depart on time at 8:00 AM on February 1st."

"Okay." Chen Feng hung up the phone.

He dialed another number.

"Receive Zhou Tieshan from the State Security Bureau."

"Commander-in-Chief, please give your instructions."

"Notify Borneo that the plan is being moved up. The rally will be held on January 28th. Tell them to prepare. The Dutch will definitely crack down, there will definitely be bloodshed—but control the scale and avoid mass casualties. We need an excuse, not a massacre."

"Understood. Anything else?"

"Notify all overseas intelligence stations to raise the alert level starting tomorrow. Closely monitor the reactions of Britain, France, Japan, and the United States, especially the movements of the British Far East Fleet and the Japanese Combined Fleet."

"It's already underway. The main force of the British Far East Fleet is in Singapore, and there are no unusual movements at present. The Japanese Combined Fleet is conducting spring exercises in Kure Port, and there are no signs of it heading south for the time being."

"Keep monitoring. Report any unusual activity to me immediately."

"Yes."