World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

Chapter 65 Late-Night Urgent Telegram

The night in the Indian Ocean is pure black.

Only starlight and the navigation lights of the "Revival" ship itself drew lonely streaks of light across the boundless sea. Inside the bridge, the instrument panel emitted a ghostly green glow, and the pointers trembled rhythmically. Watch officer Lin Hai stood before the chart table, a half-cold cup of coffee in his hand, his eyes fixed on the pencil line representing the course.

"Heading 120, speed 18 knots, wind force 3, sea conditions calm," he whispered to the navigator beside him. "At this speed, we should reach the outskirts of Colombo by noon tomorrow."

The navigator was a young man in his early twenties named Chen Qiming, who had just graduated from technical school three months prior. "Sir, will the British really let us into port?"

"The President said they'll let us through." Lin Hai took a sip of coffee. "If they don't, we'll anchor outside the main channel and let all the ships coming in and out of the port see. The British know how to do this—"

Before he could finish speaking, the iron door to the communications room was suddenly pushed open.

Signalman Wang Xiaohua rushed out, clutching a newly translated telegram in his hand. His face was frighteningly pale in the dim light, his lips trembled, and he couldn't utter a single word.

"Wang Xiaohua?" Lin Hai frowned. "What's going on?"

Wang Xiaohua shoved the telegram into his hand, turned around, and leaned against the cabin wall, his shoulders beginning to tremble violently.

Lin Hai looked down.

The telegram was short, only three lines. It used the highest-level encryption format of the "Dragon Eye" network, and every word it deciphered felt like a red-hot nail, burning into his eyes:

[Nanyang-7 Urgent Telegram]

Batavia, Java, 6:00 AM this morning. Dutch military and police suppressed a protest by Chinese business owners, firing shots.

Forty-seven people have been confirmed dead, and more than one hundred are injured. Bodies are piled up at the dock, and blood flows like a river.

The chamber of commerce urgently appealed for help, asking: Where is our motherland?

The coffee cup slipped from Lin Hai's hand and shattered on the steel floor. Brown liquid splattered, resembling the blood described in the telegram.

Everyone on the bridge turned around.

"Sir?" Chen Qiming approached cautiously.

Lin Hai didn't answer. His fingers gripped the thin piece of paper, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. After a full ten seconds, he finally looked up, his voice hoarse as if sandpaper were being ground together:

"Immediately notify the captain. All ships, go on Level Two alert."

"Level 2 alert?" Chen Qiming was taken aback. "But we..."

"Execute the command!"

Lin Hai practically roared it out. The young navigator trembled and rushed toward the megaphone. The alarm bell rang immediately, short and sharp, echoing through the ship's hull in the dead of night.

Li Te lay down fully clothed in the captain's cabin.

More than thirty consecutive hours of command, coupled with the protracted psychological standoff with the British fleet, left the captain utterly exhausted. But he slept very lightly—a habit he had developed over many years, always ready to be woken up at any moment.

So when the alarm rang for the third time, he had already sat up and put his feet into his boots.

"Report!"

Lin Hai's voice rang out from outside the door, trembling with barely suppressed emotion.

"Enter."

The door opened. Lin Hai walked in, holding the telegram in his hand. He didn't even salute, but handed it directly to Li Te.

"Something's happened in Java," Lin Hai said softly. "The Dutch... opened fire."

Li Te took the telegram.

He read very slowly, word by word. After reading it the first time, he read it a second time. Then he looked up, his eyes unfathomable in the dim light.

"Has the information been verified?"

"It was launched by the 'Dragon Eye' Nanyang-7, the highest level of secrecy," Lin Hai said. "They wouldn't make a mistake on something like this."

Li Te nodded. He walked to the porthole and pushed open the thick bulletproof glass. The humid sea breeze rushed in, carrying a salty smell. In the distance, the navigation lights of the "Intrepid" were still in sight, like a stubborn eye.

"How far are we from Java?" he asked, his voice eerily calm.

Lin Hai quickly calculated in his mind: "Our current position is 8 degrees north latitude and 72 degrees east longitude. To reach Batavia... it would take about fifty-six hours at full speed. If we turn now, adjust our course to 165 degrees, and increase our speed to 30 knots, we can reduce the time to less than fifty hours."

"Fifty hours," Litt repeated the number. "Fifty hours—how many people could the Dutch kill in that time?"

Lin Hai didn't dare to reply.

Li Te turned around. His face was expressionless, but Lin Hai saw that the captain's clenched fist was trembling slightly—a sign of extremely suppressed anger.

"Notify the engine room," Little said, "adjust the course to 165 degrees and increase the speed to 25 knots. But do not go full speed yet; wait for my order."

"Captain, are we going to Java?" Lin Hai's voice held a hint of hesitation. "But the Commander-in-Chief's orders are to detour through Colombo and Aden, demonstrate our presence, and then return. Changing the plan without authorization..."

"So I didn't change it on my own." Li Te interrupted him, walked to the desk, sat down, and took out his codebook and telegram. "I will consult Dubai. But before that, I need to make all the necessary preparations."

He picked up his pen and began writing the telegram. The pen nib scratched across the paper, making a soft, hissing sound.

[To Dubai Command, Top Secret]

At 03:17, our ship received an urgent telegram from Nanyang-7: A massacre of Chinese people by Dutch military and police has occurred in Batavia, Java. Forty-seven people have been confirmed dead, and over one hundred are injured. The situation on the ground is critical, and the overseas Chinese community is requesting assistance.

Our ship is currently located at 8 degrees 12 minutes North latitude and 72 degrees 34 minutes East longitude. If we proceed at full speed, we can reach the Java Sea within fifty hours.

Request for instructions: Should we change the original sailing plan and proceed to Java to protect our citizens?

This matter is of great importance; please make a swift decision, Your Excellency.

Appendix: My personal opinion – To stand by and do nothing would chill the hearts of the 300,000 overseas Chinese; however, to act arbitrarily could disrupt the overall plan. Caught in this dilemma, I urge the President to make the final decision.

Li Te, 03:25

After finishing writing, he handed the telegram to Lin Hai: "Send it out immediately. Use password number one, highest priority."

"yes!"

Lin Hai took the telegram and turned to leave, but was stopped by Li Te.

"Wait a minute." Li Te stood up and walked over to him. "After sending the telegram, notify all department heads that there will be a meeting in the conference room in fifteen minutes. Also... have the kitchen prepare hot food and coffee; no one will be sleeping tonight."

"clear."

After Lin Hai left, Li Te walked back to the porthole. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Forty-seven people died.

He recalled years ago when he was still carrying bags at the Singapore docks. That afternoon, a British foreman accused the Chinese laborers of stealing goods and ordered a body search. A fellow worker named Old Chen protested a few times, and the foreman struck him on the head with an iron bar, killing him instantly. Blood flowed from Old Chen's ears, nose, and mouth, pooling on the ground.

There were dozens of Chinese laborers around, but no one dared to make a move.

Li Te didn't dare either. He could only watch, watch as Old Chen's eyes gradually lost their luster, watch as the British foreman spat and walked away cursing. That night, he hid in the shed and cried—not for Old Chen, but for his own cowardice.

"This time," he said softly, gazing into the darkness outside the window, "it's different."