192: Chapter 102 Strike First

November 15, 1907. Sasebo Port.

The sky before dawn was at its darkest. A thin, grayish-white mist clung to the surface of the sea, as thick and inseparable as grease, blurring the silhouettes of everything inside and outside the port. Only a few scattered duty lights remained on the docks, their glass covers coated in a fine layer of salt frost that filtered the light into a dim, weary yellow. Several transport Warship Zhuifengs were unloading cargo at the western berths, the steel cables of the cranes emitting a low, metallic friction sound in the night wind—a muffled, restrained noise. The night sentries were huddled in their guard posts, wrapped in greatcoats; one man was dozing off against a pillar, his exhaled white breath condensing into a cloud before being torn apart by the wind. The distant mountain shadows loomed heavily over the sea, like a giant black beast crouching and dozing.

There were no anomalies. No alarms, no flashes, no sudden roar of accelerating engines. Everything looked no different from any other ordinary dawn in the past hundred days or so.

However, in the low altitude thirty nautical miles outside the port, twelve silver-gray biplanes were flying just above the sea surface. At an altitude of less than two hundred meters, the engine noise was completely swallowed by the roaring of the waves and the whimpering of the morning wind. The pilots were all wearing thick leather flight suits, goggles, and leather gloves, with a thin layer of frost condensing on the edges of their cockpits—a mark left by prolonged low-altitude flight. Commander Zhao Peng sat in the cockpit of the leading aircraft, his gaze sweeping over the data jumping on the instrument panel—altitude one hundred and eighty meters, speed one hundred and sixty kilometers, heading due north, estimated time of arrival over the target in about eight minutes.

Short reports confirming their positions came through his headset from each formation. "First formation received." "Second formation received." "Third formation entering attack position, awaiting orders." The air rushed past both sides of the wings, dragging a fine trail of white mist at the wingtips, like some invisible blade cutting through the water vapor on the sea surface.

"First formation, targets are Dock No. 3 and No. 4, prioritize striking the fitting-out area of the Tsukuba-class under construction. Second formation, targets are the oil depot and ammunition depot. Dive to three hundred meters, pull up immediately after dropping bombs, do not linger at low altitude. Beware of anti-aircraft guns; they will react quickly once they respond—your flank and front armor can only block small-caliber shrapnel and cannot withstand any direct hits." Commander Zhao Peng's voice was clear and calm over the radio. "Adjust formation interval, maintain two hundred meters spacing. Last thirty seconds, check the pylon locking status."

Concise confirmations came over the radio. The formation slightly adjusted its shape during the final leg of the journey, spacing out to two hundred meters between each pair, forming a wide attack line like an unfolding silver fan. The black bombs hanging under the wings glimmered in the dim light, each bearing the latest technical label from the Production Base, with a thin red identification band in the middle of the bomb body, appearing and disappearing in the morning mist.

The first explosion at Sasebo Port occurred at 5:47 AM.

The first 100kg aerial bomb dropped from the belly of the lead aircraft, flipped twice in the air, and then plummeted toward the ground with a sharp whistling sound. It hit the bottom of the central dry dock at Dock No. 3, where the keel sections had already been laid to eighty percent. The massive steel structure, like the skeleton of a giant beast taking shape, was neatly arranged on the shipway. The bomb penetrated the temporary protective net above the dock and detonated between the keel and the shipway. The instantaneous shockwave twisted hundreds of tons of steel frames into a twist, and concrete fragments splashed like shrapnel hundreds of meters away, smashing dense pits into the concrete ground of the port area. Immediately after, the second and third bombs hit the same area, and the flames of the explosion gushed out from all sides of the dock, as if a giant flower of steel and fire had suddenly blossomed in the center of the port. The petals were composed of flying fragments, each carrying lethal acceleration.

Dock No. 4 followed suit. The hull of the Ikoma there had completed sixty percent of its outfitting, and the fire-control Radar antennas and some main gun bases imported from Meijian Country were installed on the Warship Zhuifeng. Those pieces of equipment were torn apart along with the hull itself in the explosion and then melted into twisted metal wreckage in the high temperature. An orange-red fireball rose from the center of the dock, rushing straight into the sky with thick black smoke, like a giant tree growing crazily.

The port's alarm finally sounded thirty seconds later. As the anti-aircraft gunners rushed barefoot to their positions, the first wave of bombing had already covered the predetermined targets. The secondary explosions at the ammunition depot followed, and three thousand tons of shells and explosives of various calibers were ignited in continuous explosions. The entire northern port area was gripped and crushed by an invisible giant hand. Each secondary explosion kicked up a new wave of fire; the ground trembled, and even the distant mountains fed back muffled echoes. On the sea, the ignited oil film was spreading outside the port, dark red flames leaping on the wave crests, as if the entire sea was slowly burning, casting the vague wreckage of Warship Zhuifengs underwater into a distorted shadow painting.

In the air, Commander Zhao Peng confirmed that the last batch of bombs hit the targets and pulled the stick to climb: "All formations confirm bombing complete, disengage immediately, return to base in the southwest direction. Check engine temperature, maintain formation, do not disperse."

The twelve attack aircraft pulled up their noses, engines at full throttle, and flew south against a backdrop of morning light and thick smoke. Behind them, Sasebo Port was becoming a massive open-air crematorium, with thick smoke forming a giant black pillar piercing the clouds, clearly visible from the sea tens of kilometers away.

The news reached Jinling at 9:20 AM.

Li Ling stood in front of the large screen in the central control room of the Production Base. The screen displayed real-time thermal imaging just transmitted by the satellite. The northern port area of Sasebo Port had turned into a large area of bright yellow high-temperature zones, with dark red embers on the edges, and the still-burning docks and oil depots in the center appearing as blinding white—which meant temperatures exceeded one thousand degrees. The thermal signals of Dock No. 3 and No. 4 had completely disappeared, replaced by a pile of irregularly shaped scattered wreckage, showing as fragmented dark spots on the thermal imaging. The heat source in the oil depot area was still spreading, like a fire pen slowly writing.

He watched for a long time, so long that only the low hum of equipment operation and the faint sound of steam whistles from the distant naval port remained in the control room. He reached out and zoomed in on a local area of the screen—it was the edge of the residential area on the west side of the port. The roofs of four or five buildings had collapsed in the shockwave, revealing the dark rubble cross-sections underneath. "What are the civilian casualties?" he asked.

"Cross-referencing the satellite population heat map from twenty-four hours before the explosion with the current thermal imaging, it is preliminarily estimated that more than a dozen civilian buildings were directly affected, concentrated in the junction area between the port's industrial zone and residential area. According to the deduction of the thermal signal change curve, the number of casualties may be between several dozen and over a hundred, far lower than the magnitude of the loss in the industrial zone. However, this does not mean the impact will be small—once the news is made public, anti-war sentiment within Japan may peak within a week. The last time their citizens saw a large-scale air raid on a domestic port was during the previous two wars, and the scale of this explosion is significantly larger."

Li Ling said "Hmm" and did not pursue the matter. His gaze remained on the slowly cooling ruins on the screen, as if measuring something. "War is war." His voice was calm, but there was something heavier pressed beneath that calmness. "I do not want to fight, but they forced Me to fight. Since we have started fighting, we cannot leave any future troubles." He turned off the screen, the burning scene lingering on his retinas for a moment before slowly fading away. "Where are the Warship Zhuifeng and the zhuilang?"

"They have arrived at the predetermined interception position and are executing radio-silent cruising. The fleet is in good condition, fuel reserves are maintained at over eighty-five percent, weapon systems have completed final checks, and all ammunition elevators are operating normally. Commander Chen Haisheng reports that the formation morale is stable, officers and soldiers have entered tactical standby status, and engine room duty personnel are rotating according to wartime groupings. Additionally, the Radar operation teams of both Warship Zhuifengs have just completed a full system self-check, and the results are all qualified. The system judges based on satellite reconnaissance data that the next batch of supply fleets from Meijian Country is expected to pass through the target sea area within seventy-two hours, with a displacement of about 8,000 tons, carrying aviation gasoline and gun barrel blanks—belonging to high-value strike targets."

Li Ling nodded and walked to the sea chart, his eyes falling on the area marked with the usual shipping lanes of Meijian Country. "Tell Chen Haisheng he has seven days. Within seven days, intercept all Warship Zhuifengs transporting military supplies to Japan. Capture those that can be captured, and sink those that cannot. There is no need to save ammunition; the Production Base will replenish it whenever it runs out. I want them to be convinced—that path is no longer viable."

The order was sent via encrypted long-wave radio that afternoon. On the bridge of the Warship Zhuifeng, Chen Haisheng carefully folded the message after receiving it and put it into the inner pocket of his chest. He walked to the chart table, drew a thick cross on the expected supply route with a pencil, and then said to his adjutant: "Notify all Warship Zhuifengs to switch to combat cruising status starting tonight. Keep the engine room on full power standby, torpedo personnel check the sealing rings and fuse status of the launch tubes, and main gunners perform a fire control system self-check every four hours. All personnel at each post shall implement a three-shift rotation according to wartime establishment, with two-thirds of the personnel on duty per shift. I do not want to see any mechanical failure during actual combat."

Night fell. Deep in the Pacific Ocean, two massive gray Warship Zhuifengs were sailing northeast at an economical speed of twenty knots, their hulls gleaming with a dull silver-gray luster under the starlight. The bow of the Warship Zhuifeng cut through the swells, the splashing waves blown by the wind into fine water mist, and a thin layer of dew condensed on the deck, flashing like crushed silver in the moonlight. Ahead, the horizon was still an empty darkness, but on the Radar screen, a few faint light spots had begun to appear, moving slowly toward the southwest, like a string of ants crawling along a fixed route in the darkness.

Chen Haisheng stood on the bridge, watching the light spots gradually approaching, and exhaled a white breath. He pulled the cuff of his glove, then picked up the communicator, his voice not loud, but clearly audible as if it were whispered into everyone's ear: "All Warship Zhuifengs, combat status. The prey has arrived."

On the ruins of Sasebo Port, Yamamoto Masao's military boots stepped on a charred steel beam, making a faint cracking sound. The sea breeze blew past him with a burnt smell, rolling up a few ashes that spun in the air before falling into the sea. He stood there motionless, the port behind him having completely changed its appearance. Those docks and keels he had watched day and night were now only twisted black skeletons left standing, like a row of burnt graves. His shoulders slumped slightly, then straightened again. Not far away, several orderlies were whispering something next to a doorplate half-buried under the rubble, on which the words "Dock No. 3" could still be vaguely identified.

The sunset was falling, dyeing the ruins in a dull golden-red. The sea surface reflected light of the same color, as if the entire body of water was burning along with it.