116: Chapter 116 An 800 Million Dollar Mess, the CIA Comes to Find the Sucker

"Breaking news: Two ten-thousand-ton US Army vessels collided in the Caribbean Sea due to the ship-suction effect while resupplying, resulting in seven minor injuries."

"Colonel Emmanuel Ortiz, spokesperson for America's Southern Command, stated that the situation is currently stable; both vessels can safely continue their voyage."

"Ortiz mentioned that the cause of the collision remains unclear and the incident is currently under investigation. Specific details regarding the collision have not yet been released."

"It is reported that this is already the second major collision caused by operational errors in the US Army in recent years, exposing a fatal laxity in basic training under the pressure of hegemonic expansion..."

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In the news footage, the official press release was downplayed.

However, inside the encrypted investigation report in Pentagon's underground meeting room, there was another shocking scene altogether.

The Aegis destroyer, the uss traxton, had its starboard mid-to-aft section severely crushed by the supply ship, USNS Supply. The massive bulbous bow had punched directly through the hull below the waterline. The second and third decks were full of torn openings, seawater was pouring into the cabins, and the ship immediately listed 7 degrees to the right.

The Aegis radar base was seriously deformed, and the power system pipelines were severed. Forget returning to deployment; it didn't even have the ability to sail back to a domestic shipyard now and could only lie paralyzed in the Guantanamo Military Port.

Admiral Jensen slammed the encrypted investigation report onto the conference table.

"This morning, I had people announce to the public that the ships only suffered minor scrapes and could sail safely in six months at most. Now you submit a report telling me that a 9,200-ton Aegis ship was nearly sunk by its own people!"

"Most importantly, you're actually telling me that it can't be repaired domestically at all!"

"Tell me, what do we do now?!"

The crowd below lowered their heads, not daring to make a sound.

Admiral Jensen grew angrier the more he thought about it and asked furiously, "Our fleet once dominated the entire Pacific in WWII; we are the founding fathers of modern shipbuilding!"

"Can anyone tell me why we can't even find someone to repair our own warships now?!"

The meeting room remained deathly silent.

The high-ranking Navy officials and domestic shipyard representatives kept their heads down; no one dared to respond.

After a long while, Chief of Naval Operations White shrank his neck and defended in a low voice, "Admiral, it's not that we don't want to repair them, but there's truly no one and no conditions to take on this job."

"No one?" Jensen pointed at his nose, spit flying all over the table. "What about Newport News Shipbuilding? What about Ingalls Shipbuilding? Why can't those yards that built aircraft carriers and nuclear submarines take this?!"

"Admiral, most of those yards have gone bankrupt. Even those that barely survived have mostly undergone large-scale layoffs."

"What? Why?! Can our annual orders not sustain them?" Admiral Jensen did not believe this reason.

White handed over an industry report, his tone becoming increasingly bitter. "After the Cold War ended, our country pursued deindustrialization. The shipyards that were closed were either turned into national parks or became container terminals; the supporting supply chains have completely disintegrated."

"Even the high-end aluminum used for shipbuilding has to be imported from Asia. MIT's naval architecture department has been gone for nearly twenty years; there's been a talent gap for thirty years!"

The Logistics Chief beside him added more painful truths, every sentence feeling like a slap to the faces of everyone present:

"If we look for the cause, it's mainly due to the trap of the Jones Act of 1920!"

"Back then, protectionism was implemented, requiring domestic cargo ships to be built in America. As a result, two years later, our merchant ship costs were 20% higher than Europe's. Shipping prices skyrocketed, dragging a maritime power down to second-rate status."

"Later, we relied entirely on military subsidies to survive, which once accounted for 50% of shipbuilding costs. Once the Reagan Administration canceled the subsidies, the shipyards collapsed instantly, dropping from over 20 to fewer than 10. Now, our global merchant ship market share is less than 0.1%!"

"How could it be so low? Our American prices are a bit expensive, but our technology is definitely top-tier!" As a classic Anglo-Saxon, Jensen's memory was still stuck in the glorious 1980s.

"No, Admiral. For us to build a 3,800 TEU container ship, the cost is 200 million dollars. Asian shipyards can build a 20,000 TEU ship for that same price."

"Furthermore, it takes us 4-5 years to build a ship, while Japan and South Korea only need 2-3 years."

"More importantly, our technology is still stuck in the 1980s. We haven't even touched green ships driven by methanol or electricity. With no guaranteed orders, high costs, and a lack of workers, no one is willing to place orders with us."

"Fine, let's not talk about shipbuilding; let's talk about how to repair the ships first." Jensen didn't want to hear any more of this distressing history and changed the subject. "We can look to Japan and Korea; let our allies do the repairs!"

"Didn't the Secretary of the Navy just visit Japan and Korea? Aren't their shipyards world-class?"

"It won't work, Admiral." White had a bitter smile on his face. "Congress is fixated on bringing manufacturing back. They've strictly prohibited outsourcing the maintenance of military vessels overseas. No one dares to touch that red line."

The meeting room fell into silence once more.

Jensen sighed heavily, slumped into his chair, and asked, "Roughly how much will it cost to repair these two ships?"

"Admiral, according to our calculations, the repair for the Truxtun alone is 368 million dollars. The total for both ships will not exceed 800 million dollars."

"That much?!" Admiral Jensen was startled; this price was almost enough to buy a new ship.

"Yes, Admiral, and that's our conservative estimate."

To repair or not to repair seemed like a multiple-choice question, but in reality, there was no choice at all.

"Open bidding!" Jensen ordered through gritted teeth. "Limited to domestic American companies only! I refuse to believe that no one can take an 800-million-dollar job!"

Reality gave Admiral Jensen a slap in the face.

The bidding announcement went out for a full month, but there was no response.

Only two small shipyards replied. One directly quoted an astronomical price of 1.8 billion dollars, with a schedule starting five years from now.

The other was even more ridiculous, only daring to take on the repair of the hull's exterior. Regarding the core radar and power system repairs, they flatly stated they lacked the capability.

The people from the Navy Bidding Office called every domestic shipyard one by one, and the responses were all a uniform "no capability, no time, can't take it." There wasn't even anyone trying to hike the price or negotiate.

It wasn't that no one was interested in the 800 million dollars; it was that in all of America, there truly wasn't a single company with the capability or the courage to take this job.

The four major shipyards capable of repairing an Aegis ship had their docks completely filled with aircraft carrier and nuclear submarine schedules. The earliest they could free up a berth was in 18 months.

The remaining small shipyards didn't even have ten-thousand-ton dry docks, let alone the ability to handle precision work like repairing Aegis radar and power systems. Taking it on would be a dead end.

Furthermore, America simply couldn't find the relevant workers.

Even more absurdly, the Navy had tried to urgently recruit technicians from the private sector. At the written exam site, half the people couldn't even understand basic welding blueprints for an Aegis ship, and the rest couldn't meet the basic welding standards for military-grade specialty steel.

The Navy's personnel department calculated that to assemble a complete team of skilled technicians for the repairs, it would take at least seven or eight years of training from scratch. But the Truxtun, paralyzed in Guantanamo, couldn't even wait seven or eight months.

...

Virginia, CIA Headquarters in Langley, in a closed office.

Agent Cole tossed the bidding announcement onto the table and patted his colleague Miller's shoulder. "Hey, look at this. An 800-million-dollar ship repair order, and no one dares to take it."

Miller glanced at the screen, gave a sneer, and took a sip of his coffee. "That's not surprising. Our domestic shipbuilding industry has long since rotted to the core."

"My uncle used to be a senior welder at Newport News. He worked on the construction of three Nimitz-class carriers. He was laid off ten years ago and now works odd jobs at the docks; he can barely afford beer anymore."

Cole's eyes suddenly lit up.

He abruptly sat up straight and clicked on an encrypted folder filled with surveillance data on DYB Technology and Fu Haoran.

"Do you remember that Chinese boss in Yellowstone, Fu Haoran? The one who made his fortune selling power banks? A while ago, he set up a deep-water port on the Columbia River and poached over two hundred retired American shipbuilding engineers, along with over three thousand ethnic Chinese workers from South Korea."

"I remember they're building a 320-meter giant Ro-Ro ship. His dock can definitely fit the Truxtun!"

Miller reacted instantly, leaning forward with eyes full of greed. "You mean... we get him to take this job?"

"Exactly!" Cole rubbed his hands together, his mind racing with calculations. "The total budget the Navy gave is 800 million. We don't have to take a penny of that, but any extra cost overruns we can secure must be split 70-30."

"We take seventy percent, and leave thirty percent for him."

Cole felt he was being very merciful by only taking seventy percent of the profit. If it weren't for them scamming the funds, Fu Haoran's factory would work itself to death and still wouldn't make much money.

As a Chinese boss, shouldn't he be grateful to receive a military order?

Miller nodded, then hesitated slightly. "Will he take it? I heard the military's budget is too low; that's why no one is willing to accept it."

"For a domestic shipyard to do this job, the cost would be around 1 billion."

"He has no choice." Cole sneered, tapping his finger on the table. "His factory and docks are all within America. We have plenty of ways to lean on him."

"If he doesn't take it, we'll slap a 'threat to national security' label on him and shut down his shipyard immediately."

"Also," Cole added, "he just poached thousands of workers and sank over a billion into building the factory. He must be desperate for orders and cash flow right now. This is a choice piece of meat delivered to his doorstep; he has no reason to refuse."

The two smiled at each other, as if they could already see the massive price difference flowing into their accounts.

Cole picked up the encrypted phone on the spot and dialed the number for Jimmy, the General Manager of DYB Technology, saying rudely:

"Tell your boss, Fu Haoran, that the CIA has an urgent task related to American national security for him. Have him wait for us at the Yellowstone factory for a meeting within 24 hours."

...

DYB Shipyard.

The docks were brightly lit deep into the night. Workers were on three shifts, and welding sparks fell like rain.

The 320-meter giant Ro-Ro ship had already completed its section assembly. The massive hull lay across the slipway like a slumbering steel beast.

Fu Haoran stood by the dock, watching the workers weld the final keel seam.

A subordinate stood behind him holding a stack of reports, his expression quite grim.

"Boss, the money in the account is indeed about to run dry."

Fu Haoran didn't speak.

He naturally knew how bad the numbers on the account looked.

Shipbuilding was a bottomless pit; the freighter hadn't even been launched yet, and most of the money had already been burned through. The car manufacturing side was an even bigger money-sink—R&D, testing, production lines—every single expense was an astronomical figure.

"Should we... pause the shipbuilding for a bit?" the accountant asked tentatively. "Wait until the funds recover before continuing."

Fu Haoran shook his head. "We can't stop. Stop once, and the people's morale will scatter."

"Those workers poached from South Korea have just settled in. If we tell them now there's no work, half of them will leave tomorrow."

The accountant opened his mouth but didn't try to persuade him further.

Just then, his phone vibrated; it was Jimmy calling.

"Boss! Something's happened! Someone from CIA headquarters in Langley just called. They said there's an urgent task related to national security for you and demand that you wait at the Yellowstone factory for a meeting within 24 hours!"

Fu Haoran was stunned for a moment.

The CIA? Coming for him?

Fu Haoran instinctively felt it wasn't anything good, but since he couldn't run away, he had no choice but to brace himself and go back.