183: Chapter 183 I've so obviously switched sides, you guys better catch me!

The Pentagon's combat directives were simultaneously issued to Kadena Air Base in Japan, Osan Air Base in South Korea, and the Reagan Carrier Strike Group patrolling the South China Sea.

Alarms shattered the silence of the runway as a large number of F-15C fighter jets scrambled from Kadena, and F/A-18E/F

carrier-based aircraft catapulted off at the same time, their afterburners spewing fiery exhaust as they rushed toward Zhuhai at full speed.

The directive consisted of only one sentence: Visually confirm the deck conditions of the target vessel and transmit all footage back in real-time.

But distant water cannot quench a nearby fire.

Someone was moving even faster than them.

When Fu Haoran received the notification from the Port Authority, he was sitting in the VIP section of the Miss Universe Pageant.

He hadn't originally planned to come, but the Zhuhai Airshow Organizing Committee had sent him complimentary tickets, which were said to have been gifted by a real estate developer to let him experience the soon-to-open Ocean Flower Island Tourist Resort.

Fu Haoran knew about this project. It reportedly cost 160 billion, which was indeed a massive undertaking.

Since he had nothing else to do, there was no harm in experiencing the life of the wealthy.

As it turned out, as a modern-day equivalent of enjoying courtesan performances, this trip was not in vain.

On the runway, the spotlight swept across a line of contestants dressed in evening gowns.

Each was fair-skinned and beautiful, with slender waists and exquisite curves. As a Latina contestant spun around, her skirt flared out, revealing a pair of straight, long legs. Her strappy high heels accentuated her delicate, fair ankles, looking as if she had been cut straight out of a pictorial.

The blonde contestant next to her was exceptionally tall, her slightly wavy hair swaying gently with her runway steps, and the skin beneath her collarbone glowed radiantly under the lights.

Below the stage, the sound of camera shutters was as dense as the flight performances at an airshow.

Fu Haoran leaned back in his chair with his legs crossed, holding the iced sparkling water provided by the committee in his right hand, and resting his left hand on the armrest, looking as relaxed as if he were watching TV in his own living room.

Beside him, Cheng Beixiao sat rigidly upright, not knowing where to look, with the plastic water bottle in his hand nearly squeezed out of shape by his knuckles.

Suddenly, Fu Haoran's phone vibrated in his pants pocket.

Fu Haoran pulled it out and glanced at it; it was Director Zhang from the airshow organizing committee.

“President Fu, I'm very sorry to bother you. We've heard back from the Port Authority. The da fu has all its documents in order, but the port says the vessel type doesn't match what was declared, so the owner must be present in person to sign a supplementary explanatory document.”

Fu Haoran's gaze remained fixed on the runway, his tone completely unperturbed: “Understood. I'll send someone over to handle it.”

“President Fu, it would be best if you came in person.”

Fu Haoran glanced at the gorgeously dressed beauty pageant contestants on stage, who wore deep-V rompers, partially exposing their cleavage and boasting impossibly long legs, and made his decision.

“There's no rush for official business. It's rare to have some leisure time, let's finish watching this show first.”

“Those legs, those breasts... tsk, tsk, tsk.”

Fu Haoran turned to look at Cheng Beixiao, who was sitting rigidly beside him, and said, “Xiao Cheng, the da fu is being held up by the Port Authority. Go handle it.”

“Ah? Boss, would it be inappropriate for me to go?”

“Just go when I tell you to. Tell them you are my fully authorized representative. Sign whatever needs to be signed, and cooperate with whatever is needed.” Fu Haoran waved his hand.

“Just one principle: if the ship can enter the port, let it enter. If not, anchor it in the open sea first, and lower small boats to bring people ashore.”

“If you really can't resolve it, tell them to call me directly. Go on, don't keep me from watching the competition.”

Cheng Beixiao didn't dare to ask more. He grabbed his briefcase and quickly left the venue.

He had just arrived at the Port Authority's office area and hadn't even had the chance to speak before he was tightly surrounded by a group of people.

Those surrounding him were not staff members in navy blue uniforms, but another, far more intimidating group of people.

As far as the eye could see, they were all military personnel, with armed soldiers standing guard behind them.

Cheng Beixiao's legs instantly went weak.

He was just an ordinary employee earning a million a year. Before this, he had barely set foot inside a district government building, let alone seen such a formidable display.

Cold sweat instantly drenched the shirt on his back, and his mind went completely blank.

But in the next second, he recalled Fu Haoran's appreciation and kindness toward him over the past few years.

He thought about his journey from being unemployed to becoming a procurement specialist earning a million a year, and then to a supply chain director managing tens of billions in cash flow.

The boss had never doubted him, even fully delegating the authority for domestic procurement worth hundreds of millions of yuan to him.

Cheng Beixiao took a deep breath, and his slumped back instantly straightened.

The fear for his future vanished from his face, replaced only by the calm resolve of a scholar willing to die for the lord who appreciated him.

“It is time to repay my lord's favor on the Golden Platform, and carry the jade dragon sword to die for him.”

“The boss trusts me, I must never betray him!”

This look of facing death unflinchingly actually made the leading Army colonel frown.

The officer leading the group took a step forward and spoke in a deep voice, “Mr. Cheng Beixiao, we are the Joint Investigation Team of the Southern Theater Command. Please cooperate with our investigation. Who is the actual controller of the da fu? What is the vessel's true purpose? And what exactly is the equipment loaded on the deck?”

Faced with this barrage of soul-searching questions, Cheng Beixiao kept his lips tightly sealed, refusing to utter a single word, only saying flatly, “I don't know, and I don't want to say.”

Seeing his obstinate, impervious attitude, the colonel felt even more that something was amiss.

‘Young comrade, we are just conducting a routine investigation to understand the situation. With this attitude of putting up a desperate struggle, are you treating us like the villains?’

Just then, the work phone in Cheng Beixiao's pocket began to vibrate frantically.

He immediately answered the call. Just as he was about to lower his voice and frantically hint to his boss that something was wrong and he should run, Fu Haoran spoke first from the other end, his tone still casual: “Xiao Cheng, there's a change of plans. Go coordinate with the organizing committee and the control tower. Our aircraft need to land on the airshow runway. Have them clear a runway.”

“Actually, one probably won't be enough. Tell them to give us as many runways as they have.”

Cheng Beixiao was instantly dumbfounded. He shouted anxiously into the phone, “President Fu! That won't work! The military is right in front of me, we're in big trouble!”

Fu Haoran on the other end seemed to ignore his warning and asked instead, “Oh? The person leading the other side, what is their military rank?”

Cheng Beixiao froze for a moment, looked at the colonel in front of him, and stammered, “It's—it's an Army colonel.”

“Oh, hand the phone to him.”

The colonel frowned as he took the phone. Just as he was about to speak, the voice from the other end came through first: “I am the founder of DYB, Chairman of Warhammer Industries, and of the 102nd Independent Division of the Washington National Guard, Fu Haoran.”

This string of titles instantly silenced everyone present.

Aren't you an entrepreneur? How do you have another title?

And how did you, a Chinese, manage to get that position?

Cheng Beixiao's face turned even more deathly pale.

‘It's over, it's all over, I can't escape now. Is this colluding with the enemy? Or is it treason?’

The colonel stabilized his tone and said in a deep voice, “You have sailed military vessels and flown military aircraft into our territorial waters without prior reporting. This is suspected of violating international law and could easily trigger a serious diplomatic dispute. Are you aware of the consequences?”

Fu Haoran chuckled, the casualness in his voice gone, replaced by a sharp edge. “Colonel, I came with the official exhibitor credentials from the airshow organizing committee to participate in the exhibition and do business, not to engage in military provocation.”

“An overwhelming amount of technology and massive opportunities for cooperation are right in front of you, yet you insist on using rules and regulations to push people away. That's not being law-abiding; that's throwing away opportunities.”

“Whether I am qualified or whether my ship can enter the port is not for you to decide, nor is it for me to decide. Let someone who can make the final call come and talk to me.”

Reprimanded so bluntly by Fu Haoran, the colonel fell silent.

“Alright, enough nonsense. My fighter squadron has completed preparations for takeoff and will be able to land at Jinwan Airport in twenty minutes.”

“You only have twenty minutes to consider. If my fighter squadron cannot land, you had better think carefully about whether you can bear the consequences.”

“Is it something a mere colonel like you can handle, or can your Southern Theater Command handle it?”

“Also, have the Port Authority process the port entry procedures for my ship immediately.”

“My ship is a civilian Ro-Ro vessel. Its exhibition procedures are complete, its reporting is thorough, and it is fully compliant and legal. There is absolutely no reason to hold it outside the port.”

“Before your superiors officially issue a written order banning entry, my ship must dock according to the standard procedures.”

“If the exhibition is delayed and the airshow organizing committee or domestic buyers hold us accountable, every single one of you present will have to take responsibility.”

With that, Fu Haoran hung up the phone.

Fu Haoran had no intention of arguing right and wrong with them. If they couldn't even bear this small amount of risk, then what would his efforts have been for?

There is no love in this world without a reason, and no benefits can be obtained just by reaching out one's hand.

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

"I've brought America's pride and joy—the fifth-generation fighters and electromagnetic catapult technology—right to your doorstep, and you want to drive me out like an enemy?"

Fu Haoran was also testing the country, to see if they were willing to take the risk.

"You have to understand, I took a massive risk coming here. If this fails, the idea of pulling off something like this again is, frankly, impossible."

Fu Haoran was well aware that while he could still stall the higher-ups by claiming he "hadn't received official orders," once the official orders from The Pentagon arrived, things would only get more complicated.

Fu Haoran's plan from the beginning had been clear: to become a "regional warlord" of America—a military-industrial oligarch holding real power, who listens to proclamations but ignores orders.

It was just that before his wings were fully grown, he still had to give The Pentagon some face.

"I've brought an incredible opportunity right to your doorstep. If you can't grasp it, don't blame me; I'm no saint."

The colonel gripped his phone, his face cycling between shades of blue and white. The man's arrogance was boundless, but his reason told him he had to report the situation to his superiors.

"It's me. I need to speak to the commander. The situation is extraordinary."

Soon, the colonel gave a concise report of the situation, and then—

"Lu Zelin! Have you lost your mind? Or have you just gone soft in the Army?"

"The man brought over fifth-generation F-22 fighters and the largest aircraft carrier in the world! In America, that would be a reported asset. Now that someone is offering us a treasure, what are you afraid of? Are you afraid they'll steal our things, or that they'll leak our secrets?"

"And you have the nerve to ask for instructions?! Now! Immediately! Right now! Do exactly as he says!"

"If you let that distinguished guest slip away, I won't even need to intervene—the Air Force and the Navy will skin you alive themselves!"

The facts were exactly as the Old Commander had anticipated; when the Air Force and Navy learned the news, they immediately began cursing.

"Those Army bumpkins can't stand to see us succeed! Someone came here to gift us treasures for study, and he actually tries to drive them away? Don't let me find out who's on site, or I'll skin them alive!"

"Quick, ready the car—no, ready the plane! Get all the experts, non-commissioned officers, and the logistics team!"

Meanwhile, in the Navy.

"What?! An aircraft carrier over 400 meters long, with electromagnetic catapults?!"

"What kind of incredible treasure is this?!"

"You're saying the Army isn't letting them dock?!"

"Those bumpkin bastards! They must be jealous that our military budget is higher than theirs, threatening their position as the big brother. They don't want us to apply for more funding, so they're pulling such despicable stunts!"

"Everyone listen up! Get there immediately, blockade the waters, and don't let that treasure slip away!"

"What? The USS Reagan is heading here? Block them! We absolutely cannot let this prize slip through our fingers!"

"Damn it, which bastard didn't report this news? Look at how much time has been wasted!"

As one phone call after another poured in, Lu Zelin was berated like a child. The worst part was that he couldn't even talk back, because of who was on the other end of the line.

Cheng Beixiao stood where he was, not daring to even breathe loudly.

Finally, Lu Zelin hung up the phone and looked at Cheng Beixiao with a hollow expression. After struggling for a moment, he squeezed out a smile that looked worse than crying.

"Comrade Cheng, that was all just a misunderstanding. You're free to go; all the paperwork is in order. We will arrange the follow-up matters for you immediately. If you need anything, feel free to come to me."

Cheng Beixiao breathed a sigh of relief. Not daring to linger, he grabbed his briefcase and hurried out of the Port Authority.

Elsewhere, Fu Haoran pulled out his encrypted communication device and dialed the bridge channel of the da fu.

"Raymond, advance the plan. Send the F-22s over."

Raymond hesitated. "Sir, we have nearly a hundred F-22s on the deck. If we launch them all at once and they fly over half of Zhuhai to land at a civilian airport, won't that cause too much of a stir?"

"Raymond, once we go back, those old fogies in Congress will definitely slap a label of treason on me."

"I was never American to begin with. Before, I only kept a low profile to make money and support my family."

Fu Haoran silently added to himself: After all, the holes in the Hive City world still needed to be filled with this arms money.

"But history teaches us one fact: when everyone thinks you're the villain, you'd better really be one."

"So, let's go all the way and create a fait accompli; the rest will be easier to handle. If you don't make headlines, how are you going to sell the product?"

Raymond was silent for a few seconds.

He had spent his whole life walking on eggshells in the U.S. military system, only to be kicked to the curb as a scapegoat by Congress and The Pentagon in the end, with even his pension nearly withheld. He had been bottling up his rage for a long time.

Raymond took a deep breath and keyed the ship-wide broadcast, his voice regaining the seasoned composure of a captain of the USS Roosevelt: "Attention, all hands! Initiate carrier aircraft launch procedures! Target: Zhuhai Jinwan Airport runway!"

As the order was given, the wheel chocks on all four electromagnetic catapult tracks on the deck of the da fu rose simultaneously.

The first F-22 slowly taxied into the launch position. The wheel chocks locked onto the front landing gear, and the electromagnetic catapult rails began to charge, a pale blue halo flowing slowly along them.

All four arresting cables were in place, and the emergency recovery system was on full standby.

Meanwhile, the pilot of the J-11B monitoring the da fu suddenly roared over the encrypted channel: "Command Center! We have a situation! The fighters on deck are entering launch positions! They're about to take off!"

In truth, the pilot's report wasn't even necessary.

Several helicopters from Reuters, CNN, and Al Jazeera, having heard the news, had already paid a premium to rent gyroscopic telephoto lenses, keeping the deck of the da fu firmly in their sights.

The real-time footage was transmitted back to their stations via satellite link and then streamed live across the globe to every corner of the world.

The blue light on the catapult tracks reached maximum intensity.

The first F-22 was violently launched. The moment the fuselage cleared the deck, the wheel chocks retracted, and the catapult reset instantly.

There was no billowing steam, no fire or thick smoke—only a pale blue arc of electricity that flashed and vanished along the track. Immediately after, the second aircraft taxied into the launch position, with the third following close behind.

The four electromagnetic catapult tracks worked in rotation, compressing the launch interval to a breathtaking 45 seconds.

One F-22 after another was launched from the deck, quickly forming a formation above the massive ship before roaring off at low altitude across the sea toward the Zhuhai Airshow.

In the live feed, the commentator's voice was trembling: "My God! It's an electromagnetic catapult! Not steam! All four tracks are operating simultaneously! Zero malfunctions! The launch interval is less than a minute!"

"The Ford-class electromagnetic catapult has a minimum launch interval of 90 seconds and averages a malfunction every 300 launches! The launch efficiency of this ship is double that of the Ford-class!"

Military enthusiasts watching the live stream around the world instantly went wild.

On the giant screen in The Pentagon's command center, the real-time footage from foreign media was playing in sync.

Intelligence analysts stared at the pale blue arcs and the F-22s launching one after another; the room was deathly silent.

Especially when the camera swept over the hangar, revealing it packed full of fighter jets, everyone's faces turned pale.

They knew all too well what this meant.

Congress had poured tens of billions into the Ford-class electromagnetic catapult, yet it still suffered from frequent malfunctions and couldn't achieve full operational capability. Meanwhile, this "amphibious assault ship" from a private company was using technology more stable and efficient than the U.S. military's to launch hundreds of F-22s into the sky like dumplings.

Jensen stood before the giant screen, his knuckles white and veins bulging on his forehead.

Watching the ceaseless stream of fighters launching in the footage, only one thought remained in his mind: this ship must not be allowed to dock!

He grabbed his radio and roared into the encrypted channel: "USS Reagan carrier air wing, listen up! Immediately dispatch two F/A-18E/F fighters to land on the target vessel's deck!"

"Seize control of the bridge! Force the ship to steer away from the South China Sea! It must not be allowed to dock!"

"I will take full responsibility!"

The U.S. pilot on the other end of the channel was stunned.

"Sir?! That's a civilian-registered vessel! We don't have authorization to board—forced boarding would be an armed invasion!"

"Cut the chatter! Execute the order!" Jensen cut the transmission.