Chapter 1247 - Naval Battle (II)

Tension aboard the Chèdiàn mounted with every passing second. At the fire control station, Meng De held the director locked onto the lead European-style vessel, his hand poised above the firing mechanism as he awaited the signal from the bridge.

The range closed to 2,500 meters. A thunderous roar from ahead—the Lichun had opened fire. The flag signal for starboard engagement snapped up the halyard, and Meng De bellowed, "High-explosive, fire!"

The guns, already primed and loaded, erupted in sequence. Shells screamed from their barrels as the trailing warships opened up in a rippling broadside. Black smoke and multicolored water columns erupted amidst Zheng Lian's fleet. The battle had begun in earnest.

The Zheng warships returned fire immediately. Every Red Barbarian Cannon aboard belched flame without regard for effective range. Red-hot cannonballs trailing black smoke tumbled through the air toward the First Squadron—but most splashed into the sea far short of their targets. The few that reached the fleet's vicinity threw up waterspouts so distant that not a single drop touched the Squadron's decks.

"Not even close," Le Lin murmured from the Yùfēng's bridge. He held American naval binoculars to his chest, his white replica US Navy summer uniform immaculate as he observed the distant shells. A smile of quiet satisfaction played across his lips. He remembered those early days patrolling on rickety fishing boats, and his heart swelled with emotion at how far they had come.

Aboard the Lichun, Gunnery Chief Ruan Xiaowu hunched intently over the angle dial sight at the bow, targeting the water column thrown up by the first shell's impact. One hand gripped the massive Zhong-style stopwatch hanging at his chest—as large as an alarm clock—to calculate range. After three months of intensive training, he had just been promoted to this position. Though he was no longer a ship captain, being a department head on one of these great black steamships was far superior to commanding a patrol craft. Everyone in the Navy knew that officers and petty officers selected to serve aboard the steam-powered warships—even ordinary sailors—had brilliant futures ahead.

Since optical rangefinders were quite high-tech and usable products couldn't yet be produced, the warships relied on artillery rangefinders using a direction-dial system: angle dials with sighting devices were installed at both bow and stern. By aiming both sights at the target and comparing the displayed angles, the difference could be used to triangulate the distance between ship and target.

The gunnery officer would fire three rounds in quick succession: the first at a distance slightly above the calculated reading, the second at the reading itself, and the third slightly below. The equal range intervals between the three shots allowed rapid ballistic correction based on points of impact.

Though this ranging method was primitive and the data error-prone, compared to the general standard of this era—where range estimation was essentially guesswork—it was already alien technology.

"2,350 meters!" Ruan Xiaowu shouted. The fire control room began calculating firing solutions and adjusting gun elevations. Simultaneously, the firing parameters were transmitted to each ship via light signals.

The four gunboats trailing the Lichun opened fire in sequence, their shells converging almost entirely on the European-style ship leading Zheng Lian's fleet. The 700-ton three-masted vessel vanished almost immediately behind walls of spray. Then, amid the white water, a flash of fire—a 130mm high-explosive shell struck the hull, tearing through the sturdy planking like paper. Hull fragments flew in all directions, shearing off the heads and limbs of seven or eight sailors on deck. Fire erupted instantly.

What followed was increasingly accurate fire from the First Squadron. Within four minutes of that first hit, the ship took two more 130mm shells. Her masts and rigging were reduced to splinters, the entire vessel engulfed in flames, drifting paralyzed on the sea like a massive torch.

In that instant, Zheng Lian understood he stood no chance in an artillery duel. He bellowed an order for the fire ships to ignite and charge. But the next devastating blow arrived before his words died—a 130mm high-explosive shell detonated against the flagship's outer hull. It tore through several inches of oak, ripping open a gaping wound. A massive section of hull plating was hurled into the air, only to crash down onto the deck and kill several sailors where they stood. The exposed powder charges on the gun deck ignited in sympathetic detonation, killing nearly eighty sailors who had been loading and firing in a single horrific instant. Flames roared up through the deck gratings.

"Hard to port!" Zheng Lian shouted from the sterncastle. That single shell had shocked him fully awake: forget victory—survival was all that mattered now.

But escaping under the First Squadron's fire was no simple matter. Though the 130mm guns had a slow rate of fire and limited hits, the 75mm shells struck hull and deck one after another. Shrapnel flew everywhere, flames roared unchecked. The helmsman spun the wheel desperately, the ship lurching 180 degrees to port. The wind, now blowing across the broadside deck, fed the white-hot flames spreading everywhere with fresh air. The opened powder kegs on deck began exploding one after another.

Seeing the magazine detonation inevitable, Zheng Lian abandoned the towering sterncastle and leaped into the sea. In the instant of his jump, flames roared into the magazine. Bright red fire erupted from the deck, followed by a deep, thunderous explosion. Charred debris spiraled through the air. Then the entire ship exploded violently—the deck tore upward, masts twisted and collapsed inward, canvas was instantly devoured by serpents of flame. Towering smoke and fire engulfed the thousand-ton vessel, black smoke lingering long afterward like a funeral pyre.

The flagship's fiery death shattered what remained of the fleet's fighting spirit. Three-masted gun ships and other Fuchuan and Guang vessels came about hastily, attempting to flee. But they had arrived with wind and current at their backs; reversing course now was extraordinarily difficult. Compared to the First Squadron, running entirely on steam power, they were dancing naked before the enemy. The warships seized every opportunity to close distance while pouring fire on the fleeing vessels.

Engines roared at maximum power. Boilers emitted terrifying rumbles. White spray at the bows was sliced apart and crushed beneath the hulls. The blue-and-white Morning Star flags stood rigid on the masts. Every gun on every warship fired at maximum rate, exploiting this brief advantageous position to pour maximum ordnance onto the enemy. Shells trailing red streaks rained down on Zheng Lian's shattered fleet, periodically raising black-red fireballs as scorching fragments whirled through the air.

The 130mm and 75mm high-explosive shells demonstrated their terrible power against wooden hulls. Planking several inches thick—hardwood that could withstand solid shot—was shredded under explosive attack, torn and burned like paper. Though many shells failed to detonate due to fuze problems, the high initial velocity of the conical projectiles fired from rifled guns easily penetrated bow and hull, causing considerable damage.

Dense smoke from gun discharges periodically shrouded the decks; sea breezes swept the smoke away in waves. Lookouts continuously reported hit status to the bridges.

The battle had become a one-sided demonstration of slaughter. After five major combatants were successively crippled or sunk, the Zheng fleet had effectively lost all combat effectiveness—the remaining vessels were simply trying to escape. But their tactically suicidal turns before the enemy made them perfect targets. Gunners exerted every effort to demonstrate their skills, hitting, setting ablaze, and sinking one ship after another.

Observations noted that over fourteen vessels had been hit, ten of which were ablaze, with another five having vanished from the sea—either sunk or withdrawn from battle.

More than twenty fire ships entered the battlefield, lit their fires, and began their assault in unison. They had wind and current in their favor—highly advantageous—but they were positioned farthest from the First Squadron. When they launched their hasty attack, they were still nearly 3,000 meters away. Even moving at six knots, they were easily evaded by the Squadron's steam-powered maneuvers.

"Damn it all!" A headman watched the barbarian ships somehow racing fast against the wind, unable to believe his eyes. What kind of fight was this? Their own ships couldn't even turn properly, let alone give chase—ramming was utterly out of the question.

Once evaded, pursuing steam warships moving against wind and current was an impossible task for fire ships that relied on wind power for their ramming speed.

Under the strong sea wind, not only could the sailors barely control their ships' turns, but the already-ignited fires were blown ever larger. The scorching air made survival impossible, forcing the crews to abandon ship one after another. The unmanned fire ships drifted aimlessly, blazing fiercely, pushed along by the wind like wandering funeral pyres.

At 10:40, Ming Qiu ordered the First Squadron to cease fire and begin turning. Some of Zheng family fleet's ships were drifting ablaze on the water, others had sunk beneath the waves. Except for a few Fuchuan and Guang vessels at the rear that saw the situation early and turned to flee, Zheng Lian's fleet had been reduced to a fraction of its original strength.

The trailing fire ships, unaware of the battle's outcome ahead, entered the battlefield in succession only to find smoke billowing skyward, burning wreckage scattered across the water, and dense gunpowder smoke from cannon fire darkening the entire sea. The fire ship crews were utterly bewildered—they had received orders to attack according to flag signals from the flagship, but now the flagship was nowhere to be found, and the enemy's position remained unclear.

While they hesitated, a sea breeze swept away some of the smoke shrouding the water. The fire ship crews suddenly beheld a terrifying sight: the Zheng family's largest warships were burning on the sea, Zheng Lian's flagship already reduced to little more than a charred waterline. In the distance, five black ships belching columns of dark smoke were executing a great turn, waves churning white at their bows as if sea monsters were coiling to spring, preparing to rush in for the kill.

No hesitation was needed. The moment a 130mm shell screamed overhead and splashed into the water nearby, every ship came about and scattered in flight. These sailors had come aboard fire ships for wages and bounties—not to throw away their lives for nothing.

(End of Chapter)