pappabearbooks Chapter 113 Handover to British Battleships
Chapter 113 Handover to British Battleships
October 18, 1909, Portsmouth Harbour, England, rain.
Wang Wenwu stood on the bridge of the HMS Orion, raindrops sliding down the portholes and turning the British naval base outside into a blurry gray. He could see the silhouette of the HMS Dreadnought in the distance, the once world's premier warship, now looking somewhat forlorn in the rain.
"Mr. Wang, final checklist." The speaker was Rear Admiral John Arbasnott, the head of the inspection team sent by the British Admiralty. This fifty-year-old Scotsman was meticulous; over the past three days, he and thirty engineers had checked every corner of the HMS Orion three times.
"Please." Wang Wenwu turned around and took the thick document.
The list was typed, with items densely packed together:
主炮系统：8门343mm/45倍径舰炮，全部通过实弹测试。最大射程21,000米，散布误差小于0.3%。
Armor system: Main armor belt 330mm, angled at 15 degrees. A 200mm armor-piercing round failed to penetrate it in a firing test at a range of 10,000 meters.
动力系统：18台巴布考克燃煤锅炉，4台帕森斯蒸汽轮机，最大输出功率34,000马力。海试最高航速23.5节，持续巡航速度20节可维持8,000海里。
Fire control system: Drell fire control console MKIII (Lanfang improved version), equipped with a 3-meter baseline rangefinder. Actual testing showed a 12% hit rate in the first salvo against a moving target at a distance of 15,000 meters, increasing to 28% in the third salvo.
……
Wang Wenwu turned to the last page, where there was a signature section for Abbasnot, and next to it was a space reserved for his signature.
"Have all the projects met the standards?" he asked.
"Not only did you meet the requirements." There was a complex emotion in Abbasnot's voice—admiration mixed with a hint of resentment. "The armor test exceeded the contract requirements by 7%, the fire control system hit rate by 9%, and the engine efficiency by 5%. You... exceeded expectations."
Wang Wenwu took a fountain pen from his suit's inner pocket. It was a German-made Montblanc with a 14K gold nib. He wrote his Chinese name in the signature section, the strokes neat and powerful.
"Then, according to the contract," he handed the documents back, "the Orion is now officially handed over to the Royal Navy."
Abbasnot took the document, stared at the signature for a long time, then looked up and said, "Mr. Wang, may I ask you a question?"
"Excuse me."
"Why did you sell us such an advanced warship?" Abbasnot looked directly into Wang Wenwu's eyes. "Normally, this level of technological advantage should be kept secret, at least for several years. But you not only sold it, you sold it so... completely."
The rain pattered against the roof of the bridge, creating a dense, rhythmic sound. In the distance, the drums and bugles of the Royal Navy honor guard sounded—the handover ceremony was about to begin.
Wang Wenwu walked to the porthole and looked at Portsmouth in the rain. He had been to this port six months ago to negotiate. Now, he had delivered a warship that could change the balance of power in the North Sea.
"Major General," he said slowly, "do you know how many people Lanfang has?"
"Approximately... 1.5 million?"
"To be precise, the number was 1,527,300 last month." Wang Wenwu turned around. "Seventy percent of them are immigrants who came from Southeast Asia and the Chinese coast within the last three years. Why did they come? Because they heard that they could have enough to eat, their children could go to school, and they could see a doctor when they were sick."
He paused:
"It takes money to feed so many people. It takes money to build schools, hospitals, and factories. But Lanfang has nothing but desert. All we can sell is our technology, our brains, and our hands."
Abbasnot frowned: "But this warship... its technology is at least three years ahead of Europe. You could have offered more, or attached political conditions."
"We set a price—six million pounds. That's a fair market price," Wang Wenwu smiled. "As for political conditions... Lanfang doesn't need them. What we need is money, resources, and time. We'll exchange technology for money, money for development time, and time for the chance to go home. The logic is simple."
"go home?"
"To return to Borneo, to Lanfang's homeland," Wang Wenwu said. "That requires a stronger navy, a more advanced industry, and a larger population. And all of that requires money."
Abbasnot fell silent. He recalled the days and nights he had spent tracking the "Guangfu" in the Indian Ocean three years ago, and the incredible speed and stability of that giant ship. At that time, he thought Lanfang was just a flash-in-the-pan tech upstart, but now he understood—those people had a terrifyingly clear goal, and every step they took was on the path to achieving it.
"So, the 'Orion' is just the beginning," Abbasnot said. "You'll sell even more advanced ones."
"If the customer needs it and can afford it," Wang Wenwu didn't deny. "Major General, times are changing. In the past, technology was a top national secret, but now... technology is becoming a commodity. Whoever controls the manufacturing technology controls the pricing power. And we are gaining that power."
There was a knock on the bridge door. A young officer poked his head in: "Rear Admiral, it's time for the ceremony."
"understood."
Abbasnot straightened his uniform and then extended his hand to Wang Wenwu: "Mr. Wang, whatever your purpose, you have indeed built a magnificent warship. As a naval officer, I have the utmost respect for that."
Two hands clasped together. One was a high-ranking admiral from an established naval power, the other the Minister of Commerce from an emerging nation. In the rain of London in October 1909, a brief moment of mutual understanding was forged over a warship.
The handover ceremony took place at the pier. The rain had lessened somewhat, but the sky remained overcast. The Royal Navy honor guard stood in neat formation, and the military band played "God Save the King." Lord Fisher was present in person—the First Lord of the Admiralty stood in the center of the reviewing stand, his expression as solemn as if he were attending a funeral.
Wang Wenwu, representing Lanfang, signed the handover documents, while Fisher, representing Britain, received them. As the two shook hands, a flurry of camera flashes erupted—dozens of journalists captured this historic moment: Britain was purchasing a capital ship from an Asian country for the first time in three hundred years.
"Mr. Wang," Fisher said in a low voice as they shook hands, "for the next ship, we want the oil-fired boiler version."
"That would require a redesign, and the price would be much higher," Wang Wenwu replied in a low voice.
"Money is not the problem. The problem is time—I need to get the ship before 1912."
"If we sign the contract now, it can be delivered by the end of 1911."
Fisher's eyes lit up for a moment, but he quickly regained his seriousness: "Let the people below discuss the specific terms. But I want one promise from you—the technology given to Britain cannot be inferior to that given to Germany."
Wang Wenwu smiled: "Your Excellency, every client receives a tailor-made product. Performance differences depend on budget and needs, not nationality."
That's a very artful way of putting it: I didn't promise the same thing, but I didn't say it would be different either.
Fisher stared at him for two seconds, then smiled—the knowing smile of an old politician: "You're quite the talker, young man. Alright, go deal with the reporters. They'll have plenty of questions."
There are indeed many.
As soon as the ceremony ended, reporters swarmed around them. Questions rained down on them:
"Mr. Wang! Does Lanfang plan to establish a shipyard in the UK?"
"Does this warship truly surpass the performance of the 'Dreadnought'?"
"Germany has also ordered your warships. Does this mean that Lanfang is choosing sides between Britain and Germany?"
"There are rumors that Japan also wanted to buy it, but was rejected. Is that true?"
Wang Wenwu stood behind the makeshift podium, pressing his hands together as if to wait for the noise to subside.
"Gentlemen," he said in clear and steady English, "the Royal Navy will release official information regarding the technical specifications of the HMS Orion later. As for Lanfang's foreign policy, I can make it clear to you: we are a commercial nation, willing to engage in equal trade with all countries that respect our sovereignty and interests. Nationality, race, and religion are not factors we consider. Price, timeline, and technical standards—these are what matter."
"And what about Japan?" a reporter from The Times pressed. "Why reject Japan?"
Wang Wenwu looked at the reporter and paused for three seconds. In those three seconds, the sounds of rain, camera shutters, and whispers from the crowd were all clearly audible.
"Lanfang does not discuss business dealings with other countries with any other country," he concluded. "This is basic business ethics."
They cleverly transformed a political issue into a business one.
Another reporter asked, "Mr. Wang, what is Lanfang's ultimate goal? To become a new world power?"
The question silenced the room. Everyone pricked up their ears.
Wang Wenwu looked into the distance: the port shrouded in rain and mist, cranes, warships, and the silhouette of London further away. Then he turned back and spoke into the microphone:
"Lanfang's goal is simple: to enable every citizen of Lanfang to live with dignity, to enable every child to go to school with peace of mind, and to enable every elderly person to die peacefully. As for whether the country is strong or not... that is merely a means to achieve these goals, not the goals themselves."
He paused, then added:
"Now, if you have no further questions, I need to catch my train. I'm heading back to London tonight and flying to Chile tomorrow."
The reporters wanted to ask more questions, but Wang Wenwu had already stepped down from the podium. His assistant opened a black umbrella and escorted him through the crowd to the waiting car.
As Wang Wenwu settled into the car, he let out a long sigh of relief. The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror: "Minister, shall we go straight to the train station?"
"No," Wang Wenwu said, "I need to go to the telegraph office first. I need to send a telegram to Dubai."
"Yes."
The car drove into the streets of London. The city, gray and ancient in the rain, was covered in moss, and horse-drawn carriages and cars slid side by side on the slippery pavement. All of this was in stark contrast to Dubai's newness, orderliness, and ambition.
At the telegraph office, Wang Wenwu drafted two telegrams.
The first one was given to Chen Feng, clearly stated:
【1909年10月18日，朴茨茅斯。「俄里翁」号已移交。款已到帐。费舍尔要求燃油锅炉版，1912年前。建议报价700万英镑。王】
The second document was given to the Dubai Ministry of Finance; the password was:
【600万英镑到帐后：200万转入工业扩建基金，150万转入南洋归乡基金，100万转入技术研发基金，其余150万作为战略储备。执行人：王文武，授权码：兰芳1909-10-18】
After sending the telegram, he walked out of the telegraph office. The rain had stopped, a gap had appeared in the clouds, and sunlight slanted down, casting golden patches of light on the wet street.
Wang Wenwu looked up at the sky and suddenly remembered that night three years ago when he and Chen Feng were watching the stars in the desert. At that time, there were only 300,000 of them, and they only had enough money left to buy three months' worth of food.
They have just completed a six million pound deal.
Three years, and everything has changed.
"Let's go to the train station," he told the driver. "Next stop, Chile."