Chapter 61 I Really Want to Blast These Bastards to Hell

The "Voice of Freedom" radio station had once again become the only broadcaster providing real-time coverage of the maritime standoff.

After all, no one else had the audacity to charter a cruise ship and haul broadcasting equipment out onto the open ocean.

—Normal people would run as far away from a battlefield as possible; why would anyone actively head toward it?

However, it was clear that more than a few people were far from normal.

Why else do they say the ultra-wealthy are filled with weirdos? For people whose threshold for excitement is permanently set too high, nothing short of extreme thrills can get their blood pumping.

The Chicago arena matches seemed to have opened a whole new world for the global elite: who knew that watching a real war up close could be such a thrilling experience?

Therefore, alongside the luxury liner packed with paying spectators, more than a dozen private yachts and high-end speedboats of all sizes had appeared on the sea. Following closely behind the cruise ship, they formed a bizarre "little fleet."

The bigwigs weren't just here for the thrills—correction, they were here to oversee the operation!

This "little fleet" even took the initiative to hail the massive United States Navy armada: "Hello, naval commanders! We are here to observe the situation. Although we're close, we won't interfere with your military operations. Have a wonderful battle!"

What the hell kind of "have a wonderful battle" was that?!

Yet, the naval commanders had zero time to deal with this pack of crazy onlookers trailing behind them right now.

Their entire focus was locked onto the distant horizon.

There, a massive Royal Navy task force, with the Union Jack fluttering proudly from its masts, was steaming slowly forward in a majestic and oppressive formation.

"They're coming! They're actually coming!" Jeff Hackman's slightly trembling voice was transmitted back to the mainland via wireless radio, then relayed across the entire United States. "Leading the charge are massive battleships! Apologies, I can't quite identify the class, but—God, it is enormous! Behind them are cruisers, destroyers... They are heading straight for our twelve-mile limit!"

This time, Logan wasn't broadcasting personally; instead, the Voice of Freedom’s golden-voiced announcer, Jeff Hackman, had gone out to sea aboard the ship.

The whole of America was tuned into his broadcast, especially the East Coast.

The flagship of the American fleet, the battleship USS Nevada, immediately surged forward, her massive hull parting the waves as she directly blocked the path of the advancing Royal Navy fleet.

Over the public radio frequency, the voice of the American commander rang out: "This is the United States Navy. You are approaching a designated United States military exercise zone. Please cease your advance immediately..."

The Royal Navy fleet acted as if they hadn't heard the warnings from the American commander. Their formation remained unshakeable as they maintained a steady speed of 15 knots, accommodating the slower pace of the merchant ships within their ranks, and pushed slowly ahead.

The American commander had received strict orders from above: under no circumstances was he to fire the first shot, not even warning shots.

Gritting his teeth, he roared, "Maintain course! Reduce speed to 15 knots! We're meeting them head-on!"

On the "Voice of Freedom" broadcast, Jeff Hackman's voice spiked sharply with a mix of excitement and tension. "The lead battleships from both sides are crashing straight into each other! Neither of them is stopping!"

"No ships are firing, but none are turning away either. Like two silent giants, they are inexorably closing the distance at a breath-stochastically slow pace. God! The gap is closing even more! 1,200 meters, 1,000 meters, 800 meters..."

Countless listeners huddled around radios across America felt their hearts clench. They held their breath, as if even the slightest loud noise might detonate the conflict.

"200 meters! 100 meters! They're going to collide! They're going to collide!"

The two steel leviathans, each weighing tens of thousands of tons, ultimately came together in a slow yet utterly resolute manner, grinding hull against hull.

"SCREEECH—!!!"

The screech of scraping metal was so agonizing that sailors on both warships, clinging desperately to whatever fixtures were nearby, turned pale with dread.

"Listeners! A historic moment! Battleship versus battleship, but not with gunfire—it's a brutal close-quarters grapple! Good god, I can actually see the sparks flying!"

The tension in Jeff Hackman's voice was palpable, and his back was already soaked with nervous sweat.

The listeners continued to hold their breath, cold sweat dripping from their palms.

Yet, at this breath-stealing, tense moment of confrontation, the "overseeing bigwigs" burst into deafening cheers!

The wealthy spectators erupted in jubilation. One of them even picked up a megaphone and shouted toward the warships, "Come on! Give it some gas, boys! Push through! Smash those Limeys!"

"Go get 'em, America!"

The two ships scraped against each other for a full five minutes, their wakes drifting wildly off course.

The British warships trailing behind immediately broke formation with fluid agility, attempting to flank and pierce the American blockade.

The American fleet responded in kind, deploying destroyers and cruisers like protective hounds that surged forward with pinpoint accuracy, using their own hulls to physically block the enemy's advance.

In an instant, dozens of modern warships abandoned their guns and torpedoes, engaging in interception and counter-interception maneuvers reminiscent of medieval boarding actions, fighting hull-to-hull in the open sea.

The teeth-setting, massive groans of metal friction and compression echoed continuously, shaking the sea and sky.

The spectators on the cruise ship were beside themselves with excitement. Some poured whole bottles of champagne into the ocean, calling it "a close-dance party dedicated to the steel fleet"; others hauled out pre-arranged fireworks and lit them off into the sky!

"Bang! Pop!"

This sudden concussive roar startled every nerve-wracked naval officer and radio listener half to death!

Had they opened fire? Did the shooting start again?!

Jeff Hackman hurriedly rushed to the microphone to explain, "It's not a bombardment! Not a bombardment! It's just those ladies and gentlemen observing the situation setting off... setting off holiday fireworks..."

Listeners: "..."

To hell with their ancestors!

And the most absurd part was yet to come.

One speedboat even had the audacity to maneuver around the clusters of warships, pulling right up alongside the "Indomitable," the merchant vessel trailing at the very rear of the Royal Navy column, and openly calling out over the radio:

"Hey, Limey! You selling that booze?"

Captain of the British merchant ship: ...

I thought I was just here as a prop, why am I getting a speaking role now?

Still, if there's business to be done, why not?

"Selling!"

And just like that, while the British and American navies were engaged in a close-quarters grappling match, British and American merchants were hand-in-hand, drinking and doing business—neither side missed a beat.

Jeff Hackman immediately seized upon this "news angle," adopting a thoroughly serious broadcasting tone: "My dear listeners, a touching moment has unfolded!"

"Amidst such a tense and confrontational atmosphere, the peoples of both nations have bridged their political and military divides, communicating through the most primitive form of commerce!"

"This thoroughly proves that the ultimate hope for peace always lies in the spontaneous exchange and understanding between ordinary people!"

Listeners across the radio waves lapsed into a collective silence.

Naval officers from both nations currently playing "maritime bumper cars": "..."

Could you possibly talk any more absolute nonsense?

The flagship commanders from both sides, currently glaring daggers at one another, wore expressions that simply defied description.

British Captain: So, your own people are openly buying booze from us out here on the ocean, violating your own prohibition laws—how do you explain that?

American Captain: Not gonna lie, I desperately want to swivel my guns right now and blow this whole bunch of bastards to kingdom come!

British Captain: Great idea, I'd love to do the exact same damn thing!