Invasion of the United States

The night Electric Flight appeared on the news, Zhou Qingfeng told Xiao Jinlang the exact location of the smuggled goods.

"It's on the Watson-class Vehicle Transport Ship of the Reagan Carrier Strike Group. You can contact Captain Bell of the transport ship directly to coordinate the sea transfer."

At this moment, the Scallion was cutting through the waves. It had already passed the Bashi Channel and entered the vast ocean east of the Philippines.

The waters around Northeast Asia are bustling with commercial logistics. Even in the deep night, the lights of cargo ships navigating the sea were faintly visible.

In the sky, a Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force P-3C Orion reconnaissance plane had taken off from the Naha base. Like an unshakeable fly, it hovered in the high sky around the clock.

The reconnaissance aircraft would monitor and record every move of the Scallion, including the sortie frequency of the carrier-based aircraft, their takeoff and landing speeds, and even the internal communications within the fleet.

Accumulating such routine military information could roughly estimate the combat power of a fleet.

Xiao Jinlang stood on the bridge of the Scallion. Although he couldn't see the Japanese reconnaissance plane, he was aware of its presence and muttered, "Damn Japs, haunting like ghosts."

He took out his satellite phone and dialed Captain Bell's number. Tеxt асquirеd frоm М|V|LЕМР&YR.

When the connection was made, Old Xiao identified himself, and a slightly husky American voice, arrogant and direct, asked:

"Is your flat-deck ship ready? It needs to be big enough. Smaller won't do."

Xiao Jinlang stood in front of the bridge's floor-to-ceiling window, his gaze sweeping over the deck where nighttime landing and takeoff exercises were underway, and replied steadily in English, "It's ready. Where are you right now?"

This question was just a formality; he actually knew the approximate location of the other party.

But Captain Bell's voice turned cold and haughty as he replied, "Contact me again when you're 300 nautical miles north of Guam."

With that, there was a "click" sound from the other end of the phone, and the call was abruptly ended.

Xiao Jinlang put down the phone, slightly frowning, and turned to look at the naval intelligence officer beside him.

The intelligence officer calmly pointed to the sea chart, "Based on optical reconnaissance from space-based satellites, the Reagan Carrier Strike Group passed by Wake Island just yesterday.

The Watson is an auxiliary ship and cannot match the fleet's main force in speed. It's now approximately 200 nautical miles east of Wake Island, along with other auxiliary ships.

If the fleet maintains its current speed, we should meet them in about 36 hours."

Xiao Jinlang responded with a deep 'Hmm' and smiled wryly, "I never thought the first carrier vs. carrier showdown between China and the United States would come to this.

I need to get some sleep. I'm afraid there won't be any rest once day breaks."

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The bridge of the Watson was dimly lit, with only the sea charts and instruments illuminated.

Captain Bell, having hung up the satellite phone, instinctively scratched his stubbled chin, causing a faint whispering sound as the bristles rubbed against his skin.

Standing by the large porthole, he stared at the pitch-black sea outside, his mood sour.

This Watson-class Vehicle Transport Ship belonged to the U.S. Navy Military Sealift Command (MSC).

As an auxiliary vessel, it lacked the majesty of aircraft carriers or destroyers. The bridge had no sharply-dressed officers.

Only Bell, in his old jacket, led a bunch of civilian crew members busying themselves.

The U.S. Navy had a tradition of outsourcing logistics to private companies. A seasoned merchant captain like Bell had long gotten used to navigating the gray areas.

Not being part of the regular military freed him from many constraints, making him bolder than most.

Among the more than sixty thousand tons of supplies this transport ship was carrying, there were not only military vehicles for the Golden Cobra exercise but also a lot of contraband.

The ten heavy trucks were just part of Zhou Qingfeng's freight. Compared to the rest of the 'private goods' on board, it accounted for only half the weight.

The cargo hold was a floating black market warehouse, filled with contraband ranging from arms to luxury goods.

The more illicit the items, the higher the price they could fetch.

Bell licked his dry lips, recalling the message he received a few days prior—once the fleet arrived in Tokyo, the naval police would come on board to search.

This news pricked at him like a thorn, robbing him of sleep for days.

He grabbed the coffee mug on the table and took a hefty gulp. The bitter taste made him frown, yet did nothing to alleviate his anxiety.

The generals above turned a blind eye to smuggling but wouldn't directly get involved. If things went south, they wouldn't just refuse to help; they'd even silence to cover their tracks.

The currently enraged Minister of the Navy might very well have a hand in some of the smuggled goods.

The transport ship hadn't yet reached Tokyo, and the generals had already ordered dumping the contraband at sea. But the problem was, quite a bit of it was pooled together by various officers within the fleet.

While the generals had pocketed their 'transport fees', there were still plenty of people counting on these goods for a windfall.

The transport ship was still brimming with 'private goods', making disposal problematic.

Bell bit his teeth and cursed: "Dump it into the sea? That's a total loss for me. I wouldn't just have a wasted trip; I'd also lose half my life's savings!"

He walked to the chart table, squinting at the densely plotted routes, drawing a circle near Wake Island with his finger.

The crew was busy checking the route, with only the occasional sound of keyboard tapping breaking the silence of the bridge.

Bell muttered softly, "One more day... in one day, we'll meet the mysterious client."

Recalling Xiao Jinlang's calm voice from the phone earlier, he felt a twinge of unease—Victor's contact had shown great efficiency, preparing a flat-deck ship in just a few days.