Xiang Xiuming was pulled aboard a ship. The weather was cold now, and after so long in the water his face had gone purple.

He had nothing on but a soaking undershirt and drawers; his full armor had gone to the bottom.

No man could swim any distance in heavy full armor.

He did not stop to change out of the wet clothes. He went up to the bow and looked at the warships burning down to nothing. His eyes all but started out of his head.

One exchange. One exchange only, and he had lost more than fifty warships. The dead and wounded had not been counted yet, but the number would certainly not be small.

And on Ning Chen's side — never mind dead men, had so much as a splinter come off one of his warships?

Huang Shao had changed into dry clothes, and now he came running out. "General, go and change out of those wet things, quickly. Don't catch a chill — the officers and men still need you to command them."

Xiang Xiuming's eyes were red, and his voice was hoarse when he asked, "How many did we lose?"

"It hasn't been counted yet!"

Xiang Xiuming drove a fist into the rail in front of him and could not hold back a roar of rage. Then the fury turned inward on him, and he went down where he stood, stiff as a board.

"General...!"

"General... Quick, carry the General inside."

On Ning Chen's side, Sun Gaohan came hurrying up to report.

"General, we have less than a thousand rounds of ammunition left."

The corner of Ning Chen's mouth twitched. "That's all that's left? The dogs. What a pack of wastrels. Not one of them thought to go easy with it."

He had brought a little over three thousand rounds of ammunition in all.

In that short while it had come down to under a thousand.

Sun Gaohan and the others kept their heads down and did not dare speak.

Who had stood at the bow just now and shouted, "Hit them hard! Nobody is…