Chapter 139: The Navy

The Navy Department did not yet exist—at least not officially. On the Committee's books, it remained split between the Fisheries Production Group and the Bopu Harbor District, falling under Agriculture and Civil Affairs respectively. One handled fishing and maritime transport; the other managed Bopu Camp affairs, including ship maintenance. But behind the scenes, former naval personnel and self-proclaimed navy enthusiasts had been lobbying hard for a merger, and the momentum was unmistakable. The Committee maintained an official "no comment" stance, but anyone with Committee positions understood that unification was merely a matter of time.

Unlike the other departments, with their land-grabbing and brick-and-wood red buildings, the Navy people had grander ambitions. They wanted a proper Baroque-style Naval Headquarters. Until such a structure could be built, the Fengcheng served as their unofficial office.

The Fengcheng had completed its historical mission on D-Day. Without a petroleum industry to fuel it, the ship could only remain at anchor for the foreseeable future. Still, it was maintained with meticulous care. Its modern navigation equipment—radar, compass, marine chronometers—would prove crucial for the transmigrators' future naval power, and in the worst case, the vessel could still serve as an escape route. Usable furniture, equipment, materials, and tools were gradually offloaded for use on land, while unused compartments were sealed and locked. Large ships were complex worlds unto themselves; with insufficient personnel to monitor every corner, no blind spots could be tolerated.

For the Navy Department, the Fengcheng offered comforts that nothing on land could match. The generators, though restricted to essential needs, provided ample power for offices and living quarters. The ship's powerful radio could reach every vessel at sea with ease. There were comfortable cabins with private bathrooms and well-equipped galleys. While the land-dwellers subsisted on salt fish, smoked fish, and dried fish day after day, the ship had refrigerators. The galley served fresh catches—even sashimi was effortless to prepare. Ice production ran continuously. Fruit shaved ice was trivial; the powdered milk they'd brought even made ice cream possible. According to rumor, the navy-favoring Director Wen made frequent "inspection" visits to the Fengcheng, where he praised the ice cream and sashimi in endless, glowing terms.

The unofficial Navy's primary task remained fishing. Bopu had originally supported a fishing community, but after the transmigrators occupied the area, those fishermen had fled. This was Lingao's traditional fishing ground, however, and losing access to it meant near-bankruptcy. Eventually, the fishing bosses negotiated with the transmigrators, willing to pay tribute in catches for the right to work these waters. The transmigrators agreed—it reduced their own fishing boat usage, saving precious diesel and motor hours. They struck a deal: catches in the Bopu vicinity would be split two-to-eight. For the fishermen's share, the transmigrators held priority purchase at market prices, with payment accepted in goods, grain, merchandise, or silver. Meanwhile, the transmigrators' boats could still fish independently.

Before long, this fishing hegemony extended to every boat working these waters. Vessels that complied received red-triangle flags from Bopu as identification. To enforce the arrangement, the Navy dispatched one fishing boat daily to patrol the zones—catching fish while keeping watch. Their mission was twofold: ensure no boats hid their catches or transferred them at sea, and expel any vessel without a flag.

"We've become fishing tyrants now." Chen Haiyang stood on Fishing-1's deck, surveying the surrounding working boats. He thought of the picture-books from his childhood that depicted cruel fishing tyrants exploiting honest laborers. Those images had filled his young heart with revulsion and hatred for such unjust systems—and kindled a vague admiration for the Liberation Army. Perhaps that was why he'd become a naval officer in the first place.

Now here he was, maintaining this very system of injustice. Worse, he was one of its architects. The world had a strange way of turning like that.

"So what if we're fishing tyrants?" Li Di stood excitedly beside him, showing not a trace of guilt. "Catch yields keep climbing. Wu Nanhai has shut up! At this rate, official recognition is just a matter of time." This electronics engineer turned pudgy enthusiast had stubbornly wormed his way into the Navy Department, self-proclaiming himself "Naval Engineer." He spent his days hammering away mysteriously in a shed, showing nobody his work—though everyone knew what was inside: a small steam engine, a kit he'd bought from overseas. The machine still hadn't operated properly since landing.

Chen Haiyang didn't pursue the topic. Since D-Day, regardless of original political leanings, pragmatism had come to dominate among the transmigrators. What benefited them was good; right and wrong depended largely on which side of the equation you sat.

In the distance, a large fishing boat unfurled its sails and turned west. The Deng Yingzhou—on its third shipping run. Since its first trip to Guangzhou, this vessel had barely stopped, bringing back massive quantities of materials the Industrial Department needed. Fishing-1 protected it within the Bopu vicinity; beyond that, they were on their own. Chen Haiyang sighed. A navy lacking resources remained limited, however modern its training might be.

"Attention! Three nautical miles ahead—three large fishing boats spotted—no flags!" The lookout Le Lin's voice rang out suddenly. A Hong Konger and fanatical military enthusiast with a particular love for the navy, he'd taken to wearing a civilian-version U.S. Navy uniform since joining.

"Hard starboard, heading one-two-zero. Ahead two, close in." Chen Haiyang issued his orders, and Fishing-1, previously cruising at slow ahead, swung its bow toward the boats.

Such inspections had become routine—multiple times daily at first. As unflagged boats had their catches confiscated, illegal fishing had nearly disappeared from these waters. Three appearing at once was unusual enough to make Chen Haiyang suspicious.

"Sound battle stations! Prepare for boarding inspection!"

The ship's bells rang, and thirty-odd crew members rapidly took their positions, donning steel helmets and fire-retardant combat suits—arson was common in this era's Chinese coastal warfare. Weapons were readied. Fishing-1 carried no heavy armament like cannons. Its primary firepower came from coordinated SKS rifle volleys by the crew. Recently, however, improvements had been made. Though the Industrial Department was short on metals, wood, bamboo, rattan, and hides were plentiful. And Lin Shenhe—who claimed to have handled every weapon except nukes—had joined their ranks. Working from reference materials, they'd soon replicated several Ballistae.

The Ballista was ancient Rome's most successful large crossbow—the world's most famous mechanical crossbow. Strictly speaking, it wasn't a crossbow at all, since its propulsion came not from a bow body but from twisted torsion springs mounted on both sides. The weapon's nickname was "Shield Piercer"—its massive bolts could penetrate any known shield or armor. A well-made Ballista had an effective killing range of five hundred meters; within two hundred meters, it could punch through two-inch wooden planking. At the height of Roman power, each legion fielded fifty or more of these weapons.

The transmigration Navy's mechanical crossbows resembled the ancient Roman design structurally, though they were probably inferior. The finest Roman Ballistae incorporated extensive steel and bronze, luxuries the stingy transmigrators couldn't afford. Their version was consequently heavier. It boasted one improvement, however: a three-hundred-sixty-degree rotating platform with a low protective parapet, giving the shooters some basic cover.

Fishing-1 mounted two such crossbows—one on the fore deck, one aft. Sea trials had demonstrated that at five hundred meters, hitting anything was pure luck. At two hundred meters, accuracy improved significantly.

Fortunately, this era's Chinese coastal vessels weren't much better armed. As long as the transmigration Navy didn't foolishly try to dominate the seas with crossbows, the weapons sufficed for coastal anti-piracy work and intimidating merchant and fishing boats. Besides, they had better ammunition than the Romans ever did.

"Prepare Round Two!" the gunnery officer ordered.

"Round Two ready!" A large firecracker-like projectile was loaded onto the Ballista.

Seeing Fishing-1 approach, the three boats hurriedly adjusted their sails—apparently attempting to flee. The ship's loudspeaker played a pre-recorded message in multiple dialects and Mandarin, ordering them to drop sails immediately and submit to inspection.

After the broadcast, the boats' sails did indeed drop. Figures began scurrying chaotically between decks and cabins.

"Prepare to board."

This was routine. The boarding teams donned life vests, each man equipped with a pistol and machete, and lined up at the ship's rail to await orders.

"Board."

On command, five team members leaped over the rail and landed on the opposite deck. Before they could steady themselves, cannon thunder erupted.

(End of Chapter)