Chapter 162: Army-Navy Disputes

When Huang Xiong arrived at headquarters, he found Li Yunxing already seated with three others. Two of them he recognized—Company Commander "Chief Wei" and "Chief Ma," who frequently appeared at the training grounds and clearly held considerable authority. The third man was a stranger: Ran Yao. Li Yunxing had summoned the Security Group immediately after drill, convinced that Huang Xiong's bearing far exceeded that of an ordinary peasant. The man was likely a Ming military officer, and they needed to determine whether he was a spy.

There was also an observer present. Dongmen Chuiyu had been assigned light duties since the East Gate Market was running smoothly, and he'd taken to loitering around Ma Qianzhu's office. He'd even drafted some staff regulations, which earned him a nominal staff officer title.

"Sit," Ran Yao said.

"Thank you, Chief!" Huang Xiong snapped to attention with military precision—a gesture he seemed particularly fond of.

Everyone noted that his movements were nothing like those of an ordinary recruit.

"Regular army?" Ran Yao asked bluntly.

"Yes, sir. I served as a bazong at the Jizhou garrison." His expression remained open and direct.

This surprised Li Yunxing. The current recruitment drive had brought in plenty of escaped local military households, but a Jizhou bazong was a different creature entirely from Hainan's military households. The former were genuine soldiers. The latter were essentially serfs bound to military landlords. The gap between them was vast.

"If you were an imperial officer, why travel thousands of li to Qiongzhou?"

Huang Xiong hesitated before answering. "I clashed with my superiors. Killed one of them—not intentionally."

A killer, too. No wonder he'd fled so far south.

"What caused the conflict?"

"Money and grain." A bitter smile crossed his face. "The Court was constantly behind on wages—the men were half-starved. When an allocation finally arrived, it wasn't our share. I demanded what we were owed. Things escalated."

The explanation was straightforward enough, but Ran Yao knew that any competent spy would have a watertight cover story prepared. Being stuck in Hainan, they had no practical way to verify events that had transpired in distant Jizhou.

"Why join our forces?"

"The Chiefs are overseas people, unconnected to Ming officialdom. Where else would I go?"

The logic was sound, but that proved nothing either way. Ran Yao exchanged glances with the others before Ma Qianzhu spoke up.

"How would you rate our militia training?"

"The Chiefs' methods are unlike anything I've encountered before—I wouldn't presume to judge them," Huang Xiong replied carefully. "But to transform village bumpkins into men who understand advance, retreat, and battlefield formations within a single month? That alone demonstrates mastery. Such troops would be more than adequate against local bandits."

Ma Qianzhu nodded, asked a few more routine questions, then dismissed him.

"Do we keep him?" Ran Yao whispered once Huang Xiong was gone.

The safe play was obvious: don't use him, and eliminate him entirely. The man had received the full transmigrator military training regimen. If he truly was a spy, his escape would leak valuable intelligence to the authorities.

Wei Aiwen spoke up first. "I say we keep him. Men like this will only become more common as we grow. Everything has a beginning. If we treat everyone with suspicion, who can we ever use?"

"And if he is a spy?" Li Yunxing asked, still uncertain.

"A spy wouldn't reveal his identity so readily," Ran Yao observed. "Personally, I believe him."

"That's hardly materialist," Dongmen Chuiyu remarked drily.

"What is materialist, then? You want real vigilance? We have scores of workers and civilians. Can you personally vouch for every single one of them?"

"Little Wei is right," Ma Qianzhu declared, settling the matter. "We can't hide forever in our own small circle." He turned to Ran Yao. "Mark his file for controlled use and assign two soldiers for cross-surveillance."

"I'll arrange it."

"Wait—hold on." Wei Aiwen looked indignant. "You've been planting informants in my Training Battalion without telling me?"

"That falls under the Executive Committee's vertical management structure. Just read our bulletins." Ran Yao tapped the table where this week's soldier trends document sat in plain view. "Speaking of which, Little Wei, your security awareness is abysmal. This is classified material, and you've left it lying out in the open?"

"Nobody can get in here. The soldiers don't have access, and even the guards are transmigrators. Nothing can go missing—besides, the doors have locks." Wei Aiwen waved off the criticism. "Chief of Staff Ma, would you like to observe our shooting training?"

"Lead the way."

The New Army had conducted one hundred shooting sessions to date: forty live-fire exercises and sixty dry-fire drills. This exceeded the new recruit training standards of the nineteenth-century British Army—the most shooting-intensive military of that era. The transmigrators were sparing no expense on their founding forces.

They made their way to the 2nd Company's area and found the soldiers clustered together, watching a dark-skinned, powerfully built man taking aim at a distant stone. A crowd had gathered around him.

The rifle cracked. The stone flew. Excellent shooting. Wei Aiwen recognized the marksman immediately: Yang Zeng, Li Yunxing's prize shooting prodigy.

Wei Aiwen was about to step forward with a word of commendation when Dongmen Chuiyu moved ahead of him.

"Nice shooting," he told the soldier.

Yang Zeng grinned.

"Now shoot again for me." Dongmen's voice was calm, unhurried.

The soldier fired once more. Another hit.

Dongmen nodded, then positioned himself right beside the marksman. He drew a Jericho pistol from his waist, loaded a blank, and said, "Once more."

Yang Zeng began cleaning the barrel—and Dongmen fired into the air. The soldier flinched, his hand jerking, and powder spilled across his lap.

"Faster," the staff officer urged.

The powder finally went in. While Yang Zeng worked through the cleaning process, Dongmen fired twice more in quick succession.

The soldier began reloading.

"Faster. Even faster."

Another shot rang out. Yang Zeng fumbled a bullet and dropped it.

"What are you doing? Load! Load!" Dongmen shouted directly into his ear.

Yang Zeng scrambled for another cartridge from his pouch, fingers trembling.

The pistol cracked again. "Faster! Move faster!"

With shaking hands, the soldier managed to insert a round into the barrel.

Another shot. Everyone watched as he placed the percussion cap with visibly unsteady fingers.

"Fire! Fire now!"

Yang Zeng finally finished loading.

"Quick—aim—shoot!" Dongmen commanded, punctuating the order with another pistol blast.

The rifle discharged at last.

The distant stone sat motionless. The bullet had gone wide.

Dongmen Chuiyu holstered his weapon. "Keep practicing."

The onlookers shook their heads. A great shot, yes—but not yet a soldier.

Once they'd moved away from the training area, Wei Aiwen caught up, his temper barely contained.

"Dongmen Chuiyu—don't you think that was a bit much?"

"How so?"

"That man, Yang Zeng—do you have any idea how much effort he's invested since joining the Skirmisher Platoon? He's currently the best shot in the entire battalion."

"That's irrelevant." Dongmen glanced at Li Yunxing. "Captain Wei, remember this: we need soldiers, not shooting athletes. Combat doesn't happen on quiet firing ranges."

Before Wei Aiwen could formulate a response, Dongmen walked away.

Wei Aiwen and Li Yunxing found themselves developing a distinct dislike for the man who wore glasses despite not being nearsighted.

But there were more pressing grievances on Wei Aiwen's mind. His impressive artillery corps was being carved up—half of it going to the Navy. Only nine 12-pounder mountain howitzers and some 6-pounders would remain. The 8-pounders and 70mm Armstrong breechloaders were being shipped off to the fleet. The self-proclaimed "Artillery Superintendent," Zhang Bailin, was livid. He had poured enormous effort into building up the artillery, and now Li Haiping's shameless material bribery—unlimited Navy fish—was being used to poach his best gunners right out from under him.

"Chief of Staff Ma, this is unacceptable!" Zhang Bailin raged. "The Army is the main force against any encirclement campaign. If you give our cannons to the Navy, how are we supposed to fight?"

"Exactly!" Wei Aiwen added. "The Training Battalion has four infantry companies. Why does the Navy get to strip one away as their 'Marine Squad'? We understand the Executive Committee favors the Navy—fine. But this is outright bullying!"

Ma Qianzhu rose from his seat. "All you care about are cannons! Those 8-pounders—can you even haul them?"

"Nanhai Farm has—"

"You're the Artillery Superintendent. How many horses does an 8-pounder require?"

Zhang Bailin fell silent. He didn't actually know the horse requirements for his beloved weapon.

"At least six. Medium horses." Ma Qianzhu rapped the table for emphasis. "And how many horses does Wu Nanhai's farm have?"

"Donkeys would work too—" Zhang Bailin offered weakly.

"Donkeys can only pull 12-pounder mountain howitzers. One mountain howitzer battery—cannons plus limbers—needs thirty donkeys. Even if Wu Nanhai bankrupted himself, it wouldn't be enough. You people have no appreciation for logistics costs!"

Zhang Bailin deflated entirely. But Wei Aiwen pressed on about the Marine Company.

"The Marine Company is made up of future Navy sailors," Ma Qianzhu explained impatiently. "The Training Battalion was just providing interim instruction. The month is up—the Navy wants them for ship training."

Both men received a thorough dressing-down and left the office in defeat.

"The Navy's bullying has gone too far!" Wei Aiwen was still fuming once they were outside.

"Using the Fengcheng Hotel to bribe the Executive Committee—it's completely corrupt!" Zhang Bailin agreed.

"We should find Commander Xi."

"Fat Xi?" Zhang Bailin used the nickname without ceremony. "He and Ma Qianzhu might as well share the same uniform."

"What about the others? Bai Yu, Ying Yu—"

"Unreliable. Those veterans spent their whole lives 'obeying the Party's orders.' Here it's just become 'obeying the Executive Committee's orders.'"

"If this keeps up, the Army is finished." Wei Aiwen shook his head, genuinely worried about their future.

"Hmph." Zhang Bailin's voice dropped conspiratorially. "Perhaps it's time to organize a pressure group to advocate for Army rights—for the sake of all transmigrators. Their mismanagement is harming the entire enterprise. I've heard plenty of battalion officers are dissatisfied with the Executive Committee's decisions—"

"Keep your voice down." Wei Aiwen leaned closer. "Tell me—specifically, what did you have in mind?"

(End of Chapter)