Chapter 550 - Salvaging the Shipwreck

The classified file on "Matter A" thudded onto the conference table. Gao Xiaosong, the officer in charge, cleared his throat and began his briefing to the Eight-Person Conference.

Following Zhou Weisen's reconnaissance, the Executive Committee had greenlit a covert salvage operation. Ideally, the mission was a "feasibility study for guano mining and a survey for a Taiwan transit base." In reality, it was a treasure hunt.

A mixed task force—comprising Navy personnel, the Long-Range Exploration Team, and the original survey crew—departed for Dongsha Island. It wasn't until the flotilla of one motor-sailer, a large transport ship, and several longboats dropped anchor that Gao Xiaosong revealed the truth to the crew.

"Guano?" Gao Xiaosong scoffed, addressing the stunned men. "We're not here for bird shit. We're here for a smuggler's ship packed with contraband."

The shock dissolved into electric excitement. A smuggling vessel meant drugs or, better yet, weapons. The transmigrators were desperate for modern firepower. The SKS was reliable, but it was ugly and semi-automatic. Dreams of AK-47s and machine guns danced in their heads. Even if it was drugs, well, morphine was always in short supply.

The native sailors watched in confusion as their "leaders" buzzed with manic energy over a desolate, sun-baked rock in the middle of nowhere.

Driven by the prospect of loot, the team worked with feverish efficiency. A lightweight trestle pier materialized on the beach. Marine platoons swept the island, securing the perimeter and locating the freshwater wells. A distillation plant was jury-rigged next to the wells to desalinate the brackish water, ensuring survival for the hundred-man team.

The salvage began. It was grueling work. Lacking heavy cranes or commercial diving gear, the team relied on manpower and the two qualified divers, Zhou Weisen and Lin Chuanqing. For two weeks, they stripped the wreck of everything not bolted down: tools, supplies, even the old tires used as fenders.

Ashore, the salvaged goods were rinsed, dried, and cataloged. It was a haul of useful junk, but the prize—the weapons—remained elusive.

"We haven't breached the sealed compartments yet," Zhou Weisen reported, wiping salt from his face. "If the goods are anywhere, they're in there."

Breaking into the sealed hold underwater was a nightmare of leverage and lung capacity. Finally, a hatch gave way. Inside, stacked under heavy green tarps, were long, rectangular crates.

It took every ounce of strength Zhou Weisen and Lin Chuanqing possessed to wrestle a single small crate out of the dark hold and float it to the surface with lift bags.

On the deck of the support ship, the crew crowded around as the lid was pried off. CHEERS erupted. Inside, pristine in their factory packaging, were twelve handguns, complete with spare magazines.

"SIG P226!" someone shouted.

"Wrong," Zhou Weisen corrected, picking one up. He racked the slide, the action smooth as silk. "It's a CZ99. Yugoslavian. A clone, but a damn good one."

"Yugoslavia?" Most of the younger crewmen had only a vague concept of the dissolved nation.

"Fifteen rounds of 9mm," Weisen grinned, slapping a magazine home. "It's a beast."

The discovery validated the mission, but it also brought a tinge of disappointment. Handguns were great, but they weren't assault rifles.

"Don't lose heart!" Lin Chuanqing rallied them. "Where there are pistols, there's ammo. At the very least, we're sitting on a stockpile of 9mm."

But the diving was taking its toll. The wreck was a labyrinth of dark, twisted metal. Zhou Weisen and Lin Chuanqing were exhausted. They managed to recover a few more crates—military supplies and NATO 7.62mm ammunition—but the pace was agonizingly slow. The discovery of the 7.62mm rounds hinted at heavier weapons like FALs or M14s, but getting to them was impossible.

"We need to raise the ship," Lin Chuanqing argued. "My gear is rotting down there. The engines, the electronics—every day in the salt water is destroying them. If we lift her now, we can salvage the machinery. Wait another month, and she's just scrap metal."

Gao Xiaosong radioed the request to Lingao. The Executive Committee, sensing the urgency, approved the plan and dispatched an 8154 trawler to assist.

Raising a hundred-ton vessel from ten meters without heavy cranes required ingenuity. Lin Chuanqing proposed a classic refloating technique: seal the hull, pump out the water, and pump in compressed air. The ship's buoyancy would do the rest.

"She was scuttled by opening the seacocks," Lin Chuanqing explained. "The hull is intact. If we close the valves and seal the hatches, she'll float."

Equipment was rushed from Lingao. Lin Chuanqing and Zhou Weisen dove back into the gloom, navigating the interior of the ship to locate and close the seacocks. Lin's experience as a captain was invaluable; he knew exactly where to look.

After a month of preparation, the pumps roared to life. Air hissed into the hull.

Slowly, agonizingly, the sea began to churn. A dark shape broke the surface, shedding cascades of water and foam. The American fishing vessel rose from the grave, greeted by the thunderous applause of the salvage team.

Once stabilized, the wreck was towed alongside the large sailing ship. Lin Chuanqing boarded the ghost ship and dropped the anchor.

Gao Xiaosong posted armed guards. "No one touches her until the search team is done."

Lin Chuanqing led the search party back into the now-dry hold. They moved quickly, cracking opening the remaining compartments. Crates of ammo, magazines, and supplies were hauled out.

But still, no rifles.

"Where are they?" someone muttered, kicking a crate.

"Here!"

A shout from the forward hold. A new crate had been pried open. Inside lay rows of dull metal rifles.

"AKs?"

"Sort of..."

The guns were strange. They had the distinctive silhouette of a Kalashnikov, but the proportions were wrong, and they were fitted with straight box magazines.

"It's a variant," Gao Xiaosong guessed, scratching his head. He knew soldiers, not obscure firearm taxonomy.

Zhou Weisen, the aficionado, stepped forward. "Behold, the M77B1," he announced reverently. "It's a Yugoslavian AKM chambered in 7.62 NATO."

"Yugoslavian guns running NATO rounds," Lin Chuanqing mused. "Our smugglers had eclectic taste."

(End of Chapter)