Chapter 692 - Fleet Departure
Now he was a dignified Australian-Song Navy Lieutenant. Though Shi Shisi had no concept of the Great Song and only the vaguest notion of what a Lieutenant's commission actually entailed, the title sounded impressive. Paired with a dignified uniform, a sword at his side, and the professional officer's bearing that the transmigrators had drilled into him, he felt far more dashing than any Ming general.
Shi Shisi was on leave today—naval officers routinely received one day off per week. He had returned to his own home for a feast. While on duty, alcohol consumption was strictly rationed, which pained the former pirate who loved his drink. On his day off, naturally, he intended to drink his fill.
His orderly had hunted a rabbit earlier that morning and taken it to the East Gate Market Cooperative Restaurant, asking the cook to prepare it properly. He had also purchased plenty of quality wine. Shi Shisi then ate and drank with abandon.
Full and pleasantly drunk, he surveyed his comfortable surroundings. Such a leisurely afternoon—no training, no sea duty—felt truly blessed. He decided to nap contentedly in his chair, then visit the Violet House in East Gate Market for a bath. In the evening, he would gather with a few old comrades at the Violet House to drink—Hu Wumei, who had been stationed in Sanya for several months, had recently returned to Lingao on business. A proper reunion was in order.
Since preparations for the counter-encirclement campaign had begun, the Navy's combat missions remained few, but patrols, transport duties, and escort assignments kept them busy enough. The 5th Special Service Vessel Squadron under Shi Shisi's command had been responsible for escorting the salt transport fleet between Manyan and Bopu—monotonous and tedious work. Shi Shisi didn't fear fighting; he envied Li Guangfa, whose Special Service Vessel Squadron had at least bombarded government troops at Chengmai. Though that was the extent of it.
"Master! Master!" Just as drowsiness was claiming him, a woman's voice rang in his ear. Shi Shisi opened his eyes with irritation—it was his wife calling.
"What is it?" He fought the urge to slap her for disturbing his pleasant doze.
"A messenger from headquarters is here!" The woman looked rather panicked.
"Quick, show him in!" Shi Shisi snapped awake instantly. A messenger from headquarters on a rest day could only mean an emergency—either an immediate meeting or orders to put to sea.
"Setting sail?"
"Most likely!" Shi Shisi wiped his greasy hands on his uniform. Feeling his appearance unfit for receiving official communications, he roared at the orderly running in from the outer room: "Quick, bring me water!"
The messenger entered, saluted crisply, and informed him of a meeting at the Naval Command in one hour.
"...We'll be setting sail after the meeting. You'd best pack your luggage and instruct your orderly to deliver it to the ship."
Shi Shisi would never forget that scene. The early morning sun had just crested the horizon, casting crimson light upon the masts of the two-masted and three-masted ships. Every warship of the Pearl River Estuary Detachment preparing to depart flew Rear Admiral Chen Haiyang's flag.
Four squadrons of Special Service Vessels lay at anchor at Navy Anchorage No. 1—sixteen vessels in total, varying in style and even tonnage. But every one was dressed magnificently, festooned with signal flags. Decks and hulls had been scrubbed spotless. In the distance at Anchorage No. 2, two patrol boat squadrons waited; their elegant streamlined hulls stood out like cranes among chickens.
At the "Big Pier"—as everyone called the civilian pier beside the massive stone embankment—five Special Service Vessel Squadrons were loading cargo. These particular ships, clumsy or unmaneuverable, served specifically for transporting cargo and Marines. Crates marked with different numbers, symbols, and colors were loaded onto pallets, covered with netting, and hoisted skyward by cranes.
Columns of Marines wearing "copper basin hats" fashioned from coconut shells stood waiting in queues to board. The copper basin hat was the newest summer sun helmet design. Though some transmigrators thought soldiers wearing it looked exactly like North Vietnamese commandos, it suited the subtropical summer climate far better than rattan helmets.
Every ship was lowering flat-bottomed boats, like bees released from an overcrowded hive. The buzz of human voices, the creaking of pulleys and ropes, the splash of oars striking water—all carried across the swelling sea surface for nautical miles. As the sun climbed higher, the half-hoisted sails shifted colors—first black, then blue-gray, finally brilliant white.
Various small craft in the bay gathered in clusters, scattered, formed groups of three or five, then separated and regrouped again. They bustled about moving supplies and ferrying personnel. Oars rose and fell on rowing boats; thick smoke and jets of steam poured continuously from Daihatsu landing craft of every size. The boats alternated between the pier and the larger ships, their crews shouting and whistling to one another. The water surface was speckled with garbage tossed overboard.
Shi Shisi leaned on the bridge of his flagship, Ling-Special 51, drinking in this tense, lively, and orderly departure scene. Beside him stood a young naval cadet named Pan Yong, the trainee executive officer aboard. To help captains of rough origins properly manage ship administration, the Admiralty had designated many naval cadet internship positions as executive officers, responsible for actual administrative and personnel management.
"Xiao Pan! This fleet is truly magnificent." Under Zhucailao's command, Shi Shisi had witnessed fleets a hundred times larger than this one—but how could those ragtag assemblages compare to this dignified naval detachment? Those had been nothing more than motley collections of battered fishing boats and cargo junks, like a floating village.
"Indeed, Captain," Pan Yong replied respectfully. "The Daihatsu squadrons aren't departing with us, otherwise the spectacle would be even grander."
"Daihatsus are too small. Having a few capsize in rough seas wouldn't be worth it. Besides, they burn coal—we'd have to make special stops to refuel them along the way."
Steam cranes rumbled as they hoisted the Daihatsu boats participating in this long-range voyage one by one, loading them onto the Big Whale's deck. The Big Whale would carry four Daihatsus; additional boats would be transported after the Hong Kong base was established.
The Marines participating in the Pearl River Estuary expedition consisted of two companies, reinforced by a Marine artillery company equipped with two 12-pounder howitzers. This Marine detachment was designated the Hong Kong Detachment. Its commander was Shi Zhiqi, who wore a pair of plain-glass black spectacles secured behind his head with string. He stood majestically on the Big Whale's bridge, surveying the embarking Marines.
The name "Haibing"—Sea Soldiers—left a bad taste in his mouth. It reeked of the Japanese. But comparatively speaking, "Haibing" at least approached the meaning he envisioned for this force, more so than the clunky "Naval Landing Force." In Shi Zhiqi's conception, the Marine Corps should carry no "Navy" in its name. It should be something closer to the USMC—an independent branch equal to Army, Navy, and Air Force.
Shi Zhiqi's status in the Navy wasn't particularly high, primarily because he had missed the Navy's most glorious engagement: the Second Defense of Bopu. The first time, he hadn't been on shift; the second, he'd been lying in the clinic with dysentery, listening to gunfire thunder across the sky outside while doubled over with abdominal cramps. He had missed a golden opportunity to earn merit—even mere participation as a bystander would have conferred significant seniority advantages.
Having missed the fighting had seriously hampered his naval promotion. Fortunately, his sailor's background qualified him to lead the specialized team maintaining the Sacred Ship while concurrently serving as an instructor in the naval training class. His standing remained middling. With Shi Zhiqi's capabilities, becoming a captain once large motorized vessels entered mass production wouldn't pose any difficulty—but he wasn't content with that. He had set his sights on the Marine Corps.
He had always harbored great interest in the Marines and planned to make his mark in this field. So he had joined up.
Shi Zhiqi had no patience for Old Di's peculiar German-style preferences. Germany might boast of its Army and use submarines to mask naval embarrassments, but its Marine Corps was virtually nonexistent. One might as well become a fan of the Philippine Army.
After joining the Marines, his skills from his sailor days quickly earned him great prestige, and he rose to become a primary officer.
For this Pearl River Estuary operation, Shi Zhiqi had expended considerable effort to secure the Detachment Commander position. His former sailor status had certainly helped—Chen Haiyang believed a Marine detachment commander who understood navigation would prove far more valuable in coastal combat than an officer who knew only infantry tactics.
Behind him stood Le Lin, captain of the Big Whale and commander of the patrol boat detachment. He wore a snow-white U.S. Navy uniform—naturally from his private collection. Though old, it had been washed spotless and looked very smart. He was gazing into the distance through binoculars.
"Now you're really going home." Of course, Hong Kong Island in this timeline bore no connection to the Hong Kong Le Lin had once known.
Le Lin's face broke into an expectant smile. "I'm going to build a mansion on Victoria Peak! Become the Governor!"
"On what grounds do you get to be Governor?"
"Because I'm a Hong Konger. Hong Kong people ruling Hong Kong."
"This Hong Kong has nothing to do with you," Shi Zhiqi pointed out. "If we wanted, we could call it Wen Island, Ma Island, or Stone Island. Just not Hong Kong Island."
"Hehe, I'm going to be Governor anyway!" Le Lin warmed to the subject, launching into elaborate descriptions of all the construction he would undertake on Hong Kong Island. Shi Zhiqi nodded along, wearing a politely indulgent smile. In his view, this young man's dream was too modest—what did a place like Hong Kong Island amount to? Just a tiny island. His own ambitions reached far higher.
At that moment, he spotted a small Daihatsu liaison boat puffing black smoke as it headed from the pier toward Chen Haiyang's flagship, Ling-Special 11. This Daihatsu flew another personal pennant. There was no mistaking it—this was the boat of Naval Informal Advisor Wen Desi, now making his way to the flagship.