Chapter 752 – Party at Sea (Part 5)

"With three thousand Mosin-Nagants, ammunition supply would be even more of a problem." Beiwei knew more about the ammunition situation than the others. Although all the transmigrator collective's munitions had been purchased by the North American Branch, usage and stockpile levels were top-secret, known only to the Executive Committee. Beiwei was not privy to exact figures, but he knew that the Special Reconnaissance Squad Command already divided each ammunition draw into "training" and "combat" allocations. Training rounds were now exclusively black-powder reloads—these smoked heavily and left considerable residue, making cleaning and maintenance a chore.

"Is it hard to make 70-30 brass? Didn't the Metallurgy Division produce zinc-brass hull sheathing? That could serve for cartridge cases too."

"Copper shortage." Qian Shuiting worked at the Planning Commission and knew the details. Zinc was plentiful, and the Commission could increase reserves at will; copper was another story. "Put it this way—power, telegraphy, and now shipbuilding all depend on copper, and there's no substitute. Since the Minié rifle works fine with mercury-fulminate caps and paper-wrapped Minié balls, switching to metallic cartridges isn't an immediate priority. Besides, a lot of the Miniés were built only in the past two years. We can't just retire them right away, can we?"

Having surveyed the ordnance, the men chatted as they lugged their selected guns and ammunition up to the afterdeck to indulge in a little shooting.

On the foredeck, several women were lounging in the hot tub, enjoying the jet massage. Soft music played as they sipped tropical cocktails of rum mixed with fruit-juice soda, utterly at ease.

Salina closed her eyes and immersed herself almost completely. The serene atmosphere felt unreal—as if she had been transported to some resort in the old time-space, and everything since the transmigration had been a dream. Tears suddenly welled up unbidden. She grabbed a towel from the edge, dabbed at her face haphazardly, mumbled that she was going to fetch another drink, and retreated into the upper cabin. Perched on a barstool, she stared out at the sea, letting the tears flow freely.

A hand tapped her shoulder. She turned to find Ai Beibei looking at her with concern.

"It's all right. Everything will be fine," Ai Beibei said softly. Salina murmured, "Sorry," composed herself, and when she turned again her features had returned to normal—the reflexes of a trained law-enforcement officer. Ai Beibei continued: "You don't need to worry. You've been accepted as a full member—a formal transmigrator. Those opinions can no longer threaten you unless someone wants to defy the authority of the House of Elders."

Salina couldn't help saying, "But you still think I'm different. I don't mean you personally, I mean..."

Ai Beibei cut in: "I know. Acceptance takes time; we all have to adjust. After we immigrated to America—even after we became citizens—we sometimes felt the same way. But it takes effort from both sides. You should learn to think and act like one of us, rather than treat all this as just a survival strategy. Just as we once had to adapt to the 'American way of life,' now we all have to adapt to the 'transmigrator way of life.'"

Salina had in fact been observing the transmigrators' conduct. In her view, although this band of "elders" copied the organizational model of a socialist state—mimicking the working style of socialist countries and parties, flying distinctly left-wing banners and emblems—they were actually an extreme-right regime unlike any she had ever encountered. The ruling clique openly proclaimed perpetual dictatorship under an elder-republic. This unsettled her deeply, even though she was now an elder herself.

Ai Beibei's words sent Salina into reflection. Her old unit, the ATF, did not handle political cases, but in the course of firearms investigations she had frequently encountered various political organizations. Yet she had never seen anything as peculiar as the transmigrator collective. It wasn't that some politically-correct sense of democracy and freedom was flaring up inside her—her concern was simpler self-preservation. Since D-Day, Salina had known she stood on perilous ground. From the first assault on her, the near-rape, to her subsequent long confinement inside the heavily guarded Political Security General Administration compound, a dreadful threat had loomed: at worst, being killed in a purge; at best, ending up as a sex slave.

Now that she was an elder, at least physical safety and freedom were no longer in question. Her immediate priority was to integrate into the group as quickly as possible.

"You have your specialties," Ai Beibei continued. "You don't have the language barrier Mendoza does, and you know quite a bit about Chinese culture. If you're willing, it won't be too hard."

At that moment, several men came up from below carrying ammunition crates. The two women paused their conversation. Perhaps to show off his muscles, Xue Ziliang had not changed into dry clothes but had come up bare-chested, a large towel wrapped around his waist.

Ai Beibei jerked her chin toward Salina. "He's not bad."

Salina smiled noncommittally.

"It seems you also have a good impression of Guo Yi?" Salina's eyes widened slightly. Such direct gossip wasn't something she often encountered.

"In my opinion, Vinny suits you better than young Guo," Ai Beibei said meaningfully. "After all, you share a cultural background—you'd get along more easily. As for young Guo, we all understand what he's thinking."

"I see." Salina gazed at Xue Ziliang on the afterdeck, lost in thought. "Thank you, Beibei."

On the afterdeck, the men were getting competitive. Beiwei suggested they not use AR-15s and similar weapons. Qian Shuiting understood: he was worried about public criticism. Modern-manufactured ammunition was now a precious commodity regardless of ownership, and using it frivolously courted accusations of wastefulness. So he proposed shooting clay pigeons with shotguns.

Shotgun shells used paper hulls; lead shot, black powder, and primers were not Class-1 controlled materials. This should raise no objections.

They first ran a round of shotgun shooting. Most of the North American crew's collection consisted of tactical shotguns with roughly eighteen-inch barrels. To keep things fair, everyone used the short-barreled guns, leaving the long-barreled turkey guns in storage.

Beiwei wielded a Benelli M2; Xue Ziliang, an M4—both tactical semi-automatic shotguns. Qian Shuixie fired a SAIGA-12 semi-auto, normally fed by a drum but fitted with a five-round magazine for convenience. Qian Shuiting used a very cheap Northern Eagle 982—a tactical shotgun modeled on the Remington 870 Express. Despite costing less than two hundred dollars, many considered it superior to the genuine Remington 870 Express.

Space aboard was limited, so they stood on the platform behind the helm. The yacht carried one automatic and one manual clay-pigeon launcher, loaded with locally fired ceramic discs procured by Qian Shuixie. Qian Duoduo volunteered to launch the clays but was hauled back by Ai Beibei.

After a round of twenty-five, the scores were close. Xue Ziliang's twenty-two hits were the best; Beiwei and Qian Shuixie each hit twenty; Qian Shuiting only hit eighteen, but since his gun was the cheapest, no one thought poorly of him.

Chatting, they moved on to rifles. To avoid accusations of waste, Qian Shuiting produced two replica breechloaders from his collection: a Spencer and a Henry-Martini. By no stretch could their cartridges be called "modern ammunition," and they used black powder.

First they used the clay launcher to fling ceramic discs into the sea as targets. Finding the range too short to be satisfying, Zhou Weisen set up an assortment of misshapen reject ceramics that he'd scavenged from Xiao Bailang on the breakwater. Everyone blazed away with rifles until they'd had their fill.

Because many of the firearms were off-limits, the Qian brothers grew bored. They soon gathered up the guns and ammunition, sorted and collected the spent casings by type, and volunteered to man the grill. Zhou Weisen led the remaining men in a bit more shooting, after which everyone decided to swim and dive. Down in the bay, Lin Shenhe had borrowed a set of snorkeling gear from Zhou Weisen and was enjoying himself. Beiwei was also keenly interested in diving. Back when he served with the Military Region's Reconnaissance Squadron, he could complete an armed ten-thousand-meter surface swim and hold a long underwater glide, yet conditions had been limited; he had never received formal dive training. He wouldn't pass up such an opportunity.

Zhou Weisen promptly brought out two sets of dive gear from the Feiyun. The bay was shallow—less than six meters at its deepest—so they dispensed with wetsuits and used only air bottles and regulators. After a quick briefing on fundamentals, they began diving. Qian Shuiting also handed Beiwei a CO₂-powered speargun. The bay boasted coral reefs and abundant marine life. Once Beiwei had a basic grasp of diving technique, he went spearfishing. Lacking experience shooting underwater, he fired off four or five harpoons without hitting anything—but he neatly snagged a lobster barehanded.

By the time they had their fill and returned to the deck for a freshwater rinse, Beiwei viewed the North American gun enthusiasts with new respect. Their weapons-handling experience and specialized skills were genuinely valuable. When Qian Shuixie had first asked to join the Special Reconnaissance Squad, Beiwei had harbored doubts about the "American rich kid." Now it was clear that, at least in military skills, all of them were excellent potential officer material.

Still, Beiwei was a product of Party education; he knew that a person's true political complexion was what mattered most. So he said nothing further on the subject—only invited Qian Shuiting, Zhou Weisen, and the others to visit Special Recon Command whenever they had time, to exchange weapon-handling experience and perhaps help train the troops in specialized skills.

(End of Chapter)