Chapter 1037: Jeju Island Forward Command
In the lee of Mount Seongsan, where volcanic cliffs broke the winter wind, a net curtain enclosed the command area. Sentries stood watch with loaded rifles and fixed bayonets, their breath misting in the cold air. Within this perimeter, the large command tent hummed with activity as the Jeju Island Landing Command worked to consolidate their gains.
A situation map of Jeju Island—painstakingly reconstructed from twenty-first-century cartography and historical records—lay flat across the combination map table. Gathered around it, the members of the Forward Command studied their new domain: Rear Admiral Li Haiping of the Second Fleet, Special Reconnaissance Detachment Squad Leader Xue Ziliang, Jeju Island Special Task Force Commander Nangong Wudi, and Civil Commissioner Feng Zongze.
Though Jeju served as Joseon's first line of defense against Japan, the dynasty's military presence here was laughably weak. Historical records indicated the entire island garrison numbered fewer than two thousand men—and as for their combat effectiveness, the Senators had reached unanimous consensus that it merited no serious consideration whatsoever. Thirty years prior, the Japanese had swept through Joseon as if the peninsula were uninhabited. During the Later Jin invasion just four years ago, King Injo had abandoned his capital and fled to Ganghwa Island, his only stratagem for repelling the enemy being to sue for peace.
The Second Fleet had escorted a substantial force ashore: two infantry companies of the Northbound Detachment's Jeju Island Special Task Force, one combat engineer company, and one public security company, supplemented by a direct company equipped with four field guns. On the civilian side, the Jeju Island Agricultural Reclamation Regiment had landed its direct squadron, a horse-raising squadron, and four labor squadrons—approximately twelve hundred souls in all. Beyond the field army and public security troops, even the Agricultural Reclamation Regiment carried cold weapons.
"Give me command of a single labor squadron with nothing but standard spears and machetes," declared Nangong Wudi, "and we could crush these two thousand Joseon troops without breaking a sweat."
The speaker cut an imposing figure. His hair was cropped in the pot-lid style favored by Army Senators, and though he stood only 170 centimeters tall with a medium build, his muscles were dense and well-defined from years of rigorous training. His thick forearms and prominent biceps suggested considerable strength—an impression reinforced by the M1911 pistol at his hip, a weapon rarely chosen by Senators due to its heavy recoil. Most peculiar of all was the leather pouch at his waist, which contained a slingshot fashioned from steel wire and beef tendon.
He wore an Army captain's uniform. Before D-Day, Nangong Wudi had served as a squad leader in the People's Liberation Army, accumulating valuable experience in troop leadership, training, and combat. After the transmigration, he had naturally gravitated toward the Army. During the Second Counter-Encirclement Campaign, he'd commanded an infantry company in the Fubo Army, though his assignment to the reserve meant he'd seen little action in the Chengmai Campaign beyond a brief pursuit that netted several hundred prisoners. Consequently, the wave of promotions following that victory had passed him by.
However, recognizing the need to cultivate Senator officers, the General Staff had soon organized an Advanced Tactics Class for all Army Senators below battalion level, preparing them for future mid-to-high-ranking positions. The curriculum extended beyond strategy to encompass military organization, training, and line-infantry tactics of the era. A substantial portion focused on "public security warfare"—tactics essential for the social transformation that would follow their expansion into the mainland.
Nangong Wudi's academic performance had been merely average, but his practical abilities were exceptional. Years of wandering through various livelihoods after his discharge had left him with a remarkable gift for languages: he could conduct basic conversations in Mongolian, Manchu, Korean, Vietnamese, Tibetan, and Uyghur. This linguistic versatility had earned him command of the Army forces for the Jeju Island landing during Operation Generator's planning phase.
Civil Commissioner Feng Zongze spoke up: "Crushing the Joseon ruling structure won't be a problem. But with an island this size, do we have enough men to hold the entire territory?"
Feng Zongze stood a head taller than Nangong Wudi, his sturdy frame projecting an air of honest reliability that belied his varied skills. As the proprietor of a small pharmacy, he held a pharmacist's license and junior nutritionist certification. He understood psychology, excelled at cooking, could operate medium vehicles and tractors, and possessed enough mechanical knowledge to bluff his way through basic repairs. His horsemanship was similarly passable. Most crucially, he spoke fluent Japanese and serviceable Korean—qualifications that had elevated him above dozens of "soy-sauce Senator" applicants for the Civil Commissioner position.
At least, that was the official explanation. Unreliable rumors claimed this particular Senator had entangled himself in an affair with a female colleague, and her boyfriend's threats had prompted the Organization Department to exile him to this remote post. Naturally, no one believed such nonsense except Wu Chongzhen, the notorious coin collector. Organization Department Head Ming Lang had firmly denied the allegations:
"We maintain rigorous procedures for selecting Senators for administrative positions. The process is completely open and transparent."
Still, given Feng Zongze's diverse capabilities, appointing this multi-talented Senator as an expatriate civil official seemed an elegant solution to multiple problems—notably, the Generator Command had dispatched no Senator medical personnel with the expedition.
"We don't need to defend the whole island," said Xue Ziliang. "Just our base. Let the Joseon folks do as they please. If they come looking for a fight, we'll teach them a lesson they won't forget."
"No—we must disarm the enemy forces." Nangong Wudi, as supreme commander of the operation, overruled this suggestion. "Jeju Island is rich in resources. Only by controlling the Joseon bureaucrats and stripping them of military power can we exploit those resources effectively. Without capturing local officials, how can we locate the island's official horses? How can we determine the actual population? Our historical materials are extensive, but discrepancies between documentation and reality are inevitable. Moreover, those records lack the specificity we need."
For outsiders seeking to rule any territory, local collaborators were indispensable. Establishing a puppet regime and appointing willing traitors remained the unchanging choice of every occupying force throughout history.
"We'll also need the local government's grain reserves and must conscript the local population," Feng Zongze added, eager to support the commander's position. "None of that works without controlling the government apparatus."
"Fair enough—no objections. Do it your way." Xue Ziliang raised his hand in surrender. He had no aversion to fighting; after all, that was where his value lay.
"We need to seize the three cities—Jeju, Daejeong, and Jeongui—as quickly as possible and bring the Joseon ruling institutions under our control." Nangong Wudi circled three locations on the glass overlay with his ink pen.
Jeju Island contained three administrative divisions: Jeju proper, Daejeong County, and Jeongui County. These served as the island's administrative centers, each governed by local officials—a Moksa, or magistrate, in Jeju, and county magistrates in the other two.
Jeju corresponded to modern Jeju City—the political and economic heart of the island, administering roughly half its population. Daejeong County occupied the island's southwestern tip. Jeongui County lay in the southeast, roughly where Seongeup would stand in the original timeline. It was the closest of the three to their landing site at Seongsan.
"The question is how those two thousand troops are actually deployed," Feng Zongze mused. "Surely they're not all concentrated in the three cities?"
"There are also garrison posts at the beacon towers and other strategic points," Xue Ziliang noted. According to materials from the Great Library, the Joseon Dynasty had established nine garrison positions across the island beyond the three cities, each requiring some complement of soldiers.
Defending a five-hundred-square-kilometer island with a meager force of two thousand men, scattered like sesame seeds across the landscape, inevitably meant insufficient strength everywhere. The Joseon army's deployment philosophy clearly mirrored that of the later Qing Dynasty's Green Standard Army: defenses spread thin across multiple positions, focused more on policing duties than field operations. Against such an opponent, the special task force could defeat them piecemeal with ease.
"We should interrogate the prisoners," Xue Ziliang suggested. "They can provide firsthand intelligence."
At his order, soldiers brought in the captured Haenyeo for questioning. The fact that Xue Ziliang had apprehended bare-bottomed women immediately upon landing had stirred considerable interest among Feng Zongze and the others. It wasn't that they lacked female companionship—all three had purchased maids—but the legendary image of Haenyeo diving naked into the sea to harvest seafood held an undeniable exotic allure.
In the original timeline, of course, Haenyeo wore tight diving suits or at least swimsuits, and most women persisting in this grueling profession were middle-aged or older—Japanese and Korean youth having long since abandoned such arduous work. But learning that Haenyeo matching their fantasies actually existed set their imaginations racing.
Before the women arrived, Feng Zongze and Nangong Wudi engaged in a friendly competition, debating in elementary Korean over whose command of the language was superior. To demonstrate their linguistic depth, they exchanged colorful greetings using certain choice Korean expressions. Admiral Li Haiping, whose presence at the interrogation was largely ceremonial, remained silent and motionless throughout.
When the Haenyeo entered, they immediately knelt with bowed heads. Though Jeju Island's climate was warmer than the mainland, winter remained winter, with outdoor temperatures hovering below ten degrees. The sea women survived their dives by smearing grease on their bodies before entering the water, then driving away the cold with strong liquor afterward. Years of year-round diving had built their cold resistance beyond normal limits, but this was training, not some special constitution. Though they wore straw cloaks, prolonged exposure with semi-naked bodies had left them shivering. The warmth inside the tent drew sighs of relief.
The Haenyeo wore their hair coiled atop their heads. Long years of seawater immersion and sun exposure had bronzed their bare skin to a deep copper hue. Their figures remained fit from constant physical labor, though a closer look revealed that several were already quite old—well into their years by this era's standards. Only two or three were young women. Feng Zongze's Korean proved slightly superior, so he opened the questioning.
When the Haenyeo realized these men in gray-blue jackets commanding the great ships could speak their language, they raised their heads one by one, eyes widening. These strangers were clearly not the dreaded Wokou—the Japanese pirates they feared most. Shipwrecked Tang people and Wa people occasionally drifted to Jeju Island, and raids by Wokou were not uncommon, but the figures before them were neither.
Author's Note: Regarding the image of Haenyeo, old photographs confirm they did indeed work naked or wearing only underwear. Rubber diving suits and tight swimsuits are innovations of the last sixty or seventy years. Earlier divers, of course, had no such equipment.
Similar professional divers exist throughout the world. When diving, they are typically naked or near-naked, smearing grease on their bodies to ward off the cold.
Additionally, regarding Jeju Island's Haenyeo specifically, some sources suggest they actually emerged as a distinct profession after the nineteenth century. Because taxes on women were lighter than those on men, the practice of harvesting seafood gradually transitioned from male to female.
(End of Chapter)