Chapter 1258 - Cannon Factory
Xu Ke examined the ship's structure in detail and photographed what he found. The clues at the shipyard fascinated him deeply. Beyond gathering intelligence on hostile forces, the Intelligence Bureau was also tasked with discovering, understanding, and assessing potential threats—including emerging adversaries and any technological, cultural, or scientific progress made by non-Senate powers.
The inspection confirmed something troubling: the indigenous people of this timeline had recognized the technological gap and were actively working to close it within their means.
This phenomenon unsettled Xu Ke. However small and feeble such attempts might be, the enterprising spirit behind them was unmistakable. The Senate's very existence had stimulated a hunger for progress among the people of this era and broadened their horizons in ways they themselves might not fully grasp.
Even as the Senate—spacetime colonists wielding technological, institutional, and cultural superiority—crushed the indigenous powers, it was simultaneously disseminating new ideas and capabilities.
Xu Ke's feelings were mixed. The naturalized staff member accompanying him noticed his solemn expression—so different from the beaming delight of other officials—and grew inexplicably cautious.
"Let's see the cannon factory."
The facility lay less than two li from the shipyard. Xu Ke declined to take a horse and walked. Several members of the Planning Agency's Special Search Team and a Marine escort were already waiting at the entrance.
The cannon factory was crude—little more than a broad expanse of rammed earth punctuated by a few brick-and-tile buildings. Several reservoirs had been dug to supply the casting operations. Xu Ke noted that iron-smelting furnaces had already been constructed, with large stockpiles of charcoal and iron material nearby.
The equipment, by Ming dynasty standards, was remarkably advanced. Even with the half-baked seventeenth-century firearms knowledge Xu Ke had acquired through crash courses, he could tell it approached contemporary European levels. The facility possessed various measuring instruments and calipers, as well as animal- or human-powered long-bar boring machines for polishing cannon bores.
Yet there were no signs of actual production. The smelting furnaces had never been fired.
According to captured prisoners, this cannon factory had been completed less than a month ago. Though all equipment was in place and materials were abundant, Zheng Zhilong had strictly withheld the order to begin casting. The reason: they were waiting for "foreign cannons."
"Foreign cannons?" Xu Ke mused. He had seen plenty of genuine European ordnance along the way—several Portuguese "Red Barbarian Cannons" at Huli Mountain alone, and Senate "Vagabond Cannons" mounted on the garrison walls. The Zheng organization was hardly so destitute as to lack a model for casting. Even the hired cannon-founders found it bizarre: tons of silver spent, materials assembled, yet no production.
He continued his inspection and discovered a peculiar structure. It resembled a square watchtower, its base of blue stone and upper sections of blue brick, all bonded with glutinous rice lime mortar. It stood roughly ten meters tall, hollow inside. The interior was divided into three levels; the top lacked a proper roof but had a wooden frame of thick timbers covered with reed mats to keep out wind and rain.
Clearly unfinished, the building's purpose eluded Xu Ke at first glance. Its sturdy construction suggested a blockhouse.
He circled the structure and found a large pile of timber nearby, also covered with reed mats. The pieces had been processed into round logs of varying lengths, with mortise and tenon joints already cut. One log measured about ten meters. Beside the timber lay thinner wooden rods of various sizes and a substantial quantity of split bamboo strips.
Unable to guess their intended use, Xu Ke recorded everything with his camera and instructed the Planning Agency staff to chronicle and register these materials in detail.
An attached gunpowder workshop stood nearby. The warehouse held large stores of saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal. However, the specialized bluestone grinders used for milling gunpowder were absent—essential equipment that could not be substituted with random stone.
When he questioned a captive, he learned the grinders had been custom-ordered but, due to their size and weight, had not yet been transported.
Xu Ke thought little of it. He walked through the entire facility and found not only equipment for casting cannons but clear preparations for manufacturing muskets as well. More intriguingly, he discovered crucibles.
Though Xu Ke had never worked in a factory, he had read enough popular science articles on industrial technology. He knew the only reason for crucibles here was that someone in the Zheng arsenal was attempting to make steel.
Large-scale steelmaking remained Lingao's exclusive domain, but small-scale production of what passed for high-quality steel in this era existed in many corners of the world.
The question was: what did the Zheng organization need crucible steel for? Even a non-expert like Xu Ke understood that such a small quantity could never be used to cast cannons. Besides, he had heard industrial Elders say that casting steel was extraordinarily difficult—even in the twenty-first century, a small workshop couldn't pull it off.
The mysteries here multiplied. Xu Ke increasingly sensed that this cannon factory harbored secrets yet to be uncovered.
"Chief..." The Planning Agency staff had been waiting for him to finish before beginning their inventory. Seeing him return to the factory gate, they hurried forward for instructions.
"Everything here must be carefully recorded, drawn, and photographed before being moved—including their exact positions within the facility. My people will handle the documentation. You may begin processing each item only after they complete their work. Understood?"
"Understood, Chief."
"Provide them a copy of the catalog and figures you tally. I have a use for them." With that, Xu Ke hurried back to the dock to catch a launch to Xiamen Island, where more work awaited.
With a crunch, a miraculously preserved Xuande red vase disintegrated to powder beneath Xue Ziliang's combat boot.
Xue Ziliang stood in a courtyard of the Zheng estate, leisurely lighting a "Limited Edition First Clear" Corona cigar. An FAL short-barreled assault rifle hung from his shoulder. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal thick biceps, and a boonie hat shaded his face. Sunlight glinted off his knockoff Ray-Bans, making him look every inch the "textbook American GI" from old movies.
Only four hours had passed since the barrage began, yet Anping had already changed hands—faster than Xue Ziliang or any staff officer in Lingao had predicted.
The bombardment had plunged the city into chaos. Hours after the shelling stopped, the defenders finally assembled a force of a hundred men to search toward the artillery positions. Continuous precision rifle fire sent them reeling, leaving a dozen corpses behind before the survivors withdrew. Shortly afterward, the Navy's special service boat squadron arrived and annihilated all Zheng ships anchored in the river in a one-sided engagement.
Before the Marines even began their assault, the city had descended into anarchy. Fires broke out everywhere. Special Reconnaissance Team squads lying in ambush reported that every gate stood open, with people flooding out in all directions. The tide of fleeing humanity was so vast and chaotic that sniper teams couldn't intercept them effectively. They concentrated fire on anyone well-dressed or mounted on horses and sedan chairs. They killed quite a few, but far more escaped.
Now the roads leading from Anping's gates were strewn with abandoned chests, wrecked sedan chairs, dead horses, and corpses. All manner of valuables lay scattered on the ground.
The Marines swiftly secured all four gates and began extinguishing fires and restoring order. Xue Ziliang led the Special Reconnaissance Team into the city—his primary objective was to secure Zheng Zhilong's residence.
He drew on his cigar to mask the sharp stench of blood. The courtyard had been thoroughly churned by artillery shells; rubble and shrapnel lay everywhere. Bloody corpses filled the courtyard and corridors, and a few of the dying still groaned in agony. A knot of servants—men and women alike—appeared to have been struck by shrapnel while crowding the gate in their rush to escape. Their torn bodies blocked the doorway in grotesque postures.
This was the main passage leading to the Dunren Pavilion, where Zheng Zhilong conducted his business. Xue Ziliang ordered the four team members behind him to clear the rooms in the courtyard quickly. He knew there was no need for lengthy instructions—these veterans understood their work. They spread out, breathing hard, eyes sweeping the area, ready to move.
Xue Ziliang picked his way carefully across the passage. Though the residence was a shambles, this was still Zheng Zhilong's mansion. If organized resistance existed anywhere in Anping, it would be here.
Just as he stepped into the courtyard, a man clutching a Japanese sword burst from his left with a shriek, lunging toward him. Perhaps a terrified household guard trying to fight his way out—Xue Ziliang had no time to speculate. He sidestepped, and his rifle barked a three-round burst. The man stumbled and collapsed, filthy blood spewing from his mouth.
Xue Ziliang kicked the corpse aside and advanced cautiously. There was no organized resistance, but people in their death throes could emerge at any moment. He led two team members in a covering formation into the Dunren Pavilion courtyard.
Even more bodies lay here. Stewards, bosses, and attendants had gathered for a meeting when the bombardment struck. Blood and viscera were everywhere.
Sensing faint footsteps inside the main hall, Xue Ziliang raised his rifle, maintained a firing posture, and approached slowly. He kicked open the door.
The outer room was empty, but he could tell someone hid behind the curtains.
"Come out! We won't kill you!" a naturalized soldier of Southern Fujian origin called out in the local dialect.
(End of Chapter)