Chapter 2790: Bunk Talk at Sea

When Tan Shuangxi woke, the sky had not yet brightened. Relying on the biological clock honed through more than five years of military service, he judged it to be just before five o'clock—in about ten minutes, the reveille would sound.

Once the bugle call rang out, they would rise to organize their housekeeping, then follow the assembly call to the drill ground for formation and roll call. The immutable rhythm of camp life would begin. But today none of that was necessary; he could sleep until the meal bell. He tried to drift off again, turning over several times, yet sleep refused to come. The constantly swaying bed, the ceaseless roar of waves, and the ship's planks creaking in sporadic chorus made this a poor place for rest. If the pitching deck above weren't so wet and miserable, he would rather get up and move about. The daily five-kilometer run he usually dreaded—now he inexplicably missed it.

The air in the cabin was foul and humid. A hurricane lamp hung from the beam, swinging with the ship's motion, casting weak light. Everything beyond arm's reach blurred into shadow.

Judging from the coughs, yawns, farts, and sighs rising and falling around him, most men were already awake. Spend a year in the army, and that damned internal clock became permanently set.

Tan Shuangxi glanced around. Most soldiers lay like him—eyes open, staring at the deck overhead, or eyes closed, turning restlessly.

The corporal in the neighboring bunk tilted his head toward him. "What? Can't sleep?"

"Yeah." Tan Shuangxi reached for the cigarettes in the pocket of the uniform hanging by his bed, only to remember that smoking was strictly forbidden on the ship. He patted the pocket instead. "How many days have we been drifting?"

The company had boarded at Hong Kong, and this was now the fourth day. The weather had held fair throughout, with no violent storms. Only on the second day had the wind and waves picked up, and soldiers began getting seasick. Because of the rougher conditions, their time on deck for fresh air had been cancelled. The men could only sleep, chat, and play cards below deck, where the air was stale and the light dim. Everyone felt half-suffocated.

"Rest easy—we'll definitely reach Lingao today," the corporal said. "Took four days on the outbound voyage too. We landed in Hong Kong right around afternoon."

The whole company's landing in Hong Kong was nearly two years past now, yet the memory remained as clear as yesterday.

"Don't know how long this rest and reorganization will last. Haven't been home in almost two years." The corporal picked up his military cap, dusted it off, and draped it over his face—speaking as much to himself as to Tan Shuangxi.

"At least a decent leave should be guaranteed," a voice came from above.

"I heard from someone at battalion headquarters—this time we're getting three months' vacation!"

"Three months! Why not just say immediate discharge upon return?"

"I'm serious," the speaker insisted. "I heard it from Little Liu. He's a messenger at battalion headquarters. Any news from above, he knows first."

"If we really get three months off, I'll divorce my wife when I get back! Trade her in for a new one." Someone spoke with deliberate outrageousness.

Laughter roared through the cabin.

"Divorce your wife? You should burn incense in thanks if she doesn't divorce you!"

"Exactly! Gone for two years—who knows if there isn't a bit of green on your head by now..."

Tan Shuangxi didn't join the banter. He stared silently at the underside of the bunk above, lost in thought. Some soldier with too much time on his hands had pasted a "Beauty Calendar" there; the painted Xi Shi gazed down at him with tender eyes.

"Brother," a head appeared over the edge of the upper bunk, "getting married when you go home?"

"Married? Don't talk nonsense! It's just a matchmaking meeting." Tan Shuangxi laughed and scolded the man above. That was Tan Ende, a new recruit assigned to the unit only last year—a Shandong refugee who had arrived in Lingao less than a year ago. Sharing the same surname, he always addressed Tan Shuangxi as "Brother."

With the recovery of Guangdong and Guangxi and the endless influx of immigrants, the gender ratio in Lingao had begun shifting toward balance. The hot prospects in matchmaking were no longer limited to high-ranking officers and naturalized citizens; ordinary sergeants now had opportunities to catch a woman's eye. At every troop morale visit, among the comfort letters from young women, quite a few contained hints of secret affection. This made many old bachelors who had served for years eager to try their luck.

Tan Shuangxi did some silent calculations. He had recently been appointed Acting Platoon Leader. Because he wasn't a commissioned officer, he could only be considered "acting"—in the troops, such sergeants were called "Housekeeping Sergeants."

Though a Housekeeping Sergeant fulfilled the duties of a Platoon Leader, he remained "acting" after all. As the wry saying went: "A maid holding keys—managing the household but making no decisions." If a new officer was assigned to the company, he could be replaced on the spot.

The Company Commander had urged him to upgrade his diploma as soon as possible. With a Class B Diploma, he could apply for Officer Candidate qualification.

Officer Candidate was still just "candidate," but officer vacancies in the troops were plentiful right now. There was a good chance he could be promoted to Warrant Officer rank before long. That would count as having one foot in the officer corps—wearing not a sergeant's short sword but a command saber. His Platoon Leader appointment would become permanent.

So he planned to take advantage of this rest and reorganization period to enroll in a military cram school, storm through the preparation, and sit for the Class B Diploma exam.

Officers going on matchmaking meetings and sergeants going on matchmaking meetings—the prospects they could hope to meet were naturally quite different. After all, in the eyes of common folk, sergeants were just "soldiers" earning a few extra dollars. How could they be mentioned in the same breath as "officials"?

While lost in these thoughts, a burst of laughter from nearby interrupted his reverie. He didn't know what they were laughing about, but joined in with a few dry chuckles.

The laughter gradually faded. Nearly every soldier in the cabin was awake now. Unable to go up on deck to wash, and with mealtime not yet arrived, men lay on their bunks chatting. The topics were all the same—what they planned to do after getting home.

He caught a weak voice speaking intermittently:

"...Ambushed at Shaoguan. He was the only one left from his squad, and he'd broken a leg. I went to see him. He just cried, saying he didn't know what to do when he got back. I didn't know what to say either—could only comfort him that the Senate would always give him a bowl of rice. He said he'd joined the army to bring glory to his ancestors. Going back like this, he was afraid he couldn't even find a wife..."

"Sigh, that's just fate!"

Tan Shuangxi sighed silently. Fate! This was fate! Strange and varied, yet impossible to grasp.

He turned his head toward the Staff Sergeant in the neighboring bunk. "Old Ma, what are you planning to do when you get back?"

"Me?" The Staff Sergeant lowered his voice. "I plan to apply for discharge."

"What?" Tan Shuangxi was so shocked he nearly fell off his bed. Sergeant Ma was like him—only recently promoted. He was the son of honest fishermen, a famously good-natured man in the company, a kind uncle in the soldiers' eyes, a dull sergeant in the officers' view. Yet he wanted to discharge now?

"Fought for two years, only earned this much of a future, and you're thinking of discharge?" a soldier nearby asked.

"My family are fishermen. We've done pretty well these recent years. My father and several uncles sold all the old boats, took out loans, pooled their money to buy a new boat for deep-sea fishing. Very profitable. They just don't have enough hands, and nobody in the family has much education—they can't manage things efficiently. So they called me back to help."

"Isn't that a waste..." Tan Shuangxi couldn't help feeling regretful.

Sergeant Ma turned over, adjusting his position, and continued: "Can't really call it a waste. I first became a soldier because the village assigned corvée labor, then we were fighting bandits and government troops. That was all good work, protecting the peace of our home. I couldn't hide from it. Now all of Guangdong is liberated, and the world should be peaceful soon. Everywhere will be like Lingao—people can work and live in peace. I've been thinking: I'm not soldier material. No matter how hard I work in the ranks, I'll only ever make sergeant. Give me a company to command and I wouldn't dare take it. I'd rather go back to sailing and fishing. I just like fishing."

A soldier asked curiously: "You really don't want to be an officer?"

"Saying I don't want it would be a lie. I'd love to hang a command saber at my side—how impressive that would be. See some new recruit walking out of step and just go up and give him a kick." The corporal's exaggerated tone drew laughter from the soldiers nearby.

"But I'm not cut out for it. Commanding a squad is already hard enough. Commanding a hundred or eighty brothers—wouldn't I just be flustered and confused? I can't bear that responsibility."

"That's true too. I don't feel like soldier material either! If I could discharge, I'd have gone to find a job long ago! Plenty of factories in Guangzhou are hiring. If discharge were allowed, I would have stayed in Guangzhou to sign up."

"Discharge? You're all dreaming!" Someone sneered. "Think transferring us back to Lingao means no more fighting?"

"If we were still fighting, we'd stay in Guangdong. Why ship us back thousands of li?"

"Got any inside information? Spill it!"

"I don't have inside information. But the Great Ming lost Guangdong and Guangxi—can they just accept that?" The soldier speaking was the company clerk. "Wouldn't the Emperor try to reclaim some face? I'd say there's plenty of fighting still ahead. Returning to Lingao is just to replenish our ranks. After all, we took too many casualties these past two years. Filled in new recruits so many times and we're still understrength."

"But the Company Commander said last time that those who want to discharge can apply."

"Only those who've served more than three years and been wounded at least twice can apply. Whether Old Ma qualifies is hard to say." The clerk was educated and counted as one of the "core" personnel in the company; his words carried weight. The chatter around them immediately cooled.

"This rest and reorganization will definitely come with a big leave. Does everyone have plans? Let's hear them." Tan Shuangxi addressed those around him, thinking privately that he couldn't let the conversation die down now.

"I just want to go home and help my dad clear new land. He's been talking about it for ages..."

"My family arranged a bride for me. They want me to go have a look. If she's suitable, we'll marry!"

"I want to go shopping at East Gate Market with Erya from the village..."

"Platoon Leader, what about you?" someone finally asked.

Tan Shuangxi chuckled. "On leave? First thing—sleep. Sleep until I wake up naturally. Then eat rice and salted fish until I can't stomach another bite." This answer drew the biggest burst of laughter yet. With the Fubo Army's food supply, no one would consider those two things life goals. "Then take my dad and mom for a stroll around East Gate Market, eat a meal at the cooperative," Tan Shuangxi added, giving his real plan.

(End of Chapter)