Chapter 2: Lingao Cape

If Lingao County in this time-space was known for anything, it was the place called “Lingao Cape.”

On the evening of April 16, 1950, more than 18,700 men of the 118th and 119th Divisions of the 40th Army, 15th Army Group of the Fourth Field Army, led by Deputy Army Group Commander and 40th Army Commander Han Xianchu and Deputy Army Commander Xie Fang, set sail from Denglou Cape in Xuwen County on the Leizhou Peninsula. They crossed the Qiongzhou Strait in 318 motorized junks and 32 motorboats, heading for the Lingao Cape lighthouse. At around 3:00 AM the next day, they landed in the bay of Lingao Cape, marking the beginning of the Hainan Island Campaign.

In this other time-space, Lingao Cape had not yet witnessed this magnificent scene, but it had always been a strategic pass on Hainan Island. At the intelligence briefing before departure, Yu E’shui had specifically pointed out that Lingao Cape had a beacon tower since the Yuan Dynasty. In the Ming Dynasty, the Bopu Inspection Office was established here, tasked with “supervising and interrogating.” During the Zhengde era, there were thirty archers and three patrol boats here. By the end of the Wanli era, there were still twelve archers and, at most, one small boat. However, this place had always been a haven for Lingao’s fishermen, and they might encounter local fishing boats.

Bei Wei carefully scanned the terrain ahead from the bow of the boat. Three months before D-Day, some members of the military group had conducted a staff tour of Hainan in the 21st century. They had focused their reconnaissance on the planned landing site—Lingao Cape and Bopu Port—as well as the alternate locations of Ma’niao Bay, Hongpai Bay, and Houshui Bay.

As the leader of the landing reconnaissance team, Bei Wei had not only inspected the terrain in detail at the time but had also repeatedly reviewed the local topography and landforms based on the data afterward, to ensure he was completely prepared.

The east was turning white, and everything on the shore was very clear through the binoculars. The motorboat had now entered a wide bay. According to the nautical chart, this should be Longhao Bay, southwest of Lingao Cape. Because the waves were smaller here, schools of fish often migrated here to rest, making it one of Lingao’s important fishing grounds.

Bei Wei scanned with his binoculars and soon saw the familiar triangular cape extending from the northwest to the southeast, about a kilometer long—that’s right, this was Lingao Cape.

Lingao Cape formed a natural breakwater here, 1.5 kilometers long and 500 meters wide. The middle of the causeway was covered with sand washed up by the sea, crystal white, forming a sandy path. In the 21st century, the cape had stone bunkers, a watchtower, and a lighthouse built by the Qing Dynasty customs in the 19th year of the Guangxu reign (1893). Although there was nothing on the causeway in this time-space, the overall landform was very similar.

“Slow down, watch the water below,” Bei Wei warned. Besides the part of the causeway visible above the water, Lingao Cape had a considerable submerged portion. Although the motorboat’s draft was almost negligible, scraping against a reef would still cause significant damage.

The seawater was clear and transparent, and the fine white sand between the underwater reefs was almost clearly visible. The small boat passed Lingao Cape and entered Chang’gong Bay. Even without binoculars, the people on the boat could see Bopu Cape extending to the southeast. The entire Chang’gong Bay was thus embraced by the two capes. The bottom of the two-kilometer-wide bay was as calm as a mat, with bright sand and clear water, only fine white waves rolling on the shore.

“I really want to swim here,” someone said.

“We’ll build a high-cadre sanatorium here in the future!”

Everyone laughed. Saying this now felt a bit absurd, like a group of poor people talking about what they would do after they got rich.

Bei Wei carefully instructed the helmsman not to go too deep into the bay. An arrow shot from the shore would be no laughing matter.

“Captain, what mountain is that?” Li Jun pointed to a round, elliptical behemoth emerging from the green trees on the distant Bopu Cape.

“That’s not a mountain, it’s a beacon tower.”

“A beacon tower can be that big?!” The people on the motorboat were surprised. Their impression of beacon towers was of the eroded earthen platforms on the Silk Road in the western regions. But this tower, even 400 years later, was still 16 meters high. At this moment, Bei Wei estimated its height to be at least 20 meters, with a 45-degree slope. At first glance, it looked very much like a small hill common in hilly areas. The entire tower was built of stone slabs, with a rammed earth core. It was completely different from the collapsed, severely eroded, and overgrown mound of the 21st century.

“Everyone, be careful. There are Ming troops stationed here. Pull down your visors!”

With the command, all personnel pulled down the visors on their riot helmets. The motorboat quickly rounded Bopu Cape and entered the southeastern sea area.

“Bopu Port!”

This was the estuary of the Wenlan River, the largest river in Lingao County. This river, less than 90 kilometers long, formed a wide harbor here, with its mouth facing north. The shadowy black island in the distance was Hongshi Island—the eastern edge of Bopu Port.

“Slow down! Enter the port, on alert!”

The beach of the bay opposite Hongshi Island was sandy and muddy, covered with large, lush mangrove forests. In some places, there were very abrupt traces of burning and logging. Behind the mangroves were undulating tablelands, not high, with uneven tops. Opposite these mangroves, the southern part of the bay was a completely different environment, overgrown with wild grass, with what appeared to be the ruins of houses.

The shore was scattered with withered seaweed and a large number of uprooted trees, evidence of a recent typhoon. One of the important reasons for choosing to land in the ninth lunar month was to avoid the typhoons and storm surges that came around the 15th of the eighth lunar month every year.

The interior of the harbor was quite open, with large mangrove forests near the water, crisscrossed with mudflats. Various water birds circled in the sky. The water quality was not clear, and the muddy bottom was clearly visible. The shore was flat, with slight undulations. Unexpectedly, there were no fishing boats in sight through the binoculars—this was a bit strange…

“This godforsaken place is so desolate!” someone had already exclaimed.

“This is the ‘well-developed’ county the Executive Committee was talking about? Then aren’t the undeveloped places all primeval forests?”

Bei Wei glanced unhappily at the speaker—after being a civilian for so long since leaving the army, he had almost forgotten basic military discipline.

Although Bopu was known as a key point of entry and exit for Hainan, it had long been seen as a shortcut for pirates raiding northern Qiongzhou. Over time, apart from a small number of Dan boat-people who lived scattered here for fishing, it remained desolate until the Kangxi era. The then-magistrate of Lingao County, Fan Shu, inspected this place and, moved by what he saw, wrote a poem to describe the environment:

A lone horse oft travels the coast, Where in deep wild smoke, an old pass is lost. White waves fill the eye, Danzhou and Chengmai’s border, Yellow hats shade the heads of the Dan stove-folk in order. Three-foot low eaves guard against the typhoon’s mother, A fist-sized small stone worships the Dragon God, no other.

…

“Cut the engine! Measure the water depth.”

They had complete hydrographic data for Bopu Harbor. According to the data, the depth of the estuary harbor ranged from 2 to 10 meters. However, this was the 17th century, and 400 years of siltation and river course changes could lead to large errors.

The motorboat began to move slowly. Li Jun held up a steel riot shield, protecting the hydrographic staff as they lowered a lead line.

Bei Wei knew that the motorboat had now become a perfect target, completely exposed on the open water. He wasn’t afraid of someone shooting an arrow—the crude iron arrowheads couldn’t penetrate their anti-stab vests and helmets. But if the enemy had a small cannon hidden in the grass on the shore, a volley of iron sand and lead shot from 50 meters away would definitely cause casualties.

The members of the military group held their guns, bullets chambered, monitoring every corner of the surroundings.

At this very moment, on the beacon tower, a figure was also observing the small boat in the bay.

This person wore a bowl-shaped iron helmet covered with a thick layer of yellow rust, and a suit of rotting leather armor—it was from the tenth year of the Jiajing reign, when the court had increased the weaponry of the various guards in Hainan. In his hand, he held a waist saber of the same age, its wooden scabbard so rotten it had fallen apart, barely held together with rattan strips.

Behind him was a soldier, also with a rusty iron helmet on his head, but no armor, wearing a tattered and indistinguishable mandarin duck battle robe. He carried a bow and arrows on his back and also had an ancient waist saber at his hip.

Fu Baiwen was from Qiongshan County. He had practiced martial arts in his youth and had obtained the rank of a military scholar, but had never been able to advance further. Nearing forty, he had managed to get the post of a subordinate ninth-rank Patrol Inspector, leading twelve archers to guard this “Key Pass of the Qiong Sea.” Although this place was called a pass, there were few travelers. On a normal day, all he could interrogate were some Dan fishermen and small merchants who came over from Leizhou to trade by sea. There was no profit to be made, and it was desolate and lonely. The most common sight was pirates.

Because Hainan was located on an important maritime route, it had always been a place where pirates were rampant. Historically, pirates had repeatedly plundered Lingao, even besieging the county town. In the eleventh year of the Shunzhi reign, they had even captured the magistrate of Lingao. The Ming and Qing governments had no effective countermeasures, doing little more than building numerous beacon towers and lighting a warning fire at the first sign of unusual activity at sea.

When pirates anchored here to take on water, everyone left each other in peace. But once they entered the bay and launched boats to land, the only thing Inspector Fu could do was to immediately run to the beacon tower to light the pile of horse manure fire, and then take his men to find a place to hide. Once the beacon was lit, the smoke and fire could be seen for dozens of li along both banks of the Wenlan River up to Lingao County town. The common people would flee, and the city gates would be immediately closed.

Every year after the 15th of the eighth lunar month, as the typhoons gradually subsided, the coastal raids by pirates would become more frequent. The fishing boats that usually took shelter here had not come recently. Naturally, he and his patrol archers could not be negligent—although their pay was meager, it was still a living.

The moment the reconnaissance team’s motorboat entered Chang’gong Bay, the archer on watch at the beacon tower saw it. Normally, he wouldn’t have disturbed the Inspector for such a small boat, but he was astonished by how fast it was moving. By the time the boat entered the estuary, the men on board were all tall and sturdy, wearing iron helmets and black armor, and carrying black iron fire-tubes. This was an alarming situation, and he quickly summoned Inspector Fu to the beacon tower.

“Inspector Fu, who are these people?” the archer asked softly from behind. “Should we go up and question them?”

“I’ve never seen them before.” Although Hainan was a southern frontier prefecture, its people were quite worldly. Fu Baiwen had seen Japanese, Portuguese, and even Red-Haired Barbarians, but the boat and the men before him were outside his scope of knowledge. The only thing he could tell was that this group was clearly not to be trifled with.

“It looks like they are measuring the water depth?”

Fu Baiwen nodded. As the small boat moved, behind that black shield, someone was constantly lowering and raising a rope. Measuring the water depth meant that a large ship was coming.

“Should we light the fire?”

He hesitated for a moment, then immediately made up his mind. The newcomers were few, but they were fully armored, which was already against the law. They were definitely not good people. And they were secretly measuring the water depth here, which clearly meant a larger force was coming. It was about to be broad daylight, and the common people would be going out to work. If these were bandits come to plunder, the people would suffer greatly!

“Light the fire!”