Chapter 148: The Fleet Departs

He was now a handsome Australian Song naval lieutenant. Although Shi Shisi had no concept of the Song dynasty and wasn’t sure how high the rank of lieutenant was, the title sounded very impressive. Paired with a smart uniform, a sword, and the air of a professional military officer that the Transmigrators had forced upon him, he felt much more imposing than a Ming general.

Shi Shisi was on leave today. Naval officers were entitled to one day off per week. Shi Shisi had returned home and had a big meal. During duty hours, there were strict regulations on alcohol consumption, which was a painful thing for the former pirate who loved to drink. On his day off, he naturally had to drink his fill.

His orderly had also caught a rabbit, which he had taken to the cooperative restaurant in Dongmen Market to be cooked. He had also bought a lot of good wine. Shi Shisi feasted and drank heartily.

Full and slightly drunk, the afternoon of a rest day with no training and no sailing was simply too comfortable. Shi Shisi decided to take a nice nap in his chair, then go to the Ziminglou in Dongmen Market for a bath, and in the evening, have a drink with a few of his brothers at the Ziminglou. Hu Wumei, who had gone to Sanya a few months ago, had recently returned to Lingao on business. It was a good opportunity for them to get together and relax.

Since the preparations for the counter-encirclement campaign began, although the navy didn’t have many combat missions, it was busy enough with patrols, transport, and escort duties. The 5th Special Service Boat Squadron, commanded by Shi Shisi, had been responsible for escorting the salt transport convoy between Maniao and Bopu, which was both monotonous and boring. Shi Shisi was not afraid of fighting at all. He envied Li Guangfa. The special service boat squadron commanded by Li Guangfa had at least had the chance to bombard the government troops at Chengmai—though that was the extent of it.

“Master! Master!” Just as he was dozing off, a woman’s voice sounded in his ear. Shi Shisi opened his eyes impatiently. It was his wife calling him.

“What is it?” He had a mind to slap his wife for disturbing his pleasant dream.

“A messenger from headquarters is here!” the woman said, a little flustered.

“Quick, show him in!” Shi Shisi sobered up immediately. A messenger from headquarters on a day off meant something urgent had happened. It was either an immediate meeting or they were setting sail.

“Are we setting sail?”

“Probably!” Shi Shisi wiped his hands on his uniform. He probably felt he couldn’t report for duty in his current state and roared at the orderly who had rushed in from the outer room, “Quick, get me some water!”

The messenger came in, saluted, and informed him that there would be a meeting at the naval command in an hour.

“…We will be setting sail after the meeting. You’d better pack your luggage and have your orderly take it to the ship.”

Shi Shisi would never forget the scene. The morning sun had just risen above the horizon, its red glow illuminating the masts of the two-masted and three-masted ships. The warships of the Pearl River Delta detachment, preparing to set sail, were all flying Chen Haiyang’s rear admiral’s flag.

There were four squadrons of special service boats anchored at Naval Anchorage No. 1, a total of 16 vessels, all of different designs and varying greatly in tonnage. But each one was beautifully decorated and flying a full set of flags. The decks and hulls were spotlessly clean. In the distance, at Anchorage No. 2, there were two squadrons of patrol boats, their beautiful streamlined hulls standing out like cranes among chickens.

At the “Great Pier”—as everyone called the huge stone embankment next to the civilian wharf—five squadrons of special service boats were loading cargo. These were all clumsy or inflexible ships, used specifically for transporting goods and marines. Many boxes marked with different numbers, symbols, and colors were being loaded onto pallets, covered with nets, and lifted by cranes.

Marines in formation, wearing coconut-shell helmets, lined up waiting to board. The “copper basin helmet” was the latest summer sun helmet. Although some Transmigrators thought it made the soldiers look exactly like North Vietnamese special forces, it was better suited to the subtropical summer climate than the rattan helmet.

Small flat-bottomed boats were being lowered from every ship, like bees being released from a crowded hive. The clamor of voices, the creaking of pulleys and ropes, and the splash of oars carried across the surging sea for several nautical miles. As the sun rose, the half-hoisted sails changed colors, first black, then bluish-gray, and finally white.

The various small boats in the bay gathered in a cluster, then dispersed, in groups of three and five, then separated and regrouped again. They busily transported materials and personnel. The oars of the rowboats rose and fell, and the small, medium, and large motorboats constantly emitted thick smoke and steam. They would dock at the pier for a moment, then pull alongside a large ship. Sailors shouted to each other and whistled. The surface of the water was dotted with trash thrown from the ships.

Shi Shisi leaned on the bridge of his flagship, Lin Te 51, greedily watching this tense, lively, and orderly scene of departure. Beside him stood a young naval midshipman, Pan Yong, the ship’s acting first mate. To ensure that the mostly rough-hewn captains could handle ship’s affairs properly, the naval department had assigned many naval midshipmen to serve as first mates on the ships, responsible for the actual administration and personnel management.

“Little Pan! This fleet is truly magnificent.” In his days under Zhu Cailao, Shi Shisi had seen fleets a hundred times larger than this one, but how could those ships compare to this grand naval detachment! They were just a collection of dilapidated fishing boats and cargo ships, like a large village.

“Yes, Captain,” Pan Yong said respectfully. “The Daihatsu boat flotilla isn’t leaving with us, otherwise it would be even more magnificent.”

“Daihatsu boats are too small. If a few capsized in the waves, it wouldn’t be worth it. Besides, they’re coal-burners. We’d have to make special stops to refuel them along the way.”

The steam cranes rumbled as the Daihatsu boats for this long voyage were lifted one by one and loaded onto the deck of the Da Jing. The Da Jing’s deck could carry four Daihatsu boats. The rest would be transported over after the Hong Kong base was completed.

The marine contingent for the Pearl River estuary expedition consisted of two companies, with an additional marine artillery company equipped with two 12-pounder howitzers. This marine task force was named the Hong Kong Detachment. Its commander was Shi Zhiqi. This commander wore a pair of black, non-prescription glasses, firmly tied behind his head with a string. He stood imposingly on the bridge of the Da Jing, surveying the embarking marines.

The name “marines” was disgusting—it had a Japanese devilish flavor to it. But in comparison, the name was at least closer in meaning to his hopes for this force than “naval landing party.” In Shi Zhiqi’s mind, the landing party had no “naval” in its name. It was more akin to the USMC—an independent branch parallel to the army, navy, and air force.

Shi Zhiqi’s position in the navy was not high, because he had missed the navy’s two most glorious moments, the two defenses of Bopu. The first time, he was off-duty; the second time, he was lying in the infirmary with dysentery, listening to the roar of guns and cannons outside, but unable to move due to the pain in his stomach. He had lost a great opportunity to gain merit—even just being a participant would have given him a great advantage in terms of seniority.

Not having been in a battle seriously affected his promotion in the navy. Fortunately, he was a former sailor, so he had become the leader of the special team responsible for maintaining the “holy ship” and also served as an instructor in the naval training class, giving him a moderately respectable position. With Shi Zhiqi’s abilities, becoming a captain once large motor ships could be mass-produced would not be a problem, but he was not content with that and had set his sights on the marines.

He had always had a great interest in the marines and was prepared to make a big splash in that area. So, he had joined them.

Shi Zhiqi was not interested in Old Di’s strange German tastes. Germany might be able to boast about its army, and perhaps hide its shame with its submarines, but its landing forces were a complete zero. Just as no one would be a fan of the Philippine army.

After joining the marines, he quickly gained great prestige due to the skills he brought from his career as a sailor and became a key officer in the corps.

For this Pearl River estuary operation, Shi Zhiqi had worked hard to become the detachment commander, which was also partly due to his past as a sailor. Chen Haiyang believed that in coastal combat, a marine commander who understood navigation was much better than an officer who only knew infantry tactics.

Behind him stood Le Lin, the captain of the Da Jing and also the commander of the patrol boat detachment. He wore a snow-white US Navy uniform—a private possession, of course. Although it was old, it was spotlessly clean and looked very smart. He was holding a pair of binoculars, gazing at something in the distance.

“You’re finally going back to your hometown,” he said. Of course, the Hong Kong Island of this time-space had nothing to do with the Hong Kong Le Lin had once lived in.

Le Lin smiled with anticipation. “I’m going to build a mansion on Victoria Peak! And be the Governor of Hong Kong!”

“Hey, hey, on what grounds will you be the governor?”

“Because I’m from Hong Kong. Hong Kong people ruling Hong Kong.”

“This Hong Kong has nothing to do with you,” Shi Zhiqi said. “If we wanted, we could call it Wen Island, Ma Island, or Shi Island. Just not Hong Kong Island.”

“Hehe, I’m going to be the governor anyway!” Le Lin was very interested in this topic and talked at length about what he would build on the island. Shi Zhiqi listened with a perfunctory smile. In his view, this young man’s dream was too simple—what was Hong Kong Island? Just a small island. His, Shi Zhiqi’s, ambitions were much greater.

Just then, he saw a small motorboat at the pier, chugging black smoke as it headed for Chen Haiyang’s flagship, Lin Te 11. This motorboat was flying another personal flag. Needless to say, it was the boat of the unofficial naval advisor, Wen Desi—he was on his way to the flagship.