Chapter 230: Cam Ranh Bay

From the deck, they could see a string of fortresses the Nguyễn had erected along the coast, guarding strategic points and anchorages. These fortifications were everywhere, many of them European in design. Though their scale and materials had a distinct “imitation” quality, it was undeniable that the Nguyễn’s embrace of Western military thought and technology was far more radical than that of the Ming Dynasty.

In this Vietnamese dynastic struggle, a war between north and south, European colonialists were not the only foreign participants. Chinese pirates had thrown themselves into the fray, providing naval power to both the Nguyễn and Trịnh factions with great enthusiasm. Both sides lavishly showered the pirates with official posts, titles, and imperial patents—after all, the cost was merely a piece of paper, a wooden seal, and an ill-fitting official robe. In return, they gained countless men and ships to fight their battles. As for payment, it came in the form of freedom to plunder the wealth of the enemy’s territory.

A thought struck Ping Qiusheng. “Orderly! Have Wang You report to the poop deck at once!”

Wang You, who had surrendered during the Battle of the Pearl River Estuary, was originally a student in the logistics training class at the Maniao base. His previous role as the chief administrator of a pirate stronghold, managing all their supplies, made him a natural fit for the field. He had been temporarily reassigned for this voyage to Southeast Asia, selected from across the military for his familiarity with the region.

“You’ve been here before with Zheng Bao, haven’t you?” Ping Qiusheng asked bluntly.

“Yes, sir!” Wang You’s salute was clumsy. Though he had been a pirate, he was more of a scholar, a man of the pen. His age meant that the “regularization” training had been far less effective on him than on his younger peers. The naval uniform on him looked less military and more like the Western-style clothes worn by the patriots of the Meiji Restoration.

Wang You gazed at the familiar coastline. He briefly recounted his “combat” experience here with Zheng Bao’s fleet—”combat” being a euphemism for burning, killing, and looting. In the beginning, it had been a lucrative enterprise. The Nguyễn had few defenses along this stretch of coast, and the fleet had easily captured numerous ships and plundered a great deal of wealth. After giving the Trịnh their cut, the rest belonged to the fleet.

But over time, this coastline had become a harder nut to crack. Forts and beacon towers multiplied. Not only did they have to land under fire, but they also began to encounter the Nguyễn’s own fleet, leading to fierce battles and heavy losses of men and ships. It was precisely because this business had grown so perilous that Zheng Bao had decided to return to Guangdong.

“How many Ming pirates are still fighting for the Trịnh and Nguyễn?”

“Sir, I don’t have an exact number. Last year, when Zheng Bao was recruiting in Jiangping, there were still more than thirty gangs fighting for the Trịnh, all of them granted official titles.”

The numbers of these pirate gangs, their men, and their ships were in constant flux. The Chinese pirates, whether fighting for the Trịnh or the Nguyễn, were considered “righteous armies.” They were not inspected, nor were they paid. They were given nominal titles and sent to harass the enemy. Except for a few large-scale battles, they were rarely gathered under a unified command. They came and went as they pleased. During the summer typhoon season, most of these pirates would retreat to the Chinese coast.

The number of pirates fighting for the Nguyễn was far smaller—the Nguyễn were more distant, making it harder to replenish men and ships. Still, he had heard of and dealt with more than a dozen such gangs at sea. He added that many pirates held titles from both sides, often switching allegiances to profit from the chaos.

Of course, many also perished in their quest for gold. Wang You knew of several former managers under Zhu Cailao who had met their end here. Seeing this place again stirred a sense of sorrow for his own kind.

Quark, a frequent traveler in these waters, had heard much of the war. He pointed to some buildings deep inland. “Those are the Annamese granaries. I hear there are many more further in, the largest being at the east gate of Hue. God bless them, these barbarians have been at each other’s throats for years, with the Portuguese fanning the flames. They’ve stockpiled a mountain of grain, but if they keep this up, there will be no one left to eat it.”

“Are their firearms supplied by the Portuguese?” Ping Qiusheng asked. The sheer number of forts and batteries implied a staggering quantity of cannons.

“The Portuguese set up a foundry in Hue long ago, casting cannons and cannonballs. They can produce matchlocks as well. They’ve made a fortune!” Quark said, his voice thick with envy. As a merchant, he was privy to such information. He had always been jealous of this trade—what in the world was more profitable than arms? He had been incredibly enthusiastic when Li Luoyou had proposed a joint venture to establish a cannon foundry.

Quark chattered on, still hoping Ping Qiusheng would grant his request for the “Australian sea charts.” Although the charts Liu San had shown him were restricted, the Council of Elders had already printed a batch of small-scale latitude and longitude charts as gifts for their major trading partners.

Ping Qiusheng looked at the distant structures and thought, That grain should belong to the transmigrators. If not for the civil war, Vietnam’s grain supply would not be so strained. While the coastal defenses were well-organized, their fortifications were only marginally better than the Ming forts at Humen. They were a tough challenge for the likes of Zheng Bao, but for his own forces, they were no obstacle at all. With a company of marines, a few special reconnaissance teams, and a handful of Harmony-class H800 ships, snatching seventy or eighty thousand shi of grain would be a simple matter. But that was a dream for now. The Engine Project had stretched Lin’gao’s resources to the breaking point, and many large-scale operations had been postponed. A proposal to plunder the locals’ grain would likely not be approved by the Council of Elders anytime soon.

He noticed a natural reef offshore that sheltered the harbor, creating excellent anchorage conditions. On shore, the locals seemed to have spotted the fleet and lit a warning beacon, but no ships left the port to investigate. It appeared they had no standing navy ready for immediate combat, relying instead on their coastal defenses to repel landings and raids.

A little further south was Da Nang, the mouth of the Han River already visible. This was the dividing line of Han cultural influence on the Indochinese Peninsula. In this era, Vietnam’s borders had not yet reached the southern sea. To the Vietnamese court, the lands south of the Han River were inhabited by “savages,” a territory ripe for “civilizing” and “conquest.”

After two more days of sailing, the fleet arrived in the waters off Nha Trang. Ping Qiusheng ordered the fleet to anchor and sent a small party ashore for fresh water, firewood, and food. The landing caused a small panic among the local inhabitants.

The local villagers sent two elders bearing food and water to inquire about the landing party’s intentions. Ping Qiusheng had learned some Vietnamese, but his “300 sentences of Vietnamese” proved utterly useless. Southern Vietnam at that time did not use Chinese characters, and modern Vietnamese, based on the French alphabet, was equally useless. The strange pronunciations were clearly of Austronesian origin.

The village emissary, however, could speak a little Chinese, albeit with a strange accent. Only former pirates like Wang You, who had frequented the area, could understand him. After a failed attempt to communicate himself, Ping Qiusheng gave up and let the former pirate translate. Through a mix of gestures, local dialect, and broken Chinese, both sides managed to grasp each other’s intentions.

Ping Qiusheng presented the villagers with common trade goods: glass beads and a few machetes. He requested clean drinking water and food, offering to pay with the daily necessities they carried. He also gave the representative a small glass mirror, and the villagers departed with profuse thanks. That same day, they returned with rice, chickens, ducks, and an abundance of fruits and vegetables.

Fearing an attack by the Nguyễn army, the shore party camped on high ground, leaving a guard on the ships. But Ping Qiusheng had overestimated the Nguyễn’s control. This was newly conquered territory, taken from the Champa kingdom, and their authority here was weak. Their limited forces were clearly deployed on the northern front. The local villagers, who were indigenous people, were experienced in these matters. They had endured wars, pirates, and European fleets, and they knew better than to trifle with these outsiders.

Understanding the disparity in strength, their only option, besides vigilance, was to cooperate with the various maritime powers that appeared in these waters. The Australians, it seemed, were polite, so the villagers were willing to cooperate as much as possible.

During their stay in Nha Trang, Lin Dan and his former “colleagues” enjoyed the beach. The scenery was breathtaking; the Americans had chosen their base well.

In Ping Qiusheng’s mind, Nha Trang was already taking shape as the transmigrators’ future forward base in Southeast Asia, and perhaps a resort for the Elders.

A long-range exploration team from the ship took a small boat to survey Cam Ranh Bay, south of Nha Trang. This natural harbor, with its superb hydrographic conditions, was an excellent location for a naval base and commercial port. A commercial and military stronghold built around Cam Ranh Bay and Nha Trang, he mused, would have a very bright future.

South of Cam Ranh Bay lay not Vietnamese territory, but the lands of the Champa kingdom. While fending off the northern offensive, the Nguyễn dynasty continued its southward expansion, steadily squeezing the old kingdom. The remnants of Champa’s power had been pushed south of Cam Ranh Bay. Historically, Champa’s territory had stretched from Phan Ri to Hue. Now, its power was confined to the Phan Ri area, and it was only the stalemate between the Vietnamese North and South dynasties that allowed it to survive for a few more decades.