Part 253: The Admiral

From the lookout platform atop the red-tiled roof of the Admiralty building, the autumn sky was high and clear, and the sea sparkled. The new Admiralty building was located at Bopu Harbor, a far cry from the previous “building” made of corrugated steel panels. The three-and-a-half-story building, with its sloping red-tiled roof, red bricks, cast-iron railings on the lookout platform, and continuous arched windows, exuded a Victorian decorative style, fully expressing the tastes of certain individuals within the Navy.

The Admiralty’s lookout was a small platform on the roof, adorned with a bronze ship’s bell. It wasn’t taken from any historically significant vessel, but was merely an old piece from a decommissioned ship bought in Macau, purely for decoration.

A few rattan chairs and a rattan table were placed on the platform. This was where the senior Senator officers of the Navy came to drink tea in their leisure time. However, according to the Navy’s “balcony privilege,” only Chief of Naval Operations Chen Haiyang and Minister of the Navy Ming Qiu frequented the spot. Everyone else consciously waited for an invitation before coming.

Ming Qiu came here every day to gaze out, allowing his mind and body to get some much-needed rest.

As a man in his sixties, he was considered ancient by the standards of this era. But thanks to the good nutrition and healthcare of the old world and his many years of military life, Ming Qiu’s body still appeared healthy and vigorous.

However, his long naval career had left him with various ailments. Although not too serious, the medical care in this new era was a significant step down. Minister of Health Shi had advised him to “rest more, exercise more, and worry less.” In reality, even if he had the enthusiasm, the high intensity of the Senators’ daily work was already beyond his capacity.

Ming Qiu was well aware that his experience and reputation accumulated in the PLAN were not of decisive significance in this new Navy, which was completely different in terms of technology, political foundation, and even values. Therefore, his focus on naval development was mainly in the professional military domain; he never expressed an opinion on matters involving values or ideology.

As such, he rarely appeared at Senate hearings or similar events as the Minister of the Navy. He acted more as an “advisor,” providing opinions and suggestions for the new Navy and participating in the development of naval regulations, manuals, and training systems.

He sat in a rattan chair under a white canvas awning, wearing the formal summer uniform of the Senate Navy—a short-sleeved, collared white cotton shirt with the insignia of a Rear Admiral on the shoulders. He was one of only two Rear Admirals in the Navy. His feelings for this new Navy were complex. Although he had not come to this time and place voluntarily to build a “new world order,” but had merely gone with the flow, this new Navy had given him and his family unprecedented status and power. If he wished, he could achieve his fullest potential…

“Sir, your tea.”

A female naval orderly attentively served him black tea. Watching the young girl—dressed in a white pullover sailor suit, a blue pleated skirt, and a soft, round, brimless cap with the star of Lingao on it—serve him black tea brewed in “Senator-exclusive” bone china from the Lingao Porcelain Factory, a strong sense of dissonance welled up in him. It was another reminder that he was no longer a member of the PLAN; he was now “serving the Senate and the People.”

The Admiralty building, the orderly’s uniform, and even this balcony all fully expressed the aesthetic tastes of this “new Navy.” To be honest, Ming Qiu found it a bit jarring. Even in the PLAN, which was often jokingly called the “Army’s Marine Corps,” the Navy was considered the “cosmopolitan” branch. But the “cosmopolitanism” of the Senate Navy was unique, like the “mixed candies” of his childhood—a jumble of all sorts of flavors.

“Sugar, sir?” the orderly, trained at the maid school, asked in a soft voice, low but clear enough for him to hear.

“No.” Ming Qiu was not in the habit of adding sugar to his tea—or rather, he never drank black tea at all. Drinking black tea was another new custom of this “Senate Navy.” Although Ming Qiu was unimpressed by it, even scornful, he understood the wisdom of “blending in with the crowd.”

He took a sip of the black tea. Its rich aroma, completely different from green tea, filled his mouth. There was no Ceylon, Assam, or Lapsang Souchong in this era; those teas had not yet appeared. What he was drinking was “Nanhai Black Tea,” fermented by Wu Nanhai at his farm using tea leaves from Fujian.

The orderly brought a cigar box with a decorative seal bearing the words “Navy Special Supply.” He took one. For health reasons, Li Mei had repeatedly advised him to give up cigarettes and switch to the “healthier” cigars. Ming Qiu had followed the trend.

He smoked his cigar, gazing at the forest of masts in the harbor and the occasional puff of black smoke. Newly built and refitted ships were gathering in the port; Operation Engine was imminent.

Chen Haiyang and Wen Desi, who had summoned him on behalf of the Executive Committee, had both spoken with him. The Senate’s first high-seas fleet was about to be formed, and there was no one else but Ming Qiu to command it. After all, Ming Qiu was not only the Minister of the Navy but also the only person in the entire transmigration group with experience commanding a fast-attack craft squadron.

However, he was over sixty. Although generally healthy, many doubted whether he had the stamina to command a naval squadron on a long-term operational cruise. Chen Haiyang had also told him “not to force himself.”

Ming Qiu had readily agreed. He was an old man now, not fighting for money, power, or fame. Besides, commanding a fleet in the age of sail and steam was not his specialty. He accepted the mission mainly to fulfill a past regret.

He knew that because of the occupational diseases from his many years in the Navy, Li Mei had complained to the Executive Committee leaders several times. But he felt that the biggest regret of his life was never having achieved any real combat glory at sea. He had never even participated in a real battle. A little illness wasn’t going to stop him from going to sea. Ming Qiu didn’t think his health was a problem.

His thoughts drifted with the cigar smoke. Suddenly, he heard the command “Attention!” and the door to the lookout opened. Chief of Naval Operations Chen Haiyang walked in.

Chen Haiyang had served as a gunnery officer on a submarine chaser and as the executive officer of a frigate, but his seniority in the PLAN was far less than Ming Qiu’s. So, although they currently held the same rank and there was no subordinate relationship between the Minister of the Navy and the Chief of Naval Operations, Chen Haiyang, in keeping with the military’s tendency to respect seniority, was very respectful of him.

“Minister Ming, you’re enjoying your leisure!” Chen Haiyang said, walking over quickly and plopping down in the rattan chair opposite him. Here, naval etiquette could be temporarily set aside.

Ming Qiu nodded. They often discussed naval construction work on the lookout. He and Chen Haiyang were not close, but he admired the man’s straightforward personality.

The orderly brought him black tea. Chen Haiyang waved his hand casually. “Just leave it.”

“Yes, sir.” Realizing the two leaders were about to talk, the orderly withdrew from the lookout as per regulations.

“Old Ming—” In private, Chen Haiyang always addressed Ming Qiu in the same way other Senators did. “Are you planning to accept the position of Commander of the First Fleet?”

According to the plan formulated by the General Staff, the Type 854 Mod cruiser “Lichun” and the four commissioned Type 901 first-class gunboats—Chidian, Yufeng, Chenglang, and Yangbo—would form the Navy’s First Fleet and proceed to Hong Kong for training and to await orders.

The plan was for Ming Qiu to concurrently serve as the Commander of the First Fleet, with Li Di as the fleet’s Chief of Staff. Except for the Chidian, commanded by Senator Meng De, and the Yufeng, commanded by Le Lin, the captains of the other ships were all naturalized citizens.

Ming Qiu nodded. “That’s right. I plan to get back in the saddle one more time.” He said with a sigh, “If I don’t go into battle now, I’m afraid I won’t have another chance.”

Chen Haiyang nodded. “Can your body handle it?”

“It shouldn’t be a big problem. The Lichun is much larger than the Type 037 submarine chasers I was on in the fast-attack craft squadron. It’s a ship of over a thousand tons, after all.”

The full load displacement of a Type 037 submarine chaser was only 392 tons, and its living conditions were cramped and inconvenient. Chen Haiyang, having served as a gunnery officer on a Type 037, knew this all too well.

“But this Operation Engine will be a long one, possibly lasting until next spring from start to finish. Continuous sailing for half a year, and Kaohsiung and Jeju don’t have good support bases. You must take care of your health.”

“That’s not a big problem,” Ming Qiu said, frowning slightly. “I have other worries.” He sat up straight. “I’m really not confident about these steamships. I’ve read some of the materials. I’m afraid the Type 854 and 901 will have a hard time sustaining long-term sea patrols, right? Back in the day, even our most modern destroyers had low operational rates. You remember those old Type 051s in the South Sea Fleet, right? Forty or fifty days at sea in a year was considered good.”

Chen Haiyang thought to himself that the Type 051 was considered a modern destroyer. As a younger officer in the PLAN, he had quite a few complaints about the outdated naval equipment of the 90s.

However, he himself was not sure about the seaworthiness and endurance of these “aces of the Senate Navy”—the steam-sail warships. He had come up through the ranks from the grassroots and had worked in the engineering department as well as the gunnery department. Even the modern diesel engines of modern ships were very demanding to maintain. The big, crude, coal-smoke-belching steam engines looked very unreliable.

“Establishing a temporary base in Kaohsiung has been included in the plan,” Chen Haiyang said. “The shipyard hasn’t given us the detailed data yet, but I estimate that the engine service life of these ships is very short. They’ll need to come into port for maintenance frequently.”