Chapter 278: The Belated D-Day for Jeju

“If we keep transporting refugees at this rate, we’ll have a biochemical crisis on our hands in no time,” Lu Wenyuan said, standing on the watchtower of the farmstead, looking worriedly at the refugee camp spreading across the hillside below.

The transport fleet had already made two trips, taking away a total of four thousand people, but the influx of people into the refugee camp showed no signs of slowing. Especially after Kong Youde’s troops laid siege to Dengzhou, the common people from the surrounding areas fled to escape the ravages of war, and many sought refuge on Qimu Island.

Lu Wenyuan could no longer keep an exact count of the refugees—people were arriving almost every hour. Factoring in the daily death toll, he could only estimate the camp’s approximate population based on the amount of food rations distributed each evening: the total number had already surpassed 4,800.

Qimu Island was a very small island. While food was not an issue and shelter was manageable, the consumption of drinking water could not keep up. Supplying just the basic 1.5 liters of drinking water per refugee meant a daily consumption of over ten thousand liters. The island’s water sources simply couldn’t provide that much; they were relying entirely on the rainwater collected in the cisterns Lu Wenyuan had built earlier.

At this rate, even if the daily population remained below six thousand, the island’s stored water would be depleted in less than half a month. Without heavy snow to replenish the surface water, he would have to send out water-gathering parties to fetch water from over a dozen miles away.

Even more critical was the issue of waste. Despite the low level of food supply and the use of biogas digesters for treatment, the daily amount of excrement was substantial. Lu Wenyuan had already been forced to close several public latrines.

“You misers from the Planning Institute, you never let anything go to waste…” he muttered through clenched teeth. If it hadn’t been for the Institute’s insistence back then, he would have built the sewage culverts to drain directly into the sea. It would have been convenient and clean, and he wouldn’t be facing these problems now.

He had no idea when the next fleet of ships would arrive. The fleet needed to unload, evaluate the gains and losses from the transport, and revise the transport plan. This was part of the original plan, but no one had anticipated that the refugees would be gathered so quickly. He was currently in a state of “goods backlog.”

From the watchtower, he could see the lights of the pier and the scattered masthead lamps. In addition to the few fishing boats he had gathered himself, a special mission squadron had been sent from Kaohsiung to secure the waters around the island. The cannons on these four special mission boats were covered with tarps and fishing nets, and their flags were hidden.

However, the increasingly cold wind and the occasional flurries of snow reminded him that a harsh winter was approaching.

The ponds on the island and the surface runoff outside were already beginning to freeze. Under the biting northwest wind, the sea would soon freeze over as well—Lu Wenyuan had confirmed this with the local fishermen.

Once Longkou Bay froze, the special mission boats would have to withdraw. But now, with nearly 1,000 army soldiers on the island equipped with artillery and machine guns, they could fend off an attack even from Kong Youde’s entire army. His only worry was the impact of the ice on ships trying to dock.

Descending from the watchtower, he returned to the warm conference room where Xie Yao, the special commissioner sent by the Ministry of Health to oversee sanitation and epidemic prevention in the Qimu Island refugee camp, was waiting for him.

Xie Yao was a middle-aged man in his fifties. He was originally a scholar without a degree, a bankrupt small landowner who knew a little about medicine. He had received modern Chinese and Western medical training in the Ministry of Health’s training classes. Being from Shaanxi, he was considered “frost-resistant” and was sent to Shandong to manage the refugee camp’s health services, with a few dozen medics from Lin’gao under his command.

He was wearing a slightly worn standard-issue uniform for naturalized citizens, warming himself by the stove. Seeing Lu Wenyuan enter, he made to stand up.

Lu Wenyuan waved his hand impatiently. “Don’t get up. Tell me, what’s the situation today?”

“Disinfectant has been spread in all the barracks, with a ninety percent kill rate for fleas and bedbugs,” Xie Yao reported in a slow, deliberate manner. “As of 17:00 this afternoon, there have been thirty-one deaths, and the bodies have been transported out. There are one hundred and nine new patients. Including those not yet recovered, and subtracting the recovered and the deceased, we currently have three hundred and seventy-five patients…”

Lu Wenyuan gave a bitter smile. “Doctor Xie, what do you think tomorrow will bring?”

“The weather gets colder by the day. The women, children, and elderly will find it hard to endure. A small cold can quickly turn into pneumonia, and we don’t have enough medicine—if only we could give them more blankets and cotton clothes,” Xie Yao said. If it weren’t for the Director’s secret “sulfa tablets” and other “Australian medicines,” many more would have died from just drinking herbal decoctions.

It was precisely out of curiosity for this “Australian medicine” that Xie Yao, at his advanced age, had signed up for the Ministry of Health’s training program.

“However, the cold weather has its benefits. With so many people crowded onto this small island, if it weren’t for the freezing temperatures, an epidemic would have likely broken out by now.”

There was a huge shortage of warm clothing and bedding for the refugees—providing winter gear for over a hundred thousand people was a daunting task even for the Senate. Therefore, the forward command’s strategy was to have the refugees warm themselves by fires: compared to cotton, fuel was easier to supply.

“Build more shelters for the refugees, and install more underfloor heating channels. At least two for each barrack,” Lu Wenyuan instructed.

After seeing Xie Yao off, Lu Wenyuan paced a few times in the conference room and then ordered his orderly to fetch Wang Ruixiang for a discussion. Chen Sigen had gone out with the special reconnaissance team to continue monitoring the military operations of Kong Youde and the government forces. Ever since Kong Youde’s trajectory had deviated from the historical record, Chen Sigen had become very uneasy about the course of history. He intensified the surveillance on both sides, with the special reconnaissance team, scout cavalry, and plainclothes agents monitoring the government and Kong Youde’s troops almost 24/7. On such missions, Chen Sigen would be gone for days at a time.

On the large map behind him, colored flags densely marked the latest positions of all parties. Since Kong Youde’s forces had arrived at the gates of Dengzhou on November 22nd, there had been continuous small-scale armed clashes, but the fighting was not intense. Overall, they were in a temporary stalemate.

Of course, this stalemate would soon be broken. To execute the Senate’s resolution—to allow Kong Youde to disrupt Shandong and capture large amounts of supplies, while also ensuring Sun Yuanhua could “preside over the suppression of the rebellion”—the Foreign Intelligence Bureau and Lu Wenyuan were actively engaged in strategic maneuvers. Messengers and intelligence agents were constantly flowing to and from Dengzhou, Laizhou, and other parts of Shandong.

Although Lu Wenyuan had not personally visited Sun Yuanhua, he had written several letters to him in his capacity as a fellow Christian, making several predictions about Kong Youde’s movements and offering subtle reminders about the former Dongjiang troops in Dengzhou. He particularly pointed out that Kong Youde’s mutiny was “like a pile of firewood waiting for a spark, not a fire that a spoonful of water can extinguish”—implying that the former Dongjiang troops in Dengzhou were all unreliable.

Lu Wenyuan didn’t expect Sun Yuanhua to follow his advice to the letter; he just wanted to make an impression and prepare the ground for future access and manipulation.

At this critical juncture, Lu Wenyuan did not want his base camp to suffer from a plague or any other disaster. Besides, the large concentration of people was too conspicuous.

Wang Ruixiang was in his bedroom, drawing up his “grand undertaking”—to be precise, a plan for an expedition to Liaodong. As a major advocate of the Liaodong plan, he had always wanted to establish contact with the Manchu Qing, and was thus very enthusiastic about Operation Engine. Once they had a firm foothold on the Shandong Peninsula and a base on Jeju Island, a sea route to the Manchus could be established.

In Wang Ruixiang’s view, although the Manchus were barbaric and backward, they had plenty of resources. They could use the industrial-agricultural price scissors to shear their wool. If that didn’t work, rescuing more captured Han Chinese to supplement the labor force in Lin’gao would also be a good thing.

Hearing Lu Wenyuan’s concerns, he grinned. “Shit, what’s there to worry about? Aren’t they supposed to be going to Jeju Island?”

The distance from Qimu Island to Jeju was only one-third of the distance to Kaohsiung. It didn’t require large ships; ordinary vessels could make the trip, and a round trip would take only four or five days, much faster than shipping them directly to Kaohsiung.

“But the Jeju Island landing operation hasn’t started yet,” Lu Wenyuan said with a frown. Logically, the landing should have begun a month ago.

It was now the end of 1631, and there was still no radio call sign from the direction of Jeju Island. Where on earth was the Second Fleet?

“This is indeed a bit strange!” Wang Ruixiang scratched his head. “I think we should send a telegram to ask!”

As the radio waves of the telegram co-signed by Wang Ruixiang and Lu Wenyuan cut through the sky, the Second Fleet, having set sail from Kaohsiung, had already reached the waters of Jeju Island.

The Second Fleet’s landing operation was launched nearly a month later than expected. The consequences of the Navy’s rapid expansion were now beginning to surface one by one. The flagship of the Second Fleet, the Zhenyang, suffered a major steam engine failure midway from Hong Kong to Kaohsiung, with one boiler failing, forcing it to return to Hong Kong for repairs. After the other ships arrived in Kaohsiung, a full inspection and troubleshooting revealed that the Nongchao and Daishuang also had problems of varying degrees, mainly in their propulsion systems: boilers, steam engines, crankshafts… Some ships even had leaks. The only vessel in good condition was the Fubo.

After emergency repairs by the repair ship stationed in Kaohsiung, the Second Fleet finally managed to complete its preparations. They launched the invasion of Jeju Island just before New Year’s Day, 1632.

The four warships, Zhenyang, Nongchao, Daishuang, and Fubo, sailed in a wheel formation, cutting through the waves. They were all under full sail, traveling at 6 nautical miles per hour, with light black smoke trailing from their funnels—the boilers were not at full power, to accommodate the H800s and special mission boats in the formation. These support vessels, also with full sails, followed closely behind.

This was almost the entire combat fleet and two-thirds of the transport ships of the Second Fleet, laden with soldiers, supplies, and building materials.

The sun rose, shining on the decks. In the distance, a large, green island had appeared on the horizon—it was Jeju Island.