Chapter 279: Seongsan

On the bridge of the Zhenyang, Second Fleet Admiral Li Haiping stood with one hand on his hip and the other holding a pair of binoculars. Gazing at the rising sun over the distant sea, he was filled with a sense of grandeur and felt the urge to recite something “worthy of the annals of history.” Lacking the literary grace, he had to abandon the idea of composing a poem. He then tried to think of a famous quote like “I came, I saw, I conquered,” but in the end, all he managed to say was:

“Jeju Island has been an inalienable part of our country since ancient times.”

After saying this, he commanded without turning his head, “Write that down!”

The female orderly standing behind him quickly jotted down his words in her notebook.

Feeling that the statement lacked a certain flair, he was about to try and come up with something more original when the lookout reported: “Jeju Island, 10 nautical miles ahead.” He quickly raised his binoculars to observe the sea.

The sea was calm, a vast expanse of turquoise waves. The large, green island lay sprawled across the ocean, with Mount Halla faintly visible.

As far as the eye could see, there were almost no ships, only a few scattered fishing boats that hastily moved away upon seeing such a massive fleet approaching.

Li Haiping took a deep breath of the fresh morning sea air. Looking back at the enormous fleet following him, a sense of intoxication washed over him. He was now a proper fleet admiral. The days of staring blankly with dozens of naturalized naval ratings at Changhua Fort, counting stars by night and fishing and hunting by day to pass the time, were truly something he didn’t want to look back on.

Although those days were tough, they had earned him enough political capital. Moreover, the idle life had rekindled his old enthusiasm for military studies, and he had delved into naval tactics textbooks. Led by Wen Desi, a group of former naval officers and enthusiasts in the Senate had compiled a Naval Drill Manual and a Primer on Naval Tactics, using late 19th-century British and German naval materials as a blueprint to train the new navy’s officers.

In the PLA, Li Haiping had only been a petty officer in the navigation department. He was completely different from authentic naval officers like Chen Haiyang and Ming Qiu. In a sense, apart from not getting seasick and being familiar with naval terminology and shipboard life, he was no different from Senate naval officers like Li Di, who came from a background of naval enthusiasm. In terms of in-depth knowledge of naval tactics and strategy, he might not even match these armchair admirals. For instance, when it came to the tactical and equipment characteristics of the age of sail and ironclads, all the former PLA naval officers combined couldn’t compare to Wen Desi—Director Wen’s title of Chief Naval Advisor was not just a matter of “a leader’s vanity.”

After putting in enough time at Changhua Fort, and as his remarks at the Second Plenary Session were gradually forgotten by the “democrats,” Li Haiping returned safely to Lin’gao. It was just in time for the navy’s shipbuilding and readiness program. On Ming Qiu’s suggestion, the navy began training mid-to-senior level officers from among the Senators to command the new 845-mod and 901-class ships. As a “former professional naval serviceman,” Li Haiping became a priority candidate for “fleet command personnel.”

Now he stood on the bridge, wearing the rank of a Navy Commander, with his commodore’s flag flying from the mast of the Zhenyang. Every time he looked up at that flag, Li Haiping couldn’t help but be overjoyed—in the Austronesian Song Navy, only four men had the right to fly an admiral’s flag, and he was one of them.

He was glad he hadn’t listened to Old Di’s persuasion to transfer to the Marine Corps. If he had gone to the Marines, he would at best be an obscure company commander under the shadow of Shi Zhiqi’s brilliance—just like Old Di.

He cleared his throat with feigned authority and gave the order: “All ships, prepare for combat. Increase observation!”

After giving the order, he turned his binoculars toward the approaching Jeju Island.

Jeju Island was very regular in shape, almost an oval. Except for a few places, it lacked a broken, rugged coastline; bays, capes, and headlands were rare. It was mostly lined with smooth, sandy beaches. At the center of the island stood Mount Halla, with an elevation of 1,190 meters. The entire island was a typical volcanic island.

To put it vividly, Jeju Island was like lava squeezed from Mount Halla and spread flat on the sea.

Although Jeju’s latitude is similar to the Shandong Peninsula, it has a subtropical climate due to the warm currents passing by. While it snows in winter and temperatures can drop to 0 degrees Celsius, it is generally humid and warm.

Though the winters here were much colder than in Kaohsiung, they were at least warmer than in Shandong, and the distance from Longkou was much shorter. Its area of over five hundred square kilometers was enough to accommodate a large population, and its freshwater resources were abundant. In the 1930s, even in a very undeveloped state, the island supported a population of nearly 200,000. In the 21st century, Jeju’s permanent population was 550,000, not including the large number of tourists who visited annually. The island’s carrying capacity had great potential.

Jeju’s subtropical climate with four distinct seasons was much healthier for immigrants than the hot and humid southern Taiwan. Concentrating the refugees on Jeju Island would significantly reduce the chances of an epidemic outbreak.

Although the island’s agricultural conditions were not the best, it could still be self-sufficient for a population of tens of thousands.

The decision to take Jeju Island was initially based on its use as a transit station for immigrants. Now, the schedule had been delayed by a month. Although the forward command had not sent many telegrams to rush him, Li Haiping still felt a great sense of responsibility. He had to complete the landing on Jeju and the construction of the refugee camps as quickly as possible.

The fleet was heading for Seongsan on the northeastern part of Jeju Island. As a volcanic island, Jeju lacked good natural harbors, especially those with poor wind protection. The best port was Jeju Port, which was also where the Joseon Dynasty’s administrative body was located. It was relatively densely populated and not suitable as a starting base. The final decision for the landing site was Seongsan.

Although the harbor conditions at Seongsan were rather average, it was shielded by Udo Island to the northeast and embraced by Seongsan itself to the southeast. This not only provided protection from wind and waves but also allowed for control over the entire port by placing batteries on them. The General Staff considered it appropriate to establish the main military base here.

As the fleet sailed toward the eastern side of Jeju Island, the lookout shouted, “Beacon fire!”

Even without the lookout’s report, Li Haiping saw the black smoke rising from the island. The smoke rose from the small islands around Jeju, and then, from the direction of Seongsan on the eastern side of Jeju, more black smoke billowed into the sky.

Although the Grand Library had found no specific information on the Joseon Dynasty’s defenses on Jeju Island, the reconnaissance voyage of the Haitian several months earlier had revealed that the Joseon had set up beacon towers on Jeju and the surrounding small islands, and stationed naval vessels there. The island was only about three hundred nautical miles from Japan and had historically been subject to attacks by Wokou pirates. Moreover, it had been less than thirty years since the Imjin and Dingyou invasions, and the Joseon Dynasty remained highly vigilant against Japan. As the frontline against Japan, the area was heavily guarded.

During its reconnaissance voyage, the Haitian had seen the warning beacons being lit one after another on the various islands, but it had not been intercepted by the Joseon navy. Therefore, it was concluded that the Joseon naval forces near Jeju were weak and unable to proactively intercept them at sea. They relied mainly on scattered garrisons on the islands for defense, which would not pose a major obstacle to the landing operation.

Thus, Li Haiping’s order was simple: “Sail directly to Seongsan.”

With modern nautical charts and the results of the Haitian’s reconnaissance, the fleet confidently navigated through the islands and reefs around Jeju, heading straight for Seongsan.

Soon, Seongsan appeared in Li Haiping’s field of vision.

“It really looks like a giant fortress!”

Although Li Haiping had seen Seongsan in countless photos and videos, he was still amazed when it actually appeared before the bow of his ship.

The entire Seongsan was a huge rock rising abruptly from the sea—as its name, “Castle Mountain,” suggested, it resembled a “city.” But it was far more magnificent and spectacular than any real city.

Seongsan’s main peak is 182 meters high. At its top is a huge volcanic crater, 600 meters in diameter and 90 meters deep, resembling a giant, flat-bottomed dish. The southeast and north sides of Seongsan are cliffs; only the northwest side is a grassy ridge that winds its way to connect with Jeju Island.

In the 21st century, this place was a UNESCO World Natural Heritage site and a famous tourist destination. Many of the Senators had been there—Li Haiping, however, had always scorned the “Cosmic Empire” and had never set foot there.

Now, with the eyes of a naval officer, he surveyed the surroundings of Seongsan.

Opposite Seongsan was Udo Island. The space between them formed a natural anchorage. Placing a battery on each of these two locations would effectively guard the bay. The disadvantage was that the anchorage area was limited and the scope of wind protection was not large. It could only accommodate a small number of ships. Overall, the mooring and shelter conditions were not good.

Li Haiping shook his head. “A bit of a pity, the fleet can’t anchor here.”

Given Jeju Island’s geographical position, this shortcoming severely impacted its strategic value.

Jeju Island is within the typhoon belt and has always been known for its “strong winds.” The island lacks good natural harbors for shelter, making it difficult for large fleets to anchor safely. That was why the navy’s Jeju landing was scheduled for late autumn and early winter.

Since the conditions were limited, it became unnecessary to carry out excessive military construction here. It seemed the General Staff’s decision to cancel the plan to build batteries on Seongsan and Udo was reasonable.

In the original plan, the navy had intended to build a coastal battery on top of Seongsan and install heavy fortress artillery. However, after assessing the terrain and the Joseon’s military potential, the General Staff concluded that it was not necessary for the time being—and it was doubtful whether it would be necessary in the future. The conclusion was to establish a fortified camp and an observation post on top of Seongsan to conduct comprehensive surveillance of the nearby waters and the eastern part of the island, and to build a lighthouse as a navigational marker.