Chapter 281: Jeju Island Forward Command

In a sheltered spot at the foot of Seongsan, a mesh curtain had been erected. Sentries stood guard around it, their rifles loaded and bayonets gleaming. Inside the large command tent behind the curtain, the personnel of the Jeju Island Landing Command were busy at work.

A situation map of Jeju Island, drawn based on 21st-century large-scale maps and historical materials, was spread out on a modular map table. The members of the Jeju Island Forward Command—Second Fleet Admiral Li Haiping, Special Reconnaissance Team Detachment Leader Xue Ziliang, Jeju Island Task Force Commander Nangong Wudi, and Jeju Island Civil Affairs Commissioner Feng Zongze—were studying the situation.

Although Jeju Island was the front line against the Japanese, the Joseon Dynasty’s military strength here was not formidable. According to historical records, the entire island’s garrison numbered less than two thousand men. As for the combat effectiveness of these two thousand, the Senators unanimously agreed it was not worth mentioning. Thirty years ago, the Japanese army had rampaged through Korea as if it were uninhabited territory, and in the Dingmao Invasion four years prior, the Joseon army had proven utterly incapable. King Injo had fled directly to Ganghwa Island, his only strategy for repelling the enemy being to sue for peace.

Escorted to Jeju Island by the Second Fleet were two infantry companies, one engineer company, and one public security company of the Northbound Detachment’s Jeju Island Task Force, along with a direct-subordinate company equipped with four artillery pieces. For construction, there was the direct-subordinate squadron, the horse-breeding squadron, and four ordinary labor squadrons of the Jeju Agro-Reclamation Corps. The total number of personnel landed was about twelve hundred. Besides the field army and the public security forces, the Agro-Reclamation Corps was also equipped with cold weapons.

“Even if I were just commanding the labor squadrons armed with standard pikes and machetes, I could still crush these two thousand Joseon troops,” said Nangong Wudi. This man sported the bowl-cut hairstyle popular among the army’s Senators. He was 170 cm tall, of medium build but with solid muscles. It was clear he had undergone long-term physical training; his fitness was excellent. His thick arms, bulging muscles, and an M1911 pistol—rarely used by Senators—indicated he was a man of great arm strength.

Most peculiar was a leather holster at his waist, containing a slingshot made of steel wire and ox tendon.

He wore an army uniform with the rank of Army Captain. Nangong Wudi had been a squad leader in the PLA, skilled in leading troops, training, and fighting. Thus, after D-Day, he naturally joined the army. During the Second Counter-Encirclement Campaign, he was an infantry company commander in the Fubo Army, but he was in the reserves. So, apart from a brief charge during the final pursuit where he captured a few hundred prisoners, he spent the entire Battle of Chengmai sitting and waiting. Consequently, he was passed over in the large-scale promotions that followed the battle.

However, to cultivate Senator officers, the General Staff organized an advanced army tactics class shortly after the Battle of Chengmai. All Senator officers below the battalion level were trained in batches as a reserve for future mid-to-senior level commanders. The training content, besides strategy, focused on the military organization, training, and tactics of the line infantry era. A significant part of it covered the tactics and lessons learned from “pacification warfare,” which would be conducted as a supporting force for “social transformation” once they entered the mainland on a large scale.

Nangong Wudi’s performance in the advanced tactics class was only average. But he was highly competent in practical matters. His experience drifting through society after leaving the army had enabled him to master conversational levels of Mongolian, Manchu, Korean, Vietnamese, Tibetan, and Uyghur. This linguistic advantage led to his selection as the army commander for the Jeju Island landing during the preparatory phase of Operation Engine.

Feng Zongze, the Civil Affairs Commissioner for Jeju Island, said, “Overthrowing the Joseon’s administrative body shouldn’t be a problem. But this is a large area. Do we have enough manpower to defend the entire island?”

Feng Zongze was a head taller than Nangong Wudi, appearing very sturdy, with a face that gave an impression of sincerity. He was the owner of a small pharmacy. His skills included licenses as a practicing pharmacist and a junior nutritionist, psychology, proficiency in cooking, the ability to drive medium-sized vehicles and tractors, and he could muddle through their maintenance and repair. He could also muddle through on horseback. Crucially, he could speak fluent Japanese and a passable, understandable Korean. This was why he stood out from the dozens of “soy sauce” Senators who applied for the position of Civil Affairs Commissioner for Jeju Island—that was the official, public reason. According to unreliable rumors, he was chosen for the post by the Organization Department because he had an ambiguous relationship with a female Senator and had received personal threats from her boyfriend. Of course, no one except those who would pay five Chongzhen Tongbao for gossip believed such baseless talk. The head of the Organization Department, Ming Lang, also firmly denied it:

“We have a process for selecting Senators for administrative positions. This process is completely open and transparent.”

However, given his skills, selecting this multi-talented Senator as an dispatched civil affairs officer seemed like killing seven birds with one stone. For instance, the Engine Command did not send any Senator medical personnel with the expedition.

Xue Ziliang said, “We don’t need to defend the whole island. Just protect our base. Let the Koreans do whatever they want. If they want to fight, we’ll give them a good thrashing.”

“No, the enemy’s armed forces must be disarmed,” objected Nangong Wudi, as the supreme commander of this operation. “Jeju Island has abundant resources. We can only effectively utilize them by controlling the Joseon officials and disarming them. If you don’t capture the local Joseon officials, how will you know where the government’s horses are? How will you know the specific population of the island? We have a lot of historical data, it’s true, but there are discrepancies between historical records and reality. Besides, the data isn’t detailed enough.”

For an outsider to rule a place, local collaborators are indispensable. Establishing a “puppet regime” and appointing “traitors” has always been the go-to choice for an occupying army.

“We also need the grain reserves of the local government and the ability to conscript the local population. It’s not feasible without controlling the government,” Feng Zongze quickly added his support.

“OK, I have no objections. Let’s do it your way.” Xue Ziliang raised his hands in a gesture of compliance. He wasn’t averse to fighting—after all, that was where his value lay.

“We need to take Jeju, Daejeong, and Jeongui, these three towns, as quickly as possible to control the Joseon administration on the island.” Nangong Wudi circled the three locations on the glass plate of the map with an ink pen.

Jeju Island had three main townships: Jeju, Daejeong County, and Jeongui County. These were the three administrative centers on the island, each with a magistrate or county supervisor as the local official.

Jeju was the Jeju City of his time, the political and economic center of the island, accounting for about half of the island’s population. Daejeong County was at the southwestern end of the island. Jeongui County was in the southeast, the location of the old Seongeup Folk Village, and the closest to their landing site at Seongsan.

“I just don’t know how these two thousand men are specifically deployed,” Feng Zongze hesitated. “They can’t all be stationed in these three towns, can they?”

“There are also soldiers stationed at the beacon towers and other places,” Xue Ziliang said. According to information provided by the Grand Library, besides the three towns, the Joseon Dynasty had nine garrison posts scattered across the island. Each post would certainly have some soldiers.

With a meager force of about two thousand men to guard a large island of five hundred square kilometers, and with them spread out like salt and pepper, it would inevitably lead to insufficient forces everywhere. From this perspective, the deployment of the Joseon army was similar to the Green Standard Army of the later Qing Dynasty: defending everywhere, dispersed deployment, with a greater emphasis on police duties rather than field combat. For the task force, it would be easy to defeat them one by one.

“We can also question the prisoners. They can give us firsthand information,” Xue Ziliang said.

An order was given to bring in the captured Haenyeo for questioning. The fact that Xue Ziliang had captured bare-bottomed women as soon as he landed had piqued the interest of Feng Zongze and the others. It wasn’t that they lacked women—all three had bought maids—but they had a certain fantasy about the “Haenyeo” who dived naked into the sea to gather seafood.

Of course, the Haenyeo of his time wore tight-fitting wetsuits, or at least swimsuits. And the women who continued in this profession were mostly middle-aged or older—because it was too arduous, the young women of Japan and Korea in his time no longer became Haenyeo.

Now, hearing that “Haenyeo” who fit their fantasies actually existed, these men couldn’t help but feel a stir of excitement.

Before the Haenyeo were brought in, Feng Zongze and Nangong Wudi debated in basic Korean over who spoke the language better, exchanging greetings with certain Korean words to show off their deeper knowledge. As for Li Haiping, a navy admiral who had nothing to do with the interrogation, he remained silent, sitting motionless in the tent.

When the Haenyeo entered, they immediately knelt with their heads bowed. Although the weather on Jeju was warmer, it was still winter. The temperature outside the tent was below ten degrees Celsius. The Haenyeo relied on smearing their bodies with grease before entering the water and drinking strong liquor to ward off the cold. Coupled with years of diving, their resistance to cold was better than that of ordinary people, but they didn’t have any special constitution. Although they had straw cloaks for cover, their half-naked bodies shivered in the cold wind. Upon entering the tent, they all breathed a sigh of relief—it was much warmer inside.

The Haenyeo’s hair was coiled on top of their heads. Their naked skin, long soaked in seawater and exposed to the sun, was a bronze color. Their figures were quite fit due to their long-term exercise. But up close, it was clear that several of them were no longer young—by the standards of this era, they were at the level of “aunties.” Only two or three were young women. Feng Zongze’s Korean was better, so he started asking a few questions.

When they realized that these men in gray and blue short coats, who had arrived on large ships, could speak their language, the Haenyeo all looked up, their eyes wide with surprise. The people before them were not the “Wokou pirates” they feared most. Occasionally, “Tang people” and “Japanese people” who had been shipwrecked would drift to Jeju, and sometimes Wokou pirates would raid the island, but it was clear that these men were neither.