Chapter 17: Penghu

Although Kinmen was situated between Anping and Xiamen, it was still 12 nautical miles from Anping. For a fleet of sailing ships, the transit time was long and subject to the hydrographic conditions of the bay, making a surprise attack difficult. The 8-knot motorized transport boats clearly had a significant advantage in this regard.

“The transit time is simply too long. If the enemy reacts quickly, they could easily send reinforcements from the mainland,” Ming Qiu expressed his concern while reviewing the battle plan. Although he had no experience executing amphibious operations, he knew that such battles were typically won by speed and decisiveness. A fleet composed mainly of sailing ships could not guarantee this. Furthermore, Kinmen and Xiamen were large islands; deploying troops for attacks and searches would take considerable time. According to the plan, they also had to systematically destroy local infrastructure and abduct the population, which could take three to four days to complete.

If the Zheng family’s command structure wasn’t shattered in the initial assault, Zheng Zhilong could easily dispatch reinforcements from Jinjiang and other areas on the second day.

Zheng Zhilong’s army was a private force, not the dilapidated government troops that marched only a dozen li a day. They could likely reach Anping to counterattack within half a day.

The Intelligence Bureau and the Great Library, based on historical records of Zheng Zhilong’s land campaigns, estimated his mobile land force at around two thousand men. Combined with the garrison he could mobilize, he could send at most three thousand men to Anping.

“We need not worry about Zheng Zhilong’s reaction time,” Dongmen Chuiyu said with confidence. “The Zheng family’s land army, whether under Zheng Zhilong or Koxinga, has a dismal record against any opponent with a modicum of fighting ability. Both their combat capability and their will to fight are questionable. According to our wargames, a single infantry company equipped with machine guns and light artillery can rout their reinforcements.” He cited an example: when the Qing general Ma Degong launched a surprise attack on Xiamen, a few dozen Qing cavalry scouts landing on the shore caused the entire island’s defense to collapse. Ma Degong, with little naval support and no superiority in numbers, easily captured Xiamen, a core base of the Zheng family.

“So Zheng Zhilong’s forces are that incompetent?”

“The Intelligence Bureau’s assessment is that, even by 17th-century standards, Zheng Zhilong’s forces, both army and navy, are not a strong power,” Dongmen Chuiyu stated with assurance. “The scale of the forces we have mobilized is more than sufficient to accomplish all campaign objectives.”

From that moment on, the Zuoying base was placed on the highest alert level. All leave and outside excursions were canceled.

At 0500 on September 17th, Ming Qiu received a telegram from the Admiralty in Lingao: “Commence operation.” Ming Qiu summoned all the captains of the First Fleet to the base and ordered: “The Senate has decided to go to war with Zheng Zhilong. This fleet will proceed immediately to Kinmen to strike the Zheng fleet and cover the landing of army troops in the Kinmen-Xiamen area.” After his speech, he issued mission orders to the squadron commanders and captains.

The main force of the First Fleet consisted of the cruiser Lichun and four hybrid-power first-rate gunboats, along with five squadrons of sailing special service boats. The total tonnage of the warships exceeded 8,000 tons, carrying 200 cannons of various calibers. The hybrid-power warships were all equipped with rifled guns. Although the proportion was not high, their range and power were far beyond what the smoothbore cannons on the special service boats could achieve.

Due to the limited range of this operation, no coal transport ships were included. The army, marines, logistics detachments, and supplies were transported by 35 large miscellaneous transport ships of the Second Transport Flotilla—the H800s, with their deep drafts, were unsuitable for use in harbors that had not undergone port construction.

Four squadrons of patrol boats also accompanied the fleet, tasked with miscellaneous duties.

During the transit, every warship in the fleet conducted intensive, targeted training. Squadron commanders and captains, in particular, spent their time studying the newly issued hydrographic charts of Xiamen Bay and Weitou Bay, as well as intelligence on the Zheng family’s deployments.

That evening, the fleet arrived at Penghu. The sea had been calm during the voyage. All fishing boats encountered along the way were detained and escorted to Penghu.

The fleet anchored at Penghu. The logistics department established a temporary base on Magong Island, setting up supply depots and aid stations. The army personnel went ashore for a brief rest.

Although the navy had not issued orders for rest, the number of personnel on watch was halved, and everyone rested in shifts, conserving their strength for the attack two days later.

Li Huamei stood on the deck of the Lichun. The sun had set. The First Fleet was under a strict blackout. Except for a few necessary signal lights, all lights were extinguished. The camp on shore was also dark.

However, it was the time of the full moon. Even without lights, the moonlight illuminated the ships anchored among the islands and the rows of tents on Magong Island.

Though there were many ships and men, there was no clamor. The ships were moored in an orderly fashion, and no one moved about aimlessly on the island or on deck. The scene was one of disciplined silence. Signal lights on the ships and in the camp blinked in sequence, transmitting messages she could not yet understand. Faintly, the sound of orders carried on the sea breeze reached her ears. All of this filled Li Huamei, participating in a large-scale Australian operation for the first time, with a sense of awe. She, her mistress, the Ming court, the Chinese and foreign sea merchants—all seemed so small, so insignificant before such power.

She was on watch. The Hangzhou was undergoing modifications and had not joined the operation, but as a trainee officer, she had been assigned to the cruiser Lichun, inadvertently accomplishing the primary mission her mistress had given her.

This was the first time in many years she had served on a ship as a crew member rather than a captain. Based on her expertise, Li Huamei was assigned to the sail and rigging department for her apprenticeship.

Boarding this black “leviathan,” Li Huamei’s heart pounded with an excitement that surpassed even her first time on the “Holy Ship.” The Holy Ship, after all, was stationary and so far beyond her comprehension. The Lichun, despite its many marvels, was still within her grasp of understanding. She had seen European ships of similar size, some even larger. The three huge masts, the cloud-like sails, and the intricate rigging had once been a source of her derision for the “Senate Navy.”

Now assigned to the rigging department, she had intended to show off her skills. The elders were one thing, but the naval officers and sailors they recruited, though mostly from seafaring families, were amateurs when it came to climbing masts and handling sails. However, she was soon disappointed. The sails of the Lichun were raised and lowered by a method she couldn’t quite comprehend. A sailor would pull a lever at the base of the mast, and a nearby winch for the rigging ropes would whir to life, hoisting or lowering the sail in an instant. Compared to the process on her Hangzhou, where sailors had to line up, chant, and heave on ropes to turn the capstan, it was like the difference between heaven and earth. In a race, the crew on the Hangzhou would still be assembling while the work on the Lichun was already finished.

Similar mysterious “automations” could be seen all over the Lichun: raising and lowering the anchor, turning the massive yards… any task that required heavy labor could be accomplished by moving a lever or turning a wheel, and the object would mysteriously move on its own. Li Huamei vaguely understood that this was related to the same mysterious “water and fire power” the Australians used for their steam carriages and large cranes on shore. The huge black smokestack between the three masts, belching thick smoke and white steam, was the embodiment of this power.

She developed a keen interest in this “water and fire power,” but its operation belonged to the engine department, with which she had no contact. The rigging department worked on deck, while the engine crew, aside from the grimy figures she encountered on her way to her quarters, were never seen.

If only I could get into the engine department and have a look, Li Huamei thought to herself. She realized how laughable her earlier desire to get her hands on an Australian “fast boat” had been. She and her crew of Chinese and foreign sailors could never manage a great black ship like this.

To get such a ship, she would need the Australians to train her entire crew. To do it with only her own and her mistress’s resources was a fool’s dream.

She sighed. At this point, she would be content with one of the Australians’ pure sailing fast boats, like the Haitian. She wondered what her Hangzhou would look like after its refit.

At this thought, her mind drifted back to her mistress, her sister, herself, and Elder Qi. She felt as if she had been swept along, pushed by some unseen force, step by step, to this point.

Here she was, standing on the deck of an Australian “black ship,” wearing their uniform, yet still harboring a divided heart. What will become of me? she wondered. The thought felt unlucky, but she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering.

Li Huamei stood alone in the darkness for a long time, until the next watch arrived. She handed over her duties and returned to her cabin below deck.

As a reserve officer in training, she was not entitled to an officer’s cabin. She slept in the large NCO’s quarters, in a hammock.

Sleeping in the same large cabin with a group of men was something Li Huamei was not used to. Although everyone knew she was a famous pirate and no one dared to bother her, just watching the men strip down to sleep every night made her uncomfortable. The men, for their part, also found the situation “too stimulating” and rather awkward. In the end, the ship’s administration had a small room temporarily partitioned off for her in a corner of the bay.

Li Huamei returned to her “private room,” took off her jacket, and climbed into her hammock. The sound of snoring already filled the outer bay. She was still not used to such an environment and could only close her eyes and try to rest. In another day, the fleet would set sail for Anping.