Chapter 471: Military Rations

The Qiwei Escort Agency had prepared a salt boat. This was a type of cargo boat that sailed on the North River channel, named so because it was often used to transport salt, though it was not limited to that. Because of its shallow draft, it was suitable for shallow waterways and could carry both cargo and passengers. When the Qiwei Escort Agency formed its inland river fleet, it had purchased some of these boats.

For this mission, the boat had been refitted at the Hong Kong shipyard. It had ample space to accommodate the entire staff trip team and their escorts. Because there were many water bandits in the West and North River basins, the cabins had been reinforced, and the arched matting roof was lined with iron sheets. The sterncastle had also been raised, its side walls fitted with iron plates, and a universal mount for a machine gun had been installed.

At this time, two large lanterns with Song-style characters were hung at the bow. One read “Jinyiwei Foshan Centurion’s Office,” and the other, “Hereditary Centurion Lin of the Jinyiwei.” At the stern, the banner of the Qiwei Escort Agency was also hung. Both public and private aspects were quite formidable. Ordinary thieves would not dare to challenge such a powerful presence.

Lin Ming had originally planned to bring a servant boy, but when he saw the boat, he noticed that the several Australians were traveling light, without a single servant. Bringing a servant would be too conspicuous, so he had to send the boy back and carry his own luggage on board.

Seeing that the boat was a salt boat, he couldn’t help but complain to himself: although this boat was large, the passengers had a very hard time. They could only sit and lie on the salt bags and cargo. Forget about drinking and making merry like on an official boat or a flower boat, or sleeping soundly when tired. It was even worse than an ordinary passenger boat—at least a passenger boat had seats.

He went down the steps from the small door at the bow and saw that the inside was very different. The spacious hold had been divided into different cabins. The forecabin was the largest, with a large table in the center, its legs fixed to the deck.

“Centurion Lin, this way please,” the sailor leading the way said, guiding him to the aft cabin. Along a short corridor were several doors. The sailor opened one of them.

“You will share a room with Mr. Xie.”

The cabin was extremely small, and one could see everything from the doorway. The bunks were arranged in two tiers, and there was a small table, a small stool, and a cabinet by the bed. It was not only exquisite and beautiful but also practical. The clever use of space and area made him marvel. As they say, making a grand display in a snail’s shell—the Australians were truly capable of such a feat!

After settling his luggage, Lin Ming strolled to the forecabin. The ceiling here was inlaid with glass tiles, making the light very bright. A large piece of plate glass was laid on the table, and under it seemed to be a drawing. Lin Ming glanced at it; it seemed to be a map. His heart pounded. He didn’t dare to look again—this was a military secret. He just sat down on the long bench by the side of the cabin, pretending to look at the scenery outside the window.

A moment later, the three Australians came in together. Lin Ming quickly stood up to greet them.

“No need for formalities,” Suo Pu waved his hand. “The space on the boat is too small. Let’s dispense with the ceremonies. Let’s set sail as soon as possible.”

The salt boat slowly started, heading up the river towards Sanshui County.

From Foshan Town to Hekou Town, the seat of Sanshui County, was only thirty kilometers. Traveling against the current, relying entirely on human-powered sculls and the occasional gust of wind, the boat moved very slowly, barely covering four or five kilometers in an hour. Lin Ming was used to this slow pace of travel, but Suo Pu and the others found this sluggish journey a bit unbearable. Even on a sailing sea vessel like the T800, they could make four or five knots an hour.

“At this rate, when will we reach Sanshui County?” Cummins couldn’t help but ask.

“We’ll be there by dinnertime,” Lin Ming said.

A journey of less than thirty kilometers by water, starting early in the morning and arriving only in the evening—this was the normal speed of travel in the 17th century. On past boat trips, the daylight hours would be boring. Lin Ming would usually play cards and drink with his guests or concubines. Now, he could only sit there blankly, watching the several Australians at work.

The big man with the full beard and the young man sat at the bow the whole time, writing and drawing in a notebook, occasionally pointing at the scenery. Master Suo didn’t write or draw; he just took out a small box every once in a while and went to the sterncastle. Lin Ming watched from a distance and saw that sometimes he was looking around with the Westerners’ “spyglass,” and other times it was a strange copper contraption that he looked at against the sun, and he had no idea what he was doing.

As for the accompanying escorts, they were also restless. Besides keeping a lookout in all directions, they would measure the water depth with bamboo poles or lead weights at every river bend, shoal, and bridgehead. When passing under a bridge, they would invariably measure the height of the bridge arch with a bamboo pole.

Sometimes, the three of them were not outside measuring but were gathered around the large table, talking and writing and drawing on the glass plate. The content was all the Australians’ so-called “new language.” Lin Ming could barely understand it, but he had no idea what words like “contour lines,” “flow velocity,” and “hydrology” meant, even though he could roughly guess which characters they were.

He dared not show a bored expression of disinterest, nor did he want to arouse their suspicion by being too concerned. He could only carefully maintain his distance, humbly serving tea and water, and not saying a word unless they asked him a question.

For Suo Pu and the others, the area they were currently passing through did not require much effort. The Qiwei Escort Agency had been very active here and had accumulated a lot of hydrological data. They only needed to investigate certain pieces of intelligence with a specific purpose.

They set off early in the morning and sailed all the way until noon, but there was no aroma coming from the kitchen at the stern. Lin Ming figured that with the Australians’ style, there would be no fine wine and delicacies, just a simple meal. Fortunately, he had brought a lot of road dishes to go with his rice.

Suo Pu looked at the sun, which was already at its zenith. He took out his pocket watch and saw it was past twelve. He waved his hand, “Lunchtime!”

Xie Peng immediately took a rag from under the table and wiped the glass tabletop clean. Cummins took out a few packages from the storage cabinet under the long bench, placed them on the table, and called everyone to eat.

Centurion Lin quickly came over. He had seen both high-end and low-end “Australian food” in Lingao, but what was before him was different from any “Australian food” he remembered.

Take the tableware, for example. It was unheard of: each person had an iron cylinder, shaped like a kidney, with a lid and a handle. The lid could be turned over and used as a bowl. Each person also had a small iron cup with a handle.

In the middle of the table was a pile of paper packages and boxes of various sizes. There was neither food nor rice to be seen. He couldn’t help but wonder: what were they eating?

While he was hesitating, the accompanying escort brought a thermos. This thing was now quite popular around Guangzhou, and most middle-class and above households had one.

Lin Ming saw the three Australians take out a few rectangular paper packages and unwrap them, so he followed suit and took one.

He saw a line of small black characters printed on the paper: Grassland Series Compressed Rations (Plains Type A), Sesame and Nut Flavor, Ready to Eat. Below that was printed 200kJ/100g. Lin Ming only knew this was a large number and Frankish writing. Looking further down, it said: “With hot water,” “mix with 2-3 times the amount of water,” “high-energy porridge,” “tastes better.” Lin Ming pondered for a long time. It seemed to be a solidified, dried porridge. It could be eaten directly, but it would taste better with hot water.

Looking at the Australians, Suo Pu and Xie Peng had added water and were eating with spoons, while Cummins was eating it directly with his hands.

He decided to take a bite first. The ration was very dry and hard, with a faint taste that was both a little sweet and a little salty. There was only a hint of the aroma of rice flour and oil. The texture was very poor, like chewing sand. Only after chewing for a long time could he feel a slight aroma of sesame and dried fruit in his mouth. But this thing was so dry and hard that he couldn’t even swallow it without drinking water. It would be very difficult to finish both pieces in the package.

So he poured hot water over the hard block. He thought it would soften immediately, but the lump stubbornly refused to yield. He had to use a spoon to break it up. After a while, it finally softened completely.

The iron cylinder now contained a grayish mushy substance that smelled both sour and sweet. Looking closely, he saw that the lump was bubbling as it absorbed the water.

He mustered his courage and took a bite, and couldn’t help but frown: what a strange taste… Although it wasn’t too bad, it was very, very strange. In his thirty-plus years of eating, Lin Ming had never experienced such a taste.

Watching the three Australians eat this stuff with straight faces, it was clear that their feelings were similar to his…

“Have some pickled mustard root to wash it down,” Xie Peng said, seeing his strange expression and knowing he couldn’t handle this tooth-breaker. He pushed a small oil-paper package on the table towards him.

Lin Ming looked at it. The small oil-paper package was neatly wrapped, with a piece of paper pasted on it, printed with the black characters: “Refreshing Pickled Mustard Root.”

What is this pickled mustard root? he wondered to himself. He wanted to refuse, but that would be too disrespectful to the Australians. He steeled himself, unwrapped the paper package, and inside was a small piece of wrinkled, grayish-green pickled vegetable. It didn’t look very appetizing. He took a bite with suspicion, but the taste was not bad: it was neither greasy nor had a strange taste. It was very salty but had a light and refreshing texture, and it was crunchy when he bit into it.

With this to accompany it, the strange mush was not so hard to eat. He couldn’t help but regret not taking out his own road dishes first.

The hot tea that was served next was normal enough. Although the color was dark and the taste was inferior, almost like brick tea, it was still tea. Unexpectedly, each person was then given another oil-paper package. Lin Ming picked it up and looked at it: the black characters on it read “Energy Bar,” and he didn’t know what it meant. But when he opened it, he smelled a familiar aroma: wasn’t this the smell of mooncakes? Could it be that the Australians were already preparing for the Mid-Autumn Festival?

Inside was indeed a pastry similar to a mooncake, but it was rectangular. Lin Ming was slightly relieved. If it was a mooncake, he could still eat it. He took a bite. It was indeed a mooncake, with a red bean paste filling. It was full of oil and sugar. Except for the fact that the bean skins had not been removed and there were no lard cubes, which was a slight flaw, it was otherwise quite standard.