Chapter 49: Hong Kong

The banquet was not lavish. With a great war imminent, news of feasting and drinking would not be well-received in Lingao. Because Yuanlao Lin had not appeared for a long time, his appearance caused a sensation, and he had to exchange pleasantries with all the Yuanlao present. Naturally, he remained tight-lipped about what he had been doing in recent years.

With him to the Grand World came the fruit of his and the Foreign Intelligence Bureau’s labor over the past few years: several thick boxes of the Compilation of the Situation in Guangdong Province. It not only contained materials on important military strategic points in the Guangdong and Guangxi regions, which the Great Library had brought from the former time and space and organized and copied, and records of major climate and seismic events in the past three years, but also the intelligence they had collected over the years—ready for use at any time.

But this was not the main reason he had come to Guangzhou so early. In fact, he had a more important mission: to carry out a series of “decapitations.”

The Foreign Intelligence Bureau had compiled a list of the chief officers of all the important passes and checkpoints from the Pearl River estuary to Guangzhou. Before the offensive was formally launched, special personnel would be sent to “persuade” them to “cooperate” when the time came. The conditions included guaranteeing the safety of their personal and family’s lives and property, providing considerable bribes, and offering a safe retreat.

Based on the information he had, Lin Baiguang was confident that the South China Army departing from Hong Kong would, like the US military entering Iraq, have a clear path straight to Baghdad.

However, once we get to Baghdad, we can’t be like the US military… he thought, coldly observing the main characters of the banquet: Xi Yazhou, the center of all the well-wishes for “success and a place in history,” was self-satisfied; Zhu Mingxia was full of ambition; You Laohu was beaming with joy… Yuanlao Lin blended in with the crowd, joining in the revelry for a while, but also observing coldly for a long time. Taking advantage of the climax of the atmosphere, he quietly slipped out the door.

The two guards at the door saw it was a Yuanlao and stood at attention and saluted. Lin Baiguang told them, “I’m just taking a walk,” and slowly descended the stairs towards the highest observation deck.

On the observation deck, besides a Lingao-made monocular telescope, there were only sentries on duty. Lin Baiguang waved his hand, telling the soldiers to be at ease. He stood on the observation deck, looking at the city of Guangzhou not far away. The city lights, by the standards of this time, could be called “brilliant”—in many places he had been, only a very few places had lights after dark; the rest were pitch black and dead silent.

The “brilliant” lights outlined a dark silhouette of the city walls and towers of Guangzhou. This was the largest city in southern China, or rather, in all of southern Asia. This city of nearly a million people had accumulated countless riches. Even by the standards of later generations, this was a world of pleasure. Such a tempting prize! The Senate had actually endured for five years, quietly farming in a barren little county town, until today.

Lin Baiguang did not think there was anything wrong with the Senate’s “turtle-style” development. In his view, it was a prudent and rational approach. The only problem was that it took too long.

He was only thirty-six when he came to this time and space. Now he was a bona fide middle-aged man. By the time they had unified the country and dominated East Asia, he would probably be in his sixties.

However, in the past few years, he felt that his physical strength and energy had not declined. He had a very clear feeling of his body’s decline in his thirties. But now that he had crossed into his forties, both his physical strength and energy were better than on D-Day.

To say it was due to his “healthy” lifestyle in recent years didn’t seem to be the whole story. He noticed this because when he returned to Lingao for the plenary session, he saw several female Yuanlao whom he had not seen for many years, and their appearances had not changed significantly. You should know that when you see someone day in and day out, changes in appearance are difficult to notice, but if you haven’t seen them for a few years, the changes will be very obvious.

“Could there be something fishy about this?” he wondered, lighting a cigar.

Less than a hundred kilometers from Guangzhou, on the sea, three H800 transport ships and an escorting patrol boat were sailing in formation. This was the 10th Infantry Battalion departing from Lingao, along with a part of the direct subordinate units of the army and brigade levels. Tian Liang and his company were on one of the ships.

The soldiers boarded the ship with their rifles, bayonets, and carrying gear. Many of the troops had complex feelings about these familiar ships: it was these ships that had taken them away from hell on earth and given them a new life. But the bumpy journey and the memory of their relatives who had died on the way and were thrown directly into the sea left them with gloomy memories.

Tian Liang checked the settlement of each squad one by one. The space for the soldiers was very small. The bunks were divided into upper and lower levels, and after climbing in, you could only sit up.

The average space per person was about one square meter. After putting down their personal gear, there was almost no space left. If a person wanted to lie down and sleep, they had to use their backpack as a pillow and unfold their blanket.

The cabins had been hastily cleaned before the troops were transported, so the environment was still clean, just cramped and dimly lit. Except for the bunks near the deck hatches, which could get some light from the grated hatch covers, the other places could only rely on the horse lanterns hanging in the corridors for illumination.

Tian Liang urged the soldiers to settle their luggage and gear. Each squad was issued a lidded iron bucket, the so-called “vomit bucket.”

The company’s medic patrolled back and forth, distributing sedatives and urging the soldiers to lie down and rest to prevent seasickness.

Tian Liang’s accommodation was slightly better than the soldiers’. He and the other two officers in the company shared a three-tiered bunk, and there was a small table hanging on the wall that could be propped up.

After inspecting the troops, he went out onto the deck. The ship was once again equipped with the gear used for transporting personnel and livestock: a fan-shaped canvas screen to collect fresh air, which was then transported into the ship through a cloth duct.

Standing on the deck, the scenery on both sides of the Qiongzhou Strait was clearly visible. The lights of the coastal villages and towns were like scattered stars. Above his head, the ropes made a creaking sound, and the sails made a “puffing” sound. As the ship moved forward, the lights of Bopu Town, immersed in the twilight, gradually receded into the distance. Tian Liang leaned against the bulwark, tightly gripping the rope handrail on the side. A warm current surged up in his chest, and he couldn’t say a word, just stood there silently.

The next day, Tian Liang woke up very early. He had not slept soundly on the crowded and bumpy ship. He put on his coat and went to the deck. There were already many soldiers and officers on the deck, breathing the fresh air and taking care of their physiological needs.

There were naturally no toilets on the ship, but fortunately, a solution had been found during the transportation of refugees. The specific solution was a set of wooden components extending out from the outside of the handrail on the deck. It was made of sturdy wooden planks, with no roof or walls. The floor was just two wooden planks spaced just right. For safety, there were handrails to grip, and those who went up to “relieve themselves” had to put a slipknot rope from the ship’s side onto their Y-shaped military belt, so that if they fell, there was still a chance of being saved.

Although the “toilet” was simple, it was very clean to use and did not require cleaning. The disadvantage was that the large amount of human waste discharged in a concentrated manner would attract sharks—if you fell, you would definitely not be saved.

The fresh water on the ship was limited, and with so many soldiers on board, each person was supplied with a canteen of water. Tian Liang first rinsed his mouth, then poured the rest onto a towel and wiped his face haphazardly. At this time, the bell for meals was already ringing continuously.

The sailors in the ship’s galley had already begun to serve breakfast. The soldiers’ meals on the ship were provided by the navy. Tian Liang had thought they would be given “gruel,” a meal he had often eaten during his many sea voyages, but to his surprise, what was delivered was steamed rice in tin lunch boxes—made with instant rice. On top of the rice were large slices of fish cake and pickled shredded radish. The miso soup with seaweed and shredded radish was brought in insulated buckets. Drinking a bowl after the meal made his whole body feel comfortable.

Tian Liang was not seasick and enjoyed his breakfast. After breakfast, each person was given another lunch box of water to wash their utensils.

To maintain morale and health, all personnel, as long as they were not sick, had to go on deck in shifts after breakfast for exercises and to shout “Long live” three times to the Morning Star flag.

In this way, the fleet sailed on, and a few days later, it smoothly entered the Hong Kong anchorage.

The morning sea breeze was cool and gentle on the face, fresh and invigorating to the lungs.

The cranes on the pier roared with a “thump, thump, thump” sound, their black steel arms swaying in the dazzling sunlight. On the grounds, where military supplies were piled up like small mountains, steam locomotives pulling carriages shrieked as they passed by, and the ground beneath their feet trembled.

The Central Pier was like an uncovered “ant’s nest,” a scene of bustling activity. The transport fleet was anchored in the harbor, lined up one by one by the pier in a light haze: large Hexie-class ships, galleons, and various large Cantonese and Fujianese junks were densely docked, with personnel transfers and cargo lifting in full swing.

On the ships, on the pier, in almost every corner, there were people moving about, busy. Machines roared, boomed, and moved. Almost everywhere above the seawater, cargo was being lifted and lowered.

Near the sea side of the large fortress in Central, there were several small patrol boats. A few sailors in white uniforms sailed on the mirror-calm green water, creating small V-shaped ripples. The navy’s warships, Lichun, Chedian, Yangbo, and Zhenyang, were majestically arranged in two rows, white smoke rising from their funnels as they prepared to set sail. Further out were clusters of patrol boats and special service boats, a cluster of white sails. The large warships’ white awnings had already been erected, and they were parked there quietly.

The various units of the South China Army would complete their full assembly and rest here, then transfer to river ships to enter the Pearl River and formally launch the attack.

The newly arrived 10th Army Infantry Battalion and parts of the direct subordinate units of the army and brigade were unloading. Although there were preparations and plans, and the large equipment and heavy luggage required by each unit had been shipped to the port in advance, it would still take half a day to unload the personnel and their accompanying small luggage.