Chapter 387 - The Five-Masted Ship

Until now, Yue Lin had only ever sailed aboard the locally-built seventy-ton lateen fishing boats that dominated these waters. The transmigrators possessed a considerable fleet of such vessels, used primarily as transports and occasionally pressed into service as patrol craft—pursuing fishing boats that refused to pay the fishing tax, suppressing small pirate bands that preyed on fishermen, and escorting passing merchant ships.

Naval Command had recently launched "Maritime Security Rectification Month." From dawn to dusk, patrol vessels swept constantly along the several-dozen-kilometer coastline between Bo-pu and Ma-miu. The campaign had dramatically increased sortie rates, with transport vessels reassigned to patrol duty. To ensure numerical superiority, ships now operated in formations of three to five, with each group including at least one or two cannon-equipped vessels—many of the guns borrowed from the Army.

The ships cut rather shabby figures at sea. On their foredecks sat Army 12-pound M1857 cannons, temporarily transferred and lashed in place with rope. Wet sandbags stacked around the guns formed crude emplacements. Among the marines stood gray-uniformed Army gunners on loan—the Navy still lacked sufficient trained crews.

"If only all our patrol boats were like 101." On his maiden voyage aboard Patrol Boat 101, Yue Lin couldn't stop praising its sailing performance—nimble, responsive, with highly efficient sail utilization. Little wonder Director Wen insisted that lateen sails were best suited for coastal navigation.

The lookout's sudden shout interrupted his thoughts:

"Something at three o'clock!"

Yue Lin raised the binoculars hanging from his chest. Two or three nautical miles distant, over a dozen small vessels swarmed around a large ship. The larger vessel was a typical Guangdong-style trader common along China's coast—impressive tonnage, easily four or five hundred tons. Yue Lin blinked in surprise. The Qiongzhou Strait lay well off the ocean shipping routes. Large oceangoing traders seldom ventured here. Even when such ships made for Hainan, they typically resupplied at Qiongshan County's Shenying Harbor or continued directly to Yulin. None ever strayed into Lingao-Chengmai waters.

"How can there be such a big ship?" Yue Lin could scarcely believe his eyes as he adjusted the magnification to maximum eight-power.

The large ship's hull listed heavily to one side, grounded on a sandbar. Tattered sails still hung from its masts. Through the binoculars he could make out figures swarming onto the vessel. The deck was crowded with heads, and smoke and flames rose intermittently.

Pirates, mid-robbery. Yue Lin's pulse quickened—the tedious patrol work finally had some fresh excitement. A genuine opportunity for action!

"Battle stations!" he shouted.

The drummer stationed at the stern castle immediately beat a rapid tattoo. Deck sailors and soldiers sprang into motion. Petty officers' whistles shrilled; off-duty sailors and marines poured up from below.

"Left rudder, fifteen degrees! Full speed ahead!" Yue Lin gripped the railing and bellowed with authority.

"Fifteen degrees, left!" the helmsman acknowledged, spinning the wheel. Naval Command had converted all its better-condition vessels over fifty tons to wheel-helm operation.

The stern castle signal officer immediately transmitted the orders to the flanking ships. Vessels 108 and 111 began their turns in response.

"Lower oars one, three, and five!" Ruan Xiaowu shouted. Yue Lin's orders sounded impressive, but without engines, "full speed ahead" meant deploying the ship's three pairs of oars for manual rowing.

Ruan Xiaowu was now a proper naval cadet. After returning from the circumnavigation voyage, all participating cadets had received promotions. Though only fifteen, he already wore the silver sleeve braid marking cadet rank—insignia that clearly distinguished him from deck sailors, who now saluted when they saw him. He still didn't pay officer mess fees, however, eating supply-system rations like the enlisted men.

His naval uniform now bore an additional decoration: the "First Circumnavigation Commemorative Strip," awarded to all voyage participants. Ruan Xiaowu had grown increasingly fond of his once-awkward front-buttoned jacket. He frequently walked East Gate Market while on leave, dressed immaculately, observing the bustling crowds with a faintly superior air—he'd quite forgotten what he himself had looked like upon arriving in Lingao.

Today he served as Patrol Boat 101's duty officer, responsible for the second morning watch from four to eight. The moment battle stations sounded, his throat tightened. Battle! Against pirates!

As a fisherman's son, Ruan Xiaowu knew pirates intimately. Small bands unable to attack large ships targeted defenseless lone fishing boats—stealing catches was the least of it. Most terrifying was forced conscription: pirates compelling fishermen to join them, sometimes abducting both men and boats together. Such recruitment surged whenever pirates prepared to fight rival gangs or face Imperial suppression. Several of Ruan Xiaowu's relatives had suffered such fates—losing their lives or their vessels. Eventually his own father was captured and made a pirate, dying when his ship was destroyed during an Imperial suppression operation. The family was left destitute. Thus he harbored a particular hatred for pirates, and his file rated his "stance extremely firm"—the Political Security Bureau had developed him as a Navy "Circle of Ten" member.

Under the rowing sailors' propulsion, the patrol flotilla accelerated to five knots.

"Fire warning shot!" Yue Lin ordered.

The deck cannon spat white smoke; deafening thunder echoed across the water. But the pirate ships surrounding the grounded vessel seemed unmoved. Through his binoculars, Yue Lin observed figures frantically transferring cargo from the large ship to smaller boats. Others on the sampan decks handled long tubular objects that resembled firearms.

Since the transmigrator collective had established dominance in local waters, small pirate bands generally avoided direct confrontation. Yue Lin had often witnessed enemies flee without fighting. If they raised sails at three or four nautical miles, his flotilla couldn't hope to catch them. But these pirates apparently had no intention of fleeing.

Yue Lin estimated one and a half nautical miles remained—12-pound cannons could theoretically reach, but accuracy at that range was hopeless. Firing or not made little practical difference.

Perhaps cargo remained unlooted, or perhaps the pirates felt confident seeing only three approaching ships. Several vessels broke away from the swarm around the grounded ship and charged aggressively toward the flotilla.

"Enemy showing attack intent!" Ruan Xiaowu shouted. "Prepare to engage!"

"Bold—either that or the loot's worth fighting for." Through his binoculars, Yue Lin could see several ships still busily unloading. Apparently the enemy intended to protect their prize at all costs.

"Looks like a fight." Adrenaline surging, Yue Lin shouted: "Armor up!"

His orderly quickly fetched stab-resistant vest, knee guards, steel helmet, and cut-resistant chain gloves from the stern cabin, helping him dress. Yue Lin received the final item—a replica American naval officer's sword. He drew it and flourished it with spirit:

"All ships, prepare for battle!"

Red triangular battle flags rose as combat personnel took their positions. Soldiers loaded rifles while sailors brought iron cans of ready-use powder up from below—no powder was kept near the guns during combat. At gun positions, cannons were loaded and fitted with friction primers; shells stood ready beside assistant gunners. Shooters locked heavy drums onto their "typewriters" and chambered rounds. The marines' rifles lacked bayonets—impractical for shipboard fighting—replaced instead by Navy Model 1629 machetes: copies of the famous Rwandan panga, issued in small batches to naval vessels.

"Single file, seize the weather gauge!" As a naval enthusiast, Yue Lin firmly adhered to Royal Navy tradition: seize the wind, attack proactively.

"Steady! No firing without orders." Yue Lin's hands and feet went cold; he nearly slipped into Cantonese again when giving orders.

The enemy ships now crackled with ragged popping sounds, like strings of firecrackers. White smoke rose from throughout their formation. This habit of firing before reaching effective range—Yue Lin had witnessed it many times, even among transmigrator-trained soldiers initially. Apparently firearms were mostly for courage. The Army and Navy had invested enormous effort correcting this wasteful habit.

"Range five cables!" spotters continuously reported enemy positions.

"Signal 108 and 111: follow flagship closely."

Once battle commenced, Yue Lin's command would become largely meaningless. Like all naval commanders before the age of radio, once engaged, each ship acted on its captain's judgment. Within the Naval Department, melee tactics had no supporters; formation tactics dominated.

At three cables' range, Patrol Boat 101 fired a solid shot. The cannonball arced over the undulating boats and splashed into the sea. A naval gunner with a rangefinder immediately measured the impact distance, and the gun captain adjusted elevation accordingly.

Then the other two ships fired. One sampan took a direct hit; wooden splinters flew several meters into the air.

"Good shooting! Maintain fire!"

The flotilla cut across the pirate formation, executing classic crossing-the-T tactics. Besides the three patrol boats' 12-pounders, one-pound falconets designed for personnel casualties and the marines' rifles blazed at the motley collection of vessels. The sea was shrouded in gun smoke, muzzle flashes occasionally visible through the haze.

The patrol boat cannons had all switched to canister. Per naval combat experience, at fifty to one hundred meters against small-scale coastal pirates, canister proved far more lethal. These impoverished pirates' boats were almost entirely ordinary timber of limited thickness, unable to withstand canister fire. Their habit of crowding on deck to board enemies offered perfect opportunities to sweep them with shot.

"Hard starboard! Adjust to eleven o'clock heading for another pass!" As the deck smoke cleared, Yue Lin carefully avoided closing too near the enemy ships, coming about to cross the T once more.

Patrol Boat 101's maneuverability was on full display during the turn. Within minutes, the lateen sail came about to windward position, driving the boat through a sharp arc. The hull heeled dramatically as spray dashed across Yue Lin's face.

By comparison, the two lateen fishing boats turned far more sluggishly. Only after ten or more minutes did all three ships complete their turns and reform.

The smoke had cleared. In that chaotic exchange, the three ships had suffered virtually no substantial damage—only sail holes large and small proved the pirates' return fire had been swift if ineffective. But pirate losses were clearly far heavier: several long sampans were sinking; other larger vessels were strewn with corpses, casualties heavy.

Surviving pirates jumped overboard, hoping to swim to other vessels in their formation. But those ships' crews now understood the enemy's ferocity—concerned only with escape, they had no thought of rescuing comrades. Not a single rope was thrown. Pirates fired wildly while turning to flee. Those still transferring cargo on the large ship couldn't reach the boats before their comrades cut the lines and departed. The abandoned screamed from the deck; some jumped desperately, trying to reach safety, only to smash themselves to death on the exposed sandbar. Chaos erupted around the grounded vessel.

The patrol flotilla's second salvo began. This time, Patrol Boat 101's chain shot struck a single-masted boat's mast, disabling it instantly. It drifted helplessly before them, crowded with men—a perfect target.

"'Typewriter,' open fire!" Yue Lin had long wanted to test this new weapon's power.

Two specially-trained sailors braced shoulder stocks and pulled firing levers.

The typewriter's violent recoil nearly knocked Yue Lin from his feet. The bridge was immediately engulfed in thick smoke as gunfire deafened all present.

The typewriter's recoil was enormous, its muzzle swing severe. It roared terribly, long flames spewing through the smoke. Bullets swept the crippled deck; heads, limbs, and body parts were shredded by fourteen-millimeter lead balls and flung in all directions. Even the smoke turned pinkish—it was a massacre.

Cannons became unnecessary. After the typewriter emptied three drums into the boat, it drifted lifelessly—not a living soul visible.

Gunners loaded a fourth drum. By now the entire weapon was scalding hot, the barrel smoking. Gunners had to don thick gloves to continue operating.

"Engage the sampans at four o'clock." Yue Lin ordered. Four or five sampans were rowing frantically toward shore. He wanted to observe the typewriter's accuracy issues—judging by that violent shaking, precision was probably concerning.

Indeed, the typewriter's bullets did "spray"—initial rounds missed the boats by wide margins. But once adjusted, its power satisfied: the boats were shot through, taking water and sinking under fire. After several minutes, the multi-barrel gun's wooden grips became too hot to hold, and firing ceased.

"Fierce stuff." Yue Lin wiped sweat from his forehead. The two gunners were blackened by powder smoke; the entire barrel and receiver steamed, smelling of burning.

"Seems we didn't fire many rounds." Yue Lin checked—the typewriter had expended only ten drums. Minié rifle barrels could fire fifteen or sixteen rounds continuously in combat without overheating so severely.

This battle, like previous naval encounters, devolved into a rout. When the situation turned unfavorable, the pirates scattered. Yue Lin didn't dare split his force to pursue, instead leading the flotilla after the largest two-masted ship. Eventually cannon fire forced its surrender, capturing sixty or seventy prisoners. But roughly half the pirate ships escaped.

Even so, the waters around the sandbar had become a charnel house. The surface was covered with debris, wrecked boats, and floating corpses. Yue Lin's formation also fished up several dozen pirates still able to call for help and breathe.

But what interested him most was the large Guangdong-style ship grounded on the sandbar. What was the origin of this vessel that had suddenly appeared in the Qiongzhou Strait?

For caution, he personally remained with one ship to guard the prize, dispatching 111 to Bo-pu to report and request engineering personnel to assess whether the ship could be refloated. If so, this prize would be enormous.

Yue Lin sent men ashore on the sandbar to check for hidden enemies. The sandbar was strewn with various crates and baskets, some burst open to reveal their contents—mostly porcelain, silk, and other valuables, plus baskets of medicinal herbs. This was apparently a typical South Seas trading vessel.

"Ruan Xiaowu, immediately organize twenty marines and sailors," Yue Lin ordered. "Prepare equipment for boarding!"

"Yes sir!" Ruan Xiaowu saluted and hurried to prepare grappling hooks and ropes.

Meanwhile, Yue Lin directed the battlefield cleanup: gathering and loading scattered cargo, inspecting floating vessels one by one—those of value received minor repairs and were towed back; worthless hulks were scuttled.

Ruan Xiaowu, machete on his back and Derringer pistol at his hip, spat into his palms, leaped to grab a thick rope hanging from the gunwale, and climbed aboard first. "Leading from the front" was a basic principle of transmigrator collective officer education. His men followed one by one.

On the broad deck of the Guangdong ship, signs of fierce combat were everywhere—blood and corpses, along with cargo dropped during the interrupted transfer.

(End of Chapter)