Chapter 513 - The Army–Navy Central Agreement
"…If the Navy is going to defend Luhuitou Fortress on its own, it will need at least one marine company—and they simply don't have that kind of strength. So they'll definitely need our support," He Ming said. "Additionally, Tiandu Township must be secured. It's inland and the surrounding environment is complex. There's not only the danger of attack by Ming troops or local militia, but also the Li situation. A unit must be stationed there for protection."
"Three companies may not be enough. We also have Anyoule Town to defend."
"Anyoule can be left to the militia for garrison duty. Deploy the main force and battalion headquarters at Yulinbao, using boats for mobility, able to support Anyoule at any time—and, if necessary, Luhuitou or Tiandu Township."
The final strength of the Army's Sanya Expeditionary Battalion comprised three infantry companies, one artillery platoon, one engineer platoon, and a battalion headquarters platoon—essentially a combined-arms battalion. The Navy would send a detached squadron and a small shore-defense contingent to garrison the area.
At a joint Army–Navy conference held at the General Staff, army representative He Ming and navy representative Ming Qiu concluded Army–Navy Central Agreement No. 1 concerning the defense of the Sanya region. The agreement stipulated that the Luhuitou naval base would be garrisoned by a naval fortress-artillery unit and a marine platoon. The Army would assign one company to assist in the defense. Yulinbao, previously occupied by the Navy, would be transferred to the Army; army units would be stationed at both Yulinbao and Tiandu Township.
Both parties confirmed: the commanding officer of the Army's Sanya Expeditionary Battalion would concurrently serve as the Garrison Commander of the Sanya Special District, exercising unified command over both Army and Navy forces.
Local militia would be organized. The Army would be responsible for organizing and training these units. Command would be shared between the Sanya Special District's administrative head and the Sanya Garrison Commander.
Logistics for both services would be transported by the Navy—in practice, provisioning for the entire Sanya Special District was the Navy's responsibility. This clause was inserted at the Army's insistence to ensure that army materiel enjoyed necessary priority during transport. A point of contention was who would control the only radio transmitter in the Sanya area; the final decision was that Army personnel would operate the set, which would be sited at the Navy's Luhuitou base.
Once both sides had signed, Ma Qianzhu led the applause. Naval signalwomen then brought in trays filled with glasses of fruit-juice–laced kvass, bubbling vigorously.
"Let us toast to Army–Navy cooperation in the Sanya region." Ma Qianzhu raised his glass in the General Staff conference room at Executive Committee headquarters. The Army and Navy representatives lifted their glasses in unison.
Both Ming Qiu and He Ming were veteran soldiers; in the military, they drank hard, and both held their liquor well. Kvass was little more than mouthwash as beer went. Seeing their lingering thirst, Ma Qianzhu ordered, "Bring the gentlemen some rum." Rum soon appeared.
Ma Qianzhu poured for them himself, then poured a small measure for his own glass.
"This operation is the transmigrated collective's first large-scale action since D-Day, and the first major joint operation since the Army and Navy were established as separate services." Ma Qianzhu chose his words carefully. "The Sanya operation—to put it grandly—bears upon the nation's destiny. You are both career soldiers trained by the PLA. On matters of grand strategy, you must steer the Army and Navy on the right course and refuse to be swayed by extraneous factors."
How could the two not understand the Chief of Staff's meaning? They drained their glasses at once.
"Rest assured, Chief of Staff," He Ming declared immediately.
Ming Qiu also gave a steady nod. Because of his background, he was technically still only a guest adviser to the Navy; the Chief of Staff's words signified that he was being treated as a true insider.
"Consider it done, Chief of Staff!" he said. Then he added, "The Sanya Special District development operation still has no code name—calling it by its full title is inconvenient. Why not take this opportunity to give it one?"
"Let's call it Operation Giant," Ma Qianzhu said. "Our transmigrated collective is about to grow into an industrial giant right here."
Ruan Xiaowu was on the patrol boat, leading the hands in scrubbing the deck. He was now a fully qualified naval officer cadet—no longer a supernumerary trainee. In fact, he had become the gunnery officer of a 200-ton sailing ship, one of the vessels brought by the defecting remnants of Zhu Cailao's fleet that Lin Baiguang had turned. After thorough cleaning, overhaul, and refitting, the ship had joined the sailing warship squadron. This type of traditional Chinese junk was ill-suited for Western-style gun decks owing to the constraints of its hull structure; moreover, its slow sailing speed made it unsuitable for coastal patrol work. The Navy basically employed it as an armed transport. It had been given the simple designation Linyun 7.
"Scrub harder!" Ruan Xiaowu shrilled. His sleeves were rolled up; his arms, soaked in seawater, were red. In one hand he held a book-sized stone—the specialized "holy stones" transmigrated sailors used to polish decks bright. The practice was something Wen Desi had adopted from the age-of-sail British Royal Navy.
Most of the Lingao naval personnel came from absorbed pirates; a smaller portion were impoverished coastal fishermen. Whether former pirates or fishermen, they universally expressed profound bafflement at this business of scrubbing decks with stones every day—along with many other tasks they considered completely "pointless."
Every morning at five o'clock, the watch on duty began hosing down the deck. After the washdown, they polished the planks white and gleaming with "book stones," then mopped them dry. Simultaneously, all metal fittings on the deck were buffed to a shine with cloths and fine sand; any loose cordage had to be coiled neatly and stowed; sails not in service had to be lashed and furled. Nothing was permitted to lie casually on deck; everything had to be organized and stowed in its proper place.
For men accustomed to a free and easy life at sea, such discipline was sheer torment. No one understood why the deck had to be scrubbed clean and then polished bright—the moment the ship went to sea, it would be splashed with saltwater again. As for coiling ropes, that was even more incomprehensible—piled in a heap, they served just as well.
Yet the naval officers and cadets enforced these regulations to the letter; no deviation was tolerated. For the first time, the pirates learned what military discipline truly meant. In the old days under the pirate chiefs, there had been rules too—no drinking before battle, no loud talking after lights-out—but interference in personal affairs was minimal, and there was plenty of free time. With the Australians, everything changed. Even when ships lay at anchor and no shore leave was granted, sailors adhered strictly to four-hour watches. Men off duty could sleep or chat; men on duty had to perform maintenance, upkeep, and drills.
Whether of pirate or fisherman background, sailors initially found naval discipline unbearable. Chen Haiyang, however, tolerated no slackening. Not entirely confident in the cadets' abilities to enforce order, he frequently went aboard ships himself to inspect watch-standing and drill performance.
Yulin had once cautioned Chen Haiyang against checking in person—after all, these sailors had only undergone a few dozen days of Wei Aiwen's indoctrination training, and how much effect that had on the old hands among the pirates was anyone's guess. If a mutiny broke out, he could lose his life for nothing.
"All the more reason to show some guts. If you're timid yourself, how can you expect to cow them?" Chen Haiyang laughed. "A few pirates—what of it? If any of them dares stick his head up, we'll deal with him harshly."
During the subsequent "Rectification Training," a number of old hands did indeed begin grumbling and inciting the sailors to cause trouble. As it turned out, Wei Aiwen's "political study" was not for nothing—the majority of new sailors, though still chafing under the strict discipline, had already witnessed the Australians' power during those sessions. Moreover, the Australians' naval wages were the highest in this era.
The marine-force commander, Old Di, led the marines in a swift and clean suppression. Of the more than forty rioters, eighteen ringleaders were hanged at the Bopu Harbor naval wharf; the rest were sentenced to "indefinite reform through labor."
Ruan Xiaowu gazed at the deck: more than a dozen sailors lay prone, scrubbing vigorously. The cleaning was almost done; detritus had been stowed. The eight 24-pounder carronades at their stations gleamed brightly, and round shot was stacked in regulation pyramids.
"Zheng Dashui! You call that scrubbing the deck?! Go back and do it again!" Ruan Xiaowu spotted a patch that was not bright enough and immediately ordered the work redone.
"Yes, sir!" The sailor called Zheng Dashui obeyed at once. By age, Zheng Dashui was twice Ruan Xiaowu's senior; by experience, he had been knocking about in Zhu Cailao's main crew for more than a decade—a veteran old salt. Yet before an officer cadet, he obeyed orders just the same. From the very start of "Rectification Training," Chen Haiyang had hammered home the concept of rank and established the absolute authority of the officer corps.
Ruan Xiaowu's gaze swept across the naval wharf. Eighteen desiccated corpses hung from iron chains, swaying in the sea breeze—the direct consequence of defying orders. A stark reminder to every indigenous person who joined the Australian navy.
Along the wharf, the fully prepared large sailing ships lay at anchor, one after another. These vessels looked nothing like they had when they first arrived at Bopu. Ruan Xiaowu sometimes marveled at how people changed after coming to Lingao; even inanimate objects like ships, once in the Australians' hands, seemed to transform into entirely new things.
Damaged hulls, gaping deck seams, and crooked masts had all been repaired. Every defect, no matter how trivial, had been mended. Sails that had been patched or pieced together with grass mats were replaced with brand-new canvas; ragged rigging was replaced with standardized new cordage. Ruan Xiaowu, a child of seafaring folk, knew that even without these repairs the ships could have sailed for years without falling apart. No wonder some people said the Australians were obsessed with appearances. But looking good really did make one feel different. In Ruan Xiaowu's view, once a ship passed into Australian hands, it was as if it had become new—no, it was more than that. It was not merely like new; it had been infused with an entirely new vitality, a vigor he had never sensed on any ship before.
(End of Chapter)