Chapter 514 - Naval Ensign

The sailors finished scrubbing the deck and mopped the wet planking dry. The entire surface was now mirror-bright, without a speck of dust or debris. Ruan Xiaowu, as the day's duty officer, inspected the work.

Following the regulations laid down by Director Wen, the Navy's supreme adviser, he removed his shoes and paced the length of the deck in a pair of white cloth socks freshly donned that morning.

The sailors knew the drill: if he lifted a foot and found grayish-black traces on the sole, the entire deck would have to be scrubbed again. Every ship moored in designated harbor zones was required to meet this standard—another regulation from Director Wen. Director Wen's concern for naval affairs had reached a level the sailors found "hair-raising." Beyond setting the standard, he had also mandated a rigorous deck-cleaning protocol. Mopping, for instance, followed explicit procedures: two buckets were required, one marked "Clean" and one "Dirty." The mop was first rinsed in the dirty bucket and wrung almost dry before being dipped into the clean bucket—taking care not to absorb too much water—and applied to the deck. After a specified area was covered, the dirty bucket was emptied; the clean bucket became the dirty one; and a fresh clean bucket was brought forward… the rotation continuing in unbroken sequence.

As Wang Dahuzi had once remarked while drunk: "The Navy is a place where even farting has a regulation."

After walking the length of the deck, Ruan Xiaowu's socks remained as white as when he put them on. Satisfied, he put his shoes back on, logged the deck's condition in the handbook, and announced that cleaning was complete. Only then did the sailors, still holding buckets, mops, and brushes in readiness, begin stowing their gear. Ruan Xiaowu proceeded to inspect deck equipment. As the ship's gunnery officer, he paid particular attention to weapons.

Owing to its original hull structure, all of Linyun 7's gun positions were on deck. Exposed to salt spray and seawater, these weapons demanded high maintenance. Each cannon had to be kept spotlessly clean in the bore, and not a trace of rust was permitted on the barrel.

He checked each gun's muzzle and barrel in turn, inspecting the touchhole for fouling or corrosion. He tested the carriage wheels for sluggish rolling and felt around the axles to verify that lubricant had been applied according to regulations. Finally, he inspected the tackle and breeching ropes secured to the gunwales—as gunnery officer, ensuring every weapon was in peak condition was his primary duty.

He also tested whether the two newly installed "Typewriters" traversed and elevated smoothly. This entirely new weapon had only recently been issued. Ruan Xiaowu had witnessed its power during his training aboard the patrol boat. With this device on the poop deck, any enemy attempting to grapple and board would be slaughtered outright. Even fire ships—that ultimate terror of pirates and Ming troops alike, and feared even by the red-haired foreigners—were no longer terrifying. No crew could steer a vessel close enough to ram when the helmsmen would all be cut down by the "Typewriter" from a hundred meters away.

The weapon was, however, not yet easy to employ. The gunner needed great strength to hold the barrel on target; a first-time shooter invariably sprayed rounds into the sky or the deck. Ruan Xiaowu himself had practiced long hours in the training detachment before mastering the trick of controlling muzzle climb, a technique he then taught to his gun crew.

After the inspection was complete, the gunners covered and secured the weapons with tung-oil–treated waterproof canvas.

He glanced at the hourglass and scale beside the helm on the poop deck. In half an hour, the captain would come topside for inspection. After that, breakfast.

But last night all captains in port had been summoned to Navy headquarters for a meeting. Ruan Xiaowu knew the Navy was about to undertake a major mission; the specifics might well be announced today.

As for what the orders were, Ruan Xiaowu had no idea—even the captain had been in the dark. Linyun 7's captain, Qian Changshui, was one of the earliest pirates to defect to the Australians—captured during Liu Xiang's night raid on Bopu. After vetting, he had been deemed "redeemable" and taken on as a sailor. Through outstanding performance and diligent study, he had earned a recommendation for Naval-Studies Course One at the Military-Political School, becoming one of the first indigenous personnel promoted to naval officer—and among the first cohort to serve as ship's captain. In the old days, he had commanded only a battered sampan; now he was captain of a 200-ton ship, strutting about the deck in an officer's uniform, issuing orders with authority. Ruan Xiaowu envied him greatly—when would he himself command a ship?

Still, that was rather wishful thinking. He would only turn sixteen after the lunar New Year. Was there such a thing as a sixteen-year-old captain? Then again, he was already a naval officer cadet with candidate-officer status, gunnery officer of a large ship, and ranked among the top students in Naval-Studies Course Two. As for his future prospects… At the thought, his lips curled into a grin.

Qian Changshui returned, smiling broadly, and clapped him on the shoulder—an informality at odds with military protocol that startled Ruan Xiaowu. Qian Changshui was normally the consummate officer; when had he become so friendly?

"Congratulations, lad!" Qian Changshui beamed. "You're about to become a captain!"

"What?!" Ruan Xiaowu's eyes went wide. A captain? A sixteen-year-old captain?

"Don't gape like you're trying to swallow a watermelon." Qian Changshui's warmth was genuine. "Come, let's talk in the cabin."

Ruan Xiaowu, still dazed, reached the captain's cabin on the poop deck before he came back to his senses. Qian Changshui explained: Linyun 7 had received orders; in another week, she would set sail on a mission. He, too, had been promoted to captain and would soon transfer off Linyun 7.

"You'll probably get a special-duty vessel," Qian Changshui said. "Not big, but at least it's a ship! You'll be the old man aboard! Such a young captain—that's a first on these waters! The orders will be delivered shortly. Get your quarters squared away, change your clothes, and prepare to go to the Sacred Ship to receive your new commission."

A messenger arrived with orders for him to attend the promotion ceremony aboard the Sacred Ship. Fengcheng was now called "the Sacred Ship" in standard "new speak"; it was the transmigrated collective's holy ground—and the Navy's sanctuary. Naval headquarters occupied part of Fengcheng's compartments. Owing to its comfortable facilities, it was nicknamed "Fengcheng Hotel" and "the Dock Queen"; jokers termed it "Lingao's Yamato."

Ruan Xiaowu had once gone aboard as a trainee for observation. The vessel's majesty had so excited the three Ruan brothers—then still trainees—that they could not sleep for days. From that moment on, they had resolved to follow the Australians to the end.

The moment he set foot on the gangway, a golden-haired foreign woman popped up from somewhere, aiming a black object at him and clicking away. Ruan Xiaowu already knew this thing was called a "camera"—used for taking "portraits." Photographs appeared from time to time in the Lingao Times they read daily; this was how they were made. Ruan Xiaowu no longer fled in terror at the sight and had learned to smile for the lens.

He stared at the large bosom bouncing beneath the foreign woman's close-fitting blouse, blushed crimson, and quickly ducked his head to pass.

"Look up! The fifteen-year-old captain!" she called with a loud laugh. People on deck laughed too. Ruan Xiaowu, mortified, hurried toward the cabins in double time.

The promotion ceremony was imposing. In Fengcheng's banquet hall, the "Warship March" blared from a loudspeaker. More than a hundred naval trainees from the Military-Political School's officer-cadet program stood in formation. The ceremony for this second cohort of ensigns was underway. on the dais sat Chen Haiyang, People's Commissar of the Navy; Director Wen Desi, Supreme Adviser to the Navy; and other senior transmigrator officers.

This was the Navy's second indigenous-officer promotion. To foster a sense of honor and reinforce loyalty among indigenous servicemen, both the Army and the Navy held solemn ceremonies for every promotion.

"There's really nothing unusual about it. If these ensigns don't get killed or prove utterly hopeless, they should all be lieutenant generals or full admirals in twenty years. A bit of pomp and circumstance is only fitting." Ma Qianzhu had always supported such "martial splendor" activities, both in spirit and materially.

This time, however, he did not attend. He felt his appearance rate was already too high: having attended three of the Army's four ceremonies and one of the Navy's, further exposure would only invite gossip.

Chen Haiyang read out the names of the ten newly promoted naval ensigns one by one. Most were from Naval-Studies Course One, though a few were from Course Two, like Ruan Xiaowu.

Those called stepped onto the dais individually, receiving their officer's commissions from Chen Haiyang and their naval officer's short swords from Wen Desi. Although the simple cotton Year-One naval uniforms looked a bit comical with a sword hanging from them, the naval transmigrators had insisted on issuing this symbolic weapon—because the Army awarded command sabers at its ceremonies, and if the Army had them, the Navy certainly could not go without.

"Naval-Studies Course Two, Ruan Xiaowu!" Chen Haiyang's unaided voice was full and resonant. "Awarded the rank of naval ensign! Chairman of the Executive Committee, Wen Desi; People's Commissar of the Navy, Chen Haiyang. December 1629."

Ruan Xiaowu jumped to his feet as if by reflex, walked on trembling legs up to the dais, and saluted. He received his commission from Chen Haiyang.

Then Wen Desi presented the officer's sword. Looking at this scrawny young man who seemed almost a child, Wen Desi knew he was the youngest of this cohort—a youth destined to be a pillar of the future imperial navy. No wonder the Propaganda Department planned to use him as the subject of a major publicity campaign.

"Congratulations," Wen Desi said.

"Thank you, Director Wen!" The sight of Director Wen—whom indigenous people revered almost as a god and who seldom appeared—offering him personal congratulations moved Ruan Xiaowu to brimming tears.

For the first time in his life, Wen Desi witnessed someone reduced to tears by a few words of his. His sense of leadership was greatly gratified.

(End of Chapter)