Chapter 552 - Distribution of Spoils

The OA system published a comprehensive manifest of the materials recovered from Matter A, along with the approved distribution plan. Essential items like clothing, shoes, and cigarettes would be issued to every transmigrator as welfare benefits. Strategic resources—food, liquor, specialized workwear, tools, and industrial materials—would be stockpiled and allocated centrally by the Planning Council.

Although these items were mundane, they were greeted with enthusiasm. The clothing and shoes, in particular, were a godsend. Nearly two years after landing, the transmigrators' original wardrobes were in tatters. While the domestic garment factory could produce basic hats, clothes, and shoes, the styles were drab and the colors lifeless—nothing like the vibrant, modern athletic casualwear from the ship. And the shoes? The difference in quality went without saying.

Regrettably, the shipment contained no underwear or socks, the two items in most critical shortage. Local substitutes still suffered from poor fit and uncomfortable materials.

The General Affairs Office managed the distribution strictly on a per-capita basis. In a display of absolute fairness, even children received a full adult share, despite there being no child-sized clothing in the haul. Cigarettes were treated with the same egalitarian rigor—one carton per person, regardless of gender, age, or smoking habits. Non-smokers immediately found themselves holding valuable currency for the black market.

Leather goods were deemed non-essential and withheld for now. Briefcases were cataloged as "official supplies," to be issued only to personnel with a demonstrated need.

Liquor and adult magazines were excluded from general distribution. Xiao Zishan transferred the entire collection of pornography to the Grand Library's restricted section, available for on-site perusal only. The whisky was sequestered as a strategic reserve for emergencies.

Miscellaneous daily items and personal effects found on the ship were auctioned off via the BBS. Proceeds from these auctions were deposited into a dividend account, to be distributed to all transmigrators based on their shares at the end of the year.

The disposal of consumer goods caused little friction. The weapons, however, were another matter entirely. While the CZ99 handguns sparked no competition, the distribution of automatic rifles, submachine guns, and machine guns ignited a firestorm. Army and Navy officers waged fierce verbal battles on the BBS, each branch aggressively arguing its desperate need for automatic firepower.

The debate began with calm reasoning and citations of tactical doctrine, but quickly descended into mud-slinging. Inevitably, the moderators stepped in, and the entire thread was nuked.

The battlefield then shifted to the Lingao Times.

"Automatic rifles, submachine guns, and machine guns are intrinsic to infantry warfare. It is only natural that they be fielded by the Army," argued an op-ed signed by "A Loyal and Fearless Army Officer."

The very next day, the Navy retaliated with an article titled The Application of Automatic Weapons in Boarding Actions, expounding on the critical role of rapid-fire weapons in modern naval engagements.

The Navy's strategy was insidious. To the uninitiated, these pieces appeared to be dry academic discussions, but their true purpose was "moistening the earth silently"—planting the subliminal idea in the public consciousness that the Navy had a legitimate claim to these weapons.

Following this opening salvo, the Navy flooded the Lingao Times with a series of "academic" papers: Naval Infantry Tactics in Asymmetric Amphibious Operations, The Evolution of Amphibious Special Warfare, and so on. Whether professional analyses or fabricated nonsense, they all shared a common leitmotif: the indispensability of automatic weapons for the Navy.

"They're manufacturing consent!" Wei Aiwen slammed the newspaper onto his desk. Though currently serving in the General Staff, he remained an armor officer at heart and a staunch Army loyalist. He snatched up the phone and dialed Zhang Bailin.

"Bailin! You're falling behind! The Navy is winning the propaganda war!"

"I saw it. Those traitors... always playing dirty."

The Navy, with its ranks and nomenclature carrying a distinctive whiff of the Imperial Japanese Navy—especially after they unofficially adopted the Warship March—had been slapped with the label "Traitors" by the Army. The Navy, in turn, referred to the Army as "Yellow Nazis." To prevent open conflict, both terms were banned from public discourse and the BBS.

"If this keeps up, the machine guns are going to end up in their hands—or at best, we'll have to split them fifty-fifty," Wei Aiwen said, his voice tight with anxiety. "The Executive Committee has been debating this for days. If public opinion sways them, we're screwed."

"The Navy has more ink-spillers than we do. We're short on literary talent," Zhang Bailin admitted, sounding troubled. In a firefight, the Army feared no one, but in a war of words and subtle insinuations, they were outmatched.

"Those bastards have crossed the line!" Wei Aiwen cursed, then paused. "If you can't write, steal! Go to the library, dig up every article you can find on automatic weapon tactics, stitch them together, and get them published. We have to seize the narrative!"

"Right, I'm on it!" Zhang Bailin hung up and immediately rallied a team to scour the archives. He realized that rigid plagiarism wouldn't fly; they needed to adapt the material to their current reality.

He personally penned a short piece titled The Machine Gun is Artillery. Reading it over, he felt the logic was shaky—what the hell was he even arguing?—but compared to the Navy's ghostwritten drivel, he figured it was par for the course.

And so, the Army-Navy "Academic Paper War" escalated. The sudden explosion of military theory in the papers was transparent to anyone with half a brain. After a few days, having exhausted all actual academic points, both sides resorted to nitpicking each other's syntax and grammar, implying that their opponents' tactical incompetence was rooted in their poor scholarship.

The "academic dispute" nearly culminated in a physical brawl. Only the forceful intervention of the Army and Navy People's Commissars prevented a mass incident.

"Fighting over a few guns like children... do they think the Executive Committee is dead?!" Ma Qianzhu slammed his hand on the table, rising to his feet. "Fine. Neither the Army nor the Navy gets a single one. You can all go play with your Minié rifles!"

The Executive Committee's final ruling was swift. One of each weapon type and rocket launcher would be allocated to the design bureau for reverse-engineering and preservation. Twelve automatic rifles and six submachine guns were assigned to the Special Reconnaissance Team. The remainder would be crated and stored in the central armory. Neither the Army nor the Navy received a single round, finally silencing the dispute.

The final item on the agenda was the disposal of the salvaged vessel. Codenamed "Ship A," the vessel had been secretly towed at night to a mangrove-shrouded cove in Bopu immediately after being raised. The area was a Navy restricted zone, inaccessible to natives and surrounded by impassable mudflats and dense forest. It could only be reached by small boat, ensuring maximum security.

Once at Bopu, the ship underwent basic preservation: the hull was scrubbed of marine growth and the interior cleaned. It was then sealed to prevent further deterioration. With the secrecy level now lowered, the priority shifted to repair and refit.

The ship was towed by steam launch to the main shipyard and dry-docked for a comprehensive overhaul.

A task force was assembled to develop a restoration plan, led by Meng De, Wang Luobin, Zhong Lishi, and Qian Shuiting—the North American expert on small vessels.

Although all identification numbers and logs had been destroyed, the team's analysis suggested it was a 110-ton seiner built on the American West Coast—an oceangoing fishing vessel modified for smuggling.

Most fishing gear had been stripped, leaving only external fixtures as camouflage. The freezer hold remained, though the refrigeration plant appeared barely used. The propulsion system was the real prize: the original engine had been replaced with a high-performance power plant. Lin Chuanqing estimated the ship could hit thirty knots. Enlarged fuel tanks gave it a range far exceeding that of a standard fishing boat.

The electronics suite was equally impressive, featuring advanced radar, navigation, and radio systems unheard of on a civilian trawler. Unfortunately, saltwater immersion had ruined most of it, though Zhong Lishi was optimistic about salvaging some components.

The bridge was reinforced with steel plating. Suspicious universal mounts were bolted to both sides of the bridge and the stern—clearly intended for heavy machine guns.

"This thing is leagues ahead of the 8154!" Meng De exclaimed, patting the hull. "The speed alone puts it in a different class! And it's armored!"

"Is the engine salvageable?" Zhong Lishi asked, eyeing the machinery that had spent months underwater. "Do we have the capability for a major marine engine overhaul?"

"It's possible," Wang Luobin said, having spent hours in the engine room. "But we'll have to pull it off the mounts. A full tear-down is required."

"Absolutely not!" Meng De shook his head vigorously. He had interned at a shipyard and knew the risks. "Remounting a marine engine is an art form. Taking it out is easy; putting it back and aligning the shaft is a nightmare. Ideally, we shouldn't touch the mounting."

But the engine wasn't the biggest headache. Everyone agreed that while the engine was damaged, the mechanical department could likely fix it. The real problem was the propulsion gear—the propeller and rudder had been badly twisted by the reef impact.

"Without years of industrial experience and specialized equipment, repairing these is a long shot," Wang Luobin noted grimly. "We can try hammering the rudder back into shape, but the prop blades... that's high-precision metallurgy."

"We have reserve modern alloys and CNC centers. We can CAD the design and machine a new one from scratch," someone suggested.

"That's our only option. But this prop was likely cast. A machined replacement might not have the same structural integrity."

The consensus was that Ship A would need two to three years of work before it could be commissioned. However, the remaining fishing equipment could be stripped and put to immediate use, much like the gear from the 8154 trawler.

As for the engine, the decision was made to pull it. Leaving it in place made it impossible to properly flush the salt and corrosion. The electronics would be stripped entirely and handed over to Zhong Lishi for research and potential repair.