Chapter 687 - The Ticket to Dongsha Island

"A few pistols?" The man lounging in the cast-iron chair arched an eyebrow, that boyish grin spreading across his face once more. "My dear Mr. Australian Federal Government Official, surely you and your colleagues would like to confiscate something a touch more... dangerous? I suspect you'll find it interesting."

The refitted Vessel 8154 bore no resemblance to the fishing boat it had once been. Now it looked more like a light escort vessel from the Second World War era. Beyond the manually-rotated 70mm rifled cannon, a rotatable machine gun turret had been mounted above the forecastle—and what nestled inside was no typewriter, but a genuine M240 machine gun. When that weapon opened fire, it could reduce any warship of this era to matchwood within minutes.

In the Lingao Navy's registry, the vessel was classified as an "8154-class High-Speed Cruiser." Though somewhat undersized, its firepower would have qualified it as a battleship by seventeenth-century standards.

Weiss Rando had made the voyage to Dongsha Island aboard just such a vessel. The expedition also included several motor-sail ships and salvage boats converted from landing craft.

Since his interrogation, Rando had been quietly transferred to the Administrative Office's Second Guest House. Father Jin Lige had attempted several visits, only to be turned away each time with the alarming excuse of "contagious disease." In truth, Rando was enjoying a rather comfortable house arrest. Fine meals, hot baths—he had even been issued a cool cotton-linen summer uniform, which he later learned was reserved for transmigrator-grade personnel. The accommodations couldn't perfectly replicate the twenty-first century—most amenities were imperfect imitations—but for Rando, they bordered on luxury. The white porcelain flush toilet in his bedchamber's washroom moved him nearly to tears. Anyone who hadn't endured the abysmal sanitary conditions of the seventeenth century would struggle to comprehend such emotion.

Each day at the Second Guest House brought new visitors. Their backgrounds varied—some carried themselves with the unmistakable air of Americans in their manner and speech. Many spoke surprisingly fluent English.

The conversations ranged widely: his mercenary career, weapons expertise, the Portuguese situation in Macao. They were clearly hungry for every scrap of information he possessed.

The woman who had identified herself as a federal law enforcement officer visited once to discuss the finer details of arms trafficking—including some of his previous operations. Rando realized the federal government had known about his activities all along; they simply hadn't bothered to intervene.

"What use is all this detail?" Rando studied the beautiful agent before him. Despite her coarse cloth uniform, those ice-blue eyes remained captivating. "Are you planning to prosecute me on behalf of the federal government?"

"Just gathering information," Salina replied simply.

"I confess I'm curious." He held her gaze. "How did you end up serving the Chinese?"

"Much the same as you." She shrugged. "Were there other options?"

"None whatsoever. Had I known they lived so comfortably, I'd have come crawling and begging for the Chinese to take me in years ago." Rando stretched luxuriously. "God, they really do live well."

"They built all this from nothing. You're merely enjoying the fruits."

"No, no." He wagged a finger. "I paid for my ticket."

Yet even as he said it, a vague unease stirred within him. Surely the situation wouldn't change?

Now, standing on deck and gazing at the island, he could see the barren atoll already taking on the embryonic form of a base. As a mercenary who had sailed the world's seas, Rando fully appreciated Dongsha Island's strategic value along the South China Sea routes. The Lingao Chinese, having secured Hainan Island, would certainly turn their eyes toward Taiwan next—and Dongsha Island was a crucial waypoint on that route. Establishing it as a relay base seemed inevitable.

But Dongsha lay relatively close to the mainland. Coastal fishermen frequently worked these waters, making intelligence leaks a constant risk. Once the transmigrator regime established a permanent presence here, attacks from Zheng Zhilong, Liu Xiang, or the Europeans became distinct possibilities. Maintaining security would require a garrison force. For these reasons, consensus on establishing a permanent base had remained elusive until recently.

What finally tipped the scales was intelligence about exploitable shallow petroleum deposits near Jilong. Taiwan, after all, represented a vital link in the empire's future continental chain. And so Dongsha's development had finally been placed on the agenda.

The Industry Committee had already invested significantly in guano mining operations. They had cleared and repaired the island's wells, constructed a steam-powered pumping station, and—to supplement the limited freshwater output—installed a desalination plant that used waste heat from the steam engines to process brackish water drawn from saltwater wells.

Simple rail tracks now crisscrossed the island. Piers had been built and cranes erected to facilitate the export of guano. The surrounding waters teemed with fish, and the Agricultural Committee was preparing to establish a fisheries station for purchasing, processing, and storing seafood.

For defense, the Navy would construct a small fortress here. A pentagonal star fort was already rising beside the pier. Once completed, the Dongsha garrison would maintain four cannons and a Marine company on permanent station. Weather observation and navigation facilities would also be established, transforming the island into a crucial support base for maritime operations.

The Agricultural Committee and Civil Affairs People's Committee had initially planned to settle a fishing village here. But geographic and hydrological surveys painted a sobering picture: no suitable harbor, harsh environmental conditions. History showed that fishermen had only ever worked these waters seasonally—a permanent village would struggle to survive. In the end, they opted for a fishing station staffed by Marines, with fishermen coming ashore only during the fishing season.

The pier was now packed with vessels. Dongsha Island possessed no harbor—only beaches encircling the entire landmass. Apart from the pier, there was virtually nowhere to dock, making berths desperately tight. The transport fleet from Lingao had jammed every available space alongside. The landing craft had simply run themselves up onto the beach.

When 8154 finally secured the island's only berth, Rando surveyed the simple facilities already dotting the landscape. Large shelters rose among the coconut groves. Black smoke and jets of steam billowed constantly skyward from the steam engines.

"You've established a relay base at Dongsha." He leaned against the ship's railing, glancing casually at Qian Shuiting beside him. "Planning to move on Taiwan?"

Qian Shuiting answered with a noncommittal smile. An American cigarette dangled from his lips—cargo salvaged from Vessel A, Rando's own shipment.

"Taiwan is a matter for the future," he said evasively.

"So is the world."

Qian Shuiting's smile deepened, but he offered nothing more. Rando's status remained unconfirmed, and he had no desire to be savaged by populist factions in the Yuan Laoyuan for speaking too freely.

When Rando stepped onto the pier, he found a simple rail network already in place. Empty ore cars sat on the tracks alongside primitive cranes. The pier's surface was dusted everywhere with grayish-white powder and gravel that gleamed with a glassy sheen.

"What exactly are you mining on this barren rock? Coral?"

"Guano," Qian Shuiting replied simply. He had accompanied the salvage team as a weapons consultant, though the Political Security Bureau had given him an additional assignment: interpreter and escort for the mercenary.

"Don't go out of your way to interrogate him," Wu Mu had instructed. "Just treat it as official escort duty with translation on the side. Speak freely."

"Speak freely? Is that wise?"

"Completely. If he's one of us, he'll need to know everything eventually. If he's not, what he learns won't matter."

Rando had no interest in guano. He smoked Lingao-produced cigarettes now; he had grown accustomed to this era's tobacco, and American smokes seemed to lack body.

They made their way to a temporary camp nestled in the coconut grove. Sheds and large tents had been erected throughout. Diving equipment lay unpacked, undergoing final checks—including an old-fashioned two-person hand-cranked air pump. Yellow-painted gasoline drums stood in neat stacks beneath waterproof tarps.

The scale of the operation made one thing clear: his ticket price had captured Lingao's interest. But if they salvaged nothing, he would be a dead man.

"I hope everything goes smoothly," he muttered.

Zhou Weisen and Lin Chuanqing, the diving team leaders, were already huddled over a nautical chart in the command post, discussing descent plans. The chart of Dongsha's waters bore pencil marks at several points.

Everyone shook hands. At Lin Chuanqing's gesture, a sailor brought over bottles of iced soda. They sat and drank gratefully.

"Based on the coordinates you provided, we'll search these points systematically starting tomorrow. Small boats have already gone out to drop buoys—no GPS here, unfortunately. We had to calculate positions with sextants, so we're hoping for no errors." Zhou Weisen studied the chart. "Average depth is under twenty meters. Diving should be straightforward."

"I'm curious," Lin Chuanqing said. "When you sank the ship, how did you plan to salvage it later?"

"Hire divers, naturally." Rando spread his hands. "How was I to know I'd wind up somewhere without any?"

"Then how did you retrieve the weapons you took to Macao? The wreck may be shallow, but diving into a sunken ship? That requires a very professional diver." Zhou Weisen shook his head skeptically.