Chapter 740 - Bopu Shipyard
In the end, the restart of Project 854 Modified was approved. The Executive Committee agreed to immediately commence construction of one 1630 Class Cruiser, four 500-horsepower steam tugboats, twelve 200-ton class barges, and six 500-ton class vessels with hybrid wind-steam power.
Additionally, following Wen Desi's suggestion, mass production of Type II triangular sail patrol boats would continue, with single masts upgraded to double masts and a launching rate of at least two boats per month.
This shipbuilding plan marked the first "Great Leap Forward" for Lingao's shipbuilding industry. Before this, the industry had only built light vessels with tonnages around 200 tons. However, through large-scale construction of single-mast and double-mast triangular sail patrol boats in the previous phase, Bopu Shipyard had accumulated considerable experience.
The Planning Agency had included detailed shipbuilding provisions in the Five-Year Plan. According to Ma Qianzhu and Wu De's thinking, large-scale shipbuilding would commence one year before the First Five-Year Plan's conclusion. By that timeline, the Transmigrators would have fully occupied Hainan and extended their power overseas.
Fortunately, both the Planning Commission and its successor the Planning Agency had recognized shipbuilding as a long-term investment industry from the start. Construction of Bopu Shipyard began in the Five-Year Plan's first year. The shipyard had been substantially strengthened by a large number of shipbuilders and materials captured from Baitu Village. Starting with ship modifications, the yard had subsequently imitated the Americas, completing the first step toward self-manufactured Western-style sailing ships.
Due to the lack of large keel timber, after launching the Zhenhai—an imitation of the Americas—the shipyard had unwaveringly committed to the iron-rib path. Some controversy had arisen between the two technological routes: jumping directly to iron hulls versus using wood hulls as a transition. During this period, there had also been a motion to build concrete ships on a large scale.
Ultimately, the adoption of wood-hulled ships stemmed from the Transmigrator Group's still-weak industrial base. According to Navy experiments in water tanks, ship hulls made of wrought iron corroded rapidly in seawater, and Lingao's chemical industry couldn't yet produce protective paint for ship hulls. In the 19th century, the solution had been wrapping a layer of wooden planks over the iron hull, but this method was excessively labor-intensive. Although iron-hulled ships possessed many manufacturing and operational advantages that wood-hulled ships couldn't match, the intractable realities of the present ultimately made wood hulls the mainstream of shipbuilding.
Concrete ships had also garnered substantial support. As a cheap water transport medium, they genuinely possessed certain merits. Their advantage lay in cheap, readily available materials that required almost no specialized shipbuilding expertise; construction workers could build them with minimal training, without need for complex ship timber processing. Steel bars and wire mesh could easily create frames, and a few masons pouring cement could finish one in days.
The world's first concrete ship was built by Frenchman J.L. Lambot in 1848. Early concrete ships featured small tonnage, simple craftsmanship, and heavy self-weight, generally used only for small-tonnage cargo transport on inland rivers. During both World Wars, steel shortages triggered two waves of reinforced concrete ship construction.
Since 1958, China had built a large number of reinforced concrete ships and wire mesh cement ships, widely used as pontoons, inland and coastal small and medium-sized motorized cargo ships, inland barges, agricultural boats, and fishing boats. China's concrete ship holdings had reached millions of tons, ranking first in the world. In the 60s, countries like the USA, Canada, Norway, and New Zealand had begun trial-producing wire mesh cement ships. Because concrete ships suffered from heavy self-weight, small cargo-to-weight ratios, and excessive fuel consumption, their economic efficiency never met standards, preventing large-scale application. China had once built a 5773-ton coastal concrete cargo ship in the 70s, which ended its navigation career and was abandoned on shore after completing its maiden freight voyage.
Nevertheless, according to the "Concrete Ship Party" led by Si Kaide, concrete ships possessed impact resistance superior to wooden ships, seaworthiness comparable to wooden ships while exceeding steel-hulled ships, ease of repair, immunity to rust and rot, and long service life. They represented the optimal emergency shipbuilding solution for Transmigrators.
Si Kaide, as Office Director of the Ministry of Colonization and Trade, was so enamored of concrete ships that he incessantly promoted how "Great, Glorious, and Correct" they were for the Transmigration cause during his spare time. He preached the various benefits of concrete ships not only at Executive Committee working meetings but also frequently visited the shipyard to expound on technical issues, leaving the few indigenous technicians utterly bewildered and pestering the Senators of the shipyard and Navy to learn what "building ships like building houses" was all about. Li Di, driven to distraction, simply ordered sentries to bar Si Kaide from the shipyard. He declared concrete ships "Heresy."
Li Di disliked concrete ships because they didn't fit the Navy's glorious image. But Si Kaide refused to surrender. He specifically submitted two so-called standardized ship designs to the Planning Agency—conducive to mass production. One was a 250-ton single-mast yuloh (oar) concrete ship as a transition, the other an 800-ton double-mast steam concrete ship.
Concrete ships employed shallow-draft flat-bottomed hull forms. Rigged with Chinese-style sails to simplify maintenance support and reduce manpower consumption.
In terms of firepower, one or two types of standardized carriage-recoil rotating gun mounts were designed; the barrels could accommodate 20-60 pound smoothbore cannons or 70mm-130mm rifled cannons. Small concrete ships would have one pre-installed gun position, normally empty; large concrete ships would have 3-4 pre-installed gun positions, normally equipped with only 1-2 cannons but fully equipped in wartime.
Deck positions would be reserved on each ship. In wartime, 12-20 pound cannons and small rifled guns could be installed; large ships could mount 8-12 light cannons, small ships 4.
Si Kaide enthusiastically displayed his blueprints to Wu De in the conference room, elaborating on manufacturing and usage concepts.
"Suppose we have a fleet of 100 ships; mobilizing half in wartime would give us 500 cannons of various sizes, plus dozens of typewriters, with firepower exceeding the British fleet during the Opium War. When we build ten or twenty, we'll find an opportunity for a public joint exercise first—shocking the Guangzhou Prefecture and the Portuguese, letting them know we can annihilate any walled city or fleet on the Pearl River even with cargo ships!" Spittle flew as Si Kaide spoke; Wu De grew increasingly impatient. He came from a Navy background and had zero interest in concrete ships, which barely qualified as ships in his estimation.
"...We first design and build the lead ship in Lingao, then move the cast-in-place and final assembly operations to Macao, with Lingao providing raw materials. Once we control the coal mines in the Xijiang River basin, we can relocate the cement plant to Macao. Once we control the high-grade iron mines in Zhaoqing, we can build a steel plant, and then construct iron ships..."
Wu De cut in: "I've never seen a concrete ship floating on the sea." He intended to shoot down the proposal for concrete seagoing ships with this single observation. "Besides, as I recall, concrete ships aren't impact-resistant. Installing cannons on top? Won't firing crack the hull? And defending against cannons! I rode concrete ships often in my hometown as a child—they're very susceptible to collisions."
"Actually, some have existed." Si Kaide hastily cited examples—France and China had both built thousand-ton class concrete seagoing ships, proving the concept wasn't impossible. He continued arguing that wooden ship construction cycles were excessively long; shipbuilding timber required hard wood that needed three to five years of natural air-drying, otherwise it rotted quickly. There wasn't enough copper for bottom sheathing either.
As for firing and defending against cannons, concrete shells should be more impact-resistant than wood. Wood strictly lacked transverse strength; steel bars were grid-like, and cracks could be patched on-site. Cannons of that era couldn't hit below the waterline; at most, adding a layer of steel mesh at the waterline to strengthen against cannon impact would suffice. Gun mounts would have bases underneath, isolated from shock through steel embedded bolts and thick wooden blocks...
Wu De patiently endured his "Concrete Ship Superiority Theory"—a patchwork of casually gathered materials and solicited conjectures—then spoke: "If concrete ships are truly so superior, why were they eventually eliminated?"
"However superior they were, they couldn't surpass steel ships," Si Kaide admitted. "But they are definitely superior to wooden ships."
This proved untrue. Wu De consulted multiple Senators with some knowledge of shipbuilding technology, and nearly all reached the same conclusion: "concrete ships are not worth developing."
Concrete ships' impact resistance was poor, whether reinforced or wire mesh. Wire mesh concrete ships showed only slight improvement in crack resistance over reinforced concrete ships—not a revolutionary advance. The claim that wire mesh concrete ships were more impact-resistant than wooden ships didn't hold water.
Large-scale adoption of wire mesh in concrete ship manufacturing had primarily lowered costs rather than improved performance. Concrete ships suffered from an almost unsolvable problem of small usable volume and enormous self-weight. Heavy self-weight meant high fuel consumption and low cargo capacity. Consequently, concrete ships were only suitable for engineering vessels and pontoons with low self-weight requirements and fixed or rarely moved berths—or as a last-resort substitute during steel shortages.
Furthermore, steel bars and cement couldn't remotely compare in quantity with the relatively abundant forest resources of this spacetime. And the wire mesh and cement produced by Lingao's industry remained of rather inferior quality.
Ultimately, the Planning Agency rejected all motions to build concrete ships, directly listing concrete ship technology as an "Eliminated Project."
Under the sunset of the early 17th century, two figures sat on stones atop a small hill. Pistols hung loosely at their sides. A plastic sheet lay spread before them, supporting a box stuffed with a few bottles of Kvass—Lingao's latest beer—and ice cubes, along with several pieces of beef.
Several Political Security Bureau plainclothes personnel maintained vigilant watch over the surroundings; another man was roasting a leg of lamb and grilled fish some distance away. Below the hill stretched a construction site whose area rivaled a modern shipyard from another spacetime. Ship hulls of various sizes—awaiting repair or under construction—lined the riverbank. Among them, gleaming rails and rising steam could be seen. The creaking of steam cranes rotating and lifting mingled with sharp whistles warning workers to maintain safety—sounds rising and falling throughout.
Crowds of busy workers wearing rattan safety helmets of different colors swarmed the site. The only flaw was that, despite the distance, some unpleasant smells still reached them. The odors of wood tar and coal tar lingered pervasively, to say nothing of those steam engine boilers spewing black smoke day and night.
The shipyard's footprint far exceeded most industrial projects in Lingao. Since the Five-Year Plan's first year, the Planning Commission and Planning Agency had undertaken expansion and technical renovation projects for the shipyard annually. A facility of considerable scale had taken shape here. The mangroves in the Bopu estuary area had been completely felled; large tracts of the estuary now belonged to the shipyard.
The yard had successively constructed a thousand-ton dry dock, large steam cranes, and multiple hundred-ton slipways. For Project 854, large forging machines had been installed in the forging workshop to shape keels, ship ribs, and iron plates.
Other supporting workshops had also been built in sequence. The Timber Complex had constructed a large timber fumigation kiln here, responsible for treating shipbuilding timber. "Small" timber intended for ship hulls could be treated in the drying kiln for approximately three days, achieving results equivalent to half a year of natural air drying. Even keel and rib large timber could be processed within a fortnight. However, since implementing the iron-ribbed wood-hulled ship standard, the pressure on large timber supply had relatively eased—quality timber suitable for keels and masts was already very rare along China's southern coast at this time, and prices were prohibitive.
The timber processing workshop—equipped with a full set of large timber processing equipment manufactured by Lingao Machinery Factory—had only recently been completed. The equipment inside left the shipyard's indigenous technicians, already accustomed to "Australian Miracles," utterly dumbfounded. This vast workshop processed specialized planks for shipbuilding. Large blocks of timber from the fumigation kiln, driven by steam engines into woodworking circular saws and gang saws, could be sliced into large quantities of ship planks and mast timber within minutes—work that would take dozens of workers a full day to complete. The cuts emerged smooth and neat, with almost no waste. A few days earlier, the workers had witnessed the inhuman, terrifying power of these machines when an apprentice was inadvertently bisected by a circular saw during operation—from his scream to his dismemberment, less than half a minute elapsed.
Indian jute for rope-making arrived in shiploads from Goa courtesy of Li Huamei. These jutes were mixed with local hemp in the rope and cable workshop and processed by machine rope-makers into massive hawsers—although iron anchor chains were more convenient to use and resistant to corrosion. But to conserve iron, most small and medium-sized ships in Lingao still used hemp rope anchor chains; these ropes also served as sail cables.
Sailing ships required vast numbers of pulleys (blocks). The shipyard's dedicated pulley production workshop employed five workers using simple lathes, achieving an annual output of 80,000 pulleys—though the Navy and Shipyard couldn't consume that many currently. Pulley shells were elm; hubs and rotating shafts were all lathed from extremely hard woods like the finest Red Sandalwood and Blue Japanese Oak.
Ship sails were made from canvas manufactured in Lingao. Cotton yarn came from India—Indian merchants tailored their yarn to the specifications requested by the Ministry of Colonial Trade, then shipped it in bales to Lingao. It was woven into canvas in Lingao's textile factory. Naturally, the Ministry never missed opportunities to purchase canvas directly.
The workshop for sewing ship sails was an iron-framed shed roofed with reed mats—typhoon season inevitably stripped some roofs away, but as long as the wrought iron trusses remained intact, it mattered little; repairs could be completed quickly. The workshop area was as large as half a football field. Dozens of specially trained female workers used semi-mechanized treadle sewing machines to sew ship sails. However, threading ropes through sails was still performed manually by female workers seated on long benches.
The layout and setup of the entire shipyard largely followed British shipyard configurations from the reference materials. The shipyard employed over eight hundred workers—one of the few large enterprises in Lingao.
"With such a massive shipyard, what are we supposed to do if not produce ships at scale? Keep it as a theme park?" Wen Desi pressed down the glass marble in his beer bottle, raised his neck, drank deeply, and released a satisfied sigh.
"Finally, something that actually tastes like beer," Wen Desi said. "Though this is typical rice beer, I'll make do."
"Governor Ma is simply dogmatic..."
"The Navy—he doesn't understand." Wen Desi waved a dismissive hand. "Shipbuilding—he's even more of a layman. Hmph, if Wu Kuangming hadn't told him timber could be fumigated and dried, nine out of ten he'd still think everything needs three years of natural drying. In a place like Lingao, it wouldn't dry properly in thirty years."
Chen Haiyang took a pull of beer; he was reluctant to comment extensively on Ma Qianzhu's rights and wrongs. He changed the subject.
"General Wen, what did you mean by suggesting we build more patrol boats?"
"Divide the sea surface into many sectors, use small fast boats to patrol by area responsibility. After spotting enemies, use radio to notify nearby warships to address the problem, then use dedicated transport ships to provide supplies and replacement personnel. This is our countermeasure for current resource insufficiency."
"Wolf packs on the sea, then."
"Similar, but not exactly. Our objective isn't to destroy as much of the enemy as possible—it's to maintain absolute control over these waters. Speaking of which, whether Liu Xiang or Zheng Zhilong, they'll have to make a move against us sooner or later."
"If only we could locate Liu Xiang's lair and launch a Pearl Harbor-style surprise attack," Chen Haiyang mused. "Trapping them in harbor to fight—our advantage would be considerable."
"Which is precisely why we need to build more light patrol boats. Fast, flexible, and with passable endurance. Excellent for reconnaissance." Wen Desi narrowed his eyes, gazing at the shipyard. "That bunch in the Executive Committee is short-sighted! They just stare at the meager resources before them, calculating how to stretch allocation to cover everything. Still debating whether resources are sufficient—don't they realize there's an opportunity to make a fortune next year? To seize that fortune without ships—especially large ships for long voyages—how can we possibly succeed!"
"What opportunity to make a fortune?" Chen Haiyang's interest was piqued.
"You'll know when the time comes." Wen Desi declined to elaborate. He was still deliberating over this proposal. Naturally, he wasn't the only Senator entertaining similar considerations; a group in the Great Library was actively researching historical materials. The success or failure of this operation depended directly on the Navy's combat strength, transport capacity, and endurance.
"When I've thought it through clearly, I'll naturally discuss it with you," Wen Desi said. "Right now, the idea isn't mature."
(End of Chapter)