Chapter 750 – Party at Sea (Part 4)

The jet ski's launch caused quite a stir aboard. Qian Duoduo, of course, could not ride alone, and many present had jet-ski experience. Lin Shenhe immediately claimed he was coming down with a chill and should stay out of the water.

Xue Ziliang, eager to take Salina out on the open sea, promptly volunteered to pilot. He first took the two little girls for a spin, showing off a few tricks that had them shrieking with delight. Having made his impression, he brought the machine back, then naturally offered to take Salina out next. But she flatly refused, insisting she didn't want to ruin her clothes—she had only a handful of decent outfits left, and if they got soaked she'd have to wear shapeless fatigues. Disappointed, Xue Ziliang handed the jet ski off to someone else.

Panpan desperately wanted a turn but was too nervous to ride alone, so she fixed her gaze on Beiwei. Beiwei had absolutely no desire to squeeze onto the seat with this overly enthusiastic Western girl. Besides, a jet ski running on fuel of dubious provenance could easily become a political blemish. He declined. No matter how the crowd cajoled—even goading him with "Don't be such a wimp"—he refused to share the seat with Panpan. In the end, Xue Ziliang once again climbed on behind her.

Xue Ziliang was no gentleman. The ski lacked any other handhold, so to stay aboard he had no choice but to wrap his arms around Panpan's waist. And Panpan seemed intent on teasing this banana-country warrior, constantly accelerating and braking, changing direction so that Xue Vinny kept lurching forward. Holding a beautiful woman was enough to set his heart racing; the repeated bodily collisions only made matters worse. Yet she belonged to another man, and observers on deck were making mischief with their cheers. Ordinarily Xue Ziliang would have brazened it out, but Salina stood on deck, cocktail in hand, watching. Even if Western women were not overly fussy about such things, he wanted to leave an impression of fidelity. So he asked to head back. Panpan would not let him off so easily; she merely stopped the jet ski at a distance and switched places with Beiwei.

In his new position, Xue Ziliang endured another ordeal. The warmth behind him, combined with the incessant tossing against the waves, made his physiological situation increasingly acute. To avoid humiliating himself in front of Salina, he pretended to stumble while climbing back aboard, plunging into the water for a moment to cool off before returning to the deck.

Shrieks and laughter erupted across the deck. Zheng Shangjie quickly pressed a glass of fruit-juice soda into his hands, smoothing over the awkwardness. At that moment, Director Shi announced he had to leave—he still had a class to teach for native medical personnel, and no entreaties could keep him from his duties.

Ai Beibei felt uneasy about all the attention the jet ski was attracting. Today was a holiday, and many transmigrators would be nearby. If spotted, "envy, jealousy, and resentment" could erupt in the form of a public backlash—no explanation about the fuel having been siphoned from the yacht's own tank would matter. So she asked everyone to stow the jet ski, then steered the yacht toward the jetty to drop off Shi Niaoren.

Even at this season, the open sea was rather cool. After eating and drinking, everyone agreed the wind had picked up too much. They resolved to anchor in the bay for more food and drink, perhaps a swim.

The sailboat dropped anchor two kilometers offshore. The next leg of the party began. Anyone who had brought a swimsuit changed and prepared to go in. The water off Lingao Point was very clear, and this particular cove had already been improved for use as a beach—breakwaters had been built, and anti-shark nets installed at several openings to the open sea.

Several of the women decided against swimming. After changing into swimsuits, they climbed into the hot tub on the foredeck to lounge. Mendoza wore her bikini—the only thing she'd had on when she was tricked aboard so long ago. All her other clothes had been issued by the collective or made with the help of the two Qian wives.

Salina squeezed into a spare swimsuit of Zheng Shangjie's; the fit was barely adequate. Glimpses of flesh threatened composure all around. Fearing uncontrollable embarrassment, the men either headed down to the bay for a swim or decided to tour the North American crew's private arms cache first and do some shooting.

They descended into the hold for a quick look around, then made their way to the bottom deck, which had been partitioned into a simple reloading workshop. Shell-cleaning tumblers, automatic powder dispensers, and tools for resizing cases and seating bullets were bolted to bench vises. Decapping tools and a precision scale also stood ready.

Some time ago, these items had been loaned out for the Machinery Group to copy—after all, professionally manufactured equipment was far superior to the homemade tools that Li Yiwo, the illegal gunsmith, had brought along. After replication was complete, the Technology Division requisitioned one set for STC archival storage; the rest were returned, along with a bonus set of locally made copies.

The North American crew had originally possessed two basic reloading kits. Before the transmigration, they had upgraded their equipment to include dies for almost every common caliber, along with vast quantities of bullets, primers, and powder—enough to reload tens of thousands of rounds across various calibers, many outside the collective's standard issue.

These men had already owned firearms in a range of calibers; in preparation for the crossing, they had culled flashy but impractical pieces from their collections and added more, emphasizing firepower, ruggedness, and high capacity. In addition to normal purchases, Zhou Weisen had acquired quite a few gems from fellow gun enthusiasts.

After inspecting the reloading shop, the men began selecting firearms from a converted gun cabinet and assorted crates. Beiwei opened a wooden case full of Smith & Wesson .44-caliber weapons: three S&W revolvers, a Marlin lever-action, and a Ruger semi-auto carbine. For a time, rounds in this caliber were considered the most powerful handgun cartridges—those large revolvers were officially sanctioned bear-defense weapons. The size of the cartridge cases and weight of the bullets were obviously in a different league from typical 9mm.

Xue Ziliang opened a gun cabinet and let out a whistle. Inside were various .223-caliber semi-automatic rifles: a SCAR, a SIG556, and an array of American civilian-market ARs. In addition to standard iron sights, many carried red-dot close-combat optics, and two sported ACOG scopes.

He picked up a short-barreled AR. "Do you guys have a Class III? No? Federal felony—ten years per offense."

"Then we've all earned a few life sentences," Zhou Weisen said with a laugh.

Under U.S. gun law, assault rifles with barrels shorter than sixteen inches were considered restricted weapons. But arms manufacturers had developed a class of short-barreled assault weapons without buttstocks, called AR pistols, that circumvented this restriction. These two short rifles, however, bore standard folding stocks—obviously not ordinary AR pistols. Qian Shuixie smiled and opened another cabinet. "Sir, we've got a few more things here—though these were all done after D-Day."

Inside were a Galil, an FN FAL, and an AK—all high-quality civilian-market or military-surplus weapons, fitted not only with magazines but with drum or belt-feed attachments as well.

After inspecting them, Xue Ziliang eyed the North American gun enthusiasts. "They've all been converted to full auto?"

"That's right. Ten years each—how many years do you think we owe?"

"That's for a judge to decide." As he spoke, Xue Ziliang shouldered one of the rifles several times, finding it comfortable. He had plenty of complaints about the SKS. "If the Special Reconnaissance Squad were equipped with these, that would be something."

"There's more." Zhou Weisen produced several tubes from a crate. "Knock-off suppressors. They work well enough—can bring AR-class weapons down to .22LR noise levels."

Beiwei was dazzled. He had probably fired more rounds than any other transmigrator, yet his exposure to different light-weapon types was extremely limited—mostly standard-issue military firearms, with only scant contact with foreign arms and most of those seen just in photographs from classified briefings compiled by the Military Region's Intelligence Department. Now he hardly knew where to look. His gaze swept to a cabinet in the corner, and he started. "You even have machine guns?!"

Standing in the corner cabinet were two M1919A6 machine guns, their heavy tripods folded alongside.

"Under U.S. law these qualify as semi-automatic rifles—chambered in .308. There are two more downstairs that we haven't converted yet," Qian Shuiting replied. "With the tripod included, one of these only cost two grand—cheaper than a decent AR."

"What rifle is this? Looks bolt-action." Beiwei had discovered another trove. Locked in a rifle rack were several weapons he had never seen before, along with ammunition boxes.

"That's a K31."

Beiwei had never encountered a K31; at first glance it looked utterly unfamiliar—he had almost no experience with any bolt-action rifle at all. He took one and examined it: clearly a finely crafted killing machine.

"That's quality hardware," Xue Ziliang said. "Swiss straight-pull bolt, detachable magazine. Standard-issue soldier's rifles routinely achieve one-MOA accuracy."

They reminisced about the pirate attack just after their arrival. Most of the North American crew's ordnance had been stowed in sealed crates in the bilge. Aside from the Mosin-Nagant Qian Shuixie carried everywhere, the only weapons they could grab in a hurry were a handful of bolt-action K31s.

"Right—we'd fitted them with cheap scopes, planning to use them as sniper rifles. Everyone knew Qian Shuixie loved his knockoff Mosin sniper, so they assumed these were all Mosins too."

"Speaking of Mosin-Nagants, we brought some of those as well. The biggest advantage of the Mosin is price—the rifle and ammo are both dirt cheap. If the Feiyun had more tonnage, we'd have shipped three thousand of them and raised a whole regiment on the spot—swept everything before us." Qian Shuixie sounded wistful. He handed a Mosin to Beiwei.

It was Beiwei's first time holding this famous rifle. In the past, he had glimpsed one only once, in a People's Armed Forces Department warehouse, among a motley assortment of rifles chained inside a gun cabinet—a weapon that had appeared time and again in China's modern history.

(End of Chapter)