Chapter 816 - Fishermen and Pirates of the Gulf of Tonkin

Soon, Bei Kai observed the scene unfolding on the water: a large trawl fishing boat was fleeing for its life. Several vessels pursued furiously, occasionally loosing flaming rockets, their crews shouting wildly and beating gongs and drums. The fishing boat's sails were partially burned, one mast had collapsed, and someone was sculling desperately.

"Robbing a fishing boat," Zhang Dabala remarked. "Nothing to concern us. Just local half-fishermen, half-bandits. They don't even possess cannons. Won't hinder our passage."

Yan Maoda had also come up to the poop deck to observe—he held a telescope to his eye. The fleeing vessel had seemingly spotted them and suddenly turned to rush toward the Zhennan, hoisting a flag on its remaining mast.

Before Zhang Dabala could speak, Yan Maoda shouted:

"Bei Kai! Check if that fishing boat is flying a Lingao flag!"

Bei Kai grabbed the telescope. Indeed, a triangular fishery flag now rose on the trawler's mast—the navigation flag issued by the Navy to fishing boats registered in Lingao. Previously valid only in waters around Lingao, its authority now extended throughout the Qiongzhou Strait. Fishing boats without this flag were subject to Coast Guard expulsion or capture.

"That's right!" Bei Kai grew tense. "They must have spotted the Lingao naval flag on our mast..."

Since Lingao hadn't yet designed a merchant ensign, Dabo Shipping Company vessels also flew the Navy flag.

"Perfect timing!" Zhang Dabala, a former pirate himself, was naturally stirred by the prospect of combat. Now possessing such a fine ship—as the saying went, "carrying a sharp weapon breeds killing intent"—he was eager to test her.

But remembering his mission was to escort the Chiefs to Hongji, he looked to Yan Maoda.

"Chief, what are your orders—"

"Save them, of course!" Yan Maoda declared righteously. "That ship paid taxes to us. It deserves protection."

"Understood!" Zhang Dabala rubbed his hands together. He didn't fully grasp the principles involved, but he knew he had the green light to fight. He bellowed across the deck, "All hands prepare for battle!"

Marines stood ready with loaded weapons, occupying high points along the gunwales and poop deck, watching the fishing boat fleeing toward them. Though they had decided to rescue, the possibility of a trap couldn't be dismissed. Pirates in the South China Sea frequently feigned distress to lure larger, faster vessels into lowering their guard, then launched surprise attacks when alongside.

The fishing boat didn't approach directly but fled toward the Zhennan's rear quarter. Zhang Dabala roared "Left rudder fifteen," and the Zhennan slowly turned, bringing her broadside to bear on the pursuers.

The chasing boats saw an unexpected disruptor burst onto the scene—a large ship suddenly blocking their path to their prey. Their speed dropped immediately. The pirates apparently hadn't anticipated that a major vessel would intervene. After several minutes of hesitation, the small boats scattered, seemingly preparing to attack the large ship from multiple directions.

"Open fire!" At Zhang Dabala's command, the typewriter erupted with tremendous noise, filling the poop deck with smoke. Tongues of flame spat from the square directional frame as the weapon's piercing roar drowned out everything else. Wood chips mixed with shredded flesh flew everywhere across the pirate vessel.

"Change drum!" the gunner shouted. A scorching drum was pulled off and dropped into a sand-filled basket. Two sailors quickly lifted a second drum onto the mount, helping the gunner lock it into place—this behemoth was no light burden.

The typewriter on its gimbal mount swung around, pouring bullets onto a second pirate ship. In his first combat experience, the gunner controlled his rhythm poorly, emptying all rounds into one target before ceasing fire. Only after eight drums were expended did silence return. The overheated barrel smoked with wisps of white vapor.

Four pirate boats that had been pursuing the trawler now lay paralyzed on the sea, utterly silent. Zhang Dabala scrutinized the motionless vessels while the sailors beside him peered out—it was their first time using a typewriter in actual combat. What was the situation over there? Should they continue the attack?

Zhang Dabala looked to Yan Maoda. Yan Maoda surveyed the opposing ships through his telescope and issued orders: "Organize a boarding party. The enemy is finished."

Seeing the large ship approach, people on the small boats began leaping into the sea.

"Don't let a single one escape!" Yan Maoda commanded.

The marines immediately commenced a target-shooting competition, firing at swimmers in the water, eliminating them one by one until no heads remained visible above the surface.

The Zhennan cautiously approached one of the pirate vessels. These boats were small—the largest only fifty or sixty tons. From above, the deck was a charnel house. Torsos, limbs, and shredded flesh were scattered everywhere. The boarding party jumped onto the enemy ship, searched thoroughly, and found only a handful of terrified captives cowering below deck. Two smaller sampans contained no living souls whatsoever. In total, they rounded up five captives, all collapsed on deck and shivering violently. They wore the black trousers and jackets common to fishermen in this region—ragged and sun-darkened—nothing remarkable about them.

Zhang Dabala ordered sailors to throw the corpses overboard and wash the blood-soaked deck. One sampan, heavily damaged by the strafing, was simply scuttled. Apart from the boats themselves, there was no loot worth mentioning—just a dozen baskets of fish and shrimp. Weapons consisted mainly of inferior cold steel; not even the matchlocks common throughout Southeast Asia were found. This confirmed Zhang Dabala's assessment: these were likely amateur pirates, half-fishermen and half-bandits. Perhaps they had only engaged in robbery on a whim.

"What about the captives?"

"Keep them. Wash them thoroughly and lock them below deck." Yan Maoda reflected that they could serve as the first batch of miners.

As they spoke, the trawl fishing boat approached.

"Where are you from? What happened?" Zhang Dabala leaned out and shouted.

"Chief—" The person on the trawler opened with a term that clearly indicated familiarity with Lingao.

"I'm not a Chief—call me Old Zhang!"

"This lowly one is a fisherman from Haikang! Came here to fish! Didn't expect to encounter these pirates," the man shouted. "Manager Zhang's great kindness..."

"Cut the flattery!" Zhang Dabala had no interest. "If you weren't flying the Lingao flag, I wouldn't have bothered saving you!"

"Yes, yes..."

Zhang Dabala waved his hand. "Show your plaque!" Boat owners applying for fishing permits in Lingao received, besides a flag, a special hardwood plaque bearing a specific serial number and anti-counterfeiting pattern for inspection.

The plaque was passed up. Yan Maoda examined it—correct. This plaque had been specially processed by the wood processing factory; the branded anti-counterfeiting mark and digital font weren't something native craftsmen could easily forge. He instructed Zhang Dabala to copy the number. Upon returning to Lingao, a report would be filed with the Coast Guard.

"Let them go. Don't they know to sail in groups when fishing these waters?" Yan Maoda remarked. "Security around here is terrible."

"Master, they got separated this time," Zhang Dabala laughed. "If they were traveling in a large group, who knows who'd be robbing whom."

"True enough." Yan Maoda nodded. Everything on these South China seas was chaotic. "But since they paid taxes and flew our flag, we should stand up for them. Can't just take their money and ignore their lives."

"The Chief is absolutely right," Zhang Dabala agreed. In his view, possessing power meant that collecting money was only natural. As for whether collecting money obligated one to protect safety—he had never considered the matter. He had no concept of "serving the taxpayer." Zhang Dabala couldn't quite fathom the Chiefs' mindset, knowing only one thing with certainty: the Chiefs were smarter than him. He felt that understanding was sufficient.

From this encounter, Yan Maoda conceived a new idea. Since fishermen from Hainan and western Guangdong fished not only in the Qiongzhou Strait but frequently in the Gulf of Tonkin as well, this revenue source shouldn't be abandoned. In the twenty-first century, the Gulf of Tonkin was a prime fishing ground. Fisheries currently constituted the Transmigration Group's primary protein source. Besides the Navy's own fishing fleet, the "One-in-Five" fishery tax collected from fishermen represented a major source of catch.

Current collection of the "One-in-Five" tax was limited to the Qiongzhou Strait. If they expanded the collection system to encompass the entire Gulf of Tonkin, fishery revenue would increase tenfold—perhaps a hundredfold. They could also organize fishery cooperatives, assembling Lingao fishing boats into fleets for Gulf of Tonkin operations. Not only would this create economies of scale, but the Navy could organize escorts. Even without escorts, teaching fishermen some tactics from the original timeline would allow them to beat the Vietnamese until they bled from every orifice. No large pirate groups operated in the Gulf of Tonkin—it was essentially a vacuum. It would be relatively straightforward for the Navy to extend its reach. If necessary, organized fishermen could serve as an auxiliary force. For the Transmigration Regime, desperately in need of Vietnamese rice, timber, and coal, controlling the Gulf of Tonkin's sea lanes was imperative.

Yan Maoda was lost in thought—he would have to propose this to the Executive Committee upon his return.

"Chief—" Zhang Dabala saw him zoning out and prompted him gently.

"Hmm? What is it?"

"What about those boats?" After the pirates were eliminated, two serviceable sampans and a fishing boat remained.

"Take them. We'll need vessels when we reach Hongji." Having boats and men delivered to their door before they even landed—this counted as an auspicious start.

Zhang Dabala immediately ordered sailors to man the fishing boat and tow the sampans behind the Zhennan.

(End of Chapter)