Chapter 1653 - Military Rations

The vessel prepared by Qiwei was a salt boat—a cargo craft that plied the North River waterways. It was called a salt boat because it was commonly used for transporting salt, though in practice it carried all manner of goods. With its shallow draft, it was suited to shallow waterways and could carry both cargo and passengers. When Qiwei's depot established its inland river fleet, it had purchased several of these.

For this mission, the boat had been refitted at the Hong Kong Shipyard and now had ample space to accommodate the entire staff reconnaissance team and their escort personnel. Because the West and North River basins were thick with river pirates, the cabins had been reinforced—the arched reed-mat canopy was lined with sheet iron underneath. The stern cabin had also been raised, with iron plates on its side walls, and a universal mount for a machine gun had been added.

At the moment, two large lanterns inscribed with Song-style characters hung from the bow: one reading "Jinyiwei Foshan Centurion Garrison" and another "Jinyiwei Hereditary Centurion Lin." At the stern flew the Qiwei escort bureau's banner. With both official and private backing so evident, ordinary petty thieves would not dare trifle with them.

Lin Ming had originally planned to bring a servant boy on the journey. But when he reached the boat and saw that the Australians were all traveling light without a single attendant, bringing a servant would stand out too much. So he sent the boy back and shouldered his own luggage aboard.

Seeing that the vessel was a salt boat, he secretly groaned. Though such boats were large, passengers endured an uncomfortable time—sitting and sleeping on sacks of salt or cargo. Forget about enjoying wine and entertainment like on official boats or flower boats, or even being able to sleep soundly when tired. It was worse than an ordinary passenger boat—at least those had seats.

He descended through the small door at the bow, only to find the interior completely transformed. The spacious hold had been partitioned into different compartments. The forward compartment was the largest, with a large table in the center, its legs bolted to the deck.

"Centurion Lin, this way please." The boatman guiding him led him to the aft compartment, a short corridor with doors on either side. The man opened one of them.

"You'll share a room with Master Xie."

The cabin was tiny—a single glance from the doorway took in everything—but the bunks were arranged in two tiers, with a small table, stool, and cabinet beside them. It was not only ingeniously designed but practical too. The clever use of space and area thoroughly impressed him. "Making a grand temple inside a snail's shell," as the saying went—the Australians truly had this ability!

After stowing his luggage, Lin Ming strolled to the forward compartment. The canopy here was inlaid with glass tiles, making the interior quite bright. The tabletop was covered with a large sheet of plate glass, under which appeared to be a drawing—a map, it seemed. Lin Ming's heart pounded wildly, and he didn't dare look further—this was clearly a strategic military map. He simply sat on a bench by the cabin wall, pretending to admire the scenery outside.

Before long, the three Australians arrived together. Lin Ming hastily rose to greet them.

"No need for formalities," Suo Pu waved his hand. "Space is tight on the boat. Let's dispense with ceremonies. Let's get underway as soon as possible."

The salt boat slowly got moving, following the waterway toward Sanshui County.

From Foshan Town to Hekou Town, seat of Sanshui County, was only thirty kilometers. Traveling upstream, propelled entirely by human power at the oars and the occasional wind, the boat moved very slowly—not even four or five kilometers an hour. Lin Ming was accustomed to this leisurely pace of travel, but Suo Pu and the others found the sluggish voyage almost unbearable. Even on a sailing ship like the T800, they could make four or five knots per hour.

"At this rate, when will we reach Sanshui County seat?" Kang Mingsi couldn't help asking.

"By suppertime," Lin Ming replied.

A journey of less than thirty kilometers by water, departing in the morning and arriving at nightfall—such was the normal pace of travel in the seventeenth century. In the old days when traveling by boat, Lin Ming would have passed the idle hours playing cards and drinking wine with guests or his wives and concubines. Now he could only sit vacantly, watching the Australians bustle about.

The large bearded man and the young fellow sat at the bow throughout, scribbling and sketching in a notebook, occasionally gesturing and pointing at the landscape. Master Suo didn't write or sketch, but every so often he picked up a small box and went to the stern cabin. Lin Ming watched covertly—sometimes the man raised a Western "range-finding glass" and surveyed in all directions; other times he held some incomprehensible copper instrument, pointing it at the sun. Lin Ming had no idea what he was doing.

The accompanying escorts were equally busy. Besides keeping watch in all directions, they measured the water depth with bamboo poles or lead weights at every river bend, shoal, and bridge approach. When passing under a bridge, they routinely measured the height of the bridge arch with a bamboo pole.

When the three men weren't outside taking measurements, they would cluster around the large table, discussing matters while writing and drawing on the glass tabletop with their pens. Everything they said was in the Australians' so-called "Newspeak." Lin Ming could mostly understand it, but terms like "contour lines," "flow velocity," and "hydrology"—though he could roughly identify the characters—he had no idea what they actually meant.

He dared not display an expression of bored disinterest, yet he feared that seeming overly curious might arouse suspicion. So he carefully maintained his distance, opting instead to adopt the humble role of tea-servant, speaking no more than was required to answer their questions.

For Suo Pu and his companions, the region they were currently passing through required little effort to survey. The Qiwei Escort Bureau had been active here for some time and had accumulated considerable hydrological data. They only needed to investigate certain specific points of intelligence.

Having departed early in the morning, the boat had traveled until noon—yet no tantalizing aromas wafted from the galley in the stern. Lin Ming had already surmised from the Australians' manner that fine wine and delicacies would not be forthcoming. Most likely it would be a simple meal of coarse fare. At least he had brought plenty of travel dishes that could accompany rice.

Suo Pu saw that the sun had reached its zenith. He pulled out his pocket watch—past twelve o'clock. He waved his hand: "Time to eat!"

Xie Peng immediately retrieved a rag from beneath the table and wiped the glass tabletop clean. Kang Mingsi pulled several packages from the storage locker under the bench, set them on the table, and invited everyone to sit and eat.

Centurion Lin hurried over. He had sampled "Australian foods" of various grades in Lingao, but what lay before him now resembled nothing in his memory.

First, the utensils were completely unfamiliar: each person had a kidney-shaped iron cylinder with a lid and a handle. The lid, turned upside down, apparently served as a bowl. Each also had a small tin mug with a handle.

In the middle of the table was a heap of paper packages and boxes of various sizes. He saw no dishes and no rice. He couldn't help wondering: what was this?

Just as he hesitated, one of the escorts brought over a thermos—these had become quite popular in the Guangzhou area, and households of middle-class status or above generally kept one.

Lin Ming watched as the three Australians each took a rectangular paper package and unwrapped it. He followed suit.

He saw that the wrapper was printed with a line of small black characters: "Grassland Series Compressed Field Ration (Plains Type A), Sesame and Nut Flavor, Ready to Eat." Below it was printed: "200KJ/100g." Lin Ming only knew these were numbers in the "Great Foods style" and Frankish script. Reading further: "With hot water available," "mix with 2-3 times the volume of water," "high-energy porridge," "improved taste." After puzzling over it for a while, he concluded it was some kind of porridge that had been dried and solidified. One could eat it directly, but it would taste better if mixed with hot water.

Looking at the Australians, Suo Pu and Xie Peng had added water and were spooning it up, while Kang Mingsi simply ate his dry, holding it in his hand.

He decided to try a bite first. The ration was extremely hard and dry, with a flavor that was barely perceptible—slightly sweet, slightly salty, with only a faint hint of rice flour and oil. The texture was far from pleasant, like chewing sand. Only after prolonged chewing could one detect a mild sesame and dried fruit flavor. But the thing was so hard and dry that without water, he couldn't even swallow it. To finish both blocks in the package would be a real challenge.

So he poured hot water over the hardened block. He expected it to soften immediately, but the solid lump stubbornly refused to yield—it required a spoon to break it apart. Only after a while did it finally soften completely.

What remained in the tin cylinder was a grayish paste-like substance that smelled both sour and sweet. Looking more closely, he noticed the mass was bubbling softly as it absorbed water.

Summoning his courage, he took a taste and couldn't help but frown secretly. What an odd flavor... It wasn't exactly unpleasant, but it was very, very strange. In thirty-some years of eating, Lin Ming had never experienced anything like it.

Watching the three Australians eat this stuff with expressionless faces, it was obvious they felt much the same way...

"Have some pickled mustard to wash it down," Xie Peng said, noticing Lin Ming's peculiar expression. He knew the man couldn't handle this "tooth-grinder" and pushed a small oilpaper packet across the table.

Lin Ming looked at it. The neatly wrapped packet also had a paper label printed with black characters: "Refreshing Pickled Mustard."

What was this "pickled mustard"? He was privately skeptical. He was tempted not to eat it, but refusing would show disrespect to the Australians. Steeling himself, he unwrapped the packet. Inside was a small, wrinkled piece of some kind of pickle, grayish-green. It didn't look particularly appetizing. He took a tentative bite—the flavor was actually quite acceptable: neither greasy nor strange, very salty but with a clean taste, and a satisfying crunch when bitten.

With this to accompany the food, the strange paste became somewhat more palatable. He silently regretted not bringing out his travel dishes earlier.

The hot tea that followed was normal enough—though dark in color and crude in taste, almost like brick tea, at least it was tea. But then came another oilpaper packet for everyone. Lin Ming picked his up and examined it: the black letters read "Energy Bar"—he had no idea what that meant. Opening it, he smelled a familiar fragrance: wasn't this the smell of mooncakes? Were the Australians already preparing for the Mid-Autumn Festival?

Inside was indeed something resembling a mooncake, only in a long rectangular shape. Lin Ming felt slightly reassured—if it was like a mooncake, he could manage it. He took a bite and confirmed it was indeed a mooncake, with red bean paste filling, generous amounts of oil and sugar. Apart from the slightly disappointing lack of removed bean skins and lard cubes, everything else was passably orthodox.

(End of Chapter)