Beiyang Dream

Chapter 63 Goodbye, Germany!

Chapter 63 Goodbye, Germany! (Eleventh update)

January 17, 1891, 10:00 AM, Hamburg Port.

The sky was terribly overcast, with low, thick clouds pressing down heavily overhead. The wind blowing in from the sea was not only particularly cold, but also carried a pungent smell of coal smoke—that was the real smell of the Industrial Revolution!

Next to Pier No. 3 was an old warehouse. The door creaked open a crack, and Chang Desheng squeezed out from inside, then closed the door tightly behind him. He rubbed his numb, frozen hands, breathed white vapor into his palms, and then looked up at the pier.

The dark hull of the Britannia sat in the berth not far away, its two funnels slowly puffing out white smoke. This British ship was 7,800 tons, which was considered one of the largest ships sailing to the Far East in those days.

Luo Jingrou, Duan Qirui, Shang Dequan, Wu Dingyuan, and Kong Qingtang should all be on board by now. Chang Desheng had already carried his own luggage a long time ago, but he couldn't leave yet. He still had a major arms deal worth a million marks (including commission and shipping costs) that he needed to personally oversee the final acceptance and inspection.

1300支Gew.1888式步枪，150万发步枪弹；40挺马克沁机枪，100万发机枪弹；60门伪装成工业钢管的施耐德80毫米「弹丸投射器」，3万发炮弹，8000枚手榴弹，还有500套工兵铲————

Including packaging, it weighed over 300 tons!

Even with the approval of the chief inspector of the German Customs Service, who was a "close confidant of Bismarck," it took Schneider Electric several months to assemble the goods and then painstakingly transport them to the warehouse in Hamburg.

Would Chang Desheng dare to entrust this batch of goods to someone else for escort? Of course not!

Even if he dared, could the young emperor in the Berlin palace, and his teacher Moltke, really trust him?

If three hundred tons of munitions fell into the hands of an uncontrolled hostile force, such as the Aceh Sultanate, it would truly affect German-Dutch relations. Therefore, Schneider Electric chartered an entire lower cargo hold on the Britannia. Three hundred tons of munitions, plus Chang Desheng, this "imperialist agent," were packed together and shipped directly to Southeast Asia.

This is called "the goods are there, but the people are gone; if the goods are lost, the people die!"

Chang Desheng was looking down at the customs approval document in his hand, which was stamped with several seals. This thing was the "legal exit certificate", which was equivalent to the "completion filing form" of the project. Without it, all the previous work would be in vain. The door of another large warehouse next to him creaked open.

He quickly looked up and glanced over.

Then, about twenty blond, blue-eyed, burly men, along with Zhang Zhensheng, the "Fifth Uncle" from Southeast Asia, crowded to the warehouse entrance. Leading the group was Sergeant Hans Hersmann, whose hands were stained with—cough, he had extensive experience in maintaining colonial security—in East Africa.

"stand at attention!"

Hessman suddenly shouted, and the twenty-two burly German men behind him instantly transformed from "dock porters" into "killing machines," standing as still as a row of wooden stakes measured with a ruler.

Chang Desheng nodded to himself: Hmm, it's got a bit of "San Dezi" vibes.

He walked slowly over, his hands behind his back, the sunlight scanning each face of the group. The men all looked to be over thirty, their faces expressionless, yet they exuded an aura of "I've killed people before, and I wouldn't mind killing a few more."

They were completely different species from the "peace soldiers" that Chang Desheng had seen during the exercises in East Prussia, who had never shed blood.

"Sergeants," Hessmann spoke up from the side, pointing to Chang Desheng, and said in his Prussian-accented German, "this is the Qing Dynasty's Commissioner Chang. He just graduated from the Prussian War Academy, ranking first in his class."

Upon hearing this, disbelief immediately appeared on the poker faces of the German veterans below.

The Prussian War Academy? To these roughnecks, that place was like the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican—a sacred place they had heard of but never seen, let alone understood.

These guys, at best, could only reach the rank of sergeant major in the army. Officer training school? That's for noblemen or geniuses.

Chang Desheng understood that Hessman was helping him establish his authority.

An excellent sergeant major should always uphold the authority of his officers, even if he secretly despises the younger officer...

Chang Desheng coughed lightly, straightened his back, and instantly switched to the posture of an "elite officer of the Prussian War Academy." He focused his gaze on a lean, tall man who looked slightly older and had a calmer demeanor, and slowly uttered in standard Hanoverian German: "State your name. And the highest rank you have ever held."

This is just right. The pure, condescending tone of an aristocratic officer.

The tall, thin man, almost as if by muscle memory, snapped to attention, saluted, and boomed, "Commissioner! Friedrich Wolfgang, former Imperial Marine Corps Sergeant Major!"

Another sergeant major? And from the Marine Corps? Chang Desheng was secretly delighted. Wilhelm II had really gone all out this time, providing him with a complete package of land and sea resources.

He returned a crisp Prussian salute: "Sergeant Major, introduce your men to me."

These movements, this demeanor, are all the result of being trained by those old foxes, Moltke, at the War Academy, with a ruler in their hands—the true flavor of a German Celestial Dragon.

"Yes, sir!" Wolfgang didn't hesitate for a moment, immediately turning around and beginning to call out names one by one. Each time a name was called, the man puffed out his chest, raised his head, and announced his name, branch of service, and impressive resume in the loudest voice: "Hans Müller, former infantry sergeant, three years of service in the East African colonies, participated in twelve extermination operations!"

"Carl Bowman, a former artillery corporal, operated a 75mm field gun and bombarded indigenous tribes in Africa!"

Only the stiff, gunpowder-smelling German reports remained in the warehouse.

This wasn't a roll call; it was clearly a scrolling list of twenty-three bloody resumes bearing the official seal of the Imperial Colonial Ministry, listing "veteran violent practitioners."

Chang Desheng's gaze calmly swept over each face, occasionally raising his hand in return. As he returned the greetings, he quickly assessed them in his mind: this one has steady eyes, suitable as a sniper; that one has thick arms, a machine gunner; hmm, this one said he'd been to Southwest Africa, the environment there is somewhat similar to the South Pacific rainforest, I'll make good use of him—

Just as the introductions were finished, a Schneider Electric employee rushed in and whispered a few words in Zhang Zhensheng's ear. Zhang Zhensheng's expression changed slightly, and he looked at Chang Desheng: "Zhenbang, two customs officers are here, heading this way."

The air inside the warehouse suddenly tensed. The eyes of the twenty-three Germans all turned to Chang Desheng.

Chang Desheng's face didn't change much, but he already knew what was going on: Just because the higher-ups had given instructions didn't mean that the "current supervisors" below wouldn't care. If they didn't care, how would "Commissioner Hans" survive?

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wallet containing money, counted out a thick wad of marks, calmly slipped it into the invoice, and then handed it to Hessman.

"Sergeant Major," he said calmly, "go and make some arrangements. Be mindful of your communication style."

Hessman took the order slip containing the "communication lubricant," put his heels together, and said, "Yes, Mr. Commissioner!" He then turned and strode out.

See, that's professionalism. No questions asked, no doubts raised, just efficient execution of instructions.

Well, there's a reason why it's expensive!

Zhang Zhensheng was a little worried and leaned closer to ask in a low voice, "Are you just going to let him go like that?"

“He’s the most suitable person to go,” Chang Desheng interrupted him, glancing at Hessman’s retreating figure. “The General Staff has given instructions, but there’s a point to consider who should go on our side. He looks like a true military man, with that impeccable Prussian accent, plus this—” He twirled his fingers, “Who knows, isn’t this some kind of shady ‘special supplies transfer’ that the General Staff is up to?”

Zhang Zhensheng was stunned, then he was impressed. So even bribery requires tactics!

Not long after, Hessman returned, handed the bill of lading back to Chang Desheng, and saluted again: "Committee member, it's done."

They just routinely glanced at it and added a "checked" mark to the form.

Sure enough, there was a small, extremely illegible signature on the delivery slip. As for the stack of "lubricant," it had already completed its historical mission.

"Well done, Sergeant Major." Chang Desheng nodded, carefully putting away the manifest, and then said, "Now, take your men and, in coordination with Mr. Zhang's men, safely transport this batch of legally exported munitions onto the Britannia. And, ensure their safety during the voyage. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!" Hessman said firmly, his heels touching the ground.

"Furthermore," Chang Desheng pointed to Wolfgang, who had been silently observing, "Sergeant Major Wolfgang, please come with me. From this moment on, I need you on the Britannia to be responsible for my personal close-range security."

Hessmann and Wolfgang were both taken aback. This commissioner needed a bodyguard on the ship? Who wanted to harm him?

"Yes, sir!" Wolfgang hesitated only briefly before, like Hessmann, he stood on his feet and accepted the order.

Chang Desheng gave a final salute to everyone, then, with the newly appointed "safety supervisor" Wolfgang, turned and strode out of the warehouse. The cold wind from the dock lashed at him, and he tightened his thick woolen overcoat as he walked toward the high gangplank of the Britannia.

He walked quickly, calculating as he went how to find the assassin Xiao Rizi had arranged once he boarded the ship—

.. *

He was completely unaware that on the other side of the dock, behind a large bunch of coiled cables, Duan Qirui was sitting with his hands in his pockets, leaning against a cold wooden crate, practically starving!

After Chang Desheng's figure disappeared, he emerged from behind the pile of cables and watched as Zhang Zhensheng directed a group of German "dockworkers" to load what appeared to be wooden crates containing guns and ammunition onto the Britannia. His brow furrowed: What's in these crates? Wasn't it supposed to be only five thousand taels of silver worth of munitions? How could this be...?

It turned out that Duan Qirui had just discovered that Chang Desheng hadn't boarded the ship and had secretly left, so he quietly followed him...

Unaware that he was being followed, Chang Desheng stepped into the anteroom of the Britannia. "Great, it's finally warm," he thought. Then he heard melodious piano music and smelled perfume, coffee, and cigars.

As he was trying to find his way to first class according to his ticket, a soft, gentle female voice suddenly came from behind him: "Is this—Mr. Chang?"

Chang Desheng looked back.

A few steps away stood Haruko Okura, with an elegant smile on her face.

"Miss Okura," Chang Desheng nodded slightly, "What a coincidence, you're also taking this ship back to China?"

"Yes, what a coincidence." Haruko gave a slight bow, her manners impeccable, her voice still gentle. "Mr. Chang, may I ask if Sister Jingrou is also traveling on the boat this time?"

"Yes, Miss Luo is traveling with us."

Haruko's face immediately lit up with a joyful smile: "That's wonderful. The sea voyage is long, but with old friends by my side, I won't feel lonely."

She paused, then added, "I'm staying in first class, B-07. If Mr. Chang has the time, please be sure to tell Sister Jingrou that Qingzi is looking forward to talking to her and catching up."

"I'll definitely bring it." Chang Desheng nodded with a smile.

Haruko gave him another sweet smile before turning around and walking lightly down the corridor.

"Sergeant Major," Chang Desheng called Wolfgang in a low voice, "go and get five, no, ten good men... I need to catch the assassin!" He said this with the smile he had just given Haruko on his face.

An hour and a half later.

The Britannia finally slowly detached from the dock.

Chang Desheng stood by the railing of the open-air deck outside the first-class cabin, watching the industrialized Port of Hamburg gradually recede into the distance.

Luo Jingrou quietly walked up to him without him noticing, and her shoulder naturally rested against his.

"Waaah...."

'

The ship's horn emitted a long, deep wail, as if bidding farewell to the European continent. A rhythmic, slight vibration emanated from the hull; the ship was picking up speed.

"The boat has set sail," Luo Jingrou said softly.

"Okay," Chang Desheng replied. "Goodbye, Germany."

Next————

This is Lao Tzu's "Nanyang Project," which has officially commenced.

However, before starting work, we need to clean out all the rats in the cabin.

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