Chapter 671.2: Growth Of French Fry Harbor
Meanwhile, at the same time the two airships arrived at French Fry Harbor, a freighter laden with cargo was quietly entering the Baiyue Strait from the stormy sea.
“Watch the helm for me.” Yawning, the gray-haired captain, wearing a brown jacket, handed the wheel to a younger man in a white shirt, then went to relax on a deck chair, picking up a half-finished beer and taking a swig as the sea breeze brushed his face that had been so tanned it was comparable to leather.
Normally, he never let anyone else steer, but this was an exception. Compared to the open southern seas, the Baiyue Strait felt more like a calm river than an ocean.
With landmarks on both shores, it was almost impossible to lose direction.
That was why Captain Song Haining, resident of Ring Island, now based mostly in Silvermoon Bay, allowed himself a break.
He had spent more of his life at sea than anywhere else.
Sun and salt had left his skin the texture of a burned rag. He worked on ships since he was a child, got his own by 30 years old, and his current vessel, the Poor Bitch, had been with him for 20 years.
Each time he saw its rusting hull, he thought maybe it was time to retire. 50 years old was mighty old by wasteland standards.
“It’s still so quiet here,” said a young man in a gray jacket, leaning on the railing beside him with a smile. His name was Mojave, a merchant from the Camel Kingdom’s Silvermoon Bay, owner of the 5,000 tons of iron and coal aboard, and employer of 30 mercenaries.
Recently, war between the Southern Archipelago Federation and Shelter 70 had raged out of control. Offshore mining rigs were abandoned, but factory demand hadn’t stopped, sending resource prices soaring.
Risky or not, plenty of fools still dared to trade, and Mojave was one of them.
Song Haining didn’t know his full background, but port references vouched for him, and the route was familiar. As long as the Dinars were paid, Song didn’t care how eccentric the man was.
Hearing his remark, the old captain smiled faintly and set his empty bottle aside. “Let’s hope it stays quiet.”
“It will!” Mojave said brightly. “Before setting sail, I hired a fortune teller. He told me if I sail toward the rising sun, I’ll find a land paved with gold waiting for me!”
A land paved with gold?
Song Haining chuckled, glancing at the dim sunlight, then back at the lush green shore ahead.
He had sailed those waters all his life and never seen a golden island, only death hid in those jungles. Even desperate ships avoided the shore. Those forests were monsters’ mouths, swallowing any who entered.
“You should’ve brought your fortune teller,” Song Haining mumbled lazily. “Then he could tell us how far that golden land is.”
But before Mojave could reply, shouts came from above the deck.
“Up ahead! In the sky!”
“What the hell is that?!”
The sky?
Both men froze. Mojave recovered first, muttering a hasty prayer to the Silvermoon Goddess before hurrying up the ladder.
Could the prophecy be true?
Shaking his head, Song Haining rose and followed him up.
“What did you see? What...” He stopped mid-sentence.
Beyond the rows of ore crates, two white spheres floated beneath the clouds. From the distance, they looked like balloons, but Song Haining knew better.
“Airships...” he muttered.
But why were airships here?
Before he could reason it out, Mojave shouted, “Airships! Real airships!”
“I can see they’re airships!” Song Haining snapped. “I want to know what the hell they’re doing in this cursed place!”
His face darkened. The southern seas weren’t peaceful, Federation and Shelter 70 had been slaughtering each other for months, sinking ships indiscriminately.
He even heard that Shelter 70 submarines were torpedoing anything that moved.
If those airships were Shelter 70’s reconnaissance craft, they were probably already marked on some enemy map.
The young helmsman emerged nervously. “Captain, do we keep going?”
Before Song Haining could answer, Mojave beamed, “Of course! Let’s go check them out, there might be treasure waiting!”
Song Haining stared at the young man, speechless. Eventually, he sighed, “Keep going.”
Turning back now would double the journey, and they didn’t have enough supplies anyway.
As they advanced, Song Haining trained his binoculars on the two silver shapes.
There were no identifying marks, but their broad cargo holds told him they were cargo airships, not military scouts.
Their rough design didn’t look like Shelter 70’s work. They were perhaps Southern Archipelago Federation models.
The only question was... Why were they here?
As the Poor Bitch drew within three nautical miles, a strange sight appeared on the coastline, something that made everyone aboard gasp.
“There are people there!”
“A lot of them!”
“By the Spirit of the Desert, they’re insane!”
There were docks and no ships. The people had to have come from the airships.
Song Haining gawked at the crude encampment rising from the sand, momentarily speechless.
Beside him, Mojave cried out in delight, “A harbor! It’s a harbor!”
It was hardly a harbor, the place had no pier, just tents, tin huts, dirt walls, and watchtowers. However, there was no question about it, it was definitely inhabited.
Old legends from Silvermoon taverns whispered that demons banished by the Spirit of the Desert lived there, and that no one could survive a single moon cycle on these shores.
Song Haining didn’t believe in spirits, but he did believe the second half. All colonization attempts had ended in failure. Even the ancestors of those in the Southern Archipelago had once fled from the very coast.
Who in their right mind would build a camp here?
While the crew muttered, two patrol boats approached from the east, flags fluttering.
Seeing them, Song Haining waved toward the bridge, signaling to stop the ship. “Drop anchor!”
With a splash and a churn of reverse propellers, the ship slowed to a halt. One patrol boat kept its distance while the other came alongside.
A man named Muda boarded with two sailors, nodded curtly, and said, “Routine inspection. Please cooperate.”
Song Haining smiled politely, offering him a cigarette. “Of course.”
Muda pocketed it unlit and began inspecting the cargo crates.
Watching their sluggish pace, Mojave couldn’t resist coming down the stairs. “We’re hauling iron and coal. You don’t seriously think we’re trading with Shelter 70, do you? They don’t even have docks.”
Muda snorted. “If you were selling contraband, this would be the perfect drop zone. Shallow waters, easy retrieval, no witnesses.”
Mojave gawked. “You kidding me? A ship this size doing black-market drops?”
Wait, you can do that?
He couldn’t help but think to himself. If only he’d brought something worth smuggling!
Muda stared at him until he went pale, then waved dismissively. “Go ahead.”
The patrolmen continued their inspection. Their real orders, Muda knew, went beyond contraband, they were also to intercept refugees trying to flee to the southern sea.
A ship, the Roro Boat, full of refugees, had been stranded at port for weeks, over 1,000 people refusing to leave. Supplies were running thin.
The governor of Ring Island, unwilling to anger the New Alliance yet tired of feeding outsiders, had asked the Federation patrols to redirect any refugee vessels, forcing them to disembark near French Fry Harbor.
If the New Alliance wanted to play savior, they would let them.
However, the ship held only ore. There were no refugees in sight.
“I want to check below deck,” Muda said.
“No problem,” Song Haining replied, then glanced toward the northern shore. “By the way, you know those people?”
Muda turned in the same direction Song Haining was looking. “Them? They’re the New Alliance.”
“New Alliance?” Song blinked. “You mean from the River Valley Province?”
Muda grunted. “Yeah.”
Song Haining stared in shock. “What the hell are they doing here? That’s over 2,000 kilometers away!”
Muda shrugged impatiently. “Ask them.”
Following him back toward the ladder, Song Haining suddenly noticed Mojave again, rallying his mercenaries to lower an inflatable boat.
“What the hell are you doing?” Song Haining demanded.
Clapping his hands, Mojave smiled. “Going ashore to take a look! Remember that prophecy, the land paved with gold? Doesn’t that beach look the part? I’ve got a feeling, fortune’s waiting right there!”
Song Haining stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “You’re insane.”
“Hey, sitting here’s a waste of time. I’ll just take a peek, I’m not staying overnight.”
“Inspection will be over soon,” Song Haining warned. “We’ll be underway shortly.”
Mojave laughed. “Perfect! I’ll be back in half an hour.”
He tossed the blackwood-framed raft into the water, strapped on a life vest, and prepared to descend.
Watching this reckless fool, Song Haining’s jaw tightened, but he swallowed what he was about to say. Instead, he quickly muttered, “Come back soon.”
He swore to himself it would be their last business deal with that guy.
Mojave just grinned down at him from the ladder. “Aye aye, Captain!”
