Chapter 268: The Burning Supply Fleet

Sultan Mudzaffar turned his horse and headed northeast, back toward camp, with fifty guardsmen cavalry following behind him.

The Malay Peninsula was not suited for cavalry operations; these fifty horsemen served primarily as the Sultan's ceremonial escort.

A few hours later, the Sultan's party reached the siege camp, and cries of praise for the Sultan rang out across the camp.

Sultan Mudzaffar walked slowly back to his tent and spread his arms wide as four Persian slave girls helped him remove his robe and unbuckle his armor.

A most beautiful Arab concubine took silk cloth, dipped it in water scented with rose petals, and wiped his body clean.

Sultan Mudzaffar was an extremely disciplined man—moderate in eating, observant of religious law, indifferent to women, and free of any bad habits. His only pastime was hunting.

While at court, no matter how busy the day, he always found time to ride and practice martial arts; his muscles were perfectly proportioned, like an ancient Greek sculpture. While the Sultan bathed and changed, his ministers and advisors stood outside the tent, awaiting his summons.

A moment later, the Sultan's voice came from within the tent: "How goes the siege?"

Malaja, commander of the Acehnese army, placed a hand over his chest and replied respectfully, "Your Majesty, our forces have eliminated all strongpoints outside Malacca's walls. We are now poisoning the river and digging trenches. Breaking the city is only a matter of time."

Aceh was a nation exceptionally skilled at learning, and the Sultan himself was fanatical about anything that could strengthen the state.

For instance, this method of digging trenches to counter star forts had been passed down from the Spanish.

And the Spanish, in turn, seemed to have learned it from the Easterners.

This siege knowledge had passed through many hands before reaching the Acehnese, and by then it had been distorted—the siege trenches were dug crooked and uneven, with none of the refinements of zigzag trenches, parallel trenches, breastworks, or lines of circumvallation.

Moreover, since the Acehnese had no shortage of slaves, they dug openly even during the day.

Malacca's defensive cannons frequently fired straight into the trenches, inflicting heavy casualties on the Acehnese.

But no matter how one looked at it, this method cost far fewer lives than charging directly across plains and marshes.

From within the tent, the Sultan asked again: "And the Portuguese reinforcements?"

The Dutch advisor Reiersen said, "The East India Company has spread word that it is continuously raiding Portuguese shipping in the Red Sea and the Persian region. And at Goa itself, the Deccan Sultanates of India are applying pressure.

For the Portuguese to send reinforcements at a time like this—unless His Excellency the Governor-General digs into his own pockets, hahaha…"

Reiersen made a joke and let out a few dry laughs of his own, but when the interpreter finished translating, he saw the Acehnese officials present all staring at him with grave expressions, and he hastily wiped the smile from his face.

"Swish—"

The tent curtain was thrown open, and the Sultan stepped out, now dressed in fine silk robes and wearing an Ottoman-style turban.

"I appreciate your sense of humor, my friend."

Though the Sultan said this, there was not a trace of amusement on his face.

"So, the only one we need to worry about is the Helmsman?"

Reiersen said, "Yes, Your Majesty. However, 'Helmsman' is merely a title. His real name is Lin Qian—a rebel leader of the Ming Empire. His forces are known as the Nan'ao Army."

The Sultan pondered for a moment, then invited Reiersen inside: "Tell me about this rebel leader. I need to know what kind of opponent I face." Reiersen walked into the tent, sat down on the carpet, and a Persian slave girl poured him hot water infused with petals and honey.

Reiersen picked up the cup, thought for a moment, and began his account with the Battle of Macao.

Back then, when Governor-General Coen decided to launch the expedition against Macao, it was originally decided that Reiersen would command—but by a twist of fate the Governor-General replaced him, and the Dutch fleet suffered a disastrous defeat.

Ever since then, Reiersen had suffered from panic attacks—whenever he heard news related to Lin Qian, his chest would tighten and cold sweat would break out over his body. It sounded cowardly, but it was precisely this instinct that had made him pull back before the raid on Hoi An, avoiding the doom of a destroyed ship and a dead crew. After that, Lin Qian's destruction of the Dutch Hirado trading post, his rebellion against the Ming, his expedition to Luzon, his forcing of Cambodia to cede territory—Reiersen had followed all of it with intense attention. If there was any Dutchman who understood Lin Qian most deeply, it was surely Reiersen.

After finishing the account of Lin Qian's series of brilliant victories,

Reiersen added, "Your Majesty may rest assured—it has been over two hundred years since a Ming fleet crossed the Strait of Malacca.

Most of Lin Qian's fleet today consists of heavy sailing ships, which are no match for Your Majesty's navy."

The Sultan smiled faintly. "There is a saying in the Book of Holy War: 'Rather than despise the weak, subdue them.' Never despise your enemy before you have killed him, my friend.

Now tell me about the composition of Lin Qian's fleet—his strength, his supplies, and the man himself. What kind of character does he have? What are his habits?" Lin Qian's fleet had been spotted when it appeared off Pattani, but since the fleet anchored in open waters, the exact numbers of men and ships could only be estimated. Later, when the fleet took on supplies at Palembang, the fleet's size and crew numbers could be guessed with greater accuracy.

"…The enemy flagship is called the Candle Dragon, built using the construction technology of the great treasure ships of the Ming two hundred years ago. It carries over seventy cannons and is without question the most powerful warship in the entire western Pacific…"

The interpreter was cut off mid-sentence by a staff officer.

"Nonsense! The Acehnese navy's flagship, the Wonder of the World, is the most powerful warship in these waters!"

Reiersen said, "The largest—that I won't deny. The most powerful, not necessarily. Even in the doldrums, trying to sink the Candle Dragon with oared galleys would probably require pounding away for over ten hours straight."

Hearing this, Aceh's ministers wore looks of terror, lowered their heads even further, and stole glances at the Sultan's expression from the corners of their eyes.

The Sultan's face betrayed nothing; he merely gestured for Reiersen to continue.

Reiersen took a sip of the honey-petal tea and went on: "Your Majesty asks about Lin Qian's character and tastes… All I know is that the man is a workaholic—he spends more than twelve hours a day handling official documents, receiving subjects, and reviewing military affairs.

Furthermore, this man is extremely self-disciplined. He has no fondness for beautiful women, no interest in pleasure outings, holds no banquets, watches no song-and-dance performances, and keeps no lavish display. It seems only war and seafaring truly interest him…"

"Hmph." The Sultan let out a cold snort, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly.

"Hahahaha…" The ministers inside and outside the tent burst into mocking laughter.

Reiersen looked at them in bewilderment, unable to understand what had gotten into these Acehnese. Was there any joke in what he had just said? One minister was already wiping tears from his eyes as he said, "Another clumsy imitator."

Army commander Malaja said, "His Majesty models himself on Suleiman and Saladin. This Eastern pirate models himself on His Majesty. It seems that in the eyes of Easterners, His Majesty is a sage ruler just like Suleiman and Saladin."

Reiersen suddenly understood—the traits he had just described were indeed very similar to Sultan Mudzaffar. To put it bluntly, they were almost cut from the same mold.

Even their life experiences were strikingly alike.

Sultan Mudzaffar was of royal descent who seized the throne through a coup. After ascending, he carried out iron-fisted reforms, and within ten years transformed Aceh from a barbarous land into a maritime hegemon. In the twenty years since his accession, Sultan Mudzaffar had swept through the Malay sultanates without a single defeat.

Lin Qian had likewise pushed reforms, restoring the Ming's maritime glory, and he too had never tasted defeat.

Even their daily routines were somewhat similar.

Rumor had it that Lin Qian was brimming with energy—even after a full night without sleep, he could still appear spirited and alert.

And Sultan Mudzaffar was even more extreme—he slept only four hours a day and was proud of it.

On two lands separated by over six thousand li, there actually existed two such similar titans of ambition. Reiersen could not help but marvel at the wonders of the world. He looked at Sultan Mudzaffar, calculating inwardly—when the two clashed, whose undefeated legend would be the first to break?

The laughter in the tent subsided and quiet returned. The Sultan said to his men, "Send word to Laksamana, commander of the navy. Have him bring that Candle Dragon back as a prize. My trophies need a place to be stored, and this ship that claims to be the 'strongest' will serve perfectly."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" His men replied, hands pressed to their chests.

The Sultan's order was carried to the shore and ferried out to the fleet by small boat.

At this time, the Acehnese fleet of forty heavy cannon-armed galleys was anchored at the southeastern mouth of the Strait of Malacca.

In Malay, this place was called "Temasek"; the Ming called it "Dragon's Tooth Gate"; and in Malay religious texts, it was also known as "Singapura."

This was the only entrance at the southeastern end of the Strait of Malacca—extremely narrow, with countless islands offering places to hide and complex hydrology, making it perfect for an ambush.

Ever since learning of Lin Qian's fleet's movements, Laksamana had kept his fleet lying in wait here.

This place sat in a windless zone; affected by the temperature difference between land and sea, only a light breeze blew each day, and that breeze was almost useless to heavy sailing ships. Once Lin Qian's fleet entered the strait, the heavy sailing ships would be no different from anchors dropped on the spot—the only thing awaiting the enemy was to feed the fish.

At this moment Laksamana sat by the window of the sterncastle, gazing at the vast sea, sipping chilled red wine that had been cooled in the sea.

Upon receiving the Sultan's order to capture the Candle Dragon, he merely smiled and said: "Understood."

With ample manpower on the oared galleys, boarding battles were a sure win—capturing the Candle Dragon was even simpler than sinking it.

After a bottle of red wine, Laksamana was just beginning to feel tipsy, and told his adjutant to fetch another from the hold.

The adjutant said apologetically: "Your Excellency, the red wine is all gone."

Laksamana angrily demanded: "What's going on? Where's the quartermaster? Call him here!"

The adjutant sent for the man while urging the commander to calm down—he knew the quartermaster's difficulties.

The maritime supply line was long, and the limited cargo space had to be used for grain, fresh water, gunpowder, and the like; moreover, the Islamic faith did not permit them to drink. The limited red wine they had was all smuggled along, hidden in the nooks and crannies of the supply ships.

For a man with Laksamana's capacity, who drank wine like water, even a whole crate shipped in wouldn't be enough.

But that was something the adjutant couldn't say. He merely comforted his superior: "Your Excellency, by my count, the supply convoy has already set sail. In a few more days, the red wine will arrive."

Laksamana sighed and let the matter drop.

The adjutant said: "Your Excellency, there's some Ming honey wine in the hold. The sailors like the stuff—some was secretly stashed away. It tastes better than plain water. Would you care to try some?"

Laksamana's eyes lit up, and he said quickly: "Bring it!"

At the same time, in the military harbor of Banda Aceh, a small cask of red wine was quietly carried aboard a supply ship.

Witnessing this scene, Tani let out a silent sigh.

He was the Sultan's son-in-law, serving as regent during the Sultan's personal campaign, while also being responsible for frontline military supplies.

To win the war, this act of shipping wine to the front—contrary to religious doctrine—was something he could only do against his conscience.

"Your Highness, this is the cargo manifest for this voyage."

A middle-aged man with a full bushy beard stepped forward and handed over a document. This man was the commander of the supply convoy, nicknamed Angin; Rahman—in Malay, meaning "the Old Swordfish."

The swordfish may seem not to eat people, but in truth it is enormous in size, extremely fast in the water, fierce in temperament, and when startled will actively attack fishermen—its sword-like rostrum can even pierce through wooden fishing boats.

Angin; Rahman had made his living for years hunting swordfish between the Andaman Sea and the South China Sea. He knew ocean currents, monsoons, and sea conditions extremely well, and was famous among the common folk. The Sultan had him join the military as commander of the supply convoy—now a full ten years, and he had never been a single day late.

The manifest listed one month's supplies for twenty thousand men—mainly grain, ammunition, sails and rigging—plus fresh water for the navy.

The Sultan's son-in-law returned the document to the Old Swordfish and instructed him: "I hear the Tang people's fleet has already reached the Java Sea. Be careful on the way." The Old Swordfish patted his chest and said: "Rest assured, Your Highness. I've sailed the strait route no fewer than a thousand times—I know where every extra blade of seaweed grows. If those Tang people dare enter the strait, there's no need for His Excellency Laksamana to act—I could poke a hole in their ships with my nose!"

The Sultan's son-in-law smiled slightly and waved goodbye to the Old Swordfish.

The supply convoy consisted of ten large transport ships and three light galleasses. The Old Swordfish boarded his vessel, the ships left port, passed the island reef cannons, moved away from the mangroves, and gradually vanished into the distance.

The Sultan's son-in-law watched the direction where the convoy had disappeared, feeling vaguely uneasy. He carefully went through all the information, confirmed everything had been considered thoroughly, and only then felt at ease.

As he turned to leave the dock, a sudden gust of wind blew—the Aceh royal crescent flag fluttered in the breeze.

Aboard the supply ship, the Old Swordfish also noticed this light breeze. He happily ordered: "Stow the oars, raise the sails—Allah will see us through to complete our mission."

The crew cheered, and in moments three great lateen sails went up.

The Old Swordfish adjusted course, heading northeast.

The side of Malacca near Sumatra Island had many shoals and mangroves, so hugging the northern shore was the safest course.

As he turned, the Old Swordfish walked to the bow and gazed out over the boundless sea. Today the sky was clear for ten thousand li, a light breeze stirred layer upon layer of waves, and on the wide expanse of water there were only a few faint ship silhouettes.

Even though the Aceh fleet was fighting in the strait, as the only passage connecting to the South China Sea, these merchant ships still had no choice but to pass through Malacca. Once Malacca city fell, Aceh would be the sole master of the strait, and national strength was bound to surge forward by a great step—the Sultan His Majesty's dream of establishing a Malay Empire would draw one step closer.

Every time he thought of this, the Old Swordfish felt joy from the bottom of his heart.

Just then, the first mate pointed into the distance and said in a low voice: "Your Excellency, something's not right!"

The Old Swordfish followed the direction of his finger and saw a single-masted small boat rapidly approaching across the sea.

That boat had a single mast, with a triangular sail hung fore and aft, its hull long and slender—like a sailfish surfacing from the sea.

"Your Excellency, they're getting closer!" The first mate's voice carried tension.

The Old Swordfish narrowed his eyes, sizing up the approaching vessel. That strange boat was very fast and extremely agile, but its tonnage was far too small to possibly attack the supply fleet. "Have the Hornbill move forward and drive them off," the Old Swordfish ordered calmly.

The order hadn't even had time to be passed down.

"Whiz-pop!" A red skyrocket burst in the air.

The sound was loud, but against the clear sky, the firework was almost invisible.

While the Old Swordfish was still puzzled, he heard someone on that strange boat shouting loudly.

"Closer, closer still… I don't care about your regulations, get me closer—one arrow from this old woman and I'll take that old bastard's life… The helmsman said so, you have to listen to me! This is the mil—…"

Too far away to hear clearly, and besides, they were speaking a foreign tongue.

But standing at the bow of that strange boat was a burly man with a tiger's back and bear's waist, holding a great water-buffalo-horn bow—that much the Old Swordfish could understand. "Hahaha… pirates!" The Old Swordfish pointed at the strange boat, turning back to say to his crew.

The crew burst into laughter. Such a tiny boat daring to rob Aceh's supply convoy—how was that different from a snake trying to swallow an elephant?

"Bring me the matchlock musket, I'll personally—"

The Old Swordfish was mid-sentence when he saw the crewmen facing him suddenly change color, and then he heard a "whiz" at his ear.

Before the Old Swordfish could turn around, a tremendous force struck his left shoulder, sending him sprawling onto the deck. Blood sprayed everywhere. The Old Swordfish was nearly knocked unconscious by the pain. He barely managed to turn his head and saw an arrow embedded in his left shoulder.

The arrow shaft was as thick as a finger, perfectly straight, carved with a seal-script character. At the arrow's tail were three precious feathers he had never seen before—eagle feathers. The Old Swordfish didn't know his goods, so naturally he couldn't recognize this as a top-grade Ming light arrow.

Before he could react, he heard the crewmen shouting one after another.

"Watch out!"

"Get down!"

The Old Swordfish's heart leaped with alarm. He hurriedly braced his hand against the deck, trying to rise, when he heard the sound of something breaking the air behind him—goosebumps rose all over his body. "Whiz-thump!"

An arrow came from his side-rear, striking the Old Swordfish square in the back of the neck. The willow-leaf arrowhead pierced out through his throat, stabbing straight into the deck planks.

"Cough, cough………"

Old Swordfish stared with all his might, his two eyeballs seeming about to bulge out of their sockets. Blood gushed endlessly from his throat, splattering loudly against the deck. Strange sounds kept coming from his throat, as if he were gargling with blood.

In just a few moments, blood covered the entire deck. Old Swordfish collapsed completely onto the deck and stopped struggling.

The crewmen were all stunned senseless, staring blankly at the scene, at a loss for what to do.

From the strange ship in the distance, that loud shout rang out again: "Why did you turn around?! You made me miss my shot!"

According to ship rules, when the captain dies, the first mate takes over — even though the shock had reached its absolute peak.

The first mate still strove to stay calm and gave the order: "Hornbill, send it to crush the pirates! Quick, go!"

"Sir, look!" Someone pointed directly ahead of the entire fleet.

A fleet appeared on the horizon — roughly four gunboats, and judging by tonnage, they were not much different from the transport ships of the supply fleet.

"Don't panic! The enemy doesn't have many ships!"

The first mate shouted hoarsely, his own voice trembling without cease.

"They're Portuguese! They must be Portuguese!" A crewman shouted in terror.

The first mate gave the order: "Turn around, head back! Turn around now, row with all your might!"

But the ambush position had been calculated in advance, and the relative speeds of the two fleets had also been calculated.

Even the wind that had doomed the Acehnese had been calculated.

In the Northern Hemisphere summer, the sun's direct point shifts north, and the Southern Hemisphere trade wind belt shifts north as well, producing southeast or northwest winds.

At the same time, today the weather was clear, the land-sea temperature difference was very pronounced, and because land and sea differed in temperature, high and low pressure differentials arose, making the sea breeze and land breeze distinct. Only after weighing multiple factors did they decide to strike at this moment.

The prepared striking the unprepared — the Acehnese fleet simply had no chance of escape.

At this moment, a southeast wind was blowing across the sea at around force five. Sailing toward Banda Aceh was downwind for both the supply fleet and Lin Qian. Under a downwind, sailing warships were far faster than oared galleys. In less than an hour, the four Ahat ships had caught up.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

The Zhangzhou fired first. Cannonballs landed amid the supply fleet, throwing up towering spray. One shot struck the side of a transport ship dead-on, and the six oars along its hull immediately stopped rowing.

The three warships behind fired in succession, the gun smoke from their muzzles forming a wall like a city rampart at sea.

The Hornbill broke away from the supply fleet and bravely charged at the Zhangzhou. Before it even got close, it was hit by a volley of grapeshot, then the Folangji cannons on the deck, and then the matchlock muskets.

The Hornbill was struck by several hundred shot. From bow to stern, wood splinters flew everywhere — there wasn't a single undamaged spot left on it.

It had charged in with such ferocious momentum, but the moment it drew near, it almost completely lost its combat capability and drifted helplessly on the water.

On the Eagle ship, Qin Liangyu watched this scene, her eyes going wide and fixed.

The Acehnese fleet was like a school of flying fish, desperately fleeing across the sea, while Nan'ao's gunboats were like sailfish — cleaving through waves, swimming at tremendous speed, and tearing into their prey with savage ferocity.

No matter how the flying fish twisted and turned, the sailfish seemed to be merely playing.

Along the tracks of both sides, the sea was strewn with wooden planks, shredded corpses, and large numbers of wooden barrels floating on the surface.

Qin Liangyu thought to herself: "So in the Battle of Guilin, the strength the Nan'ao navy actually displayed was less than one-tenth of their true power!"

She looked at the great water-buffalo-horn bow in her hand and felt that compared to the dense cannon fire, killing enemies with bow and arrow was like a joke.

As the Acehnese and Nan'ao warships pressed forward, the Eagle ship followed unhurriedly behind.

On the sea, parts of the Acehnese fleet scattered more and more. Soon, an entire transport ship in the process of sinking appeared up ahead.

That ship had been hit by cannon fire at the stern. Seawater poured in through the hole, causing the stern to rise high into the air. The cargo in the hold suddenly slid toward the bow, and some of it fell directly into the sea.

The Acehnese on the transport ship were frantically jumping overboard to save themselves. The entire surface of the sea was covered with bobbing heads.

The crew of the Eagle ship brought out their muskets and spears, picking off the Acehnese in the water one by one.

Qin Liangyu wanted to open her mouth to stop them, but then she thought — this expedition of theirs was a lone thrust deep into enemy territory, with limited water and provisions. They had no conditions whatsoever for taking prisoners. They had to kill them all to silence them.

Thinking of this, Qin Liangyu nocked an arrow and drew her bow, swift as a shooting star. Not to mention that the arrow couldn't be seen — even her drawing hand had nearly become a blur.

In a single streak, more than a dozen heads were struck by arrows, the bodies slowly sinking beneath the surface.

The crewmen marveled at the sight. With Qin Liangyu around, the efficiency was much higher.

While they were efficiently silencing the enemy, other Eagle ships sailed forward, throwing burning charcoal rods onto those escort ships that had been battered into ghost ships.

Amid the smoke and flames, Qin Liangyu raised her head. Great fires were now burning everywhere across the sea. The Acehnese supply fleet had been completely annihilated. The four Ahat ships were patrolling the surrounding waters, ensuring not a single survivor swam away. At the sterns of the four ships, white shield-shaped heraldic flags fluttered in the wind.

Along the way, Qin Liangyu had already seen the Nan'ao army's halberd-and-shield flag and the Company's golden-tassel flag, but she had never seen this white banner. She asked instinctively: "What flag of Nan'ao is that?"

A sailor on the Eagle ship glanced over and said: "Oh, that's the Portuguese flag."

Qin Liangyu's heart tightened. She thought to herself: Is Lin Qian really this meticulous?

They've already killed every last enemy, and still they hang another nation's flag on the ships — who are they putting on this show for, ghosts?

The Nan'ao forces had been so clean in their work that no one at the Acehnese front line knew the supply fleet had been completely wiped out. Only after anxiously waiting three full days with the fleet still not arriving did the Sultan order a fast ship sent to Banda Aceh to inquire.

Five days later, the fast ship returned, bringing a shocking piece of news.

The supply fleet had been ambushed!

The Sultan immediately sealed off the news and secretly recalled the naval commander, Laksamana.

In the tent, the Sultan's expression was calm as he asked lightly: "Who did it?"

Laksamana steeled himself and said: "It seems to be the Portuguese!"

Besides him and the Sultan, there were several close ministers in the tent, as well as the Dutch advisor, Reijersen.

Hearing Laksamana's account, the ministers were greatly alarmed. Someone challenged Reijersen: "Didn't you say the Portuguese wouldn't send out troops?" Reijersen was also full of doubt — he had received no reports of any Portuguese action. He pressed Laksamana repeatedly to confirm the truth of the news. Laksamana clenched his teeth and said with absolute certainty: "There's no mistake. A passing merchant ship saw the enemy flying the Portuguese flag. They saw it very clearly — four large warships in total."

The ministers fell into a panic.

Laksamana seized the opportunity to offer his counsel: "Your Majesty, now that the Portuguese occupy the northwest of the strait and the Tang men's fleet occupies the southeast, to guard against a pincer attack, your servant recommends anchoring the fleet in the Duyong River!"

Yahei

Fen Yuan

Handwritten

Steel pen