Rise of the Arms Dealer in the World War-Chapter 20 - The Fruit Crate

Julian raised an eyebrow. "A rifle? What of it? Rifles exist in every city."

"Not like this one," the officer countered. "It was a modern bolt-action rifle—comparable to those we use in the military. Its design was peculiar, but it was undoubtedly a weapon no civilian should possess."

The officer explained further. German soldiers had gotten into a scuffle with a local Qing citizen at a tavern.

The man fled but returned moments later wielding the rifle. Fortunately, he was too drunk to load it, and the situation was resolved without bloodshed. But the incident had sent shockwaves through the German garrison.

"Do you see the problem, Captain? A civilian with a weapon that can chamber five rounds at once? This is no ordinary matter. Someone is supplying these people."

Julian listened with a mixture of skepticism and irritation. "And what does that have to do with me or my ship?"

"Headquarters has ordered us to search all vessels," the officer admitted, his tone defensive. "If there's a smuggling ring, it's likely operating through the port."

The captain's expression darkened. "So you're accusing us? Have you forgotten who ensures your precious supplies arrive here safely? Do you know what you risk by insulting Jinhan Logistics?"

Julian's words were calm but carried a cutting edge. The officer, clearly caught in a bind, hesitated. Jinhan had become indispensable to the German expansion effort in Shandong. Without their logistical expertise, the colony's development would have taken years longer. Supplies of cement, timber, and food—everything the Germans needed to build their military and infrastructure—flowed through Jinhan's hands.

To alienate such a vital partner was unthinkable. Yet the discovery of the rifle demanded action. The officer's internal struggle played out visibly on his face, but duty ultimately won out.

"Forgive me, Captain. This is an order I cannot refuse. Soldiers, board the ship and begin the search!"

With that, dozens of German soldiers swarmed aboard. The crew was ushered off the ship, corralled near the dock as they glared at the soldiers combing through their cargo.

Minutes turned to hours as the search dragged on. Soldiers opened crate after crate, sifting through goods with increasing frustration. Yet, no rifles appeared. Not a single bullet, either.

Finally, one soldier emerged holding a wooden crate, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Captain Julian, what is this?"

The officer and soldiers gathered around the crate, its contents hidden beneath a layer of straw. The German officer, still tense, gestured for the lid to be removed. Inside were rows of neatly packed oranges, their bright skins glistening.

"Oranges?" the officer asked, incredulous.

Julian crossed his arms, his voice laced with mockery. "Did you think we were smuggling cannons under the guise of fruit? These crates are bound for Qingdao markets. Would you like to peel one to check for hidden bullets?"

The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. They had disrupted the unloading process, turned the ship upside down, and found nothing but produce and standard goods. Tension filled the air as the officer weighed his next move.

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"Keep searching," he barked at the soldiers, refusing to back down.

But as the hours stretched on, the result remained the same: nothing. No weapons, no contraband—just the mundane cargo of a well-run logistics operation.

Julian stood unwavering, his smirk growing wider with every passing moment. "Satisfied yet, or do you need more crates of oranges to examine?"

By the end of the day, the Germans retreated, having found no evidence of smuggling. The officer departed with a stiff apology, his pride wounded. Julian watched them go, his expression unreadable.

Back on board, the captain walked to the hold and inspected one of the crates marked with an innocuous symbol. Hidden beneath a false bottom lay disassembled rifle parts, packed with meticulous care.

Julian smiled to himself as he closed the crate. Jinhan's operations were always a step ahead.

The German officer held up a peculiar wooden rod, its shape far too unusual to be construction material. He waved it at the captain, his suspicion apparent.

Hey! Cabin boy! Bring me the manifest from my quarters!"

The captain barked the order, his voice heavy with irritation. The young sailor sprinted away, returning moments later with a crumpled sheet of paper.

"What's the crate number for that rod?" the captain demanded.

"Uh... B17-3, sir," the sailor stammered.

The captain snatched the manifest and began rifling through it with his calloused hands. His scowl deepened until he stopped abruptly and jabbed a thick finger at the page.

"These are table legs! Look here—twenty tables. It's all listed! Check for yourself!"

He shoved the paper toward the officer, who reluctantly scanned it.

"Second deck, cabin B17-3... table legs and chair legs..." the officer muttered. The odd-looking rods were, indeed, nothing more than furniture components. A wave of embarrassment flushed his face as he realized how ridiculous the situation was.

It was absurd to think someone would blatantly smuggle weapons through a port under near-total German control. Such a scheme would redefine the word "smuggling."

The soldiers continued their search, rifling through every corner of the ship, from the crew's quarters to the captain's cabin. They uncovered nothing but mundane cargo—items the garrison itself had ordered. A few crates of opium and ornate tobacco pipes were the most scandalous finds, and even those were hardly noteworthy.

Finally, the officer returned to the captain, his face pale with unease. "I... I deeply apologize for this, Captain."

The captain didn't respond immediately. His calm demeanor was unnerving, his eyes steely as they met the officer's.

"We expected you to find nothing," the captain said coolly. "Tell me, who would be foolish enough to smuggle weapons into a naval port?"

His words were sharp but respectful, the tone of someone who had just declared the end of cordial relations.

"We operate on the principle of trust," the captain continued. "We don't inspect crates unless there's cause—real cause. Customs authorities don't bother us because our cargo doesn't cross board.