Chapter 10: Visitors

There is a great deal of controversy surrounding the claim that 190,000 Whampoa Academy students died during the War of Resistance, with fewer than 10,000 surviving after the war—a casualty rate reaching 95 percent.

Both sides present various statistics, each claiming to have the truth, and I do not know if it is accurate.

However, while I have witnessed too many instances of Nationalist soldiers engaging in extortion and corruption, sitting on the sidelines to watch others fight while preserving their own strength, I have also seen too many Whampoa students die heroically in battle.

Some of them came from very affluent backgrounds and had bright, beautiful futures ahead of them.

Yet, they gave up everything to throw themselves into this wretched war, meeting their ends in ways that were either glorious or deeply stifling.

Perhaps it is precisely because of these people that our civilization has been able to endure for thousands of years, while other ancient civilizations have long since become nothing more than broken bricks and ruins in museums...

— Excerpt from Hu Biao’s diary collection, "Hu Says" —

The sense of distress felt by Gao Yi, a middle-aged, unkempt man, did not last long.

This was because the courtyard of the straggler assembly station actually contained an old well that had been there for quite some time. After marching for so many days in the sweltering heat of late August, he had long felt as though his entire body reeked.

As a man, having a strong body odor was one thing, but the real issue was that he had somehow picked up a swarm of fleas from someone, and they were biting him until he was miserable all over.

The first thing he did was draw a bucket of well water to rinse himself off.

As the icy water poured down from overhead, his weary body and spirit were instantly invigorated.

Even better, the officers at the command post understood the logic that even an emperor does not send hungry soldiers to battle.

No sooner had his group finished washing than the camp cooks brought over several wooden tubs filled with freshly steamed brown rice, roughly stir-fried greens, and a thin, watery soup that tasted like dishwater.

Even so, for a group of men who had finished their dry rations the night before and had been starving all day, it was incredibly tempting.

The only downside was that the portions were small, especially the all-important brown rice.

Once the remaining men of the Third Replacement Company each took a bowl, there wasn't much left; it wasn't nearly enough to be full. Yet, the head cook declared that this was all the food for the night—not a scrap more.

For that very reason, as soon as the food was set down, everyone pulled out their bowls and chopsticks from their bundles and swarmed forward in a rush.

Gao Yi was no different; in that moment, he felt as nimble as an eighteen-year-old boy.

He who is fast gets a share; he who is slow gets nothing. In times like these, if you are polite, you won't even get a bite of hot food.

But just as Gao Yi squeezed in front of the rice tub, having finally grabbed a wooden ladle and preparing to shovel rice into his bowl just like everyone else—

Every time he scooped up a ladle of brown rice, he pressed his wrist down hard, even wishing he could step on it to pack it tighter.

He was surprised to notice that Hu Biao and Wang Peng, who were filling their bowls across from him, stopped after filling them only halfway.

Seeing this, Gao Yi immediately sensed that something was wrong:

"Something's off! These two lads are the type who would stop a manure wagon passing their doorstep just to taste if it’s salty enough; since when would they know how to be modest?"

Fortunately, it took Gao Yi only a brief moment to figure out the key.

He took half a bowl of rice, grabbed a handful of greens, and shoveled it down as fast as he could.

Then, he rushed back to the rice tub. Sure enough, he saw Hu Biao and Wang Peng continuing to scoop; the little bit of rice left at the bottom of the tub was just enough for the three of them to fill their bowls to the brim.

Meanwhile, Zhang Wei and Zhou Kun, who were shoving brown rice into their mouths like starving ghosts reincarnated, saw Gao Yi and his two companions manage to get half a bowl more than them through this tactic. Their spirits instantly broke, and they blurted out:

"Damn it! Even that works?"

Amidst these curses, Gao Yi found the brown rice in his hand even more delicious, and he immediately shoveled a huge mouthful into his mouth.

Then, he clutched his cheek in pain, spat out a mouthful of rice containing a small pebble, and fiercely cursed:

"Those bastards in the kitchen, would it kill them to wash the rice properly? Damn it! Almost chipped my old tooth."

Hearing this, those around him burst into laughter. Amidst the laughter, Gao Yi, who had been looking indignant, couldn't help but join in.

The laughter carried far, momentarily dispelling the palpable gloom that hung over the straggler assembly station...

*******

That night, Gao Yi and the others slept on the floor covered in straw.

The straw not only had a heavy, moldy smell, but more importantly, they had taken the opportunity while going to the latrine to sneak a look at the station's defenses.

They discovered that the guard was even tighter at night, making any chance of escape impossible.

"Forget it! I’ll wait until I’m assigned to a new unit and then find a chance to desert. Maybe by then, I'll be near the International Settlement and can just toss my gun and slip inside."

Before falling asleep, Gao Yi comforted himself with this thought.

He easily convinced himself, closed his eyes, and soon drifted off to sleep.

He planned to lie low in the assembly station for a few days, let his exhausted body recover from the long journey, and worry about other problems later.

Little did Gao Yi know that they, these remnants, would be assigned to a new unit so quickly.

And that they, these clueless greenhorns, would be shoved into the battlefield like ducks driven to slaughter before they had any chance to prepare...

The next morning, the remaining men of the Third Replacement Company were lounging in the sun at the station after finishing a bowl of thin porridge with pickles.

Yes, just sunning themselves.

Amidst the intermittent sound of air raid sirens and distant gunfire, the two or three hundred people in the station sat or lay in the courtyard and under the eaves like a group of idlers with nothing to do.

It seemed as if they wanted to use the scorching sun to burn away the moldy, rotting stench on their bodies.

The war, which was not far away, had absolutely nothing to do with them.

At this moment, a lieutenant officer walked in from outside the gate, followed by several men.

The lieutenant was strikingly young—even with a pale, handsome face and a stern, humorless expression, he appeared to be only about twenty years old.

His uniform was crisp and clean, ironed without a single wrinkle, and his boots were polished to a mirror shine.

At his waist, he did not carry the classic Mauser "broom-handle" pistol seen in anti-Japanese war dramas like their former dead captain had; instead, he carried a beautiful and exquisite M1900 Browning pistol.

In the Republic of China era, there was a popular rhyme ranking the excellence of pistols, and this weapon was the top-tier choice.

He wore an M35 helmet, the kind only elite units like the German-trained divisions were qualified to receive, but it wasn't on his head; he held it in his left hand against his waist.

This revealed a neat, slicked-back hairstyle that must have required plenty of hair pomade.

He walked with his back straight, every step he took as precise as if it had been measured.

Behind him followed seven men: another lieutenant, two second lieutenants, and four non-commissioned officers.

The other lieutenant looked unremarkable and was easily overlooked.

However, the two second lieutenants were equally young and capable.

The four non-commissioned officers were sturdy, each carrying a brand-new "flower machine gun"—the MP28 submachine gun—clearly marking them as elite soldiers.

In short, when this lieutenant walked into the assembly station, it was as if he brought a ray of light with him.

Looking at him, one could not help but feel that words like "capable," "bright," "extraordinary background," and "promising future" came to mind.

And then the question arose: what was a lieutenant with such a promising future, so out of place among these stragglers, doing at this dispirited assembly station with his equally extraordinary subordinates?