Chapter 11: The Special Operations Company

Many people have praised me to my face for being young and promising, whether out of politeness or genuine sincerity. In truth, I am well aware that I have simply been lucky.

Throughout the long War of Resistance, I witnessed far too many exceptional young men. They were educated, idealistic, full of vitality, and once they set a goal, they would stop at nothing to achieve it. By comparison, they were far more capable than I was. It is a tragedy that their luck was so poor; they fell in battle early on, never having the chance to grow.

— Excerpt from the Hu Biao Diary Collection, "Hu's Sayings" —

The arrival of the young lieutenant—impeccably dressed and looking every bit the model officer—instantly drew the gaze of everyone in the transit camp. There is a saying that one only fears comparison when assessing quality, and this holds true for people as well. As they looked at the lieutenant, who seemed to radiate a glow of his own, and then instinctively caught a glimpse of their own disheveled, "salted-fish" state, a sense of shame and inferiority rippled through the crowd.

Even so, it did not stop these routed soldiers from remaining lazily in the sun, some lying down and others sitting. Why? Hu Biao, who had long since learned to "lie flat" in the modern era, understood their mentality perfectly: there were plenty of big shots out there better than them with bright futures; one more didn't make a difference.

However, the lieutenant’s expression grew increasingly sour as he observed their lethargy. He snatched a submachine gun from a sergeant behind him and fired an entire magazine at the eaves of the building ahead. The sudden, sharp cracks of gunfire, followed by the clatter of shattered roof tiles raining down, made it impossible for the men to stay idle. They sprang up from the ground as if resurrected.

Tossing the empty weapon back to the sergeant, the lieutenant finally pulled a document resembling a commission from his pocket and issued a command in a resonant, authoritative voice: "Men of the Third Supplementary Company of the Jiangsu Security Regiment, fall out immediately."

Perhaps intimidated by his aura, the platoon leader, who had also been "lying flat," dared not be careless. He began shouting and kicking at the forty-some men under his command. Driven by this urgency, Hu Biao and the others scrambled to organize themselves. In a very short time, three uneven, crooked, and chaotic columns were formed in the open space before the lieutenant.

Throughout the process, everyone remained silent. Even Zhang Wei, that street-smart fellow, didn't dare utter his usual boastful threats about "chopping that punk up"—a line Hu Biao and the others had grown sick of hearing.

Glancing at the messy, dog-eared formation with disdain, the lieutenant continued in a loud, clear voice: "Listen up! My name is Feng Yaozu, Huangpu Class 11. I haven’t graduated yet, but I wrote a letter in blood to my superiors. I told them that books can be read at any time, but only when the Japanese devils are driven out, and there is a place in this vast China where a desk can safely stand."

The unit I was originally assigned to was the directly subordinate Special Service Company of the 398th Regiment. Unfortunately, before I could even take my post, they were hit three days ago by a 203mm shell from the Japanese cruiser Izumo. Out of the entire company, only five survived, and one of them had gone insane. But the fight must go on, and my superiors have promised me that I may rebuild the Special Service Company. By order of the front-line headquarters, the remaining personnel of the Sixth Supplementary Company of the Jiangsu Security Regiment are to be immediately incorporated into the 398th Regiment's Supplementary Company under my command as captain."

After finishing his statement, he ignored the fact that Hu Biao and the others had not yet recovered from the sudden news. Feng Yaozu turned his head and shouted to the other stragglers: "My superiors have promised me that I can recruit up to a full company of 160 men from among you all. The men currently in the supplementary company aren't enough, and I could just pick who I want. But forced melons aren't sweet, and since this is a life-and-death business, everything depends on you joining of your own free will. I won't promise anything else, but I, Feng, guarantee that I will never touch a single cent of your pay or your rewards. Whatever is issued from above goes directly into your hands. If you are wounded, you will be treated; if you die, there will be a pension. When the fighting starts, I will not hide in the rear, nor will I run away. If anyone sees me fleeing in battle, you have my permission to shoot me in the back."

In the vast transit camp, only Feng Yaozu’s voice echoed. Everyone else wore an expression of shock, as if they had seen a ghost. The rampant corruption and embezzlement within the Nationalist Army were an open secret. While not every officer was corrupt, absolutely no one dared to voice this secret in public. One had to admit, this Feng Yaozu was truly daring—or perhaps just reckless. Wasn't he afraid of offending other officers by saying such things?

Yet, for some reason, this bold display had an unexpected effect. Hu Biao clearly saw that the dim, lifeless eyes of the routed soldiers began to shine with a glimmer of hope. After ten seconds of silence, a private first class, wearing his cap askew, straightened it and shouted, "I'm in!"

With that first voice, others followed in succession. Before long, the ranks, including Hu Biao and his group, reached 160 men—a full company. Captain Feng Yaozu didn't waste time; he led the way out of the camp. The three columns behind him hurried to follow. Only a few steps out, a sergeant with a submachine gun barked, "Keep the formation, swing your arms, and sing with me: The winds rise, the mountains and rivers shake, the Huangpu-trained army is mighty..."

***

About an hour later, in an old courtyard, a tall, bearded man stood at attention before a desk where a lieutenant—the deputy company commander—sat. He announced himself in a loud voice: "Bao Fugui, from Shandong Province, corporal, main heavy machine gunner for the 20th Independent Brigade, attended two years of private school."

The lieutenant didn't look up, his pen flying across a ledger as he replied: "Noted. You are assigned to the company's machine gun squad as the main gunner. Next."

The bearded man stepped aside, and a man in his fifties stepped forward, speaking with a thick Shaanxi accent: "Zhou Youcai. I used to be a cook for the 98th Division. I can't read, but I make damn good flour-based dishes." To prove it, he opened a large bundle he had been carrying on his back and produced two items: a kitchen knife and a rolling pin.

Satisfied, the deputy commander nodded: "Perfect. You’ll be the squad leader for the mess detail. I’ll assign you some helpers."

This was the situation Hu Biao and his companions found themselves in after following their new captain, Feng Yaozu, to another temporary encampment a few miles away. They had been handed over to the deputy commander for registration, distribution, and organization. Now, they were standing in a long line, waiting for their turn to report their backgrounds and receive their assignments.

As for the captain himself, he had left immediately. Word had it he went to logistics to secure weapons and equipment for everyone. Seeing the old man being appointed as the head of the mess squad and that the kitchen help positions were about to be filled, Hu Biao and his group, waiting near the back, felt a surge of urgency. They couldn't drag their feet anymore; they had to get Gao Yi to act immediately and use that mysterious, hush-hush method he refused to talk about, so they could secure spots in the kitchen squad.

Hu Biao frantically signaled to Gao Yi, his eyes blinking so hard it felt like they might spark.