Chapter 16: Position Seven

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Many modern compatriots often mock the Japanese during World War II for their poor strategy and rigid tactics. Such ridicule isn't entirely wrong; it does capture the stubborn nature of the Japanese military at the time. However, during the early stages of the war, before we fully understood their three-step assault method, we suffered numerous setbacks.

For example, the Japanese excelled at infiltration and flanking maneuvers with small units. A single lapse in attention would see them encircle us with their squads, leading to our confusing defeats.

Only after countless hardships did the situation improve somewhat.

...Excerpted from Hu Biao’s diary collection "Hu’s Talk"...

During the brief preparation before departure, Young Master Feng wore a dark scowl and shouted at the top of his lungs: “Hurry, hurry!”, “Leave those behind!”, and “If you dawdle again, I’ll have you executed!” His words only heightened the tense atmosphere, while Hu Biao and the others busily prepared.

Because of this, none of them noticed the words that briefly flashed on the surface of a large water tank—already designated to be abandoned by the old squad leader’s arrangement:

“Left Wing Position No. 7 at Luodian must be secured by Nationalist forces by 2 p.m. on the 29th.

If this objective is not met, all personnel will be eliminated.

Friendly reminder: Do not disclose any future historical events or related information to any non-modern dimension individuals.

Violators will face severe punishment under spatial correction laws.”

The text appeared and vanished within five or six seconds, its color faint enough to be barely noticeable.

Just as these unnoticed words disappeared completely, Young Master Feng glanced at his wristwatch. It was already noon. With only three hours left for the march, he barked a new order:

“Special Service Company, assemble immediately and depart at once...”

Less than twenty minutes later, feeling like a dying old ox gasping for breath, Hu Biao silently swore to himself:

“Damn it! If I could go back a few years, I’d make sure to eat and sleep on time every day, rise early and exercise regularly. No more staying up late, no junk food, and I’d drink goji berry tea from my thermos cup early on. No way... I’m dying here. Might as well have someone shoot me now.”

From the temporary garrison of the Special Service Company outside Nanxiang Town to the Xiaotangzi area outside Luodian—where the regiment headquarters ordered them to arrive before 3 p.m.—the straight-line distance was 14 kilometers. But the actual route was about 18 kilometers.

If this were modern Shanghai, with its extensive road network, it would be a mere ten-minute drive. But in the twenty-sixth year of the Republic, carrying equipment and trying to cover that distance in three hours was no small feat.

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After just twenty minutes of jogging, Hu Biao realized he couldn’t keep up. He was drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, his mouth dry, legs heavy, and even stomach aching, desperately needing to find a place to relieve himself. The forced march was already pushing him to his limits from the very start.

There was no choice—he had never felt the long-term toll of irregular diet, late nights, smoking, and drinking until he arrived at the Shanghai battlefield, where it all came crashing down.

The conditions of Zhang Wei, Zhou Kun, and Gao Yi were hardly better; each looked like they were about to collapse from exhaustion. Only veteran PLA soldier Wang Peng appeared somewhat better off. But what Hu Biao and the others didn’t know was that Wang Peng was wracked with regret. Back in the army, he had been an excellent performer in armed cross-country events, but after only a few years out, he had lost most of his former fitness.

Meanwhile, Young Master Feng shouted incessantly:

“Faster, faster! Run! As long as you’re not dead, run with everything you’ve got! Anyone who falls behind will be court-martialed!”

He brandished his freshly loaded pistol as if ready to fire at any moment.

Under such pressure, Hu Biao and the other four had no choice but to grit their teeth and keep running. Though they grumbled about preferring to be shot than run, it was all talk—they did not want to be shot for real.

Fortunately, there is some truth to the saying that a man should be tough on himself.

After running several more kilometers, whether from having passed the most grueling phase or from numbness setting in, Hu Biao was surprised to find his body felt somewhat lighter.

By the time they reached Xiaotangzi, a few li from Luodian, Hu Biao himself was amazed at how he endured that long march.

Upon arrival, Young Master Feng immediately reported to the headquarters of the 398th Regiment. Hu Biao and the others collapsed like wet mud, listening to the occasional clear sound of explosions and faint gunfire while gazing up at a sky heavy with gathering dark clouds.

With his chest heaving violently, Hu Biao thought to himself:

“Three hours, nearly 18 kilometers, in daylight and flat terrain, and I almost died. Yet on the peninsula battlefield, soldiers of the ZY Army ran 70 kilometers in 14 hours through night, mountains, and freezing conditions to launch a surprise attack on three enemy locations. How do they do it? Are they made of steel...?”

*****

After lying on the ground for five minutes, just beginning to recover a bit, Young Master Feng returned with a face ashen with fury.

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For reasons unknown, as he passed by Hu Biao, he kicked him sharply, making Hu Biao wince in pain, all while issuing a new command:

“Special Service Company, assemble immediately! New orders from the regiment headquarters: move out with me to defend Position No. 7.”

Unaware that their young company commander was so agitated because he had obtained private intelligence about the latest battlefield developments.

For instance, under strict orders from higher command, the 401st Regiment of the 67th Division, along with elements of their own 398th Regiment, were currently launching an assault from the southern area of Luodian against entrenched Japanese forces.

Their mission was to retake this strategic point.

Position No. 7 was one of several left-wing positions outside Luodian. Holding these positions was crucial to prevent Japanese infiltration units from disrupting the main force’s operations.

After days of fighting, many units had already suffered from Japanese flanking attacks. Several well-defended positions or offensives had suddenly collapsed after being encircled from behind.

It was said that the bald-headed division commander was personally monitoring the Luodian battlefield and had issued stern orders to reclaim it.

Therefore, to ensure the main force could secure Luodian, Young Master Feng’s latest order was that, until a withdrawal command was issued, the Special Service Company must hold Position No. 7 at all costs.

Any unauthorized retreat would result in immediate court-martial for all involved.

After jogging another two kilometers, Position No. 7 appeared before Hu Biao and the others—a stretch of wasteland on Luodian’s left wing, hastily dug with two trenches.

The infantry company originally stationed there had lost over half its men in more than a day of fighting.

At last, when the relief came, everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief. The company commander, his head wrapped in bandages, quickly handed over command to Young Master Feng and then withdrew rapidly with his troops.

Taking a deep breath, Young Master Feng began issuing orders:

“Second platoon, left side; third platoon, right side; first platoon, center. While the enemy hasn’t arrived yet, fortify the defenses and establish firing positions.

Squad Leader Zhou, find a safe spot behind the position to cook a proper meal for the men.”

“Understood,” the squad leader replied promptly, scanning the area behind them.

Half a minute later, he pointed to a small walled courtyard about five or six hundred meters back and beckoned Hu Biao and the others:

“Follow me. We’ll cook there. If there’s a well, it’ll save us a lot of trouble.”

Without a word, Hu Biao and the others followed the squad leader, already too exhausted to speak.