Chapter 17: The Little Ones Are Still Hungry

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…The Chinese people have always valued the saying, “The people regard food as their heaven.” Whether in life or in death, there must be a good meal. Even the most heinous bandits, before their heads were severed, were given a “last meal.” This is tradition, but more than that, it is a faith and resolve etched into the very bloodline of this nation, often inspiring tremendous courage in some.

…Excerpt from Hu Biao’s Diary Collection “Nonsense”…

Thank heavens! When Hu Biao and his comrades hurried into the small courtyard, they found that the civilians had long since fled. Yet, by one side of the yard stood a modest well. After turning the well’s pulley and drawing up a bucket of water, Hu Biao, like a thirsty beast, bent down and drank greedily. After a few gulps, he even plunged his entire head into the bucket. The icy water jolted him back to life.

Unfortunately, before Hu Biao could fully savor the refreshment, someone grabbed his collar and yanked his head from the bucket. Wiping the water from his face, Hu Biao recognized the shameless Gao Yi, who, undeterred by having soaked himself once, immediately followed suit and dunked his own head in the water.

One after another, everyone drank deeply, dunked their heads, or poured buckets of well water over themselves, gradually regaining some spirit. Understanding the urgency of the situation, none needed the old squad leader’s scolding to hurry them; they split up to gather bricks and firewood.

They built three earthen stoves, lighting fires to boil water, cook braised meat, and prepare white steamed buns for meat sandwiches. If one had to pinpoint the reason for their discipline, it could only be that human hearts are flesh and blood. Foreseeing that many brothers might fall in battle today, the only thing they could do was make sure they ate well—becoming “well-fed ghosts.”

There was silence amid the bustle, but their work was highly efficient. As the sun dipped westward, the lard was fully rendered, baskets filled with freshly made buns, and the braised meat exuded a tantalizing aroma from the big pot. Hu Biao and the old squad leader began adding hand-rolled noodles as wide as belts into the boiling pot.

At this pace, the feast to feast on before battle would be ready soon. Thinking of their hungry brothers about to savor these long-anticipated delicacies, though weary and aching, Hu Biao and the others felt a deep sense of accomplishment.

The only slight imperfection was the faint sound of gunfire and explosions from the Luo Shop direction, signaling the battle raging fiercely nearby. This reminded them that the Seventh Frontline, their flank, would not enjoy peace for long.

Hu Biao’s premonition proved right. About ten minutes later, just as the feast was nearly ready, clear explosions came from the Seventh Frontline. The group turned in unison but could see nothing beyond the two-meter-high courtyard wall.

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With anxious hearts, Hu Biao and a few others stepped forward, jumped, and leaned over the courtyard wall to peer toward the Seventh Frontline. Beyond the outskirts, clouds of dust and earth rose intermittently. Judging by the scale and height, it was likely nothing more than the enemy’s Type 92 infantry guns, which, from afar, seemed unimpressive in power.

Yet this was the sign that the enemy had launched an attack.

Indeed, after watching for a while, they saw the special operations company’s sole Maxim heavy machine gun open fire. Soon, more figures appeared—brothers from the company crouched in trenches, firing steadily at the front line.

For Hu Biao and the others, unfortunate souls transplanted from a modern world, this was their first glimpse of a real battlefield. The fierce gunfire left them a bit overwhelmed, and instinctively they looked back to the old squad leader, their steadfast anchor.

And indeed, the veteran of over twenty years of soldiering showed no sign of panic. Calmly puffing an old-fashioned hand-rolled cigarette, he said with quiet confidence, based on years of experience:

“Don’t lie there looking so worried, it’s nothing serious! We’re a full-strength company holding this position; those devils aren’t superhuman—they can’t take it down in one go. This is just a probing attack; it’ll be over soon. Keep cooking—the boys are still hungry. When those devils pull back, we’ll bring them oil-splashed noodles and meat sandwiches. The boys need to eat well to have strength to fight.”

Hearing the old squad leader’s assured words, Hu Biao and the others felt inexplicably reassured and continued their work. Yet as time passed, the unfolding battle diverged sharply from the old man’s expectations.

Or perhaps, the battles he had known—warring domestic factions scrambling for territory—were mere skirmishes compared to this relentless war between an agrarian nation and an industrialized empire, a fight to the death with no quarter given.

The battle between the special operations company and the enemy intensified. The enemy artillery fire escalated from sparse Type 92 infantry guns to denser, heavier bombardments. Even from over a mile away, each resounding explosion sent tremors through the ground, making Hu Biao and the others feel an odd urge to relieve themselves.

After tossing the last batch of hand-rolled noodles into the pot, Hu Biao finally asked, “Old squad leader, with all this noise, are you sure it’s really nothing?”

Though Wang Peng, Zhou Kun, Zhang Wei, and Gao Yi said nothing, their anxious eyes spoke volumes.

“No worries, no worries!” the old squad leader patted his chest, reassuring them. But after turning away, his eyes betrayed uncertainty as he muttered under his breath, barely audible, “Lord have mercy, these devils fight fierce as hell…”

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Thank heavens! After more than half an hour of fierce fighting, as the sun nearly set, the gunfire at the front finally subsided.

By then, the meat sandwiches and oil-splashed noodles were perfectly ready. Covered with white cloth in baskets, the meat sandwiches were ready to eat immediately. The noodles were trickier—normally, after being sent to the front, they would clump and lose their appeal.

But the old squad leader, seasoned in the kitchen as well, had a solution. Under his direction, Hu Biao and the others placed the cooked noodles into buckets of cold well water to chill. Chili powder, Sichuan pepper, scallions, minced garlic, and meat slices were all separately prepared in large bowls.

Crucially, at the bottom of one bucket sat a ceramic bowl filled with burning charcoal, separated from the pottery by wood ash to prevent cracking. Above the bowl rested an iron bucket full of scalding hot oil.

So once at the front, the noodles would be placed in bowls, topped with scallions, garlic, meat, chili, and other condiments, then doused with the hot oil. With a sizzling “sizzle,” a bowl of delicious oil-splashed noodles was born.

The brothers could then enjoy a bite of the meat sandwich, a mouthful of noodles, occasionally punctuated with raw garlic prepared by Zhang Wei—a true delight.

Still, the old squad leader lamented some shortcomings: “These chaotic times, some ingredients just aren’t available. This meal isn’t perfect. Oil-splashed noodles are best with rapeseed oil—no wood ear mushrooms, tomatoes, or green peppers for seasoning. When we braised the meat, no rock sugar either—that would have made it better.”

Complaining aside, he didn’t forget to call Hu Biao and the others to gather food, condiments, and utensils before hurrying toward the frontline.

For reasons unknown, the old squad leader took along his trusty kitchen knife and rolling pin. Seeing this, Hu Biao strapped a kitchen knife to his belt as well.

They had barely covered a hundred meters when fierce gunfire erupted again. Only minutes after a lull, the enemy was attacking once more.

Worse, some shells fell short of the frontline, landing along their path and leaving deep craters with each explosion.

The question arose: should they continue delivering the food to the frontline?

Stopping in their tracks, Hu Biao and the others looked toward the old squad leader, waiting for his decision.

Biting his molars, the old squad leader displayed a fierce resolve they had never seen before, shouting, “Keep going! The boys are still hungry!”