Chapter 21: Promotion on the Frontline

…On the front lines, when communication was cut off, many soldiers often remained unaware that they had been promoted on the battlefield due to their merits. Or, conversely, demoted by a rank because of mistakes. Yet the officers behind the lines were equally unaware that such promotions or demotions had no real impact on the brutal fighting at the trenches. Such bureaucratic gestures were less useful than simply supplying a Czech light machine gun to the front line.

…Excerpt from Hu Biao’s diary collection “Nonsense”…

What caught Wang Peng’s eye was naturally the little Type 94 tank of the enemy in front of the position. This contraption had one track broken, but its two light and heavy machine guns remained intact. With one functioning track, it could pivot in place to adjust its firing angle. When fully unleashed, its firepower was formidable.

Now, a brief introduction to the terrain at Position Seven: to the left lay a large pond, impossible for the enemy to cross by swimming. To the right was a flooded rice paddy, with young seedlings newly planted and deep water between the fields. The earthen ridges separating the paddies had been destroyed. If the enemy tried to advance through here, they would have to trudge through deep, sticky mud, making their movements slow and rendering them perfect targets.

Therefore, the only approach for the enemy was to pass through the roughly 100-meter stretch between the pond and the rice paddies—Position Seven itself.

Furthermore, the little Type 94 tank had some degree of bulletproof protection. Enemy rifles and machine guns couldn’t penetrate its frontal armor. So, if they could sneak in unnoticed, this tank would serve as an excellent firepoint, even akin to a machine gun bunker, completely blocking the roughly 100-meter width of Position Seven.

The thought of using the enemy’s own tank against them was almost delightful to Wang Peng.

Almost laughing out loud at the thought, he considered the only problem: there were only five of them left at the position. They needed to pick someone who could operate the tank simply, controlling the little Type 94 to adjust its firing arc continuously. At least one more person was needed to operate the machine guns.

Oh, and these operators couldn’t be too tall. Someone like himself or Hu Biao, both about 1.8 meters tall, would be unsuitable. Designed for the enemy’s smaller stature, they would get stuck inside and unable to move freely.

Moreover, the three men outside couldn’t fully prevent the enemy from approaching the tank from both sides. The longer the battle dragged on, the more likely the enemy would close in and destroy the tank.

Of course, before the enemy could destroy it, they would pay a heavy price. Thinking this way, the situation didn’t seem too bad after all.

With this plan in mind, Wang Peng shared his thoughts with the other four.

The next moment, Gao Yi raised his hand to speak: “I can operate a bit of an excavator; I’m confident I can handle steering the little Type 94 tank back and forth. Too bad I don’t know how to repair it—if the track were fixed, it would perform even better.”

Before his voice faded, Zhang Wei, a worldly man among them, said:

“Damn it, leave the machine gun operation to me. I’ll use the enemy’s own guns against them and avenge the old squad leader.”

With the tank operators decided, allocating the remaining three became easy.

Zhou Kun took the Czech machine gun, acting as a machine gunner. Wang Peng grabbed a Hanyang rifle, serving more as a sniper. Hu Biao was armed with two guns: an MP28 for close combat when the enemy charged, and a Hanyang rifle for longer distances. But Hu Biao was only a former university military trainee who had fired five rounds from a Type 56 rifle—no one expected much from him. Zhou Kun’s Czech machine gun, at least, was fully automatic.

After dividing the roles, Gao Yi and Zhang Wei began discussing how to avoid enemy detection once the bombardment ceased so they could sneak into the tank. Meanwhile, Hu Biao and the other three planned to quickly repair the trenches and firing points.

At that moment, hurried footsteps came from the left side of the trench. Looking up hastily with guns raised, they saw about twenty men with frightened faces crouching as they rushed in. It was only their familiar uniforms that stopped Hu Biao and the others from opening fire.

“Brothers, which unit are you from?” Hu Biao asked, finger still on the trigger.

No officer answered. An older private replied nervously, “Reporting, sir—we’re the 2nd Platoon of the 401st Regiment’s logistics company, ordered to bring you some supplies.”

“Where’s your platoon leader?” Zhou Kun asked.

At this, the men’s faces darkened further. The leader answered, “Dead. Killed by a passing shell halfway here. The platoon leader and about ten men died instantly. Sir, please take the supplies so we can withdraw immediately.”

“We were all fresh recruits from the Zhejiang Provincial Security Regiment. We’ve barely eaten army rations for half a month and can’t even shoot properly. Before coming to Modu, our officers said all we’d do here was carry supplies and dig trenches. The fighting would be handled by the elite Central Army.”

Upon hearing this, Hu Biao and the others exchanged complicated looks.

Good grief! Just like their own unlucky Third Supplementary Company of the former Su Province Security Regiment—they had all been duped by officers and dragged into this meat grinder.

No, wait—the officers might not have been lying. They probably intended it to be this way but never imagined the war would turn out like this…

******

Faced with these logistics troops from Zhejiang wanting to retreat quickly, Hu Biao didn’t press them. Staying at the position meant near-certain death, and he had no authority to force them to stay, even if their presence greatly increased the position’s strength.

So he instructed them to put down their supplies and leave.

But just then, a rapid ring came from the field telephone. Hu Biao and the others realized the field phone had survived the recent shelling.

This phone had been left behind by the elite Central Army 11th Division, a fist unit from the engineering corps. Otherwise, the 67th Division’s equipment level was too low for a mere special forces company to have a field telephone.

Hu Biao, being closest, instinctively picked up the receiver.

Before he could speak, a loud voice boomed through the line, “Hello? Position Seven? This is Li Shushen. Let Feng Yaozu speak to me.”

“This is Position Seven. Company commander Feng’s tank was destroyed. He’s down to one leg now.”

Li Shushen was the commander of the 67th Division and a Nationalist lieutenant general—Hu Biao had confirmed this in recent days. He shouted his reply to be heard over the ongoing shelling.

After a faint curse from the other side, Li Shushen called, “Send the deputy company commander over.”

“He’s dead too—stabbed to death fighting the enemy. The other platoon leaders and squad leaders in the special forces company are all dead. Only the five cooks remain. By the way, about twenty logistics soldiers just arrived; their platoon leader and squad leader are dead as well.”

Weary of the back-and-forth, Hu Biao gave a clear report of the situation and then asked the crucial question: “Sir, given things have reached this point, can allied forces come relieve us so we can withdraw?”

There was silence on the other end. Commander Li didn’t know whether to reveal a harsh truth: the fighting in Luodian was fierce; almost all his troops were committed to support, and no reinforcements were available. The enemy’s nearly full-strength battalion was attempting to break through the left flank for encirclement. Position Seven was the main breakthrough point and could not be abandoned. That was why he had dispatched a logistics platoon to reinforce it.

Just as Hu Biao wondered if the line had gone dead, a response came.

Li’s tone had turned polite, and Hu Biao sensed trouble from that alone.

“Son, what’s your name and rank?”

“Hu Biao, Private First Class.”

“Good. I hereby promote you on the spot to platoon leader and second lieutenant in the name of the 67th Division commander. Those logistics soldiers are now under your command. Until you receive orders to withdraw, hold Position Seven at all costs. Remember, this is an order to fight to the death or face military law.”

Then, the line went dead.

“Damn it! What kind of nonsense is this?” muttered the newly minted Platoon Leader Hu Biao, who had fired only five rounds in his life…