Chapter 8: Arrival

After the Japanese air raid, several new recruits in the reinforcement company could not eat a thing that evening. Initially, everyone assumed they were just badly shaken or feeling nauseous, so nobody paid much attention; when you are a soldier at war, there isn't much room for such sensitivity.

However, starting the next day, they began falling ill one after another, and within two or three days, they had all vomited blood and died. Only then did we realize that their internal organs had been shattered by the shockwaves.

...Excerpt from "Hu's Words," a collection of Hu Biao's diaries...

Before drifting off to sleep, Gao Yi suddenly thought of something and added:

"Don't panic, everyone. Once the unit reaches Shanghai, I have a decent plan. It should get us assigned to the logistics department—places like the mess hall or the stables. Those spots are a bit safer, and there will be more opportunities to make a run for it."

Hearing this, Hu Biao and the other three immediately perked up. Zhou Kun asked, "Old Gao, you’re something else! What’s your plan? Let’s hear it."

"Not yet, you’ll find out when the time comes," Gao Yi said mysteriously.

The next morning, as Hu Biao and his group woke up by the dying embers of their fire, they received bad news: the Third Reinforcement Company of the Jiangsu Provincial Security Regiment was now down to only 66 men.

66—a number that signifies smooth sailing—was a lucky figure, but Hu Biao would have preferred to do without this bit of luck.

Overnight, five of the severely wounded had failed to pull through; when checked in the morning, they were already cold and stiff. In truth, this was expected. The Third Reinforcement Company had no medical supplies, and the local villagers had long since fled. In such a short time, finding even a local quack doctor was impossible.

The only treatment Hu Biao and the others could offer was cleaning wounds with saltwater and binding them with cloth strips. Even those strips were torn hastily from their own uniforms, with no time to boil them or dry them in the sun for basic disinfection. Whether the wounds became infected or caused a fever was entirely up to the strength of the wounded—survival was left to fate.

After a long, silent sigh, the men worked together to dig six more small mounds in a clearing by the peach orchard. They had no tombstones, just simple markers.

Afterward, the group helped the remaining wounded, either supporting them or carrying them on makeshift stretchers, and the company set off once more.

Perhaps the air raid the day before had exhausted all the bad luck of the Third Reinforcement Company. For the next two days, they did not encounter a single Japanese plane.

As they neared the reporting location specified in their orders, the tension that had gripped everyone began to ease. Of course, this didn't mean they were free of heart-wrenching moments—quite the opposite.

The most distressing part was that even without Japanese planes, the company kept losing men. Six more of the heavily wounded who were being carried eventually breathed their last.

The critical issue was not just the wounded—everyone had mentally prepared for that. It was a recruit with no visible injuries who had seemed to be recovering.

One second, he was full of spirit, his face flushed with health, his eyes filled with anticipation. He was shouting to a fellow villager, "A few years ago, I heard a teacher who had been to Shanghai say that it’s a place of unparalleled prosperity. The buildings are taller than mountains, and the women look like figures from a painting. Once we get to Shanghai and drive the Japanese out, I’ll definitely..."

Before he could finish, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, his enthusiastic words cut short. He hunched over and began to cough violently.

Like an old, rattling tractor, he coughed a series of loud, harsh bursts. Instinctively, he opened his palm, which had been covering his mouth, and saw a large smear of black blood.

Before he could say anything, his coughing stopped for a brief moment, only to resume even more severely. In each spasm, he spat out a large mouthful of black blood, as if he meant to empty his body of it entirely.

It was clear that this recruit, who still had the faint fuzz of youth on his cheeks, did not want to die. Even though he couldn't form a complete sentence between coughs, he opened his eyes wide and looked at everyone with a look of desperate pleading, begging for someone to save him.

But how could they save him? What could they do? As everyone met his gaze, they felt a crushing sense of guilt and instinctively looked away, unable to bear the sight.

And so, the recruit coughed blood while hunched over. After a while, he seemed to lose the strength to stand and fell to his knees, continuing to vomit blood. Finally, he curled up on the ground and spat until his last breath faded away.

This gruesome and terrifying scene left many of the soldiers, including the platoon leader and the few remaining veterans, pale with dread. It was the unnatural nature of his death that frightened them.

These men were perhaps not afraid of death itself. But such an eerie way to go, combined with their lingering belief in ghosts and spirits, filled them with a nameless terror. The morale of the Third Reinforcement Company plummeted visibly.

Seeing this, Hu Biao instinctively wanted to do something to stop it from spiraling further. Unfortunately, in his modern life, he was nothing more than a slacker working odd jobs; he didn't know what to do. He could only signal to Gao Yi and the others to think of a solution. He particularly pinned his hopes on Wang Peng, whom he strongly suspected of being a veteran of the People's Liberation Army.

Under the pressure of the moment, Wang Peng hesitated, fearing that he might expose his background, but he eventually relented. He crouched down, much like one would when using a latrine, and covered his head with both hands.

"This isn't as supernatural as you think, so don't be afraid," he shouted to the men. "This brother was injured internally by the shockwaves from the Japanese bombs yesterday. That’s why he died like this; it’s not some dark magic. The Japanese are just flesh and blood—bullets and bayonets kill them just the same. As for what to do if we face air raids or shelling in the future? Remember: crouch like this. And pay attention! When you cover your head, cover your ears too, so you don't go deaf from the blast."

"Crouching with such professional form... I knew Wang Peng was an old PLA hand; I wasn't wrong," Hu Biao thought to himself, committing the advice to memory.

Finally, on the evening of August 24, in the 26th year of the Republic, the reinforcement company marched into Nanxiang Town, outside of Shanghai. This was the location of the National Revolutionary Army's frontline headquarters for the Battle of Songhu, and the place they were ordered to reach by the 26th.