Chapter 9: The Shelter

After every major battle, many units suffer such heavy casualties that their very designations are erased from the records. Many survivors either become listless, as if they have lost their souls, or degenerate into "old greaseballs"—shifty, cowardly veterans whom even a stray dog would despise.

Yet, this does not mean they have become utter waste. Give them a decent officer to lead them, or help them understand the purpose of their fight, and when they return to the battlefield, they can still display astonishing courage. This cursed war constantly turns men into ghosts and ghosts back into men, a cycle of transformation between the human and the demonic—who the hell could ever clearly explain it?

—Excerpt from *Hu Shuo* (Hu’s Ramblings), a collection of diaries by Hu Biao.

Even in this era, Shanghai has not yet developed into the top-ten global metropolis it would become in the modern era. Nanxiang Town is still considered a suburb of Shanghai. Even so, as Hu Biao and his men entered the town, they could see that this ancient settlement was far more prosperous than the villages they had passed along the way.

The streets and alleys were paved with aged bluestone slabs. On both sides of the roads stood numerous shops, hanging traditional shop banners, while many walls were adorned with large, modern advertisements for products like Standard hair oil, Fairy brand cigarettes, Asia kerosene, and the latest films. One could imagine that in normal times, this place must have been bustling, with shop clerks calling out to customers and crowds of people filling the streets. A Shanghai matron, sporting a trendy hairstyle and wearing a cheongsam, walking through such a scene would be the most beautiful sight of all.

In particular, Hu Biao caught sight of a unique advertisement. It was special because it promoted the Paramount Ballroom, one of Shanghai’s high-end entertainment venues. The poster featured a high-quality rendering of the ballroom, even by modern standards. On it was a woman with a wavy hairstyle, a hint of exotic allure in her eyes, and a floral cheongsam. Beside her was a caption: "When the moon is bright and the stars are few, and the lights shine like silk; where can one rest one's feet? In the high towers of the cold moon palace. We dare not dream of wandering the heavens, but here, there is no barrier between heaven and earth. Miss Annie, the number one beauty of the Shanghai dance halls, awaits your visit at the Paramount."

Even with Hu Biao’s modern sensibilities, the woman named Annie caught his eye and left him genuinely stunned. He found himself thinking that if he could truly escape into the foreign concessions and make his first fortune, he would, at any cost, go to the Paramount, hold this woman named Annie in his arms, and dance the night away. The thought was quite exhilarating.

Unfortunately, his excitement quickly dissipated. He realized that every shop in town had its doors barred, and there were hardly any civilians to be seen, let alone any fashionable Shanghai matrons. Instead, there were only Nationalist soldiers everywhere, wearing various styles of uniforms, their expressions either blank or tense.

Hu Biao was instantly brought back to reality: this was a war zone where one could die at any moment. Survival had to be the priority.

After asking several people in town, the remnants of the Third Replacement Company finally located the command post for the Nationalist Army’s Songhu front line. However, they were intercepted about a hundred or two hundred meters away. A barricade made of sandbags and barbed wire blocked the narrow street. Behind it stood only a squad of guards, but they were clearly elite troops from the Central Army. They wore rare M35 helmets, carried brand-new Chiang Kai-shek rifles, and had a Type 24 heavy machine gun as their firing point. They were exceptionally well-equipped, and despite their small numbers, their presence was imposing.

The squad leader, a mere sergeant, shouted fiercely at them, "Halt! What are you doing here? Don't you know what place this is? Is this somewhere people like you can just walk into?"

As he spoke, the machine gunner nearby clicked his bolt, signaling that he would open fire if anyone dared to push forward.

Perhaps because the journey, especially the last two or three days, had been so grueling, the platoon leader—the highest-ranking officer present in the replacement company, a mere second lieutenant—seemed to summon strength from the very bottom of his lungs and shouted back:

"The Third Replacement Company of the Su Province Security Regiment has arrived under orders. 132 men were expected; 57 have arrived. All missing personnel died in the enemy air raids or from subsequent wounds and illnesses. Not a single man deserted."

Heaven knows why, but after the platoon leader shouted those words, Hu Biao and the other four, who had been slouching and demoralized from their long trek, felt as if they had been struck by lightning. A jolt ran through them. They each instinctively puffed out their chests, sucked in their stomachs, and straightened their backs, striving to stand in the most standard military posture possible.

Indeed, it wasn't just the five of them; every remaining member of the company, including those who needed support, used all their strength to stand tall. Even the severely wounded men being carried sat up on their makeshift stretchers.

Why did they do this? It was certainly not just because these rookies didn't want to be looked down upon by the elites of the Central Army. Or rather, being looked down upon was fine, but the brothers and comrades who had died on the road could not be slighted in the least.

Fortunately, the iron-blooded spirit displayed by the decimated Sixth Replacement Company at that moment successfully moved the others. The sergeant’s expression turned solemn, and he snapped a perfect military salute. The other soldiers followed suit with equal gravity. They were elite German-trained troops, yes, but they were also soldiers of this long-suffering nation.

The sergeant’s expression softened, and he said, "Brothers, you’ve had a hard journey. Rest by the side of the road for a moment, just don't block the path. I’ll go report your arrival."

Hearing this, everyone sat down under the eaves of a nearby building. No one told them how to behave, but even while seated, these men kept their backs straight. There was no other reason: this dignity had been bought by the brothers who had perished, and they would not let it fall into the dust.

***

After waiting for about twenty minutes, a sub-lieutenant staff officer appeared. He led the remnants of the Third Replacement Company around the outskirts of Nanxiang Town.

First, they took the wounded to a field hospital. It was not large, but the number of casualties was staggering. The cries and wailing could be heard from far away, and the doctors and nurses were working at a frantic pace. It served as a grim introduction to the cruelty of the Songhu battlefield for Hu Biao and his men.

Seeing how busy the hospital was, they didn't linger. The platoon leader completed the handover and registration of the wounded with a nurse whose eyes were full of exhaustion and whose voice had long since turned hoarse.

The men then followed the sub-lieutenant to a makeshift camp outside the town. After dropping off the wounded, the Third Replacement Company was now down to 48 men.

The so-called makeshift camp was really just a drafty courtyard that already housed one or two hundred people. The uniforms these men wore were all different, though uniformly ragged; many didn't even have shoes, let alone rifles. They gathered in small groups, their faces filled with numbness and confusion. They barely reacted to the arrival of the survivors from the Third Replacement Company, moving like soulless, walking corpses.

Around the perimeter, another squad of Central Army elites stood guard. Given the direction they were facing, it seemed less like they were guarding the camp and more like they were ensuring the men inside didn't wander off.

Seeing all of this, the middle-aged, paunchy Gao Yi felt his heart sink, and a strange, profound discomfort washed over him. He realized with a sinking feeling that this camp was a collection point for stragglers—each small group of soldiers represented a unit that had been completely wiped out. For every man here, ten or a hundred times as many had already died in this meat-grinder of a battlefield.

Thinking of this, Gao Yi felt a sharp ache in his chest.

"Damn those Japanese devils," he spat onto the ground, thinking to himself.