CHAPTER 7: INTO THE COMBAT BAPTISM

　　San-Shao genuinely liked Battalion Commander Zhou. Though the stone-lifting was a minor "punishment," it gave him a deep sense of accomplishment. When Zhou took the stone himself, gratitude flooded San-Shao’s heart.

　　"Third Platoon Leader!" Zhou said, still panting. "Take these two to eat."

　　Zhong Fang nodded. "Move out. Finish quickly—new recruit drills this afternoon."

　　Yaoting helped San-Shao up, following Zhong out. The mess hall waited around the corner. Zhou watched them leave, a smile tugging his lips. These recruits were... interesting.

　　Fifteen days vanished. The Dongs now moved to the army’s drumbeat: dawn runs, night bayonet drills, daytime rifle practice and grenade throwing.

　　Then at eight p.m., an assembly whistle shredded the night.

　　San-Shao stared blankly. "Goddammit! What's this whistle blowing for?"

　　The emergency whistle's shriek hit. Yaoting instantly shouldered his pack. "San-Shao! Move! The unit deploys!"

　　San-Shao finally caught on. Frantically lashing bedding with straps, he joined the flood of recruits and veterans pooling onto the drill ground. Battalion Commander Zhou Zhidao stood flanked by Deputy Zhang Degang (concurrently 4th Company Commander) and radio operators. A ring of veterans raised pine-pitch torches, painting the field in shuddering amber.

　　Zhang Degang sprinted to Zhou, snapped a salute. "Reporting, Commander! New Company: 120 present, 120 accounted for. Veteran Company: 130 present, 130 accounted for! Orders?"

　　Zhou returned the salute. "Immediate deployment!"

　　"Yes, sir!" Zhang spun, bellowing: "COMPANY! LEFT... FACE!"

　　After both units pivoted, his voice cracked the night again:

　　"Veteran Company! First and Second Platoons lead! Third and Fourth Platoons rear guard!"

　　The veterans split cleanly—one block surging ahead, another sealing the rear.

　　San-Shao frowned. "Young Master, what's this split formation?" he whispered.

　　"Fool!" Yaoting hissed back. "Front guides. Rear stops rookies running."

　　"Oh." San-Shao grumbled lower. "Blind man lighting a lamp—useless effort! I wanted to run? Couldn't catch me."

　　Yaoting's whisper turned icy. "Think like that? I disown you as brother."

　　San-Shao chuckled. "Look at you! 'If,' I said! 'If'!" His knuckles brushed Yaoting's sleeve. "Where you march, I march. That's... nailed to the plank. Never changes."

　　Yaoting grunted in acknowledgment. Zhang Facai—the Sichuanese brawler—leaned in from the next file, voice thick with regional tang:

　　"Haven't smelled Jap powder yet, and already your melon-son brains plot desertion? Screw your ancestral tablets!"

　　Yaoting's brow knotted. San-Shao's growl vibrated low: "Zhang Facai! Curse us again, Jap-loving scum—your last breath!"

　　Zhang snorted. "You two pups kill me? Spare me laughter! Not shot a Jap yet—and you crow like roosters?"

　　San-Shao’s voice hardened to flint: "You just wait! When I take out Japs—I’ll kill devils!" Zhang Facai grunted. " Brother, I see your grit—tough as ironwood. " His whisper dropped lower. " But Jap bullets don't check manhood cards. Don't rush like a fool. Slow sails survive storms—dig? " Yaoting touched Zhang's shoulder. "Old Brother... thanks." San-Shao recalled his father's warnings: Heed grey-hairs, or grief bites. True words. Their whispers carried. Platoon Leader Zhong Fang barked: " SILENCE IN RANKS! " Three mouths snapped shut. Eight p.m. to first light—forced march ended. Battalion Commander Zhou called halt. Yaoting scanned the terrain. Jiangxi. " Where in Jiangxi, Lieutenant? " he asked Zhong Fan. Zhong fanned himself with his cap. Sweat-plastered hair clung to his temples. " De'an County. " Both Dongs blinked blankly. Yaoting swallowed further questions. Ten minutes. The whistle tore air. " SQUAAAAD... MOVE! " Company Commander Zhang Degang roared. Yaoting rose, horizon swimming after a sleepless night. First all-nighter of his life—and spent marching. A lump of cold rice was their midnight ration. San-Shao groaned. "Should've dodged conscription, Young Master! Marching all night... cold rice lumps... this army grinds men to dust!" Yaoting's boot cracked into San-Shao's ass-bone. "Yowch!" " Another goddamn whine? Get lost! " San-Shao forced a grin. " Right, Young Master. Zipped."

　　Yaoting chuckled. " Who gagged you? Just quit that assless whining! We fight for home and nation—for every parent and sister! Dig? " San-Shao nodded "Oh-oh," but his mind churned: This land's vast—why must I bleed for strangers? What's my cut? Die unknown? He swallowed the words—one peep meant Yaoting's boots in his ribs. Zhang Facai's eyes lit up. " Kid, you talk like an inked scholar! Survive this war—officer material! " Yaoting puffed up, elbowing San-Shao: " Hear that, dumbass? His words lift souls—unlike your turd-mouth! " Seeing Yaoting's joy, San-Shao glowed—gratitude softening his gaze toward Zhang. Zhang grinned. " Dumb melon! Grinning 'cause I praised your master? " " Old Brother, " San-Shao murmured, "Keep him this bright... I'll repay you." Zhang whistled low. " Damn, Yaoting! A servant this loyal? Makes my teeth green! " Yaoting bristled. " San-Shao! 'Young Master' ends now. That title curdles my blood! " San-Shao froze mid-protest— " HIT DIRT! " a voice screamed. KABOOM! Ahead, bodies atomized into pink mist.

　　Brutally Accurate Combat Translation (Strict Fidelity): Platoon Leader Zhong Fang’s scream ripped the air: “SCATTER! JAP ARTILLERY! ” San-Shao grabbed Yaoting, tumbling headlong down the slope. Zhang Facai crashed down behind them. The spot they’d just vacated erupted—a dozen recruits shredded mid-air, raining dismembered limbs. San-Shao wailed at the horror. Yaoting trembled violently: “Run! San-Shao—RUN!” “Young Master! Hold tight—don’t let go!” San-Shao sobbed. “Roll toward the river! Bombs can’t bite rivers!” Yaoting hooked arms around San-Shao’s waist as they pitched into the rapids, Zhang plunging after. Above, Battalion Commander Zhou directed veterans to cover. Company Commander Zhang Degang roared: “VETS—COVER THE GREENHORNS! ” Jap dive-bombers screamed down, rat-tat-tat chewing earth—more men fell. Half the battalion’s two hundred men now lay dead or maimed. Surviving recruits shrieked ‘Momma!’ The rest-stop was five smoking craters. Dismembered limbs strewed the ground; heads stared with gaping eyes bulging in skulls. Zhou raged—useless against raw terror. A dozen recruits begged for discharge. “FUCKING PERFECT TIMING!” Zhou snarled as Zhang Degang sprinted over: “Jap squad ahead! Thirty men! ” “ATTACK FORMATION! ” Zhou’s order cracked like whiplash. “VETS FRONT—GREENHORNS WATCH HOW WE SLAUGHTER DEVILS! ” Zhang Degang whirled: “ALL VETERANS—FIX BAYONETS! ”