Chapter 312: Transfer
On the outskirts of Taiyuan, in a Japanese bunker that had just been captured by the Eighth Route Army, the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, dust, and blood.
Exhausted Li Yunlong was leaning image-less against a wall half-collapsed by shellfire, dozing off.
On his weather-beaten, smoke-stained face hung a silly expression of deep sleep, with stubble clearly visible on his chin.
Around him, the old-timers from his independent regiment were doing the same.
Some hugging their guns, some leaning against walls, many already snoring thunderously, rising and falling like a symphony of fatigue.
Everyone was a veteran who had crawled out of piles of corpses, and they all understood an unshakeable truth: on the battlefield, any lull in fighting is the best time to rest.
Because no one knew when the next battle would start or how long it would last. Seizing every available moment to keep one’s energy at peak condition was the best guarantee for survival.
Just as Li Yunlong was sleeping soundly, probably bragging to Kong Jie and Ding Wei in his dream, a voice sounded beside him.
“Li Yunlong… Li Yunlong… get up… stop sleeping.”
The voice wasn’t loud, but it persistently drilled into his ears.
“Damn it, who’s disturbing my rest!” Awakened Li Yunlong cursed without fully opening his eyes—this was his instinctive reaction etched into his bones.
No sooner had he spoken than a louder voice boomed like thunder in the cramped bunker, shaking dust from the walls.
“It’s me disturbing you… so what, wanna spar with me?”
This time, Li Yunlong was fully awake.
He jerked his eyes open, recognized the familiar face with a hint of anger, jolted in fright, and sprang up from the ground like a spring under his butt. He hastily brushed dust off himself and snapped a fairly standard salute to the man.
“Hello, brigade commander… how come you’re here?”
The man was none other than the brigade commander who had rushed straight from a meeting in Wutaixian to the front lines.
The brigade commander looked at the filthy Li Yunlong, reeking of gunpowder from head to toe, and his stern face, tightened by that earlier “damn it,” softened somewhat.
He clapped a heavy hand on Li Yunlong’s shoulder, shaking off another layer of dust.
“Li Yunlong, in this series of battles on the outskirts of Taiyuan, your independent regiment and Ding Wei’s new first regiment fought well, showcasing the might of our Eighth Route Army!”
“I’ve already requested commendations from headquarters for you and your independent regiment’s fighters, but…”
He changed tack, his expression turning serious.
“Given the continuous fighting of the independent regiment and new first regiment these days, with losses in manpower and ammo, the joint command has decided to pull you back for a few days’ rest. 771 Regiment and 772 Regiment will relieve you.”
“What…”
Li Yunlong nearly jumped three feet high at those words. His sleepy eyes instantly bulged like copper bells.
“No way… absolutely not! Why, brigade commander?”
His shout woke all the hazy onlookers around him. They opened their eyes, pricking up ears, watching their regimental commander and brigade commander.
Li Yunlong scratched his head in frantic anxiety, spittle nearly spraying Brigade Commander Chen’s face:
“Brigade commander! Our independent regiment has taken some casualties, and ammo consumption is high, but that’s within normal limits.
Our independent regiment is still very combat-effective. If you don’t believe me, I’ll issue a military order right now to guarantee completing the next battles!”
“Enough, enough…”
Brigade Commander Chen impatiently waved him off, interrupting his bravado. Staring into Li Yunlong’s eyes, he asked word by word:
“Li Yunlong, cut the act with me. Tell me honestly, how many men does your independent regiment have left now?”
Pinned by Brigade Commander Chen’s sharp eyes, Li Yunlong’s bluster deflated. He stammered, eyes darting, his earlier fearless swagger gone.
“Well…”
Li Yunlong hesitated, then like a naughty child, hung his head and quietly reported:
“In these days’ battles, our regiment… lost 526 fighters killed, 627 wounded. Excluding the severely wounded sent to rear hospitals, the regiment now has… 1,538 combat-ready.”
He snapped his head up, as if volume could make up for the numbers.
“But brigade commander, rest assured! Though our regiment isn’t at full strength, I guarantee to you… we…”
“Enough!”
Brigade Commander Chen impatiently waved, cutting off the assurances that had worn his ears thin.
“Your casualty rate is nearly half, and you’re still showing off here! Get back to Wutaixian for rest immediately!”
Brigade Commander Chen’s voice suddenly rose, brooking no discussion.
“Remember… this isn’t a negotiation… it’s an order, to be executed immediately!”
“I… I…”
Li Yunlong’s face fell, his expression like having dead rats stuffed in his mouth—bitter, sour, disgusting, features twisted. He opened his mouth to argue, but seeing Brigade Commander Chen’s unyielding gaze, he swallowed his words.
Military orders are like mountains.
Though a thousand times unwilling, he could only droop his head and mutter: “Yes…”
…
Meanwhile, in another sector of the Taiyuan front, a similar scene was unfolding.
New First Regiment commander Ding Wei was observing the Japanese positions through binoculars when his political commissar handed him a telegram. Ding Wei glanced at it, his brows knitting tightly.
“Brigade orders: our regiment withdraw immediately from combat, hand over defenses, return to rear for rest.”
“Regimental commander, this is good— the lads are worn out,” the commissar advised.
Ding Wei lowered the binoculars, sighed, eyes full of reluctance: “Rest? I’ve just found a Japanese artillery position, planning to raid it tonight… pulling us now? I bet Li Yunlong’s that kid is jumping mad and cursing right now.”
Though equally unwilling, Ding Wei was far calmer than Li Yunlong. He handed the telegram back to the signals officer and ordered: “Notify all battalions, prepare to hand over positions, withdraw!”
Pre-battle troop movements spread like an invisible net across dozens of miles around Taiyuan.
The Shanxi militia side was the same.
In the overall command post, after issuing the general assault order, Su Yaoyang immediately ordered unit rotations. First Regiment and Sixth Regiment, battle-worn for days, were pulled back for rest and replenishment.
Meanwhile, the rested Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth Infantry Regiments quietly moved to the front, taking over their positions.
Of course, not all units enjoyed this “good fortune.”
As the militia’s iron fist and backbone, First and Second Armored Regiments, plus the two artillery regiments and air defense regiment as fire support, still had to hold the line. Their tasks were heavier, providing the most direct, fiercest support for the coming general assault.
In the joint command post, Yang Aiyuan’s side was a hive of activity, tension like a fully drawn bowstring.
He was deploying troops every second; several sternly worded telegrams flew out from the cryptographers, and the newly installed hand-crank phone rang nonstop.
“What? Troops sniped by Japanese small units, advance blocked?”
Yang Aiyuan snatched the receiver, bellowing into it, spittle flying: “Lv Ruiying, I’m telling you, by tomorrow evening, your troops must reach the designated positions on Taiyuan’s outskirts.
No excuses—if you can’t do it, I’ll replace you with someone who can as army commander!”
He caught his breath, tone unyielding: “Also, have 69th Division move immediately to Xinxian line to build blocking defenses.
I don’t care how, but absolutely prevent Japanese reinforcements from the north from approaching Taiyuan!”
Hanging up, he wearily rubbed his brow.
In a nearby room, the just-returned Brigade Commander Chen was speaking lowly and gravely to his partner, 386’s Wang political commissar.
“Old Wang… from the current situation, this battle’s scale far exceeds our initial estimates.
386 Brigade’s strength alone is far from enough. We must report the situation in detail to headquarters immediately and request urgent reinforcements!”
“Mm… I think so too.”
Wang political commissar was a seasoned cadre; partnering with Brigade Commander Chen meant he was no slouch. He nodded gravely in agreement.
He said: “Old Chen… no time to waste. Draft the telegram now; once done, we’ll co-sign and send it out!”
“Alright!”
The brigade commander pulled over a table and picked up a pen.
A larger storm was brewing over Taiyuan.
Late night, Eighth Route Army headquarters.
Under the dim oil lamp, the atmosphere was solemn and tense.
The only sound was the telegraph’s dots and dashes.
The telegram confirmed their judgment: the Battle of Taiyuan had escalated into a major campaign deciding North China’s war situation.
He slammed the telegram on the table; under bushy brows, eagle-sharp eyes looked to the deputy chief of staff: “Old partner, what do you think?”
The deputy chief of staff adjusted his glasses on his nose bridge; he’d scrutinized the Taiyuan-area deployments on the map countless times and had a plan.
“With the battle scale exploding, especially Jin-Sui Army and Central Army’s massive involvement, 386 Brigade alone can’t control the situation and risks marginalization. We must reinforce!”
“Mm.”
He nodded, paced twice in the crude command post, stamping the ground firm: “Since Su Yaoyang’s made such a splash, dragging in Yan Xishan and Chiang’s men, we Eighth Route Army can’t just watch from the sidelines. We’re a main force in taking Taiyuan—this initiative we won’t lose!”
His gaze fell back on the map, finger slamming on 129 Division’s marker.
“Telegram to 129 Division: move New First Brigade too, under Old Chen’s unified command. Tell them, move fast!”
The order was quickly drafted and sent.
Only then did the command post’s tension ease slightly.
A rare smile cracked his taut face; with a teasing tone, he chuckled to the deputy chief of staff:
“Who told that kid Su Yaoyang to be such a low-key big landowner?
Since he’s so generous, we won’t stand on ceremony—send New First Brigade too for a sip of soup and a bite of the rich! Anyway, he won’t go broke!”
“Haha…” The deputy chief of staff laughed too.
………..
At Jiou River Airport, dozens of kilometers from Wutaixian, the atmosphere contrasted sharply with the front command post’s tension.
In the officers’ club, under dim hanging lamps, smoke curled; air mixed with whiskey’s rich aroma, beer’s foam, and cigarette sharpness.
A phonograph tirelessly played upbeat American swing; raucous music, men’s laughter, and clinking glasses wove a wartime indulgence and joy.
This club, originally for American volunteer pilots, was once dominated by blond, blue-eyed foreigners.
But as “Thunderbolt Air Squadron” grew, more Chinese pilots joined, Asian faces multiplying.
Now, once-dominant American pilots were the minority, enthusiastically boasting exploits to Chinese comrades in broken Chinese and exaggerated gestures.
In an unremarkable corner of the club, pilot Li Xiuming sat bored alone on a soft leather sofa.
He ignored his comrades’ banter, idly swirling his glass, watching amber liquor trace arcs on the walls, his handsome face etched with silence clashing with the surroundings.
“Hey, Xiuming. Thinking of your little hunter wife again?”
A flushed comrade approached with a glass, slapping his shoulder hard and hollering.
Nearby pilots burst into laughter, casting teasing glances.
“Our Li the great hero: eagle biting Jap planes in the sky, scaredy-cat hubby on the ground!”
“You bet! Whole squadron knows Xiuming’s the model ‘twenty-four filial husband’—on leave, his soul flies home early!”
Facing his comrades’ good-natured ribbing, Li Xiuming just tugged a helpless corner of his mouth in a wry smile.
Everyone knew he’d married a hunter’s daughter; they were inseparably loving post-wedding, the envy of the whole airport. He was indeed thinking of her—whether she’d slept, or lay awake worrying about him.
He sipped the liquor; the sharp liquid slid down his throat, but couldn’t dispel his heartfelt longing.
