Chapter 132: Misty Yunshan

The morning fog over the Yunshan area was as thick as unmelted glue, and beyond five steps no one could be seen. Li Ping'an crouched on the ground, his palm gently pressing the frozen earth.

"Tie Zhu," he turned his head and whispered, "relay the message, get the gear ready."

The rookie Wang Da Niu couldn't help asking, "Company Commander, how did you figure that out?"

Li Ping'an scooped up some soil and let him smell it: "Smell anything? Diesel. The American iron turtle is just two li away."

Sure enough, a squeak of tracks pressing the ground came through the fog. Tie Zhu, tense, pulled the gun bolt and muttered, "Damn, how many are there?"

"One armored battalion," Li Ping'an squinted and listened closely, "Thirty iron turtles, with infantry following behind."

He suddenly turned and faced the whole company, "Did everyone memorize the chant for taking down iron turtles?"

The rookies shouted in unison, "Cut the legs, blindfold, scoop the heart!"

"Ready!" Li Ping'an drew his explosive tube, "Wang Da Niu take the first squad to cut legs, Tie Zhu take the second squad to blindfold, the third squad follow me to scoop the heart!"

The thick fog became the best veil. When the American tanks had all entered the valley, Li Ping'an sounded his bamboo whistle.

In an instant, the Demolition Group rolled large stones down from the cliff, sealing the retreat route tightly. The blinding team tossed chalk powder at the tanks' observation windows, causing the American soldiers to cough violently.

"Go!" Li Ping'an darted out like a raccoon, a bundle of hand grenades tucked under his arm. As the tank's machine guns sprayed, he slipped slickly under the lead vehicle's chassis.

Boom—

The lead tank's tracks snapped in response. The American soldiers hadn't recovered when charge bugles sounded from all directions.

Tie Zhu led the soldiers out of the fog, bayonet tips flashing coldly. An American officer raised his gun to fire, and Li Ping'an flicked a dagger that struck his wrist.

"Leave a survivor!" he shouted, "We need intelligence!"

The battle unfolded like a game of hide‑and‑seek. The Volunteer Army used the thick fog to appear and disappear, while the American soldiers flailed about like headless flies. Wang Da Niu followed the method taught in training, targeting the officers.

After half an hour, the fog gradually lifted. In the valley lay more than twenty disabled tanks in a haphazard mess, and the American prisoners crouched in a line. While tallying the spoils, Tie Zhu suddenly shouted, "Company Commander! This map marks a logistics warehouse!"

Li Ping'an unfolded the blood‑stained map, his eyes brightening: "It's thirty li from here. Wang Da Niu, change into American uniforms!"

The captured American major suddenly struggled, "You can't..."

"Tell him," Li Ping'an said to the English‑speaking clerk, "we're easing their burden."

Around noon, a strange-looking "American convoy" headed toward the logistics warehouse. Wang Da Niu, in ill‑fitting uniform, muttered, "These clothes smell really strong."

Li Ping'an sat on the co‑driver's seat polishing his gun: "Remember, if we get stopped for inspection, play the drunk."

The sentry guard was truly fooled and let them through. When the convoy entered the supply‑filled warehouse, Li Ping'an sounded the attack whistle.

The subsequent development was unexpected. The guard unit collapsed at the first touch, and the soldiers, staring at the mountain of canned goods, rubbed their eyes. Tie Zhu pried open a peach can, eating and crying, "My mother never saw so many tasty ones."

"Don't just eat!" Li Ping'an leapt onto a gasoline drum and shouted, "Carry as much as you can, and burn whatever can't be moved!"

Amid soaring flames, they escorted the prisoners back into the mountains. When American planes came to bomb, the unit had already slipped into the old forest.

At the evening debrief, Wang Da Zhuang scratched his head and asked, "Company Commander, how did you know the disguise as American soldiers would work?"

Li Ping'an heated the canned food and handed it to the wounded: "American soldiers care about rank; the enlisted ones don't dare scrutinize the officers."

He suddenly paused, looking toward the southern stars, "My sister should have received the letter by now."

At that moment in Beiping City, Ping Le was leaning over a map searching for Yunshan's location. Zhou Zhengwei pushed the door open and said, "Girl, your brother has earned merit again!"

Ping Le snatched the telegram and softly read the last line: "... the moon is full, seeing the moon feels like seeing a face."

She ran to the courtyard and performed Tai Chi before the moon, her movements tinged with the killing intent her brother taught her.

The victory news from the Yunshan battle spread across the Korean front. When Li Ping'an was summoned to the headquarters, he saw an old acquaintance.

The Political Commissar laughed, punching his chest, "Good kid! One company captured an American logistics post!"

"Just happened to," Li Ping'an said, looking at the map on the wall, "where's the next battle?"

The Army Commander's finger traced the sand table, "Yellow Grass Ridge. But your company gets rest..."

"No need," Li Ping'an straightened his back, "the soldiers are just getting fired up."

On the way back it started raining. Li Ping'an gave his raincoat to the wounded, and, drenched, led the troops in song. His hoarse voice startled the mountain birds, but made the soldiers' steps even more solid.

Tie Zhu leaned over and whispered, "Company Commander, I heard you're being promoted to battalion commander?"

Li Ping'an flicked the rain off his hair, "Wherever we are, we fight American devils."

When the rain stopped, they saw cooking smoke in a distant mountain gorge. The Recon Soldier reported it was a temporary village from the Korean homeland, and Li Ping'an immediately ordered, "Allocate thirty percent of the rations."

Wang Da Niu was reluctant to give up the canned food, "We don't even have enough for ourselves..."

"Forgot who showed us the road to Yunshan?" Li Ping'an glared, "If we didn't have the Korean homeland, we'd have been feeding the iron turtles long ago!"

When the villagers got the canned food, a woman named Amani said in Chinese, "China salami (people), Qiaosi mida (good)!"

During the night camp, while Li Ping'an was on guard duty, he saw Tie Zhu carving wood. Up close it was a rough airplane model.

"For my brother," Tie Zhu said sheepishly, "he wants an American airplane model."

Li Ping'an said nothing, pulling a small tank carved from a shell casing out of his pocket: "Swap and play."

When the moon rose, he stood at the sentry post recalling many things: the scent of the braised meat stall in Beiping, the morning he taught Ping Le to box, and the last snowy night of the Flying Eagle Team.

"What are you looking at?" Tie Zhu sat down beside him.

"Looking at home," Li Ping'an pointed south, "after the battle, I'll treat you to marinated stew."

Before dawn on the second day, the order came: a forced march to Yellow Grass Ridge. Before departing, Li Ping'an gathered the whole company, pointing at the sun just peeking over the east.

"We are now fighting with our backs to the motherland," he said softly, yet his words pierced each heart, "so that our families can see a sun like this every day."

The unit slipped away silently, their boots creaking on the snow. It was like countless ordinary mornings, the sound of doors opening in Beiping's alleys.