Chapter 138: New Recruit

In the spring of 1951, the snow on the Korean battlefield melted into a quagmire. Li Ping'an stood before the formation of new recruits, looking at sixty still‑childish faces, his heart pounding—half a year ago he had led a hundred‑plus men up Yellow Grass Ridge, and now only Tie Zhu and a few old brothers remained.

My name is Li Ping'an. His voice still carried the hoarse sand of the battlefield; behind him was your Company Commander. To give everyone a chance to survive, from now on I will train with you all, teaching you how to live on the battlefield.

A baby‑faced new recruit in the formation shouted out: I miss home......

Missing home? Li Ping'an walked up to him, ripped off his uniform with a swish to reveal a body full of scars, and said, Look! This is a welcome gift from the Americans! What your mother is waiting for at home is for you to return wearing a big red flower, not lying in a Wooden Box! Why are we here? Because the Americans want to invade our homeland, to leave us without food, without land to farm—do we agree to that?

"We won't agree, we won't agree, we won't agree!"

The new recruits' morale surged. Tie Zhu shuffled over, murmuring: Company Commander, this batch of babies averages eighteen, the youngest is only sixteen......

Sixteen what? Li Ping'an raised his voice, I was eleven when I beat up Little Devils! He said, picking up a rifle, today the instructor's lesson—how to stay alive!

The training ground instantly became lively. A city boy couldn't even hold his gun steady; Li Ping'an guided him hand‑by‑hand, shoulder to shoulder: Remember, the gun is your wife, you must hold her tight! The whole class burst into laughter. Another rural kid, strong but constantly missing the target, had his eyes covered: First, feel the weapon! The training ground was ablaze with activity; though everyone was strained, no one shouted they were tired, they gritted their teeth and persisted.

The real test came at night. When the bamboo whistle blew, the new recruits scattered like chickens fleeing a coop. Li Ping'an lifted his rifle and fired two shots into the sky: Freeze! You panic like this at the sound of a whistle? If we really opened fire, would you be any better?

He deliberately marched the unit under moonlight; a new recruit was so frightened he crawled on the ground and refused to rise. Li Ping'an, without a word, hoisted him and ran: If you're afraid of death, don't enlist! If you enlist, don't be afraid of death!

At dawn the unit lay sprawled on the riverbank. Li Ping'an brought over an ammunition box: Now lesson two—how to make the enemy die! He demonstrated improvised grenades made from captured American hand‑grenades, and used branches to cut rope, saying that because our gear is inferior we must be sharper than the Japanese Soldiers!

On the tenth day of training, enemy intel arrived. An American squad intended to ambush our supply route, and the higher‑ups ordered the new‑recruit company to block it. When the news spread, the new recruits' faces turned pale.

Perfect timing! Li Ping'an laughed instead, saying it was a good chance to test their mettle!

"Comrades, are you afraid?"

"Not afraid, not afraid!"

Li Ping'an: Not being afraid is a lie; we must think that even if we die, we should die with purpose, making our death worthwhile!

He led the troops to dig fortifications through the night, deliberately making the trench winding and convoluted. Tie Zhu couldn't understand: Company Commander, isn't this just an ant hill?

Exactly—to trap the Japanese Soldiers so they can get in but not out! Li Ping'an winked, then buried all kinds of traps in front of the position, tying grenades with horsehair and hanging explosives on vines.

At first light the battle erupted. The American troops fell for the trap, the vanguard stepped on a pit and exploded, sending men and horses tumbling. The new recruits still cowered, and when they saw the Americans shooting at the wounded, their eyes reddened.

At Li Ping'an's command, all the makeshift weapons were unleashed. An American tank got stuck in the trench and was burned by a Molotov cocktail into a twisted lump of steel. The student‑soldiers shouted English orders chaotically, confusing the enemy.

In the heat of battle, that baby‑faced recruit who missed home suddenly leapt from the trench, clutching an explosive pack and charging the machine gun nest. Li Ping'an shouted anxiously: Er Gouzi, come back!

Boom— the machine gun jammed. Li Ping'an's eyes flashed red as he snatched the gun and swept it: Revenge for Er Gouzi!

After the fight, the tally showed nine new recruits fallen, a hundred Japanese Soldiers killed, and two tanks destroyed. At the debrief no one could smile. Li Ping'an carefully kept the home letter left by Er Gouzi; on it, crookedly scrawled: Mother, I'll return home once I earn merit......

The next day's training, the new recruits seemed like different people; having seen blood and fought, they were no longer the same. Even the rural kid who always missed now fought with proper form, and the city boy had learned to dig shelters. Most importantly, the unit had spirit—at every assembly they first bowed in silence to the empty spots where fallen brothers had stood.

On a moonlit, star‑sparse night, Li Ping'an taught the new recruits the Volunteer Army battle song. As they sang, someone began to weep. He stopped directing and whispered: Remember this tune; when we win, we'll sing it on the way home.

A perfect opportunity suddenly arose. Higher‑ups ordered the capture of an American observation post, a hot job perched on a cliff—easy to defend, hard to attack.

"We'll go!" Li Ping'an seized the mission.

That night of the operation, he alone climbed up first with a rope, then lowered a rope for the others; a new recruit slipped and almost fell, but the rope saved him. Inside the observation post the Americans were drinking and playing cards, and when the sentry was spotted they shouted: Stop it!

When they saw the mud‑covered Volunteer Army, all their knives and forks fell to the ground. Li Ping'an said in broken English: Gentlemen, the party is over.

The Americans, panicked, saw a dozen guns pointed at them and could only raise their hands and surrender.

The mission was completed beautifully; they not only seized important documents but also captured an American staff officer and seized a lot of supplies and dry rations.

When the Army Commander came personally to commend them, Li Ping'an said: The credit belongs to the collective. He even kept the captured paratrooper knife; that thing is really something.

In the blink of an eye the locust‑flower trees were fragrant again. The new recruits had become a steel‑hardened unit, beating the Americans into confusion many times. Once they met an elite American squad; they used improvised cannons to blast a tank formation, and long bamboo poles to pry off steel helmets, making the enemy question their own lives.

During the lulls of battle, Li Ping'an always carved things out of spent shells. The curious new recruits gathered around and saw he was carving scenes from the hometowns of fallen comrades—Mount Tai in Shandong, bamboo forests of Sichuan, stone bridges of Jiangnan......

When the war ended, he would send those carvings home. He carved with such seriousness, as if handling a great affair.

The night before the next battle, the whole company sat on a hill watching the stars. The recruit who had once cried in fear suddenly said: Company Commander, I'm not afraid now.

Why?

Because you said, new recruits learn your tone: if you're afraid of death, don't enlist; if you enlist, don't be afraid of death!

Li Ping'an ruffled his hair and laughed. Under the moonlight, those young faces were as hard as steel. They might still feel fear, but they would never retreat—because behind them were countless mothers waiting for their children to return home.

At daybreak the unit prepared to move again. The new recruits tidied each other's gear as if heading to a market. Li Ping'an made a final check of the equipment, humming softly the drama that Ping Le loved to listen to.

This time he led not fresh eggs but a group of steel‑tempered swords. Their bayonets would split the dawn, their footsteps would reverberate through spring.