Chapter 146: Blood‑Red Shangganling

The autumn wind of '52 swept over the ridge, carrying a burnt smell and the scent of blood. The summit of Shangganling was repeatedly plowed by shells, turning the surface soil into black ash.

Li Ping'an crouched in the tunnel, polishing his rifle by the dim light of a kerosene lamp. He did it slowly and carefully, as if tending to a treasured heirloom from his ancestors. Suddenly, a shell detonated at the tunnel mouth, shaking loose clods of earth that rained down.

Battalion Commander, which round is this? Signalman Xiao Liu asked while brushing ash from his head.

Who can keep count. Li Ping'an didn't even lift his head; Fan Fuli Te was truly furious this time.

From deep within the tunnel came the groans of the wounded. A medic was treating a soldier hit in the abdomen; with no anesthetic, he could only stuff a bandage into the man's mouth to keep him from biting his tongue.

Report! A Recon Soldier covered in dirt crawled in: Hill 597.9 is lost, the entire 7th Company annihilated!

The tunnel fell eerily silent. Li Ping'an paused his polishing, then resumed. He fitted the last component, pulled the bolt, and a crisp sound rang out.

Understood. His voice was chillingly calm as he ordered all companies to prepare for a night assault.

After night fell completely, the artillery finally ceased. Li Ping'an led the assault team out of the tunnel stealthily. The air was thick with gunpowder smoke and the stench of rotting corpses, making anyone nauseous.

They moved through the craters like night owls. Li Ping'an took the lead, each step taken with extreme caution. Suddenly, he raised his fist, and the whole squad froze.

From ahead came the chatter of American soldiers and the clatter of cans being opened. In the darkness, a few American soldiers could be seen sitting in the fortifications, eating.

Li Ping'an gestured a few signals; the warriors instantly understood and split into two routes. One looped around the flank, the other followed him for a frontal charge.

Gunfire erupted, and grenades blossomed inside the American fortifications. The fight ended quickly; the American soldiers never had time to organize a defense.

Clearing the battlefield, gathering ammunition. Li Ping'an lowered his voice.

The warriors moved with swift efficiency. Wang Da Niu pulled a box of chocolate from an American officer, slipped it into his pocket: a treat for the wounded.

At that moment, machine‑gun fire crackled from the side. It turned out there was a hidden bunker nearby, and the earlier noise had alerted the enemies inside.

Scatter! Li Ping'an shouted, rolling into a crater at the same time.

Bullets chased his heels, kicking up dust. A few warriors didn't have time to dodge and fell into pools of blood.

Demolition Group! Li Ping'an called.

Two soldiers carrying explosive packs crawled forward, both hit by machine‑gun fire. The third squad tried to advance but was stopped by Li Ping'an.

I'll go.

He stripped his gear, carrying only two bundles of grenades and a dagger. Using the crater and night as cover, he slipped toward the bunker like a silent wildcat.

The bunker's machine gun was still spitting fire, bullets slicing the night sky and leaving streaks of light. Li Ping'an held his breath, calculating the gaps between the gun's bursts.

Three, two, one!

At the instant the machine gun was reloading, he leapt, hurling a grenade precisely into the firing port. A booming crack rang out, and the bunker fell silent.

Nice! The warriors behind couldn't help but cheer.

After retaking Hill 597.9, Li Ping'an immediately organized the defense. He knew that at first light the American soldiers would launch a frenzied counter‑attack.

Sure enough, at dawn the next day, the Americans opened fire. This barrage was harsher than any before, shaking the entire ridge.

Enter the artillery shelter! Li Ping'an shouted hoarsely.

The warriors quickly ducked into tunnels and the artillery shelter. The bombardment roared for over an hour; when it finally stopped, the surface fortifications were completely flattened.

Prepare for battle! Li Ping'an was the first to burst out of the tunnel.

The American soldiers had already begun their charge. Waves of troops surged up the high ground under tank cover.

Close‑range fire! Li Ping'an ordered, focus on infantry!

Gunfire roared across the position. The American soldiers fell like cut wheat, yet those behind kept rushing upward under the officer's urging.

Battalion Commander! Tanks are coming up on the left! the observation post shouted.

Li Ping'an peeked out and saw an American tank climbing the slope, its tracks grinding over the ruins with a harsh metallic screech.

Anti‑tank team!

Three warriors charged forward with anti‑tank grenades. The first was cut down by a machine gun midway, the second was hit by a bullet as he approached, and the third finally jammed a grenade into the tracks, but the tank only shuddered and kept moving forward.

Damn it! Li Ping'an cursed, grabbing the last bundle of anti‑tank grenades himself.

Battalion Commander, that was too close! Lao Chen grabbed him.

Let go! Li Ping'an shoved him away, this is an order!

He circled toward the tank using the crater and obstacles. Bullets whizzed past his ears; one skimmed his cheek, leaving a streak of blood.

About ten meters from the tank, he sprang and tossed the grenade precisely into the seam of the engine cover.

Boom!

The tank belched thick smoke and finally gave out. The blast wave tossed Li Ping'an, who crashed heavily into a crater.

Battalion Commander! A few warriors are coming to rescue.

Leave me alone! Li Ping'an struggled to rise, holding the line!

The battle raged from dawn to dusk. The Americans launched seven assaults, all repelled. The ground in front of the position was littered with corpses, both American and ours.

When night fell, fewer than thirty men remained able to fight on the position. Li Ping'an's left arm was grazed by shrapnel; after a quick bandage it still seeped blood.

He tallied casualties and collected ammunition. His throat was hoarse to the point of being barely audible.

The warriors silently carried out orders. No one spoke; only the sounds of moving supplies and treating the wounded could be heard.

In the middle of the night, Lin Xueqing led a medical team through artillery fire to bring medicine. Seeing the grim state of the position, she inhaled a sharp gasp.

You all......

We won't die. Li Ping'an forced a weak smile, "Did you bring the medicine?"

Lin Xueqing nodded and began treating the wounds. Seeing the injury on Li Ping'an's arm, she furrowed her brows: "That needs stitching."

First tend to the seriously wounded. Li Ping'an brushed it off.

Lin Xueqing didn't insist, but whenever she treated other patients she lingered near Li Ping'an, intentionally or not.

Here you go. She slipped an apple to Li Ping'an when no one was looking, brought from the rear.

The apple was a bit wilted, but on the front line it was a rare treat. Li Ping'an took it, carefully split it in half, and handed the larger piece to Lin Xueqing.

One piece each.

The two of them silently munched apples in the weak moonlight. In the glow of artillery fire, their shadows swayed on the tunnel walls, sometimes overlapping, sometimes separating.

Do you remember that little girl from Han City? Lin Xueqing suddenly asked.

Li Ping'an nodded, pulling out the dried forsythia from his chest pocket: he had always carried it.

She had sent a letter. Lin Xueqing pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper from her medical kit, saying she had started school and could now write Chinese characters.

The letters on the paper were crooked, but each stroke was careful: 'Thank you, uncle and aunt; when I grow up, I want to be a doctor.'

Li Ping'an stared at the letter, silent for a long time. In the distance, artillery fire sounded again—another round of battle was about to begin.

You should go back. He folded the letter carefully and put it away.

Lin Xueqing looked at him and suddenly said quickly, 'You must definitely stay alive.'

Having said that, she turned and slipped into the tunnel, withdrawing with the medical team.

The next day, the Americans' offensive grew even more frenzied. They dispatched bombers, carpet-bombing the high ground. The entire hilltop was lowered by two meters, and the tunnels collapsed in several places.

Battalion Commander, we're running low on ammunition!' the supply officer reported.

Li Ping'an counted: the entire battalion had fewer than ten rounds per person on average, and only a few grenades remained.

Pick up stones, prepare for bayonet combat!

The soldiers moved all the movable stones to the front of the position and fixed bayonets on their rifles. Everyone understood that the final moment was coming.

At three in the afternoon, the Americans launched their fiercest attack of the day. This time they committed an entire regiment, a dark mass surging toward the high ground.

Comrades! Li Ping'an stood at the highest point of the position, 'Today I'll let those Yankees see what a Chinese soldier is made of!'

The soldiers let out a earth-shaking roar. As the Americans approached the position, stones rained down like hail, then came the last bullets, and finally the gleaming bayonets.

Li Ping'an lifted his rifle with bayonet fixed and was the first to leap out of the trench. His Baji Quan merged into bayonet technique—each move precise and lethal. An American soldier raised his rifle to block, but Li Ping'an shook his weapon away and thrust straight at the throat.

The position became a scene of primitive slaughter. Wang Da Niu split an American soldier's helmet with his iron shovel, though he himself was hit and fell. Lao Kela fired the last grenade, charging into the enemy ranks.

Li Ping'an killed until his eyes were blood‑red, wounds mounting on his body, yet he felt nothing. Under his leadership, the soldiers summoned their last courage and actually managed to repel the Americans' attack again.

By nightfall, only seven remained in the position, each covered in scars, ammunition completely exhausted.

'Battalion Commander, should we still hold?' a young soldier asked, his left ear half‑sheared off, blood staining half his face.

Li Ping'an looked at this possibly under‑twenty youngster, then suddenly laughed: 'Hold, of course we hold. As long as there's still one of us, the position is ours.'

Just then, a bugle call came from the rear. The reinforcements had finally arrived!

Watching the fresh troops take over the position, the surviving soldiers burst into tears, heads in their hands. Li Ping'an, however, walked alone to the edge of the position, gazing at the American campfires down the mountain, silent for a long time.

'Battalion Commander, a commendation from headquarters!' the new signal corpsman came running, excited.

Li Ping'an didn't turn his head, only softly asking, 'How many of us are left?'

The signal corpsman hesitated, then replied in a low voice, 'The whole battalion... only twenty‑three left.'

Li Ping'an nodded, pulling out the forsythia from his pocket. After days of battle, the petals were shattered, but the core remained intact.

He carefully buried the flower in the blood‑soaked earth, whispering, 'Come next spring, this place will surely be covered in blossoms.'