Chapter 75: Weapon Equipment 4

Li Yuxuan returned to the Fifth Army camp and arrived just as the Training Ground was at its liveliest. The winter sun filtered through sparse clouds, gilding the gray‑brown camp with a golden rim and lighting the rows of brand‑new Renault FT‑17 Tanks on the field— they resembled coiled steel beasts, their tracks leaving fresh, earth‑colored marks on the ground.

The figures of the German Consultant Group stood out among the tanks. Guderian was crouched on a tank's hatch, clutching half a piece of chalk and swiftly sketching tactical diagrams on the armor plate. He alternated between leaning forward to mark shooting blind spots and sitting up to gesture the advance routes of the armored clusters; chalk dust fell onto his uniform, mixing with his golden hair, yet it did not at all affect his focused explanation.

"Do you see this?" he tapped the turret position with the chalk tip, his voice carried by the interpreter to the soldiers' ears. "The FT‑17's advantage lies in its agility; its turning radius is half that of the Japanese tanks you previously used. In hilly terrain you must exploit this trait to bypass enemy fire points…"

Not far away, Rommel was demonstrating tank‑infantry coordination, holding two wooden sticks—one representing a tank, the other an infantry squad—and mapping an attack formation on the ground: "When the tank advances, infantry must keep a ten‑meter distance and follow; the left side provides anti‑tank cover, the right side watches the flank for raids. Remember, you are a single unit, not separate forces!"

The soldiers crowded in three layers deep on each side, necks craned like giraffes, excitement practically spilling from their eyes. These youngsters from the fields, who yesterday were fiddling with old rifles, today could get up close to the legendary "iron clod"; many instinctively reached to touch the tank's cold hull, and even when the metal burned their hands back, they felt no pain, instead grinning widely.

"Commander, you're finally back!" the Adjutant jogged up, his cap askew, "The operators from the United States have arrived, over three hundred personnel, currently calibrating equipment on the 'Saratoga', saying they'll teach our men how to operate an aircraft carrier!"

Li Yuxuan nodded, handing over the wooden crate he held. At the moment the crate struck, the rustle of the bills inside rang clearly, a heavy reminder. "Deposit the money in the bank," he said hoarsely, "first pay this month's wages to the operators, and settle the fuel costs in the depot; don't let anyone say we're in arrears."

"Yes!" the Adjutant took the crate, his steps cautious as he turned—he could gauge the weight of the money and felt the expectations and pressure pressing behind it even more clearly.

Li Yuxuan walked slowly toward the Training Ground, his gaze sweeping each corner like a searchlight. Manstein was crouched before a massive Sand Table, tracing a defensive line with a thin wooden stick; around him stood Division Commanders Du Yuming, Song Xilian and others, brows knit as they debated, occasionally planting small flags on the Sand Table to represent troops. Not far away on the airstrip, Goering was directing German technicians inspecting the engine of a Fokker D. VII fighter, blue‑white smoke billowing from the exhaust and drawing arcs in the sunlight.

All of this felt overwhelmingly familiar. From the few thousand who first gathered in Yangcheng to the present Fifth Army, now boasting elite troops, tanks and aircraft, every inch of the camp, every piece of equipment, even each soldier's expression bore his effort. It was like watching one's own child grow from wobbly steps to towering stature; that pride mixed with a heavy sense of responsibility, pressing his chest warm and tight.

But Principal Jiang's remark "After the Fifth Army finishes training I'll dissolve it" was like an ice‑tempered spear, catching him off guard and piercing this warmth. Li Yuxuan's steps halted at the edge of the Training Ground, and as he looked at the eager soldiers, the bustling scene suddenly seemed like a fragile sugar coating.

He recalled the Northern Expedition battles, the brothers who lay in the Trench gnawing frozen potatoes, some of whom never lived to see victory, their graves already overgrown. He remembered the Principal pulling out that box of "old capital", his knuckles white and eyes weary—a resolve to empty his own purse. He thought of the smiling American businessman, each hidden trap in the contract silently mocking the price of the "strong army dream".

The Fifth Army was like a gorgeous soap bubble. In the sunlight it glittered, seeming able to reflect the nation's future, yet a slight gust of political wind would shatter it so completely that not even a shadow remained.

"Li, what's wrong?" a warm palm patted his shoulder; Rommel, having appeared unnoticed, looked at him with blue‑gray eyes full of concern. "You don't look well, are you too tired?"

Li Yuxuan snapped back to himself, forcing a smile, his fingertip pointing at the tank formation: "It's nothing, just thinking we need to get the brothers to intensify training and achieve combat readiness within a month."

"Don't worry." Rommel grinned, showing two rows of even teeth, his eyes flashing battlefield‑honed confidence. "With this equipment and such eager soldiers, it won't take a month. I guarantee that next month's exercises will let you see a respectable Mechanized Forces."

Li Yuxuan followed his gaze to the distance—on the Training Ground the Fifth Army's banner fluttered in the wind, the red‑background, yellow‑letter "Fifth Army" standing out vividly in the sun. He had raised that flag himself; the fabric came from Jinling's finest silk workshop, and the embroiderer spent three full days to complete it.

He suddenly clenched his fist, knuckles whitening from the strain. Even if it were to be dissolved later, so what? Even if the political vortex eventually devours this army, so what? For now, he would make the unit stronger—strong enough that, even if split to the ends of the earth, each soldier's marrow would still bear the soul of the "Fifth Army". Strong enough that, even if the equipment were confiscated, the tactics learned from the German Advisor and the will forged on the Training Ground could take root and sprout in other units.

Wind swept through the camp, stirring the soldiers' chants: "Bleed and sweat, never shed tears! Lose skin and flesh, never lose the team!" The shouts rang to the heavens, carrying a reckless ferocity that heated the very air.

Li Yuxuan inhaled deeply, the tightness in his chest seeming to loosen under the heat. He turned toward the command tent, his army boots striking the gravel road with a resolute "creak". Too many tasks remained—checking tomorrow's ammunition supply list, finalizing the defensive exercise plan with Manstein, and seeing whether the sailors newly aboard the carrier had adapted to the waves…

No time for melancholy.

Only the weight of that box of dollars still pressed heavily in his memory. The Principal's remark "You don't understand political matters" was like two fine needles lodged in his most sensitive spot. The farther he went, the more that sting lingered like a shadow, reminding him that beneath the steel camp's foundation lay currents he could not grasp and invisible shackles he could not escape.

The light inside the tent flared, casting his silhouette onto the canvas—tall and straight, like a spear that refused to bend.