Chapter 117: Class of Iron and Fire

Afternoon is the interview. In a small room, Zhou Afu faces three officers. The one in the middle is an old man, hair white, wearing a neat uniform, and Zhou doesn't recognize any of the medals on his chest.

"Zhou Afu?" the old man says, his voice gentle.

"Yes."

"From Chaozhou? Anyone else in your family?"

"Mother, sister. Father… five years ago he went out to sea to fish, met a typhoon, and was lost."

The old man is silent for a few seconds, then writes on paper: "Can read five hundred characters, worked at the dock for three years, strong. Why want to join the army?"

Zhou Afu repeats what he said in the morning. This time he says it more fluently.

After listening, the old man asks, "If we send you to South Ocean to fight, you might have to fight the Dutch, are you afraid?"

"Not afraid." Zhou Afu says, "My dad was sunk by a Dutch ship. They always bully Chinese."

"What if you have to fire a gun and kill people?"

Zhou Afu hesitates. He has fought, but never killed anyone.

"I… don't know." he says honestly, "But if they try to kill me, my mother and sister, I will fire."

The old man nods, seeming satisfied with the answer. He turns to the officer on the left: "Lao Liu, what do you think?"

The officer called Lao Liu sizes up Zhou Afu: "A good seed. There's a fierce edge in his eyes, but not wild. He can be placed in a machine gun squad."

"Machine gun squad?"

"Right. The 'Swallow' light machine gun, made by our own arms factory." Lao Liu explains, "One gun per squad. The gunner must be steady, calm, and able to keep the target in sight amid a hail of fire. I think this kid can do it."

The old man finally asks, "Zhou Afu, if we select you, can you promise to obey orders and train hard?"

"I can." Zhou Afu straightens his back.

"Good." The old man signs the document, "Go collect your equipment. You are assigned to the 1st Division, 3rd Regiment, 2nd Battalion, 1st Company, 1st Platoon machine gun squad. Report here at six tomorrow morning."

When Zhou Afu walks out of the interview room, his legs feel weak. He has been chosen. Eight pounds a month, after five years a house, his sister can go to school, his mother no longer has to wash clothes.

He stands in the corridor for a while, then runs to the restroom, closes the door, and cries.

He cries silently, tears streaming nonstop. After five minutes of crying, he washes his face, looks at himself in the mirror.

Nineteen years old, still has acne, but his eyes now have light.

"Dad," he says to the mirror, "I'll protect this family. I promise."

May 8, 1910, training base firing range.

Gunfire deafening. Zhou Afu lies behind a sandbag bunker, his shoulder against the stock of a Lewis light machine gun, his right index finger on the trigger. The gun spits a continuous "tatata" sound, the muzzle spitting half‑foot flames, spent casings popping like golden raindrops onto the sand beside him.

"Short burst! Three rounds! Stop!" the squad leader shouts in his ear.

Zhou Afu releases the trigger. From three hundred meters away the steel plate target gives three crisp "ding‑dong‑dang" sounds—full hit.

"Good!" the squad leader pats his helmet, "Change the drum!"

Zhou Afu skillfully presses the latch, removes the empty 47‑round drum, takes a fresh one from the ammo box, loads it, pulls the charging handle; the whole process takes less than five seconds.

"Continue! Suppressive fire! Silence that bunker target!"

"tatata—"

The Lewis machine gun roars again. This air‑cooled light machine gun is Lanfang's pride, weighs 11.5 kg, fires 550 rounds per minute, Effective Range 800 m, uses domestically developed 7.62×54 mm rifle cartridges, interchangeable with rifle ammo. For Zhou Afu, who a month ago was still a dock worker, this is a weapon he never even dared imagine.

He remembers his first live‑fire test: the recoil bruised his shoulder, his ears buzzed all day. The instructor said, "This gun is our own design; the recoil is smaller than foreign ones, accuracy higher. You must train until man and gun become one."

Now he can control burst rhythm, observe the battlefield during drum changes, and shift fire quickly on the squad leader's orders.

"Stop!" the squad leader raises his hand.

The gunfire ceases abruptly. Smoke drifts slowly in the air, mixing the smell of powder and sand. Zhou Afu gets up, pats the dust off his body.

"How's it going?" the squad leader asks.

"The rounds drift a bit to the right, maybe the barrel heated up," Zhou Afu says.

"Learning to find reasons, that's progress." The squad leader is a veteran named Wang Tie Zhu, thirty years old, who took part in the Java protection operation, with a bullet scar on his left arm, "Remember, a machine gunner is not a trigger‑pulling robot. You must know the gun's condition, ammo consumption, where the enemy is, where your comrades are. You are the core of the squad's firepower; if you die, half the squad's firepower is gone."

"Understood." Zhou Afu stands at attention.

"Go get water. Afternoon we practice squad tactics."

Zhou Afu walks to the rest area, where a few squad mates are already seated. Li Wen is there too; he has become a communications soldier, carrying a light "Listen‑Wind Model‑1" radio backpack.

"Afu, you fought well." Li Wen hands over a water flask.

Zhou Afu takes it and gulps a big mouthful: "How's your radio training going?"

"I can send and receive telegrams now, but I still don't remember all the codes." Li Wen smiles wryly, "But our 'Listen‑Wind Model‑1' is great, only half the weight of the Yingguo version, yet more powerful. Yesterday I communicated with the base twenty kilometers away, the sound was crystal clear."

"What about the submachine gun?" Zhou Afu asks, "I heard the squad leader will be issued an MP18 submachine gun?"

"It's already in the warehouse." Li Wen lowers his voice, "I saw it yesterday when I went to collect gear. All‑steel forged parts, folding stock, 32‑round magazine, uses our own pistol ammo. The instructor says it's a close‑quarters weapon; no one can stop you within fifty meters."

Zhou Afu recalls the weapons list shown during enlistment education: MP18 submachine gun, Lewis light machine gun, M1917 heavy machine gun, Schneider M1897 75 mm field gun, 10.5 cm leFH16 light field howitzer… all produced by Lanfang's arms factory, the blueprints reportedly reviewed personally by the President.

"Our equipment… is it a bit too good?" he whispers.

"How can we fight poorly?" Li Wen says sternly, "The instructor said, because we are few, we must make up with equipment. One Lanfang soldier's firepower equals three Dutch soldiers, five native soldiers. That's 'quality for quantity'."

As he speaks, the assembly whistle blows. Afternoon squad‑tactics training begins.

The training ground is a replica of South Ocean terrain—simulated rainforest, swamp, mountains, even a scaled‑down tropical town. Zhou Afu's machine gun squad is assigned an assault mission, the objective to seize a 'fortress' at the town center.

"Listen up!" Squad leader Wang Tie Zhu spreads the map, "Our mission is to provide fire support. Afu, place your machine gun at Point A to control the main road. The assistant gunner at Point B covers the flank. Others disperse, riflemen provide cover, the communications man reports the situation at all times."

"Squad leader," Zhou Afu asks, "what if the enemy has mortars?"

"Good question." Wang Tie Zhu points to several marks on the map, "So we must be fast. From entering the firing zone to occupying the position must not exceed two minutes. Within two minutes the enemy's mortars can't react. After two minutes, whether we hit or miss, we must relocate."

He scans the whole squad:

"Remember, once a machine gun position is exposed, it's a live target. So three principles: fire fast, fire hard, run fast. Got it?"

"Got it!"

The drill begins. Zhou Afu hoists the 11.5‑kg gun, weaving with the squad leader through the simulated streets. Sweat drenches his training uniform, but he feels no fatigue, only adrenaline surging.

Arriving at Point A—a half‑collapsed brick house's second floor. He quickly set up the machine gun, the assistant gunner unfolded the tripod and loaded a 100‑round drum. The whole process took forty‑three seconds.

"Visibility is good; we can control the whole street," Zhou Afu reported.

"Awaiting orders."

Through the earpiece came the company commander's voice: "All squads, attention—total assault in three minutes. Machine‑gun squad, prepare to suppress fire from the second‑floor windows."

Zhou Afu adjusted the sight, aligning the crosshair with a window a hundred and fifty meters away. He could see a flickering shadow there—a blue‑side soldier playing the enemy.

"Machine‑gun squad in position," Wang Tie Zhu reported.

"Three, two, one—fire!"

"Tap tap tap tap tap—"

Zhou Afu pulled the trigger. The bullets whipped toward the window like a lash, wood shavings flew, glass shattered. The blue‑side soldier quickly retreated.

"Infantry, advance!"

On the street below, comrades playing the red side bent low and surged forward. Zhou Afu's machine gun suppressed every possible firing point, and spent casings piled into a small mound at his feet.

"Reload!" he shouted.

The assistant gunner quickly handed over a fresh drum. The reload gap was under three seconds, but in those three seconds another window suddenly exposed a barrel.

"Nine‑o'clock direction!" Zhou Afu roared, his hands moving even faster.

He mounted the drum, reset the bolt, aimed, and fired. A burst of bullets flew out, and that window showed no further movement.

"Target cleared!" he reported.

"Well done!" Wang Tie Zhu patted him, "Continue suppression; the infantry is reaching the doorway!"

The entire assault lasted eight minutes. After eight minutes, the red side seized the "Fortress," and the blue side declared all personnel "KIA."

The drill ended, and the debrief began. Brigade commander Zhao Dashan stood on the ruins, watching the soldiers whose faces were covered in sweat and dust.