Chapter 6: The Village Bristles with Military Drills

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, Zhang Yun and Deputy Platoon Leader Liu Changqing stood upright on the village’s wheat-drying ground, which also served as the military training field. Zhang Yun wore the uniform of the Eighth Route Army, his waist cinched with a web belt, a box rifle slung at his side, presenting a majestic and commanding figure. Yet, the many patches sewn onto his uniform lent him a slightly worn and humble air. Liu Changqing was similarly clad in an old Eighth Route Army uniform, carrying a brand-new Type 38 rifle on his back, standing tall and resolute, embodying the tenacity and martial spirit of the veteran Red Army soldiers.

At this time, the three squad leaders were already busy in the dormitory as per yesterday’s instructions. The veterans had finished washing and were helping the new recruits tidy their bedding and clothing. Although the new soldiers had yet to don uniforms—conditions did not allow—it was through binding their leggings and tightening their straps that they began to grasp the transformation from peasants to soldiers.

After a while, Deputy Platoon Leader Liu Changqing, observing the veterans and new recruits from the three squads gradually assembling on the training ground, complained mildly to Zhang Yun, “They’re a bit slow.”

“They’re all new recruits; their mindset and habits haven’t shifted yet, that’s normal,” Zhang Yun replied calmly. Watching the veterans assist the newcomers in organizing their quarters under the guidance of the squad leaders, Zhang Yun felt a deep satisfaction. This was the role of the veterans—they were the bearers of fine traditions passed down through generations, the core that united the troops, enabling new soldiers to quickly integrate and keep pace. Though intangible and unseen, these qualities did not immediately enhance combat effectiveness but subtly nurtured a spirit of unity and camaraderie among all soldiers. Only such a cohesive force could avoid being easily scattered or defeated, one capable of fighting tough battles and securing victories.

“First Squad has assembled, 17 expected, 15 present, with two wounded.”

“Second Squad has assembled, 17 expected, 16 present, one wounded.”

“Third Squad has assembled, 16 expected, 16 present.”

The three squad leaders stood at the front of the formation and reported to Zhang Yun. Around the wheat-drying ground, some villagers had gathered, watching the formation attentively and whispering among themselves. They had seen local warlord troops and security militias before, but a newly recruited unit standing so neatly and disciplined was unprecedented. Gradually, their confidence in the Eighth Route Army grew.

Though Zhang Yun did not fully grasp the villagers’ notion that “formation is combat power,” he had deliberately chosen the wheat-drying ground for training to showcase the army to the people, strengthening their support for the Party and the military.

Mobilizing the masses widely, establishing anti-Japanese base areas, and integrating with the people relied on such meticulous details—not merely shouting slogans, as many assumed.

“Deputy Platoon Leader,” Zhang Yun called out loudly.

“Here,” Liu Changqing responded.

“Read out the Eighth Route Army’s discipline, then lead the team in formation drills. This afternoon, distribute weapons and familiarize everyone with the firearms. Starting tomorrow, we’ll begin marksmanship and bayonet training!”

“Yes, sir!”

After this brief order, Zhang Yun handed the initial training tasks to Deputy Platoon Leader Liu Changqing and hurried to the platoon’s kitchen and logistics unit.

“Squad Leader Tang, any luck getting meat today?” Zhang Yun asked as he entered. Tang was in his forties, not an old Red Army soldier but one who had joined in late 1937 after the Japanese occupation of Shanxi brought widespread atrocities. His family in Yizhou had suffered greatly, which spurred him to enlist. He had intended to join the Jin-Sui Army near home, but with that force largely scattered or withdrawn southward, only the Eighth Route Army remained active around Yizhou, so he enlisted there. When Zhang Yun took over the new recruits’ platoon, Tang was already part of the unit. Seeing that Tang was good with numbers and competent in cooking, Zhang Yun had assigned him to lead the kitchen and assist with logistics. Earlier, with only a dozen men, a dozen rifles, and a few rounds of ammunition, logistics was hardly necessary.

But now it was different. Just yesterday, Zhang Yun handed over more than 5,000 rounds of ammunition, over 20 rifles, and several hundred silver dollars to Tang. Now Tang was the platoon’s “chief accountant” and “housekeeper.”

“Don’t worry. Last night, I spoke with the villagers. Today we’ll get 10 jin of prime pork belly and 600 jin of millet. We’re paying a generous price, and the locals are quite pleased,” Tang said happily. Having ample logistics support for the unit was indeed reassuring.

“Good. On the first day of training, the soldiers must taste some meat. Once they get used to it, it’ll be better.” Zhang Yun, drawing on his knowledge of military enthusiasts from later times, understood that rigorous training required solid physical strength and adequate nutrition. Without that, new recruits would resist mentally and physically collapse. The old Red Army veterans had endured countless battles and been culled by war; they possessed iron will, iron discipline, and iron soles, along with proficient marksmanship and tactical skills.

“Have the rifles been inspected? How’s their condition?” Zhang Yun asked, helping the cooks prepare the meal.

“The veterans already sorted through the rifles yesterday as you instructed. They took all the Type 38 rifles and the best Hanyang rifles. What’s left are about 20 rifles—usable, but not very accurate,” Tang replied, now quite familiar with the firearms after months of work, speaking of them with ease.

“That’s fine. Having something to use is good enough for now. We’ll get better weapons eventually.” Zhang Yun added. Actually, there were more than ten rifles still in the captured stockpile, but no chance to claim them—after all, more Japanese puppet troops meant more ammunition but not necessarily more rifles.

“Yeah, that’s already quite good,” Tang said, his thoughts turning somber as he recalled the soldiers who had gone to battle with rudimentary weapons.

“Platoon Leader, everyone’s heard about your legendary weapon captures. We’re counting on you to lead us against the devils,” a young soldier helping in the kitchen chimed in, his eyes shining with admiration and hope. Having a leader who could secure weapons and lead them to victory easily won the troops’ trust. No wonder Captain Li, known as the “Version Son,” was respected throughout the district.

Though called a young soldier, he was a poor boy whose family had suffered greatly. Only 14 or 15 years old, he had been following the new recruit regiment, assisting with cooking and other duties, ensuring he received enough rations while helping the unit.

“That’s just the beginning. Our platoon will have the best weapons and the most captures in the entire unit—mark my words,” Zhang Yun said with pride and lofty spirit. Though aware of the brutal reality of war, he couldn’t help but feel buoyed by the young soldier’s admiring gaze and made a bold promise.

“Platoon Leader, when the next batch of recruits arrives, I want to join the combat troops too, to fight alongside you against the devils,” the young soldier said earnestly.

“Good. I’ll lead you to fight the devils! We’ll avenge our villagers!” Zhang Yun said, looking at the boy of fourteen or fifteen. As he spoke, he silently vowed to himself, “I’ll make sure you all have the best weapons to kill many, many devils.”