Chapter 8: The Fierce Battle Approaches

Hu Hao told them a war was coming and advised everyone to spend their time wisely. Huan Xingtao asked how he could be so sure.

“It’s true. A lot of planes took off, but not many came back. Some of the ones that did were trailing thick smoke,” a soldier added, having noticed the same.

“Dammit, it’s really starting. The Navy must be in the thick of it. How am I this unlucky? I thought I’d just do my two years and go home. Why can’t people just live in peace?” another grumbled.

“Discharge won’t save you. Discharged veterans are being ordered to report to mobilization stations. My dad told me when I called home the day before yesterday,” Sima Xuankong said, sitting down gloomily. The atmosphere turned heavy instantly.

By evening, Hu Hao followed the squad to dinner. The rations had been brought up, and after eating, Hu Hao sat atop the fortifications, gazing out at the distant sea.

“Are you really an officer who got sent here as punishment?” a voice came from behind. It was Huan Xingtao.

“Yeah. Want one?” Hu Hao offered a cigarette, his eyes never leaving the horizon.

“Are you crazy? Getting yourself sent to the front right when a war starts? That’s a death sentence,” Huan Xingtao said, taking the cigarette and sitting beside him.

“Ha. It’s a long story,” Hu Hao replied with a faint smile.

He felt a sense of displacement. He wasn’t sure whether to stay and fight or desert and explore the rest of this planet. This wasn’t Earth, and the scenery was different—he wanted to see it. He was tired of war; he had fought enough in his previous life.

“What are you thinking about?” Huan Xingtao asked.

“Nothing. Just wandering thoughts.” Hu Hao took a drag of his cigarette.

Around them, other soldiers emerged, sitting on the works and watching the ocean. Below them were various anti-tank obstacles designed to stop the Allied armor. Hu Hao knew they were practically useless. If the enemy wanted to land, these trinkets wouldn’t stop them. The Allies claimed to have 3 million ground troops ready, with more to follow. They intended to crush the Eastern Spirit Empire.

The global crisis was driven by a shortage of grain and oil, exacerbated by overpopulation. The poorer the region, the higher the birth rate. With 1.9 billion people and 19 million square kilometers, the Empire was a giant, but eight other nations had larger populations—six of which had less land.

After an hour, Hu Hao returned to the bunker and picked up his book. He was fascinated by this world: Why were there no nuclear weapons? Why was the industrial and technological development so similar to Earth’s? The current tech level was roughly equivalent to the 1990s of his first life. Most puzzling of all was his second transmigration—and the fact that his internal martial arts energy had followed him.

He read until 11 PM before sleeping. The next day was quiet. Since the enemy hadn’t landed yet, the soldiers had nothing to do. Hu Hao noticed that on the division’s flanks, construction crews were frantically digging anti-tank trenches, and two additional battalions had been deployed to reinforce the wings.

On the morning of the third day, a massive explosion jolted them awake.

“What’s happening? What was that?” “Is it starting?” Soldiers scrambled to get dressed. Hu Hao, who had slept in his uniform, grabbed his rifle and rushed to the trench line.

“Holy shit,” Hu Hao muttered. In the distance, Imperial fighters were dogfighting with Allied planes. Occasionally, a jet would trail smoke and plunge into the sea.

“My god! Look over there!” a soldier cried, pointing toward the horizon. Warships were visible, though their flags were indistinguishable.

“All hands! Eat breakfast immediately! Pack your gear! Squad leaders, report to collect ammunition! Move!” the Company Commander roared from the trench.

“This is it,” the soldiers muttered, their faces turning pale.

“Hu Hao, come with me for the ammo. The rest of you eat fast and save some for us!” Huan Xingtao shouted. Hu Hao nodded and followed.

“Dammit, are we really doing this?” Huan Xingtao asked over his shoulder. Hu Hao simply nodded.

“Bastards!” Huan Xingtao cursed.

They reached the Company Commander’s bunker.

“Squad 2, over here! Four crates of small arms ammo. Also, these rockets—20 armor-piercing, 20 high-explosive. Take them!” a Second Lieutenant ordered.

“This much?” Huan Xingtao was shocked by the volume.

“Hurry up! The attack is imminent!”

Hu Hao stepped forward and crouched. “Put the ammo crates on my shoulders. I’ll take all four.”

“Four crates? These are 30 kilos each! That’s over 100 kilos total. You’re going to carry that?” Huan Xingtao stared at him.

“Move it. We don’t have time,” Hu Hao said.

Huan Xingtao stacked the four crates on Hu Hao’s shoulders. When Hu Hao stood up effortlessly, the surrounding soldiers watched in disbelief.

“Grab the rockets. I’m heading back,” Hu Hao said, marching down the trench. Soldiers scrambled out of his way, staring at the man carrying over 200 pounds of lead.

“Who is that? Carrying four crates like they’re nothing?”

When Hu Hao reached the squad’s position, Sima Xuankong and the others were mid-meal. They froze as Hu Hao dropped the load. Sima’s mouth hung open, a half-chewed clump of rice visible.

“Stop staring. Someone go help the Squad Leader with the rockets. Now!” Hu Hao barked as he set the crates inside the bunker.

“I’m on it!” Sima Xuankong dropped his mess tin and bolted. He was officially intimidated. Anyone who could shoulder four crates of ammo was not someone you wanted to fight.

“Here, your food,” He Jizhong said, handing Hu Hao a tin.

“Thanks.” Hu Hao began eating with mechanical speed. The others watched him, mesmerized.

“Stop looking at me and eat! If the fighting starts, you don’t know when your next meal is coming. And conserve your personal snacks,” Hu Hao warned between bites.

“Right!” The soldiers began shoveling food into their mouths.

Soon, Huan Xingtao and Sima Xuankong returned with the rockets. Hu Hao had already finished. He lined up the crates, pried them open, and began stuffing rounds into his webbing.

“Come here! Stop standing around. Fill your pouches and load every spare magazine you have. Move!” Hu Hao commanded.

The soldiers hurried over.

“Who’s the anti-tank gunner?” Hu Hao asked.

“Me!” Sima Xuankong raised his hand.

“Check your launcher and prep the rockets with your loader. Listen for my orders. Don’t fire until I tell you exactly where to aim. And where are the grenades?”

“Right here,” they replied.

“Gather them all. Put them in a bag. I’m going to need them,” Hu Hao said.

“Why should we?” a new recruit asked.

“Because I told you to. Stop talking and listen. This is war. People die. One bullet in the wrong place and even a god can’t save you. You got that?” Hu Hao scolded them while loading a magazine.

“Yes…” “Got it.”

They had seen the strength he displayed with the ammo crates and decided it was safer to follow his lead. Once he was fully loaded, Hu Hao stepped out into the main trench. He saw soldiers from other squads still sitting around chatting, their ammo crates still sealed.

“Do you all have a death wish? Load your damn magazines!” Hu Hao roared.

In that moment, he had forgotten he was a Private. The soul of the high-ranking commander from his previous life had taken over.