Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

The smoke of battle had not yet cleared, and the biting cold wind, carrying snowflakes, was seeping into people's collars.

Having just finished an encounter battle, the Seventh Company is resting on the spot.

Wu Qianli squatted behind a sheltered earthen embankment, holding the Type 56 submachine gun that had just displayed its prowess, but his brow was furrowed in a deep frown. He examined the gun from all angles, pulling the bolt and checking the magazine, his expression strange, like someone who had just married a beautiful wife but now suspected she might be ill.

"Instructor! Meisheng!"

Wu Qianli lowered his voice and called out, then waved.

Mei Sheng was explaining tactics to a few new recruits when he heard the shout. He crouched down and ran over, adjusting his glasses: "What's wrong, Lao Wu? Something's up?"

"Something's happened, something big."

With a serious expression, Wu Qianli shoved the gun into Mei Sheng's arms and pointed to the strangely shaped device at the muzzle, saying:

"You're an educated person, can you take a look? Is this gun... broken?"

"broken?"

Mei Sheng was taken aback, then took the gun and inspected it.

The gun body was jet black and shiny, even warm to the touch, and the mechanical structure was perfectly sealed. It didn't look broken at all.

"It's not broken. Weren't you having a good time just now? I saw you fire a whole magazine of bullets and turn that jeep over there into a sieve."

"It was because they were playing so enthusiastically that I realized something was wrong!"

Wu Qianli frantically scratched at his cotton hat, his face contorted with worry, looking even more distressed than if he had encountered a division of American devils.

"Old Mei, you've been in war, you know. Back then, the Sten submachine guns we used, or the captured Thompsons, when you fired a burst, the muzzle jumped like a monkey, you couldn't control it. If you loosened your grip even slightly, the bullets would fly into the sky and hit birds."

He patted the stock of the Type 56 rifle, his tone full of disbelief:

"But that thing just now was weird!"

"I held the trigger tight, thirty bullets straight! And it just wouldn't budge! It was like...like it was welded to my hand!"

Wu Qianli gestured to describe the feel of that famous hand, his eyes wide with surprise:

"I was aiming at that American devil's head, and it kept drilling straight at his head, without missing a beat! It was so steady! It was giving me the creeps!"

In the veterans' experience, guns are things that have a temper.

A strong recoil means great power; a bouncy muzzle means wildness.

The gun was as steady as a brick, giving Wu Qianli the illusion that "this gun is weak."

"Pfft."

Mei Sheng couldn't help but laugh when he saw Wu Qianli's naive and unworldly appearance.

He pulled a thin booklet from his pocket; it was the "Weapon User Manual" that came with the gun, and it was stamped with a red seal that read "Produced by Shenzhou Bureau".

"Old Wu, you're like a wild boar that can't eat fine chaff."

Mei Sheng opened the instruction manual and, using the reflection of the snow, pointed to a line of text and read aloud:

"See this? This is called a 'high-efficiency muzzle brake,' and this is a 'linear recoil buffer system.'"

"This was designed by Director Shen Jinghong specifically to address the muzzle rise issue of automatic weapons. To put it simply, it directs the expelled air to both sides, giving the muzzle a downward force that effectively counteracts the recoil."

Mei Sheng closed the book, patted Wu Qianli on the shoulder, and spoke with the pride and arrogance of a scholar:

"It's not that the gun is broken, it's that the guns we used before were too bad."

"Director Shen said this is called 'technology for people.' It allows us to spend less effort controlling our guns during battles and save more energy to kill the enemy."

"Recoil brake...buffer system..."

Wu Qianli pondered these new words, then hugged the gun back to his chest, lovingly touching the muzzle, his eyes instantly softening.

"Good stuff... really good stuff."

He chuckled foolishly twice, "With this thing, even a greenhorn like Wanli can shoot with the accuracy of a veteran."

Just then, Yu Congrong's loud voice came from the foxhole not far away.

"Ugh, I'm exhausted!"

Yu Congrong plopped down on the snow, throwing the bulging ammunition pouch he was carrying onto the ground with a dull thud.

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

Pinghe, who was standing nearby, thought he was injured and quickly came over.

"What injury?! I was exhausted by this bullet!"

Yu Congrong rubbed his shoulder, looking "painful," but his eyes and brows revealed a smug, almost irritating, smugness.

"Are you kidding me? This logistics guy is insane! They crammed ten whole magazines into my head! Three hundred rounds of ammunition!"

"Those American devils were too easy to take down. I only fired half a magazine and they were all down. These remaining nine and a half magazines are heavy on my backside, and they're practically hitting my butt when I run!"

"We used to count our bullets carefully, wishing we could split each bullet in half. Now, we're worried about how to get through them all!"

"that is!"

A young soldier beside Versailles followed suit, pulling a handful of gleaming yellow bullets from his pocket and scattering them in his hand like beans.

"I've thought it all out. If we encounter the enemy again, I won't use burst fire; I'll just keep the trigger on and not let go! Carrying this backpack full of bullets is too tiring; I have to get it out there!"

As Wu Qianli listened to the soldiers' complaints, he cursed them, saying, "You're all getting a good deal and still acting innocent," but he couldn't hide the smile in his eyes.

A wealthy man's sustenance.

I've never fought such a lucrative battle in my life.

No need to worry about running out of bullets, no need to worry about the gun jamming, and no need to worry about not being able to see the enemy.

This feeling is even more reassuring than eating dumplings during Chinese New Year.

"Alright! Stop showing off!"

Wu Qianli stood up, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and resumed his commanding presence as a company commander. "Quickly check your equipment and replenish your strength! An American counterattack could happen at any moment..."

"boom--!!!"

Before he could finish speaking...

Suddenly, a deafening roar came from the dark night sky behind them.

The sound was neither gunfire nor the crackling of a mortar.

Rather, it is a deep, powerful, thunderous rage that seems capable of shattering a person's internal organs.

The earth trembled, and the snow fell softly.

Wu Qianli's expression changed, and he turned around abruptly.

Suddenly, a dazzling orange-red light rose from the valley a few kilometers away, turning half the sky red.

Immediately following was a sharp, ear-piercing whistling sound that tore through the air and flew over their heads.

"Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—"

The sound was like a group of enraged fire dragons tearing the sky apart.

"That is..."

Wu Qianli stared wide-eyed at the enormous projectiles that trailed flames as they flew deep into enemy territory.

"Our artillery!"

Mei Sheng adjusted his glasses, his eyes gleaming with fervor, his voice trembling slightly with excitement:

"It's that big batch of equipment Director Shen sent! A group of 155mm heavy artillery pieces!"

"Lei Gong and the others...are starting to speak!"