Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

Rear artillery positions.

Lei Gong sat atop a mountain of ammunition boxes, holding a pipe that hadn't been extinguished, his face clouded with worry.

He sighed, tapped his pipe on the sole of his shoe, and complained to the loader beside him:

"Oh, this battle is really a headache."

The young soldier, sweating profusely after loading a heavy 155mm grenade into the gun barrel, became unhappy upon hearing this:

"Dad Lei, what are you worried about? Those volleys we just fired completely wiped out the American devils' positions! Wasn't that awesome?"

"interesting?"

Lei Gong glared at him, pointed to the endless pile of ammunition boxes behind him, and spoke with a smug, Versailles-esque tone:

You have no idea how much I suffer.

"Back when we were fighting, it was like 'when the cannons roared, gold flowed like water,' and every shell had to be fired with great care. If the regimental commander heard that I had fired an extra shell, he would chase me and yell at me for miles."

"Back then, I dreamed that if I ever had enough shells, I would fire the cannons until they were red-hot."

Lei Gong shook his head, looking "painful":

"Now, my dream has come true."

"But this is too much! We were fighting for half an hour, and I thought we were almost done, but when I looked back, wow, the logistics team sent ten more truckloads!"

He rubbed his aching arm, which he had pulled from the fuse:

"This isn't war! This is manual labor! This is bricklaying! What's that spendthrift Director Shen doing making so many shells? Doesn't he worry about wearing us old bones out of shape?"

The artillerymen around him burst into laughter.

Everyone could tell that Lei Gong was showing off in a roundabout way.

This is the first time in their lives they have experienced the "troubles of wealth".

"Alright, Mr. Lei, stop acting innocent after getting the benefit."

The battalion commander ran over with a walkie-talkie, his face beaming with undisguised excitement:

"Coordinates from the forward observation post! Enemy reinforcements have arrived, on the reverse slope of Hill 302!"

"General Peng gave a direct order: don't hold back, bomb it hard!"

"No need to save money?"

Lei Gong's eyes lit up, and the "worried look" he had just had vanished instantly, replaced by a ferocious and fanatical expression.

He jumped off the ammunition box, tucked his pipe into his waistband, and roared:

"You little rascals! Did you hear me?"

"The commander said, now that we're living a comfortable life, we can't be misers!"

"Get all these lumps of iron out of here! Don't keep them to breed!"

"Controls set! Advance the barrage! Five rapid-fire rounds! Fire!"

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

The earth was trembling.

Dozens of 155mm heavy cannons roared simultaneously, their muzzle flames forming a sea of ​​fire that illuminated the dark night sky as bright as day.

The immense recoil caused the heavy cannon to bounce violently, and the dust it kicked up instantly engulfed the position.

But more than ten kilometers away.

The follow-up troops of the U.S. 1st Cavalry Division have just completed their assembly and are preparing to launch a counterattack on Eagle's Beak.

Sudden.

A dense, chilling whistling sound came from the sky.

The sound wasn't like one or two cannonballs, but rather like thousands upon thousands of trains rushing overhead.

"Artillery! Take cover!"

The US commander's shout hadn't even finished before it was drowned out by a deafening explosion.

"Boom—!!!"

This is not targeted elimination.

This is coverage.

This is a whitewash.

The dense barrage of bullet impacts resembled a giant iron plow, tilling back and forth across the American assembly area.

Soil, rocks, and severed limbs were thrown dozens of meters into the air by the violent blast wave.

Those once-invincible Sherman tanks were like paper toys in front of 155mm high-explosive shells, overturned and torn to pieces.

"My God! What kind of firepower is that?!"

A U.S. Army captain, hiding in a bomb crater, looked at the sky in despair.

There, red bullets rained down like a meteor shower, showing no sign of stopping.

"This is not the Chinese army! This is absolutely not!"

"Their firepower is even greater than ours! Van Fleet's ammunition? No! This is Satan's ammunition!"

The artillery fire lasted for a full twenty minutes.

Until the hill was leveled by a full two meters, until there was no longer any sign of life.

……

Behind the artillery position, the supply line.

On a muddy mountain road, a special transport team is trudging along with great difficulty.

They don't have cars; they rely entirely on carrying things on their shoulders and backs.

Shen Yaozu walked in the middle of the group, carrying a heavy ammunition box on his back, which made his back feel like it was about to break.

His once chubby, fair face was now as black as the bottom of a pot, covered in sweat and grime. His shoes were worn through, exposing his big toes, and every step he took was excruciatingly painful.

"Hurry up! Don't dawdle!"

The squad leader next to him lashed him across the backside with a whip, yelling, "The artillerymen at the front are waiting for their meals! If Lei Gong doesn't have any shells to fire, I'll kill you!"

"I can't take it anymore... I really can't take it anymore..."

Shen Yaozu cried so hard that snot and tears streamed down his face, and his legs were trembling.

He looked at the boxes of shells that seemed to be endless, and felt a surge of hatred in his heart.

"Shen Jinghong! You skinflint! You living devil!"

As he walked, he gritted his teeth and cursed inwardly:

"Why are you making so many shells? Huh? Are you trying to kill me with work?"

"Others fight wars sparingly, but you're throwing artillery shells like stones! My shoulders are raw from all the friction!"

"What sins did I commit in my past life to deserve such a heartless older brother like you!"

"3527! What are you muttering about?"

The class monitor glared at him. "Trying to slack off, aren't you?"

No! No!

Shen Yaozu was startled and quickly straightened his back, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace:

"I'm... I'm cheering myself on! For victory! For my country! I love transporting artillery shells! Transporting artillery shells makes me happy!"

He said those words, but his heart was bleeding.

He looked at the distant sky ablaze with fire and listened to the deafening roar of cannons.

Every cannon shot meant he had to make another trip.

How can this be considered "labor reform"?

This is clearly designed to work him to death in this foreign, icy, and snowy land!

Just then.

A biting wind suddenly blew in from the north, carrying fine snowflakes that stung people's faces.

The already gloomy sky became even more oppressive.

The temperature is dropping at an alarming rate.

Just moments ago the ground was covered in mud, but in the blink of an eye it has frozen solid, making a crunching sound when you step on it.

"The world has changed."

The squad leader looked up at the sky, his expression turning somewhat serious.

He pulled his cotton-padded coat tighter and shouted to the group:

"Hurry up! Heavy snow is coming!"

"This awful weather, it's probably going to drop to minus thirty degrees Celsius!"

"If we don't get this batch of winter clothing and supplies to Chosin Reservoir soon, the brothers up front... are going to suffer terribly!"

Shen Yaozu shrank his neck, feeling the chill seep into his bones through his collar.

cold.

It's fucking cold.

What he didn't know was that a brutal battle that would be recorded in the annals of human warfare was about to unfold—the Battle of Chosin Reservoir.

In this extreme cold, a bloody curtain is about to be drawn back.