Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

East of Changjin Lake, Xinxingli.

The U.S. Army's 31st Infantry Regiment, also known as the "Polar Bear Regiment," is huddled in makeshift fortifications.

Colonel McKlain, the regimental commander, wrapped himself in a thick down sleeping bag, holding a cup of lukewarm coffee that had just melted, and surveyed the desolate snowfield with disdain.

"Minus forty degrees Celsius."

He exhaled a puff of white breath and said to the staff officer beside him:

"In this kind of weather, even polar bears would freeze to death. Those Chinese people were only wearing thin clothes; they should be frozen solid by now."

"The colonel is right."

The staff officer chimed in, a cruel smile on his face, "We just need to wait until dawn, then collect the bodies. This isn't war; it's nature's punishment of an uncivilized people."

In their minds, no one could lie in bed all night at this temperature and still stand up.

however.

Just when they thought victory was in their grasp and even started fantasizing about the taste of Christmas turkey.

"Beep—beep beep—beep—!!!"

The familiar yet chilling bugle call suddenly resounded all around the snow-covered plains.

Followed by.

The snowfield, which was originally desolate and believed by the US military to have buried countless Chinese soldiers, suddenly "came alive".

"Splash!"

Snowflakes flew.

Countless figures draped in white cloaks suddenly leaped up from the snowdrift.

They didn't stiffen, they didn't slow down, and they weren't shivering from the cold.

in contrast.

Their movements were as agile as a group of cheetahs that had just woken up, radiating a suffocating heat and murderous aura.

"Charge!"

"Surrender and you will not be killed!"

The deafening shouts of battle instantly drowned out the sound of wind and snow.

"My God! They're still alive!"

The coffee cup in McLean's hand fell to the ground, the scalding liquid splashing onto his boots, but he didn't feel the heat at all; he only felt a chill run from the soles of his feet straight to his head.

"This is impossible! Are they demons? How can they possibly charge in this temperature?"

"Da da da da—"

His response was a dense hail of bullets from the Type 56 assault rifle.

Wearing nano thermal underwear provided by Shen Jinghong and having eaten their fill of self-heating military rations bursting with calories, the volunteer soldiers felt as if a fire was burning inside them.

They don't need to warm up or adapt.

The beginning is the peak!

Wu Qianli charged at the forefront, his submachine gun spitting fire like a red-hot blade, piercing deep into the American defenses.

"Brothers! Attack!"

"Director Shen said, we won't be ice sculptures! We'll be fiery warriors! We'll burn these foreign devils to ashes!"

The firepower network that the US military was so proud of crumbled instantly in the face of the Chinese People's Volunteer Army's almost insane yet incredibly flexible infiltration tactics.

The eerie green light of the night vision goggles flickered in the darkness; it was the eye of death.

"Left! Machine gunner! Take him out!"

"To the right! That tank's trying to escape! Thunder God, blast it!"

This was a one-sided massacre.

The "Ice Sculpture Company," which was originally a poorly equipped unit that suffered terribly from the extreme cold, has had its story completely rewritten in this timeline.

Their tragic spirit is no longer evident.

They are simply ruthless!

……

Ninth Army Corps Headquarters.

General Song Shilun paced anxiously in front of the map.

The wind and snow outside the window grew heavier and heavier, and his heart pounded with anxiety.

"How's it going? Any news from the front?"

He turned to his chief of staff, his voice filled with barely concealed worry, and asked, "In this freezing weather, and with the soldiers' thin coats... have the casualty reports come out yet?"

He was mentally prepared.

He was prepared to hear the heartbreaking number: "More than half of the lives lost to frostbite or death."

"Commander! Good news from the front!"

The messenger stumbled in, clutching a telegram in his hand, tears of ecstatic joy streaming down his face. He was so overwhelmed with emotion that he could barely speak.

"We...we won! We wiped them all out!"

"What?"

Song Shilun snatched the telegram, his hands trembling.

But when he saw what was written on it, he froze instantly.

**[This morning, our unit completely annihilated the U.S. 31st Regimental Combat Team (Polar Bear Regiment), killing Regimental Commander McClain and capturing the regimental flag...]**

This wasn't the most shocking thing for him.

What he found most unbelievable was the casualty statistic at the end of the telegram:

**[Combat casualties: 35; minor injuries: 120. Non-combat casualties (frostbite): ... 0.]**

"zero?!"

Song Shilun stared intently at the number, his eyes wide open, as if it were the most incredible miracle in the world.

"Frostbite...zero people?"

He jerked his head up, grabbed the communications officer's shoulder, and exclaimed, "Are you kidding me? How could anyone not get frostbite in this weather?"

"Commander! There's no mistake!"

The communications officer cried out, "They say from the front lines, thanks to the thermal underwear and self-heating meals Director Shen sent! The soldiers are all warm and cozy! They're all like little tigers!"

"Shen Jinghong..."

Song Shilun murmured the name.

He slowly turned around, facing southwest—the direction of Beijing.

Two streams of hot tears rolled down the weathered cheeks of this iron-willed general.

"Okay...okay..."

Song Shilun slowly raised his right hand and solemnly gave a military salute.

This military salute is not for victory, but for the tens of thousands of young soldiers who should have suffered in the wind and snow, or even sacrificed their lives.

"Director Shen, thank you."

"This batch of supplies you provided saved tens of thousands of lives in our production and construction corps!"

"This kindness and virtue will be forever forgotten by the entire Ninth Army Corps!"

……

The smoke of battle has cleared from the battlefield of Xinxingli.

Wu Wanli sat on the tracks of a destroyed American tank, holding a colorful rag in his hand, vigorously wiping his mud-covered combat boots.

"Hey, I have to say, this foreign fabric is really good. It absorbs water and doesn't shed."

As he wiped it, he showed off to Yu Congrong next to him.

"Wanli, what's that you're holding?"

Yu Congrong came closer and glanced at the piece of cloth, which had a roaring polar bear drawn on it, along with a bunch of foreign words he couldn't understand.

"I don't know."

Wu Wanli shook it with a look of disgust. "I found it in a jeep. It looks pretty fancy, so I'll use it to polish my shoes."

At this moment, Mei Sheng walked over.

He recognized the piece of cloth at a glance, and his eye twitched involuntarily.

"Wanli...you good-for-nothing."

Mei Sheng pointed at the piece of cloth, both amused and exasperated, "Do you know what that is?"

"What? It's a foot towel." Wu Wanli looked completely innocent.

"That's the flag of the 'Polar Bear Regiment'!"

Mei Sheng took a deep breath, his tone carrying an extreme Versailles quality:

"This is the first time in U.S. Army history that a regimental-level unit has been completely annihilated! This flag, that's our war trophy, it's meant for a museum!"

"what?"

Wu Wanli paused for a moment, looked at the regimental flag in his hand that had been wiped black, and then looked at his shiny leather shoes.

"This...this is so easy to get dirty."

He crumpled the regimental flag into a ball, casually stuffed it into Mei Sheng's arms, and pursed his lips:

"Instructor, this tattered flag is useless; it's not even as sturdy as the self-heating lunch bag that Director Shen gave us."

"Alright, alright, take it. Go back and report."

After saying that, he patted his backside, jumped off the tank with his gun in his arms, and ran towards the assembling troops:

"Brother! Wait for me! Shouldn't we go and catch that old man named MacArthur?"

Mei Sheng, holding the crumpled, dirty "Polar Bear Regiment" flag, stood in the wind and snow, looking at the group of energetic soldiers, and couldn't help but laugh out loud.

That's the source of their confidence.

They used the regimental flag of an elite U.S. Army regiment to polish their shoes.

I never even dared to think about something like this before.

But today, we did it.

……

Tokyo, Allied Supreme Command Headquarters.

The heating was on full blast in the top-floor office of the First Building.

MacArthur, dressed in an elegant bathrobe, sat at the enormous desk, a glass of expensive whiskey in one hand and his signature corncob pipe in the other.

He is waiting.

Waiting for good news from the front.

In his view, this was nothing more than a "police operation" that was about to end, and those Chinese troops were just a bunch of rabble who were not worth fearing at all.

"Ring ring—"

the phone is ringing.

MacArthur gracefully picked up the receiver, a confident smile playing on his lips:

"I am MacArthur. Speak."

There was a chilling silence on the other end of the phone.

Immediately following was the broken, desperate, even tearful roar of General Almond, commander of the Tenth Army:

"General! It's over! It's all over!"

"31st Regimental Combat Team...lost contact! Confirmed annihilation!"

"The 1st Marine Division has been divided and surrounded! Casualties are heavy!"

"The Chinese firepower is too overwhelming! They have heavy artillery! Automatic weapons! They even have 'magic eyes' that we can't see in the dark!"

"This is not a group of farmers! This is an elite force armed to the teeth! They are..."

Almond's voice trembled with fear:

"They are the Fiery Warriors!"

"Clatter".

MacArthur's corncob pipe, which he had held his whole life and never dropped, slipped from his trembling fingers.

It fell heavily onto the expensive carpet.

It broke in two.

His smile froze, and the arrogance in his eyes shattered in an instant, replaced by an unprecedented sense of confusion and terror.

"completely annihilated?"

He muttered to himself, looking at the bustling Tokyo night view outside the window, and felt a chill rise from the soles of his feet.

"Who exactly are those Chinese people?"