Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

Tokyo, the First Building.

On that expensive handmade rug lay a pile of pipe fragments and several crumpled battle reports.

MacArthur paced back and forth in his large office, hands behind his back, like an angry lion trapped in a cage. His face, which was usually filled with arrogance and confidence, was now horribly ashen, even showing an unnatural flush.

"Willoughby!"

He abruptly stopped and roared at the intelligence chief, who was standing trembling in the corner:

"This is the intelligence you gave me? This is the 'poorly equipped and logistically deficient peasant army' you described?"

Major General Willoughby wiped the cold sweat from his brow, holding a newly arrived urgent telegram from the front lines in his hand. His voice trembled like a leaf fluttering in the wind:

"General, this...this is indeed a report from the front. The 1st Marine Division says they encountered devastating firepower."

"Devastating?"

MacArthur sneered, snatched the telegram, and slammed it hard against Willoughby's face:

"Look at this nonsense!"

"The enemy possesses a large number of automatic weapons, with a firepower density three times that of us! The enemy's artillery fire is extremely precise, and they even used 155mm heavy artillery! And this, they can see us in the dark!"

He pointed at the words, spitting all over Willoughby's face:

"Tell me, where did a group of farmers who can't even afford warm cotton-padded clothes get their heavy artillery from? Did they grow it in the ground? Or did God take pity on them and personally airdrop it to them?"

"This is an absolute disgrace to the history of the United States military! It's the biggest blunder by the intelligence services!"

Willoughby lowered his head, not daring to refute.

Actually, he felt wronged too.

Who would have thought? Just a month ago, those Chinese were using a hodgepodge of junk from all over the world. How come overnight, it's like they've switched scripts, and they're carrying weapons that are more advanced than the US military's?

"General, now is not the time to assign blame."

A staff officer beside him forced a smile and interjected, "General Almond sent an urgent telegram: the Tenth Army has been divided and encircled. That damned 'Christmas Offensive'..."

The staff officer paused, then glanced cautiously at MacArthur:

"The soldiers on the front lines are saying this isn't a Christmas offensive, it's a 'Christmas robbery.' They don't want to eat turkey in the POW camps, they want to go home."

"Retreat! We must retreat immediately!"

MacArthur may have been arrogant, but he wasn't stupid.

Looking at the rapidly tightening red encirclement on the map, he knew that the situation was hopeless.

If they don't run away soon, this elite US military unit will be completely wiped out by those "farmers" on this icy peninsula.

"Order the 1st Marine Division to break out to the south at all costs!"

MacArthur gritted his teeth and forced out the order, as if it were some kind of immense humiliation:

"Destination: Hamhung Port! Have the naval vessels prepare to provide support! We're bringing the lads back!"

……

North of the Sumun Bridge in northern North Korea.

The cold wind howled, and the snow fell heavily.

What should have been a victorious advance has turned into a humiliating and disastrous escape.

The soldiers of the U.S. 1st Marine Division abandoned their heavy supplies and discarded their tanks that had run out of fuel. Like a flock of frightened sheep, they fled frantically southward along the winding mountain roads.

Behind them, the chilling bugle call of the charge was a constant companion.

"Quick! Run!"

A U.S. Army colonel stood on a jeep, waving a pistol and urging the troops on, "Once we cross the water gate, we'll be safe! The Navy ships are waiting over there!"

Water Gate Bridge.

This is the only passage from the Changjin Lake area to Xingnan Port.

Below the bridge is a bottomless abyss, and all around are cliffs.

Once we cross this bridge, we can escape those ferocious Chinese troops and flee for our lives.

"Boom—Boom—"

The sound of artillery fire behind us grew closer and closer.

That was the 155mm heavy artillery group that Shen Jinghong had brought, seeing off these deserters.

Every shell that landed caused a bloodbath within the American ranks.

"Those damned Chinese! They're devils!"

The colonel glanced back at the raging flames behind him, his eyes brimming with terror. He had never fought such a humiliating battle in his life.

They are clearly well-equipped, so why does it seem like they are being suppressed by the enemy's firepower during the fight?

at last.

The steel-framed water gate bridge came into view.

"They've made it! The striker has crossed the bridge!"

The communications soldier shouted excitedly.

Large numbers of American soldiers surged across the bridge like a tidal wave, rushing toward the sea.

As the last Sherman tank rumbled across the bridge, the engineers in charge of the demolition could no longer contain themselves.

"Blow it up! Blow it up!"

The colonel roared at the top of his lungs, "We absolutely cannot let the Chinese catch up!"

"boom--!!!"

A loud bang.

Flames shot into the sky, and the groans of twisted steel echoed through the valley.

The bridge, which carried the hopes of American soldiers for escape and also connected the pursuit route, broke in two amidst a huge explosion and plunged into the abyss.

Looking at the broken bridge and the insurmountable chasm in the middle, the US military colonel collapsed to the ground, panting heavily, a wild laugh of relief spreading across his face.

"Ha ha ha ha!"

"It's broken! The bridge is broken!"

"The Chinese can't get across! They don't have the heavy equipment; they can't fly over this cliff!"

"We're safe! We survived!"

All the American soldiers breathed a sigh of relief.

In their view, this insurmountable barrier was a pause drawn by God. No matter how powerful those Chinese were, they couldn't possibly sprout wings and fly across.

however.

Just when they thought they could finally relax and catch their breath,

Dozens of kilometers away, the temporary command post of the Chinese People's Volunteer Army.

Shen Jinghong stood in front of the map, listening to the news from the front that "the Water Gate Bridge has been bombed." Instead of being anxious, he revealed a meaningful sneer.

"Blow up the bridge?"

He put down the red and blue pencils in his hand, straightened his collar, and turned to look at Wu Qianli and General Song Shilun, who looked anxious.

"Do the Americans think that blowing up a bridge will stop our armored onslaught?"

Shen Jinghong shook his head, his eyes revealing a calm and domineering air that seemed to see through everything:

"They are too naive."

"They've probably forgotten what our Shenzhou Bureau does."

"Building bridges? That's a basic skill for infrastructure powerhouses."

Shen Jinghong picked up the walkie-talkie on the table and tuned it to the channel that connected directly to the airport.

"I am Shen Jinghong."

His voice was steady and powerful, piercing through the wind and snow, and reaching the distant track:

"Order the Shenzhou transport planes to take off immediately!"

"Target: Watergate Bridge."

"Airdrop a... a devastating gift to those Americans who think they've escaped!"

"I'm going to make a steel bridge fall from the sky and lie on their heads within two hours!"