Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

In April 1951, the rainy season on the Korean Peninsula arrived early.

The cold rain wove a vast net, shrouding the towering mountains north of Tieyuan. The muddy roads, like greedy black serpents, devoured wheels and footsteps.

But on the positions of the U.S. Eighth Army, Van Fleet did not feel the slightest bit of cold.

He sat in the warm command vehicle, looking at the dense defensive line on the map, a sneer of arrogance on his lips.

"Let the Chinese come."

He addressed his staff, pointing sharply at the map: "I've given them five times the previous amount of ammunition. If they dare to charge, I'll bury them in steel!"

This is the famous "Van Fleet ammunition load".

He firmly believed that no flesh and blood could withstand such relentless firepower.

However, what he didn't know was...

In the valley opposite him, in a forest heavily covered by camouflage netting, hundreds of specially modified Jiefang brand trucks silently raised their menacing heads.

That was a full ten "Dongfeng-0" rocket artillery battalions.

The iconic sliding rails of the Katyusha have been replaced by thicker, longer, honeycomb-shaped directional launch tubes.

"All parameters are set!"

"Target: US artillery positions and forward assembly areas!"

The frontline commander's voice sounded particularly cold through the rain, "Director Shen said this thing isn't just about money, it's about lives. Don't miss, give it your all!"

"preparation--"

The signal flare pierced the rain, blooming into a pale white flower of death in the dark night sky.

"put!"

"Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—!!!"

In that instant, the earth seemed to crack open.

Hundreds of launchers roared simultaneously, and thousands of rockets, trailing long plumes of flame, tore through the rain like enraged fire dragons, hurtling towards the enemy's positions.

The sounds were so dense and shrill that they formed a terrifying sonata, much like a pipe organ.

On the US military position.

The piercing air raid siren had barely sounded when it was drowned out by a sky full of fiery meteors.

"Artillery! (Fire!)"

The American soldiers skillfully crawled into the anti-artillery bunkers and shelters they had dug beforehand, some even scoffing, "Another rocket launcher? Besides making a lot of noise, it can't penetrate our fortifications at all!"

The old Katyusha rockets were indeed impenetrable.

But this time, what fell was not an ordinary high-explosive bomb.

"Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!"

The rocket landed.

Instead of an immediate, earth-shattering explosion, a series of muffled, soft sounds were heard.

The projectile shattered, and plumes of white, slightly sweet-smelling mist instantly gushed out.

This eerie fog was heavier than air. It seemed to have a life of its own, spreading along the ground, seeping into trenches, bunkers, and even filling every foxhole and ventilation shaft.

"What is this? Poison gas?"

A U.S. Army captain covered his mouth and nose in terror before he could even put on his gas mask.

The second detonation has begun.

"boom--!!!"

This is not an explosion.

This is an earthquake.

Thousands of plumes of white mist ignited simultaneously, transforming into thousands of enormous, orange-red fireballs. These fireballs instantly expanded and merged, turning the surrounding area for several kilometers into a churning sea of ​​lava and fire!

A temperature of 2500 degrees Celsius!

Steel melts, rocks crumble.

What's even more terrifying is the vacuum effect that occurs in that instant.

The oxygen at the explosion's epicenter was sucked out within a microsecond, and the surrounding air frantically filled in, creating a terrifying negative pressure storm.

Those American soldiers who were hiding in sturdy bunkers and thought they were safe suddenly felt the air being sucked out of their lungs.

"Uh...uh..."

They were clutching their own necks, their eyes bulging, their faces turning purple, struggling desperately in extreme pain, yet unable to breathe in even a sliver of oxygen.

The alveoli ruptured.

Internal bleeding.

This was a silent execution, a suffocating trial from hell.

"God... save me..."

A few final, desperate screams came through the radio before utter silence fell.

The entire US military position seemed to have been wiped off the face of the earth by an invisible giant hand.

There were no gunshots, no counterattacks.

Only the fire burned wildly in the rain, crackling and popping.

Rear command post.

Shen Jinghong stood in front of the huge sand table, holding a teacup in her hand, her expression calm.

Opposite him was a high-powered walkie-talkie that was making a constant crackling sound.

"Reporting to Commander-in-Chief! I'm on the front lines of observation!"

The scout's voice trembled with excitement, even tinged with fear:

"It exploded! It all exploded! Flames shot into the sky, half the sky was burned red!"

"The American positions... are gone! Everything is gone! Even the bunkers have been burned to shards!"

"That's so tragic...it's really too tragic..."

Upon hearing the report, the air in the conference room froze for a few seconds.

Then, thunderous applause and cheers erupted.

General Peng slammed his fist on the sand table, making the little flags on it bounce wildly, and his wrinkles beamed with a broad smile:

"Good! Well done!"

"What Van Fleet ammunition capacity? What Iron Line defense?"

"They're all made of paper compared to our 'Dongfeng'!"

Marshal Nie also walked excitedly to Shen Jinghong's side and patted him hard on the shoulder:

"Jinghong, your 'thermobaric bomb' is truly a powerful remedy! After this battle, I think that arrogant MacArthur will have to change his pants again!"

Shen Jinghong took a sip of tea to moisten her throat.

He looked at the red flag symbolizing victory on the sand table, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.

"Sir, this isn't a strong medicine."

He put down his teacup, straightened his collar, and spoke in a clear, resonant voice, carrying an air of domineering arrogance:

"This is called 'physical persuasion'."

"Weren't they defiant? Weren't they bullying others because of their better equipment?"

Shen Jinghong walked to the window and looked at the dark night sky outside, as if she could see the raging fire burning in the sky.

He softly recited a line of lyrics that would become familiar to later generations, yet was incredibly fitting at this moment:

"The east wind blows, the war drums beat."

"In this world today... who is afraid of whom?"

"What a great attitude of 'who's afraid of who!'"

General Peng laughed heartily, "That's inspiring! Pass down the order! A full-scale counterattack! Taking advantage of this momentum, let's drive these invaders back to their homeland!"

That night.

The flames from the Dongfeng-0 rocket illuminated the night sky along the Yalu River.

The once-arrogant "United Nations forces" finally bowed their proud heads before that terrifying weapon that could drain souls.

Defeat.

The entire operation was a complete rout.

From the 38th parallel to Seoul, and then to Busan.

The Stars and Stripes trembled in the howling east wind.

……

a few days later.

Shenzhou Bureau, top-secret underground laboratory.

The outside world was still celebrating that epic victory, but here, it was eerily quiet.

The massive explosion-proof door was tightly closed.

Shen Jinghong, dressed in a heavy anti-radiation suit, stood in front of a newly assembled centrifuge that gleamed with a cold metallic light.

Lin Qinghan stood beside him, holding a notebook in her hand, her expression solemn.

"We won the conventional war."

Shen Jinghong took off his helmet, revealing a slightly tired but still resolute face.

His gaze pierced through the thick concrete wall, as if he could see his furious opponent on the other side of the ocean.

"But the real threat has only just begun."

"The Americans are blinded by defeat. Truman has already clamored at a press conference that he would use atomic bombs against us."

"Nuclear blackmail."

Lin Qinghan pushed up her goggles, her voice cold and clear, "They want to use that thing to scare us back from the victory we fought so hard for."

"Scare them back?"

Shen Jinghong sneered, a hint of disdain flashing in his eyes.

He reached out and gently stroked the cold exterior of the centrifuge, as if he were stroking a sleeping giant beast.

"Trying to blackmail with nuclear weapons? They'll have to see if they have the guts."

"Truth lies only within range."

"Dignity resides only on the edge of the sword."

Shen Jinghong turned around abruptly and looked at the group of scientists behind her, who were also wearing protective suits and had fervent eyes—Professor Qian, Professor Deng, Professor Yu…

These pillars of the Chinese nation have all gathered here at this moment.

For the same goal.

Comrades.

Shen Jinghong's voice was deep, yet resonant like a great bell, echoing in the closed laboratory:

"The regular season is over, and next up is the finals."

"We must silence the great powers completely and make this nation stand up straight. The 'Dongfeng-0' alone is not enough."

"We need something harder, louder, and more effective at calming people down."

He stretched out his hand, pointing towards the Northwest, towards that desolate yet magnificent Gobi Desert:

"Next stage goals."

"No matter the cost, no matter how much we have to lose."

"I want to be right next to that peninsula, even on some people's doorsteps..."

Shen Jinghong's eyes became incredibly crazed and determined:

"Let's plant a few...our own mushrooms!"