Chapter 2798 Sitting On Pins And Needles

After the old man nearly collapsed, the old woman seemed to grasp what had happened and began to sob. Her voice was soft, yet it seemed to shake the quiet afternoon. She reached out with a trembling hand to steady her husband, and together they retrieved the bamboo basket sitting nearby. Tan Shuangxi wanted to help, but something rooted his feet to the ground at the sight of the elderly couple supporting each other. The militia captain took the old woman's arm and casually slung the basket over his own shoulder. She did not refuse; she released the basket, took her husband's arm, leaned against his shoulder, and together they walked slowly out of the vegetable garden.

Zhang Laicai muttered, "Should we follow them?"

"Do you even need to ask? We haven't given them the things yet!"

The two followed with profound reluctance. Tan Shuangxi had done this sort of thing once before with his platoon leader. In his words, going once meant losing all enthusiasm for at least three days.

Inside the house, the old man said gently, "Old woman, pour some water for these two young men." The old woman shuffled into the inner room, her back hunched.

Tan Shuangxi withdrew a kraft paper envelope from his satchel. Opening it before the old man, he removed the items one by one: "Guo... Father Guo, this is Dapeng's death notification. This is the pension check. These are his medals and decorations. This is his cemetery certificate—Dapeng is currently interred in the military cemetery on the mainland. This is the inventory of his personal effects: a few old uniforms, a bedroll, and some odds and ends. The post office will deliver them in a few days. Please review the list yourself. If anything is amiss, write to this address—if you cannot write, have the village office draft it for you."

Finally, he produced a document: "Please affix your thumbprint here, sir, so we may return and report our duty complete."

The old man was like a wooden figure, doing whatever he was told.

Tan Shuangxi handed over the items. Rather than examining them, the old man asked everyone to sit. He settled onto a bench himself and regarded the two Fubo Army NCOs. "How was the fighting in the north?"

"The Ming army couldn't withstand a single blow," Tan Shuangxi said. "The regular troops were no trouble at all; they surrendered at the mere sight of us. But later, that dog official Xiong Wencan incited bandit rebellions everywhere, and we had to chew on some hard bones. Quite a few brothers died fighting those messy battles..." Tan Shuangxi knew the problem was not the fighting at all...

The old man remained silent, his body hunched forward. Whether he was listening to Tan Shuangxi's account was unclear. Tan Shuangxi suspected he had not heard a single word.

The old woman emerged with several bowls of water, her eyes red. She must have wept in the other room.

Tan Shuangxi held the bowl and drank. It was the cheapest kind—coconut shell, the sort issued to refugees upon reception as their first utensil. The outer shells were already quite battered. For a while, no one spoke.

The old woman glanced at her husband, seeming to receive some unspoken permission, then turned to Tan Shuangxi. "Dapeng... how did he go?" She spoke in a Shandong dialect. Tan Shuangxi did not quite understand, but he guessed the meaning, and the militia captain whispered a translation.

It had to come eventually, Tan Shuangxi thought. He paused, then spoke. "Ever since Xiong Wencan incited the bandit riots, there have been bandits everywhere. We were constantly marching, constantly rushing from one place to the next. Once, we went to suppress a band of them and walked into an ambush. The bandits were hidden in the roadside woods, attacking the column with firearms. The distance was too close, and a small stone struck Dapeng." Tan Shuangxi gestured at his chest and continued, "The medic rushed to save him, but he had already stopped breathing. It happened all at once..."

The old woman sat on the bench beside her husband, leaning against him, sobbing quietly. A neighbor woman who had been called over sat behind her, offering support. The old man's face had gone pale as he listened intently. "And then?" he asked.

"Then we wiped out that band of bandits," Zhang Laicai took over. "We rescued over two hundred women and children who had been abducted and seized a great deal of looted goods. The next day, we sent people to return everything."

"That counts as worth it," the old man said.

Tan Shuangxi did not know how to respond. Although there had been no crying or screaming as he had imagined, he still felt he could not remain in this small hut any longer. He glanced at Zhang Laicai. Even though Zhang Laicai was considered a "smooth talker" in the company, he too looked as though he were sitting on pins and needles, his eyes pleading silently for Tan Shuangxi to end this quickly.

At last, they managed to take their leave. The old couple tried to fulfill their duty as hosts and keep the two NCOs for dinner, but Tan Shuangxi and Zhang Laicai practically begged to go, leaving the village head and a few neighbors to keep the elderly pair company.

Just as they neared the village entrance, a mournful wail rose from the direction of the old couple's hut. Tan Shuangxi and Zhang Laicai shuddered involuntarily and quickened their pace, fleeing the village as if escaping a fire.

Only after leaving did Tan Shuangxi let out a breath. "I dread this kind of thing the most," he said. "I feel like I have no face to show the families."

"What's the use of saying that? It's getting late. Let's rest in Fushan Town for the night."

Although Fushan Town lay within Chengmai County, it actually sat at the junction of the two counties. The indigenous people here were also "Lingao people" and spoke the same dialect. Due to its convenient location and the presence of a Lingao Urban Rail station, commerce was relatively prosperous. The two arrived in Fushan and secured a room at the local military-designated hostel. With nothing else to do, an evening drink was inevitable.

After a few cups of wine, Tan Shuangxi finally voiced the words he had held back all afternoon: "How are Guo Dapeng's parents going to live from now on?"

"There's the pension and the survivor's subsidy. Do you think the old couple won't be able to get by?" Zhang Laicai said. "Besides, they have a son and a daughter. Even if they aren't around, they send money back. Once their eldest son returns, things will naturally smooth out."

"Yes, there's still a son in the family, so they won't be bullied by others!" Tan Shuangxi took a sip. "If he really were an only son, it would all depend on whether the villagers had any conscience!"

"It depends on how the village arranges things. I think the village head is a decent man. Zhongxing is an immigrant village. The family has no ties here, which is actually a good thing. If they had a few relatives around, those relatives would be sharpening their knives right now." Zhang Laicai downed a full glass of beer and spoke with some emotion, then shouted, "Waiter! Do you have any strong liquor?!"

The waiter hurried over, his face wreathed in smiles. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Xue Ziliang Brand Fruit Brandy, forty-five degrees..."

"Bring a bottle!"

The waiter hesitated and advised, "A bottle is seven hundred fifty milliliters. That's quite a lot for two people. You can also buy it by the glass..."

"Nonsense! Do you think we can't afford to pay?!" Zhang Laicai slammed the table.

"No such meaning, no such meaning. The shop is grateful for your patronage." Seeing that these two soldiers were in a dark mood, the waiter dared not press further—many soldiers had patronized recently, and while they spent money freely, when they caused trouble, they smashed up the shop.

He retreated to the counter to place the order and fetch the wine, whispering to the apprentice, "Go outside and see where the patrolling military police are."

Tan Shuangxi knew this had probably stirred some painful memory in Zhang Laicai, so he did not ask further. Such things could be guessed easily enough. Thinking of this, he lost all interest. He said:

"Ma'niao isn't far from here. Let's visit again when we have leave. There are several other soldiers from Zhongxing Village. It shouldn't be hard to lend a hand if something happens."

Lending a hand was secondary; having someone keeping watch would make others wary.

"Yes, if people from the troops visit often, things will be somewhat better." Zhang Laicai poured himself half a glass of brandy, looking intent on getting drunk.

"When Guo Dapeng died, were you there? I noticed you didn't tell the old man the truth."

"Drink a few sips less—too much gives you a headache." Although Tan Shuangxi said this, he poured himself half a glass as well. Throwing his head back, he emptied the liquor into his mouth in one motion. A line of fire rushed from his throat straight to his stomach, instantly making him dizzy. He had never liked strong liquor, but now he wished the wine were stronger, the kick harder, so that after a hangover he could forget everything about that day. Yet at this moment, the alcohol had the opposite effect, and the scene from that time rose before him like a film.

The moment the cannon shot landed, Tan Shuangxi had rushed to Guo Dapeng's side, dragging him by his clothes into a nearby ditch. Guo Dapeng had lost consciousness. His eyes were half-open, his mouth gaped wide, gasping "Oh! Oh! Oh!" for air. Tan Shuangxi knew this was a chest wound causing pneumothorax. If the wound was not sealed immediately, he would suffocate in moments—this was something he had learned in battlefield first-aid training before deployment.

Tan Shuangxi tore at Guo Dapeng's clothes and the gear on his body, but there were too many straps! Canteen, belt, ammunition belt, primer box, grenade pouch, backpack... Time was short, and Tan Shuangxi could not afford to undo each piece of equipment to locate the wound. He could only rip open the buttons on his chest!

Fortunately, it was summer, and Guo Dapeng wore only a vest beneath his uniform jacket. Ripping open the buttons revealed a bullet hole in his right chest. The hole was small and round; it had likely been a small stone, since bandit militia generally could not afford real lead shot. The tiny wound sprayed dark-red blood plasma outward with each strained breath, dyeing the white linen vest completely crimson...

Tan Shuangxi tore open the first-aid packet and pressed it directly onto the wound without unfolding it, pushing hard with both hands, terrified that more air would escape through the hole. But Guo Dapeng's breathing did not improve; instead, it grew weaker and weaker.

"Medic! Medic!" he shouted desperately. Gunfire and battle cries rang out all around. No one answered his calls.

"It must have gone through! There's a wound on the back too!" A soldier beside him, rifle raised and keeping watch, called out the warning. Tan Shuangxi looked down and saw the yellow earth and green turf soaked in blood. The blood had turned black—a large pool of dark crimson.

(End of Chapter)