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Half an Inch of Land
墨書 Inktalez
On August 24, 1937, Foshao.
Amidst the thick smoke, the sun had just peeked over the horizon, casting a blood-red glow upon the earth, illuminating the devastated land.
From the horizon, the vast expanse of land was dotted with pockmarked craters, tattered military flags, and the bodies of fallen soldiers.
Several soldiers dressed in ragged Military Uniform were tirelessly searching the battlefield, moving back and forth, occasionally turning over a corpse to check pockets before moving on to the next one.
The wildfires that had burned throughout the night still flickered stubbornly in the gentle breeze, as if trying to bring a hint of warmth to the cold bodies lying nearby.
A large flock of crows circled overhead, a dark mass that flitted about while occasionally emitting mournful cries.
From above, looking down at the land from the coastline to the outskirts of Shanghai, thick black smoke wafted everywhere. Unidentified objects burned amidst chaotic craters and scattered bodies—those of Nationalist Army soldiers and Japanese troops alike.
The Soochow Creek Campaign had been ongoing for more than ten days, and the once dominant Kuomintang forces were showing signs of defeat.
The Nationalist Army, having seized the initiative with support from Japanese planes, artillery, and warships, began to suffer massive casualties. Continuous reinforcements arrived—sometimes an entire army or division, other times a regiment or company—totaling hundreds of thousands.
The front lines resembled an insatiable abyss, opening its bloody maw to consume the lives of countless young soldiers.
Japanese reinforcements rushed in from all directions; Japan's Third Eleventh Division had landed at Lion Grove and Chuan Sha Kou yesterday.
The Japanese military's Naval Gun unleashed a torrent of shells upon the Sea, including 155mm and 265mm rounds, with occasional fire from battleship main guns exceeding 300mm, systematically annihilating the National Revolutionary Army's defensive forces.
Yesterday afternoon, under relentless artillery support from Japan, strategic points such as Lion Grove, Chuan Sha Kou, and Luodian finally fell. Shanghai lay exposed like a bare maiden, opening its legs to the Japanese.
The sharp roar echoed from the sky from time to time, soon followed by a deep explosion. The veterans knew that the Japanese Naval Gun was firing again; they had been shelling all night, relentlessly tormenting the nerves of the frontline soldiers.
A low buzzing sound filled the air as two planes, painted with the ugly Japanese flag, emerged from the clouds.
The sun rose, bringing not endless vitality but a fleet of Japanese Army aircraft eager to show their might, along with the ensuing bombings, gunfire, and death.
Soldiers waking from their sleep shouted loudly to alert their comrades that Japanese planes were coming and urged everyone to take cover in the trenches.
Many soldiers looked up and cursed at the Japanese Army aircraft overhead, drawing their bayonets, knives, and stones, futilely trying to bring down the planes with primitive tools.
The Japanese planes flew over them like they were toying with children, swooping low and madly spraying machine gun fire at the frantic Nationalist Army soldiers below. Then they pulled up and disappeared into the sky, leaving behind a few corpses and endless fury.
A few soldiers in the rear struggled to carry several large barrels, carefully making their way forward. The other soldiers immediately surrounded them; no one paid attention to the two Japanese planes above. They had already left; those were just reconnaissance aircraft. As long as it wasn't bombers, they wouldn't cause too much harm—if any, it was something they could endure. They had grown numb; death could happen at any moment.
Li Tiezhu squeezed his way through the crowd with difficulty. Unfortunately, despite his name meaning "Iron Bamboo," he was quite frail, just like many other Chinese of this era who were nothing but skin and bones.
Today's breakfast was different from yesterday's; there was meat oil and meat, along with white flour.
Tiezhu held a bowl of steaming Egg Soup. If a soup with only a few strands of egg could be called Egg Soup, then this certainly qualified as such. In his hands were two buns and a flatbread.
The soldiers were very excited; they had forgotten when they last ate meat—was it a month ago? Or two months?
The buns were meat buns, two for each person. Anyone who tried to take more would be met with the wrath of the Catering Team's large iron spoon, yet some still attempted to grab a few extra right under their noses.
Zhao Tiezhu quietly squatted in the trench, eating breakfast, tears slowly streaming from his eyes.
It wasn't because the buns were delicious, but because he knew that a battle was about to begin. This meal was a last supper; once he finished eating, he would have to go to the battlefield.
Zhao Tiezhu, from Dabie Mountain, was originally a farmer, with no children, no parents; his mother died giving birth to him, and his father passed away a few years ago after a serious illness.
At the end of last year, his hometown was ravaged by war. To survive, he could only follow a few young men from the village, taking the little food they had left to escape. However, the world was not at peace; there were wars everywhere, conscription was rampant, and many people were fleeing.
Passing through Xuzhou City, Zhao Tiezhu had not eaten for two days. When he heard that joining the army came with food, he voluntarily enlisted.
After a hurried training session as a new recruit, he only learned how to shoot before being assigned to a unit.
His current identity was an ordinary soldier in the 1st Class of the 2nd Squad of the 2nd Battalion of the 66th Regiment of the 33rd Brigade of the 11th Division of the National Revolutionary Army, under Brigade Commander Ye Peigao and Commander Hu Lian.
Zhao Tiezhu knew that war was imminent because he could tell from today's meal that it was a last supper; filling up now meant avoiding starvation later.
"Tie Zhu, what are you thinking about?" Wang Shunliu asked, holding a bun tightly against his chest as if it contained some treasure. He stealthily approached Zhao Tiezhu.
Wang Shunliu was also from Dabie Mountain and had enlisted a year earlier than Zhao Tiezhu. He had been looking after Zhao Tiezhu since his first day in the army, often bringing him strange and interesting things.
"Here, eat quickly while it's hot. Two buns aren't enough to fill you up; I've got you two more."
Wang Shunliu pulled out two buns from his pocket and handed them directly to Zhao Tiezhu, clearly having more stored away.
"Thank you, Shunliu Brother."
Wang Shunliu patted Tie Zhu's head and said, "We're from the same hometown, no need to thank me. Hurry up and eat, don't let those killers see you."
"Okay, got it, Shunliu Brother."
Tie Zhu was munching on a bun while Wang Shunliu took out a pipe from his waist, knocked it against a nearby stone, and carefully examined the bowl. He noticed some ash inside, stirred it with his hand, and finally blew into it a couple of times before he was satisfied.
He pulled out a small pinch of tobacco from the cloth bag at his waist, stuffed it into the pipe, pressed it down firmly with his thumb until it felt tight, then released his fingers. He took out a box of matches, struck one vigorously, and a smell of burning phosphorus spread out.
With the pipe in his mouth, he carefully protected the flame, tilted the pipe slightly, and slowly lit the tobacco.
Taking a deep drag from the pipe, Wang Shunliu looked at Tie Zhu and said, "Tie Zhu, when we get to the battlefield later, don't be afraid and don't rush ahead. Stay behind me. Don't worry; the bullets will avoid me. With me around, you'll be fine. Don't be scared."
Tie Zhu paused his frantic eating, food stuffed in his mouth as he mumbled indistinctly, "It's nothing. Six Brother, I won't climb. Dad always said I'm brave."
After saying that, Tie Zhu lowered his head again and continued to devour the bun. He stopped talking but his hands trembled slightly; one bun slipped from his grasp. He quickly picked it up off the ground, but the two buns left in his hands fell as well.
Wang Shunliu glanced at Tie Zhu but didn't say anything more. He just gave him a firm pat on the shoulder and stared ahead, lost in thought.
Life on the battlefield is determined by fate; whenever heaven decides to take it away, that's when it will be taken. You can't hide from it; that's just destiny.
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