Thousands of miles from the snowy expanses of Manchuria, on the dusty and barren western border of the Republic, the sun bakes the earth mercilessly. Here, the wind carries not ice particles but fine sand that stings the eyes and coats everything in a monotonous brown. This is the domain of the warlord Ma Bufang, a slick tyrant whose power is buttressed by legions of fanatical Hui mercenaries and, it is rumored, a supply of modern weapons from a mysterious Japanese military adviser.
Captain Hu Yanzhen, commander of the elite "Desert Wolf" cavalry unit, gallops his steed, a jet-black Ferghana steed named Zhui Feng – Chasing the Wind – across the rocky plain. Dust billows behind his squad of a hundred horsemen, their faces hard and sunburned, their uniforms shabby but their spirits blazing. They are the spearhead of the National Revolutionary Army on this front, renowned for their bravery and their often unpredictable lightning-fast tactics.
Today, their target is a hidden artillery post belonging to Ma Bufang's forces, which have been raining down on the Republic's supply lines for weeks, crippling troop and supply movements. Intelligence from headquarters in Lanzhou had come in suddenly this morning: the exact location of the artillery posts, the number of guards, and even the schedule for patrol changes. Too perfect, Hu Yanzhen thought at first glance, but the urgency of the situation demanded that he act quickly.
"Lieutenant Zhou!" Hu Yanzhen called, his voice hoarse with dust. Lieutenant Zhou Qihang, a thin, bespectacled young man but a skilled fighter and strategist, immediately spurred his horse over. He was Hu Yanzhen's right-hand man, the calm brain amidst his commander's storm of emotions.
"Ready, Captain!"
"After we pass through the narrow gap ahead, split your forces in two. Your group attacks from the left flank to draw their attention. I will lead the main attack directly on the cannons. Remember, speed is key. We go in, destroy them, and get out before their reinforcements arrive!"
Lieutenant Zhou nodded. "Understood, Captain. May the God of War be with us."
Hu Yanzhen grinned, a glint of mischief flashing in his eyes. "The God of War? He's always on the braver side, Zhou Qihang!"
They passed through a narrow rock crevice, the dust growing thicker. As planned, Lieutenant Zhou separated with half the troops. Hu Yanzhen raised his gleaming Shashka sword, a gift from a Russian merchant he had once saved. Its curved blade was designed for deadly horseback slashes.
"CHARGE!" he shouted, spurring Zhui Feng forward. The war cries of his men echoed through the rocks.
The artillery post, located in a sheltered hollow, looked exactly as described in the intelligence report. Several old-style Howitzers, perhaps Qing-era relics or war booty, were guarded by about fifty soldiers. They seemed surprised by the sudden attack.
The fighting was swift and brutal. Hu Yanzhen's men, with the advantage of cavalry mobility, broke through the enemy's unprepared defenses. The clang of swords clashed with the crackle of Mauser C96 rifles and Hanyang 88 rifles. Hu Yanzhen, at the forefront, fought like a god of war gone mad. A slash of his sword sent two enemy soldiers flying from their horses. His guns blazed, knocking out a sniper who had been eyeing him from atop a rock.
In less than thirty minutes, the artillery post was captured. Several of the guns were badly damaged, the rest they had blown up with the dynamite they had brought. But the victory felt a little too easy.
"Report the situation!" Hu Yanzhen ordered, his breath ragged, sweat dripping down his face and uniform.
"Five of our soldiers down, Captain. Ten slightly injured," a sergeant reported. "Twenty enemy killed, the rest fled."
"Lieutenant Zhou?"
"His troops are combing the area, Captain. They've managed to lure out most of the enemy patrols."
That's when H Yanzhen felt it. A sense of foreboding crept up the back of his neck. He looked around. The valley was too quiet. There was no sign of significant enemy reinforcements, and the dynamite blasts must have been heard for miles around.
Suddenly, from the cliffs on either side of the valley, the distinctive crack of Maxim machine gun fire broke the silence. Not just one, but several. Bullets rained down on them like hail.
"TRAP! RETREAT! GET OUT OF HERE!" Gu Yanzhen shouted, realizing the horror of the situation. This was no ordinary artillery post. This was a decoy.
The remaining troops, who had just celebrated their victory, were now in panic. Horses neighed in fear. Some soldiers collapsed before they could react. Hu Yanzhen saw Lieutenant Zhou and his troops, who had just regrouped, also caught in the hail of gunfire from the other side.
"Towards the pass! Break through!" Hu Yanzhen tried to rally his men. He knew that if they stayed in this valley, they would be slaughtered.
His loyal steed Zhui Feng was wounded in the leg, but he still tried to carry him forward. Hu Yanzhen felt a burning sensation on his left shoulder as a bullet grazed it. He ignored it, continuing to swing his sword, clearing a path for his terrified men.
Amidst the chaos, he saw the Japanese military advisor often mentioned in the vague intelligence reports, standing on one of the cliffs, watching the carnage with a cold smile on his pale face. Beside him stood Ma Bufang himself, laughing heartily. Hu Yanzhen's eyes met the Japanese's for a moment – a cold, calculating gaze, and an unspeakable hatred.
"Damn you!" Hu Yanzhen growled, but he knew his priority was to save as many of his men's lives as possible.
They fought desperately to get out of the death valley. Every inch of ground was paid for with blood. Lieutenant Zhou, trying to protect a wounded young soldier, was shot in the chest. Hu Yanzhen watched him collapse, his eyes still on him, as if he wanted to say something.
"ZHOU QIHANG!" Hu Yanzhen shouted, his heart felt like it was being squeezed.
With the remnants of his troops, about thirty men, Hu Yanzhen managed to break out of the encirclement, leaving more than half of the "Desert Wolves" unit dead in that cursed valley. They continued to gallop on their horses, not daring to stop until they reached a safe area several hours later.
That night, in a small hidden oasis, Hu Yanzhen sat alone under a bare date palm. The wound on his shoulder had been bandaged, but the wound in his heart was far worse. He had failed. He had led his men into a death trap. Anger, sadness, and guilt haunted him.
He remembered the face of Lieutenant Zhou, that intelligent and loyal young soldier. He remembered the cold gaze of the Japanese advisor. This was not just a battle against a local warlord. There were foreign hands playing behind the scenes, pulling the puppet strings, enjoying this bloody show.
An old soldier approached him, handing him a small leather pouch. "Captain, these are Lieutenant Zhou's belongings that we managed to salvage."
Hu Yanzhen took it with trembling hands. Inside was a small notebook, a few silver coins, and a neatly folded piece of crumpled paper. He unfolded the paper. Several lines of irregular numbers. A code?
"Before he died," the old soldier said softly, "Lieutenant Zhou had muttered… 'last message… from headquarters… the numbers are strange… Captain… be careful…'"
Hu Yanzhen stared at the code for a long time. Last message from headquarters? The headquarters that sent them to the valley of slaughter? Had Zhou Qihang smelled something? Was this the key to the betrayal that had taken the lives of so many of his men?
He clenched his fists. The burning anger now mixed with cold determination. He would not let his men's sacrifices be in vain. He would find out who the traitor was. He would have his revenge. And he would make sure that Japanese advisor paid for his actions.
His thoughts drifted for a moment to He Xiang. To her courage, to her determination. What would He Xiang do in this situation? He knew He Xiang would never give up. And neither would he. He picked up a dry twig and began to try to decipher the code on the sand, under the silent gaze of the countless desert stars. The war on the western border had just entered a darker and more dangerous phase for Hu Yanzhen. And the shadow of betrayal now felt so real, so close.
In his pocket, a letter he had not had time to send, which he had written to He Xiang a few days ago, felt heavy. The letter contained his light chatter about the harshness of life in the desert, a few complaints about his strict superiors, and ended with a simple question, "How are you doing up North, Brave Lady? Don't freeze." Now, the letter felt inappropriate. How could he chatter when so much blood had been spilled? He crumpled the letter, then reluctantly put it away. Maybe someday. Someday when he could send better news, or at least, news that he had found justice for those who had been lost.
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***to be continued chapter 3