You could beat each other half to death during an internal feud, but when facing outsiders, you had to stand united.
Evidently, the platoon leader was an outsider.
Following Sokholov at a brisk pace, Gao Fei walked quite a distance before the voices behind them faded entirely. Only then did he finally ask, "What's the deal with the platoon leader?"
"The platoon leader..."
Sokholov let out a sigh. "That guy... how should I put it? He's a lunatic."
"Oh?"
"Our company commander worked his way up from squad leader, and the platoon leader was once a soldier under him. Once the commander got promoted to lead the company, the platoon leader was given the platoon. They used to fight side by side. Now, whenever the company commander has the toughest assignment, his first thought is always to call in the platoon leader, and the platoon leader turns around and dumps it on the assault squad within our Assault Platoon."
"If this is already an Assault Platoon, why bother forming a dedicated assault squad?"
"Because an entire platoon is too large an element. Most of the time, an eight-man combat team is the optimal setup. Other platoons pull men together temporarily to form an assault squad, or they just assign the mission to a regular squad. But our platoon leader likes to maintain a fixed unit. Whenever there's an offensive push, he sends those same guys in."
After thinking it over, Gao Fei asked, "Can the platoon leader just reassign me straight into the assault squad?"
"He certainly has the authority to force a transfer, but he has to respect our squad leader. He won't pull you over against the squad leader's will."
"That's a relief."
Sokholov exhaled. "The assault squad gets the best equipment, enjoys the best perks, and suffers the highest casualty rate. They don't have to hold trenches, and they don't have to do chores, but they see combat almost every day."
"I have no desire to join them."
Relief washed over Sokholov's face. "I didn't expect the platoon leader to show up either. When he said he spotted you on the drone feed, it meant he didn't come to break up the fight between me and Nevin at all. He came specifically for you. Good thing our squad leader made it back in time."
Gao Fei lowered his voice. "Why did we have to go pick a fight with Nevin in the first place?"
"Of course we had to! The unit next door screwed up that badly. If we didn't show some teeth, everyone would think we're push-overs! If we didn't beat them up and blow the whole thing wide open, what would happen next time?"
After saying that, Sokholov sighed with profound regret. "If Semyul from Team 1 were still around, tonight never would have played out this way."
"Who's Semyul?"
"He was Team 1's designated marksman—a discharged veteran too. He hadn't even been in Team 1 for half a month before the platoon leader talked him into joining the assault squad. He was killed in his third or fourth combat action. Fought too aggressively, got locked onto by a drone, and was blown to pieces."
With another sigh, Sokholov murmured, "Nevin tried to keep Semyul, but Semyul wanted to go to the assault squad himself. Nothing could be done about that."
On this battlefield, the real protagonists were artillery, drones, tanks, armored vehicles, mortars, and landmines.
The protagonist was never an infantryman.
No matter how capable you were, a single shell landing near you would kill you just the same.
Semyul next door had been formidable, yet a single drone took him out.
So in the end, you had to keep a low profile and scrape by with your head down. Having a knack for shooting was never an excuse to get cocky.
Gao Fei made up his mind: as long as he had the power to refuse, he would never join that damned assault squad.
Back at their own position, Sokholov didn't have much else to say. He simply said offhandedly, "Sleep if you can. Nothing big is going to happen tonight. Glaski, you take the first watch. I'll take the second, Samir the third. Rex, you get to rest. Do whatever you feel like doing."
Doing whatever he felt like meant sleeping if he could, chatting if he couldn't, or wandering around as he pleased.
It was preferential treatment through and through—they were pampering him, setting him apart from the rest.
Gao Fei didn't need to feel awkward about it; almost every defensive position worked this way.
Then he might as well sleep and replenish his energy. Catching sleep whenever and wherever an opportunity arose was an essential survival skill for a veteran.
It took Gao Fei a long time to finally drift off. When he woke up the next morning, he realized someone had thrown a foul-smelling blanket over him.
He had no idea whose blanket it was.
Still not used to checking a wristwatch, Gao Fei reflexively looked for a mobile phone to check the time. But reality quickly caught up with him. Raising his wrist, he saw that it was already nine in the morning.
To his surprise, there had been no shelling yet. The morning was peaceful enough that he had managed to sleep this long, though there was no telling if a routine barrage would begin shortly.
Throwing off the blanket, he got up, drank a few gulps of water, and stepped out of the dugout to relieve himself. Just then, Sokholov's low voice came from nearby: "Awake?"
"Yeah."
"Hand me that blanket. I'm going to get some sleep."
Late October brought a crisp chill. Staying active was fine, but lying still quickly grew freezing cold.
Gao Fei grabbed the blanket and brought it over to Sokholov.
"If you need to take a shit, dig a hole and bury it when you're done. Don't go outside the trench."
"Uh, got it."
Taking his entrenching shovel, Gao Fei walked a few paces, rounded a bend until his squadmates were out of sight, dug a hole, and took care of his business.
The first day had been pure adrenaline, but once the rush of excitement and dread faded, the harsh misery of trench life truly began to sink in on day two.
Returning to his dugout, he took out a pack of compressed biscuits, tore it open, and took two bites. Yesterday, the sweet-and-salty flavor hadn't tasted bad, but today it was already hard to swallow.
There were still a few pieces of black bread in his bag, and it was in moments like this that black bread showed its true worth.
Clutching the bread, Gao Fei thought for a moment before heading over to find Glaski. In a low voice, he asked, "Had breakfast yet? I've still got a few pieces of black bread here."
Glaski took the black bread without hesitation. After gnawing off two dry bites, he asked, "I've got canned pork. Want some?"
"Is it any good?"
"Tastes terrible. Greasy and salty. If we had a fire to heat it up, it'd be bearable, but cold, it's downright inedible."
"Nothing else?"
"Nope. The good stuff is always eaten first. Only the awful rations get saved."
That made perfect sense. Gao Fei shook his head. "Forget it then. I'll stick to the black bread. Does anyone deliver supplies during the day? Will we get anything decent?"
Even though only a single day and night had passed, their dynamic had already changed. Camaraderie among men developed quickly, but the bond between brothers-in-arms formed even faster.
Glaski replied offhandedly, "A resupply should come today, but don't count on anything good. Maybe some canned lunch meat or canned beef. You can forget about canned fruit or canned vegetables, though there'll definitely be compressed biscuits."
"Just that? Isn't there anything else to eat?"
Once a person adapted to a new environment, their mind immediately turned to food.
Gao Fei was hungry. As his father used to say, a full stomach keeps homesickness at bay. But given what was available right now, he felt he was truly going to suffer from hunger.
It wasn't a lack of food, but the kind of hunger where your body had enough calories, yet your stomach felt hollow—a psychological starvation.
On his second day on the front line, Gao Fei was already harboring deep resentment toward Russian military field rations.
While the food in the rear hadn't been exceptional either, the fare on the front line was practically unfit for human consumption.
Glaski mused wistfully, "What I wouldn't give for a bowl of borscht right now. Black bread dipped in hot borscht, soaking until it turns soft..."
It didn't sound particularly gourmet, yet somehow Gao Fei found himself salivating.
Glaski sniffled, then changed his tone. "If you ever feel weak and limp, that's your body telling you it needs calories. When that happens, no matter how foul that canned pork tastes, you'll choke it down."
"Yeah, got it."
Neither felt like speaking anymore, so they chewed their black bread in silence.
Before they could even finish, the walkie-talkie suddenly crackled to life.
The transmission came through in Russian. After replying into the radio, Glaski said with visible excitement, "The guys delivering our rations and bounties are here! Didn't expect them so soon. Looks like last night's action caught someone's attention up top. Listen, if the platoon leader comes with them, you hold your ground. Don't let him talk you into anything!"
Chapter 22