Crossing the Ice River (2)
"Alright!" Chen Zizhong raised the Su-style rifle above his head, "Our third squad's temper, once we've fixed bayonets, we must see red!"
"Hurrah!" The warriors responded thunderously.
The dagger cuts out a cold light in the snowfield illuminated by the bright moon, bringing up a forest of daggers with a boiling murderous aura.
The ones who stood in front of Chen Zizhong like a forest of spears were a group of young veterans, with an average age of less than twenty-two years old and all having served for more than four years.
Yellow earth-colored uniform, thin cotton-padded jacket, Liberation rubber shoes, fine strings tied tightly around the cuffs and pant legs, a white towel with the words "Carry the Revolution to the End" cut off on the left arm; Soviet-made rifle, one hundred twenty rounds of ammunition, ten hand grenades, five kilograms of fried noodles. The gun was wrapped layer by layer with torn cloth strips, metal buttons were covered with layers of gauze, and there was not a single reflective point on his body.
Ten frogs jump, four short-distance sprints and sharp turns, thirty meters rapid crawling forward, stopping halfway to handle the equipment that makes a sound, then continuing to do intense exercise until the equipment on their bodies is as silent as their mouths.
The three rows of bayonets set out at one o'clock in the morning, without a heroic toast after smashing the wine glasses, without a final family letter to embarrass this group of rough men who didn't recognize a single character, less than twelve hours after the battle ended, these young veterans rushed towards another battlefield in the dark night.
Chen Zizhong rushed to the front of the team, while Old Liu, who was carrying an iron can in his arms, fell behind. His voice echoed through the cold night: "Cold words, and also butter, cold words..."
After six hours of rapid march, the three rows arrived at the riverbank under the mountain.
The warriors hid behind the shrubs covered with frost flowers, lying on the ground, one hand holding a gun and the other covering their nose to prevent the white mist from revealing their target. After a night of rapid march, everyone was sweating profusely, with beads of sweat as big as beans freezing into ice pellets before they could even drip down to their chins.
Chen Zizhong observed the terrain, in front of him was a vast open plain, and across from him was a wide frozen river, on the other side of which stood an American fort, garrisoned by about one platoon of US troops.
A few days ago, a company of North Korean People's Army deserters was annihilated by the US military here. The bullet-riddled uniforms and intact equipment were taken away by waves of refugees, leaving behind several corpses with their upper bodies bloody and their lower bodies naked on the riverbank.
Several large crows surrounded the frozen corpse, jumping and competing for food, their sharp beaks pecking at the hard remains, emitting a gloomy echo like chiseling ice.
Chen Zizhong must lead three rows of troops to successfully cross the river before dawn, pass through the open terrain and enter the designated location.
The vast river surface was covered with a layer of ice, and on top of the ice lay a thin layer of snow. Forcing a breakthrough would inevitably be detected by the US military in the fortifications, and the open river surface would become a bloody killing field.
"Detour here, we can bypass." Squad leader Hou Fuzi pointed to the conspicuous red circle on the hand-drawn map, where there was a wooden bridge and no US military presence nearby.
The inky blackness of the night sky is being replaced by the deep blue morning twilight before dawn, and the deep blue is also gradually receding.
Chen Zizhong measured the distance on the map with his fingers, from the position of the three rows to the wooden bridge, it would take at least 40 minutes. By then, the sky would be bright, and even if they were not torn apart by the crazy bombing of the Wild Horse planes, they would still be discovered by the US military stationed nearby and fall into a siege.
Time was pressing, and the only way to cross the frozen river was by force. Chen Zizhong resolutely waved his hand, and the demolition expert put a bundle of five hand grenades on his back, grabbed the explosive package and crawled towards the riverbank.
The blaster crawled to the riverbank, observed for a moment, and placed the explosive package tied to the wooden frame flat on the ice surface. With a swing of his arm, the explosive package slid out far away like a snowplow. The blaster followed behind, crawling forward, advancing a section, pushing the explosive package forward by more than ten meters, then moving forward again, and sending it forward again.
"Tap tap! Tap-tap-tap!"
The machine gun suddenly fired, and the bunker's shooting hole spewed out flickering flames and pale blue gun smoke.
The blaster tucked his head into the crook of his elbow and listened for the direction of the machine gun fire.
Whistling bullets zigzagged through the cold air, passing aimlessly over the top of the Blaster's head and the tips of the bushes, while crows on the riverbank, fighting for the icy corpse, scattered with a scream. The Blaster let out a breath, the American army was conducting a firepower alert.
