Chapter 2: The Second Newbie Brigade and I Got Hammered (2)

  We trudged along with our backpacks, driven by two officers in a jeep that looked like a camouflage turtle (I later found out it was an airborne assault vehicle) to a remote mountain valley, which was the base of our new training team. It seemed to be over ten kilometers away from the special forces' base, because we clearly didn't have the qualifications to enter that heavily guarded place with iron wire fences and electrified barbed wire. To be honest, it wasn't until I figured it out after a week that I knew our approximate location based on the terrain and star changes, and it wasn't until we started learning about GPS in technical subjects that I knew exactly where we were. As I ran away, my resentment grew stronger, thinking to myself, what's so special about you guys? Aren't you just dogs with white teeth on your sleeves? We're both troops, both Liberation Army, both land army, both soldiers, why do you get to be so secretive and our troop is worthless? One day I'll mess with you guys and let you taste the power of our ancestors' reconnaissance!

  I was thinking that I had been brought to an abandoned camp by a small jeep that looked like a turtle. At first glance, I could see that this place used to be the residence of a tank regiment, probably because the troops were withdrawn and the camp was empty, but the barracks, infantry training grounds, etc. should still exist. It seemed that they were specifically set up for us reconnaissance soldiers who were considered "rookies" in their eyes. When we ran into this camp, we realized that there were no decent buildings at all, only ruins and broken walls. I guessed that it was the result of the enemy's waste utilization, and it seemed that the whole army was the same. The spirit of Nanjiecun will live on forever! I thought to myself, where would we live? Would we have to sleep in tents again? As a result, the small jeep with the dog head painted on the door turned around and around, and we chased after it until it finally stopped at the original tank garage.

  Then we stood in line, panting, and two small officers came down without saying anything to us. They just opened the door of a tank garage and said go in. We went in. I took a look and was shocked. Is this a place for humans? Although the diesel smell in the garage was still clean and tidy, with about a dozen double-decker iron bed frames, the smell was indeed strong enough.

  I followed the brothers into the dormitory, putting my backpack on the bed with their names written on it. Everyone was frowning and trying not to breathe, I thought they were all thinking about how to live here in the future. But unexpectedly, after getting used to it, when we moved to a new barracks and saw diesel-powered vehicles, I wanted to go smell them. Otherwise, my whole body would feel uncomfortable. Honestly, this kind of thing is also addictive, just like old tank soldiers who are used to the smell of diesel and their muscles are used to the vibrations. Driving a car always feels like playing with toys for the same reason.

  We had just put away our backpacks and hadn't even opened our bedding when the whistle blew outside, and we rushed out to line up. The lieutenant colonel and several lieutenants came over, standing with their hands behind their backs in a "?" shape, waiting for us brothers. This time we were all wide awake, and only then did we clearly see that these instructors were wearing full camouflage uniforms, which were slightly different from ours in color, fabric, waistband, shoes, and even wore black berets (at that time, this kind of hat had not been issued to the whole army, so it looked quite unusual, and few people knew what a beret was).

  We didn't dare say a word and just stood there like that.

  He looked at me, I also looked at him. Anyway, since we've come this far, let's just see how things go, the Bodhisattva is made of mud and I'm made of flesh, but with over 100 catties of life, I'll die trying, I don't believe you can do anything to me.

  The major averted his eyes, then began to speak. I think he was suffocating at the airport, so in pure Shandong dialect, he said: "I represent the entire Wolf Tooth Battalion in extending our warm welcome to you!" Then nobody applauded, because even an idiot knows that applause isn't needed at this time. He looked at us and said his name is something something, I thought to myself, what's it to me what your name is? As a result, I remembered that he was surnamed Gao, and was the captain of our company, which we were assigned to this year to be disciplined by. He said "it's better to have nothing than to have worthless things", I thought to myself, isn't that the broom we saw at the training grounds? Isn't it just a rope with a knife attached?

  Then he said something that I couldn't remember, and it's not worth writing about the usual stuff from a military cadre.

  He seemed a bit uncomfortable under my gaze, so his tone was somewhat uncertain. He hastily finished the opening remarks and then said: "Our brother ran poorly earlier, all sloppy, let's have our brother exercise before meals." I'm not afraid of this, what's running compared to the reconnaissance troops' martial arts training?

  We changed into camouflage uniforms and followed that little Wang Ba Jeep to run the route, winding up the mountain. That high school team was right behind us in another little Wang Ba Jeep, our brothers ran up the mountain, no one was stupid, knowing that the killing stick had just begun and it wasn't time to sell their lives yet, so they all held back their strength.

  Then the leading Little King Jeep accelerated and turned to a muddy swamp, we rushed forward and hesitated, not knowing whether to run across or stop with the car. Then an officer on the first Little King Jeep said: "Get down!"

  We'd rather die as soldiers than be afraid of mud.

  Then, following the command, we did sit-ups in the mud like a bunch of sugar gourds. To be honest, we were all experts in our old unit, so doing sit-ups was child's play, but doing it in this muddy pit for the first time was still a bit uncomfortable. The truth is that the feeling was really unpleasant - not because of fatigue, but because when you got up and down, mud splattered everywhere on your face, ears, and body, making it hard to open your eyes or take deep breaths. That officer even made us shout slogans, and if our voices weren't loud enough, he would scold us. We weren't afraid of being scolded because we were all used to being yelled at by our platoon leaders, who had a lot more creative ways of yelling at us. But doing this for an extended period was unbearable, until we eventually got used to it. Later, when we went on a field training exercise and helped some villagers harvest wheat, we saw a pigpen and everyone's body started itching - it was like we wanted to roll around in the mud to get relief. Sometimes people's habits are just weird, and I'll introduce you to some strange characters later. The special forces unit really had all sorts of people, which is why I initially called them the "Dog Head Unit" - a nickname that made sense. Later, when the unit leader found out about this nickname, he wasn't happy because the insignia was designed by him personally and took several nights to complete, only for everyone to joke that it looked like a dog's head.

  After doing 100 sit-ups, we were asked to turn over and do push-ups. This was even more unbearable because your face had to be buried in the mud, repeatedly poking your ears into the muddy water. After 100 of them, all the brothers had become mud-covered, just like Master Zhang's muddy sculptures.

  The physical exertion was about twice the normal amount, because your breathing is restricted, and the mud pit also has resistance and weight, and we are not used to it. Later, the brothers gradually explored ways to exercise in the mud pit, and it wasn't so unbearable anymore. Later on, they all developed a habit of rolling around like pigs whenever they saw a pigpen, because living outdoors without mud pits was just an idea. The high school team later made us roll in something even more disgusting than a pigpen, which I'll talk about later. After I retired from the army and watched TV, I found out that rich people abroad were popularizing this thing called "mud baths", saying it had health benefits. At the time, I thought to myself, "Wow, our squad leader was really ahead of his time, knowing how to take care of our bodies."

  Brothers, we were all covered in mud and still not allowed to get up. We had to follow the officer's orders to do some forward and backward rolls, and our heads would sink into the mud. At that time, I basically didn't have any thoughts because you couldn't think, you had to be careful not to let the mud enter your mouth. Of course, we were all exhausted in the end, then they made us maintain a push-up position suspended in mid-air, but our arms couldn't be straight. I don't remember how long we stayed like that, at first, we counted, but later on, we worried about our own chest muscles and triceps (if I'm not mistaken, it's been a long time since I've used these terms). Because the more we did it, the more sore we became. Even the scout elites are not made of iron, they're also human flesh, and they know what it means to be tired.

  I just hung there, watching the sweat on the tip of my nose dripping into the mud below.

  I just hung there, and then it felt like countless small ants crawling on my arm, biting and then frantically biting. It really got more and more unbearable, but I still gritted my teeth and persisted because I was really exhausted. Finally, even my neck ached, and my face cramped up from the strain.

  I stuck it out in the front row.

  A pair of brightly polished large leather boots slowly walked in front of me and stood still, just standing there. I persisted, enduring, trying my best to think of beautiful things, my mind had already wandered afar, such as thinking of my little shadow, her smiling face, her small hands, her fragrance, her pearly whites. Then a military boot stepped on my shoulder, not using much force, and I went down, my face planted in the mud, mouth full of mud, unable to move.

  I slowly turned around in the muddy water, spitting out a few mouthfuls before I could catch my breath. I saw the high school team looking at me with expressionless eyes. I heard them shaking their heads and sighing, saying: "Wash them up and have dinner."

  As he turned to leave, I thought I heard a scornful laugh from him. Many years later, I asked him about it, and he insisted that he hadn't laughed because he had also experienced similar things himself. I'm not sure if I misremembered it, as memories often have deviations.

  This is the first afternoon I came to this damn dog-headed battalion, we spent 2 hours bathing in the muddy water, then were driven into the river at the foot of the mountain to bathe, and finally ran to a abandoned campsite with wet clothes to eat at a field kitchen in the corner, without eating enough, hungry and wearing half-wet clothes, we ran 10,000 meters armed cross-country, and did traditional 5 sets of 100 physical training before the training ended, then political study began, not allowing us to rest, wearing camouflage uniforms stained with sweat and river mud, we studied documents, studied spirit, and studied whatever, anyway it was all studying.

  When the lights went out, we all began to realize that this unit was not just a paper tiger. I've said before that I'm not a military enthusiast, and in fact many of my comrades in the special forces aren't either. Our understanding of special forces is very limited - basically just knowing how to run, climb, and shoot guns. As for those things you're all particularly interested in, we only came into contact with them later when we started studying tactical theory.