Chapter 2797 The First Letter

The night passed uneventfully. The following day brought a battalion meeting, and though Tan Shuangxi couldn't stop yawning, attendance was mandatory. This was an "expanded meeting" requiring all officers and NCOs to be present. Just as Sergeant Ma had predicted, the announcement came first: the entire battalion would stand down for three months of rest and reorganization. Personnel transfers would follow.

"Ensure your mailing addresses are current. New orders may arrive at any time."

Then came the conditions for voluntary discharge applications. Tan Shuangxi studied the three criteria: a cumulative twenty-four months of overseas deployment during service; three or more combat injuries on record; or being over thirty-five years of age.

"Beyond these three criteria," Lin Fu added, "those with genuine family hardships requiring them to return home as caregivers may also submit applications. The Political Department of the General Staff will handle all reviews, with each case discussed individually."

Sergeant Ma clearly qualified. In fact, upon careful consideration, quite a few men in the battalion met the requirements. Tan Shuangxi knew he could apply to leave this time as well. But he had no desire to do so. Unlike Sergeant Ma, he had no family business waiting for him. Given his rank, obtaining a Class B diploma would likely land him a position in local administration as some sort of "cadre." But the income and benefits wouldn't match what the army offered. Especially with the Mainland Campaign underway—troops received "wartime allowances" on top of regular pay, pushing their earnings several times higher than during garrison duty.

After the meeting adjourned, Tan Shuangxi intended to return to his platoon and make arrangements, but the battalion commander summoned him back for a smaller gathering. The attendees were specifically selected NCOs from each company.

Lin Fu presided over this meeting as well, but the true protagonist was an unfamiliar officer from the General Staff's Political Department. The content was simple: the NCOs would pair up and visit the homes of fallen soldiers from their companies to deliver death notifications and personal effects.

"This is a task of great importance, one that may consume considerable time. We expect everyone to adhere to principles of patience and thoroughness, delivering effects and notifications one by one, demonstrating humanistic care..."

Tan Shuangxi didn't grasp the latter half of what the officer said about humanistic care and the like; it left him completely befuddled.

"This is miserable!" He had lost count of how many times he'd repeated that phrase. His hand drifted reflexively toward his pocket for a cigarette, but the vibration beneath him reminded him he was on the urban rail—smoking was prohibited on the train—and he withdrew his hand.

From the moment he'd boarded, he had read those few sentences in the mission manual hundreds of times over, yet he still couldn't fathom how to open his mouth and say the words: "Your son/husband is dead."

"This is miserable!" Tan Shuangxi's temporary partner, Sergeant Zhang Laicai, muttered alongside him. "What kind of mission is this!"

Zhang Laicai served as the platoon sergeant, which meant he couldn't escape this duty either. His complaints stemmed not merely from the difficulty of the task, but primarily because it derailed a "good thing." He had arranged to meet a former "Yellow Ticket" lover at East Gate Market that evening for dinner followed by a night of passion. Taking this assignment meant the night of passion was canceled. They would have to traverse all of Lingao, which would take at least two or three days. He had been grumbling since they passed through the camp gate.

"Orders are orders. What's there to say?" Though Tan Shuangxi harbored plenty of complaints himself, he looked down on Zhang Laicai's restless eagerness to find a woman.

Zhang Laicai stopped muttering about "delaying things" but still wore a worried expression. He glanced at the two bulging military backpacks on the luggage rack and whispered to Tan Shuangxi, "Old Tan, some of these men have nothing but a 'Glory Medal.' Their pensions are just the minimum. Will the families object? Cause trouble?"

"Cause trouble?" Tan Shuangxi hadn't considered that angle and didn't react immediately. Right—there was this even thornier problem. He couldn't help but remove his military cap and scratch the top of his head vigorously. Why had he been saddled with such a wretched assignment? Setting aside the bad luck, the real difficulty was finding the words. This mission was harder than storming a hilltop position.

"I doubt it. Being a soldier means fighting wars. Life and death are matters of fate. What's there to fuss about? If this were the Great Ming, would they dare cause trouble?"

"But this isn't the Great Ming, is it? If families are dissatisfied, we can't exactly silence them."

"But what good does making a fuss with us accomplish?"

"That's not called causing trouble—at most it's called having an opinion," Tan Shuangxi admonished. "Watch your wording! If families have opinions, we offer a few words of comfort. If they say something unpleasant, let it go in one ear and out the other—after all, they've lost a loved one. Show some forbearance."

"I understand that. It's not as though we set the policy."

"As long as you understand. We're delivering effects to execute an order, not to solve problems," Tan Shuangxi said. "If there are opinions, we listen and report back."

"Sigh, leave would have been such a good thing." Zhang Laicai began sighing again. "Now it's turned into such a depressing mess!"

Tan Shuangxi ignored him. His gaze drifted to the empty seat across the carriage. The morning rush had passed; at this hour, everyone was working, farming, or attending school. Besides the two of them, only a few peddlers and odd-job workers remained. A small vendor dozed in a corner of the carriage, a straw hat covering his face, swaying with the train's movement. It nearly fell off several times before he pushed it back into place.

"Military-issue straw hat, Lingao Rattan Ware Factory, one yuan twenty cents in exchange scrip... Bastard! What am I thinking? Why these strange thoughts? Focus—think about what to say later... No, wait, that's a high-imitation version from Chengmai Woodware Factory, only eighty-five cents... Bastard..."

The two disembarked at Fushan Station near the Lingao-Chengmai border. They had eleven death notifications to deliver, scattered across every corner of Lingao. Some destinations were bustling thoroughfares like East Gate Market and Bopu Town; others were villages and farms they had never even heard of.

He and Zhang Laicai had calculated extensively before setting out, deciding to start from Fushan Town in the county's easternmost reaches and aim to finish within two days.

Their first stop was called Zhongxing Village. The name sounded like something a Senator had chosen—"China Rejuvenation"; locals wouldn't dare be so bold with naming. Since a Senator had chosen the village name, the settlement was naturally an immigrant village. Most residents were refugees transported from Shandong during Engine Operation, followed by successive waves settled from Shandong Station, Jiangnan Station, Wuhan Station, and other relay points, as well as some spontaneous immigrants. After a few years, it had grown into a large village with a population exceeding a thousand.

Upon entering the village, they first sought out the village head according to protocol to understand the situation. The Guo Dapeng family they were visiting actually consisted of only two elderly parents.

"With only parents at home, how could he enlist?" Tan Shuangxi was puzzled, because Guo Dapeng had joined before the Mainland Campaign. At that time, conscription followed the rule of "one out of three males, two out of five." If Guo Dapeng was an only son, he wouldn't have been eligible for conscription.

"He originally had an older brother who complained that farming didn't pay and signed up to follow some oil company to Nanyang. He's been gone two years now, writing back once every three to five months." The village head chattered as he led the way. "The old couple also had a daughter, originally married within this village. Last year, her husband went to manage a plantation in Qiongnan, and the daughter accompanied him. That leaves just the two of them in the village. Sigh!"

"How is their family situation?"

"Not bad—they don't worry about food or drink," the village head said. "Both sons send money back, and the daughter used to bring food and clothes every now and then. After moving, she still sends things."

Hearing this, both men felt slightly relieved. Guo Dapeng was the fallen soldier Zhang Laicai had mentioned who "only had a Glory Medal." The Guo parents were older and had other children to support them, so presumably they wouldn't cause trouble.

To be safe, the village head and militia captain accompanied them to Guo Dapeng's house.

The Guo family home stood at the village's edge—a three-room tiled house of the type uniformly built by the Senate for immigrants. White walls, black tiles, and a fence of fast-growing trees. A large yellow dog lay in the yard; spotting strangers entering, it immediately began barking until the village head shouted it into silence.

The door was unlocked, but no one was inside. The furnishings were simple and plain. Sunlight streamed through the clean small window; the house was warm and bright.

"They're probably out. Most likely in the fields," the village head said. "Let's go find them there."

Following the slowly flowing stream beneath the shade of green trees, they found the vegetable garden. The plot was extensive; the village head explained they grew vegetables exclusively for the Sky Kitchen Food Factory and the Lingao Cannery. Vegetable farming was delicate work, though the labor intensity remained relatively light. The Guo family, lacking strong laborers, tended the garden instead.

Through the trellises for cucumbers and tomatoes, Tan Shuangxi made out two figures with white towels wrapped around their heads. They squatted amidst the green leaves, quietly working. The sound of approaching footsteps made the old man and woman turn. Seeing the village head and militia captain bringing two unfamiliar Fubo Army NCOs, the old man struggled to his feet. He seemed to sense something—his bright eyes fixed directly on the military uniforms Tan Shuangxi and his companion wore.

"This is them," the militia captain said softly.

"Time to say something." Tan Shuangxi's mind raced, yet he couldn't produce a single word. He felt Zhang Laicai nudge his leg. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

The old woman rose as well. She widened her eyes at this group of ominous visitors, seeming to want to say something.

"Black Egg... Dapeng?" the old man asked quietly, pulling down the towel on his head to wipe away sweat. His New Speech was quite good, carrying a trace of Shandong accent that reminded Tan Shuangxi of several northern soldiers under his command.

Tan Shuangxi saluted reflexively, then hurriedly removed his cap and said with difficulty, "Guo Dapeng, he... he fell in battle!" Then he remembered something else he was supposed to say.

The old man paused, as if he didn't understand what "fell in battle" meant. Suddenly his whole body swayed, his hands reaching out, grasping at the air as though trying to catch something. The village head rushed forward to steady him. The old man waved him off and said, "It's nothing, just a moment of dizziness—an old ailment." He stood there in a daze for a long time before nodding to the NCOs and saying, "Coming from so far away, it's hard on you two officers to make the trip. Come home and sit for a while."

(End of Chapter)