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Tang Yue almost laughed in anger. She stared directly at the soldier in charge of collecting the weapons and asked in a firm tone, "Why? Why should all the weapons that have been collected be handed over?"
Will it be distributed later in a unified manner? Will we still have a share when it's distributed?
"These were all earned by our Fourth Company on the battlefield, risking our lives, bullet by bullet. Why can't we keep them for ourselves?" Her voice echoed in the open space, revealing a defiant spirit.
The soldier was intimidated by Tang Yue's imposing manner, but also felt that this junior company commander was a bit unreasonable. However, he still insisted on his principles and explained, "This is the rule. All spoils of war must be handled according to procedure. If you have any objections, you can report it to your superiors."
Sun Jinan and Zhang Dabing quietly tugged at Tang Yue's sleeve and whispered, "Company Commander, this is the rule! Weapons captured on the battlefield do need to be turned in first."
Tang Yue turned to look at the two of them. Their heads were drooping. They had been so engrossed in the fight for the weapons that they had completely forgotten about it. Only now that she had reminded them did they remember.
Seeing the two of them like this, Tang Yue understood that the soldiers in front of her were not targeting her. Although she was unwilling, she could only helplessly obey the rules and watch as the guns she had worked so hard to capture were taken away, secretly harboring a lot of resentment in her heart.
The journey that followed was surprisingly smooth, and they encountered no further attacks from the US military. After several days of arduous travel, they finally arrived safely at the headquarters.
Before she could even get a proper rest, Tang Yue anxiously approached her superior, her eyes filled with determination as she pleaded, "Commander, I want to go to the hospital right now. I can't believe my father and Battalion Commander Chang are just gone like that!"
The leader had long heard of Tang Yue's reputation, but now that he had seen this young girl in person, he still found it hard to imagine what she had done.
“You’ve just arrived, you can rest for a day or two before going over. Girl, that’s how it is now, and we who are alive can only accept it.”
The leader hoped that the little girl would recover from her trauma as soon as possible, but the little girl's eyes clearly showed otherwise.
The commander understood Tang Yue's feelings and quickly contacted the local hospital. After receiving confirmation, the commander instructed, "Comrade Tang, the situation here is rather complicated. You'll only be there to confirm the body; the rest..."
Tang Yue seemed to understand her superior's meaning immediately. "Don't worry, sir, I know what to do."
Tang Yue, along with Sun Jinan and Zhang Dabing, rushed to the local hospital without stopping.
Throughout the journey, Tang Yue clenched her fists. Although she had always believed that her father and the battalion commander were not dead, now that the moment of truth had arrived, her feelings were indescribably complicated. In fact, she was somewhat uneasy.
She couldn't shake the feeling of unease until she saw it for herself. During this time, she diligently studied the language of the border region, as she had struggled for a long time in Russia due to the language barrier.
This experience also made her realize the importance of communication, and she didn't want to miss any clues because of language problems again.
The group quickly arrived at the local hospital by car. The hospital doctors, having received the message, were already waiting at the hospital entrance. A military officer from the border country was also present.
After exchanging brief greetings, the doctor led Tang Yue and the others directly to the hospital morgue.
After descending the stairs to the basement, the door to the hospital morgue slowly opened, and a pungent smell of formaldehyde mixed with a chilling aura rushed out, as if an invisible hand were gripping their throats.
The pale light flickered on the water-stained ceiling, casting dappled shadows. Water droplets condensed on the walls slid slowly down the cracks, their dripping sound particularly clear in the deathly silence.
Two bodies covered with white sheets lay quietly on a metal trolley, the frost on the trolley's edge reflecting a cold light.
Wearing rubber gloves, the doctor pulled hard on the metal slide rail. With a screeching sound, the first body was slowly moved out. The moment the white sheet slipped off, Tang Yue's pupils contracted sharply—"Chang Yin's" face was twisted and deformed. His left eye had been sliced off by shrapnel, leaving only a bloody, empty hole. The skin on his right cheek was rolled back, revealing the stark white bone. His mouth was wide open, as if he were screaming before his death.
A deep, bone-revealing knife wound ran down his neck, its edges charred black. Congealed blood, like dried-up streams, seeped into his uniform along his collar. The once-crisp uniform was now riddled with holes, riddled with bullet holes and rips of all sizes, and still bore traces of dark red blood that emitted a nauseating stench.
Tang Yue staggered and grabbed the freezer beside her, her fingernails digging deep into the metal. Before she could even recover, a second corpse was pushed out.
A huge hole was blown open in the father's chest, his ribs were broken and protruded viciously, fragments of internal organs mixed with dark red blood clots were congealed around the wound, and his abdomen was cut by shrapnel with several crisscrossing deep marks, his intestines were slightly exposed.
His right hand was still in the grip of a gun, his knuckles white from the force, and the area between his thumb and forefinger was torn, the blood already dried.
That once kind face is gone, replaced by a face full of scratches, making it impossible to recognize its original appearance.
Tears instantly blurred Tang Yue's vision, and her throat felt like it had been scalded by boiling iron, burning so badly that she couldn't make a sound.
She reached out her hand, trembling, wanting to touch her father's face, but stopped an inch away from his skin, as if it were a phantom that would shatter at the slightest touch.
“Dad… Battalion Commander…” Her voice was broken into incoherent sentences, and hot tears fell onto the cold metal cart with a crisp sound.
Finally, the suppressed grief burst forth like a flood, and she could no longer hold on. She turned and stumbled out of the morgue, her mournful cries echoing in the silent corridor for a long time.
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