Chapter 43: The Special Committee (10)

The Ministry of Industry delivered two experimental steel crossbows. The limbs were made from bicycle handlebars, the bowstrings from two bicycle brake cables twisted together, and the bolts fashioned from protective railings, each twenty centimeters long with a conical, sharpened tip and no fletching. Each crossbow came with a ten-bolt magazine, gravity-fed, and could fire semi-automatically: once a bolt was shot, the next would drop into place, ready to be drawn and fired again. Sighting was done by eyeing distant landmarks, with an effective range of a hundred meters. Drawing the bowstring required a power-assist mechanism, a gear assembly of two differential gears and a lever, making it remarkably easy to cock.

The Department of Armed Forces showed great interest, sending men to capture several zombies for testing. The steel crossbow proved formidable—one well-aimed bolt was enough to kill a zombie outright. The challenge, however, was accuracy. Most had never used such a weapon before, and out of ten bolts fired, only one might strike a zombie’s head. Many zombies charged forward bristling with bolts, looking more like porcupines, before finally being brought down with steel pipes.

Still, the Department of Armed Forces deemed this no major issue. As long as zombies could be killed at a distance, the crossbow could serve as a long-range suppression weapon. Accuracy was not the priority; suppressive fire was. Thus, soldiers gained a new training regimen: crossbow marksmanship.

Modern Beijing was chronically jammed with cars, but as the so-called Kingdom of Bicycles, almost everyone owned one, from the eldest to the youngest. Bicycle stockpiles were abundant, and protective railings a household staple. Excluding mesh screens, those iron rod-style railings became a steady source of crossbow bolts.

“Production of steel crossbows and bolts won’t be a problem,” Sun Xiaoshan assured them, chest puffed with pride. “However many you need, we can make. We could even figure out how to build ballistae for ultra-long-range strikes if you want!”

The Department of Armed Forces began planning new tactical drills to incorporate crossbows. The most significant change was in clearing zombie hordes: first, use crossbows to suppress them from afar, and if possible, keep it up until every zombie was eliminated.

Meanwhile, the Ministry of Civil Affairs worked through the night preparing portable rations and bottled water. Before the army could set out, supplies had to be readied. Though there were many types of drink, their limited shelf life and vast quantities meant they made up most of the potable water stockpile.

The main portable ration was fried dough cakes. A single supermarket’s stock of cooking oil could provide enough for tens of thousands of locals for a week or two; for only a few hundred people, it would last years. It was best to finish it all before expiration. The savory aroma drifted through the courtyard.

It was Yin Zhibin’s turn to patrol for the police department. He patiently shone his flashlight into every corner, occasionally poking something with his steel pipe.

Zuo Fang had settled the children into Unit 7 for the night. Some cried for their mothers, and soon all of them were sobbing. Zuo Fang had to call in several older women to comfort the children. Eventually, the children fell asleep, and the women, exhausted, did as well.

In Apartment 607, Li Fengyi was puzzled. He gave Sun Xiaoshan a wry smile and said, “All we wanted was to survive and wait for government rescue. How did we end up as saviors of the people, the vanguard against national catastrophe?”

He suddenly felt as if he’d been outmaneuvered by that old fox Liu.

Sun Xiaoshan blinked, “It’s not a bad feeling, honestly.”

Li Fengyi recalled the fervor he’d felt when he pledged his oath upon joining the Party. He laughed, “Old Master Liu has real powers of persuasion. Looks like we’ve been swept up in his sales pitch... Oh well, let’s go all in and do something big together, brother!”

According to the committee’s plan, during the first battalion’s offensive, Li Fengyi would lead Company 1 to the Third Ring Road, a place riddled with intersections and requiring extensive blockades. The Second Ring Road ran alongside the river and would be relatively easier to secure; Wei Yong would take Company 2, and Li Qiang Company 3, advancing west from Compound A5. Sun Xiaoshan, along with the Ministry of Industry and Civil Affairs, would search the disaster zone for supplies and survivors. If they encountered any stray zombies, the Ministry of Industry would serve as the main combat force.

“Son,” his elderly mother had yet to rest and came in from the outer room. “I made these for you—knee pads, elbow guards, and neck warmers. One set for each of you brothers.”

“Ma,” Li Fengyi caressed the dense stitches, remembering the moment he became a Party member and took up the battalion flag. From that moment, he was no longer just an ordinary citizen. He had once dreamed of serving his mother through her twilight years, letting her, after a life of hardship, enjoy a peaceful and quiet old age. He’d hoped to save enough for a house, to watch his children grow up safely. But all those dreams vanished the day the apocalypse came. At first, his only thought was to gather food and water, stay by his mother’s side, and wait for government rescue. But from the moment he took up the battalion flag, that hope shifted to saving the people and rescuing the nation from peril. His voice broke, “Ma.”

He knew full well that stepping forward meant a life filled with danger; against the zombies, he might not even have the chance to die heroically in battle. At best, he thought, he might end up like General Xu Shiyou, who, after falling in battle, could only have his mother tend his grave. He knelt beside his mother. “Ma, take care of yourself. Watch your son fight to bring peace to this world, and then I’ll look after you.”

“It’ll be all right, son.” His mother, hardened by a lifetime of partings, stroked his thick black hair. “I’ve seen it all. Commander Liu and the others—they’re like the Eighth Route Army, like the Liberation Army in the old days. They aren’t fighting for themselves. If you follow them, you’ll become someone worthy.”

“On the battlefield, blades and bullets know no mercy,” she said calmly. “Be careful.” She quietly wiped away her own tears.

Sun Xiaoshan, watching this scene of family affection, could not help but weep. Ever since he’d been abandoned at the orphanage, with nothing but a blood-stained handkerchief bearing the words, “Sun Xiaoshan, October 17, 1990,” he’d never known who his parents were, or why they abandoned him. Such familial scenes touched him deeply.

The old mother took Sun Xiaoshan’s hand. “Child, if you don’t mind, call me ‘Mother’ too. In these troubled times, you and Fengyi can look out for each other.”

Xiaoshan first called out softly.

“Mm,” the old mother replied.

“Mother!” Sun Xiaoshan fell to his knees and wept freely.

“Go to the battlefield with peace of mind,” the old mother finally let her own tears flow. “Of my two grandsons, I’ll give the younger one to you. From now on, he’ll be called Sun Yuze. The Sun family will have a descendant at last. Now, go to the battlefield without worry.”

Commander Liu and Li Qiang stood outside Apartment 607, stunned. Li Qiang quietly pulled Commander Liu over to 601, fixing him with a glare.

“What are you looking at me for?” Commander Liu felt uneasy. “In 1945, there were two brothers who knelt beside their mother before heading to war. She gave them just such instructions.”

“In times like these, what are we supposed to do?” Commander Liu shook his head, recalling bitterly, “After one battle…”

“Both brothers died?” Li Qiang clenched his fists in anger, thinking the old man was heartless. If it were anyone else, he’d have lashed out.

“They both became war heroes.”

Commander Liu brushed off his clothes and walked out.