Chapter 87: Base Integration (2)

It was July 29, 2015. In the distance, swathes of golden wheat fields were being hurriedly reaped by combine harvesters, crimson flags fluttering atop the machines. Steel-pipe-wielding police officers toiled alongside the basic labor battalions, all working under the direction of the Ministry of Agriculture. This scene softened the gaze of the people from the Mentougou and Huairou mountain regions, for the agricultural roots deep within the Chinese soul had been stirred.

At Siyuan Bridge, heaps of zombies still littered the area, their numbers so overwhelming that they had yet to be cleared away. However, the Ministry of Civil Affairs had already received orders to carve out a path through the carnage.

The envoys from the two mountain bases looked on with admiration. There was a sense of something real here, a glimmer of hope that boosted their confidence in overcoming the undead, though it also made the task ahead seem daunting—these people might not have overwhelming strength, their troops used only cold weapons, but their capabilities were undeniably impressive.

Many warriors, exhausted from overwork, slept on the ground, clad in chainmail, leaning against steel pipes or guandao blades, some lying down, others sitting. Their regimental flags blanketed the entire highway, casting a red glow upon their faces.

The soldiers from the mountain bases could not help but stop their vehicles, stepping out to look around at these warriors. It reminded them of scenes from before the end of the world, when they had rushed to serve their country, sleeping wherever they could during flood relief or earthquake rescue missions.

A young girl, a survivor and a junior soldier from the Special Committee's base, opened her eyes and yawned. Suddenly, her eyes widened as she fixed her gaze on the military uniforms of 2007, sensing the distinct bearing of real soldiers. She recognized these were genuine members of the armed forces.

She was only sixteen, set to begin her first year of high school that autumn. Letting go of the steel-pipe rifle she had clutched tightly, she clambered to her feet, sobbing, "Comrade soldier..." She was so overwhelmed she could barely speak. "Why did it take you so long to come? My father is dead, and my mother is gone too."

She collapsed, weeping on the ground. The belief that, in times of danger, the soldiers would come to the rescue was no empty promise—through both war and peace, it was a truth earned in blood and sacrifice.

Tears welled up in the eyes of the mountain soldiers as they avoided the sight of the young girl, clad in chainmail and stained with blood.

Officials and survivors from the mountain regions felt a bittersweet warmth sting their noses.

The girl sobbed herself to sleep. After a day and night of fierce fighting, everyone was utterly spent. She believed she had met the dependable soldiers of her dreams—forgetting that she herself was now a ‘comrade soldier’—only sixteen, less than a month in service, and already having slain more than a dozen zombies.

The convoy rumbled forward along the airport expressway, onto the Second Ring Road, following the trail of red flags all the way to the headquarters of the Special Committee at the Beijing Hotel. Throughout the journey, the soldiers from the two mountain regions wore solemn expressions. The two government officials and the company’s deputy leader realized they were of little use this time, cursing inwardly at the Special Committee’s cunning.

Li Fengyi and Commander Liu, accompanied by several ministers of the Special Committee, were already waiting for them.

Upon seeing the convoy approach, the two men strode forward. Li Fengyi greeted each of them warmly, shaking hands and saying, “You’ve worked hard. We’ve finally been waiting for you.”

Commander Liu snapped a crisp salute. “The Provisional First Army Group of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army welcomes our brother units!”

The soldiers returned the salute. “Greetings, old commander.” They could tell this old man was no ordinary figure—his 1985-style military uniform, faded from countless washings, was still worn with meticulous care. His spirit was vigorous, his gaze sharp—such people in the army always had a distinguished background.

“I am Feng Dahong, Chief of Staff of the Western Hills Garrison District, Beijing Military Region.”
“I am Song Tingcheng, Chief of Staff of the Huairou Garrison District, Beijing Military Region.”
Neither man dared to be lax and promptly introduced themselves.

“We greet the old commander! Salute to our brother units!”

So it was clear—the army would not be at their disposal this time. The government officials and the company’s deputy leader exchanged glances, sighing inwardly.

Commander Liu took charge of military matters, inviting the soldiers to the Department of Armed Forces for mutual introductions.

Commander Liu explained the situation of the Special Committee’s troops. All three parties agreed to follow the PLA’s longstanding tradition: brother units would coordinate operations and obey the highest-ranking officer—though this would sometimes be adjusted if the largest unit was under a lower-ranking officer, so as not to disrupt command. After all, cooperative combat could not tolerate commanders and soldiers being strangers to one another—this was a tradition forged in decades of warfare. It was thus agreed to wait until the highest commanders from both mountain armies arrived before holding a joint consultation.

Li Fengyi’s meeting with the two mountain base government officials and survivors soon became contentious.

After retaking the city, the Special Committee had already uncovered a wealth of documentation in the Central Military Commission, the National Security Bureau, the Ministry of Civil Affairs, the Ministry of Public Security, and other departments. Following introductions, they began verifying the newcomers’ identities. Before long, a file was placed before Li Fengyi.

It was a dossier printed by the Ministry of Public Security, drawn from their archives. The people from the two mountain bases watched Li Fengyi closely.

Li Fengyi gave it a cursory glance—there was nothing in their pre-apocalypse backgrounds that differed significantly from what they’d said—then closed the folder and slid it over to Sun Xiaoshan with a smile. “Those guys—always reporting every little thing,” he said, deftly changing the subject.

The government departments demanded that the Special Committee hand over control of Beijing’s urban area, arguing that they, as state institutions, should be in charge—not a group of survivors cobbling together a makeshift authority. The mountain survivors beside them were quietly disgruntled, but this was not the first time the issue had arisen.

Li Fengyi said the matter would have to be discussed at a Special Committee meeting. In theory, they should indeed hand over control to the state, but as a Central Committee member—Li Fengyi slyly omitted the word ‘alternate’—he explained that the transfer would require approval from a government body of sufficient rank, though he himself had no objection.

Thus the discussion reached an impasse. The deputy leader of the mountain survivors grew increasingly impatient—damn it, even now these bureaucrats were still bickering, treating them like nobodies.

They were already dissatisfied, never having wished to submit to military or government leadership like the Mentougou mountain survivors. Now, relegated to the sidelines, anxiety gnawed at them. Under the table, he nudged his bodyguard.

The bodyguard, dressed in an old suit, was named Long Zhanhai, a Hebei native in his thirties with an unremarkable appearance. He was a master martial artist. After completing his training, he had found that in the pre-apocalypse world, martial arts expertise was of little practical use—one either joined the army or drifted into the underworld. Long had spent some time as a hoodlum, getting into trouble; his enemies had firearms, forcing him to go into hiding.

The company boss, having learned of his skills, resolved his troubles and earned his loyalty. In gratitude, Long brought several junior disciples to serve as the boss’s bodyguards. His martial prowess was extraordinary, especially with the spear, though peace-time laws made it inconvenient to carry one openly. Thus, most considered him a master of unarmed combat, and he only practiced spear techniques with his fellow disciples in the underground training hall built by the boss, never displaying them to outsiders.