Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

Tieyuan, the continuous rainy season has turned this hilly area into a muddy mess.

Fu Chongbi, commander of the 63rd Army, stood in front of the command post's bunker, the lens of his binoculars blurred by the rain. In that original timeline, this place was a place of sorrow for the Chinese People's Volunteer Army, a dam built with the blood and flesh of countless young lives to stop the relentless mechanized advance of the American forces.

At that time, he was prepared to die.

He once told General Peng, "Even if the 63rd Army is wiped out, I will still defend Tieyuan!" Those more than 30,000 young soldiers were the "seeds" he brought out, and most of them were eventually buried in the scorched earth of this foreign land.

But today, things are different.

Fu Chongbi put down the binoculars and turned around.

On the reverse slope behind him, there were no soldiers with sallow complexions, clutching cluster grenades and ready to perish together with their fallen comrades.

Instead, there are steel behemoths covered in camouflage netting, stretching as far as the eye can see.

One hundred 155mm heavy howitzers stand proudly towards the sky.

Two full-strength heavy tank regiments, totaling 160 "modified Type 59" tanks, were quietly lurking in the deep tunnels and bunkers, the residual heat of the engines dispelling the surrounding damp cold.

"Commander, the Americans are coming up."

The chief of staff ran over, his face showing no sign of tension, but rather an barely suppressed excitement. "That old madman Van Fleet has really gone all out this time."

"Let him come."

Fu Chongbi straightened his collar, and his bloodshot eyes shone with an unprecedented light:

"Before, we risked our lives to buy time, and used our bones to break their teeth. Today, I'm going to teach them a lesson with steel!"

A few kilometers away, US military positions.

General Van Fleet, commander of the U.S. Eighth Army, stood on a jeep, looking triumphant.

He looked at the seemingly silent Volunteer Army positions ahead, a cruel sneer curling at the corner of his mouth. He believed in the supremacy of firepower; he was convinced that there was nothing that artillery shells couldn't solve, and if there was, then just add five times the amount of ammunition.

"Gentlemen, show the Chinese what modern warfare is all about."

Van Fleet waved his hand and issued that famous order:

"All artillery, all ammunition, no limit, fire without restraint! I want to turn this land of Tieyuan upside down and let it bask in the sun!"

"Boom! Boom! Boom—!!!"

In an instant, the sky collapsed and the earth cracked.

Thousands of American artillery pieces roared simultaneously, their dense barrage of shells obscuring the sky like a swarm of locusts. The explosions turned the entire Iron Plains into a boiling crater, sending soil flying dozens of meters into the air and shearing away layer after layer from the mountaintops.

This is the terrifying "Van Fleet ammunition load".

Under such devastating firepower, not only would a person be killed, but even a rat hiding in a hole would be blasted to death.

"it's over."

Van Fleet lowered his binoculars, lit a cigar, and said casually, "Under this kind of bombing, no living thing could survive. Infantry advance, go collect the corpses."

However, he was wrong.

That's completely wrong.

Just as the US artillery fire extended and infantry began their charge alongside tank formations.

On the seemingly bombed-out position of the Chinese People's Volunteer Army, several muffled whistles suddenly rang out.

Immediately afterwards, the earth began to tremble.

It wasn't the trembling from being bombed, but the vibration of some enormous creature emerging from its cage.

Those tunnel doors, buried deep underground and reinforced with reinforced concrete, suddenly burst open.

"An eye for an eye! A tooth for a tooth!"

"Fire!"

Fu Chongbi roared angrily.

"boom--!!!"

One hundred 155mm heavy cannons roared with vengeance.

This is not random firing; it is precise coverage with radar correction and accurate ballistic calculations.

The first salvo hit the American assault troops squarely on the head.

The American soldiers who were charging forward were instantly stunned.

They stared blankly at the heavy artillery shells raining down from the sky—hadn't the Chinese been killed? Hadn't their artillery positions been destroyed? Where was this overwhelming barrage coming from?

But this is only the beginning.

What made them even more desperate was what happened next.

Amidst the smoke and flames, countless dark green steel monsters smashed through burning trees and crushed rocks in their path, bursting forth from the smoke.

That was an iron torrent composed of 160 "modified Type 59" tanks!

They formed a wedge-shaped attack formation, their tracks kicking up mud, and their 105mm rifled guns spewing deadly flames, like a red-hot knife, slicing fiercely into the American troops' fragile butter line.

"Tank! Chinese Tank!"

The American Sherman tanks attempted to retaliate, but their shells struck the heavily sloped armor of the Type 59 tanks, producing only a few sparks and a sharp crack, but were utterly ineffective.

In contrast, the Chinese People's Volunteer Army...

One shot, one kill.

The US military tanks were like firecrackers being called out one by one, exploding, catching fire, and exploding in succession.

"This is impossible! This is absolutely impossible!"

Van Fleet's cigar fell onto his crotch, burning a hole in it, but he didn't care at all.

His eyes widened as he watched the steel torrent surge back like a tsunami, his proud armored division being crushed like a toy.

His ammunition was wasted.

But the steel of the Chinese people struck him squarely in the heart.

"Retreat! Retreat now!"

Van Fleet let out a piercing scream, his voice filled with terror, "It's a trap! It's hell! We can't stop it!"

The army was defeated like a mountain.

The U.S. military's prized mechanized forces utterly collapsed before the stronger, more formidable armored onslaught. They abandoned their supplies, their wounded, and even their dignity, fleeing frantically southward.

The Battle of Tieyuan?

No.

This has turned into a "Great Counter-Offensive of Tieyuan" where offense is used as defense.

Fu Chongbi stood on the high ground, looking at the fleeing enemy troops and the tanks chasing after them all over the mountains and fields, and his eyes welled up with tears.

He slowly raised his right hand and gave a solemn military salute towards Beijing.

"Director Shen... thank you."

He choked up, his voice echoing in the wind and rain:

"My 30,000 seeds... this time, they don't have to be buried in the soil anymore."

"They grew into trees, into a forest, into... a mountain that crushed the enemy!"

……

Washington, D.C., the White House.

The atmosphere inside the Oval Office was oppressive and suffocating.

President Truman looked at the heavy casualty report in his hand, his face ashen, as if he had aged ten years overnight.

Tieyuan suffered a crushing defeat.

The main force of the Eighth Army suffered heavy losses and had to retreat to 50 kilometers south of the 38th parallel.

Nuclear blackmail is useless, and we can't win a conventional war.

This war has become a bottomless quagmire, devouring America's national strength and prestige.

"Mr. President."

Secretary of State Acheson sighed, placed a newly drafted document on the table, his tone helpless and bitter:

"We...have no choice."

"Continuing the fight will only increase the casualty count; it's pointless. That Eastern country is no longer someone we can easily manipulate."

Truman picked up the document with trembling hands.

It was a telegram requesting peace.

Or rather, it's a disguised letter of surrender.

He closed his eyes, weighed the matter in his mind for a long time, and finally waved his hand weakly:

"Send it."

"Tell the front lines to halt the offensive."

"We request...peace talks."