Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

The night at Changjin Lake is eerily cold.

The northwest wind, like countless invisible ice knives, raged wildly through the valley. The temperature had plummeted to minus forty degrees Celsius—a critical line between life and death. At this temperature, steel would become as brittle as glass, gun bolts would freeze, and any human skin that touched iron would instantly have a layer of skin peeled off.

The spittle was spat out, and before it even hit the ground, it had already turned into ice shards.

The American military camp at the foot of Dead Eagle Ridge was deathly silent.

Despite possessing some of the world's most advanced down sleeping bags and cold-weather tents, these equipment proved utterly inadequate against the extreme cold air currents from Siberia.

"God...this is hell, this must be hell..."

Sergeant Mike of the 1st Marine Division huddled in his sleeping bag, shivering as if he were being electrocuted. His eyebrows and beard were covered in frost, and with each breath, it felt like countless needles were pricking his lungs.

He tried to pick up the water bottle next to him and take a sip of water, only to find that the water inside had long since frozen into a hard block of ice. Even the alcohol stove used for heating was difficult to light due to the low temperature.

"Are those Chinese people still on the mountain?"

Mike asked his comrade next to him, his voice trembling.

"It's still there...it must still be there..."

His comrade's voice sounded somewhat incoherent: "But in this damn weather, no one can survive. They only have thin cotton clothes... Tomorrow morning, when we go up there, we'll only find a pile of frozen corpses."

This is not only the idea of ​​the US military, but also common sense.

In such extreme cold, no human being can survive for more than two hours in just a single layer of clothing.

however.

What they didn't know was that the situation on the Dead Eagle Ridge position was completely beyond their comprehension.

Wu Wanli lay prone in the snowdrift, his body covered with a thick layer of snow as camouflage.

Logically, he should have been frozen stiff by now, and his blood should have congealed.

But the truth is—

"Brother... I'm hot."

Wu Wanli shifted his body, his face contorted in pain—the pain of the heat. He couldn't help but reach up to unbutton his collar. "Why is this clothing so stuffy? I need some fresh air."

"Don't move! You want to die?!"

Wu Qianli lowered his voice and slapped his younger brother on the forehead, shoving his head, which had just poked out, back into the snow. "It's minus forty degrees outside. You're letting the warmth escape; you'll regret it later!"

Although he was cursing, a fine layer of sweat had actually seeped out from Wu Qianli's forehead.

He reached out and touched the dull, unremarkable gray underwear he was wearing next to his body.

It was a very strange material.

It feels as light and thin as a sheet of paper, neither as heavy as cotton nor as rough as fur. But once you put it on, it's like a tireless little stove, locking in every bit of heat emanating from your body and even circulating that heat throughout your entire body.

This was a "life-saving charm" that Shen Jinghong specially gave them before they set off.

Its scientific name is "Nano-aerogel self-heating thermal underwear".

Wu Qianli didn't know what nanotechnology or aerogel was. All he knew was that after wearing this thing and lying in this freezing place for a day and a night, he not only didn't feel cold, but actually felt a bit unbearably hot.

"Director Shen is truly a genius..."

Yu Congrong, standing beside him, sighed sincerely. He moved his nimble fingers, completely free of the numbness he used to feel from the cold, "Before, when we were ambushing, we were risking our lives. Now, it's like lying on a warm kang (heated brick bed)."

"Alright, stop reminiscing."

Mei Sheng glanced at the luminous watch on his wrist; the hands pointed to three in the morning.

That's when the body's functions are at their lowest and alertness is at its worst, which is also when the hunt begins.

"Time's up, replenish your strength and prepare for battle."

With the order issued.

A soft hissing sound rang out from the position.

That was the sound of tearing open an aluminum foil packaging bag.

Wu Wanli skillfully tore open the bag printed with "Type 09 Individual Rations", stuffed the heating pack to the bottom, poured in a can of snow water that had long been frozen into ice crystals, and then quickly sealed it.

A few seconds later.

A magical chemical reaction occurred.

The bag, which had been cold, quickly expanded and became hot, with plumes of white steam shooting out of its vent.

In this icy world where temperatures drop to minus forty degrees Celsius, this steam is like a totem of life.

Followed by.

A domineering, rich, and even somewhat luxurious aroma of braised pork wafted through the steam, instantly filling the nostrils of every soldier.

"Gurgle—"

Wu Wanli swallowed hard, staring longingly at the bag that was bubbling away. "Brother, this time I want the spicy chicken flavor, and you can have the braised pork flavor."

"Just eat your food, stop talking so much nonsense."

Wu Qianli laughed and cursed, then tore open a bag of twice-cooked pork flavored food himself.

Ten minutes later.

Steaming hot rice, coated in glistening broth, topped with large chunks of meat, trembling precariously. One bite, and the scalding heat slides down your esophagus into your stomach, the satisfaction so intense it makes you want to roll around in the snow right there.

"It smells so good..."

Lei Gong, holding his lunchbox, squinted his eyes, a look of pure enjoyment on his face. "Back then, at this time of year, we'd be gnawing on frozen potatoes—those were rocks you couldn't swallow even if you broke your teeth. Now? We can actually eat hot meals, and with meat!"

He turned his head and looked down at the desolate American camp below, a hint of pity flashing in his eyes:

"Tsk tsk, what do you think those Americans down there are eating right now?"

"What else can we eat? Cold canned food, I guess."

Yu Congrong stuffed a mouthful of rice into his mouth and mumbled, "I heard that the canned food was frozen solid, like bricks. You had to use a bayonet to cut it open and thaw it in your mouth. Compared to us, they're like beggars."

The soldiers let out a suppressed chuckle.

This kind of "dimensional reduction attack" against the enemy in extreme environments and living conditions is more inspiring than the advantage in weaponry.

It destroys the enemy's will and forges our military spirit.

Eat and drink your fill.

Wu Qianli carefully put away the empty bag and buried it in the snow, leaving no trace.

He stretched his arms and legs.

The joints are flexible, and the muscles are full of explosive power, completely lacking the stiffness and sluggishness that comes from being frozen solid.

This unit, which had been lying in the snow for two whole days, was in even better condition now than when they first set off!

There was no frostbite.

There were no non-combat casualties.

In the eyes of every soldier burned two flames, fueled by hot meals and warm clothes, a fighting spirit strong enough to burn through the swirling snow.

Comrades.

Wu Qianli picked up the Type 56 assault rifle that he had been holding in his arms and was still warm, and pulled the bolt.

"Snap!"

The crisp metallic clanging sound was particularly jarring in the quiet night.

"Look at those Americans down the mountain. They think we've frozen to death, they think we're ice sculptures."

"They thought the snow at Changjin Lake could bury our Seventh Company."

Wu Qianli's gaze was like a knife, sweeping across every young and resolute face:

"Let's tell them today."

"We're not ice sculptures!"

"We are fire! A raging fire that can burn them to ashes!"

"Beep—beep beep—beep—!!!"

Just then.

A loud, high-pitched, and penetrating bugle call suddenly tore through the night sky over Changjin Lake.

The sound was like a thunderclap from the heavens, instantly awakening this slumbering snowfield.

The US military camp at the foot of the mountain was instantly thrown into chaos.

"What was that sound?!"

"God! This is the bugle call for the Chinese people to charge!"

"Impossible! How could they possibly be playing the horn in this freezing weather? They should have frozen to death long ago!"

Terrified screams rose and fell.

However, what answered them was a sudden burst of white figures covering the entire mountainside.

Thousands of volunteer soldiers suddenly threw off their camouflage and leaped up from the snow.

They moved nimbly, their bodies as fast as lightning, showing no signs of being frozen.

"Charge!"

"kill!"

The shouts of battle erupted like a tsunami.

The intense gunfire and grenade explosions instantly engulfed the sleeping American military camp.

Wu Qianli took the lead, his submachine gun spitting fire, like a tiger descending from the mountain, pouncing on the panicked flock of sheep.

And behind him.

The tragic "Ice Sculpture Company" of history has had its fate completely rewritten in this time and space.

They are no longer silent monuments.

They transformed into the Fiery Vajra that terrified their enemies!