Lin Yu had a beautiful dream.
In this dream, she was never conscripted into the army. Diacla had not sent troops to the war beyond the mountains, and the skies of Shan’nei Province remained pristine, untouched by the smoke of battle.
Carrying a hundred *wen* (TL Note: A unit of currency) coins, she ventured into the city to find work.
After several days, she stumbled upon a kind family who hired her to teach their young master the Lanforthian language.
Once she had saved enough money, she enrolled in an academy, where she befriended Nangong, an assistant lecturer.
Eventually, she became an intern doctor at a hospital.
Lacking a middle school diploma meant her salary was significantly lower than her colleagues, yet she never allowed this to discourage her.
In her spare time, she diligently pursued higher education, even gaining admission to a medical college renowned throughout Shan’nei Province and indeed, all of Diacla.
She had achieved the pinnacle of her life, a truly happy ending.
She met all her friends, one by one: Commander Yang, her seniors, Lieutenant Xia, and even that idiot.
Each of them had their own distinct circumstances, but all successfully crossed paths with her, becoming cherished friends in her dream, and, crucially, all were alive and well.
Even the wounded who had perished were now pursuing livelihoods entirely unrelated to war.
She even met her pen pal, whom she had never seen before, and they became friends, almost as if in reality.
But dreams always come to an end.
Murmuring Nangong’s name, she groggily opened her eyes to a boundless, cloudless blue sky stretching before her.
It was as if she were lying in a minefield with an AK-74 years ago, or in a trench with a Type 40 magic rifle just two months prior.
A nameless bird soared high above, gliding with all its might.
There were no weapons at hand, and beside her…
“Nangong…?”
The woman who had just leaned over to place a cold towel on her forehead turned to look at her.
“I’m sorry, I’m not Nangong.”
A stranger’s face.
Lin Yu struggled to prop herself up again, her gaze sweeping across her surroundings.
An unfamiliar environment.
At least a hundred stretchers were densely packed around her, each bearing at least one wounded soldier.
Judging by the sheer numbers, this was no longer a scale that a mere handful of medics could manage; she must have rejoined the main retreating force.
“Where is this place? Who are you?”
“This is the right bank of the Mang River, and we are the regimental medical company of the 104th Reserve Regiment,” replied the middle-aged woman kneeling beside Lin Yu.
“Your fever hasn’t fully broken yet; don’t sit up.
Just lie still for a while.”
It was a friendly unit designation she had never heard before, indicating that they had been taken in by allied forces catching up from the rear during their retreat.
“…By the way, the person who brought me here—”
“He’s currently being chewed out by the regimental commander.
He waltzed in wearing foreign devil’s clothes, driving a flatbed cart along the railway, and nearly got himself shot full of holes by the scouts—and almost got you shot full of holes too.”
“He—he won’t be in trouble, will he?”
Hearing this, Lin Yu immediately grew anxious, nervously clutching the hem of her clothes, worried for him.
But it was merely futile worrying.
After barely escaping the Lanforthian-controlled territory with their lives, wouldn’t it be an enormous waste to be killed by friendly forces over a clothing issue upon reaching allied ground?
“It won’t be anything serious.
Our regiment is short-handed right now, so we wouldn’t easily discard such a formidable individual who could brazenly fight his way back from the enemy lines.”
Either Lin Yu harbored some misunderstanding about “brazenly fighting his way back,” or the story had been exaggerated through word-of-mouth.
Given that Diacla’s language in this other world shouldn’t have such vast differences, it was highly probable that his deeds had been embellished over countless retellings, transforming into some sort of “chosen one” narrative.
Well… though he might, as a result, be sent back to the front lines to hunker down in a trench.
“I see… Thank you,” she murmured, lying back down and expressing her gratitude for the woman’s care.
“You’re welcome,” the woman replied casually.
“But there’s something I need to make clear first.
That person mentioned you’re a medic, correct?”
“Yes, I retreated from the collapsing front line.”
“Then once your fever breaks, you’ll need to come help us.
There are wounded everywhere here, and we don’t have enough people to treat them all.”
“Of course.
I will do everything within my power.”
She would have to rescue the wounded once more; she hoped her surgical skills hadn’t grown rusty after such a long hiatus.
She gazed once more at the nameless bird in the sky, only to suddenly lose sight of it.
Had it flown away? Or had it simply soared to a place beyond her vision?
For her, both possibilities amounted to the same outcome.
****The Young Woman’s Recovery****
The Mang River was the final lifeline on the Diacla General Staff’s sand table.
Between the Lanforthian vanguard and Pingyuan City, this was the last remaining terrain favorable for defense.
The General Staff, a group not entirely composed of fools, swiftly devised a strategy: deploying their sparse reserve units to hold this critical position.
And, crucially, the railway bridge.
As a regional river, the Mang River was not well-known.
Not only was it overlooked by the Diacla people, but even those from beyond the mountains regarded it merely as a small stream flowing past their homes.
Despite being a “small river,” the Mang River was not wide, measuring only a few dozen meters at its broadest point.
In its shallowest sections, one could even wade across on foot; it was certainly no insurmountable natural barrier like Diacla’s Mother River.
Yet, even the smallest river remains a river, capable of offering some resistance to an enemy charge.
Moreover, modern warfare relies on rapid resupply via railway.
Should the bridge not be captured intact, the Lanforthian army would be forced to revert to transporting supplies by human and animal pack, effectively throwing them back thirty years.
This would be highly detrimental to the Lanforthian forces attempting to launch a major campaign, which is why the Lanforthian command issued a strict order: ‘The bridge must be secured intact.’
Diacla’s General Staff issued a similar directive: “Defend the bridge at all costs.”
Why not simply destroy it and retreat their entire army to the right bank of the Mang River, using the river as a defensive line?
Naturally, it was because they were unwilling to abandon the “gains” of the Fourth Imperial Assault.
They still clung to the hope of launching a brilliant defensive counterattack here, pushing back to their original lines or even further, then coordinating with the previously established salient to execute a pincer movement for a decisive annihilation, with the rendezvous point set in Tuo City.
These unrealistic fantasies transformed what should have been a well-rested defensive operation into a desperate last stand, turning the quiet Mang River into a veritable “Styx meat grinder.”
Lin Yu, however, was oblivious to all of this.
She had never meticulously memorized the maps behind the front lines, for she, too, harbored the same optimistic illusion as the half-wit strategists of the General Staff: that the war would conclude after this battle.
Even though this illusion had been shattered by Lanforthian artillery shells last night, she still clung to the thought, ‘Surely, a swift victory can’t turn into a swift defeat, can it?’ and silently carried out her duties in this very place, at this very moment.
The common soldiers swung their entrenching tools, sweating profusely.
The intense labor caused waves of heat to rise even from the winter riverbank.
Both banks of the river were bustling with accelerated construction of defensive positions.
Engineers personally directed the work, guiding second-class privates, who had never before participated in trench planning, to dig foxholes everywhere.
After the foxholes were dug, the various tunnels were connected in curves.
The few trees along the riverbank were all felled to temporarily reinforce the positions.
After an entire afternoon of labor, the fortifications began to take shape.
They were far more rudimentary than the trenches she had occupied for years, but their depth was at least sufficient for kneeling-position firing.
‘Perhaps the height is just right for Lin Yu to stand and fire her rifle?’
Fortunately, she had been assigned the task of treating the wounded, sparing her from digging until sparks flew from her shovel without rest, like that idiot.
‘It seems “fortunately” isn’t quite the right word to use.’
Instead, she was making scalpels spark, spending the entire afternoon performing incisions and sutures, assisting several well-trained military doctors in completing one surgery after another, saving soldier after soldier.
“Finally, I can rest…”
With one surgery concluded, she wiped her hands on her white coat, her steps unsteady as she exited the tent.
Disregarding the grime, she sank directly onto an empty medicine box.
The still-open lid suddenly dipped, making her nearly lose her balance.
In a panic, she reached down to steady the box itself.
“You scared me to death…”
Kicking the dilapidated box with her heel, she melancholically propped her chin in her hands, elbows resting on her knees, her gaze hollow as she stared blankly ahead.
‘So tired.’
‘I miss Nangong so much.’
‘How I wish that dream could come true.’
‘How wonderful a world without war would be.
Why didn’t I wish for no war in this world back then?
What good is merely having no drones?’
‘Humans have so many ways of slaughtering each other.
I heard that several alien races were even forced to migrate their entire populations to new continents in the past.’
The white-clad figure from her memory reappeared before her eyes.
Through a haze of tears, a face seemed to overlap with the image in her mind.
“I’m here to requisition a hundred bags of plasma.
Yes, we need to establish a frontline medical post on the other side of the river.”
“Hmm, that’s correct, but I believe I’d be better off staying on the other side of the river.”
“Perhaps it’s because someone I care about stayed over there.
I hope to see her at the first possible moment, or something… It’s truly regrettable to defy orders for such a personal reason.”
‘Eh?’
It wasn’t an illusion; it was the real, long-yearned-for Nangong.
She rushed recklessly towards the white figure, not even pausing to apologize when she bumped into others, drawing shouts and curses as she ran, until she reached the other person.
Drawn by the commotion, the white-clad figure ceased exchanging glances with the military doctor in front of them, turning their attention instead towards the source of the disturbance.
The little white crane… no, the little white crane with crimson streaks, burst forth from the commotion and tightly embraced the white crane that stood out among the common pigs.
She recalled a saying: no news is good news.
Had she actually seen Nangong’s remains, she likely would never have been able to savor such a reunion in this lifetime.