The Rise Of A Billionaire 1943-Chapter 138 - 148: Surrender

The northeast corner of Bastogne is bordered by the Jacques Forest. Over the past ten days, the fiercest fighting has taken place here.

The combat here felt almost primitive—just gunfire exchanged at close range, with only the occasional shell landing.

By the tenth day, both the Germans and the task force were running dangerously low on ammunition.

At nightfall, the snowstorm stopped. Taking advantage of the snow’s reflection, Wang Xiong, lying in a foxhole, cautiously poked his head out to observe any movement in the forest. Although the thick snow slowed the German advance, the Germans, dressed in white camouflage, were often hard to spot as they moved across the snow.

Over the past few days, they had repelled German attacks in this forest time and again.

There were no shelters, only foxholes.

No stoves for warmth—just snowflakes, carried by the wind, drifting into their foxholes.

"Here, Scholar, warm your feet."

The veteran lifted his coat, letting Wang Xiong tuck his feet inside. Over the past few days, this was how they kept each other warm and avoided frostbite.

"Brother, I’m not really a scholar—I just spent a few years at a teacher’s college..."

"A schoolteacher is a scholar. When the war’s over, I’ll have my son learn to read from you..."

Snow was caked in the veteran’s beard. As he spoke, he pulled out half a pack of Camel cigarettes from his pocket, struck a match, lit one, took a couple of drags, and then handed it to Wang Xiong.

"Here, Scholar, have a smoke."

The snowy forest at night was shrouded in darkness, the world utterly silent. On the white expanse, a few shattered trees stood alone.

"Brother, I remember you’re not married, right?"

"When the war’s over, I’ll definitely find a wife. I get 25 bucks a month now. I’ve been a soldier for half my life, followed generals and officers, but only here have I actually drawn a real salary. In the old days, there was no such thing as a soldier’s pay—if you could fill your belly, you had the commander’s mercy to thank..."

The veteran wasn’t actually that old, but compared to the others in the task force, he was already a veteran, having joined the army before the war. His bushy beard made him look even older. That’s why everyone called him "the Old Soldier"—even the captain did, and most had forgotten his real name.

Since arriving in North Africa, the Old Soldier had been in high spirits—not only did they get decent pay, but they could eat meat every day, and always had their fill.

"Life’s good now—braised pork every day and fine wine at every meal. This isn’t just living—this is the life of the immortals!"

All this made the Old Soldier feel an unprecedented sense of comfort.

Even if he died, it would have been worth it...

But everyone has hopes. In the past, the Old Soldier never thought about the future, but now, after all they’d been through together, he really did.

Still, he knew there were some things best left unthought—dwell on them too much, and something was bound to go wrong.

"Maybe it’ll all be over soon."

Thinking of his comrades surrounded on all sides, the Old Soldier muttered to himself. What exactly would be over soon, he couldn’t say—it just felt like everything was coming to an end.

"When this is all over..."

What then?

Find a wife, have a few kids. Live a peaceful life.

And maybe work for the company.

In the past, he never thought much about it—being a soldier was just a way to get by. But now, after so many days of life and death together, he’d truly found a sense of belonging here.

No other unit had ever given him that feeling. Being here felt like being home.

Home!

That’s exactly what it was.

That Officer Li was a good man, honest and kind. If he could work for Officer Li for the rest of his life, what more could he want?

Thinking this, the Old Soldier took another drag from his cigarette. Just then, a snowflake, blown in by the wind, landed on the tip and melted away.

Watching Wang Xiong doze off, the Old Soldier smiled.

Let the kid nap a bit.

Then he poked his own head out of the foxhole, surveying the frozen snowfield—he didn’t dare let his guard down, not after all the German night raids over the past few days.

The wind in the treetops howled, swirling snow across the ground and making everything in the forest look misty and blurred.

It was very quiet.

As if something...

Something felt off. Some instinct made the veteran pick up his STG44. He gently patted Wang Xiong, and when Wang Xiong woke up, the veteran signaled him to keep quiet and whispered:

"Signal flare."

As Wang Xiong took out the signal flare, the veteran raised his gun and aimed ahead. With a gunshot, the flare shot up into the sky like a fiery dragon, illuminating the snowy plain with a dazzling white light reflected off the ice and snow. In the swirling snow, more than a hundred indistinct white figures were instantly exposed.

"Germans!"

Shouts and gunfire erupted in the forest. Red and green tracer rounds streaked beautifully through the night, whistling as they flew. Soon, the snowfield was stained red, and German corpses were scattered everywhere.

...

Five kilometers south of Bastogne, Zhao Le of the Third Recon Team was standing in the basement of a remote farmhouse, watching the road leading to Arlon. He had a Camel cigarette in his mouth—part of yesterday’s airdropped supplies.

You had to admit, the Americans were really loaded. The airdropped supplies included not only ammunition, K-rations, and medicine, but also Camel cigarettes, and even condoms.

Seriously, what do they take us for?

But the Belgian girls in Bastogne were indeed beautiful—like the farmer’s daughter, with those blue eyes, alluring and passionate. All it took was a bar of chocolate.

If there was time later, maybe he could chat with the farmer’s daughter for a while.

Just a simple chat, maybe share some chocolate—nothing more... really.

As Zhao Le’s thoughts wandered, he saw four figures walking up the road from the south, holding what looked like a white flag made from a bedsheet and a stick. They were Germans. He picked up the phone and called his superior, Wang Shujie:

"Captain, four Germans are coming our way, carrying a white flag. Looks like they want to surrender."

Zhao Le called two others to join him in meeting the Germans. One of them, a captain, stepped forward. He was short but sturdy, with a medic’s armband on his arm.

"We’re here to negotiate,"

he said cautiously in English.

"I speak German,"

Zhao Le replied in somewhat awkward German.

"Let’s speak in German, then."

"Sir, do you have any food or medicine?"

The medic looked at the Chinese soldiers with hope. He had chosen to surrender because his unit had been out of food for two days. Someone had frozen to death the night before. If they didn’t surrender soon, everyone would freeze to death in the forest.

"Don’t worry, you won’t go hungry."

A few dozen minutes later, a group of German soldiers in white camouflage emerged from the forest. They threw their weapons in the designated spot and raised their hands, looking nervously and expectantly at the enemy who had been surrounded for over ten days.

"Do you know what the most absurd thing in this world is?"

Looking at these boys—most only fifteen or sixteen, their faces covered in frostbite and utterly exhausted—Wang Shujie turned and asked.

"It’s that the surrounded eat hotpot and sing songs every day, while the besiegers have to share a single piece of bread among ten people!"

After saying this, Wang Shujie walked up to a young soldier who looked no older than sixteen. The boy was terrified. As the officer approached, he instinctively straightened up and extended his right arm.

"Hi..."

Before he could finish, the boy became even more frightened. He saw the enemy officer’s right hand reaching for something. Everyone thought he was about to draw a pistol and turned away, unable to watch. But instead, the officer took out a bar of chocolate.

"Eat something first."

Looking at the boy before him, Wang Shujie thought of the child soldiers back home—young, but just as committed to fighting for their country.

In truth, the task force members felt no animosity toward these Germans. Even when facing the SS, they felt nothing in particular—after all, they’d had little contact before.

Perhaps that’s why they felt even more sympathy for these young boys. If not for the war, they would be in school, enjoying life with their families.

"Th-thank you..."

The starving boy took the chocolate without hesitation. As soon as Wang Shujie turned away, he immediately shared it with his friends. The other soldiers, seeing these teenagers, silently took out their own chocolate and handed it over.

Soon, laughter filled the air. For these young boys, happiness could be that simple. The medic who had led them to surrender repeatedly expressed his gratitude.

Who would have thought that just hours before, these two groups had been fighting to the death, and now, a few bars of chocolate had eased the tension between them?

Seeing how cold and hungry they were, Wang Shujie even ordered the cooks to prepare a hotpot meal for them—using Spam, of course.

For these German youths who had starved for days in the freezing snow, nothing could taste better than that hotpot.

Even decades later, when they reunited, they still spoke with gratitude about the kindness they received here—and, of course, that hearty hotpot.

As the boys enjoyed their Spam hotpot, warmed by the meal in the heart of winter, Wang Shujie gazed out beyond the defensive line.

Now that the enemy directly in front of his defensive sector had surrendered, did that mean the German encirclement was being broken?

Did it mean they had already succeeded in holding the city?

At this thought, a smile appeared on Wang Shijie’s face.

Thankfully, it was all about to end.

Bastogne was an indispensable transition, a prerequisite for advancing to Borneo. Soon, the story would return to the main plot—yes, it should be said, back to Borneo. Thanks to the Battle of Bastogne, the protagonist and his unit would have the opportunity to return to Bastogne ahead of schedule.