They Inscribe Loyalty and Responsibility at Their Respective Posts, Becoming "Waves" That Flow into the Torrent of Army-Building
In recent years, a video called "Hòu Làng" (后浪, "The Younger Wave") went viral online, cheering on youth and celebrating the spirit of young people, reshaping public perceptions of the younger generation in the new era. In the heat of military barracks, there is also such a group of young officers and soldiers. Full of vitality and passion, they use youth as their paper and hot blood as their ink, inscribing loyalty and responsibility at their respective posts, becoming surging "waves" that flow into the torrent of army-building (强军洪流). Today, let us get to know these "younger waves" (后浪) of the barracks!
Recently, a unit of the Air Force organized tactical training. Pictured is Private Yuan Zhenkai crawling forward with full effort. Photo by Zhu Haitao.
My uncle is a veteran. Growing up, I listened to his stories of military life — hunkering down in mountain gullies eating steamed buns, hauling sandbags on flood-control levees for three days without sleep. When he told these stories, his eyes shone bright, as if he were recounting the proudest moments of his life.
My uncle dug out an old combat uniform. On the back was a tear the size of a fingernail, with visible traces of having been mended and then split open again. "It got torn during the flood-control operation," he said with a smile. "This uniform went through a lot of hardship with me."
Later, I joined the military too. The first time I took part in tactical training, I charged out in front. The barbed wire caught my back, and when I crossed the finish line and looked, my combat uniform had been ripped open to the size of a coin. I thought of my uncle's old combat uniform.
After being assigned to my unit, I buried myself in hard training, charging ahead in everything. At the year-end assessment, my overall ranking was third in the entire company. I sent the commendation notice home, and my uncle called: "Good lad — you've surpassed me in my day!"
On the artillery position, we bent our backs to carry shells, our knuckles worn into blisters, our backs soaking through our combat uniforms with sweat. The direction operator turned the wheel calling out commands, the gunner adjusted again and again, five people working in seamless coordination.
Later, a new type of digitized self-propelled artillery was fielded. Faced with automatic loading, I gripped the manual with sweaty palms: "Leaving it all to electronic components — will that really work?" Despite my doubts, my comrades and I still riveted ourselves to the training ground every day, diligently studying and practicing the operating techniques for the new equipment.
During the first live-fire exercise, the fire-control system auto-calibrated; the time from halt to firing was cut in half, and after firing we immediately displaced to a new position. In the wind and sand, with visibility under one hundred meters, the vehicle-mounted system updated firing data in real time. I operated the firing handle, and over the intercom came the words: "First round, on target."
The old equipment taught me to forge hard skills; the new equipment forced me to update my entire knowledge system. As equipment iterates, we who operate it must also be forward-surging "waves."
"Abai, the squad leader is waiting for you to come back." During my four years at the military academy, whenever I was in contact with my squad leader, she would often say this to me.
Seven years ago, when I enlisted, my squad leader had three years of service and was top-notch in both physical fitness and professional skills. I was the first batch of new recruits she trained; she was the benchmark on my military journey.
After graduation, when I returned to the unit, my first "clash" with my squad leader came at the unit's "Three Meetings, One Good" (三会一好) skills competition.
Late at night the barracks were completely still. Warm light filtered through the windows of the study room, and faint sounds of recitation drifted out. I pushed open the door, clutching a speech draft I had revised over and over, and saw that my squad leader's draft was covered in annotations.
When the competition ended, my squad leader and I stood together on the award platform. The soldier who had once chased along behind her squad leader could, at that moment, finally "stand shoulder to shoulder" with her.
The regiment organized a "Stories of Army-Building" (强军故事会) storytelling competition. Among the contestants who took the stage were political instructors, platoon leaders, and veteran squad leaders — Private Li Guorong was the only private.
Standing on the stage, Li Guorong began: "When I was eight years old, floodwaters ravaged my hometown. My grandmother and I were trapped on a rooftop when an assault boat cut through the curtain of rain and stopped in front of me. A soldier in uniform lifted me onto the boat, then turned around to carry my grandmother on his back. I never saw him again after that, and I never learned his name…"
"Today, I stand here wearing that same uniform, and I too want to become that kind of person," Li Guorong said. "Before, I was someone who was protected. Now I want to become someone who protects others."
When the competition ended and the judges revealed their scores, Li Guorong ranked first. A leader commented: "Li Guorong spoke well. The younger generation should have exactly this kind of resolve — to walk further along the path blazed by their predecessors. Today he is the first private to step up onto this stage. I hope that in the future there will be a second, and a third."