It was obvious that this radio had broken before, someone had tried to fix it, but failed, then took it apart until it was in pieces, and couldn’t put it back together again, which left Political Commissar Martin quite frustrated for several days.

At the doorway, a crowd had already gathered. It seemed that this rare thing—a radio—combined with the allure of the Shaanbei Broadcasting Station, was enough to attract all the Eighth Route Army soldiers and local villagers nearby, just like a Japanese munitions depot.

“If you found out I actually have an even cooler MP3 player with a radio function on me, wouldn’t you just tear me limb from limb?” William Thompson muttered nervously to himself, his shoulder still aching from the heavy slap Political Commissar Martin had just given him.

Like someone who had finally gotten his fill, Political Commissar Martin contentedly turned off the radio, took out a clean handkerchief, carefully wrapped the angular device, and hid it close to his body.

After dispersing the people at the door, Political Commissar Martin pulled William Thompson to sit down and said seriously, “Back to business, young comrade, tell us about your situation!” The implication was that he already regarded William Thompson as a comrade, though fortunately, this “comrade” was not that kind of “comrade.”

William Thompson made a few small changes to his story, adjusted the timeline, and told everything to Zachary Martin. Most of it was true, only the timing was off, but Political Commissar Martin didn’t notice any flaws. With China in chaos, who could really check these things?

Paul Martin and Charles Dean had just happened to be patrolling outside the battlefield, lying in wait to ambush any straggling enemies, when they discovered William Thompson. If it hadn’t been for the two of them, William Thompson might have been killed by stray bullets.

The clerk, Julia Brooks, was taking notes in a small notebook with a thick fountain pen. William Thompson even noticed that the pen was a name-brand Parker, probably confiscated from some unlucky enemy.

Paul Martin kept glancing at William Thompson, then at Julia Brooks, grinning foolishly. Anyone could see this guy had his eye on the young girl, but Julia Brooks ignored him, calmly taking notes.

“Kid, it’s wartime now. Looks like we’ll have to find a chance to send you back. But the city you mentioned is probably occupied by the Japanese now.” Political Commissar Martin was quite troubled by William Thompson’s situation—a person suddenly appearing in the Taihang Mountains, separated from his family, and with Jiangnan so far away and the journey so dangerous, it was a real problem.

“How about you stay with us for now, and when we fight our way there, you can go back then, okay?” The clerk Julia Brooks blinked her big eyes as she spoke.

That was actually a win-win idea. Political Commissar Martin nodded and said, “That works too. William Thompson, you decide—do you want to stay with us for now, or do you want us to try to send you back first?”

“With all the chaos right now, I’d better stay with you.” As if he could really be sent back—there was a gap of more than eighty years. William Thompson smiled bitterly to himself.

“Good brother, stick with us Eighth Route Army guys, we’ll fight the Japs together. If I have food, you’ll have food.” Paul Martin grabbed William Thompson and gave his shoulder a hearty slap, his straightforward mountain-man nature on full display.

Political Commissar Martin stroked his chin and, together with the clerk Julia Brooks, smiled warmly at William Thompson. It seemed this fair-skinned city kid could easily get along with the country folk, showing no sign of looking down on them, and he was a high school student too—a real find.

“Then William Thompson, you can teach me to read and write more characters in the future.” Charles Dean had always longed to study, and now with a high school student like William Thompson around, he could finally make up for never having gone to school.

“Young man, welcome to the revolutionary ranks. But you have to be prepared for hardship, even for danger to your life. This is nothing like the comfortable life in the city.” Political Commissar Martin reminded him. William Thompson’s unusual appearance and the place he’d shown up didn’t match the look or speech of a typical mountain villager. After questioning him, he finally confirmed that William Thompson was just a student separated from his family by the war, not a Japanese or a traitor in disguise. The earlier conversation between Charles Dean and William Thompson had also confirmed this—someone’s temperament, built up over years, couldn’t be faked.

“Don’t worry, Political Commissar Martin, you’re human, I’m human too. If you can endure hardship and face death, why can’t I?!” William Thompson replied with a double meaning. He’d long heard about the hardships of the War of Resistance, and was mentally prepared. Anyway, he had nothing tying him down now—his own era was completely cut off from him.

“Well said.” Zachary Martin patted William Thompson on the shoulder, seeing the determination in the young man’s tone.

“Can you shoot?” The clerk Julia Brooks looked curiously at the handsome newcomer.

William Thompson only remembered playing with water guns and air guns before—he’d never handled a real gun. “I’ve read about it in books, but never actually fired one,” William Thompson answered honestly. He’d only seen guns on TV and in magazines; he could describe their structure, even how to modify them, but had never touched a real one. At best, he was just an armchair strategist.

“How can you not know how to shoot? Here, use my gun to practice, I’ll teach you.” Charles Dean said happily, pulling William Thompson along.

William Thompson nodded, a little anticipation in his heart.