My name is Wang Polu, a lame retired college student soldier.
On the third day after returning to my hometown in northern Anhui, the war in the Middle East on TV has not yet been extinguished, and new smoke is rising in Eurasia.
I thought the war was far away until the air raid siren sounded from the loudspeaker at the end of the village and my second uncle's tractor next door was hit by missile fragments.
"There's a war, there's chaos outside, and people in the city are grabbing food." The father smoked a dry cigarette and frowned.
I dug out the map I had as a soldier and began to mark water sources and defensible terrain.
The cousin suddenly rushed into the yard: "Brother, several out-of-town cars came at the entrance of the village, and the people who got off were armed with guns!"
My finger drew a circle on the map where our ancestral home is - this will be our last bastion of survival.
