附言：（親友的一封信）

哥：你好！

我从头至尾认真地拜读了两遍你那饱含深情，呕心沥血，孕育而成的叙事长诗“远去的群山”，读来令人震撼不已……我虽然不是这场战争的亲身经历者，但是，是在这种教育背景下长大的，深知那时“雄赳赳，气昂昂，跨过鸭绿江……”保家卫国这场战争的艰巨性、残酷性。你深情地讴歌了在那激情燃烧的岁月里，志愿军将士们为捍卫共和国的尊严而浴血奋斗的可歌可泣感人场面，细腻地描述了他们内心跌宕起伏情感世界，几个栩栩如生的人物让人阅后其为之动容，并为他们的命运悲叹不已…...他们是时代的骄傲，历史、人民会永远记住他们的。

今天恰逢志愿军入朝参战60周年的纪念日，在这特殊意义的日子里，小妹向哥、嫂两位曾亲历这场血与火洗礼的志愿军老战士致以崇高的敬意！

哥：你虽进入耄耋之年，可是你的大作却依然十分的与时俱进，贴近时代的脉搏，穿越时光隧道，文字中透露出你一腔热血，汹涌澎拜，让人肃然起敬。你这种孜孜不倦的求索精神，让我这小字辈人深感惭愧。从你的作品中，我能依稀地看到你与嫂从相识、相知、相恋的背影……哥，你挺怀旧的，多么美好的时光呀！令人回味。小妹斗胆评论大哥的作品，不知深浅，让大哥见笑了！我不知另外两位兄长读后感是如何？我想，他们一定有同感吧？我们彼此虽远隔重洋，可我们的心是相通的。我们时时关注你，大作完成了，你可以休息一会了。你最近一切都好吧？一定要注意休息。

 妹：小云 10月26日

*王小云，堂妹，环保工作者，上海市环保局公务员。

第三章 震撼西方世界的长津湖之战 

为什么忠于不幸的真情，

我这个诗人必须为后人

暴露种种罪恶和仇恨，

在我真实的诗篇里揭露

隐秘的背信弃义的恶行？

                           ——普希金

年轻的朋友，

这对战地情侣的故事，

发生在激情燃烧的年代；

虽然岁月拉开了距离，

但我真诚而坦率地叙述，

相信你们能够理解。

年代久远了，

人们难以想象那场战争。

“抗美援朝，

保家卫国！”

神州大地响彻云霄的吼声，

从黄浦江畔，

直抵辽东边境。

曹牧云和年轻的战友们，

在闷罐子军务列车中，

谱写铁血之梦。

那时候人们，

崇尚理想之光；

单纯、轻信而坦率，

对领袖与年轻的共和国，

怀着强烈的热爱。

在不敢正视的虔诚中，

甚至潜藏着

盲目崇拜。

那时候，追求和平幸福，

人人具有献身的崇高情怀。

在保家卫国的队列中，

向往精神的无畏境界。

可以毫不夸张地说，

他们属于那些渴望

创建功勋的狂热一代。

眼看战争的火焰，

好似滚滚岩浆，

往鸭绿江岸喷涌。

三野九兵团的勇士，

宿营在树挂冰凌的山村。

奔赴朝鲜的临战前夜，

亢奋与激动，

年轻而气盛。

曹牧云和两个同伴，

在出国第一仗的求战书上，

争先恐后地签名。

在雨雪霏霏的午后，

他们双手磨出血泡，

挖开临江三道沟的冻土层，

为携带一包泥土，

把祖国紧紧揣在怀中。

“再见吧，故乡，

再见吧，妈妈，

别难过，莫悲伤，

祝福我们一路平安吧。”

夜晚跨过鸭绿江。

炮声隆隆，

大雪纷纷，

黑暗以堂皇的名义，

射来箭矢，

远东像古旧的陀螺。

在战火中打滚。

谁的利爪？

撕碎和平的宁静

触破战争序幕？

今日的历史档案，

揭开了往日纷争的疑云。

二十世纪的亚洲，

哪有和平的橄榄树？

放眼狼林山脉，

燃烧弹火焰腾腾。

曹牧云跟着报社赶抵前线，

一场殊死搏斗推向纵深。

黄草岭长津湖的旷野，

遍地尸体，

黑烟翻滚。

坦克堵塞着道路。

歪斜的炮车上，

挂着一个死亡的美国兵，

羽绒衫被朝鲜难民扒走，

赤裸的身躯，

早已不知道寒冷。

美国陆战一师快速纵队，

被分割围歼在

下竭隅里的崇山峻岭。

这场旷古未有的战役*

惊天地，泣鬼神。

敌我双方，

都伤亡惨重；

扼守公路的山岭，

堆集我军冻死的士兵。

然而,全世界

第一次看清：

彭德怀总司令的奇兵，

东、西两线铁拳重击，

麦克阿瑟将军

圣诞节结束战争的宣言，

犹如天方夜谭的神话，

灰飞烟灭，

荡然无存。

风雪漫天呼啸。

零乱的枪声移向纵深。

山中没有一只飞鸟，

地上没有一个活人，

涂着白五星的坦克、炮车

在风雪中燃烧，

山谷里尸体横陈。

幸存的卡车，

装载着伤员走了。

死亡依旧发出冰冷的邀请。

曹牧云在前线采访负伤，

倒在新兴里的风雪中。

无边的寂寥，

零落的枪声。

他浑身血迹，

倒在伙伴尸体堆中。

毫无迟疑，

将随时赴约死神。

朔风呼啸。

大雪纷纷。

突然一驾爬犁，

冲破弥漫的风雪，

志愿军医疗救护队，

模糊中出现熟悉的呼声：

“江惠，快过来，

这个人还活着；

你看：他鼻息在动！”

“快，抱起他。

啊！是曹记者，

快把他放在爬犁上。”

惊喜。愕然。

昏沉沉的曹牧云，

不屈的意志，

依然清醒：

他模模糊糊地感到，

两个白衣天使的手，

把他抱上爬犁

他血染的名字将被划去，

在长津湖阵亡者的名单中。  

 *英国牛津大学战略学家罗伯特·奥内尔博士在《和钢铁较量的意志——清长之战》中写道：“中国从他们的胜利中一跃成为一个不能再被人轻视的世界大国——如果中国人没有于1950年11月在清长战场稳执牛耳，此后的世界历史进程就一定不一样。” 

Chapter 3 

Why as a poet,

I must devote myself to the miserable truth,

Must explore some kind of hate and evils?

That for my offspring shows in my genuine poems,

That just tells people so uncanny shady perfidies.

                               —— Pushkin

A Huge Encirclement—Battle of Chosin Reservoir

That has shocked the entire western world

Young friends, I believe you will truly understand,

This story of a pair of lovers in the war-field

Of an intense emotion—burning era faded

So long yet but still deeply carved in real history;

With its trustfulness vast,

I will give you all the genuine details of it.

So long a few decades, then there's

A toilsome sense for that war—

 “Against America and fight for Korea brothers

And protect our families and new China！”—

Brave calls for soldiers of the new era

Run across Huang-Pu river shores

To the borders in Liao-Dong state...

With his comrade -young soldiers

Sitting in a military express-train rumbling with

Whistles and engine-bells, Cao Mu-yun rushed

At the dreams irony-blooding of new fulfillment.

At that time People purely and

Trustfully obeying the leader

Under the young country's name in its own accord

As trees reach up toward the sun, kept

Side-eyed in an attitude

Of devotion, idolatrously,

None of them the real self, frankly,

Dared to grope for the own right rejoinders.

At that time people chasing the peace

And a good life sprung from a certain charm-dream,

Liked soldiering to hold a gun and be

A part of “Great Wall”: without an exaggeration

To say, they always had had a wave of emotion

And would fight for fighting with

Death as a hero's death

Seeing the war-fires in the front skies as if

Some flowed magmas had run towards

The Ya Lu River shore, of the ninth brigade of

The third field army corps in a hill village of

Which with sharp icicles hanging to the tree branches,

That night, before they would depart for

The front line of Korea, with their young greenish

And strong mastery rushed to the fore,

Cao Mu-Yun and his two comrades

Put their names on the fighting demand paper

For taking part in the would-be-first battle

That snowy-raining noon of the three-groove river

Of Ling-jiang Town, they dug up the frozen soil layer

Until the fingers of them worn as bloody-stained

Just for a wrap of the clay as the fatherland that

They could hold into their chest.

“Ay the old town，goodbye;

Ay Mama， goodbye;

Please don’t sigh and cry,

Wish me luck cross the war fields.”

At a dark night crossed the Yalu River;

A roar of the artillery fire rumbled on over

The air, .with the windy-chill spun the snowflakes;

Those undiminished arrows

Under a noble name shot out a dank blackness.

As a tired old scopperil, the Far East was

Spinning madly through a darting sea of flames。

Whose sharp claws ripped off the quietness of

The world peace and penetrated the prelude to war?

Go to the bottom of

It wrapped in growing perplexity—

Then find out the truth about the Korean war.

Wondered the 20 century, Asia,

Where could be the olive trees dripped on peace?

Looked up on the Nangnim Mountains，

Incendiary bombs flashing kept against the skyline.

As a war field journalist,

Cao Mu-Yun came to the front.

The battle went going on in deep

Into the fuchilin pass of mountains, of Sudong Gorge:

Filthy dead bodies and the blood- soaked ground,

Tanks abandoned blocked the ancient road,

Hang at a burned-out cannon a dead US soldier，

His balaclavas and feather dress all fossicked

By peasant-refugees, only left the naked white body

Without his dog tag, but his frozen eyes

Threw a still blue dearth.

The US first Division and Allied soldiers

Were being outflanked by Chinese regulars

In the hills of Xia Tuju-ri; whistles days

After bad day blew and bugles sounded; flash

And puffs of smoke; big guns firing north,

East, west, and south; soldiers

Died as if doornails in the bloody shambles.

Our Chinese reserves lay on the brow of the hill:

Be a frozen ambush company of a grave memory.

And then the whole world

For the first time clearly saw that

Our chief general Peng De-Huai sought out

The enemy's weak spots, making the fatal iron-hit

From the east and west, and the fanciful fairy tale

Of Gen. Douglas MacArthur said the war

“Will be over by Chrismas “burnt out like

The flare burst in the air

Shedding red and green light as it sank

To the earth, ashed.

Snowy-winds blew in the skies,

Carbine shots Isolated in the distance;

No seagulls flew over the grey sky

And none of the living human on the ground

Only the canons and with a white star

The broken tanks burning at the snow-field,

The dead and the dying scenes spread over the valleys.

Survived cars were loaded the wounded and gone；

The death still kept coming as a sword unsheathed.

Cao, wounded, lay on the snowy fire zone

Of Xin Xing-Li; echoed the dark hills around

The vast silence, some random rifle

Was still being fired

On the brow of the hill

He bloody-soaked

Lay on among the piles of dead

Fellow-soldiers;

Soon or later

He would die too. Cold winds

Blew over and white snowflakes danced.

Suddenly a sledge loomed up from the dense snowy mist,

Of a Chinese reserve medical team, searching

Through the brushes for casualty; in the wind,

There was a familiar voice bellowing:

“Jiang Hui, come here quickly,

 You see, his nostrils flaring!

This one is still alive!”

 “Quick, holding him up!...

Oh，is our journalist Cao！Help,

 Help me carry him over to the sledge.”

His head was clearing dimly with those voices

Yet in a kind of wearied resignation, and

Feeling hands

Of two white-dressed angels

Held his body to on the sledge—that

Meant his name would

Be crossed out

From the death list of the soldiers

Of the Battle of Chosin Reservoir.