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When Paul Jobs was mustered out of the Coast Guard after World War II, he made a wager with his crewmates. They had arrived in San Francisco, where their ship was decommissioned, and Paul bet that he would find himself a wife within two weeks. He was a taut, tattooed engine mechanic, six feet tall, with a passing resemblance to James Dean. But it wasn’t his looks that got him a date with Clara Hagopian, a sweet-humored daughter of Armenian immigrants. It was the fact that he and his friends had a car, unlike the group she had originally planned to go out with that evening. Ten days later, in March 1946, Paul got engaged to Clara and won his wager. It would turn out to be a happy marriage, one that lasted until death parted them more than forty years later. Paul Reinhold Jobs had been raised on a dairy farm in Germantown, Wisconsin. Even though his father was an alcoholic and sometimes abusive, Paul ended up with a gentle and calm disposition under his leathery exterior. After dropping out of high school, he wandered through the Midwest picking up work as a mechanic until, at age nineteen, he joined the Coast Guard, even though he didn’t know how to swim. He was deployed on the USS General M. C. Meigs and spent much of the war ferrying troops to Italy for General Patton. His talent as a machinist and fireman earned him commendations, but he occasionally found himself in minor trouble and never rose above the rank of seaman. Clara was born in New Jersey, where her parents had landed after fleeing the Turks in Armenia, and they moved to the Mission District of San Francisco when she was a child. She had a secret that she rarely mentioned to anyone: She had been married before, but her husband had been killed in the war. So when she met Paul Jobs on that first date, she was primed to start a new life. Like many who lived through the war, they had experienced enough excitement that, when it was over, they desired simply to settle down, raise a family, and lead a less eventful life. They had little money, so they moved to Wisconsin and lived with Paul’s parents for a few years, then headed for Indiana, where he got a job as a machinist for International Harvester. His passion was tinkering with old cars, and he made money in his spare time buying, restoring, and selling them. Eventually he quit his day job to become a full-time used car salesman. Clara, however, loved San Francisco, and in 1952 she convinced her husband to move back there. They got an apartment in the Sunset District facing the Pacific, just south of Golden Gate Park, and he took a job working for a finance company as a “repo man,” picking the locks of cars whose owners hadn’t paid their loans and repossessing them. He also bought, repaired, and sold some of the cars, making a decent enough living in the process. There was, however, something missing in their lives. They wanted children, but Clara had suffered an ectopic pregnancy, in which the fertilized egg was implanted in a fallopian tube rather than the uterus, and she had been unable to have any. So by 1955, after nine years of marriage, they were looking to adopt a child. Like Paul Jobs, Joanne Schieble was from a rural Wisconsin family of German heritage. Her father, Arthur Schieble, had immigrated to the outskirts of Green Bay, where he and his wife owned a mink farm and dabbled successfully in various other businesses, including real estate and photoengraving. He was very strict, especially regarding his daughter’s relationships, and he had strongly disapproved of her first love, an artist who was not a Catholic. Thus it was no surprise that he threatened to cut Joanne off completely when, as a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin, she fell in love with Abdulfattah “John” Jandali, a Muslim teaching assistant from Syria. Jandali was the youngest of nine children in a prominent Syrian family. His father owned oil refineries and multiple other businesses, with large holdings in Damascus and Homs, and at one point pretty much controlled the price of wheat in the region. His mother, he later said, was a “traditional Muslim woman” who was a “conservative, obedient housewife.” Like the Schieble family, the Jandalis put a premium on education. Abdulfattah was sent to a Jesuit boarding school, even though he was Muslim, and he got an undergraduate degree at the American University in Beirut before entering the University of Wisconsin to pursue a doctoral degree in political science. In the summer of 1954, Joanne went with Abdulfattah to Syria. They spent two months in Homs, where she learned from his family to cook Syrian dishes. When they returned to Wisconsin she discovered that she was pregnant. They were both twenty-three, but they decided not to get married. Her father was dying at the time, and he had threatened to disown her if she wed Abdulfattah. Nor was abortion an easy option in a small Catholic community. So in early 1955, Joanne traveled to San Francisco, where she was taken into the care of a kindly doctor who sheltered unwed mothers, delivered their babies, and quietly arranged closed adoptions. Joanne had one requirement: Her child must be adopted by college graduates. So the doctor arranged for the baby to be placed with a lawyer and his wife. But when a boy was born—on February 24, 1955—the designated couple decided that they wanted a girl and backed out. Thus it was that the boy became the son not of a lawyer but of a high school dropout with a passion for mechanics and his salt-of-the-earth wife who was working as a bookkeeper. Paul and Clara named their new baby Steven Paul Jobs. When Joanne found out that her baby had been placed with a couple who had not even graduated from high school, she refused to sign the adoption papers. The standoff lasted weeks, even after the baby had settled into the Jobs household. Eventually Joanne relented, with the stipulation that the couple promise—indeed sign a pledge—to fund a savings account to pay for the boy’s college education. There was another reason that Joanne was balky about signing the adoption papers. Her father was about to die, and she planned to marry Jandali soon after. She held out hope, she would later tell family members, sometimes tearing up at the memory, that once they were married, she could get their baby boy back. Arthur Schieble died in August 1955, after the adoption was finalized. Just after Christmas that year, Joanne and Abdulfattah were married in St. Philip the Apostle Catholic Church in Green Bay. He got his PhD in international politics the next year, and then they had another child, a girl named Mona. After she and Jandali divorced in 1962, Joanne embarked on a dreamy and peripatetic life that her daughter, who grew up to become the acclaimed novelist Mona Simpson, would capture in her book Anywhere but Here. Because Steve’s adoption had been closed, it would be twenty years before they would all find each other. Steve Jobs knew from an early age that he was adopted. “My parents were very open with me about that,” he recalled. He had a vivid memory of sitting on the lawn of his house, when he was six or seven years old, telling the girl who lived across the street. “So does that mean your real parents didn’t want you?” the girl asked. “Lightning bolts went off in my head,” according to Jobs. “I remember running into the house, crying. And my parents said, ‘No, you have to understand.’ They were very serious and looked me straight in the eye. They said, ‘We specifically picked you out.’ Both of my parents said that and repeated it slowly for me. And they put an emphasis on every word in that sentence.” Abandoned. Chosen. Special. Those concepts became part of who Jobs was and how he regarded himself. His closest friends think that the knowledge that he was given up at birth left some scars. “I think his desire for complete control of whatever he makes derives directly from his personality and the fact that he was abandoned at birth,” said one longtime colleague, Del Yocam. “He wants to control his environment, and he sees the product as an extension of himself.” Greg Calhoun, who became close to Jobs right after college, saw another effect. “Steve talked to me a lot about being abandoned and the pain that caused,” he said. “It made him independent. He followed the beat of a different drummer, and that came from being in a different world than he was born into.” Later in life, when he was the same age his biological father had been when he abandoned him, Jobs would father and abandon a child of his own. (He eventually took responsibility for her.) Chrisann Brennan, the mother of that child, said that being put up for adoption left Jobs “full of broken glass,” and it helps to explain some of his behavior. “He who is abandoned is an abandoner,” she said. Andy Hertzfeld, who worked with Jobs at Apple in the early 1980s, is among the few who remained close to both Brennan and Jobs. “The key question about Steve is why he can’t control himself at times from being so reflexively cruel and harmful to some people,” he said. “That goes back to being abandoned at birth. The real underlying problem was the theme of abandonment in Steve’s life.” Jobs dismissed this. “There’s some notion that because I was abandoned, I worked very hard so I could do well and make my parents wish they had me back, or some such nonsense, but that’s ridiculous,” he insisted. “Knowing I was adopted may have made me feel more independent, but I have never felt abandoned. I’ve always felt special. My parents made me feel special.” He would later bristle whenever anyone referred to Paul and Clara Jobs as his “adoptive” parents or implied that they were not his “real” parents. “They were my parents 1,000%,” he said. When speaking about his biological parents, on the other hand, he was curt: “They were my sperm and egg bank. That’s not harsh, it’s just the way it was, a sperm bank thing, nothing more.” Silicon Valley The childhood that Paul and Clara Jobs created for their new son was, in many ways, a stereotype of the late 1950s. When Steve was two they adopted a girl they named Patty, and three years later they moved to a tract house in the suburbs. The finance company where Paul worked as a repo man, CIT, had transferred him down to its Palo Alto office, but he could not afford to live there, so they landed in a subdivision in Mountain View, a less expensive town just to the south. There Paul tried to pass along his love of mechanics and cars. “Steve, this is your workbench now,” he said as he marked off a section of the table in their garage. Jobs remembered being impressed by his father’s focus on craftsmanship. “I thought my dad’s sense of design was pretty good,” he said, “because he knew how to build anything. If we needed a cabinet, he would build it. When he built our fence, he gave me a hammer so I could work with him.” Fifty years later the fence still surrounds the back and side yards of the house in Mountain View. As Jobs showed it off to me, he caressed the stockade panels and recalled a lesson that his father implanted deeply in him. It was important, his father said, to craft the backs of cabinets and fences properly, even though they were hidden. “He loved doing things right. He even cared about the look of the parts you couldn’t see.” His father continued to refurbish and resell used cars, and he festooned the garage with pictures of his favorites. He would point out the detailing of the design to his son: the lines, the vents, the chrome, the trim of the seats. After work each day, he would change into his dungarees and retreat to the garage, often with Steve tagging along. “I figured I could get him nailed down with a little mechanical ability, but he really wasn’t interested in getting his hands dirty,” Paul later recalled. “He never really cared too much about mechanical things.” “I wasn’t that into fixing cars,” Jobs admitted. “But I was eager to hang out with my dad.” Even as he was growing more aware that he had been adopted, he was becoming more attached to his father. One day when he was about eight, he discovered a photograph of his father from his time in the Coast Guard. “He’s in the engine room, and he’s got his shirt off and looks like James Dean. It was one of those Oh wow moments for a kid. Wow, oooh, my parents were actually once very young and really good-looking.” Through cars, his father gave Steve his first exposure to electronics. “My dad did not have a deep understanding of electronics, but he’d encountered it a lot in automobiles and other things he would fix. He showed me the rudiments of electronics, and I got very interested in that.” Even more interesting were the trips to scavenge for parts. “Every weekend, there’d be a junkyard trip. We’d be looking for a generator, a carburetor, all sorts of components.” He remembered watching his father negotiate at the counter. “He was a good bargainer, because he knew better than the guys at the counter what the parts should cost.” This helped fulfill the pledge his parents made when he was adopted. “My college fund came from my dad paying $50 for a Ford Falcon or some other beat-up car that didn’t run, working on it for a few weeks, and selling it for $250—and not telling the IRS.” The Jobses’ house and the others in their neighborhood were built by the real estate developer Joseph Eichler, whose company spawned more than eleven thousand homes in various California subdivisions between 1950 and 1974. Inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright’s vision of simple modern homes for the American “everyman,” Eichler built inexpensive houses that featured floor-to-ceiling glass walls, open floor plans, exposed post-and-beam construction, concrete slab floors, and lots of sliding glass doors. “Eichler did a great thing,” Jobs said on one of our walks around the neighborhood. “His houses were smart and cheap and good. They brought clean design and simple taste to lower-income people. They had awesome little features, like radiant heating in the floors. You put carpet on them, and we had nice toasty floors when we were kids.” Jobs said that his appreciation for Eichler homes instilled in him a passion for making nicely designed products for the mass market. “I love it when you can bring really great design and simple capability to something that doesn’t cost much,” he said as he pointed out the clean elegance of the houses. “It was the original vision for Apple. That’s what we tried to do with the first Mac. That’s what we did with the iPod.” Across the street from the Jobs family lived a man who had become successful as a real estate agent. “He wasn’t that bright,” Jobs recalled, “but he seemed to be making a fortune. So my dad thought, ‘I can do that.’ He worked so hard, I remember. He took these night classes, passed the license test, and got into real estate. Then the bottom fell out of the market.” As a result, the family found itself financially strapped for a year or so while Steve was in elementary school. His mother took a job as a bookkeeper for Varian Associates, a company that made scientific instruments, and they took out a second mortgage. One day his fourth-grade teacher asked him, “What is it you don’t understand about the universe?” Jobs replied, “I don’t understand why all of a sudden my dad is so broke.” He was proud that his father never adopted a servile attitude or slick style that may have made him a better salesman. “You had to suck up to people to sell real estate, and he wasn’t good at that and it wasn’t in his nature. I admired him for that.” Paul Jobs went back to being a mechanic. His father was calm and gentle, traits that his son later praised more than emulated. He was also resolute. Jobs described one example: Nearby was an engineer who was working at Westinghouse. He was a single guy, beatnik type. He had a girlfriend. She would babysit me sometimes. Both my parents worked, so I would come here right after school for a couple of hours. He would get drunk and hit her a couple of times. She came over one night, scared out of her wits, and he came over drunk, and my dad stood him down—saying “She’s here, but you’re not coming in.” He stood right there. We like to think everything was idyllic in the 1950s, but this guy was one of those engineers who had messed-up lives. What made the neighborhood different from the thousands of other spindly-tree subdivisions across America was that even the ne’er-do-wells tended to be engineers. “When we moved here, there were apricot and plum orchards on all of these corners,” Jobs recalled. “But it was beginning to boom because of military investment.” He soaked up the history of the valley and developed a yearning to play his own role. Edwin Land of Polaroid later told him about being asked by Eisenhower to help build the U-2 spy plane cameras to see how real the Soviet threat was. The film was dropped in canisters and returned to the NASA Ames Research Center in Sunnyvale, not far from where Jobs lived. “The first computer terminal I ever saw was when my dad brought me to the Ames Center,” he said. “I fell totally in love with it.” Other defense contractors sprouted nearby during the 1950s. The Lockheed Missiles and Space Division, which built submarine-launched ballistic missiles, was founded in 1956 next to the NASA Center; by the time Jobs moved to the area four years later, it employed twenty thousand people. A few hundred yards away, Westinghouse built facilities that produced tubes and electrical transformers for the missile systems. “You had all these military companies on the cutting edge,” he recalled. “It was mysterious and high-tech and made living here very exciting.” In the wake of the defense industries there arose a booming economy based on technology. Its roots stretched back to 1938, when David Packard and his new wife moved into a house in Palo Alto that had a shed where his friend Bill Hewlett was soon ensconced. The house had a garage—an appendage that would prove both useful and iconic in the valley—in which they tinkered around until they had their first product, an audio oscillator. By the 1950s, Hewlett-Packard was a fast-growing company making technical instruments. Fortunately there was a place nearby for entrepreneurs who had outgrown their garages. In a move that would help transform the area into the cradle of the tech revolution, Stanford University’s dean of engineering, Frederick Terman, created a seven-hundred-acre industrial park on university land for private companies that could commercialize the ideas of his students. Its first tenant was Varian Associates, where Clara Jobs worked. “Terman came up with this great idea that did more than anything to cause the tech industry to grow up here,” Jobs said. By the time Jobs was ten, HP had nine thousand employees and was the blue-chip company where every engineer seeking financial stability wanted to work. The most important technology for the region’s growth was, of course, the semiconductor. William Shockley, who had been one of the inventors of the transistor at Bell Labs in New Jersey, moved out to Mountain View and, in 1956, started a company to build transistors using silicon rather than the more expensive germanium that was then commonly used. But Shockley became increasingly erratic and abandoned his silicon transistor project, which led eight of his engineers—most notably Robert Noyce and Gordon Moore—to break away to form Fairchild Semiconductor. That company grew to twelve thousand employees, but it fragmented in 1968, when Noyce lost a power struggle to become CEO. He took Gordon Moore and founded a company that they called Integrated Electronics Corporation, which they soon smartly abbreviated to Intel. Their third employee was Andrew Grove, who later would grow the company by shifting its focus from memory chips to microprocessors. Within a few years there would be more than fifty companies in the area making semiconductors. The exponential growth of this industry was correlated with the phenomenon famously discovered by Moore, who in 1965 drew a graph of the speed of integrated circuits, based on the number of transistors that could be placed on a chip, and showed that it doubled about every two years, a trajectory that could be expected to continue. This was reaffirmed in 1971, when Intel was able to etch a complete central processing unit onto one chip, the Intel 4004, which was dubbed a “microprocessor.” Moore’s Law has held generally true to this day, and its reliable projection of performance to price allowed two generations of young entrepreneurs, including Steve Jobs and Bill Gates, to create cost projections for their forward-leaning products. The chip industry gave the region a new name when Don Hoefler, a columnist for the weekly trade paper Electronic News, began a series in January 1971 entitled “Silicon Valley USA.” The forty-mile Santa Clara Valley, which stretches from South San Francisco through Palo Alto to San Jose, has as its commercial backbone El Camino Real, the royal road that once connected California’s twenty-one mission churches and is now a bustling avenue that connects companies and startups accounting for a third of the venture capital investment in the United States each year. “Growing up, I got inspired by the history of the place,” Jobs said. “That made me want to be a part of it.” Like most kids, he became infused with the passions of the grown-ups around him. “Most of the dads in the neighborhood did really neat stuff, like photovoltaics and batteries and radar,” Jobs recalled. “I grew up in awe of that stuff and asking people about it.” The most important of these neighbors, Larry Lang, lived seven doors away. “He was my model of what an HP engineer was supposed to be: a big ham radio operator, hard-core electronics guy,” Jobs recalled. “He would bring me stuff to play with.” As we walked up to Lang’s old house, Jobs pointed to the driveway. “He took a carbon microphone and a battery and a speaker, and he put it on this driveway. He had me talk into the carbon mike and it amplified out of the speaker.” Jobs had been taught by his father that microphones always required an electronic amplifier. “So I raced home, and I told my dad that he was wrong.” “No, it needs an amplifier,” his father assured him. When Steve protested otherwise, his father said he was crazy. “It can’t work without an amplifier. There’s some trick.” “I kept saying no to my dad, telling him he had to see it, and finally he actually walked down with me and saw it. And he said, ‘Well I’ll be a bat out of hell.’” Jobs recalled the incident vividly because it was his first realization that his father did not know everything. Then a more disconcerting discovery began to dawn on him: He was smarter than his parents. He had always admired his father’s competence and savvy. “He was not an educated man, but I had always thought he was pretty damn smart. He didn’t read much, but he could do a lot. Almost everything mechanical, he could figure it out.” Yet the carbon microphone incident, Jobs said, began a jarring process of realizing that he was in fact more clever and quick than his parents. “It was a very big moment that’s burned into my mind. When I realized that I was smarter than my parents, I felt tremendous shame for having thought that. I will never forget that moment.” This discovery, he later told friends, along with the fact that he was adopted, made him feel apart—detached and separate—from both his family and the world. Another layer of awareness occurred soon after. Not only did he discover that he was brighter than his parents, but he discovered that they knew this. Paul and Clara Jobs were loving parents, and they were willing to adapt their lives to suit a son who was very smart—and also willful. They would go to great lengths to accommodate him. And soon Steve discovered this fact as well. “Both my parents got me. They felt a lot of responsibility once they sensed that I was special. They found ways to keep feeding me stuff and putting me in better schools. They were willing to defer to my needs.” So he grew up not only with a sense of having once been abandoned, but also with a sense that he was special. In his own mind, that was more important in the formation of his personality. School Even before Jobs started elementary school, his mother had taught him how to read. This, however, led to some problems once he got to school. “I was kind of bored for the first few years,
今天是我们的抗美援朝纪念日。
60多年过去，
硝烟早已散尽，枪膛也已发凉，
197653名志愿军烈士
以血肉之躯为新中国赢得了和平，
为祖国赢得了尊严，
更赢得了我们的今天。
69年，许许多多只有十几二十岁的
中国人民志愿军战士步入朝鲜战场。
他们还那么年轻，
他们带着微笑、
带着必胜的信念、高唱着歌曲，
雄赳赳气昂昂跨过鸭绿江！
69年前的今天，
1950年10月25日，
初生牛犊不怕虎的他们
打响入朝后的第一枪，
拉开了抗美援朝战争的序幕，
取得了第一场战役的胜利！
△1953年7月28日上午9时30分，中国人民志愿军司令员彭德怀在朝鲜停战协定及其临时补充协议上正式签字。右一为李克农。
三年后，再也没有哪个国家
敢来到中国随便轰炸一个县城，
要挟中国政府、迫使中国让步！
可197653名中国军人再也没能回来，
他们出征的歌声还在耳边震响着，
他们鲜活的面孔和笑容
却永远定格在了历史的天空！
郁达夫曾说：一个没有英雄的民族
是一个可悲的民族，
而一个拥有英雄而不知道
爱戴他、拥护他的民族则更为可悲！
1951年，党中央决定将
打响抗美援朝第一场战斗的
1950年10月25日定为抗美援朝纪念日。
转眼，68年过去了，
今天，又是一年10·25，
在这个值得所有中国人铭记的日子，
我们缅怀“最可爱的人”，
更应该铭记他们不灭的精神、
和那段不容忘却的历史……
NO.1
他们倒下时身影不同，
却有着同样的悲壮与英勇！
央视《等着我》节目曾来过
一位抗美援朝的老兵——何宗光。
何宗光回忆抗美援朝时的场景：
有一次慰问团去前线慰问问战士，
让何宗光帮忙问下战士对祖国有什么要求，
年轻的战士这样回答，
“如果能活着回去，
请告诉祖国我们什么都不需要，
只要祖国知道我！”
何宗光还回忆说：
在一次战斗中，
战士们要把红旗插在山顶上。
前几位冲锋的战友都牺牲了，
最后一位在牺牲前把红旗插到了山上，
但为了防止红旗倒下，
这位战士选择跪着扶着红旗，
牺牲后也保持着这种姿势。
197653位血洒疆场的英雄，
他们倒下时的身影不同，
却有着同样的悲壮与英勇！
67年前，10月20日凌晨，一名志愿军士兵提着手雷，
在照明弹的亮光下冒着炮火前进，
当离敌军火力点只有三四十米时，
他的两位战友，一位当场中弹牺牲，
一位身负重伤、血流不止……
来源：解放军报
他的左臂已经被打穿，血流如柱。
他匍匐到离敌军火力点八九米的时候，
举起右手将手雷接连投向敌军地垒，
可惜，只炸毁了半边……
此时，他已经打完了最后的一颗子弹，
志愿军即将发起冲锋，
可敌人半边地垒里的机枪熄火没多久，
突然又开始猛烈射击！
他艰难地爬向火力点，
冲着敌军狂喷火舌的枪口，挺起胸膛，
张开双臂，扑了上去。
他用年轻的生命为部队开辟了前进的道路。
那一刻，距离天亮只剩下40分钟，
而这位士兵的生命，
却永远定格。
他叫黄继光，
牺牲时只有21岁，
生前连一张照片都没有留给我们！
或许，他也明白胸膛不可能堵得住机枪，
但他宁可前进一步死，
也绝不后退半步生！
黄继光画像
他的飞身一跃，
堵住的不仅仅是敌人的枪口，
更是中华民族百年耻辱的伤口！
如果他还活着，今年也才87岁。
他也许正坐在公园长椅上，
儿孙绕膝，享受岁月静好……
在60多年前的志愿军队伍里，
有这样一个特殊群体，
他们就像一个巨大的“靶子”，
他们的身影只在夜里出现，
他们就是志愿军汽车兵！
美军把切断中朝人民军队的运输线
作为其重要战略任务，
不惜出动大量飞机进行轰炸封锁，
年轻的志愿兵战士用他们的血肉之躯，
筑起了一条“钢铁运输线”。
1952年，唐思齐（左）和战友在运输线上
1952年，还不到18岁的唐思齐
已经是这条钢铁运输线上的老兵，
他与战友开着满载弹药的汽车，
在坑坑洼洼的路面上行驶，
行军途中，敌机每天都狂轰烂炸，
他们白天蹲在防空洞里，
晚上不能打灯，只能摸索前行。
2013年，已经是77岁唐思齐老人，
再度提起那段峥嵘岁月，
仍忍不住抱头痛哭！
那天深夜，他和班长副班长
三人拉着18桶汽油，
车还没有跑太长时间，
一阵巨大的轰鸣呼啸而来，
听声音就知道是美军的重型轰炸机
已经飞近了！
为了防止暴露汽车位置，
他们三个马上熄火停车，
刚跑出去没多远，
机关枪的子弹就从天上飞泻下来。
副班长马爱山还没有来得及趴下，
就被子弹击中了。
摸着黑，唐思齐把所有的绷带
都缠到了他身上，
一边缠一边说：
坚持住，就一个小口子，不碍事！
1954年，停战后唐思齐（左）与排长焦显彰在朝鲜开城
唐思齐和班长一起，
把马爱山送到医务室才发现，
他的肚子被子弹打透了，
他，早已经牺牲了……
每天给唐思齐焐热被窝的副班长，
就这样死在了自己的怀里。
最让他难过和遗憾的是，
他只能把副班长草草掩埋在山脚下……
这段刻骨铭心的战场记忆，
是抗美援朝战争留给他一生的珍藏。
面对这么大规模的空中绞杀，
志愿军却在后方形成了一条
打不烂、炸不断的钢铁运输线，
对此，从美国五角大楼都感到十分震惊！
志愿军钢铁运输线为何炸不断？
看看这张图，或许就能找到答案！
↓↓↓↓↓↓
"千条万条，运输第一条"，
志愿军和人民群众，
把建设铁路、公路、小路相结合，
火车、汽车、手推车、甚至人力都调动起来，
打造了一条
打不垮、炸不烂的钢铁运输线。
至1953年2月底，
经过钢铁运输线源源不断地“输血”，
志愿军粮食储备达24.8万余吨，
可供食用8个半月；
弹药储备达12。3万余吨，
为进行1953年夏季战役
准备了雄厚的物资基础。
志愿军在朝鲜战场
在朝鲜战场上，
曾有一场没有一声枪响的战役，
其悲壮程度震惊了整个世界，
那是1950年11月28日清晨，
朝鲜半岛长津湖地区的柳潭里，
风雪交加的天气使得温度骤降到了-40℃，
在位于这个地区名叫死鹰岭的高地上，
一支志愿军的部队正伏守在这儿，
等待伏击从这里逃窜的美军！
可当狼狈不堪的美军经过这里时，
埋伏在此的志愿军战士们，
却没有对发起进攻……
美军指挥官取出望远镜，
他看到对面有一排排的志愿军战士
已经被冻成了“冰雕”，
但每个人依然保持着战斗的姿势。
125个年轻的中国战士，
125座矗立的“冰雕”！
虽然在这场战役中，
战士们不曾放出一枪一弹，
但震慑力丝毫不亚于手持枪炮的士兵！
一位参加过长津湖战役的美军军官曾说：
“他们穿着单薄的军衣，
端着老旧的步枪，
其视死如归的精神令人肃然起敬！
突袭战结束之后，
赶来的战友们从一名战士贴身口袋里
找到一张小纸条，
纸条的主人叫宋阿毛，上海人！
纸条上的字体刚毅：
“我爱亲人和祖国
更爱我的荣誉
我是一名光荣的志愿军战士
冰雪啊，我决不屈服于你
哪怕是冻死
我也要高傲地耸立在我的阵地上”
当这张被冻得已经不能完全展平的纸条，
送至志愿军总指挥彭德怀的面前时，
这位身经百战的铁血将领
流下了眼泪……
资料图：“冰雕连”战士生前合影
而在整个长津湖战役中，
这样的“冰雕连”有三个！
中国志愿军英雄钢铁般的战斗意志，
早已成为一座精神丰碑被载入历史，
被深深烙印在每个中国人的心里，
更早已铸就成“军魂”
融入每位中国军人的血液里！
NO.2
“是谜一样的东方精神
打败了我们！”
68年了，在冰天雪地的朝鲜战场
他们是一把炒面一把雪都吃不上
依然冲锋不止的战士；
67年了，上甘岭43个昼夜的拉锯战，
山头被炮火削低两米，
美国人始终想不通，
他们动用了人类历史上最大的炮火密度，
付出了两万多人伤亡的代价，
为何就是没能攻下这两座山头？
上甘岭战役中，志愿军在夺回地表阵地。图为537.7高地战斗实景。
那不只是两座山头，
更是中国军队的精神地标。
每一抔泥土里，
都浸透着中国军人的英雄血，
饱含着舍生忘死的英雄气。
在朝鲜战场上，
付出了极其惨烈牺牲的
还有中国空军！
志愿军航空战斗群
朝鲜战争爆发之时，
新中国第一支航空部队
正式成立还不到一周。
当时，很多飞行员还没来得及结束培训，
就被派往了战场。
而为了尽可能地给地面部队提供保护，
这些年轻的生命面对
世界上最强大的空中力量，
从未胆怯，也未曾有过任何退缩。
然而，当时中国空军与美国空军相比，
实力不是一般的悬殊。
我国空军仅有作战飞机不足200架。
而“联合国军”则有1200架以上！
初出茅庐的志愿军空军，
面对的是强自己数倍的，
当时世界上最强的空军！
年轻的中国志愿军空军飞行员，
没有被强大的敌人吓倒，
他们坚信，在这样的战场上，
狭路相逢勇者胜，
他们决心用拼刺刀不怕死的精神，
跟敌人血战到底！
▲中国空军的米格-15编队
王海、刘玉堤、张积慧、孙生禄、赵宝桐……
这些最勇敢的飞行员，
他们用无畏的勇气，
用献身祖国的信念，
在朝鲜上空建立起一道牢固的空中防线。
他们是王牌飞行员中的“王牌”！
范万章，独自面对3架敌机，
从万米高空打到千米低空，
最后壮烈牺牲，
年仅25岁。
孙生禄，是河北定兴县人，
在1952年12月3日的空战中，
他为了吸引住敌机群，
被12架敌机围攻、开火，
飞机已经被严重打伤，
僚机对他大声疾呼：“快跳伞！快跳伞！”
可孙生禄仍然顽强地坚持着，
他知道，能多撑一分钟，
队友就多一分安全。
弹药全部打光了，
在最后的紧要关头，
孙生禄用尽最后的力气把机头一拉，
驾着熊熊烈火的战鹰，
朝敌机撞去……
孙生禄牺牲的时候，才24岁。
整个朝鲜战争，
美国军队动用了除核武器
以外所有新式武器。
中国人民志愿军将士
则以劣势装备进行殊死搏斗。
他们冒着摄氏零下30多度的严寒，
在白雪皑皑的崇山峻岭中
纵横驰骋、前仆后继。
即使战斗到只剩一人一枪，
仍然坚守阵地，顽强地同敌人血战到底。
在反击敌人的“空中绞杀”中，
他们冒着密集的轰炸和严密的封锁，
建成了打不断、炸不烂的钢铁运输线；
在“空中拼刺刀”的勇猛战斗中，
他们搏击长空，
创造了世界空战史上的奇迹。
很多年后，美国人回忆起朝鲜战争，
他们说：是“谜一样的东方精神”
打败了我们！
相信每一个中华儿女心里都清楚，
美国人眼中的“东方精神”，
就是中国军人为了国家和民族，
顽强拼搏的战斗意志，
就是奋不顾身、保家卫国的牺牲精神！
这些年轻的脸庞，
这些鲜活的面孔，
他们再也没能回来！
有的战士被担架抬出来就已经牺牲了
找不到他的姓名、也不知他属哪个部队。
当时每人有一块儿防雨的布，
就在山边挖一个坑，
就把防雨布一半铺在地上，
把遗体放进去，
再把另一半雨布盖身上，
为战友盖上土……
197653名牺牲的英雄，
因为战争的惨烈，
牺牲后被就地掩埋在战场上，
他们的墓碑都朝着故乡的北方……
半个多世纪之后，
中韩双方达成共识，
韩方向中方移交在韩
中国人民志愿军烈士遗骸及相关遗物。
他们倒下时的身影不同，
60多年了，他们魂落异国，
但他们心向祖国！
2014年，第一批437具志愿军烈士遗骸
在两架歼11-b战斗机的护航下，
英雄们终踏故土！
当11名身着盛装的年轻中国礼兵
从韩国军人手中接过棺椁的一刻，
也接过了无数将士
为了祖国而战的光荣和自豪。
跨过鸭绿江时，
他们是有名有姓的志愿军
60多年归来时，
他们是无名无姓的遗骸……
60年多前，他们为了祖国，
义无反顾地走上战场；
今天，祖国张开双臂，
以最高的礼遇迎接他们回家。
古人常说：
青山处处埋忠骨，
何须马革裹尸还。
今天
祖国为你们庄严地盖上鲜艳的国旗，
为你们冰寒的身体驱走寒冷！
年轻的英雄们，祖国带你们回家！
回到你们出生的南国，
回到你们日思夜想了60多年的，
温暖的故乡……
2014年韩方归还中方437具志愿军遗骸，
2015年和2016年分别归还68具和36具，
2017年送还28具。
今年，2018年3月28日，
又有20位英雄回家！
山河已无恙
魂归来兮，英雄回家！
看一看祖国的河谷山川吧，
最可爱的人，
如今这里和平安宁，富饶而美丽；
听一听战士们的呼唤吧，
最可爱的人，
今天我们拥有了钢铁般的国防力量，
却从没有忘记你们
用生命建立的不朽功勋。
今天，你们终于入土为安！
集合了，共和国英雄，
一如当年告别亲人后车厢中的沉默无声；
回家了，志愿军老兵，
你们的任务已经完成，
新一代共和国军人的臂弯
同样坚强有力。
理想之光不灭，
信念之光不灭！
今天，我们捍卫英雄，
就是捍卫我们的民族魂！
今天，我们继承烈士的精神，
就是凝聚不断前行的中国力量！
今天，我们怀念英雄，
更是要不忘初心、砥砺前行！
今天，勇敢的中国人民团结一心，
任何的困难和坎坷，
都阻挡不了中华民族前进的脚步！
昨天，年轻的他们曾说：
我们什么都不需要，
只要祖国知道我！
69年了，祖国亲人从来
没有把你们忘记！
今天，就让我们一起转发
向中国人民志愿军致敬，
向197653名牺牲的英烈致敬，
请接受我们最为崇高的敬礼！
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