Courtyard House: Home Alone

"Before you get on the bus, I have three things to say." Lin Yifan held up one finger. "First, after firing the 40mm grenade launcher, you must move immediately. The exhaust flame will reveal your position. The Japanese grenade launchers are not to be underestimated."

Second, when the machine gun crew provides cover, fire short bursts, stopping after three shots, and don't let the barrels turn red. Third—" He paused, his gaze sweeping over every face.

Third, "If you see a puppet soldier, surrender your weapon and have them spared; if you see a Japanese officer in a woolen uniform, give him priority, killing one is worth more than killing ten soldiers."

"Understood!" the crowd responded in hushed tones, their voices echoing deep within the depression.

"Check your equipment. Board the vehicle in five minutes!"

The crowd suddenly dispersed, the sounds of clashing metal, rubbing canvas, and whispered instructions mingling together. Lin Yifan retreated into the shadows of the earthen slope, watching Sun Dazhu check each group of shooters' ammunition and equipment—four rockets wrapped in thick cotton blankets, slung diagonally behind their backs for both frost protection and shock absorption.

"Young master," Stone sidled closer, clutching an oil-paper package in his hand, "this is roast chicken that Qingyunlou made for you..."

"Distribute this to the ten group leaders." Lin Yifan didn't take it. "Tell them that after they finish this, there won't be any hot food before dawn."

Stone paused for a moment, then grinned, revealing a set of teeth stained yellow from smoking: "Alright!"

"Hey! Stone, are the laborers ready to receive the spoils of war?"

"Don't worry, young master, the old man has already made arrangements. Chen Dashan and the others are in charge there. They will catch up after we set off."

"We won't leave the Japanese a single tile behind."

Five trucks were lined up in a row on the dirt road outside the mass grave, facing west. Their canvas tarpaulins were covered with soot and looked like coal transport vehicles.

Lin Yifan climbed into the driver's seat of the first car. "Young master," the driver said in a low voice, gripping the steering wheel, "where are we going?"

"Outside Zhengyang Gate." Lin Yifan slammed his Mauser pistol onto the dashboard. "Don't panic when you hear gunfire. Keep it straight and stop where I indicate."

"Alright." The driver licked his chapped lips. "Young master, our deal..."

"A handsome reward awaits those who return alive!"

"It's not about the money." The driver chuckled, revealing a gap in his front teeth. "I just wanted to ask, is what's on this truck... tools for killing Japanese soldiers?"

Lin Yifan glanced at him but didn't answer.

"My younger brother," the driver continued, his voice so soft it was almost a soliloquy, "was killed by Japanese planes in Wanping City around the time of the Marco Polo Bridge Incident. He was only seventeen, and the dowry for his wedding was already prepared..."

"Let's drive," Lin Yifan said, staring ahead.

The driver fell silent, only slowly pressing down on the accelerator. The truck bumped and jolted out of the mass grave, the sound of withered branches scraping against the canvas tarpaulin like countless whispers.

In the rearview mirror, four trucks followed in succession, their lights all off, the only light coming from the dim red taillights of the trucks in front, winding like snakes on the dirt road.

Lin Yifan rolled down the car window a crack, letting in the biting north wind, which carried the distinctive smell of coal smoke and dust from Beiping.

Soon, the truck passed Fengtai Station, veered sharply, and entered a side road almost completely overgrown with weeds. The wheels rolled over the frozen clods of earth, causing the Mauser pistol on the dial to vibrate slightly. Lin Yifan reached out and pressed the gun down.

"parking."

The truck stalled in the field less than two miles from the Japanese pillbox. Lin Yifan got out of the truck, his boots sinking into the half-inch-thick layer of loose soil. Behind him came the rustling sound of the canvas awning being lifted—ten groups were jumping down one after another, their movements as light as a pack of wolves in the night.

"Everyone, follow me." His voice was extremely low, yet clearly cut through the wind. "Keep quiet. I'll assign you attack targets once we arrive. Those not assigned to attack should focus on learning."

The crowd dispersed silently, disappearing into the darkness of the wilderness.

Lin Yifan led everyone to the front of the Japanese pillbox. Two hundred meters ahead, the Japanese outpost was brightly lit, and the beams of searchlights swept across the ditch where they were hiding every half minute, illuminating the withered grass as white as bones.

"Young master, how should we fight?" Sun Dazhu lay beside him, his voice as soft as breathing.

"Come on, all ten of you, come over here. Look, there's a pillbox and two sandbag fortifications ahead. Sun Dazhu, you're in charge of attacking the pillbox. Brother Shitou, you and your team each attack one sandbag fortification."

Groups three and four were responsible for guarding the right flank, while groups five and six were responsible for guarding the left flank. The rest of the crew were also ready to fire follow-up shots.

"Now, we'll have five minutes to prepare. When I fire, all three of you will attack simultaneously. If anyone misses, the person next to them must immediately follow up. Especially the pillbox; you must wait until it falls before you rush up. Once you're up there, regardless of whether you're dead or alive, you must finish them off. Understand?"

Everyone nodded silently, and the ten archers each made their way to their designated positions.

Sun Dazhu led the five men of the tenth group, crawling forward along the ditch like geckos. His right hand, missing a finger, always protected the 40-fire on his back, afraid that the metal parts would make a sound when they collided.

Stone led the first group to the left sandbag position, the barrels of the Czech light machine guns gleaming with a cold, eerie blue light under the moonlight.

Lin Yifan lay prone at the very front of the ditch, his pistol now replaced with a Type 38 rifle, the sights aimed at the Japanese sentry yawning on the top floor of the pillbox.

The man shrank back, leaned his rifle against the breastwork, and pulled out a cigarette case from his pocket—the moment the match was struck, Lin Yifan saw the mustache on his lips.

"Three minutes left," he counted silently in his mind.

The searchlight beam swept across again, this time lingering exceptionally long. Lin Yifan buried his face in the frozen earth, inhaling the scent of decaying grass and ice shards, hearing his heart pounding like a drum. Behind him came a very faint metallic scraping sound, the sound of an archer adjusting his shoulder rest, which was immediately silenced by Sun Dazhu's deep shout.

The beam of light finally moved away.

Lin Yifan slowly raised his head and saw that all three firing positions were in place. Sun Dazhu was less than 200 meters from the pillbox, and the tripod of his 40mm gun was already set up, the dark muzzle pointing obliquely into the night sky; Shi Tou's group was a little further away, but it was right in the blind spot of the sandbag fortifications; the other group was hidden behind the withered willow bushes on the right, with only half of the gun barrel showing.

He raised his Type 38 rifle, aimed at the Japanese sentry with his mental power, and gently pressed his finger down.

"boom!"

Gunshots rang out in the open field, startling a flock of crows into flight.

Almost simultaneously, three plumes of white smoke rose from three directions, their trails illuminating the ditch in a ghastly white light. Lin Yifan saw Sun Dazhu's rocket, trailing a sharp whistle, hurtle towards the middle level of the pillbox, crashing into the brick wall and creating a ball of orange-red fire.

The stone's impact point was slightly off, hitting the front of the sandbag fortification and sending two bags of sand flying into the air; the third shot precisely penetrated the firing port of another fortification, from which came a short scream and the sharp sound of metal twisting.