Courtyard Houses: Longevity Since the War of Resistance

The next day, just as dawn broke, thirty-six men stood in three rows on the open ground in the center of the camp.

I stood in front of them, with two trucks parked beside me and several blackboards supported by wooden frames, on which were drawn simple diagrams of airplane dials and tank control levers in charcoal.

"Starting today, for three days," I said softly, but everyone heard me clearly, "I will learn two things: how to fly a plane and how to drive a tank."

There was a slight commotion in the group; some eyes were shining, while others were clearly bewildered.

"Captain, we've barely even touched a car a few times..." a dark-skinned new recruit said, scratching his head sheepishly.

"It's alright." I waved my hand. "I'll teach you, you just need to learn."

I didn't explain further. I walked to the blackboard, picked up the charcoal pencil, and activated my passive skill, Heart of the Teacher.

"To talk about the plane, just remember a few key points. This is the control stick; push it forward and the nose will go down, pull it back and the nose will go up. This is the throttle; push it all the way up to accelerate, pull it back to decelerate. This is the landing gear switch; remember to retract it after takeoff and release it before landing. This is the cannon button; press it when you see the enemy."

I spoke slowly, marking each sentence heavily on the blackboard with charcoal. My teacherly demeanor enveloped everyone. I could feel the confusion in their eyes quickly fade; those lines and symbols seemed to be imprinted directly into their minds.

"Did you remember?" I asked.

"Got it!" the thirty-six people answered in unison, their eyes shining.

"Okay, get in the car." I pointed to the truck. "Go to that flat area behind the mountain; we have a plane there."

The so-called airplane wasn't the one I flew back; it was a few rough simulators I hastily sculpted last night by devouring old steel and wood. They had the outline of a cockpit, simple joysticks and pedals, and could barely simulate the feeling of operation.

The team members were divided into several groups and took turns climbing into the simulation frame.

"You, sit here. Put your hands here, your feet here. Imagine you're gliding, yes, pull the lever, lift your head, okay, retract the landing gear." I guided each of them one by one, correcting their postures hand in hand.

The effect of a teacher's heart is simply outrageous.

The sense of touch and spatial awareness that might normally take months or even years to master was developed by these team members at an astonishing speed. Some crashed and died on their first simulated landing, but on the second and third times, their movements quickly became fluid and precise.

In the afternoon, they switched to tanks.

"Tanks are simpler." I pointed to another simulator, which was just a metal box with tracks and a turret outline. "The left lever controls the left track, and the right lever controls the right track. To move forward, push both tracks forward together. To turn, push only one track. This is the main gun sight, this is the loader, this is the machine gun..."

The same process: explanation, demonstration, and hands-on practice.

As the sun set, all thirty-six team members were able to complete basic takeoff, landing, straight-line driving, turning, and simulated firing on the simulator.

"Captain, this...this is amazing..." Lei Dachui jumped down from the tank simulator, his face full of disbelief. "I feel like this metal lump has eyes; it goes exactly where you point it!"

"You've got a brain," I patted him on the shoulder. "Tomorrow we'll practice marksmanship and close combat."

The next day, the training ground was moved to a more remote mountain valley.

I went through every imaginable live-fire shooting exercise, from shooting techniques at different distances and targeting moving targets to night shooting. With the mentor's guidance and the marksman's skill combined, the team members' shooting accuracy improved at a visible rate.

New recruits who could only hit the bullseye at 50 meters were able to hit the bullseye every time from 100 meters away after half a day. Veteran team members began to challenge themselves with more complex tactical shooting and rapid-fire techniques.

Close-quarters combat training is more direct.

I didn't use any complicated techniques, just the most basic bayonet thrusts, parries, grappling, and wrestling, directly targeting the weaknesses and key points of each person's movements. By the end of the day, everyone was covered in bruises, but their ruthlessness and decisiveness even impressed Ye Qiao.

"Captain, you're amazing. In just three days, these little brats have completely transformed," Song Jiahao mumbled, shoveling food into his bowl of gruel during dinner.

I didn't reply, but just looked at the group of people sitting around the campfire.

While the current Zhenguo force is far from being an all-around special forces unit, it is sufficient for a well-planned surprise attack.

On the third night, at midnight.

Inside the barracks, thirty-six fully armed men waited silently. There were no lights, only a faint starlight filtering in from the window.

I stood in front of them and checked the plan one last time.

"Two objectives: Dingbao Airport and the 12th Tank Regiment's base in Shijiazhuang. Simultaneous attack and withdrawal. The objective is to capture all aircraft and tanks. Is that clear?"

"Understood!" A suppressed yet unified growl.

I nodded and said nothing more. The god of deception then began to weave a journey for them.

A journey through mountains and rivers, hiding by day and going out at night, avoiding checkpoints, crossing blockades, and finally secretly arriving at the outskirts of Baoding to lie in wait – a “real memory”.

During the memory import process, teleportation was activated, enveloping everyone, and the next moment we appeared at the edge of a forest.

Through the gaps in the trees, about a mile away, one could see dim lights scattered across a relatively open area. The outline of the runway, a few low buildings, and the control tower in the distance were vaguely visible.

We've arrived at Dingbao Airport.

The team members had spontaneously lowered their bodies and used the trees and bushes for cover, and the memory woven by the god of deception worked perfectly.

"Advance covertly in pre-arranged groups." I gave a simple hand gesture. "Group one: control tower and communications; group two: hangar and fuel depot; group three: perimeter security and clearing patrols. Move out."

Thirty-six dark figures, like drops of ink falling into the night, silently dispersed and merged into the deeper darkness ahead.

He leaned back against the rough trunk of an old locust tree, lit a cigarette but couldn't get it to light, just habitually held it in his mouth.

This time, I don't plan to take action.

Let these kids do it themselves. A sharp knife needs to be used to draw blood and tackle tough challenges. I'll just watch from the sidelines, making sure no one dies.

The position of each team member is imprinted in my mind. Like a three-dimensional chessboard, I am the only observer who can see the whole game.

A group of six, led personally by Ye Qiao, approached the base of the control tower. An iron staircase on the outer wall of the tower led directly to the command room at the top. Two Japanese sentries, carrying Type 38 rifles, paced back and forth outside a small guard post at the foot of the tower.

Ye Qiao made a hand gesture. Her two teammates, Zhang Siwei and Li Song, darted out from behind her, pouncing on the sentry the instant he turned around. One hand covered his mouth and nose, while the other hand wielded a dagger that precisely sliced ​​across his neck—the movements were clean and efficient. The sentry's body went limp, and he was taken down and dragged into the shadows beside him.

"Not bad," I commented to myself. The angle and timing of this strike were at the level of a top assassin; three days ago, the two of them couldn't have done it so smoothly.

The iron ladder swayed, and Ye Qiao led the way. The six people climbed up one after another, quickly and lightly. Light shone through the windows at the top of the tower, and two figures could be seen moving inside.

Almost at the same time.

The two groups of twelve people were divided into three teams, which rushed towards the three largest hangars and the adjacent oil tank area. The team leaders were Lei Dachui and Liu Hou.

At the entrance of a hangar, two ground crew members were squatting on the ground smoking. Lei Dachui led two team members to approach from the flank. When they were less than ten meters away, he suddenly accelerated, like a black bear leaping up. With his large, fan-like hands, he slapped the two Japanese soldiers' heads together hard before they could even make a sound. After a dull thud, they collapsed to the ground.

The side door of the hangar that Liu Hou's team was responsible for was ajar, and snoring could be heard coming from inside. Liu Hou reached the door, flicked his finger, and a few small pebbles flew in, hitting a metal bucket in the distance with a soft clinking sound.

"What?!" The ground crew members who were sleeping inside were startled awake and got up to check, still half asleep.

Just as their attention was drawn in, Liu Hou and two other team members slipped in, holding the medicated towels Bai Su had prepared. They precisely covered the mouths and noses from behind, and after a few seconds of struggle, the person died!

The three groups of eighteen people spread out further and began clearing out the outer patrol teams and fixed sentries.

A three-man patrol approached along a path inside the barbed wire fence, conversing in hushed Japanese. The Liu brothers, a newly joined pair of twins, led four men in an ambush.

As the patrol team approached the closest point, the men suddenly sprang up, and in less than ten seconds, three Japanese soldiers became corpses in the ditch.

About twenty minutes later.

The airport remained calm, the searchlights still lazily sweeping across, but there were no more Japanese soldiers.

"Check the aircraft's condition as planned, refuel, and prepare for takeoff."

"clear!"

These knives, sharpened for only three days, were drawn for the first time, and with a swift and decisive strike, drew blood and sealed the throat.

I spat out the unlit cigarette from my mouth and stomped my foot into the dirt.

Dingbao Airport, 18 aircraft secured!