The Courtyard House: The Little Red Devil Returning from the Peninsula

When Zhao Weiguo returned from the brigade headquarters, it was already broad daylight.

The chestnut horse was covered in sweat, its mane plastered to its neck, as if it had just been pulled from the water. Its hooves sank into a muddy puddle at the village entrance, splashing mud onto its trousers, which felt cool and sticky.

Staff Officer Luo's gray horse fared even worse. It started to sway after the last two miles and collapsed as soon as it entered the village. It tried to get up with its four legs but couldn't. It lay on the ground panting heavily, white mist coming out of its nostrils.

Zhao Weiguo dismounted, his legs feeling a little weak. They had traveled forty li of mountain road at night, without torches, relying entirely on moonlight and the horse's instincts. His cotton-padded coat was soaked with dew, clinging to his back, chilling him to the bone.

Chen An ran out of the camp.

"Brother Zhao, what did the brigade commander say?"

Zhao Weiguo glanced at him but didn't reply. He tossed the reins to Chen An, walked into the camp, and lowered the curtain. Chen An stood outside, not daring to go in.

The camp was empty. The oil lamp on the table was out, its wick burned to a black stick, the oil bowl was empty, and a layer of oil film clung to the sides. The bowl of millet porridge next to it was still there, but the moths were gone, and a layer of ash had accumulated on the surface of the porridge, making it look hazy.

Zhao Weiguo sat down in the chair, took the map out of his pocket, and spread it out on the table. The paper was limp and droopy from sweat, and the corners were curled up.

The three circles on the map of Liushugou are still there, marking the back slope, the infirmary, and the guard post.

Zhao Weiguo drew a large circle around the three circles with a pencil, enclosing them all.

Then, next to the large circle, he wrote two words: Three Days.

The pencil tip poked a hole in the paper, and scraps of paper fell onto the table.

He put down the pencil, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

The brigade commander agreed. The official warning order was issued today, and the communications soldier escorted it to Liushugou on horseback. The order stated: Kong Jie was not allowed to leave the garrison; all outsiders were to be re-examined; the guard force was to be doubled; and night patrols were to be changed to double posts. The brigade commander also added a clause: Zhao Weiguo had the right to intervene in the defense of the Independent Regiment if necessary.

The brigade commander raised his eyes slightly as he said "if necessary." The meaning of that glance was clear: Don't mess around, kid. But if something really happens, you can act first and report later.

He opened his eyes, stood up, walked to the door, and lifted the curtain. The sunlight outside was blinding, making him squint. The earthen walls in the courtyard were bleached white by the sun, and a crow perched on the woodpile, tilting its head to look at him. Two seconds later, it fluttered away, its wings creating a gust of wind.

"Chen An."

Chen An was still standing outside the door, leaning against the wall, holding a straw in his hand, which he had already broken into three pieces. Hearing the shout, he quickly stood up straight.

"exist."

"Call Shitou and Xiaoman here."

The shooting range is located on the back hill.

The shooting range was marked out by Zhao Weiguo himself, in a mountain hollow about half a mile behind Xingshuping. It was surrounded by earthen slopes on three sides, and one side was open, facing a piece of wasteland. At the other end of the wasteland was a dry ditch, the bottom of which was covered with withered grass that swayed violently in the wind.

Three wooden planks were nailed to the earthen slope. Circles were drawn on the planks with ink, but the ink had faded from the wind and sun, and the edges were blurred, like a circle of ink spreading out.

The gifted youths lined up on the shooting range.

Chen An lay prone on the far left, a repaired Hanyang rifle in his hand. The buttstock was wrapped in strips of cloth, soaked with sweat and darkened in color. He rested the buttstock against his shoulder, his right eye pressed against the sight, his left eye closed, slowing his breathing. The muzzle wobbled twice, then steadied itself.

Snapped.

The bullet hit the upper left corner of the wooden board, just two inches from the circle, sending wood chips flying.

Stone lay in the middle, a size larger than Chen An, with broad shoulders and big hands, gripping the gun as if it were a stick of firewood. He took a full ten seconds to aim before pulling the trigger, a longer time than Chen An.

Snapped.

The bullet hit the edge of the circle, grazed the line, and left a white mark on the wooden board.

"It's off course," Zhao Weiguo said.

Stone turned to look at him, a hint of resentment on his face, and his lips twitched.

"It grazed the line."

"It just grazed the line, so it didn't hit."

Stone shut his mouth, pulled the gun back, reloaded, and the sound of a bullet being chambered rang out.

Xiaoman, lying prone on the far right, was the thinnest of the three, his arms as thin as bamboo poles. The butt of the rifle was digging into his shoulder, and he had to use a tattered cloth to barely steady himself. He took the shortest aim, firing in five seconds.

Snapped.

The bullet hit the earthen slope outside the wooden plank, kicking up a clump of soil that landed on the grass.

Xiaoman blushed, the blush extending all the way to her ears.

The muzzle was still smoking. Zhao Weiguo walked over to him, squatted down, took the gun, and examined the sight. The sight had been modified by Zhao Tieshan, with a copper band around it, making it more precise than before, but the recoil was still that of a Hanyang rifle, too much for a thin man to handle.

"Are your shoulders pressed together?"

"Keep it tight," Xiaoman said softly.

"Raise the butt of the rifle up half an inch."

Xiaoman raised the butt of his gun half an inch. Zhao Weiguo pressed down on his shoulder with his hand, his palm digging into Xiaoman's thin, bony shoulder.

"Low your body. Your center of gravity is too high; your shoulder will bounce off when the gun fires."

Xiaoman lay back down, shoulder to shoulder, and aimed. This time she aimed for eight seconds, and sweat beaded on her forehead.

Snapped.

The bullet hit the lower edge of the wooden board, missing the circle by an inch, and sawdust fell onto his hat.

"Alright." Zhao Weiguo stood up. "Surviving the first time is a perfect score."

Chen An got up from the ground, patted the dirt off his knees, and the dirt fell onto the withered grass.

"Brother Zhao, what about our reconnaissance?"

"explain."

Chen An took a piece of paper from his pocket, folded it twice until the edges curled. He unfolded it, revealing a simple map drawn on it, the lines crooked but still legible. Three lines were marked with red, blue, and black pens. Next to each line were annotations in neat handwriting, Chen An's own.

"We explored three paths west of Liulin Town," Chen An said, pointing to the map. "The red one follows the ridge and can circle around to the back of the town, but the slope is too steep for mules and horses. The blue one follows a ditch, which is flatter, but the entrance is too narrow, only allowing two people to walk side by side. The black one leads to an abandoned lime kiln; the kiln can hide twenty people, and the exit leads to the west gate of the town."

The map was spread out on the ground, with three routes clearly drawn, the red, blue and black colors standing out against the yellow paper.

"There are ready-made bunkers in the lime kiln," Stone added. "The kiln walls are thick; bullets can't penetrate them."

Xiaoman also said, "We stayed in the cave all night, and no one noticed."

Zhao Weiguo took the map and flipped it over to look at the back. The back was blank, there was nothing there. He flipped it back again and pressed his finger on the location of the lime kiln, leaving a dent in the paper.

"Did the three of you go?"

"Three," Chen An said.

"What did you bring?"

"Three pistols, a bayonet, and two days' worth of dry rations."

Have you run into anyone?

"We met an old man chopping wood," Chen An said. "We told him we were visiting relatives, and he didn't ask any questions."

Zhao Weiguo folded the map twice and put it in his pocket. The hard corner of the paper was digging into his ribs.

"Not dying the first time is a perfect score," he repeated.

Chen An paused for a moment, then smiled, revealing two canine teeth. Shi Tou and Xiao Man also laughed, their faces streaked with grime from their smiles.

Old Ma has returned from the brigade headquarters.

He carried a burlap sack on his back, bulging and tied with hemp rope, which left a dent in his cotton-padded coat on his shoulder. He placed the sack on the ground in the repair team's area, untied the rope, and inside was a pile of parts: bolts, firing pins, springs, firing pins, sight bases, and front sight bases, all odds and ends, wrapped in oiled paper with the brigade headquarters' ordnance department's seal still clearly visible in red.

"The brigade's inventory," Old Ma said, "enough to repair about ten guns."

Zhao Weiguo squatted down and examined the parts. The bolt was made in Hanyang, several firing pins were from the Type 38 rifle, and the springs were of varying thicknesses, all mixed together. He picked out a firing pin, held it up to his eyes, and saw that the tip was worn but still usable, gleaming coldly.

"There's one more thing," Old Ma said, lowering his voice, "The brigade headquarters is expanding by adding a mortar platoon."

Zhao Weiguo looked up, his eyes lighting up.

How many people?

"I don't know. But the ordnance department was sorting out mortar shells; I saw at least twenty crates, and the seals on the wooden crates were still on."

Zhao Weiguo put the firing pin back into the sack, stood up, and dusted the putty off his hands.

"Next time we go to the brigade headquarters, ask for two more boxes of Type 92 heavy machine gun ammunition. We're running low on ammunition for our two heavy machine guns."

Old Ma grunted in agreement, turned and left, his burlap shoes making a soft rustling sound as they stepped on the ground.

In the afternoon, Zhao Weiguo went to the cave dwelling on the back mountain alone.

The cave dwelling was converted into a machine repair workshop by Zhao Tieshan. Inside, there was a lathe, a small milling machine, and a pile of tools. The lathe was seized from Hulukou. Its base was made of concrete poured on the ground, and the spindle was connected to a hand crank outside by a belt. The milling machine was a smaller size and placed in the corner, covered with an oilcloth, which was covered with a layer of dust.

Next to the lathe was a wooden crate. He sat down on it. The crate was filled with scrap iron, some of which had already been cut, while others still had burrs that felt prickly to the touch.

He closed his eyes, and the system panel in his mind lit up.

Blue light floated in the darkness.

The blue light displayed the remaining points and a redemption list.

He didn't even look at them; he only pulled up the simulation records for the battles of Hulukou and Sakata.

The simulation record of Hulukou was rudimentary, covering a distance of 100 meters. At that time, he simulated the Japanese army's route into the valley, the timing of blocking the pass, and the deployment of firepower. The deviation between the actual battle and the simulation was 12%. The main difference lay in the reaction of the Japanese company commander. In the simulation, the Japanese army should have collapsed after the first round of fire, but in reality, the company commander drew his sword and stabilized the situation, holding out for another ten minutes.

Sakata's simulation record was intermediate level, covering 500 meters. He simulated the route for the night raid on the regimental headquarters, the mortar landing points, and the timing of the three assault groups. The deviation between the actual battle and the simulation was 7%. The main difference lay in the desperate defense of the remnants of the principal's office; the simulation predicted they would surrender after the mortar fire, but in reality, they held out until dawn.

The deviation is decreasing.

From 12 percent to 7 percent.

He opened his eyes and stared at the lathe's spindle. The spindle gleamed coldly in the darkness; the belt was loose and drooped down like a dead snake.

The accuracy of the system's simulations is improving.

But not enough.

A 7% deviation, in a regimental-level battlefield, translates to dozens of lives.

He needs more real-world data to calibrate.

In the evening, Staff Officer Luo brought back a letter from the brigade headquarters.

When Staff Officer Luo entered the courtyard, he was followed by two soldiers in gray cloth uniforms. They were carrying a heavy tin box, which hit the stone slab with a dull thud when it landed, making the ground shake.

Zhao Weiguo glanced at the box but didn't say anything. He recognized the box.

The tin box contained that flag. It was captured from Willow Bay. Blue background with white lettering, and a chrysanthemum pattern on the brass cap. The brigade headquarters didn't send anyone to collect it. Later, as the fighting intensified, the box remained in the regimental headquarters' storeroom. The flagpole bumped against the corner of the wall several times, and the box was rusted red and crumbling.

When the brigade headquarters came this time, they also took the boxes and the files with them.

Staff Officer Luo said, "The brigade headquarters said this flag should be handed over to Yan'an. It should have been handed over long ago."

Zhao Weiguo hummed in response but didn't reply.

The letter was written by the old brigade commander himself, the handwriting messy, like scratches on muddy ground with a stick. Zhao Weiguo sat on the threshold of the battalion headquarters reading it; the setting sun shone on the paper, staining the handwriting orange-red, like blood.

"The staffing issue is still awaiting headquarters approval. Don't worry, your time will come."

Just those few words. No signature, no date, not even a simple "Sincerely."

Zhao Weiguo folded the letter and stuffed it into his cotton-padded coat pocket.

He already had several sheets of paper in his pocket: a map of Liushugou, a reconnaissance map of the junior class, and that deduction notebook.

The letter was sandwiched in the middle, hard and digging into my ribs.

"What else did the brigade commander say?"

"The brigade commander said the warning order has been issued," Staff Officer Luo said. "The communications troops will depart before dawn and arrive at Liushugou by tomorrow afternoon at the latest."

Zhao Weiguo hummed in response, his fingers unconsciously stroking the letter in his pocket.

"There's one more thing," Staff Officer Luo hesitated for a moment, "The brigade commander asked me what Zhao Weiguo has been busy with lately. I said he's been training. The brigade commander said to tell him not to just train, but also to think about how to set up the organization after it's officially established."

The wind blew in from the courtyard gate, carrying the smell of dust.

After Staff Officer Luo left, Zhao Tieshan came out of the tool shed carrying a bowl of noodle soup. The noodle soup was made with hand-pulled noodles of varying thickness, some of which still had lumps of flour. A few dried vegetable leaves floated in the soup; the dried vegetables had been soaked and turned black.

"Eat." Zhao Tieshan handed him the bowl, which had a chip on the rim that was polished to a shine.

Zhao Weiguo took the bowl and squatted on the doorstep. Zhao Tieshan also squatted down, and the two of them shared a bowl of noodle soup, one bite each. There weren't many noodles, but there was plenty of soup. Towards the end, only dried vegetable leaves remained, which tasted a bit bitter and astringent.

"Regimental commander or not, as long as there's a battle to fight," Zhao Tieshan said in a low voice.

Zhao Weiguo smiled briefly, but the smile was faint and disappeared in an instant.

"I also want to fight a war."

Zhao Tieshan glanced at him but said nothing more. The two squatted on the threshold, watching the sunset in the courtyard. The sunset dyed the earthen wall orange-red, and the shadow of the woodpile stretched long, extending beyond the courtyard wall like a black snake.

Night training.

Zhao Weiguo hung a wooden board on the wall of the battalion headquarters and drew a hypothetical position on it with charcoal. The position was a mountain hollow, with slopes on three sides and an opening on the other. In front of the opening was a highway, and across the highway was an open field. The charcoal lines were crooked and twisted, like earthworms crawling.

"Suppose a Japanese company, 120 men, surrounds the enemy from three sides."

Zhao Weiguo pointed to the wooden board.

"You have two machine guns, one small cannon, and sixty men. How are you going to fight?"

Chen An was the first to speak.

"Block the breach. Set up machine guns on both sides of the breach, and fire artillery at the open area across the road to prevent them from flanking us."

Zhao Weiguo looked at the stone.

Shi Tou thought for a moment, his brows furrowing deeply.

"We can't just block the breach. It's sloped on three sides; they can attack downhill from the top. We need to leave a platoon to guard the top of the slope."

Zhao Weiguo then looked at Xiaoman.

Xiaoman hesitated for a long time, her face turning bright red.

"run."

Chen An and Shi Tou both turned to look at him, their eyes filled with surprise.

"If we can't win, we run," Xiaoman said. "Sixty people against one hundred and twenty—we definitely can't hold out. We'd better run first, wait for them to catch up, and then find an opportunity to ambush them."

Zhao Weiguo put down the charcoal pencil, which tapped on the wooden board, causing a piece of charcoal to fall off.

"Go, all of you. Take your guns and follow me."

The four men left the camp and headed towards the back mountain in the dark. The moon hadn't risen yet; there were stars in the sky, but they weren't bright enough to see the path clearly. Zhao Weiguo walked in front, his steps steady as if it were daytime. Chen An followed behind, almost tripping over a stone, grabbing a handful of grass to steady himself. Shi Tou and Xiao Man brought up the rear, whispering to each other, their voices carried away by the wind.

When they reached the mountain hollow behind the mountain, Zhao Weiguo stopped. A cool breeze blew out from the hollow, carrying the scent of withered grass.

"This is the position. The three of you will each lead a group, entering from three different directions. Whoever is discovered first loses."

Chen An led Shi Tou down the left slope, Xiao Man down the right slope, and Zhao Weiguo guarded the pass alone.

You can't see anything in the darkness. You can only hear footsteps, breathing, and the occasional rustling of branches.

Chen An took twenty steps and stepped on a dry branch. With a crack, the sound was particularly loud in the quiet night.

"Dead." Zhao Weiguo's voice came from the darkness, flat and emotionless.

Chen An stopped, cursed, but not loudly.

Stone walked thirty steps more than him, but his breathing was too heavy, like a bellows, panting heavily.

"He died too."

Stone scratched his head, not daring to speak.

Xiaoman took the longest to walk. His steps were light, his breathing light, like a cat. He reached the top of the slope, lay down, and looked down from the top.

You can't see anything from the opening. Zhao Weiguo doesn't know where he's hiding.

He waited for a while, then, feeling it was about time, stood up and walked down the slope.

*Snap.* A blank bomb exploded at his feet, sending a flash of sparks.

"Why are you standing up?" Zhao Weiguo's voice came from down the slope. "You won't die if you lie down."

Xiaoman lay back down on the ground, her face pressed against the mud, and took a mouthful of salty dirt.

Zhao Weiguo walked up the slope, dusted off his hands, and the dirt fell onto the grass.

"Remember this. On the battlefield, standing up makes you an easy target. Lie down if you can, kneel if you can. Those who stand will die first."

Late at night, Staff Officer Luo returned from retrieving intelligence from the brigade headquarters. Two days ago, after Zhao Weiguo returned, he had sent him to the brigade headquarters again to retrieve the latest news from the direction of Liulin Town.

He didn't go directly to the battalion headquarters, but instead went to the sentry post at the village entrance. The sentry told him that Zhao Weiguo had just returned from training a youth training class in the back mountains. Staff Officer Luo walked to the entrance of the battalion headquarters and saw that the lights inside were still on, with a dim yellow light leaking out from the crack in the door.

He lifted the curtain and went in, bringing in a gust of cold wind that made the oil lamp flicker.

The lights in the battalion headquarters were still on.

On the table were the reconnaissance map of the gifted youth class and the deduction notebook.

Zhao Weiguo was marking something on the reconnaissance map with a charcoal pencil, marking very carefully, pausing after each stroke, as if he was thinking.

"Brother Zhao," Staff Officer Luo said.

Zhao Weiguo looked up, the charcoal pencil resting on the paper.

"Is there news from the brigade headquarters?"

Staff Officer Luo nodded. There was a hint of hesitation on his face, and he moved his lips twice before speaking.

"A caravan of five has appeared in the direction of Willow Grove Town. They are traveling in two mule carts loaded with cloth and miscellaneous goods. They have been staying at an inn at the east end of town for three days."

Zhao Weiguo put down the charcoal pencil, which rolled to the edge of the table but didn't fall off.

"What did you ask about?"

Staff Officer Luo glanced at him and swallowed.

"I inquired about Xing Shu Ping. I asked an old man selling tofu, 'Is that boy who repaired guns in Xing Shu Ping still around?'"

Zhao Weiguo hummed in response, saying nothing more. He tapped his fingers on the table twice, a very slow rhythm.

He stood up, walked to the door, and lifted the curtain to look outside. It was completely dark outside; there were a few more stars than yesterday, but the moon still hadn't risen. The northern mountain ridge pressed against the horizon, dark and heavy, like a stone weighing on his heart.

Zhao Weiguo sat at the table, watching the flame of the oil lamp. The flame flickered twice and then settled. He remembered Kong Jie's back as he stood at the entrance of the cave dwelling, the smile on Zhongcun's face when Old Peng inspected the village, and that glimpse through the crack in the window of Liulin Town.

The gait, calluses on the hands, and accent correction that you can see at a glance.

The mountain has arrived.

He didn't know when Yamamoto would make his move. His hand rested on the handle of his Mauser pistol.

The five-day window has been open for business, and today is the third day.

The caravan stayed for three days. Three days is the limit for disguised reconnaissance; staying any longer would arouse suspicion. Yamamoto wouldn't wait until the fourth day.

tonight.

Zhao Weiguo stood up, stuffed the map and reconnaissance map into his pocket, walked to the door, and called out.

"Liu Dashan."

The sound wasn't loud, but it carried far. The dog in the yard barked twice, then fell silent.

Less than half a minute later, Liu Dashan emerged from the neighboring cave dwelling, his cotton-padded coat draped over his shoulders, unbuttoned, revealing a section of his gray shirt peeking out from his chest. He saw Zhao Weiguo standing at the door, his expression troubled, but without asking why, he quickly put his coat back on.

"Assemble the assault battalion. Everyone who can leave, leave."

Liu Dashan was stunned for a moment.

How many people?

"Bring all the able-bodied men from Xingshuping, plus the men from the Second Company's garrison, two hundred in total. Bring all the light machine guns, sulfanilamide powder, and stretchers. Half an hour."

Liu Dashan didn't ask any more questions. He turned and walked towards the cave dwelling, but after taking two steps, he turned back.

Where to?

Willow Gully.

Liu Dashan paused for a moment, then quickened his pace.

Zhao Weiguo returned to the battalion headquarters and tucked his simulation notes into his pocket. He stopped at the door, picked up the bowl of cold millet porridge from the table, and drank it all in one gulp. He placed the bowl back on the table with a clatter.

Staff Officer Luo stood at the gate of the courtyard, leading two horses.

"I'll go too."

"You've been running around all day."

"I'll go," said Staff Officer Luo, his voice flat. "The horse can still go forty li."

Zhao Weiguo glanced at him but didn't stop him.

Half an hour later, at the entrance of Xingshuping Village.

Two hundred men from the assault battalion stood in three rows in the darkness. No one carried torches; only the red glow of a few cigarette butts flickered in the ranks. Mules and horses were tethered to the roadside, their backs laden with supplies. Light machine guns were wrapped in tarpaulins, sulfanilamide powder was packed in bamboo tubes, and stretchers were strapped to either side. The mules were impatient, their hooves pawing at the gravel on the ground with a cracking sound.

Zhao Weiguo stood at the front of the line without saying a word. His eyes scanned from the first row to the last, looking at every face. He recognized some faces, some he didn't; some still looked sleepy, while others were tense.

"Walk."

Two hundred men followed him north. The moon was obscured by clouds, only a sliver visible. The mountain path wound its way through dense, dark pine forests on either side. Their footsteps were low and hushed, like a black river flowing through the mountains.

Willow Grove is to the north. It's an eighty-mile mountain road.

Four hours.