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

It's almost dawn.

The wind on the south slope was harsher than at the ridge pass, blowing down from the mountain ridge, carrying the smell of pine resin and earth, and stinging the face. The slope was very steep, with an incline of over sixty degrees, and the loose stones underfoot would slide down, requiring one to grab onto bushes for balance with every step.

Yamamoto Ichiki walked at the very front.

His ten agents followed behind, lined up in a row, each with a small knife between their teeth, the blade held horizontally between their teeth, handle to the left, blade to the right. The knives were used to gag them. When climbing, people breathe heavily, and the sound of their breathing carries far in the night; biting the blades helped to minimize their panting.

Yamamoto's left arm was still bleeding; the shrapnel wound wasn't deep, but it kept oozing. He ignored it, grabbing onto a bush branch with his right hand and climbing up. Two of his fingernails broke off, and blood seeped from his fingertips, mixing with the mud and turning black.

His mind was racing.

The pass on the front was blocked, and Masuko was holding it off. There were pursuers on the back, and judging from the gunfire, there were quite a few of them. The south slope was the only gap, but it was narrow, not wide enough for ten people to spread out, so they could only climb up in a single line.

He needed to cross the southern slope, beyond which lay the outskirts of the Japanese-occupied territory. Once there, he would have a radio station, a rendezvous point, and an escape route.

But he didn't know if there was anyone on the south slope.

Gardenia lay behind a rock on the south slope, her face pressed against the cold stone, which made her bones ache.

When she led thirty men up the south slope from the opposite side, Yamamoto hadn't arrived yet. Once they reached the top, she immediately divided them into three groups of ten. One group pressed forward from the front, another group circled around to the west to block their retreat, and she herself led the last group to lie in ambush behind the rocks on the east side of the slope, looking down from a high vantage point.

She remembered Zhao Weiguo's usual fighting style. Three loaves of bread, placed on one side, with a sniper rifle planted on the other side.

At 2:55 a.m., there was movement down the slope.

The sound of the loose rocks sliding was very faint, like someone climbing up on their hands and knees. Gardenia rested her rifle on the rock, muzzle down, her right eye pressed against the sights.

Moonlight peeked through the gaps in the clouds and shone on the slope. She saw her shadow.

A line of dark figures climbed up the slope from the bottom, close together, their movements synchronized as if pulled by a single rope. The person at the very front was not tall, but he was the most steady, always able to place his feet firmly on solid ground, unlike those behind who were slipping on the loose stones.

Gardenia did not hesitate.

"beat."

The first round of sniping.

Sniper shots rang out almost simultaneously. A dark figure walking ahead plunged into the bushes at the bottom of the slope. Another man, grazed on the arm, lay prone on the slope, raising his submachine gun and sweeping it towards the top.

The submachine gun bullets hit the rocks, sending shards flying that hit Zhizi's face. She wiped them off with the back of her hand, but didn't stop.

"Hit again."

Another round. Another shadowy figure fell, shot down.

The agents below the slope reacted swiftly. At the sound of gunfire, they immediately dropped to the ground, their bodies pressed against the slope, and opened fire with their submachine guns towards the top. Bullets flew over Gardenia's head, striking the tree trunks behind her, sending splinters flying.

Yamamoto lay prone behind a rock. His submachine gun magazine was empty, so he replaced it and continued firing. He made a quick assessment: there were at least ten men on the hilltop, with considerable firepower, and a direct frontal assault wouldn't work.

"Splitting into two groups," he said to those around him. "Those in the north, run north and draw their fire. Those in the east, follow me."

Three agents ran north, firing as they went to draw fire from the hilltop. Yamamoto led the remaining men east, running along the ridge path towards the Japanese-occupied territory.

Gardenia saw it.

She lay prone behind the rock, peering through the aiming hole at the shadows to the east. Those people were different from the others; their steps were steady, they shielded each other, they never walked in a straight line, and they deliberately landed on rocks and tree roots, never stepping on loose soil.

Experienced. Extremely experienced.

"Ten men hold the line against the north, the flanking teams go around," Zhi Zi said. "Those on the hilltop, follow me."

She picked up her rifle, a captured Mosin-Nagant, with a long barrel, long range, and a four-times magnifying glass. She aimed the muzzle at the leftmost of the three shadows to the east and held her breath.

800 meters.

It takes a little over a second for the bullet to travel. In that second, the target will move half a step. She shifted her aim half a finger to the right and pulled the trigger.

Snapped.

The leftmost shadow fell over. It didn't struggle; it simply tumbled into the bushes.

Yamamoto instantly rolled into the nearby bushes, pressing his body extremely low, almost touching the ground. He heard gunshots and knew a sniper had him in sight. He dared not move, lying prone in the bushes, using branches to cover his body.

Gardenia stared at the aiming hole and waited ten seconds. There was no movement from the bushes.

The second shot.

She shot the trusted lieutenant on the right. The lieutenant was lying behind a rock, only half his body visible. The bullet hit him in the chest, and he swayed and fell.

The third shot. Finishing off the one who was still struggling.

Yamamoto was all alone now.

He lay prone in the bushes, his mind racing. The sniper was on the eastern side of the hilltop, about 800 meters away, using a Mosin-Nagant with a 4x scope. At 800 meters, with a 4x scope, hitting a moving target required extremely steady shooting and excellent wind drift judgment.

This was no ordinary Eighth Route Army marksman.

He tore off his coat and stuffed it into the bushes, the sleeves sticking out, making him look like a person lying prone. He changed direction, crawling close to the ground towards the woods. As he crawled, he kept his body extremely low, supporting himself with his arms and knees, like a snake.

Gardenia's fourth shot hit the coat.

The bullet pierced through the coat and struck the mud behind her, kicking up a clump of dirt. She saw that the "person" in the bushes didn't move, and waited for three more seconds, but still didn't move.

"Damn it," she cursed.

She lowered her gun and scanned the area, but saw no living people. In the moonlight, five or six bodies lay on the slope; some were prone in the bushes, others lay beside rocks. Yamamoto was not among them.

"He ran away," Gardenia said to the person beside her. "He's heading towards the woods. Chase after him."

Ten people followed her as she ran down the slope. When they reached the bushes, she saw the jacket; there was a bullet hole in it, but no blood around the hole. It was fake.

She looked up towards the woods. In the moonlight, the edge of the woods was pitch black, and she couldn't see anything. But she saw bloodstains on the ground, stretching intermittently from the bushes to the edge of the woods, left by someone climbing over.

"He's injured," Gardenia said.

She led her men to the edge of the woods, where it was pitch black and pine needles carpeted the ground, rustling underfoot. She stopped and listened. There was movement deep within the woods, far away, like someone moving among the branches.

She walked twenty paces into the woods. There was blood on the ground, dripping onto the pine needles; the blood was dark and not yet completely dry. She crouched down and touched it; it was warm. The person had just passed by.

Ten steps further in, the trail of blood ended. She looked up, but could see nothing in the woods except the scent of pine needles and the faint sound of branches being parted in the distance.

They can't catch up. The forest is too dense; going in at night would be suicide. But the bloodstains indicate that Yamamoto is seriously injured and can't have gone far.

"Forget it. He can't have run far. If his wound isn't treated, he'll pass out before dawn."

3:20 a.m.

When Zhao Weiguo arrived at the south slope, the battle was already over.

Seven agents lay dead on the slope, some shot in the head, some in the chest, their positions varied—lying face down, on their sides, some on their backs. The three agents who had fled to the north were surrounded and killed by the flanking team and the team at the top of the slope.

Gardenia stood at the edge of the woods, holding a Mosin-Nagant rifle, the barrel still warm.

"They ran away?" Zhao Weiguo asked.

"He got away," Gardenia said. "He ran into the woods. He tore his coat to trick me into firing a shot, and I only realized what was happening after I fired the fourth shot."

Zhao Weiguo looked into the woods. Deep within the woods, nothing could be seen except the sound of the rustling pines.

"Are you injured?"

"He's injured. There's blood on the ground." Gardenia pointed to the bloodstains at the edge of the woods, "but not seriously; he can run."

Zhao Weiguo squatted down to examine the bloodstains. The blood was dark red and not much, indicating it was a superficial wound, not an arterial injury. He stood up, looked in the direction of the woods, and stared for a long time.

"You hit two targets from 800 meters away."

Gardenia nodded.

"He was all alone. But his reaction was too quick; by the time I fired my fourth shot at his jacket, he had already changed direction."

His fingertips brushed against the cold barrel of the Mauser pistol, his fingertips rubbing against the shallow scar left from that night in Willow Grove. A wounded wolf will run away, but it will return.

"He'll come again next time."

Gardenia looked at him without saying a word.

Zhao Weiguo turned and walked towards the ridge pass. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back at the woods. The edge of the woods looked like a black wall in the moonlight, and nothing could be seen behind it.

He recalled the infiltration map on Masuko's body. The map marked the locations of the four corners of the ironclad structure, with infiltration routes and ambush points for each location. The location of the brigade headquarters was circled in red.

He tucked the infiltration map into his pocket, his knuckles touching the red circle around the brigade headquarters on the map.

He gripped the pistol tightly and walked forward.