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

August 18th. Five o'clock in the morning, behind Baimaling Mountain.

Zhao Tieshan stood on the test site, in front of him a 60mm mortar. The barrel was polished to a gleaming shine, and the base was fixed to the rammed earth. Three wooden stakes stood beside it, marked with three distances: 1,500, 1,800, and 2,000.

The shells were neatly arranged in the wooden crates next to it.

Three test-fired missiles.

The first shot is fired at 1,500 meters to check accuracy. The next shot is fired at 1,800 meters to test the improved range. The last shot is fired further out to see how far it can actually reach.

Zhao Weiguo stood ten meters away, with Zhao Gang standing beside him. A considerable number of people were gathered around the testing ground: apprentices from the arsenal, several veterans, and Zhao Tieshan's two apprentices, all waiting.

Zhao Tieshan bent down and picked up the first shell. He checked the serial number on the shell to make sure it was correct, and then put the shell into the gun barrel.

"put."

The shell slid into the cannon barrel with a muffled thud.

The shell was fired.

Everyone looked up. The shell traced an arc through the morning mist, flying towards the sorghum stalk target 1,500 meters away. The target was supported by wooden stakes on the ground, shaped like a small outpost.

About four seconds later, the shell landed.

boom.

The target was blown in two, and the sorghum stalks flew up and scattered in the air.

First shot, hit.

Zhao Tieshan's expression remained unchanged as he continued preparing for the second shot. 1800 meters.

The shell is loaded and fired.

This time the trajectory was slightly higher. The shell flew nearly two thousand meters before landing. The explosion point was about thirty meters off-target, but still within the target area.

Zhao Tieshan squinted and stared at the cloud of smoke on the distant hillside for a while.

"The wind veered off course. The second shot is acceptable."

Third shot, 2,000 meters.

Fire.

This time the shell flew farther, but it landed nearly eighty meters off course. The explosion echoed on a distant hillside, sending up plumes of smoke and dust, far from the target.

Zhao Tieshan put the cannon barrel back in its original position.

"Extremely difficult."

Zhao Weiguo walked over, stood beside the cannon, and looked up to find the point where a stray bullet had landed in the distance. Then he turned his head.

How much would you recommend?

"Within 1800 meters. Stable distance."

Zhao Weiguo remained silent.

"The battlefield is only 1,800 meters away."

He crouched down, picked up the spent cartridge case from the ground, and touched the primer with his thumb.

How many new missiles are left?

"Fifty."

"What about the old version of the mortar shells?"

"Two hundred and eighty."

"A grenade?"

"We have enough grenades and detonators for the first phase. But we can't waste them."

Zhao Weiguo stood up and patted the dirt off his knees.

"enough."

At 11 a.m., the old brigade commander arrived at Baimaling.

This time he wasn't riding a mule, but a black horse, followed by two guards. One button was undone at the collar of his military uniform, revealing the gray-white shirt collar underneath.

Upon entering the regimental headquarters cave dwelling, he made no formalities, directly pulling out a map wrapped in oil paper from his backpack and spreading it out on the table.

"Operational deployment."

Zhao Weiguo and Zhao Gang stood at the table.

The old brigade commander took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. Printed on it was a form: "Unit Identification Code Table."

"It's a unified policy from headquarters. Each unit uses code names, not unit numbers. High-ranking officers only address each other as 'General' or 'Elder' in communications."

Zhao Weiguo took the form and scanned it from top to bottom.

"What's the code name for the Independent Regiment?"

"The Independent Regiment is the 'White Horse'."

Zhao Weiguo put the form away.

The old brigade commander's hand fell on the map, pointing to the line segment from Yangquan to Shouyang.

"The Independent Regiment is responsible for the section from Yangquan to Shouyang. At 4:00 AM on August 20th, it launched its attack simultaneously with other units."

"The goal is to cut off the strongholds, railways, bridges, and communication lines all at once. It's not enough to just destroy a section of railway; we need to keep it under repair for three months."

Zhao Weiguo laid out Zhizi's reconnaissance map next to the old brigade commander's map.

The old brigade commander glanced down at it, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.

Whose picture is this?

"Gardenia. The secret service spent half a month investigating."

The old brigade commander paused on the markings on the map, then his gaze fell on Zhao Weiguo's face.

"More detailed than the intelligence from the brigade headquarters."

Zhao Weiguo didn't respond to that. He pointed to several outposts on the map and began to speak.

"Eight strongholds. Six soft, two hard. I plan to attack in three phases."

The old brigade commander sat down, picked up the enamel mug on the table, and took a sip of water.

"explain."

Zhao Weiguo's hand moved across the map.

"Day 1. From 4 AM to nightfall on August 20th, attack four weak points: Hankou, Weijiazhuang, Changjiagou, and Zhangjiawan. Each of these points has between 50 and 65 men, and their fortifications are not thick; a quick attack and withdrawal is necessary. At each point, use 200 men against 50; superior firepower, night raids, and radio communication are all advantages."

"The next day. Attack Sanglin Town and Zhao Village. These are two points of medium strength, while also preparing to intercept reinforcements. After capturing Sanglin Town and Zhao Village, only two points will remain between Yangquan and Shouyang."

"The third phase: bomb the railway, surround Xiaojingshan, and finally advance towards Shouyang South Station."

After listening, the old brigade commander put down his enamel mug.

"If we divide our forces into four points, will we be defeated one by one?"

Zhao Weiguo opened his mouth to answer, then paused and closed it again.

"No. The four outposts are under-defended, while we outnumber them. We can fight at night, have firepower, radio communication, and the initiative."

"The key is simple: speed. Hit and run, don't give the Japanese a chance to recover."

He gestured with his finger on the map.

"From Hankou to Weijiazhuang, it's a 40-minute ride on horseback or on foot. After defeating Hankou, there's plenty of time to transfer troops to Weijiazhuang."

The old brigade commander tapped his fingers twice on the table.

"Why not attack Xiaojingshan and Shouyang in one go?"

"Hard points. Xiaojingshan has two hundred men and artillery. Shouyang South Station has three hundred men and the strongest fortifications. They have heavy firepower and can wait for reinforcements. We must first cut off the surrounding soft points, isolating them."

The old brigade commander stood up, took two steps inside the cave dwelling, and looked back at Zhao Weiguo.

"Can."

He placed the identification barcode on the table.

"Headquarters has supplied the Independent Regiment with 50,000 rounds of ammunition and 100 detonators. They will arrive in batches over the next couple of days."

Zhao Weiguo remained silent.

The old brigade commander walked to the door, then turned back.

"Headquarters wants to see you after the big battle. Let me make the arrangements."

Zhao Weiguo opened his mouth, but didn't reply immediately.

The old brigade commander didn't explain much, and went out after lifting the curtain.

Four o'clock in the afternoon, at the Baimaling Grand Parade Ground.

The entire regiment of 2,500 men stood in formation. Seven hundred remained at Baimaling—the arsenal, the supply company, and those guarding prisoners—no one could be missing. It was quite a scene. Red flags tied to wooden sticks were planted around the drill ground, their edges fluttering in the dry wind.

Zhao Weiguo stood on the platform, a battle map spread out on the wooden table in front of him. He didn't use a script and started reading directly.

"Operational Order for the Independent Regiment's Hundred Regiments Offensive."

The entire room fell silent.

"The First Battalion, led by Lao Zhou, will be divided into four sections. The first section will attack Hankou, the second Weijiazhuang, the third Changjiagou, and the fourth Zhangjiawan. All four points will be attacked simultaneously."

Old Zhou stood at the front of the line and nodded.

"Second Battalion, led by Li Dazhu. They will attack Sanglin Town and Zhao Village the next day."

"The special operations company and the monks' troops. As a mobile assault force, they are responsible for intercepting reinforcements, reconnoitering artillery positions, and sabotaging key bridges."

"Guard Company, Liu Dashan. Responsible for staying behind and guarding prisoners."

"Zhao Tieshan. In charge of weapon repair and ammunition supply."

Ding Wei returned the borrowed radio two days ago, along with a box of grenades as interest. This radio, along with another one made by Zhao Tieshan and the German-made one captured, now makes three usable radios at the regimental headquarters.

Zhao Weiguo finished reading and closed the paper.

He stepped aside to make room for him.

Zhao Gang walked onto the stage.

"Comrades."

The room fell silent again.

Zhao Gang didn't bring a prepared speech. He usually stands ramrod straight when giving political mobilizations, but today he didn't consciously straighten up. He took half a step towards the center of the stage and began to speak.

"Why did the railway have to be blown up? The reason isn't complicated. The Japanese relied on the railway to transport coal, which they then exchanged for guns and bullets."

No one spoke on the drill ground; his words fell like a stone into a well.

"As long as the railway is open, there will be one more day for the sweeping."

"Do you understand everything?"

There were no shouts of slogans from the audience. But some people nodded.

Zhao Gang retreated.

Old Zhou, sitting in the audience, punched himself in the chest.

The soldiers of the First Battalion followed suit, punching each other in the chest. When all eight hundred men did it together, a gust of wind swept across the drill ground.

In the evening, Lao Zhou returned to the First Battalion's camp.

Instead of assigning tasks directly, he sat down on the kang (a heated brick bed) and smoked a cigarette.

Smoke filled the narrow room.

Several company commanders from the first battalion sat nearby, waiting for him to speak. But Old Zhou just smoked.

After he finished smoking, he stubbed out the cigarette on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed).

"My hometown is Shandong."

He spoke.

Several people were looking at him.

"In 1937, the Japanese invaders came to the village. My parents were gone. My wife was gone too."

Old Zhou spoke in a flat tone.

"My son. He was fourteen years old back then. He survived by living in a cellar. I was serving in the army at the time and couldn't go back. Later, I heard that he waited at the village entrance every day, chasing after anyone in military uniform to ask them questions."

Old Zhou paused for a moment.

"Ask my dad if he ever fought the Japanese."

The room fell silent.

Several company commanders looked down at their hands. Some touched their rifle slings. Some gritted their teeth.

Old Zhou didn't get emotional, nor did he continue speaking.

He only said one sentence.

"Tomorrow we're not just breaking a few railway tracks. We're letting the kids know."

No one applauded. No one shouted.

But everyone remained seated in their proper places, and no one left.

At 10 p.m., Zhao Weiguo returned to the regimental headquarters' cave dwelling alone.

A battle map was spread out on the table. Hankou, Xiaojingshan, Shouyang. Three red circles.

He didn't sit at the table; instead, he stood beside it and stared at the map for a while.

Then he sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

Camel brand.

He had never smoked this brand before. The old brigade commander had left a pack of cigarettes behind at noon and hadn't returned it. The pack was open, and there were two cigarettes left inside.

He took out a cigarette and lit it.

He took his first puff, and the smoke burned in his mouth. He coughed.

He took the cigarette down and stared at the burning butt for a while.

Then he put out the cigarette.

He just doesn't like the smell of smoke.

He put the remaining half cigarette back into the cigarette case, stood up, walked to the entrance of the cave dwelling, and lifted the curtain a crack.

The night outside was dark. The outline of the mountain ridge was pressed down by the moonlight.

There was no sound in the distance.

He stared at the darkness outside for a while before finally lowering the curtain.

"Messenger."

The communications soldier ran over.

"Notify all battalions. Dinner is to be served early tomorrow night. After dark, everyone should be in position and their guns cleaned."