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

When the order for the general offensive was given, it wasn't completely dark yet.

In the operations room, Zhao Weiguo redrew the overall map of the Zhengtai Railway. The light from the kerosene lamp cast a dim yellow glow on the paper, and his pencil marked the thickened red circle around the Shouyang East Outpost. Less than an hour after the ancestral hall meeting ended, the signalmen from each battalion had already completed their rounds.

Old Zhou stood across the table, a shovel beside him, its blade still covered in dried mud from digging the fortifications during the day. His military uniform collar was open, and the sweat on his neck was still damp, glistening under the lamplight.

"Old Zhou, your battalion will take control of the eastern outpost of Shouyang." Zhao Weiguo pointed his pen at the southeast corner, his voice barely audible, yet everyone in the room could hear him. "Take out the outpost first, then push forward."

Old Zhou didn't say anything, just nodded, picked up the shovel from the ground, and the blade struck the brick floor with a clang.

"Duan Peng, your Third Battalion will take control of the small fort north of Yuci." The pencil moved to another spot. "That fort is at the intersection of two dirt roads; it's a Japanese liaison post. If we take it down, communication between Shouyang and Yuci will be cut off."

Duan Peng squatted by the door, clutching a piece of hemp rope in his hand. After listening, he stood up, patted the dirt off his knees, and nodded.

The pencil tip drew three lines outwards from the stronghold, reaching the edge of the map: "Li Yunlong attacks from the north, Ding Wei targets the west, and Kong Jie blocks the south. A three-pronged encirclement, leaving the Japanese no way to retreat."

Zhao Weiguo paused, then turned his head to look at Zhao Tieshan.

Zhao Tieshan stood leaning against the doorframe, his hands tucked into his sleeves, the cuffs stained with iron dust. He had been waiting for this arrangement.

"The artillery battalion cleared the way with volleys of artillery fire," Zhao Weiguo said. "Each shell tore a hole in the abatis and barbed wire outside the stronghold."

Zhao Tieshan withdrew his hand, nodded, and turned to leave. He quickened his pace as he reached the door, taking larger strides, as if he were rushing to do something.

At the order, several groups of people set off simultaneously.

Old Zhou's battalion crept up along the eastern side of Shouyang. It was pitch black, with no moon and few stars. The outpost was a small stronghold, guarded by a platoon of Japanese soldiers. The trenches were shallow and poorly dug; an adult could cross them in two steps. The electric fence was also sparse, with the barbed wire stretched loosely, some sections hanging down and dragging on the ground, swaying in the wind.

The sapper squatted by the trench as he cut the electric fence with pliers. The sound of the pliers snapping the wire didn't carry far in the night wind. He would cut a section, pause, listen, and then cut another. After making five or six cuts, he turned and gestured to Old Zhou.

Old Zhou squatted behind the earthen embankment opposite the ditch. He saw the gesture, put out his cigarette, pressed the butt into the soil, stood up, and waved his hand behind him.

The assault team filed in through the gap, their footsteps barely making a sound on the dry earth. The Japanese soldiers at the outpost hadn't even reacted. The assault team pressed in from three sides; two men held the door shut with bayonets, while others climbed in through the window, smashing their rifle butts against the edge of the heated brick bed. Someone inside shouted, but the sound was cut off by the blows. In less than half an hour, the outpost had been taken over.

Old Zhou stood atop the outpost wall and shone his flashlight towards the main position of the stronghold. The beam of light traveled a short distance in the darkness before being swallowed by the night, and nothing could be seen. He turned off the flashlight, stood there for a while, and then heard a telephone ringing in the direction of the main position of the stronghold. It rang three or four times before the call ended.

Duan Peng's 3rd Battalion marched north from Yuci. The small fortress, situated at the intersection of two dirt roads, served as a liaison station between outposts. As Duan Peng led his men up the flank, the communications soldier inside the fortress was crouching over a telegraph machine, sending messages; the ticking sounds leaked from the firing ports. Duan Peng listened for a few seconds against the wall, then turned and pointed to a crack at the base of the fortress wall towards the engineers.

The sappers stuffed the explosives into the crack and pulled the fuse. The muffled thud didn't travel far in the night wind, like someone had set off a muffled cannon in the ravine. A section of the wall collapsed, bricks shattering on the ground. The Japanese soldiers inside the fort hadn't even figured out which side the soldiers came from before they were choked by the dust and smoke that rushed in. Duan Peng was the first to squeeze through the gap, smashing one with the butt of his rifle and firing a second shot.

From the north, west, and south, Li Yunlong, Ding Wei, and Kong Jie's troops pressed forward. Gunfire erupted from three directions, creating a chaotic cacophony in the night wind, making it impossible to distinguish which side was which.

Kong Jie had a limp in his right leg, making him slow on mountain paths, but he was adept at blocking roads. He placed a barrier across the intersection where two companies were escaping south. The intersection was narrow, with steep slopes on both sides and a dirt road in the middle. Kong Jie had two machine guns set up on the slopes, their muzzles blocking the road.

He leaned on a sharpened tree branch as a cane, stood at the top of the slope for a while, and assessed the width of the road. He then moved a few stones from the road and piled them in the middle. Feeling it wasn't enough, he added two larger stones next to the pile, further blocking his retreat. He then squatted down at the top of the slope, placed the branch beside him, rested his hand on the machine gun barrel, and waited.

Zhao Tieshan's artillery battalion put on quite a show this time. Six mountain guns were pushed to the front, their barrels gleaming coldly in the darkness. Zhao Tieshan himself squatted next to the first gun, shone his flashlight on the barrel to check its direction, and mentally calculated the distance.

The first salvo fired. The recoil of the mountain gun shook the ground, and the muzzle flashes briefly illuminated the surrounding figures in the darkness. The outer firing positions of the stronghold were ripped apart by the shells. The earthen machine gun emplacements collapsed, sandbags flew up and broke apart, and the machine gunners inside scrambled out.

The second salvo landed on the stronghold's wall. Lime and broken bricks flew everywhere, tearing a gap large enough for a person to crawl through. Zhao Tieshan squatted on the ground, watching the impact points, shining his flashlight to gauge the width of the crack, and then gestured to the engineering battalion.

The engineering battalion followed closely behind the assault team in breaching the obstacles. The abattoirs were pried open, the barbed wire was cut, and wooden planks were laid over the trenches.

The cavalry battalion was the most agile, slipping through the gaps and intercepting any Japanese soldiers running towards the outpost. Several Japanese soldiers rode bicycles out of the back gate of the outpost, their wheels rattling loudly on the dirt road. The cavalrymen swooped in from both sides, the wheels getting stuck in a crack in the stones, causing the soldiers to overturn and fall onto the road. They were barely getting up when the cavalrymen's sabers intercepted them.

Zhi Zi's men ran between the various outposts. Intelligence reports were sent back to the operations room one after another: the outpost had been taken, the small fort had been taken, and the encirclement was complete. When the communications soldier handed the note to Zhao Weiguo, the paper was still warm from the run, and the edges were slightly damp with sweat.

Zhao Weiguo listened to the report without saying a word. He turned his pencil upside down and used the eraser to draw several lines on the map. The Shouyang East Outpost, the Yuci North Fort, and the three sides blocked by Li Yunlong, Ding Wei, and Kong Jie, when connected, formed a gap in the Zhengtai Railway defense line.

He put down his pen and glanced at Zhao Gang.

"Issue the second order," he said, "Hold on to the death. If a place is captured, dismantle it and remove all its assets. Ammunition, steel, medicine—everything that can be moved, take it all; leave nothing behind."

Zhao Gang wrote the sentence down in his notebook, his pen moving quickly across the paper.

None of Lian Ke's three strongholds were left with any people.

Old Zhou's men rushed into the warehouse upon entering the fortress. Ammunition boxes were stacked in the corner; opening the lids revealed neatly arranged bullets, their copper casings gleaming a dim yellow under the kerosene lamp. Old Zhou squatted down, counted the boxes, stood up, and shouted "Move!" before carrying one out himself. The ammunition box weighed on his shoulder, but he didn't slow his pace, making his way around a gap in the wall and out of the stronghold.

Steel was piled up in the backyard. Several steel rails and a pile of iron ingots were covered with tarpaulins. When the tarpaulins were lifted, a thin layer of frost covered them, and the iron ingots gleamed coldly. Old Zhou's men each carried an iron ingot, their fingers digging into the gaps at the bottom of the ingots as they lifted them, their knuckles turning white from the tension.

Duan Peng's side was even more efficient. All the communication equipment in the small fort was dismantled. The generator, telephone, and several rolls of copper wire filled three sacks. The telephone poles outside the outpost were also knocked down, and the wires were bundled and loaded onto the mule cart. Duan Peng squatted on the ground, wrapped the last telephone wire he had pried off the wall around his wrist a few times, stuffed it into a sack, and patted the dust off his hands.

Zhao Tieshan ran back and forth between the three strongholds. When he returned, his trouser legs were half-covered in mud, and his shoes were covered with a layer of gravel. He squatted down beside the mule cart to count the amount of steel, pointing to each piece with his finger, counting twice before he was satisfied. The second time he counted a few, paused, and then went back to count the two pieces in the first pile.

"Commander," he stood up, brushing the dust off his knees, "the spoils of tonight will last Shiyao for a while. Once the mothership arrives, we can take over."

Zhao Weiguo stood atop the wall of the last stronghold. A corner of the wall had been torn away by artillery fire, and broken bricks rubbed against the soles of his shoes. He looked north. The Zhengtai Railway tracks gleamed dimly in the moonlight, like a lifeless snake. A gap had been torn in the defensive line. The Japanese communication had been severed; the remaining strongholds were fighting independently, like beads scattered across the ground after a broken string.

The outline of the blockade was gradually taking shape in his hands. The kiln foundation was already built, and the blueprints for the mothership were waiting for him to access them in the system. The steel that was dismantled that night was exactly what the mothership would need to land.

The number of troops remains stable at 7,000. The momentum of continuous sieges hasn't stopped, only the tactics have changed. The strategy has shifted from breaching cities to a more methodical approach of driving in enemy lines.

He jumped down from the wall, his shoe soles landing on the ground, jolting his knees. Zhao Gang stood at the base of the wall, a notebook in his hand, a pencil tucked behind his ear. The notebook contained three pages filled with densely written figures of the spoils.

"Regarding the motherboard," Zhao Weiguo walked past him without stopping, "it can be done now."

As he stepped out of the stronghold's gate, the eastern sky was already turning a pale white. Rows of mule carts emerged from the stronghold, laden with stacks of ammunition boxes and steel. The cart wheels left deep ruts on the dirt road, heading towards the stone kiln. The ruts were deeply imprinted in the dry earth, as if something heavy had slashed across the heavens and earth.

Zhao Weiguo stood at the gate for a while, watching the mule carts. He took out the note from his pocket and glanced at it again—the one Zhi Zi had handed him. They still hadn't fully grasped the specific movements of the Taiyuan brigade, but a day and a half of the three-day window had already passed. The remaining time was enough to finish hammering the nails, enough to transport the steel back, and enough to get the mother machine landed.

He folded the note, put it back in his pocket, and turned to walk towards the operations room. His steps were neither too big nor too small, just like usual.