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

The name "Jingxing" remained on Zhao Weiguo's map for five months.

The chimneys in Yangquan were belching smoke every day. Coal was being produced in the mines, and the military production line was testing batch after batch, but the first batch of special alloy samples had long been deemed unusable, and there wasn't even a trace of steel for the cannon barrels. Five months after the war ended, he still had to spread out that map every day, mark the Jingxing Pass with a red pencil, and then put it away again.

Zhao Gang saw this. That night, he snatched the map and measured it with his fingers.

He measured the distance from Heshun to Jingxing, and then measured it again.

"Two hundred kilometers." Zhao Gang's finger stopped on the line. "That's a straight line. But if you actually travel that route, going around mountains, valleys, and outposts, it'll be about four hundred kilometers round trip."

"Um."

"Four hundred kilometers, half a month." Zhao Gang looked up. "There's no base of ours, no supplies, no reinforcements along the way. Eight hundred men went right into their heart of the enemy territory, and once they burned everything, they had to run. If they were even a second too slow, those eight hundred men would be wiped out."

Zhao Weiguo didn't reply, but tapped the red pencil on the table.

"How many do you want to bring?" Zhao Gang asked.

"Eight hundred."

"Out of 15,500 people, you're only taking 800?"

"If we smoke too much, Yangquan will be empty." Zhao Weiguo put down his pencil. "We have 12,000 left to guard the base, and 2,700 for regional mobile forces and military escorts. That leaves only 800 who can actually move. Yangquan is our base. If the base is taken, even if those 800 men burn Jingxing to ashes, they won't have anywhere to stay when they come back."

Zhao Gang stared at him for a long time, then folded the map and stuffed it back into his hand.

"Alright. I'll calculate the bill for 800 people."

The difficulty of this battle lies in the fact that it is not fought in the same style as the Yangquan battle.

Yangquan was right on their doorstep; if they lost, they could retreat, and if they were wounded, someone would carry them out. Jingxing, on the other hand, was a dead end 400 kilometers away, with eleven Japanese and puppet strongholds, three blockade ditches, two railway patrol zones, and a temporary forward airfield along the way. Zhao Gang listed all these names on a piece of paper, looked at them himself afterward, and then remained silent.

The monks are the ones who keep the order.

He lay on the door panel, writing line after line with chalk. City gate, well derrick, three military outposts, military production line, hospital, prisoner-of-war camp—twenty-three points in total. He filled the front of the door panel, then flipped it over and continued writing.

Duan Peng passed by, peeked out, and chuckled.

"Monk, are you writing your will? Your face is so long you could hang an oil bottle on it."

"Write your mother's will." The monk didn't even look up. "I'm writing a handover form."

"Why are you making such a fuss about the handover form?"

The monk slammed the broken piece of chalk onto the table.

"You fucking try it. Twenty-three points, who picks up whom at each point, and you have to match the gun numbers one by one. You try it once, and your face will be longer than mine."

Duan Peng swallowed the words he was about to say, picked up a straw, and left.

The monk picked up the piece of chalk and continued writing. The hospital needed to keep the ambulances, the prisoner-of-war camp needed translators, and the mine winch crew couldn't operate without an electrician. The raiding party was taking eight hundred living people, not eight hundred empty slots. Whoever left had to hand over the keys, gun numbers, and nighttime passwords—everything—to the person taking over; nothing could be left out.

Zhang Shisuo didn't go either.

He leaned the pickaxe against the wall.

"Our mining team is guarding the mine shaft, not some distant road outside the city. The derrick has just been stabilized; those who know how to operate the winch and those who know how to support it can't be moved any further."

Zhao Weiguo nodded.

"Then this well is yours."

"Don't worry, Commander." Zhang Shisuo glanced towards the well derrick. "The well is here, and so are we."

The eight hundred people were organized into three echelons.

These weren't three newly formed battalions; they were hastily assembled. The first echelon consisted of 280 men, responsible for reconnaissance, clearing paths, and initial blockade. The second echelon comprised 320 men, including demolition, communications, and engineering personnel, plus the main combat force. The third echelon consisted of 200 men, responsible for rearguard action, medical care, and supply collection. Once the battle was over, everyone returned to their respective battalions and companies, and the rosters remained unchanged.

Duan Peng was in charge of editing. Zhi Zi drew three small maps of the outposts, patrol points, kennels, and blockades along the way, and assigned them to the leaders of the three teams. Lao Zhou was assigned to the second team, where he was only responsible for demolitions and watching for blast points, and was not allowed to carry heavy things for long periods of time.

His old injury on the southeastern highlands had healed. He could raise his left shoulder above his head, and there was no noticeable limp when walking on flat ground. But Yang Xiuqin was still worried, so she crossed out the heavy items one by one from his packing list.

"You are not allowed to carry the steel cable, nor touch the heavy machine gun."

Old Zhou stared at the form, his brows furrowed in worry.

"Then what should I carry?"

"Medicine packet."

"I've become a medic?"

Yang Xiuqin shoved the medicine packet into his arms.

"If you aggravate your old injury again, you'll be my responsibility from now on. At that point, I won't be worrying about medicine bags, I'll be worrying about the stretcher."

Old Zhou opened his mouth, but ultimately didn't argue anymore.

I went through the list of things to bring three times.

Four heavy machine guns, twenty barrels of gasoline, fifteen boxes of ammunition, two sets of steel cable pontoons, fifteen days' worth of dry rations for eight hundred men, plus salt, antidiarrheal medicine, and two days' worth of secret emergency rations. No mountain guns or mortars were brought.

Before Zhao Weiguo opened the spatial dimension, Zhao Gang first signed the list. Twenty barrels of gasoline were to be deducted from the mine warehouse, fifteen boxes of ammunition from the battle surplus, and four heavy machine guns each had their own serial numbers. If one item was taken from the spatial dimension, one item would have to be taken from the physical warehouse; the accounts had to balance.

The emergency rations for those two days weren't publicly listed on the packing list; only Zhao Weiguo and Zhao Gang each kept a copy. No one was allowed to touch them if the rations didn't run out on the road.

Zhao Tieshan personally oversaw the weighing. Gasoline was checked barrel by barrel; if it was even half a pound short, it was returned for re-inspection. Ammunition boxes were only opened at one corner to check the caliber, then sealed again. Steel cables and pontoons were kept in a separate ledger, in case spare parts couldn't be found while crossing the river.

Two tables and two ledgers were set up at the warehouse entrance. One recorded what was missing from the physical warehouse, and the other recorded what was collected in the virtual space. Gasoline cans were weighed, the bottoms wiped clean, and the seal number, weight, and handler were written on the same line. Even if an ammunition box had only a small crack in the corner, no matter how accurate the caliber, it was returned for re-screwing. Zhao Weiguo only cared about collecting things; he couldn't help the warehouse manager smooth out any defects.

Duan Peng watched Zhao Tieshan weigh bucket after bucket, chewing on a straw and staring at him for a long time.

"Old Zhao, you're even more discerning in judging horses than I am in judging them."

"If you misjudged the horse, at worst it'll just trip and fall," Zhao Tieshan said without looking up. "But if I misjudged the weight and the gasoline leaked halfway through the journey, what would happen to eight hundred men?"

Duan Peng spat out the straw.

"Fine, go ahead and do your thing."

The preparation period lasts seven days.

On the first day, eight hundred men carried supplies and walked thirty kilometers. After the march, a headcount revealed twelve men with blisters on their feet and six with sprained ankles. The six with sprains, along with six with more serious foot injuries, were removed from the long-range assault roster, and the replacement team made up the twelve. The remaining six with blisters had them popped, bandaged, and continued training. This was a screening process during training, not counting injuries sustained in actual combat.

A soldier with a twisted ankle refused to hand over his weapon, saying he could walk again after a night's rest. The medic told him to hop over a ditch on one foot, but he landed and sat down immediately. The roster was rearranged that day, and no one considered "endurance" as a passing grade.

The second day was spent practicing disassembly and reassembly. Four heavy machine guns were disassembled into gun bodies, gun mounts, and ammunition boxes; no one was allowed to carry an entire gun by themselves.

On the third day, they practiced the hand gestures and three types of whistles for the night. The whistle was to be blew only to the nearest point, and it was forbidden to wake all eight hundred people with a single whistle.

On the fourth day, the radio station was split into three groups, with set times for turning on the equipment, and each group was not allowed to exceed three minutes at a time.

On the fifth day, they practiced how to transport the wounded. Someone asked if, in order to meet the mission deadline, the seriously wounded could be left at the transportation station. Zhao Gang immediately refused.

"The target will be destroyed after one fire, but the wounded will live a lifetime."

Duan Peng stared at the rations table for fifteen days.

"If we encounter wounded soldiers, how will the rations be distributed?"

"The wounded should be our priority," Zhao Gang said. "The return journey can be slow, but we can't write the plan as 800 people, not a single one injured."

Duan Peng folded up the food ration list and put it in his pocket.

"Alright. Then I'll allocate some horse feed as well."

Zhao Gang glanced at him sideways.

"You're really something."

"The horse starved to death, who will carry the ammunition?"

On the sixth day, each team submitted a list of those remaining on duty. All three lists—who went, who stayed, and who took over their work—had to be signed.

The lists were submitted, only to be returned twice. One communications soldier only wrote the surname of the replacement, not the given name. A machine gunner included a spare gun barrel in his carrying weight but didn't cross it off the company's armory list. Zhao Gang ordered them to return to their original companies and fill them out again. A roster of eight hundred men, if only useful on the day of departure, would become a mess of eight hundred unaccounted-for names once contact was lost.

On the seventh day, Zhao Gang recited the rules for when they lost contact to the monk.

The room was filled with the heads of the various outposts, and seven sealed envelopes were on the table. Each envelope contained the final route, the contact time, the remaining supplies, and a list of replacements. They could not be opened until the corresponding number of days had passed. The monk pressed his fingerprint on each envelope, not asking whether Zhao Weiguo would return, but only which envelope belonged to whom.

If there's no news for three days, based on the last known location, the main force remains stationary. If there's still no news for five days, only reconnaissance teams are sent out. If there's still no news for seven days, treat it as a failed long-range raid—Yangquan continues production, the mines continue producing coal, and the arsenal is not allowed to stop.

After listening, the monk asked a question.

"What if none of the eight hundred people come back?"

Zhao Gang rolled up the map.

"We can't afford to lose another ten thousand or so."

Zhao Weiguo stood at the door, without changing his words.

The monk glanced at him but didn't ask any more questions. He pressed his handprint on the seventh envelope and stuffed it into the deepest part of the table.

"Alright. I'll wait for you in Yangquan. Seven days."

Old Zhou was also present for the final check before departure.

He could raise his left shoulder above his head, and his left leg looked fine when walking on flat ground, yet Yang Xiuqin still wouldn't allow him to carry heavy things for extended periods. Zhao Weiguo asked him which section he was in charge of.

"Second team, detonation, watch for the blast points."

"No mountain guns."

"Know."

"When we don't need you anymore, you have to stop."

Old Zhou glanced at him.

"Still thinking about that gun that flew out?"

"What I'm really concerned about is bringing back that stretcher."

Old Zhou fell silent.

Yang Xiuqin slammed the medicine packet onto the table.

"I'll change the dressings every day along the way. Anyone who dares say it doesn't hurt, I'll operate on them first when I get back."

Old Zhou stuffed the medicine packet into his shoulder bag.

"Fine. You go ahead with your surgery, I'll go my own way."

One night in early April, eight hundred people left the mountains from Heshun.

Before leaving, each of the three teams returned a key left behind. The nighttime passwords for the warehouse, communications room, and wounded shed were changed, and the old slips of paper were thrown into the brazier on the spot. The people taking over the guard duty stood inside the door watching the teams leave, not seeing them off to the street corner. At daybreak, they would still have to open the warehouse, change the medicine, and count the number of prisoners according to the new list.

The first echelon was in front, the second echelon in the middle, and the third echelon at the rear. There were no torches; cloths were used to cover the horses' mouths, and all the metal that could be covered was wrapped in old cotton cloth.

The team avoided the main roads. They first followed the abandoned coal road, then descended to the riverbed, and finally bypassed the villages and the barking dogs. Zhi Zi drew the patrol times for the eleven outposts on three small maps, giving them only to the leaders of the three squads.

Crossing the first river, the pontoons were only used to transport ammunition and gasoline. People and guns waded across the shallow water, which was waist-deep, and their shoes were filled with mud.

The first group didn't leave immediately after crossing. A thin rope was first stretched along the bank, and the second group, holding onto the rope, entered the water in batches. The third group guarded the upstream and the route they had come from. Someone slipped on a rock on the riverbed, and the entire group stopped, waiting for him to pull his foot out before moving on. Every time the buoys approached the bank, the seals and knots were checked. Twenty barrels of gasoline and fifteen boxes of ammunition were all present and accounted for before a batch was lowered.

Old Zhou was in charge of the second team's explosives supplies, but he wasn't allowed to carry the steel cables; two soldiers shared the load. He would touch the explosive pack every now and then to check if water had gotten into the seal.

A can of gasoline was tilted halfway on the buoy. Old Zhou immediately ordered the whole team to stop in the water, first check the bottom of the can, then lift it ashore and wipe the seal dry. They weighed it and found it was more than a hundred grams short. After checking, they realized it was water stuck to the outer wall. Once the seal was confirmed to be intact, the team continued.

Duan Peng had been soaking in the water for half a day, his trousers were wet up to his knees, and the straw stick in his mouth had long since fallen out of his mouth.

"Old Zhou, you fucking dragged the whole team underwater just for a hundred-odd grams?"

Old Zhou tightened the seal on the bucket again.

"If we don't check these hundred-odd grams today, they'll be less than a hundred grams tomorrow. If they're less than a hundred grams by the tenth day, there will be a whole bucket missing. A bucket less means a shorter journey of twenty li. Twenty li less—and someone might not make it back."

Duan Peng remained silent.

After walking twelve kilometers, a soldier whose new shoes were causing blisters fell behind the column. The medic took apart the soles of his shoes and put an old felt pad inside. The column didn't force him to run; they waited until he caught up before continuing.

Before dawn, eight hundred men arrived at the cornfield outside Pingding City.

The dew on the corn leaves quickly soaked their cuffs. Cars passed by on the highway in the distance, and everyone in the field bent over, not daring to light a fire to dry their clothes.

The cordon is just ahead.

There are patrol lights outside the first ditch, and a kennel with two military dogs next to the second ditch, changing shifts every twenty minutes. The third ditch is right next to the road.

Duan Peng asked.

"Tonight?"

Zhao Weiguo lay on the edge of the field, watching the searchlights go off twice, and then watched how the patrol soldiers changed shifts.

"On the first night, just watch."

"How can we get by without touching it?"

"First, we need to know when it closes its eyes."

Duan Peng wrung out his soaked sleeve.

"Okay. I'll watch it lying down tonight."

Eight hundred people went into the cornfield and rested in layers.

On the first night, I only made sure to remember the ditches, barbed wire, kennels, searchlights, and tire tracks on the road. Once all the shift changes were in order, I would then talk about crossing the ditches.

They finally took action on the night of April 8th.