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

Two hours have passed, and eight hundred people are still lying in the cornfield.

The withered stalks are from last year, and the new shoots have just touched the ground. When the wind blows, the dry leaves rub against each other, making a fine, crunching sound, like silkworms gnawing on mulberry leaves. No one dares to press them down; the harder you press, the louder the crunching leaves make.

Gardenia lay on the edge of the furrow, pinching the mud with her fingers until her fingernails were covered in black. She was counting the lamps.

The first searchlight swept across the area from east to west for forty-seven breaths. The second searchlight caught up ten breaths later. The instant the two beams of light crossed, a small patch of darkness would appear in front of the first ditch for less than half a minute.

The sentry at the kennel goes to the water bucket every fifteen minutes. The patrol team at the third ditch passes by every half hour.

She recited the pattern twice. The third time, she only mentioned the changes.

"The second lamp was a moment slower. The dog didn't move."

Zhao Weiguo flipped the pocket watch cover over and then closed it again.

"Wait for another round."

Duan Peng lay on the back, the withered grass in his mouth already rotten from being soaked.

"It's been two hours, Commander."

"Wait for another round."

"You keep repeating the same thing over and over again."

Zhao Weiguo ignored him.

Old Zhou was in another furrow, half his face buried in the damp soil. Three Japanese soldiers walked along the ridge, one of them stopping to urinate, less than twenty paces from the soldier in front.

Old Zhou's hand was already on the bolt of the gun.

Duan Peng grabbed his wrist from behind.

"Let go."

"Wait until they've gone far away."

"I don't plan to open it."

"That's perfect."

The two men remained frozen in place. The Japanese soldier fastened his trousers, cursed the chilly night wind, and sauntered off towards the road with the other two. Only when the footsteps completely ceased did Duan Peng release his grip.

Old Zhou rubbed his wrist, lowering his voice so that only the two of them could hear him.

"If these three don't go back, the next train won't leave as usual."

Duan Peng glanced at him.

"You remember?"

"I haven't forgotten a single one of the forty-three names from Beishan Road."

Duan Peng remained silent.

Only after the three Japanese soldiers had walked away did Zhao Weiguo raise two fingers. The vanguard moved.

Five engineering teams, spaced over a hundred meters apart, started working simultaneously. The wire cutters were wrapped in cotton cloth; one person cut while another held them up. An empty tin can, stuffed with pebbles, was hung on the outermost wire; it was first secured with a thin rope before the pliers could be used.

The first breach was quickly cleared. The second wooden stake was loose, and the sappers spent a long time pressing it down to tamp down the loose soil. The third incident occurred when a spike cut open a man's palm, and blood dripped from between his fingers onto the withered leaves.

The medic dragged him behind the furrow, wiped him with alcohol, and the soldier gritted his teeth.

"It can still be cut."

"You've lost your grip on the pliers."

The medic bandaged the wound and dug away the blood-stained leaves and soil. The person behind him took the tools before he could object.

All five openings were now open. A folding ladder stretched across the first ditch; it wasn't for climbing, but rather to be used as a narrow bridge. Each time, ten people would cross. The first group would reach the north slope and clap twice before the next group got up. If there was no applause, the next group would lie down and not move.

A newly recruited soldier asked Old Zhou a question.

"Wouldn't whistling be even better?"

"The Japanese can hear it too," Old Zhou said. "The slapping sound won't go more than thirty paces; it's enough for our own men to hear."

When the searchlight swept across, everyone pressed themselves into the ground. The white light slid along the ditch, pausing briefly on a kettle. The kettle was covered in mud, so it didn't reflect light, and then the light moved on.

Zhao Weiguo asked in a low voice.

"Whose?"

No one answered.

"We'll investigate further later."

The vanguard platoon secured the small hill opposite. The main force followed in eight waves, with the scouts leading the way, followed by the radio operators and the disassembled heavy machine guns. The guns were so heavy that they kept swaying to one side while climbing the ditch, forcing the men carrying them to use their elbows for support, inching forward inch by inch.

Eight groups of people traveled for an hour and a half.

The further along the line, the longer the slaps were spaced out. The previous group had to wait for the gun mounts to be in place and for the wounded to clear the ditch before they dared to signal the next group. By the time the seventh group had finished lying down, their limbs were numb. Some of them secretly reached into their chests to warm their cold, hard cornbread, then shoved their hands back in.

Zhao Weiguo stood guard at the second entrance, not urging them on. Zhi Zi, who had calculated the dark area, only cared about the lights, regardless of whether the people's legs would give way or whether the wooden ladder would sink into the mud after being pressed for a long time. Every two batches, the sappers would lift the ladder and re-erect the edge of the ditch.

The two mules were the last to pass.

The mule handler stuffed a cloth into its mouth and then blindfolded it. The first mule stepped onto the ladder, the plank sank, and the men behind braced themselves against the edge of the ladder with their shoulders; no one dared to make a sound. The mule's four legs trembled for a long time before it was finally pulled to the other side.

The second horse slipped and its hind legs sank into the ditch when it landed. Its mouth was stuffed with cloth, so it couldn't bark, only exhaling a puff of white vapor from its nostrils. The veterinarian examined its leg bones and shook his head, confirming they weren't broken.

After crossing the first ditch, it was still dark in the east, but the defenders had been lying in place for too long. Duan Peng told them to split into two groups and move their toes, without getting up or lifting their knees off the ground. If anyone's leg went numb, the person next to them would pinch their calf until the pain returned before they could move.

The second ditch is less than 300 meters from the kennel.

The five passageways were only halfway open when the sound of chains dragging on the floor suddenly echoed from the kennels. A military dog ​​raised its head and twitched its nose twice towards the vent. Zhi Zi's hand hovered in mid-air, and the entire team froze.

Eight hundred people were crammed between two gullies, unable to move forward or backward. Some had leg cramps, their toes throbbing painfully inside their shoes, and could only pinch the backs of their knees. Some had their faces pressed against anthills, insects crawling into their collars, yet they didn't dare to shrug.

Duan Peng lay on the edge of the ditch, his palms sweaty.

"Damn." His lips moved slightly, but he barely uttered a sound.

Old Zhou took out two handfuls of coal ash from his cloth bag, mixed in some chili powder, and handed them to Qianwei.

"Scatter them in the windy areas, but not too much. Too much and the sentries will smell it first."

Coal ash scattered along the ground. The military dog ​​sneezed twice and circled the wooden stake. The sentry came out of the house, shone a lantern on the kennel, and added a ladle of water to the bucket.

The light was just a layer of dry grass away from the second cut.

An engineer was still holding the severed wire in his hand, the barbs embedded in his thumb, but he dared not move it. By the time the sentry returned to the house cursing, there were four bloody holes in his palm.

Zhi Zi's hand finally came down, and Qian Wei continued cutting.

As the main team crossed the second ditch, the two searchlights spun as brightly as they had the first half of the night, leaving only a tiny gap between each group. Someone was half a step too slow, and the light was already right up to their heels. The person in front grabbed their suspenders and dragged them into the shadows along the edge of the ditch.

The third ditch was next to the road, and people were talking inside the machine gun bunker. The vanguard didn't dare to walk close to the bunker, and instead took a detour of more than 300 meters east along the drainage ditch. The patrol happened to pass by, and more than 80 pairs of boots clattered on the road, the buckles of the rifles rattling all the way.

The team squatted at the bottom of the ditch for more than 20 minutes.

Those crouching at the bottom of the ditch had no idea if someone above would suddenly look down at them. This was even more agonizing than the occasional distant gunshot. A wooden crate carrying ammunition got stuck against the ditch wall, making a very soft thud. The person next to them immediately reached out to cushion it, scraping their hand against the crate's corner, but didn't dare lift the crate again.

As the footsteps faded into the distance, Qianwei clapped his hands twice, and the people in the ditch continued to be sent out.

The defenders stayed until the very end.

Duan Peng led his men to remove the ladders and prop up the wooden stakes, reconnecting the five cuts one by one. For those that couldn't be reconnected to their original positions, they used thin wire to tighten them from the back, then covered them with mud and withered leaves. They also had to sweep away the footprints, filling the deep pits made by the mule hooves with grass roots dipped in soil.

A defender looked at the reconnected wire.

"Will you be able to find a way in when you come back?"

Duan Peng placed half a lump of black coal under the base of the wooden stake.

"Our own people recognize coal. The Japanese just think it fell into a ditch."

The kennel dog barked again.

He didn't look up.

"Hurry up."

As dawn broke, the last group left the third gully. Duan Peng was the last to cross the line, squatting on the rocky slope outside the road. He first counted the rear guards, then looked at the strip of cloth handed to him by the home team. The engineers at each of the five cuts handed over a small piece of spare wire, signifying that the cuts had been repaired. If even one piece was missing, the entire team wouldn't move.

120 midfielders, 560 home team players, 120 defenders. 800, not a single one missing.

Five pieces of wire were put into a paper bag, and the locations of the five cuts were marked on the bag opening.

One person suffered a cut to the palm. Both mules twisted their legs; one could still walk slowly, while the other's gait was noticeably unsteady. No one died, and no ammunition was lost. The four heavy machine guns' gun barrels, mounts, and ammunition boxes were laid out in their respective groups for verification, and the radios, batteries, and medical supplies were matched to their correct numbers. The twenty barrels of gasoline and fifteen boxes of ammunition in the storage space were still sealed according to the original inventory; nothing was added or missing during the crossing of the ditch.

Ten hours, six kilometers of blockade, and we've made it through. Including the distance we covered the first night, we covered fifty li (about 25 kilometers) on the first night.

The entrance to the abandoned coal mine was hidden behind a mountain hollow. No one was allowed to light a fire inside; they could only eat cold bread. Two mules were led to the innermost part of the mine. The veterinarian used a strip of cloth to sling the injured leg and took out some medicinal wine from his medicine bag to rub the swollen area. The more seriously injured mule stubbornly refused to lag behind, and even when the handler fed it bean cakes, it only chewed a couple of bites.

Zhao Weiguo turned on the radio for two minutes, sent a short security code to the rear, and then immediately disconnected the cable and put the radio away. He wrote down the battery usage, the time the radio was turned on, and the return code on a narrow strip of paper, which he then clipped into the supplies list.

Someone brought over the lost canteen. It had a number engraved on the bottom, belonging to a young soldier in the second echelon. He came to receive it with his head down, expecting a scolding.

Zhao Weiguo handed him the teapot.

"Keep it with you for today. Go back and register it at the quartermaster station yourself."

The young soldier took the pot, his ears turning bright red.

Zhao Gang wasn't here, so no one was there to keep track of the debt for him. Zhao Weiguo simply wrote down the pot number in his notebook and added two more injured mules.

Duan Peng, munching on a cold pancake, came over.

"You little rascal, you didn't say a word when you were crossing the three ditches, but now you have the leisure to remember the water bottle."

Zhao Weiguo closed the notebook.

"Losing the teapot is a minor matter. The real problem is not knowing whose it is."

Duan Peng swallowed the pancake and didn't say anything more.

As dusk fell on April 9th, the light outside the mountains gradually dimmed. In the distance were the mountains to the west of Jingxing, one after another, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Eight hundred men shouldered their guns and crates again, with the mule with the twisted leg brought to the back of the caravan. The men at the front had already entered the mountains, but the horse handler was still repeatedly testing the injured hoof to make sure it could put weight on it before following along.