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

When the first group left Taiyuan, the rearguard was still in the city receiving dry rations.

The northward-bound group numbered approximately 52,000, divided into seven routes and multiple waves. Each route was further staggered in terms of vanguard, infantry, artillery, medical personnel, and local transport, with no more than 18,000 men on any single route. On the map, it appeared as an arrow, but on the actual route, the distances were several miles or even tens of miles, making it impossible for anyone to see the entire force.

The Qiduan military station prepared supplies two days in advance.

Two hundred and sixty tons of grain.

One hundred and ten tons of horse feed.

Thirty-six boxes of medicine.

One hundred and forty sets of batteries.

This is a total of seven sections. Only two days' worth of supplies are reserved for the first station, with the rest distributed later. If any station encounters a problem, there are still food and electricity supplies available before and after, so everything won't be lost in one go.

About 13,000 men entered the first section of the road on the first night. The second column was two hours later, and the third column did not move until midnight. The artillery and radio vehicles crossed the narrow bridge first, the infantry took the side mountain path, and the medical vehicles waited for the engineers to report on the bridge before going up.

Zhao Weiguo watched the handover at the first military post.

The grain sacks were sealed, the medicine box was numbered, the weight of the horse feed and the battery charge were noted and signed. The driver wanted to load two sacks of horse feed onto the cart ahead of time, but the supply depot clerk refused.

"There are mules behind them."

"I'm afraid there won't be a next stop."

"There will be a receipt at the next stop. The more you take, the fewer cars will follow."

The driver muttered something under his breath, but still unloaded it.

The advance on the first night was approximately 45 kilometers.

Before dawn, the vanguard entered the villages and woodlands on the southern slope of Mount Wutai. The infantry ate cold, dry rations, while the medical stations and sick sheds were set up in shaded cave dwellings where water was boiled. The mules and horses were fed warm feed, and the smokeless stoves had their firelight shielded by damp blankets.

At the moment of stopping, many people couldn't stand steadily. Their shoulder straps were removed, but their arms remained in a rifle-raising position; their shoes were taken off, revealing wrinkled, bony soles. The squad leader forbade anyone to fall asleep immediately, first having each squad check each other's feet, then wringing out their wet socks. Some found it troublesome, and during the second assembly, the medic dragged them out of the haystacks, their heels rubbed raw.

There weren't enough cave dwellings, so those who arrived later sat against the earthen walls. One row slept, the next row cleaned their guns, and they rotated every half hour. Someone had just started snoring when the person next to them nudged them awake with their elbow; in their sleep, someone was still counting off. Old Zhou passed by the cave entrance and saw a new recruit sleeping with an empty water bottle, so he poured half a bottle of his own water into the recruit's bottle without waking him.

Concealed marching doesn't mean everyone has to freeze. The wounded need hot water, those with fevers need their temperatures checked, and mules and horses are prone to collapse from cold, hard feed. Discipline governs the firelight, smoke, and noise, not freezing people.

Old Zhou's battalion marched at the forefront.

There were new shoe prints at the entrance of a village, pointing towards a telephone pole. Old Zhou didn't send the entire company to chase them, but only had the monk's reconnaissance team search along the ditches on both sides.

Three Japanese scouts were spotted at the mountain pass. Two were cornered behind a stone wall and laid down their guns; the third disappeared into the woods. The monk did not pursue them for more than ten miles, but instead kept watch over the telephone post and any possible routes down the mountain.

"One got away," Zhao Gang said.

"He might go somewhere else, or he might be hiding," the monk said. "The phone line isn't ringing, so I won't inform him."

The two prisoners were questioned separately. They only knew the patrol times in the vicinity, but were unaware of the troop strength in the direction of Beiping. Their confessions were sent to the White Box, and the initial route had veered southward.

It started raining on the second night.

The mountain rains in April were light, but the frozen ground quickly softened. Half of the second slope collapsed, and a truck's front wheel got stuck in the mud. The tow rope was pulled a third time before the axle broke.

The vehicles behind weren't all stuck on the slope. The engineers first cleared a one-way detour, and the shells, radios, and medicine boxes were transferred to the mule carts. The broken-down vehicles were parked on the roadside for dismantling, and usable tires, lights, wires, and tools were handed over to the outpost according to the inventory.

The driver couldn't bear to part with the car body.

"Maybe we can tow it when the repair crew arrives."

The repairman pointed to the broken axle.

"Towing it will require a good vehicle. First, disassemble it into parts and keep a record of the vehicle's serial numbers."

Two packhorses broke their legs after falling on a muddy slope. The veterinarian was unable to save them and treated them on the spot. The feed and goods were transferred to other livestock, and the saddles, numbers, and wear and tear were recorded in the supply depot's log.

Dead horses cannot be left by the roadside. The local transport team dug a pit at the bottom of the slope, first removing the bells, then untying the reins. The old man driving the cart squatted in the mud, touching the forehead of one of the horses. This animal had followed them all the way from Jinzhong; it was stubborn and usually wouldn't let strangers touch it, but it was quiet in its dying moments.

The old man wiped the bell clean and hung it on the empty saddle.

"The account book says two horses," he said. "I also remember what they looked like."

No one tried to stop them. They filled in the dirt and redirected the ruts back onto the detour. The rest of the procession passed by and saw only a patch of fresh, darker mud.

The number of players who fell behind due to injury has increased to thirty-seven.

Nineteen people suffered foot injuries.

Eleven people have a fever.

Seven people suffered frostbite.

Duan Peng's rear guard escorted them to the second medical station. One soldier, whose feet were covered in blisters, still wanted to stay with the team, but couldn't stand straight once he put on his shoes.

"What if we can't make it?" he asked.

Duan Peng handed his gun to the squad leader.

"You'll be transferred from the military post once you've recovered. If you come with me now, two people will have to carry you tomorrow night."

The thirty-seven men were transferred from the marching column to the medical tents. They were not recorded as missing, nor did they disappear from the general roster of the northward-bound group.

The sanitation station had only two covered oil lamps. Nineteen pairs of injured feet lay in a row; the sound of needles pricking blisters was inaudible, but the gasps of pain blended together. Eleven feverish men were covered with captured military blankets, while seven frostbitten men placed their hands and feet in warm cloths to slowly thaw them. Medicine was scarce and used indiscriminately; every dose of alcohol, gauze, and antipyretics had to be recorded.

The soldier who asked, "What if we can't make it?" lay down by the door, listening intently to the footsteps on the road. He looked up once every time a group passed by. Before leaving, Duan Peng wrote his shift on the transfer sign and asked the squad leader to leave him two pieces of dry rations.

"The gun will go with the team, but your name will be reserved."

The soldier clutched the transfer token to his chest before closing his eyes.

On the third day, the road collapse site was still under repair.

The subsequent column took two village roads, each only for light carts and mules. Local couriers went into the villages in advance to inform them of the passage times, and the troops were not allowed to enter the courtyards to collect supplies. After the convoy passed, road repair workers repaired the damaged ditch openings and field ridges.

A driver threw an empty food can on the side of the road, which was seen by Zhao Gang.

"Pick it up."

"Just an empty box."

"Even a box can tell enemy spies that someone has passed through here."

The driver got out of the rickshaw to pick up the cigarette box and found two cigarette butts along the way. Zhao Gang didn't say that 50,000 people had passed by without leaving a trace; he only noted three pieces of trash on the discipline sheet and assigned the responsibility to the rickshaw crew.

Some people in the village along the road were also awake.

An old woman peeked through the crack in the door at the procession and brought out a half-basin of hot water. The leader didn't let anyone rush over; he only took a ladleful and gave it to the communications soldier who was coughing badly, then left him some food coupons. The old woman was illiterate, and holding the paper, she asked who she could contact later.

The local courier wrote the village name, household head, and water usage on another receipt and read it to her.

"Find the reception station in the county. If no one recognizes you, just give them my name."

The old woman stuffed the food coupons into her apron and asked them where they were going. The courier pointed to the sky.

"Let's get going."

The door closed again. After the column passed, the dog in the yard barked twice, but its owner held it down again. The secret march relied not only on not lighting lamps, but also on the people along the way being willing to close the doors for them.

The system's auxiliary interface, based on known road conditions, rainfall, marching records, and changes in body temperature, indicated that fatigue levels would peak on the third and fourth nights. It did not provide information about the enemy's location, nor did it decide who would stay behind for the medical team.

Zhao Weiguo changed the fourth night's plan from 55 kilometers to 40 kilometers, giving the artillery and the rearguard more time. The forwards were dissatisfied, but Lao Zhou said on the phone that they could still go further.

"The vanguard can move, but the artillery and ammunition behind can't keep up."

"We'll wait."

"It's not a stop. We'll change routes first to make way for the main bridge."

Old Zhou changed to take the small road on the north side, thus avoiding a bridge. The vanguard's speed slowed down, but the entire marching route was not congested.

The second half of the fourth night was the hardest. The rain stopped, but wet clothes clung to our backs, and the mountain wind made our teeth chatter. No one was allowed to sit down for a long rest; we were only allowed to stamp our feet at the crossroads. The cooks filled tin buckets with brine and passed it around to each shift, two sips per person. It tasted rusty, but it warmed our stomachs again.

Zhao Weiguo walked halfway along the main axis. There was no welcome along the roadside, nor did anyone stand any straighter because of his arrival. Artillerymen were pushing carts, engineers were carrying logs, and medics were following the column with their medical kits on their backs. He reached out to help a mule cart cross a muddy embankment, his sleeves getting covered in mud, and then made way for it after the cart had passed. The march of 52,000 men wouldn't be shortened by a single mile just because the commander said he had worked hard, nor could it be reduced to mere arrows on a map.

On the fourth day, Chu Yunfei's defense zone access receipts were delivered in batches.

The designated column passed through at set times, and the numbers of vehicles, artillery pieces, and casualty carriers matched. The personnel guarding the bridge from the 358th Regiment only managed the passage and did not follow the northward-bound column. Liaison officers from both sides signed at the exit and returned to their respective headquarters.

At the busiest time at the bridge crossing, all three teams arrived at the boundary line simultaneously. The infantry who arrived first crossed on time, the artillery vehicles retreated to an open area to unload their armor, and the medical vehicles parked upwind. No one used the excuse of "urgent military situation" to take over someone else's time. A neighboring supply wagon passed over the bridge, and the soldiers on it looked towards the roadside. The members of the Independent Regiment were engrossed in tying their shoelaces, without exchanging barbs or trying to get on each other's good side.

As the last grain cart passed, the sentry guarding the bridge drew a circle with his lantern. Only then did the artillery cart harness its animals. When it was the turn of the medical cart, the wounded soldier on the stretcher had already woken up and asked if they had arrived in Beiping. The medic tucked the blanket around him.

"It's still far. Let's cross the bridge first."

A medical vehicle overheated in front of the bridge, steam escaping from its radiator. The bridge guards cleared space so the independent regiment's mechanics could check the water pipes. The vehicle was repaired and departed a little later, missing the next group of troop members.

On the fifth day, the vanguard was about 60 kilometers away from the planned deployment line outside Beiping.

The rearguard is still 120 kilometers away. The main artillery axis is in the middle, and local medic transport is only about 80% complete. Nobody has written the leading position as the overall group position.

Zhao Gang nailed the reply slips from each column to the wall. The vanguard, main force, rearguard, artillery, medical, and supply depots each had their own color. It didn't look like an arrow; it looked more like a tangled ball of yarn.

"More than 50,000 people have walked through, yet they still left behind garbage, injuries, and broken-down cars," he said.

"Write it down, so you can leave less for the next night," Zhao Weiguo said.

On the sixth night, they advanced another 55 kilometers.

The first to cross the last two bridges were inspected by engineers, and only light artillery was allowed to pass first. Heavy vehicles proceeded in batches, while mules and horses circled around the shallows. One of the bridge planks was loose, so the local bridge-building team replaced the wooden beam, and the old timber was numbered and kept on file.

On the seventh day, the vanguard of the northward-bound group entered the outer war zone of Beiping. Approximately 42,000 men had arrived, with about 10,000 still en route. The rearguard's reception, the transfer of the sick, and the withdrawal of supply depots continued.

Arrival forms were delivered to the brick kiln one by one. The earliest ones had clean edges, while the later ones were covered in muddy handprints, some softened by rain. The radio operator read out numbers according to the column, while Zhao Gang measured the distances on the map with a ruler. The vanguard had already reached the deployment line, but the rearguard was still several mountain passes away. The artillery main force moved slower than the infantry, and local medical supplies had to be retrieved along the original route to pick up empty stretchers and broken vehicle parts.

Someone suggested reporting "the entire army has arrived" first to reassure Taiyuan and neighboring areas. Zhao Gang capped his pen and didn't write anything.

"Ten thousand people are still on their way. They won't hear this kind of encouragement, and I can't get there for them."

The entire group did not appear at the city gates together.

The seventh supply depot first boiled salt water. Medics checked the soles of the feet and body temperature of each shift, and artillerymen first unharnessed the mules and horses. Only after the three forms for advance reconnaissance, rear guard reception, and supply depot handover were signed could the troops enter the deployment area.

The map marks Tongxian, Gu'an, Mentougou, and Shunyi, spanning nearly 90 kilometers horizontally.

Zhao Weiguo did not order simultaneous firing from all four sides.

"First occupy the bridge, then the rest occupy the road, artillery and other positions. Whoever arrives first takes cover."

Outside the brick kiln, those who had arrived began to rest.

Behind them, on the road, wheels and footsteps continued to approach Beiping.

Zhao Weiguo looked at the wall covered with various receipts one last time, then reached out and pressed the first small flag onto the Tongxian Bridgehead.

The flag is small, unable to cover the 90-kilometer deployment line. But where it lands is where the first shot will be fired tomorrow.