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

Okamura arranged the telegrams from the four directions in a circle.

Bad news came from Baimayu and Tielupo on the northern front. The remnants of the forces that had entered the pass were still approaching, but reinforcements had stopped arriving. The mountain roads on the western front were narrow, making it impossible for heavy vehicles to pass. On the eastern front, the bridge was in Zhao Weiguo's hands, and telephone service in the Tongxian area was also intermittent.

The south and the Tianjin direction are the quietest.

The silence made the chief of staff uneasy.

At the end of April 1945, the siege of Beiping had lasted for nine days.

The chief of staff used a map ruler to measure the old highway in Tianjin.

"It's too clean here."

Okamura tapped the edge of the table twice with his pencil.

There are still about twelve kilometers of unblocked land to the south. Although the bridge to the southeast was damaged, light vehicles and infantry can still detour. Further out are the old waterways east of Tongxian, with many waterways and village roads, suitable for dispersing the troops. If they can get support from the remnants of the Kwantung Army to the north, their momentum can be greatly increased, while the real troops will move from the direction of Tianjin.

He wrote down the number of approximately 19,000 people on the order.

The combat troops went first, followed by the headquarters, the wounded, munitions, and logistics in batches. A separate force was dispatched on the northern front to create the illusion of a breakout. No one could force 19,000 men out of the city gates at once; that would only lead to their own demise at the first bridge.

The transfer list had just been distributed when the argument began to escalate from outside the compound.

One regiment wanted to get the cars first, one office wanted to load the documents first, and the hospital said the seriously wounded couldn't withstand walking at night. There was only so much fuel, and some of the trucks were parked at the repair shop. The chief of staff piled up all the requests, with the top one labeled "Must Priority," and the same four words written on each of the ones below.

Okamura deleted two duplicate applications, halved the number of military trains, and retained the wounded soldiers' trains. The documents were packed according to the available space in the carriages, and any that couldn't fit were destroyed on the spot. When he wrote the last column, his pen left a black dot on the paper.

People in the city didn't know the way to escape yet; they only knew they might not have a parking space.

The chief of staff was still keeping an eye on the south.

"What if it's a pocket?"

Okamura pushed the fuel dispatch sheet over.

"If we stay in the city, our food and oil supplies will dwindle day by day."

It's not exactly a good road. It's just the cheapest of the remaining options.

That night, the Beijing telephone switchboard became busy.

The eastern suburbs received orders to seize the bridge, the northern route received orders to increase vehicle signal lights, but the Tianjin direction only received a few scattered passes. Fuel was transferred from two warehouses, first to the south of the city, then turned southeast. Document boxes and medicine boxes were mixed together, and officers' vehicles were sandwiched between ordinary trucks.

The information intercepted by the monitoring team contradicted each other.

A telegram said that the northern front should provide support to the Kwantung Army.

One report stated that the bridge in the eastern suburbs must be seized.

Another prisoner confessed that they had been getting hair oil on the south side of the city for two nights.

Zhao Gang spread the paper out on the table.

"Tianjin is the main road; they might have done it on purpose so we could hear it."

Zhao Weiguo did not mobilize any troops.

"Let's look at the cars again."

The reconnaissance team of the monk's battalion kept an eye on the tire tracks and traffic lights. The tire tracks at the south gate grew deeper each night, fewer light vehicles entered and exited through the east gate, and although there were more lights at the north gate, the road surface didn't show many heavy tire tracks. The second prisoner said that the officers had received a pass for travel in the southeast direction, but his statement didn't specify the exact time or which group Okamura was in.

The system's auxiliary logs can only provide directional probabilities based on changes in fuel, vehicles, roads, and radio stations. It doesn't know which vehicle Okamura was in, nor can it mistake a fake telegram for a genuine order.

Zhao Weiguo instructed everyone to continue as before.

On the northern front, strengthen observation and do not follow signal lights. On the western front, guard the mountain roads and do not advance. Continue to leave open space at the junction of the southeast and east, with actual artillery positions hidden outside the old river network, and engineering obstacles not erected on the road surface.

The old river network east of Tongxian County extends for about 40 kilometers.

The dikes, reed beds, paved roads, village bridges, and narrow ditches are all crammed together. There isn't a single straight road on the map, and once you get in, the cars in front can't see the cars behind, and you have to find a wide spot to turn around.

The First Battalion, with approximately 5,200 men, is responsible for the eastern section and cannot cross its own dike. The Third Battalion guards the southern junction, while neighboring battalions go to the northern entrance. Artillery, engineers, transport, and medical personnel each have their own designated routes. The two old armored vehicles can only block the entrance for short distances on the paved road; anyone driving into the wetlands must first obtain Zhao Tieshan's permission.

Zhao Tieshan squatted down beside the car to check the copper pipes of the water tank, and then tapped the wheel hub with a wrench.

"One radiator has been patched, and the other tire has been replaced. It's sufficient for hard roads. As for the reed beds, I'll bring the driver back first."

Old Zhou received the division of labor table for the eastern section.

As he stepped into the temporary command post, his right knee suddenly stiffened, and the sole of his shoe scraped against the threshold. Someone next to him reached out to help him up, but he shook his arm off and sat down without getting up again.

The medic rolled up his trousers and pressed his fingers to the outside of his knee.

"These past few days, I've been squatting in trenches, walking, and moving logs; it's all from exhaustion."

"I wasn't hit."

"Even if you're not hit by a bullet, you'll still be damaged. Apply heat, reduce the burden on yourself, and don't run back and forth far from the embankment."

Old Zhou wanted to say no, but the medic had already written the right knee strain into the injury report. He stared at those words for a while, then called the deputy battalion commander, handed over the two furthest dikes, and stayed at the mid-section command post himself.

A hot towel was placed on his knees, but he found it too hot and lifted a corner of it. The medic then pressed it back down.

"I'll listen to you when it comes to fighting, but my legs have to listen to me."

"Fine, fine, I'll owe you a leg."

Someone in the command post chuckled, then quickly went back to nailing the wooden planks.

The deputy battalion commander came over with the assignment sheet. Old Zhou first assigned him the furthest dike, and then added two young signalmen to the assignment as well. The deputy battalion commander refused to take more people, so Old Zhou slammed his pencil on the table.

"My legs aren't fast, but my phone calls have to be fast. If you lose one messenger and something happens, am I supposed to crawl over there?"

Despite the harsh words, the deputy battalion commander still wrote down the name.

After Lao Zhou and the others had gone some distance, he lifted the towel off his knees to take a look. His skin had no wounds, but it was swollen and shiny. He pressed it with his palm, winced in pain, and then covered it with the towel again. The mid-section command post wasn't exactly close to any of the three dikes, but it was a place where he could carry his voice even while sitting.

Villagers along the route began to leave the vicinity of the highway.

The takeover team registered households by household. Those who could take their own grain and bedding were allowed to do so, while elderly people who couldn't walk were transported by mule cart. Some people couldn't bear to part with their two chickens in their yards, carrying them in baskets and cursing all the way. Engineers had to write a receipt when borrowing door panels and logs, and the well was left for the village; the troops dug a shallow pit to store water elsewhere.

As soon as the door of a house was taken off, the child inside started crying, saying there would be no door at night. The engineering platoon leader stood in the yard without saying a word, and finally nailed his own mat to the door frame, and had two wooden strips left to support it.

"I'll replace it with a new one after I finish."

The child didn't believe him and clung to the doorstep to look at him. The child's mother folded the receipt and tucked it into her clothes, asking what to do if the person couldn't be found. The cadre in charge wrote his name on the back and read it aloud again.

After the villagers evacuated, the courtyard wasn't completely empty. Cold ashes remained in the stove, a sieve that hadn't been taken hung on the wall, and chicken feathers lay at the doorway. When the soldiers entered the village, they only hid under the eaves, avoiding any contact with cabinets. Someone smelled the lingering aroma of rice in the pot, and their stomach growled, but those nearby pretended not to hear.

Duan Peng guarded the south entrance, traversing the village bridge three times. He had the engineers point out which plank could be removed, how deep the wooden stakes were buried, and which way the wounded should go around. The monk's reconnaissance team was on the outer edge, only noting the number of vehicles, the number of escorts, and the intervals, without sneaking into the convoy.

The first explorers appeared at night.

A dozen or so mule carts, carrying about two hundred infantrymen, traveled more than ten kilometers along the southeastern passage, where they came to an empty trench and two cold stoves. Old Zhou's battalion did not appear, nor did Duan Peng close the bridge. The cavalry observation group followed them for a while across the field ridges, and only sent back to headquarters the information about the width of the cart wheels and the time of their return after they retreated.

On the second night, the northern front suddenly opened fire.

About a thousand men probed towards Shunyi, while the remnants of the Kwantung Army further north simultaneously turned on their vehicle headlights. The northern defenders retreated a short distance as planned, allowing the enemy to see their artillery positions and reserves. Gunfire erupted, but the actual troops did not pursue.

Zhao Gang asked, "Should we transfer a batch from the southeast?"

"No one smokes."

What if the northern route really collides?

"They have their own preparations there. The moment the people in the southeast make a move, the city will know which side we fear."

By the third night, the evidence was gradually coming together.

The oil was continuously delivered to the south of the city.

The ruts on the heavy vehicles at the south gate have deepened.

The actual number of trains departing from the East Gate and North Gate has decreased.

The two official passes pointed southeast, and the intercepted telegrams mentioned the time of the wounded vehicles and the second batch of people leaving the city. Neither pass alone was sufficient; putting them together, the Tianjin direction transformed from speculation into the primary case.

Zhao Gang added a sentence to the order: "The first batch of vehicles must not fire upon entry. The road must be closed only after the vanguard, central force, and rearguard have crossed the dike and village bridge respectively, and all receipts have been received."

This order was copied six times.

The copy sent to the eastern section was soaked by raindrops. The communications officer tucked it into his clothes, and by the time he arrived, the corners of the paper were already soft. After reading it, Old Zhou drew a line under the words "Do not fire" with his fingernail and ordered it to be passed around to each company. Some people thought it was too risky to let three thousand men cross the river, and although they didn't say anything, their hands kept touching the bolts of their rifles.

Waiting is more agonizing than firing.

Mosquitoes swarmed his face from the reeds, and even with his legs numb from squatting, he couldn't move. A soldier tried to cough, biting his sleeve into his mouth, forcing back tears. In the distance, car headlights twinkled one after another, but the squad leader only patted him on the back twice.

Each dike post reports every half hour. The wooden stakes haven't fallen, the bridge ropes haven't loosened, the stretcher path is passable, and the shell count matches. If even one report is missing, the main control station won't issue the final signal.

"What if Okamura was in the first batch?" Duan Peng asked.

"Wait a minute."

What if we let it pass?

"If we fire a shot prematurely to catch one person, the remaining ten thousand or so people will all retreat back into the city."

The monk's reconnaissance team then spotted three black sedans, each with guards beside it, and the last one carrying a briefcase. No one mistook the license plates for Okamura's name. The vehicles might be genuine, or they might be a decoy.

As the car passed the eastern observation post, a soldier pushed the bolt of his rifle forward half an inch.

"I saw officers in the car."

The squad leader pressed his hand down. The soaked order paper was in the squad leader's arms, the words "Do not fire" scratched deeply by his fingernails. The car was less than two hundred meters away from them, and the guards were still looking around.

"There are many officers. Do you recognize Okamura?"

The soldier didn't recognize him; his hands were still glued to his gun.

Old Zhou's voice came through the phone from behind.

"Whoever fires first, I'll withdraw my gun first."

The bolt was cocked again. Three cars drove past the reeds, mud splashed up by their wheels landing on the grass. Whether they were letting go of staff officers, guards, or someone more valuable, no one could say for sure. Orders ordered them to wait, so they could only watch.

Japanese reconnaissance troops from the southern front came again.

They saw only empty trenches, cold stoves, and a few sets of retreating footprints. The actual artillery position was three kilometers away; the engineers laid obstacles flat at the bottom of the ditch and buried ropes in the wet mud. The reconnaissance report sent back into the city stated that no significant troops were seen in the southeast direction.

At dawn, a continuous expanse of lights finally appeared in the direction of Tianjin.

Trucks, mule carts, and infantry were mixed together, with about three thousand men at the front and an even longer column behind. The feints on the northern front were still ongoing, and the approximately nineteen thousand men planned to be deployed to Beiping had not yet all left the city.

The reconnaissance team only reported the number of vehicles and their direction, not the location of Okamura.

Old Zhou sat in the command post in the middle section; the hot towel had already gone cold. He tossed the towel aside and reached for the phone. His right knee was still tight, but he didn't leave the chair.

Zhao Weiguo drew a circle at the intersection of the old highways and the old river network in Tianjin.

"Old Zhou, get ready to wrap things up."

"receive."

Gun barrels were still hidden behind the grass.

The actual closing time has not yet arrived.

Zhao Weiguo traced the circle, stopping the pencil tip at the center. The vanguard of three thousand men had already entered the old river network, followed by another sixteen thousand.

He glanced up at the sky; the fog hadn't lifted yet. In another fifteen minutes, the door would close.