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

The Japanese infantry were pressed very low.

The gray-yellow military uniforms clung to the weeds, bayonets flashing in the morning light. Three men in front carried guns, two behind carried explosives, and then someone dragged a bamboo ladder. Their footsteps trod over the corpses and mud pits of the previous night, making little noise.

The soldier surnamed Meng lay prone behind the sandbags, feeling as if a piece of hot coal was stuck in his throat.

"Have you taken twenty steps yet?"

Zhao Weiguo didn't look at him, but only stared at the footsteps of the Japanese soldiers outside the city.

Five steps to go.

The deputy battalion commander gripped his pistol so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Mr. Zhao, they're almost at the base of the wall."

"Don't rush them."

"Any closer, and the grenade won't be able to be thrown with much force."

Zhao Weiguo raised his hand, palm down.

"When the person carrying the explosives enters the pit, the explosives are the biggest threat."

Breathing on the city wall was completely suppressed.

Smoke was still rising from the fake gap on the right, and the Japanese troops indeed shifted their formation halfway in that direction. In front of the real gap, a shallow crater had been blasted out by the shells from the previous night, filled with black water, broken bricks, broken wood, and a half-buried Japanese corpse.

The Japanese soldier carrying the explosive charge stepped into the pit, and his boots sank in.

Zhao Weiguo pressed his finger down sharply.

"beat."

The soldier surnamed Meng was the first to pull the trigger.

Snapped!

The Type 38 rifle fired with a crisp crack as a bullet whizzed out from the left side of the gap, piercing the chest of the man carrying the explosives. The man fell backward, and the explosive charge crashed into the puddle.

The deputy battalion commander echoed the shout.

"Grenade!"

More than a dozen hand grenades were thrown out from different emplacements, not randomly, but along the lines Zhao Weiguo had drawn earlier, staggered one after another, like a string of black weights smashing into the Japanese army formation.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The puddles exploded, and black mud and blood splattered onto half of the city wall. The bamboo ladders were snapped, and a large number of Japanese soldiers in the front row fell. The soldiers in the back row tried to scatter, but the remains of a fake firing point on the right blocked their way. Several men collided with each other, and bayonets pierced their comrades' cotton-padded clothes.

Old Xu leaned against the sandbag and struggled to lift the scabbard.

"Machine gun, sweep their legs!"

The Czech-made light machine gun on the city wall changed position, spitting fire from behind the actual breach. The bullets didn't fly high, but skimmed the ground, specifically targeting the calves and knees. The Japanese soldiers fell like stalks of wheat cut by a sickle, piece by piece.

A Japanese sergeant lay prone beside the fading image of the stone lion, brandishing his sword and shouting wildly. Several soldiers crawled forward, pressing down on the corpse, still trying to bring up the second pack of explosives.

Zhao Weiguo grabbed the last mortar shell and handed it to the gunner.

The gunner was stunned.

"Shouldn't we save the fourth shot?"

"Now is the time."

"Where to hit?"

Zhao Weiguo pointed at the sergeant.

"Bomb them. Even if you don't kill them, you can at least push them back into the ditch."

The gunner swallowed a mouthful of ash and pressed his fingers against the tail fin of the shell.

"Angle of elevation?"

"Lower by half a finger. Near explosion."

The gunner looked at his fingers, gritted his teeth, and adjusted the gun.

"put!"

thump.

The shell flew out and exploded behind the sergeant. The sergeant was thrown face down into the mud by the blast wave, his saber flying into the air before landing next to a corpse. The Japanese troops behind him were thrown into disarray by the impact; several dragged their wounded soldiers backward, while the rest lay prone in the ditch, too afraid to look up.

A roar erupted from the city wall.

"They fought back!"

"That son of a bitch is gone!"

The deputy battalion commander didn't shout. He rushed to the edge of the battlements, glanced at it through his binoculars, and immediately withdrew.

"They retreated to the east end of the bridge."

Zhao Weiguo shook his head.

"It's not retreating, it's waiting for orders."

The telephone operator climbed up the steps, his knees scraped and bleeding, still clutching the receiver cord in his hand.

"Deputy Battalion Commander! A call from Beiping: Commander Song is still negotiating with the Japanese, demanding that we hold our current positions and not launch a preemptive strike. The Japanese are also claiming it's a misunderstanding and want to cease fire and investigate."

Enraged, the garrison commander surnamed Meng slammed his fist on a city brick.

"Misunderstanding? They shoved the cannon barrels into Grandpa's mouth, and you still call it a misunderstanding?"

The deputy battalion commander slammed his binoculars onto a sandbag, his chest heaving.

"Reply: The garrison at Wanping is holding its ground as ordered. If the enemy attacks again, we will resolutely retaliate."

Just as the telephone operator was about to turn around, a voice suddenly drifted from outside the city, speaking in broken Chinese.

"Cease fire! Cease fire! Let's have our representatives negotiate!"

The gunfire from the city walls gradually subsided.

Nobody believes it.

Zhao Weiguo squatted down, took a bullet from the Type 38 rifle he had just seized, and wiped the primer of the cartridge. His eyes swept across the white fog outside the city. In the system's blue line, there were still red dots moving behind the dilapidated house east of the bridge, like a few insects hiding in the grass.

The deputy battalion commander squatted down next to him.

"Mr. Zhao, is the negotiation real?"

Zhao Weiguo glanced at him.

The battalion deputy didn't notice the weariness in his words; he was only staring at the white cloth that was being raised outside the city.

Zhao Weiguo pushed the bullets back into the magazine.

"Then let them talk."

The Meng-surname garrison was in a panic.

"Are we just going to stand by and watch?"

Zhao Weiguo handed him the binoculars and pointed them at a car parked next to a dilapidated house on the east side of the bridge.

"Look under the wheels."

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng squinted, his expression changing instantly.

"That's... an ammunition box?"

"Um."

The battalion deputy's teeth were grinding together.

"They covered their eyes with white cloths, and they were still moving cannons behind them."

Zhao Weiguo handed the gun to the soldier surnamed Meng.

"Don't shoot. Remember the location."

"Why not fight?"

"The higher-ups are still negotiating. Let's fire first, then they'll have something to say."

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng strained until his neck turned red.

"What should we do then?"

Zhao Weiguo grabbed a piece of charcoal and drew on the city bricks a dilapidated house east of the bridge, a cart, a shell box, and two retreat lines.

"If they dare to fire another shot, we won't need to make excuses anymore."

The battalion deputy looked at the makeshift firepower map, the fire in his eyes slowly burning into his pupils.

"If the artillery is gone, the Japanese infantry will have to pay with their lives."

Zhao Weiguo looked up at the white cloth swaying outside the city.

"Give the brothers water, reload their weapons, and bandage their wounds. Keep the fighting going, even if you say no."