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

The cannon wheel got stuck on the threshold, making a screeching sound.

The garrison commander surnamed Meng and several soldiers pushed so hard their faces turned a deep purplish-red, but the cannon only moved half an inch. The doorway was narrow, the cannon was wide, and the wheels were pressing on the broken bricks, making it look like a stubborn donkey stuck in the fence.

"Push harder!"

"It's too stiff!"

Several Japanese soldiers poked their heads out of the ditch outside the city, saw that the cannon was still blocking the entrance, and immediately raised their guns.

Zhao Weiguo saw it from the city wall.

"Machine guns, keep the ditch under control!"

The Czech light machine gun immediately turned, its bullets skimming across the water. The Japanese soldiers retreated, but the muzzle of their guns continued to sway.

The deputy battalion commander was so anxious that he punched the parapet.

"The artillery can't get in, and the men can't get out!"

Zhao Weiguo turned and rushed down the steps.

"I'm going down."

Old Xu reached out to stop him, but only managed to grab air.

"You little brat—"

Zhao Weiguo had already jumped down the steps and rushed to the doorway in a few strides. He squatted down, pressed his palm against the cannon wheel, and scanned the threshold and axle with his eyes.

The wheels aren't broken.

The cannon barrel was stuck at its lower edge, which was being held in place by a protruding piece of broken brick near the threshold.

"Don't push the cannon barrel, lift the wheels."

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng was panting heavily, like a bellows.

Which side should we lift it to?

"Left side. Right side, I'll go."

Zhao Weiguo crawled to the right side of the cannon, gripped the spokes with both hands, and braced his knees against the door frame. He was small and not strong enough, but his angle was tricky, and he was wedged between the cannon and the door like a crowbar.

"One, two—"

"lift!"

The garrison commander surnamed Meng and two soldiers exerted force simultaneously, lifting the revolver half an inch off the ground. Zhao Weiguo gritted his teeth, and the right revolver was also lifted up. The cannon suspended for a moment, then slid forward.

Click.

The cannon wheel rolled over the threshold, and the entire cannon rushed into the doorway, crashing into the inner wall and causing dust to fall in a shower.

Zhao Weiguo was thrown forward by the cannon barrel, his shoulder hitting the breechblock, and the pain made his vision go black.

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng rushed over to help him up.

"Mr. Zhao!"

Zhao Weiguo pushed him aside and pointed to the door.

"close the door."

Several soldiers immediately shut the hidden door, the bolt fell down, and with a bang, it closed like a coffin lid.

Bullets outside the door thudded against the wooden planks, but they couldn't get in.

A roar erupted from the city wall.

"The artillery is firing!"

"It's closed!"

The deputy battalion commander clung to the parapet, his voice hoarse from shouting.

"well!"

Zhao Weiguo stood up, leaning against the wall, his shoulder burning with pain. He glanced down at the Type 92 infantry gun.

The cannon was covered in mud and blood, the breech was still steaming, and one of the wheels was crooked, but the barrel was intact and the rifling should still be usable.

The system panel lights up.

[Captured: Type 92 infantry gun x1]

[Status: Minor damage, repairable]

Ammunition: None

[Recommendation: Dismantle and study the gun, and recycle the steel]

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng, panting, reached out to touch the cannon barrel as if touching a hot iron.

"This thing...can we use it?"

Zhao Weiguo shook his head.

"No shells."

"Then why drag it back?"

"dismantle."

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng was stunned.

"It's been demolished?"

Zhao Weiguo patted the cannon bolt.

"Cannon steel can be made into knives and gun parts. It's ten times better than scrap metal."

The skinny soldier squatted down beside him, his face covered in mud, but his eyes were bright.

"Mr. Zhao, your head is always full of iron."

Zhao Weiguo glanced at him.

"Iron can save lives."

The deputy battalion commander's roar echoed down from the city wall.

"Mr. Zhao! Come up here! The Japanese have moved again!"

Zhao Weiguo looked up and gazed out of the city.

In the distance, from the direction of Fengtai, another series of low cannon shots rang out. It wasn't a test firing; it was a continuous roar, like someone beating drums on the horizon.

A dark red hue appeared on the horizon, not the glow of dawn, but the blood-red light reflected from gunfire.

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng turned pale.

"They want to fight again?"

Zhao Weiguo turned and walked up the steps.

"That was a test. Now the real fight begins."

On the city wall, Old Xu leaned against a sandbag, his face as white as paper, but he still kept a straight face.

"Mr. Zhao, has the cannon been returned?"

Zhao Weiguo nodded.

"It's been towed back."

"Can you fight?"

"It can be dismantled."

Old Xu grinned, his teeth filled with blood and foam.

"Okay, even if it's demolished, it's still our property."

The deputy battalion commander handed over the binoculars.

"Mr. Zhao, look at the east side of the bridge."

Zhao Weiguo took the binoculars and glanced at the edge of the barricade.

Behind the dilapidated house east of the bridge, Japanese troops were regrouping. It wasn't the small detachment from before, but an entire company, with plainclothes collaborators and disguised scouts following behind. Further away, two trucks were parked in the shadows of the trees, unloading several grenade launchers and a Type 92 heavy machine gun.

Zhao Weiguo put down his binoculars.

"They're going to launch a direct assault."

The deputy battalion commander's throat bobbed.

Can we hold out?

Zhao Weiguo looked at the soldiers on the city wall, their faces covered in dust and dirt.

Some were reloading, some were bandaging their wounds, and some were leaning against sandbags, panting, but their eyes were still fixed on the outside of the city.

He turned to look at the deputy battalion commander.

How much ammunition do we have left?

The battalion deputy's face darkened.

"The bullets will last for another half an hour. There are less than thirty hand grenades left."

"machine gun?"

"Two light machine guns, with fewer than ten ammunition plates in total."

Zhao Weiguo remained silent for a moment.

What about Beiping?

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

"Deputy Battalion Commander! A telegram from Beiping: a unit of the 219th Regiment is approaching Lugou Bridge. We need to hold out for another hour!"

The deputy battalion commander punched the sandbag.

"One hour..."

Zhao Weiguo looked up at the dark red sky.

"That's enough."

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng, holding a Type 38 rifle, spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Mr. Zhao, can we still hold on?"

Zhao Weiguo removed the magazine from his Mauser pistol, leaving only two rounds inside. He took a Japanese ammunition box from the waist of the garrison soldier surnamed Meng, pulled out a few bullets, and loaded them into the magazine one by one.

"It can hold up."

He looked up at the dark shadows that were pressing in again outside the city.

"Make them walk another twenty paces."