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

In the gray ditch outside the hidden door, Japanese soldiers crawled forward, their bodies pressed against the mud.

Three men carried the explosive charge, two held rifles to hold it back, and the lead sapper had the fuse in his mouth, his elbow digging into the mud. The white flag was still askew in the mud east of the bridge, its cloth scorched with black holes by the artillery fire.

Zhao Weiguo lay prone behind a breach in the city wall, his eyes pressed against the cracks in the brickwork.

"Closer."

The soldier surnamed Meng gripped the pin on his grenade, his throat tightening.

"We've reached the doorway."

"Three more steps."

The deputy battalion commander raised his hand to stop the soldiers behind him who were about to fire.

"Listen to Mr. Zhao, no one should deduct money randomly!"

In the ditch, the Japanese engineer at the front reached out and touched the bottom edge of the hidden door. He looked up, revealing half of his face covered in mud.

Zhao Weiguo slashed downwards with his palm.

"Throw."

The Meng-surnamed garrison pulled the pin, paused for a moment, and the grenade rolled down the wall.

The second and third coins fell into the ash ditch immediately afterward.

The Japanese engineers had just stuffed the explosive charge into the crack of the door when their eyes fell on a smoking lump of iron at their feet.

He opened his mouth and roared.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The ash ditch was ripped open, sending mud, bits of meat, and explosive charges flying everywhere. The door outside the hidden door was slammed shut by the blast wave, the latch bent but didn't break.

The two Japanese soldiers behind him who were holding down the guns turned and ran.

Zhao Weiguo picked up the Type 38 rifle.

Snapped.

One of them fell into the ditch.

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng fired a finishing shot.

Snapped.

The second one fell down, his bayonet stuck into the mud, and it even twitched twice.

The deputy battalion commander grabbed the parapet and roared until his voice cracked.

"The secret door is cleared! Keep pressing the breach!"

On the other side of the bridge, the major of the 219th Regiment also seized the opportunity. He stood up halfway from behind the stone lion and swung his pistol forward.

"Charge all forces! Drive them back to the east side of the bridge!"

The 29th Army's machine guns, rifles, and captured Type 92 rifles all roared out. The gunfire pressed in from three directions: the highway, the city wall, and the bridge. The Japanese troops east of the bridge were caught in the rubble and smoke, their formation scattered into a muddy mess.

The Japanese officer was still trying to rally his troops when, just as he raised his sword, the gunner next to Zhao Weiguo fired the last mortar round.

The gunner looked at Zhao Weiguo, his eyes bloodshot.

"Who are you going to hit?"

Zhao Weiguo pointed to the overturned car on the east side of the bridge.

"After taking a taxi, someone will hand out numbers there."

thump.

The shell flew out.

boom!

The car was overturned by the explosion, and the officer hiding in the back crashed into the rubble with his knife. His white gloves flew off and landed in the mud.

The Japanese troops east of the bridge finally collapsed.

First, two soldiers ran backward, then a platoon dragged the wounded away, and finally they even abandoned the heavy machine gun. The retreat bugle sounded from the direction of Fengtai, short and sharp, like a cut wire.

No one on the city wall shouted or chased after them.

Everyone was stunned for a moment.

Then, a roar erupted.

"Refund!"

"The Japanese devils have retreated!"

"The Lugou Bridge is still standing! Wanping is still standing!"

The deputy battalion commander plopped down on a sandbag, his gun still pointed outside the city, tears streaming down his face, mingling with the dust.

"Damn it... we held on."

Old Xu leaned against the wall, raised the Type 38 rifle, and waved the muzzle.

"Stop yelling, save your voice for swearing."

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng was laughing when he suddenly knelt down and hugged a silent brother next to him.

"Did you hear me? I'm backing out... Did you fucking hear me?"

No one tried to persuade them.

Zhao Weiguo stood at the edge of the breach, watching the embers on the east side of the bridge gradually dim. The system panel lit up before his eyes.

[Area Combat Phase Ended]

[Assisted in the defense of Wanping City: Completed]

[Cumulative confirmed kills: Increased]

[Physical Enhancement: In Progress]

[Rewards Distribution: Basic Light Weapon Structure Outline; Expanded Permission for Rapid Recovery of Battlefield Supplies]

A warm current flowed through his chest, the blood blisters on his palms hardened into scabs, and the dull pain in his shoulder subsided by half.

The major, his face covered in mud and blood, led his men through the city gate and grabbed the deputy battalion commander's arm.

"Who fired the cannons from the city wall? Who destroyed the artillery position east of the bridge?"

The deputy battalion commander pointed.

"he."

The major looked in the direction the finger was pointing and saw Zhao Weiguo's thin figure standing beside the crumbling wall, still holding the Type 38 rifle in his hand.

The major's throat moved.

"This child?"

Old Xu coughed up blood and then laughed out loud.

"Call him Mr. Zhao."

The major walked up to Zhao Weiguo, took off his military cap, and mud was still dripping from the brim.

"219th Regiment. Young sir, you saved our platoon and saved the city walls from collapse."

Zhao Weiguo pulled back the bolt and ejected the empty casing.

"Enough with the polite talk. Don't throw away the barrel of that Type 92 rifle east of the bridge. Keep the gun barrel for me too."

The major paused for a moment, then laughed, his eyes reddening with laughter.

"Okay. I'll keep them all for you."

Outside the city, the Japanese troops retreated into the smoke and dust.

Inside the city, stretchers were carried through pools of blood, ammunition boxes were hoisted atop the city walls, and tattered flags were reinserted into the battlements. Zhao Weiguo squatted down and picked up a shard of shattered gun steel, tucking it into his robes.

The deputy battalion commander shouted from behind:

"Mr. Zhao, a telegram from Beiping requests battle statistics!"

Zhao Weiguo brushed the dust off his hands.

"Just to say something."

The deputy battalion commander looked up.

"What should I report?"

Zhao Weiguo looked at the line stained black with blood beneath the city wall.

"Wanping was not lost."