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

As soon as the battalion deputy commander finished speaking, it was as if the wind by the city wall had been grabbed.

Old Xu looked up first, and the smile on his face disappeared.

"See him? Who will see him?"

The deputy battalion commander pushed up the brim of his hat, revealing a ring of sweat.

"The headquarters of the 29th Army in Beiping. They didn't mention their name on the phone, only that they would send it over immediately."

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng held the Type 92 rifle covered with a cloth, his eyes wide open.

"Send it now? The Japanese devils outside aren't all dead yet."

Han Fucheng reached out his hand to the deputy battalion commander.

"Original reply message"

The deputy battalion commander pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket; the corners of the paper were soggy from sweat.

Han Fucheng lowered his brows after reading it.

"Please have Zhao Weiguo accompany Major Han Fucheng to Beiping to report on the battle situation at Wanping and the captured weapons. Provide escort along the way."

Upon hearing "captured weapons," Old Xu immediately moved half a step forward towards the Type 92 rifle.

"They're not going to take the gun away, are they?"

Zhao Weiguo tucked the corner of the cloth in tightly.

"The gun remains in Wanping."

The deputy battalion commander gave a wry smile.

"The military wants to see the list of spoils."

"The list can go, but the guns cannot."

Han Fucheng looked at him.

"Do you know who you're arguing with?"

Zhao Weiguo looked up, his face still covered in gunpowder, his helmet askew, like an iron pot that had been placed upside down.

"I know. But if we move this gun now, the bumps along the way will cause the deformed cartridge tray to crack. When we get to Beiping, they'll only see a pile of broken metal."

The garrison commander surnamed Meng immediately nodded.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Zhao said it would crack, so it definitely will crack."

Han Fucheng glanced at him.

"You know how to take sides."

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng stiffened his neck.

"I took one wrong step last night, and now I'm dead."

Han Fucheng didn't say anything more to him, and turned to speak to the deputy battalion commander.

"Reply. Zhao Weiguo, come with me. The Type 92 heavy machine gun will be temporarily stored in Wanping and sealed by the garrison. No one is allowed to dismantle it."

The battalion deputy hesitated.

"If the military asks..."

Zhao Weiguo picked up a fragment of a bullet plate from the ground and handed it over.

"Bring this. Also bring the gun's serial number, the damaged parts, and repair suggestions. If anyone wants to see the real thing, let them come to Wanping."

Old Xu coughed.

"You even wrote that?"

Han Fucheng took the fragment, and his lips twitched slightly.

"Write it as 'The item is damaged due to overheating and should not be moved.'"

Zhao Weiguo nodded.

"That's a reasonable thing to say."

The sound of car horns could be heard outside the city gate.

A military truck with its headlights covered by a black cloth was parked beside a bomb crater. The front of the truck was scratched by gravel, and the mudguards were covered in blood and mud. The driver jumped out of the truck and saluted.

"Major, a car from Beiping has arrived. Take the route towards Dongbianmen; you can't go west, there's still gunfire over Fengtai."

Han Fucheng straightened his military cap.

"Take two guards, a battle report, and a list of spoils."

He looked at Zhao Weiguo.

What are you bringing?

Zhao Weiguo squatted down, put several Japanese shell casings, a piece of gun steel fragment, and the deformed shell plate into a tattered cloth bag, and then put the Mauser pistol back into his waistband.

"Bring the tent."

When Li Shuanzi returned after burying the dud bomb, his hands were covered in dirt.

"Mr. Zhao, are you really leaving?"

"Go there."

"And this gun..."

Zhao Weiguo pointed to the Type 92.

"Let the barrel cool naturally; don't splash water on it. Arrange the ammunition trays in order; don't let anyone use them to prop up table legs. If a leg of the gun mount breaks, prop it up with a wooden wedge; don't weld it in."

Li Shuanzi took notes one by one, and got anxious at the end.

"Slow down, slow down, my brain isn't as good as your 'machine box'."

The garrison soldier surnamed Meng took out half a pencil from his pocket and wrote on his sleeve.

"Don't spray water on the gun barrel, arrange the ammunition plates in order, use wooden wedges for broken legs, and don't weld them together."

Old Xu leaned against the wall and reached out to grab Zhao Weiguo's sleeve.

"When you go to Beiping, don't be too stubborn."

Zhao Weiguo looked down at him.

"You need to stay alive first."

Old Xu grinned, his face turning ashen.

"I'll wait for you to come back and disassemble the gun."

Han Fucheng urged him on.

"Walk."

Zhao Weiguo followed him toward the truck. At the city gate, the wounded soldiers, ammunition handlers, and soldiers of the 29th Army all stopped what they were doing and watched the small figure in the large steel helmet step through the blood.

The young soldier lifted up the magazine he had just loaded.

"Mr. Zhao, will you teach us how to fire cannons when you get back?"

Zhao Weiguo did not turn around.

"Clean the gun first."

The truck started, and the vehicle jolted.

Han Fucheng sat in the back of the truck, holding onto the war report box, staring at the Mauser pistol at Zhao Weiguo's waist.

"When you go to military headquarters, and people ask you how you know these things, what will you say?"

Zhao Weiguo placed the tattered bag on his lap, and the gunpowder inside made a muffled thud.

"Old books from the Ordnance Department, from the battlefield of the 29th Army, the Japanese were quick to teach."

The driver stepped on the gas, and the truck rushed through the city gate.

The Wanping city wall receded behind them, cannon ash swirling in the morning breeze. In the direction of Lugou Bridge, the stone lions were blackened by smoke, and a squad of 29th Army soldiers were pushing ammunition boxes towards the bridgehead. In the distance, from Fengtai, several more cannon shots rang out.

Han Fucheng pulled back the bolt and inspected his Mauser pistol.

"People in Beiping (Beijing) don't necessarily all like to hear the truth."

Zhao Weiguo looked at the road outside the car, cracked by the artillery fire.

"Then show them the iron."

The wheel rolled over a flattened bullet casing with a snap.