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

Yamada's sword slashed down fiercely, and the two groups of Japanese soldiers rushed forward like a burst dam.

The impact from the valley entrance was the most ferocious.

Although the twenty men who had previously broken out were pushed back by Zhang Dabiao and his men, the Japanese troops inside the valley took advantage of the fact that the First Battalion had not yet fully deployed and launched another fierce attack.

Two platoons, about sixty men in total, advanced in unison, advancing in three waves in succession.

The platoon leader defending the valley entrance had already jammed his bayonet against the barrel of his rifle. He glanced back at the seven brothers who remained behind him, and they were running out of ammunition. Only the last few platoons were left.

"Fire these few rounds," the platoon leader said in a low voice, "fix bayonets."

The seven men didn't utter a sound.

Some people silently loaded bullets into the magazine, while others locked bayonets to the muzzle of their guns.

A young recruit, holding a Hanyang rifle with rusty barrel, timidly raised his head: "Platoon leader, can this crappy gun really kill someone?"

The platoon leader didn't even turn his head: "Yes. Just stick it into the flesh."

The attack from the right slope came even faster.

Without any probing, the Japanese squad charged straight up the slope without even pausing for a moment.

Kong Jie's machine gun went silent after firing less than a burst. The barrels were burning hot, and the spent cartridges were stuck in the chamber and wouldn't come out.

The machine gunner, in a fit of rage, grabbed his bayonet and pried it open twice, but to no avail. He simply pushed the machine gun aside, picked up his rifle, and charged forward.

Zhao Weiguo lay prone at the second firing position.

From his flank, he could just make out the group of Japanese soldiers on the side of the attacking column, all crouching low, holding their guns with both hands, and keeping a great distance between each other. They were clearly veterans with blood on their hands.

He aimed at the second-ranking Japanese soldier, held his breath, and pulled the trigger. The man fell to the ground.

Pulling the bolt, the gleaming yellow cartridge case sprang out, chambering a new round, locking onto the second target, and killing him once more.

By the time the third bullet was fired, the Japanese troops had closed to within twenty paces of the earthen embankment.

At this distance, even the most accurate marksmanship was useless. Zhao Weiguo watched helplessly as Kong Jie's men leaped up, rifles in hand, and charged down the slope. The two groups collided with a deafening roar; bayonets clashed, rifle butts pounded against rifle butts, and screams and shouts instantly mingled into a chaotic mess.

Kong Jie personally took down a Japanese soldier with his gun.

Just as he drew his bayonet, a Japanese soldier seized the opportunity to thrust at him from the side, the sharp blade slicing open his left upper arm. Blood dripped down his elbow, but Kong Jie glanced down at it, completely ignoring it. He switched the gun to his right hand with one hand and continued fighting the enemy to the death.

Zhao Weiguo remained motionless, his aiming scope fixed on a Japanese sergeant who was waving and pointing in a direction from behind, not yet engaging in combat. He aimed and fired. The sergeant fell to the ground.

Unfortunately, the garrison on the right slope was too small.

Kong Jie's troops had been forced back to the last earthen embankment. If they retreated any further, they would be on flat ground, and the high ground on the right slope would be completely lost. If the Japanese occupied the advantageous terrain, even if reinforcements arrived, they would not be able to take advantage of the terrain to launch a counterattack. The defeat was inevitable. Sometimes, victory or defeat is decided by a single line.

Zhao Weiguo was well aware of this. He slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder and casually pulled a bayonet-equipped rifle from the mud. He didn't have time to consider whether his body was capable of bayonet fighting.

The Japanese troops had already crossed the second earthen embankment and were less than ten steps away from him.

The first one to rush forward was a short Japanese soldier, who held his bayonet perfectly level and walked with extremely steady steps.

Zhao Weiguo had experienced this kind of behavior on the walls of Wanping before; he was definitely a veteran.

The man's eyes were as cold as a chilling wind. He remained silent, staring intently at Zhao Weiguo's chest, the tip of his knife even subtly adjusting its angle, searching for the gaps in the ribs like a venomous snake.

The brothers beside him were fighting fiercely.

Chen An had just dodged a Japanese soldier's bayonet when another Japanese soldier lunged at him viciously from the side.

Zhao Weiguo heard Chen An's exclamation, but he didn't even have time to turn his head.

The sharp tip of the knife suddenly stabbed at us.

Zhao Weiguo suddenly turned to the side, using the momentum to swing the butt of his gun and smash it hard against the other man's wrist.

The man's bayonet was instantly deflected.

Before his opponent could regain his balance and retract his blade, Zhao Weiguo seized the opportunity to deliver a swift backhand thrust, the blade plunging viciously into his opponent's ribs.

The moment the knife tip pierced the flesh, the resistance traveled along the gun barrel through the clothes, the skin, and then the hard ribs.

Immediately afterwards, the resistance suddenly disappeared, and the blade slid smoothly into the internal organ.

The man let out a very short, muffled groan, as if all the bones in his body had been drained, and he went limp like mud.

Zhao Weiguo drew his bayonet, his hand trembling uncontrollably.

But he didn't pause for even half a second.

The second Japanese soldier charged forward, howling.

Zhao Weiguo gritted his teeth, parried the thrust with the butt of his rifle, and taking advantage of the opponent's unsteady stance, he pressed forward and plunged the bayonet into the man's stomach.

The movements were completely haphazard, but their strength lay in their speed.

Chen An dodged by rolling to the side. The Japanese soldier's bayonet grazed Chen An's waist, tearing a large gash in his thick cotton-padded coat, from which blood seeped out. Fortunately, the injury was not deep.

Zhao Weiguo roared, "Back up! Control the bullets!"

Kong Jie's men seized the fleeting opening and reloaded their weapons.

Some people scrambled and crawled to retrieve magazines from their fallen comrades, while others frantically turned their rifles upside down and pounded on the jammed bolts.

The Japanese troops on the right slope finally retreated, their leading sergeant killed. Their offensive was forced to stop, and they needed to regroup.

Taking advantage of those few precious moments of life-saving time, Zhao Weiguo filled the magazine to the brim with bullets.

Before he could catch his breath, a distorted roar suddenly erupted from the valley entrance.

It's not Chinese.

It was someone shouting "Attack!" at the top of their lungs in Japanese!

Zhao Weiguo suddenly turned his head.

Oh no, the gap at the valley entrance has finally been torn open.

About twenty Japanese soldiers managed to break through the blockade and are now regrouping outside the pile of boulders.

The group of men lay in ambush behind the rocks, quickly set up a light machine gun, and fired a long burst at the blockade line, pinning down the soldiers who were trying to give chase.

Zhao Weiguo squinted and saw that the leader of the team was a Japanese lieutenant. The old devil was kneeling behind the boulder, making tactical hand gestures and quickly reorganizing the team.

Once this group has regrouped, they will surely launch a counterattack from outside the valley entrance.

At that time, the Japanese troops in the pocket will launch a coordinated attack from the inside and outside, and the already weak blockade will be torn to shreds in the blink of an eye by the attack from both sides.

Li Yunlong stood alone on the left slope, clutching his pistol tightly in his hand, with no other soldiers around him.

The reserves were all gone. Of the tough guys under Platoon Leader Liu, less than half were still breathing.

The right slope was still struggling in the mud. The new regimental commander had no soldiers left to command.

Zhao Weiguo saw from afar that Li Yunlong glanced down at the magazine, silently took out a few bullets from his waist pouch, and loaded them one by one. Once fully loaded, he flicked his wrist and slammed the magazine into the gun handle, and with a "click," he pulled back the slide to chamber a round.

The regimental commander is preparing to personally fill that deadly hole.

At the critical moment, a burst of gunfire suddenly rang out on the ridge north of the valley entrance.

It wasn't the sticky, gritty noise of the Japanese army's Type 96 rifle.

It's a Hanyang rifle! The old-fashioned gun, which used to require a slow, deliberate pull of the bolt before firing a single shot, was now firing with a frantic, rapid-fire rhythm.

Immediately afterwards, a rolling roar crashed down from the vent. Pure Chinese.

"First Battalion! Spread out! Take control of the high ground on the right flank!"

Zhao Weiguo looked up and saw a large group of gray-blue figures emerging from the mountain ridge as if divine soldiers had descended from the sky.

The group moved with incredible speed, their formation spread out so wide that it didn't appear crowded or chaotic at all.

The man leading the group was very distinctive; he was tall with broad shoulders and a sturdy back, and he ran with powerful strides.

It's Zhang Dabiao.

Zhang Dabiao's battalion finally arrived.

They didn't go head-on at all, but instead used the terrain to come crashing down from the north ridge like Mount Tai, intercepting the Japanese troops who had just broken through.

The battalion, positioned on higher ground, had a significant advantage. The light machine gun that the Japanese had painstakingly set up was rendered useless before it even finished firing half a magazine.

Seeing Zhang Dabiao rush to the valley entrance like a whirlwind, Zhao Weiguo shouted at the tattered sealing line, "Regimental Commander!"

Li Yunlong turned his head, saw Zhang Dabiao, and his lips twitched violently.

That fleeting expression was more unsightly than crying; it was hard to tell if he was laughing or not. But when he spoke again, that steady, reliable demeanor returned.

"Block it. Not even a single bird is allowed to get out."

"yes!"

Zhang Dabiao whirled around and roared at those behind him, "First Battalion, platoons, take your positions! Full firepower! Smash these bastards back!"

The heavy firepower of the first battalion immediately sprang into action.

Two Czech light machine guns opened fire in a crossfire, a dense hail of bullets raining down on the pile of rocks, sending pebbles flying everywhere. The newly emerged Japanese soldiers were pressed tightly against the rocks.

A few daring individuals tried to peek out and retaliate, but were immediately cut back as soon as they showed half an arm.

The sealing line at the valley entrance was finally welded shut again.

Zhao Weiguo lay prone on the right slope, coldly watching the battalion deploy its forces in an orderly manner.

The firepower at the valley entrance more than doubled, instantly dampening the Japanese army's breakout momentum.

The fresh troops swiftly took over the rock pile position. Some were pulling the seriously wounded soldiers who had fallen to the ground to a safe area behind the slope, while others squatted down on the spot and skillfully untied the ammunition belts from the waists of their fallen comrades.

Taking advantage of this moment, he turned around and looked at the right slope.

Kong Jie's men remained firmly rooted to the last earthen embankment, refusing to yield an inch.

Kong Jie leaned against the frozen earthen embankment, blood still gushing from the horrifying gash on his left arm. He didn't even bother to look at it, letting the thick blood meander down his forearm, dripping into the black mud beneath his feet.

Chen An clutched his waist, shrinking down next to Zhao Weiguo. The wound on his waist had long been tightly bound with a tattered strip of cloth, tied in a knot. Dark red blood slowly seeped into the filthy cloth.

"Brother Zhao, did we pull through?"

Zhao Weiguo kept his mouth shut and didn't respond.

His gaze was fixed on the depths of the valley. Ever since the fierce firepower of the First Battalion sealed off the valley entrance, the Japanese soldiers at the bottom of the valley had strangely quieted down.

The charges ceased, the commands ceased, and even the sounds of gunfire became sparse.

This deathly silence was far more unsettling than the constant gunfire. It meant that the old fox named Yamada was secretly plotting an even more insidious killing move.

Yamada's remaining troops did not withdraw.

Through the gaps where smoke and morning mist intertwined, Zhao Weiguo coldly observed the numerous figures below.

It was not a rout like stray dogs, but a disciplined and well-organized operation.

The Japanese soldiers below were quietly moving some supplies, and even the mules and horses were being quietly driven to the north, as if they were preparing to transport something out first.

That major is really tough; he's still putting up a stubborn resistance and rearranging his troops.

The worst part is that the north entrance is still open.

Zhou Dahu's Second Battalion has not seen a single person to this day.

Zhao Weiguo decisively fired the last two bullets in his gun and reached for his ammunition pouch to reload.

The moment my fingertips touched it, my heart sank.

He glanced down and saw that the bag was completely empty.

There were clearly two rows of bright yellow bullets left before going uphill, but now they've all been fired.

"Shuanzi, do you have any spare cash?"

Shuanzi reached for his waist, shook his head with a pale face. Chen An also searched his pockets, only to find them empty.

Zhao Weiguo silently put down his rifle, turned around and took the ammunition pouch from the body of a fallen comrade beside him. He weighed it in his hand; it was extremely light, with only a pitiful five rounds left.

He pressed each of the five life-saving copper-cased bullets into the magazine.

Just as his thumb was getting stuck in the fourth bullet, a strange noise suddenly came from the direction of the north entrance.

A burst of rapid, bean-like gunfire suddenly erupted across the distant wilderness.

Everyone on the position turned their heads to look at the north entrance.

Zhao Weiguo gripped the last bullet tightly between his fingers.

Zhou Dahu arrived. His Second Battalion finally engaged the Japanese in fierce combat at Beikou.

The bag was finally sealed.