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

Staff Officer Luo arrived in the afternoon.

He didn't ride a donkey; he walked, and the soles of his shoes were worn even thinner than last time. Upon entering the valley, he first looked for Li Yunlong, then took a piece of paper from his briefcase. The paper was folded three times, and there was a red stamp from the brigade headquarters on one corner.

Li Yunlong took it, unfolded it, glanced at it, and his eyebrows twitched.

He didn't read it aloud, but handed the paper to Zhao Weiguo.

Zhao Weiguo took it and looked down at it.

The order read: "Zhao Weiguo is hereby appointed as the commander of the assault battalion, directly under the brigade headquarters, effective immediately." Below was the brigade headquarters' official seal, the red ink still wet, smeared on the corner of the paper.

He read the order twice and looked up at Li Yunlong.

Li Yunlong's face was a little pale, and the corners of his mouth were pulled down, as if he had just eaten a raw persimmon.

"Back in my day, when I was a battalion commander," he pointed to the paper with his finger, "I fought for three years, rising from platoon leader to company commander, and then from company commander to battalion commander. I was shot twice in between and almost died at Xinkou. You, kid, you rose through the ranks in one battle."

Zhao Weiguo did not respond.

Staff Officer Luo stood to the side, his voice still hoarse, but better than last time. He had a new piece of tape on his lips, which moved as he spoke.

"The brigade commander said this kid has a talent for fighting."

Li Yunlong snorted, not refuting, but his expression wasn't much better. He circled Zhao Weiguo twice, his boots crunching on the gravel, before finally stopping.

"You brat, from now on, will you still call me 'Regimental Commander' when you see me?"

Zhao Weiguo looked at him.

"Call."

Li Yunlong's expression softened a little, but he remained tense.

"What's your name?"

"Commander Li."

Li Yunlong opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then swallowed it back. He took out a cigarette from his pocket, put it in his mouth, but didn't light it, and turned to walk up the slope.

Staff Officer Luo lowered his voice only after Li Yunlong had walked far away.

"The brigade commander also said something."

Zhao Weiguo looked at him.

"He said, 'You have full authority over the assault battalion. But there's one condition—' Staff Officer Luo paused, '...they must be ready for combat within three months.'"

Zhao Weiguo did not answer.

Staff Officer Luo took out another piece of paper from his bag, larger than the previous one, with dense writing on it.

"This is the organization and roster of the assault battalion. Take a look."

Zhao Weiguo took it and looked down at it.

Organizational strength: 500 men. Three infantry companies, one artillery platoon, and one battalion headquarters. Actual strength: 350 men, 150 short.

He flipped down.

Composition of the troops: Fifty veterans, drawn from various battalions. Three hundred new recruits, conscripted locally, mainly farmers.

Weapons and equipment: 197 Hanyang rifles, 32 Type 38 rifles, 5 Czech light machine guns, 400 hand grenades, and 2 mortars.

Ammunition: 8,000 rounds of 7.9 caliber rifle ammunition, 1,200 rounds of 6.5 caliber rifle ammunition, 3,000 rounds of light machine gun ammunition, and 24 rounds of mortar shells.

He mentally calculated the ammunition count: less than thirty rounds per person on average. Enough for a medium-sized battle, but no surplus.

He flipped to the last line.

Battalion Headquarters Personnel: One battalion commander, one deputy battalion commander (vacant), one staff officer (vacant), two communications officers, one medic, and five cooks.

The positions of deputy battalion commander and staff officer were both vacant.

He folded the paper and looked up at Staff Officer Luo.

"I'll choose the deputy battalion commander and staff officer myself?"

Staff Officer Luo nodded.

"The brigade commander said you have full authority to handle this."

Zhao Weiguo stuffed the paper into his pocket, stood up, and glanced towards the valley entrance. There stood several new soldiers, wearing gray cotton-padded jackets; some were rubbing their hands, some were stamping their feet, and some were squatting on the ground drawing things in the soil with twigs.

"These people," Zhao Weiguo pointed over there, "all arrived today?"

Staff Officer Luo nodded.

"This morning, veterans drawn from various battalions, along with new recruits from the local area, were all brought here. The brigade commander said you have to take them with you today."

Zhao Weiguo looked at the soldiers but didn't say anything.

He counted about thirty people standing at the mouth of the valley, and there was another group further down the slope in the distance, even more numerous, but he couldn't see them clearly. The wind made their cotton-padded coats billow out, like a pile of dusty sacks.

Chen An ran down the slope, clutching a notebook in his hand. The cover of the notebook had the words "Assault Battalion" written on it, in the handwriting of Staff Officer Luo.

"Brother Zhao," he ran up, panting, "Zhou Yuan asked me to ask you, what's going on with the gifted youth program?"

Zhao Weiguo looked at him.

"Come with me."

Chen An paused for a moment, then grinned, but stopped laughing as if he felt it wasn't appropriate to laugh at this moment.

"What about the staffing for the gifted youth program...?"

"Assign them to the assault battalion headquarters," Zhao Weiguo said. "You few will be my messengers and orderly."

Chen An nodded vigorously, turned around and ran up the slope, but stopped after a few steps and looked back.

"Brother Zhao, you've really become a battalion commander?"

Zhao Weiguo didn't answer, and continued to look down at the staffing list.

Seeing that Zhao Weiguo ignored him, Chen An turned and ran away.

After Chen An had walked away, Staff Officer Luo took out a cloth bag from his pocket. The bag was old and had oil stains on it.

"This is what the brigade commander asked me to bring to you."

Zhao Weiguo took it and opened it.

Inside was a Mauser C96 pistol, its barrel blued, the grip wrapped with old strips of cloth, and a faint scratch on the bolt. Beside the gun was a note with six words written on it: "The gun is good, but where is the person?"

Zhao Weiguo read the note twice, then stuffed it into his pocket, folding it together with the staffing list.

Staff Officer Luo watched him put the gun away and said in a low voice.

"The brigade commander said this gun was the one he used when he fought at Pingxingguan. He replaced it with a new one later, and this one had been sitting at the bottom of a box ever since. He said, 'I'm giving it to you, not so you can just use it as decoration.'"

Zhao Weiguo tucked the gun into his waistband; the butt of the gun was pressing against his ribs, which was a bit uncomfortable.

He walked towards the valley entrance, took a few steps, stopped, and glanced back at the large wooden crates. The crates were still covered with tarpaulins, and the guards had been changed; they were personally selected by the brigade commander, and they stood ramrod straight with their guns pointed outwards.

He didn't look at it much, turned around and continued walking.

When the soldiers at the valley entrance saw him coming, some stood up straight, some were still rubbing their hands, and some stared at him blankly, as if they were looking at a rare object.

Zhao Weiguo walked up to them and stopped.

He glanced at them. Of the thirty-odd people, seven or eight were older, their faces weathered, their hands calloused, their posture loose but their feet firm—they were veterans. The rest were all young, some with pale faces, their cotton-padded jacket sleeves too short, revealing their frostbitten wrists.

An old soldier emerged from the crowd, his face pockmarked, an old scar on his chin, and the cuffs of his cotton-padded jacket worn white. He sized up Zhao Weiguo, his brows furrowing.

"You're the battalion commander?"

Zhao Weiguo nodded.

The veteran's brow furrowed even more, his lips twitched as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed it back. He stepped back, stood at the edge of the crowd, holding his gun, and said nothing more.

A new recruit next to him whispered to another, "How old is this kid?" The other shook his head and didn't answer.

Zhao Weiguo heard them but ignored them. There was no point in saying anything more; these soldiers needed to be subdued by force.

He crouched down and picked up a Hanyang rifle from the ground. There was a crack in the stock, held together with wire. He pulled back the bolt, but it was stiff; it took him two tries to open it. There was rust in the chamber. He touched it with his finger; the rust wasn't deep, but it needed cleaning.

He pushed the bolt back, stood up, and returned the gun to the recruit.

"Have you cleaned this gun?"

The recruit paused for a moment, then shook his head.

Zhao Weiguo didn't say anything and continued walking. He passed a row of people and stopped in front of an old soldier. The old soldier was holding a Type 38 rifle with the character "Li" engraved on the stock.

"Is this gun yours?"

The veteran nodded.

"How long have I been following you?"

"Four years." The veteran's voice was a little hoarse. "Brought back from Xinkou."

Zhao Weiguo glanced at the muzzle; it wasn't plugged, and there was ash inside. He didn't say anything and continued walking forward.

He looked at all thirty-odd people. Some guns were usable, some weren't, and some were usable but their owners didn't know how to maintain them. He made a rough estimate in his mind and walked back to the front of the crowd.

"From now on, you are members of the assault battalion."

No one spoke.

"The rules for the assault battalion will be established tomorrow. Today, we only need to do one thing—follow me."

He turned and walked out of the valley without looking back.

He heard scattered footsteps behind him; some people were catching up, while others remained standing. He didn't turn around, and he didn't stop walking.

Chen An and Zhou Yuan ran down the slope, each carrying a bundle containing the belongings of the gifted youth program: several files, a roll of oilcloth, two screwdrivers, and half a box of nails. Zhou Yuan was panting, his face flushed, but his eyes were bright.

"Brother Zhao, we're here."

Zhao Weiguo didn't even turn his head.

"Keep up."

Four boys ran into the group, following behind Zhao Weiguo. Chen An glanced back at the valley entrance; the large wooden crates were still there, the tarpaulins billowing in the wind before collapsing again.

The group emerged from the valley and onto the main road. The road was a dirt road, its ruts frozen solid, crunching underfoot. Zhao Weiguo led the way, his steps slow but steady. Behind him, over three hundred people stretched out in a long line; some walked in orderly rows, others sparsely, and some were still looking back.

Staff Officer Luo stood at the mouth of the valley, watching the line stretch longer and thinner. He took out a pencil from his pocket and wrote a line in his notebook: Assault Battalion, Establishment Date, 350 Men.

He put away his pencil and watched Zhao Weiguo's retreating figure. His back was small; he walked at the very front of the group, a Mauser pistol tucked into his waistband, the old cloth strip on the handle fluttering in the wind.

Three hundred and fifty people.

Are they capable of fighting a war?