Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Starting with the Korean War, returning home to take charge

Old Sun slammed the paper on the table without saying a word. He Yuzhu picked it up and glanced at it—just a few words, written in pencil, crooked and messy, but every word was like a blow to the heart.

"The enemy's new tanks are expected to have frontal armor thickness exceeding 200 millimeters. Our anti-tank guns cannot penetrate them."

He put the paper down and pressed his finger on the corner.

"Have you tried it?"

Old Sun nodded. He lit a cigarette, took a puff, and then stubbed it out.

"We tried three shots. None of them penetrated. The gun barrel was red-hot."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He stood up, walked to the wall, and stared at the border map. The red circle marked the direction of the enemy's attack, and the arrow pointed towards them, not far from our defensive line.

"Where is he?"

Old Sun said.

"The front line. Zhao Dayong and the others are holding it. The news that came back yesterday was that the ground was shaking when that iron lump came over."

He Yuzhu turned around.

"I'll go take a look."

The truck bumped along the mountain road for more than four hours.

He Yuzhu leaned against the back of the truck, his back aching with every bump. They arrived completely dark; there was no moon, only the occasional red glow of cigarette butts in the trenches. He jumped off the truck, his feet sinking halfway into the soft soil.

There was a smell of gunpowder in the air, mixed with dirt and sweat. And a faint, almost imperceptible odor—he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew what it was.

The men in the trenches didn't stand up; they simply turned their heads, their eyes shining in the darkness. There was no welcome in those eyes, only something indescribable—hope? Doubt? Or the desperation of a dead end?

Zhao Dayong crawled out, his face covered in mud and with dark circles under his eyes. He saw He Yuzhu, paused for a moment, and then ran over.

"Director He, you've finally arrived."

He Yuzhu nodded.

"Where's the tank?"

Zhao Dayong pointed ahead.

"It's five kilometers away on the other side of the mountain. We go out for a stroll every morning and go back in the afternoon. We've fired our artillery, but they don't even acknowledge it." He paused, "It's like tickling them."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything and followed him forward.

Reaching a secluded spot, Zhao Dayong lay down and handed him the binoculars. He Yuzhu took them and looked in that direction. It was getting dark, and he couldn't see very clearly, but he could make out several large, dark figures lying there, like several moving graves.

"How many vehicles?"

Zhao Dayong said.

"One company. Twelve vehicles. Another one came yesterday."

He Yuzhu put down the binoculars.

"I'm bringing a new guy tomorrow."

Zhao Dayong looked at him, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed it back.

The truck arrived before dawn the next day.

The carriage was covered with tarpaulin, making it bulge. Several soldiers jumped down and lifted the tarpaulin—two cannons, with short, thick barrels, looking sturdy, unlike the ones they usually saw.

Zhao Dayong circled around three times, wanting to reach out and touch it, but then pulled back. He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve, leaving a dark mark.

"Where does it grow? What's this thing called?"

"It hasn't been named yet." He Yuzhu squatted down and tapped the cannon barrel lightly with his fingers, making a dull sound. "120mm smoothbore, specifically for dealing with that iron turtle."

Zhao Dayong swallowed hard.

"Can...can it be broken through?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer immediately. He looked at the weld mark on the cannon barrel that hadn't been smoothed out yet, and thought of the seven all-nighters he had spent in the workshop, the fragments that flew off during the third test, and Ma Yuejin saying with red eyes, "Dean, the materials are still not good enough."

"The theoretical data is correct." He finally spoke, his voice flat, as if reading a report, "Within 150 meters, the penetration depth is 250 meters."

Zhao Dayong was stunned for a moment.

"One hundred and fifty meters?"

He turned his head and looked at the darkness in the distance—enemy tanks were right behind them, and they would arrive at dawn. At 150 meters, he could see the numbers on the enemy turrets, and they could see his face too.

"It's a bit close," he said, his voice a little dry.

He Yuzhu stood up and patted the dirt off his hands.

"You can only wear it when you're close."

The anti-tank team was selected on short notice.

All five men were veterans. They had fought in several battles, seen blood, and knew fear. He Yuzhu called them together and made them squat on the ground to draw diagrams.

"The enemy's tanks have thick frontal armor, thin side armor, and even thinner rear armor. We won't attack the front; we'll attack the sides."

He drew several lines on the ground.

"Ambush them here. Wait for them to come close, then fire. 150 meters, open fire."

A soldier asked.

"Where to hit?"

He Yuzhu pointed to the side of the tank.

"Here. The gap between the turret and the hull. Shoot it in, and the people inside will be gone."

The five soldiers looked at each other. One of them, with a scar on his face—whom we later learned was named Wei Dayong, Old Lu's cousin—stared at the line for a long time before looking up.

"What if the shot misses?"

He Yuzhu looked at him.

"Then run."

Wei Dayong paused for a moment, then grinned.

"Can't outrun a tank."

He Yuzhu didn't laugh.

"Then don't miss."

I practiced for three days.

On the first day, only two out of five shots hit the target. After shooting, Wei Dayong squatted on the ground, staring at his hands. His hands were trembling.

"The wind direction wasn't calculated properly," he said, without looking up.

He Yuzhu didn't say anything, walked over, and readjusted the gun mount.

The next day, he fired four shots. Wei Dayong's hands were no longer shaking, but after firing, he still squatted down, staring at the target in the distance, and remained silent for a long time.

"150 meters is too close," a soldier next to him muttered quietly.

Wei Dayong stood up and kicked him.

"So what if we're closer? We can only see where we're hitting when we're closer."

On the evening of the third day, the last shell was fired, tearing a hole the size of a washbasin through the thick wooden planks simulating the side armor of a tank. Wei Dayong threw down the cannon, walked over, squatted in front of the hole, and reached out to touch the curled wood shavings.

He turned around and looked at He Yuzhu.

Her eyes were a little red, but she didn't say anything.

On the morning of the fourth day, the tanks did not arrive.

The sun rose, shining on the empty hillside. He Yuzhu lay behind a rock, staring at the road through his binoculars. One hour. Two hours. At ten o'clock, dust rose in the distance, and his heart skipped a beat.

coming.

Thirteen vehicles. One more than yesterday.

He Yuzhu cursed inwardly. The intelligence was inaccurate.

The tanks were getting closer. One thousand meters. Eight hundred meters. Five hundred meters. Three hundred meters—suddenly, the lead tank stopped.

He Yuzhu's pupils contracted slightly.

The turret was rotating, toward the direction where they were lying in ambush.

"They found out?" Wei Dayong's voice was very low, as if it were being squeezed out from between his teeth.

He Yuzhu didn't speak, staring at the tank. The turret circled once, then returned to its starting position. Then the tank continued moving forward.

It was just a routine observation.

Two hundred meters. One hundred and eighty meters. One hundred and fifty meters—

"beat!"

Five cannons fired simultaneously. But not five shots—only four.

The sixth cannon jammed.

Wei Dayong abandoned the misfired cannon and rushed to the one next to it. But it was too late. The four shells were fired, three tanks were smoking, and the remaining ten began to accelerate.

"Withdraw!" He Yuzhu roared.

Wei Dayong didn't retreat. He aimed the cannon at the nearest tank, manually loaded the shell, pushed it forward, and aimed—

The tank's machine gun fired. Bullets struck the mound of earth beside Wei Dayong, splashing dirt into his face.

He didn't dodge. He aimed at the gap and fired.

boom--

The shell penetrated between the turret and the hull. The tank's turret was blown off and crashed to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

Wei Dayong threw down the cannon and ran backward. Bullets chased after him, hitting his heels with a series of thuds.

When he jumped into the trench, he was panting heavily, his face a mixture of dirt and a smile.

"Six vehicles," he said.

He Yuzhu looked at him for two seconds.

"madman."

Wei Dayong grinned, revealing his teeth, which were stained yellow from smoking.

"Your shot was worth it."

By the time the captured tank was towed back, it was already completely dark.

He Yuzhu walked around it with a flashlight. The tracks were broken, and the side armor was torn open, revealing a charred interior with an indescribable stench. He crouched down, shining the flashlight beam into the hole.

There's a steel plate inside, twice as thick as the one next to it. Composite armor.

He reached out and touched it; it was cold, hard, and rough to the touch.

Ma Yuejin walked over from behind and stood next to him.

"This thing... is better than ours."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He looked at the gash torn open by the shell, at the twisted parts inside, and at the composite armor.

Strong. But it can penetrate.

He stood up and brushed the dust off his hands. A flashlight beam shone on the tank's turret. There was a white number there, starkly contrasting against the charred black background.

The voice in my head rang.

[Hidden Mission: Triggered by Researching Captured Enemy Tanks]

He Yuzhu turned off his flashlight. In the darkness, the tank stood there like a silent behemoth.

Wei Dayong's voice came from not far away.

"Where is the head of the household? Are we playing again tomorrow?"

He Yuzhu did not turn around.

"beat."

He walked towards the tent. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back.

The tank was still there; only a blurry outline could be seen in the darkness.

We need to figure out what's inside.