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

Mad dog.

That one word was all that remained in He Yuzhu's mind. The American troops who had retreated and were trapped at Dead Eagle Ridge were now no different from mad dogs. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they were desperately trying to tear a path to survival. They had long since run out of shells and bullets, and their attack relied entirely on piling up men, wave after wave, without stopping.

This is the fifth charge.

The position was eerily quiet. It wasn't that there was no sound, but the sporadic gunfire and shouts were frozen in the bitter cold; the air filled with icy shards. Of the remaining twenty-three men, including himself, only one was still breathing. Company Commander Zhao's arm was grazed by shrapnel, the hastily bandaged wound frozen with dark red ice. Political Instructor Fang was missing—some said they saw him carrying a demolition charge down the hillside.

Black-faced Li was curled up behind a rock, his whole body huddled together, his face covered in frost, his breath growing weaker and weaker. He Yuzhu crawled over and shook his shoulder. "Platoon leader? Old Li?"

Li, with his dark face, twitched his eyelids but couldn't open them, and a muffled gurgling sound rolled out of his throat.

"We can't stay any longer." Company Commander Zhao's voice was hoarse like a broken bellows. "We just received orders... to retreat. Alternate cover and move towards Assembly Point Two."

Retreat? Where to retreat to? With snow covering the mountains and fields, and temperatures at minus forty degrees Celsius, going out would be tantamount to suicide. But staying meant certain death.

No one objected. The survivors were already numb, mechanically packing what they could carry—mainly guns and the last few grenades. He Yuzhu slung the frozen Garand over his shoulder, walked to Blackface Li, bent down, put the heavy arm around his neck, and with a strong push, lifted the man onto his back.

Li, with his dark face, was large and heavy. He Yuzhu's own feet were already numb with cold, and his knees buckled, almost causing him to fall into the snow. A hand reached out beside him—it was Shuanzi. His face was swollen like a steamed bun, only his eyes were still bright. "Squad leader, let me lend a hand."

"No need, take care of yourself." He Yuzhu gritted his teeth, steadied himself, and weighed the person on his back. "Let's go."

Twenty-three men, forming a crooked line, waded into the knee-deep snow. The wind chased after them from behind, like countless icicles piercing the tears in their cotton-padded coats. The Eagle Ridge behind them gradually receded into the distance, and they could still faintly hear sporadic gunfire—whether it was American troops clearing the battlefield or something else, they didn't know.

Every step felt like walking on a knife's edge. It wasn't just pain, but a numbness and stiffness that seeped into his bones. He Yuzhu gasped for breath, his exhaled breath fogging his face and instantly freezing into an icy shell. The black-faced Li on his back seemed to have regained some consciousness, mumbling a curse, his voice barely audible.

[Successfully completed the mission of blocking the enemy at Dead Eagle Ridge, delaying the retreat of the main enemy force.]

[Based on the assessment of combat intensity and duration, you will receive +5000 battlefield points.]

Current battlefield score: 224398 + 5000 = 229398 points.

The points notification flashed by coldly, offering no warmth whatsoever.

About an hour later, a sheltered mountain hollow appeared ahead, with a shallower snow cover. Company Commander Zhao signaled for a rest—any further on, and they would be exhausted. The group collapsed onto the snow, too weak even to reach for their rations.

He Yuzhu carefully put Black-faced Li down, letting him lean against the rock. Old Geng came over and handed him a flat water bottle filled with frozen ice. "Squad leader, lick this to moisten your throat."

He Yuzhu shook his head and looked at Company Commander Zhao. Company Commander Zhao was holding a worn-out compass, trying to find his way in the gray sky, his brows furrowed in a deep frown.

Just then, seven or eight figures emerged from the sparse forest edge opposite the ravine. They were wearing bulky winter coats and helmets, and slowly dispersed with guns in hand—a group of stragglers from the American army.

They discovered each other almost simultaneously.

The air seemed to freeze. The American troops were clearly stunned, not expecting to encounter the Chinese People's Volunteer Army in this desperate situation, especially since they outnumbered them.

He Yuzhu reacted the fastest. He leaned against the rock, his right hand supporting the dark-faced Li, and his left hand swiftly drew the M1911 pistol from his waist—he had kept the gun close to his body, warming it with his body heat, so it hadn't completely frozen.

"beat!"

The moment the shout left his mouth, his left hand had already pulled the trigger. His posture was awkward, relying entirely on the strength of his wrist and arm to stabilize the gun.

boom! boom! boom!

Gunshots rang out across the deathly silent snowfield, exceptionally piercing. At a distance of less than fifty meters, He Yuzhu barely needed to aim, relying entirely on intuition and the sliver of motion detection granted by his eagle eye. An American soldier, who had just raised his carbine, saw a cloud of blood erupt from his helmet and fell backward. Another tried to take cover behind a tree, but a bullet followed and pierced his ribs, causing him to collapse to the ground as well.

He fired with his left hand, the recoil making his hand numb, but he didn't stop, firing bursts, then bursts again. The gunfire became a signal, and the soldiers paralyzed in the snow struggled to raise their weapons, sporadic rifle shots joining the counterattack.

The American stragglers, already shaken, were thrown into disarray by the swift and precise attack. They fired a few shots haphazardly before turning and disappearing into the woods.

He Yuzhu emptied his magazine, quickly replaced it with a new one, and fired two more shots at the fleeing figure, taking down one person. The forest fell silent, leaving only a few corpses and the bright red stains on the snow—which were quickly frozen by the bitter cold.

"Check the battlefield, replenish the guns, take whatever you can, and move on!" Company Commander Zhao roared, drawing his pistol as he did so.

He Yuzhu lowered his gun, and only then did a sharp, aching pain shoot through his left wrist. He glanced at the American soldiers on the ground, his heart calm and indifferent, only a cold confirmation: it was a matter of life and death. He crouched down and quickly searched a corpse, finding two magazines and a few pieces of hard candy, which he stuffed into his pocket.

Shuanzi crawled over, panting, and said, "Squad leader... your left-handed pistol is so accurate too..."

"It was forced out of us," He Yuzhu replied briefly, putting his pistol back in its case and slinging Blackface Li back over his shoulder. Old Geng and Little Shandong silently distributed the chocolates and canned goods they had taken from the American soldiers.

The group set off again. Their steps were heavier, and no one dared to stop.

They arrived at the so-called "safe zone"—which was actually another slightly sheltered ravine with a few makeshift tents—in the middle of the night. When He Yuzhu handed the black-faced Li to the medic, his legs went weak, and he sat down directly in the snow.

He tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn't obey him. He looked down and pulled off his cotton shoes and foot bindings, which were already frozen solid and almost stuck to his skin—by ​​the dim light of the lantern shining from the tent, he saw that his ten toes had turned a deep purplish-black, swollen and shiny, and completely numb.