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

The door to the General Staff meeting room opened, and the smell of smoke rushed out first. He Yuzhu stepped in sideways, stepped on a cigarette butt, crushed it, and the tobacco stuck into the crack in the floor. People were sitting on both sides of the long table, some looking down at documents, others scribbling on notebooks, the air so stuffy that it made their throats tight.

Commander Chen stood before the giant map, his pointer pointing to the border line. He turned around, glanced at He Yuzhu, and gestured with his chin toward the empty seat. "Sit."

He Yuzhu sat down. The artillery commander opposite him stubbed out his cigarette, leaving a small mountain of ashtrays, and coughed.

"The Soviets have three divisions. Over five hundred tanks, eight hundred armored vehicles, and over a hundred helicopters. That training ground across the way has now been converted into an attack launch site." Commander Chen tossed a intelligence report onto the table, the pages sliding open to reveal several black-and-white photographs. He Yuzhu picked it up to look. Tanks were lined up in rows, their gun barrels pointing diagonally to the sky, camouflage nets hanging from their bodies, the corners fluttering in the wind.

The artillery commander spoke up. "Old Chen, we have over a thousand cannons; that should be enough to give them a run for their money."

Commander Chen didn't reply. He was silent for a few seconds, then picked up a cigarette from the table, didn't light it, and crushed it in his palm. "Your artillery is fine for the front lines. But what about the depth? If they retreat a bit, you won't be able to reach them."

The artillery commander fell silent. Commander Chen looked at He Yuzhu. "Hey, how far does your rocket launcher have?"

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the front of the map. The pointer was pointed in that ravine, thirty kilometers from the border. He moved the pointer down five centimeters. "The 122mm one, twenty kilometers, can't reach it. The newly modified one, forty kilometers, can get there."

A murmur began to circulate among the crowd. Commander Chen took the pointer from He Yuzhu and tapped it on the back of his hand. "Do you have that new rocket launcher?"

He Yuzhu said, "Yes. The Shenyang factory produced twelve units, which are currently being tested. We can transfer them over first."

Commander Chen put down his pointer, walked back to the head of the table, but didn't sit down. He leaned against the edge of the table, his hands supporting him. "Is that enough? Twelve gates, a salvo of 144 rounds, how large an area can that cover?"

He Yuzhu pointed to the ravine on the map. "One cannon fires twelve rounds, a salvo of one hundred and forty-four rounds. Covering 0.5 square kilometers. The Soviet tanks, armored vehicles, and personnel are packed together, with a high density. One salvo will destroy at least 30% of them."

Commander Chen stared at the map, his jaw clenching. "Thirty percent isn't enough. Even if all three of their divisions attack together, the remaining seventy percent can still break through."

He Yuzhu's pointer drew a circle behind the ravine. "The rocket artillery fires the first round, destroying the front lines. The artillery fires the second round, covering the second echelon. The air force fires the third round, bombing the command post and logistics. After three rounds, they will lose more than half of their forces. Even if the rest manage to charge, they won't have the stamina to sustain it."

The meeting room fell silent. Someone gently set down a teacup, the porcelain clinking softly against the table.

Commander Chen straightened up, walked to the window, and pulled the curtains open a crack. The sky outside was a hazy gray, making it difficult to see anything. He stood there for a few seconds, then turned around. "When will your rocket launcher arrive?"

He Yuzhu said, "Three days. Twelve gates, transported from Shenyang by special train, arrived at the border in three days."

Commander Chen walked back to the table, picked up the intelligence report, and then put it down again. "Three days. Good. In three days, you will personally go to the border and command the rocket artillery units. Artillery and air force will support you. Target: the Soviet assembly point."

He Yuzhu nodded. "Understood."

Commander Chen picked up the unlit cigarette again, put it in his mouth, but didn't light it. "Xiao He, how's the accuracy of your rocket launcher?"

He Yuzhu said, "The circular error probable (CEP) is fifty meters. It's a bit off against tanks, but enough to take down assembly points."

Commander Chen took the cigarette out of his mouth, crushed it, and the tobacco fell to the ground. "Go."

He Yuzhu stood up, his chair sliding back with a creak. He walked out, and as he reached the door, he heard Commander Chen say behind him, "Be careful."

He glanced back and saw that Commander Chen had already turned around, his back to him, staring at the map on the wall.

One of the corridor lights was out, and the green light from the emergency exit illuminated the terrazzo floor. Yang Xiaobing leaned against the wall, the bandage on his arm replaced with a new adhesive bandage, and a scab still formed at the corner of his mouth. He saw He Yuzhu and stood up straight.

"Commander, how is it?"

He Yuzhu walked out. "Three days later, to the border."

Yang Xiaobing paused for a moment, then followed. "To the border? For what?"

He Yuzhu didn't turn around. "Fire with rocket launchers."

Back in his office, it was getting dark. He Yuzhu sat down at his desk, picked up the phone, and dialed the Shenyang factory's number. It rang several times, but no one answered. He dialed again. This time, the call was answered; the voice on the other end was hoarse and had a heavy Northeastern accent.

"Where is the commander? I am Zhou Dehou."

"Old Zhou, when can those twelve rocket launchers be fired?" He Yuzhu asked.

Zhou Dehou was silent for two seconds. "The railcars haven't been approved yet. The railway bureau says there are a lot of military trains running lately, and they can't schedule them. Could you help coordinate something?"

He Yuzhu gripped the microphone and tapped his fingers twice on the table. "I'll handle the railcar issue. On your end, is the ammunition ready?"

Zhou Dehou said, "All set. Twelve rounds per cannon, one hundred and forty-four rounds in total. All packed into boxes, just waiting for the wagons."

He Yuzhu said, "Tomorrow. The wagons will arrive tomorrow. You load them onto the wagons and ship them out."

Zhou Dehou said, "Okay."

The call ended. He Yuzhu dialed the General Staff Transportation Department's number again. The person who answered was a young staff officer with a sharp voice.

"Director He, the railway bureau won't provide you with any wagons for your twelve cannons. They say it's because Soviet reconnaissance planes have been active lately, and they're afraid the special train will be bombed."

He Yuzhu said, "What's there to be afraid of with reconnaissance planes? We'll fly at night. We'll start at dusk and stop at dawn. We'll have anti-aircraft artillery units provide cover along the way."

The staff officer paused for two seconds. "Okay. I'll arrange it."

The phone call ended again. He Yuzhu leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The tank model with the spent cartridge case on the coffee table was crooked, the cannon barrel pointing downwards. He reached out to straighten it, bumped it, and a section of the track fell off. He picked it up, pressed it back in, but didn't press it firmly enough, and it fell off again. He held the track in his hand for a while, then put it back next to the tank.

At 2 a.m., the special train departed from Shenyang. He Yuzhu didn't go to the platform, but Zhou Dehou called. The wind was strong on the other end, making the receiver whistle loudly.

"Hey, the wagons have arrived. They're being loaded. They'll be ready to leave before dawn."

He Yuzhu said, "Call me when you reach the border."

Zhou Dehou said, "Okay."

He Yuzhu put down the phone and stood by the window. The streetlights outside were on, their dim light illuminating the large-character posters on the courtyard wall, the edges of the paper curling up and rustling in the wind. He looked at them for a while, then drew the curtains.

The special train traveled for two days and two nights. He Yuzhu didn't sleep a wink. In the early hours of the third day, Zhou Dehou called from the border, his voice weak and unsteady.

"Where is the gatekeeper? We've arrived. All twelve gates are here."

He Yuzhu asked, "Where's the ammunition?"

Zhou Dehou said, "All 144 shots arrived."

He Yuzhu hung up the phone, put on his coat, and walked out of the office. Two lights in the corridor were broken, and the green light from the emergency exit illuminated the ground, making the path uneven. Yang Xiaobing was waiting in the car, the engine still running, white smoke billowing from the exhaust pipe.

"Commander, shall we go?"

He Yuzhu sat down. "Let's go."

The car started moving. The streetlights outside the window flickered. He Yuzhu leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. His mind raced with those numbers: twelve cannons, one hundred and forty-four rounds of ammunition, 0.5 square kilometers, thirty percent.

As dawn broke, the train reached the border. He Yuzhu jumped off, his feet crunching on the gravel. The special train was parked on the platform, its doors still open, revealing wooden crates stacked inside, bound together with wire. Several soldiers were unloading the crates, chanting work songs. The crates fell to the ground with a thud, raising a cloud of dust.

Zhou Dehou walked over from the other end of the train car, wearing an old military cap stained with oil and holding a notebook in his hand.

"The location has been chosen. It's eight kilometers behind the border, on the back of a hillside. Soviet reconnaissance planes can't see it, and the artillery can't hit it either."

He Yuzhu said, "Take me to see it."

The jeep drove for twenty minutes before stopping at the edge of a birch forest. He Yuzhu got out and walked forward, stepping on fallen leaves. The forest was dense, the tree trunks gleaming white, and sunlight filtered through the gaps in the branches, casting dappled patterns on the ground. Passing through the forest, the view suddenly opened up. Twelve rocket launchers stood in a line, their barrels pointing towards the Soviet Union, gleaming a bluish-gray in the sunlight.

He Yuzhu walked to the front of the first cannon and reached out to touch the barrel. It was cool and rough, and he could feel the tiny weld seams in his palm. He squatted down to look at the wheels at the bottom; the tires were embedded with pebbles. He then stood up to look at the sight; the lens was covered with a layer of dust.

"Wipe it clean," He Yuzhu said.

The soldier beside him paused for a moment, then quickly wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He Yuzhu didn't say anything more, walked to the edge of the position, and raised his binoculars. The Soviet side of the ravine was shrouded in a gray haze, and he couldn't see the camp, but he knew they were there. Hundreds of tanks, hundreds of armored vehicles, and tens of thousands of people were crammed into that ravine.

Zhao Dayong rushed over from the other side of the border, his face covered in mud and his sleeves worn out.

"Chief He, things have been quite turbulent over there these past few days. Tank engines are running all the time, and helicopters are flying around. The scouts say they're distributing ammunition."

He Yuzhu lowered his binoculars. "Where are the anti-tank missiles?"

Zhao Dayong said, "Everyone's in position. We're just waiting for them to arrive."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He turned around and walked back to the command post. It was a canvas tent with a folding table and two folding chairs inside. A map was spread out on the table, its corners weighed down with stones. He stood in front of the table, staring at the map, his fingers pressing on the ravine, his fingernails turning white.

Zhou Dehou followed him in and stood to the side. "Commander He, when will the battle begin?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He picked up the phone and dialed the General Staff's number. The call was answered by Commander Chen.

"arrive?"

He Yuzhu said, "We've arrived. Twelve gates, one hundred and forty-four rounds. The position has been chosen."

Commander Chen was silent for a few seconds. "Wait for orders. Don't move yet."

He Yuzhu said, "Understood."

The call ended. He Yuzhu put down the receiver, stood at the tent entrance, and looked at the gray sky across the way. The clouds hung low, obscuring the sun. A wind blew in from the border, carrying a burnt smell; someone was burning something somewhere.

Yang Xiaobing walked over and stood beside him. "Commander, when will the Soviets make their move?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He put his hand in his pocket, felt for the tank track with the spent cartridge case—the one that had fallen off last night—and casually stuffed it in. It was metallic, cool, and the edges were a little prickly.

At night, the phone rang at the command post. He Yuzhu answered it, and it was Commander Chen on the other end, his voice very low.

"Xiao He, it's approved from above. The first round of rocket artillery fire will begin at four o'clock tomorrow morning. Artillery and air force will provide support."

He Yuzhu held the microphone. "Understood."

Commander Chen said, "After the fighting is over, we'll withdraw immediately. The Soviets will definitely retaliate."

He Yuzhu said, "I know."

The call ended. He Yuzhu stood by the window, looking out at the night. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, shining on the birch forest, making the tree trunks gleam silver. He turned around, picked up the phone, and dialed the artillery position's number.

"Old Zhou, it's four in the morning, get ready to fire."

There was a moment of silence on the other end. "Okay."

He Yuzhu put down the phone and sat down in a folding chair. There was footsteps outside the tent, light and soft, crunching on the gravel. He took the spent cartridge track out of his pocket, placed it on the table, and looked at it. A section of the track was broken and wouldn't go back in. He withdrew his hand from the table and closed the tent flap.

A cool night breeze blew in.