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

As dawn broke, the low-hanging gray clouds resembled an old rag soaked in oil. The team hurried along the shadows of the mountain ridge, using rocks and withered trees for cover. But the path gradually became barren, and a completely exposed, bare slope lay before them.

Just as He Yuzhu was about to give the order to sprint, a buzzing sound like mosquitoes suddenly came from above the clouds.

"Scatter! Find cover—"

The roar was drowned out by the thunderous roar of the engines. Four P-51 Mustang fighters tore through the clouds and swooped down, their wing guns spewing fire, 12.7mm bullets sweeping across the mountain ridge like sickles. Rocks flew, dry grass caught fire, and earth exploded into towering plumes of smoke.

"Ugh—!"

A short howl came from nearby. He Yuzhu turned his head and saw that the usually jovial recruit had half his body torn apart by bullets, blood splattering on the stiff face of the soldier beside him. Another veteran was writhing, clutching his severed leg, cursing and blood splattering from between his teeth.

The enemy plane pulled up, tracing an arrogant arc, and swooped down again. This time, its target was the mule train in the middle of the column. Bullets pierced the animals' bodies, saddles exploded with screams of agony, and ammunition boxes spewed sparks and shrapnel, the crackling sounds like the furnace of hell.

He Yuzhu huddled in a shallow ditch, his fingernails digging into the frozen earth. He stared at the iron birds painted with white stars, watching them ravage the hillside like cats toying with mice. Rifles? Machine guns? They probably wouldn't even leave a scratch on the armor. A cold sense of powerlessness gripped his heart—like standing naked in a downpour, with no choice but to endure.

Only when the enemy planes ran out of ammunition and their buzzing faded into the distance did the company drag and pull itself into the dense forest. A headcount of casualties: three dead, five seriously wounded, and the number of minor wounded was negligible. The ammunition load was completely destroyed, and only the charred shell remained of the spare radio.

Blood and smoke lingered in the air, and a raging fury, like magma, surged within the silence.

"Damn it!" Old Geng punched the tree trunk, tearing his hand open. "If you've got the guts, fight me on the ground! What's with all the show-off up there!"

Zhang Dashan bandaged the wounded with a livid face, but his fingers trembled uncontrollably.

He Yuzhu silently rose and walked towards the three bodies covered with tattered military uniforms. Lifting a corner, he saw that they were all newly recruited soldiers; there was one face whose name he hadn't even memorized yet. The young face was frozen in horror and pain, and frost clung to his eyelashes.

He stood at the edge of the forest, gazing at the horizon where the enemy planes had disappeared. The system panel glowed dimly in his mind; the more than one million points seemed like a silent mockery.

This can't go on any longer.

He accessed the armory, his gaze sweeping across it. Anti-aircraft guns were too large targets and too complex to operate. He needed a concealed weapon, controllable by a single soldier, capable of a single, lethal strike. His thoughts finally settled on a simple, gray icon:

[Javelin Prototype Man-to-Man Air Defense Missile System (Early Experimental Version)]

It includes a launch tube, aiming unit, battery cooling unit, and two missiles. Basic training is required for operation.

Technical explanation: The prototype weapon was obtained through highly classified channels and is based on the principle of infrared tracking.

Redemption requires 80000 points.

Eighty thousand. He Yuzhu's eyes twitched. But looking at the soldiers who were forever asleep on the ground, and thinking of the field hospital that might be turned into a sea of ​​fire in three days, this number suddenly became bearable.

"Exchange for two sets."

[Redeem successful. Points consumed: 80000.]

Current points: 1,143,398.

The heavy launch assembly fell into the system space. He Yuzhu did not retrieve it immediately, but instead first instilled the operation manual and simulation training videos into himself. Then he summoned Lao Geng and veteran Sun Changgui—the two most skilled and steady men in the entire company at handling machinery.

"When I was studying captured data before, I saw a concept for a special anti-aircraft weapon," he explained in a low voice, his gaze sweeping over the two men's surprised and doubtful faces. "Now, we happen to have obtained two sets of experimental prototypes."

There was no time to ask questions; the emergency training began in a secluded mountain valley: target identification, locking, firing, and teleportation—the exhaust plume and smoke would reveal their location, a matter of life and death.

At dawn on the third day, the reconnaissance company infiltrated the high ground on both sides of the canyon, the only route to the hospital. The terrain was narrow, and enemy aircraft would have to lower their altitude if they attacked.

A chilly morning mist drifted by. He Yuzhu lay behind a rock, a cold launch tube beside him. Old Geng and Sun Changgui, carrying another body, lay prone on the opposite slope.

Around eight o'clock in the morning, sunlight pierced through the clouds. The familiar roar of engines approached from the southeast—four Mustangs were lined up in attack formation, their altitude extremely low, and the bomb racks on their bellies were clearly visible.

He Yuzhu's heart pounded in his ears. He lowered his voice and spoke into the miniature radio: "Hold on... wait until it enters the middle of the canyon... obey my command."

A herd of wild horses roared into the canyon, their wingtips whipping up snow. Inside the cockpit of the lead aircraft, the pilot's helmet swayed casually.

Right now.

"Lock on the second and third aircraft—launch!"

"Swoosh—Boom!"

Two muffled thunderous explosions rang out, and two missiles, trailing fiery white tails, shot through the air, heading straight for the giant steel bird!

The canyon was narrow, and the enemy planes didn't have time to maneuver. A missile struck the second plane squarely in the belly.

boom--!

A fireball burst into the sky, and the fighter jet turned into a sky full of burning fragments, falling like a rain of hellish flowers.

Another bomb grazed the tail of the third aircraft, triggering the proximity fuse. Fragments pierced the engine and wing. The wounded Mustang trembled violently, trailing black smoke and neighing mournfully. After tilting and climbing for a few seconds, it finally crashed towards the mountains, with a muffled explosion heard in the distance.

The remaining two enemy planes, terrified, pulled up and fled the canyon in a sorry state.

A deathly silence enveloped the valley, save for the crackling of burning wreckage and the howling of billowing smoke.

Seconds later, a long-suppressed roar erupted from the two high grounds. Soldiers leaped out of their cover, waving their hats and shouting, embracing each other and pounding their shoulders. Those two falling flames burned away all the humiliation that had accumulated over the past few days.

He Yuzhu slowly lowered the scorching hot launcher, his arm trembling slightly from the recoil and tension. Gazing at the lingering smoke drifting in the air, he felt no joy, only a cold confirmation: the path had been cleared, but it had become even narrower.

That afternoon, retribution came.

It wasn't fighter jets, but swarms of B-29 bombers, carpet-bombing the suspected launch site and surrounding forests from higher altitudes. Massive explosions followed, mountains trembled, and the forests were transformed into infernos. Although the reconnaissance company had moved out in advance, everyone knew—they had exposed something the enemy feared.

Even bigger troubles followed.

Before the smoke from the bombing had cleared, the division's investigation team arrived. The leader, Zheng Guotao, was around forty years old, with a thin face and piercing eyes. His white military uniform was neatly buttoned. He didn't go to the company headquarters, but went straight to the temporary camp at the foot of the mountain to find He Yuzhu, who was directing the repair of the artillery shelter.

"Comrade He Weiguo." Zheng Guotao's voice was flat, yet carried an undeniable authority. He opened the folder, his gaze sharp as a knife: "Our military's equipment inventory does not contain any man-portable air defense weapons capable of hitting high-speed flying targets. Please explain: the weapon's origin, model, operator training details, and—why it was used without authorization?"

The soldiers around them stopped what they were doing, and the air froze. Instructor Wang Fuli stood not far away, his brow furrowed.

He Yuzhu straightened up and brushed the dirt off his hands. He met Zheng Guotao's sharp gaze, took a deep breath, and began to recount the story that had been repeatedly woven in his mind, a story that intertwined truth and falsehood.

A cold wind sweeps across the scorched earth, and a new round of competition has silently begun.