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

That attack shattered the heavens.

The retreat was ten times more difficult than the infiltration. They had barely left the hellish "Wild Boar Ridge" when their pursuers closed in. First, sporadic gunfire pierced the pre-dawn darkness, bullets whizzing past and sparking against the rocks. Then, flares were launched one after another, their stark white light illuminating the valley like another world, making their long shadows the most conspicuous targets.

He Yuzhu sprinted forward, his lungs burning with pain, and growled at the communications soldier, Shi Tou: "Have you made contact with the rendezvous point? Tell them there's at least a platoon behind us! Maybe more!"

Stone clutched his prized radio tightly, his fingers flying across the knobs, his face covered in sweat and cement dust. He cried out urgently, "The signal is terrible...they're trying..."

"No more waiting! Follow Plan Two and retreat to Minefield No. 3!" He Yuzhu made a decisive decision. He knew that he couldn't put all his hopes on the radio at this moment. Minefield No. 3 had a complex terrain, with crisscrossing ravines, making it a desperate situation.

The squad immediately turned, darting into the more rugged mountains like startled deer. The pursuers were also seasoned veterans, closing in relentlessly, machine gun bullets sweeping into the mud from their heels. One soldier was a fraction of a step slower, and a bullet instantly tore a bloody gash in his calf. He groaned and staggered.

"Hold him down! Don't stop!" He Yuzhu shouted back sharply, but he himself moved slowly, raised his gun and fired a short burst in the direction of the pursuers, not seeking to hit them, but only to suppress them for a moment.

The group stumbled and fell towards the edge of the minefield. He Yuzhu remembered there was a half-collapsed abandoned mine shaft here. The entrance was damp and smelled musty. "Into the shaft! Quickly!"

Seven men scrambled into the darkness. Just as the wounded were dragged inside, a muffled explosion and a furious roar echoed from outside—the pursuers had stepped on a combination of tripwire and bounding mines. They were temporarily safe, but not a place to linger. The enemy was surely mobilizing troops to encircle them.

He Yuzhu leaned against the cold rock wall, panting heavily, his mind racing: nine men set off, seven were still able to move, one was seriously injured, ammunition was running out, and outside the cave were dozens of American soldiers with bloodshot eyes.

"We can't just wait to die." He licked his dry, bleeding lips; the metallic taste brought him a little clarity. "We have to rush out and get to the rendezvous point."

They didn't linger. Taking advantage of the moment when the enemy was stunned by the landmines and reorganizing, He Yuzhu led the way out, choosing a more concealed but circuitous ravine to stealthily advance. Everyone held their breath, their steps as light as cats, their ears ringing and their eyes scanning every direction.

As dawn broke, morning mist blanketed the mountain valleys, drastically reducing visibility. The fog provided cover, but also concealed deadly danger. Just when they thought they had temporarily escaped their pursuers and were approaching the rendezvous area, a low roar of engines and the crunching of tracks crushing rocks came from behind the bend ahead.

He Yuzhu's heart sank, and he quickly gave a hand signal. Everyone immediately rushed into the roadside drainage ditch and behind the rubble. He cautiously peeked out, peering through the thin morning mist—

Three M26 Pershing tanks, in a somewhat irregular column, were slowly advancing along the dirt road. Each tank was followed by a jeep carrying seven or eight fully armed infantrymen, their guns aimlessly pointed at the hillsides on either side. This did not resemble an attacking force with a clear objective, but rather a reinforced patrol, or hunters searching for these "escaped fish."

It was truly a case of misfortunes never coming singly. He Yuzhu shrank back, his mind racing: Detour? Time was of the essence; pursuers could catch up at any moment. Charge through? His rifle and submachine gun were no match for the armor of a tank. His only heavy firepower consisted of a bazooka with only one round left and a few bundled explosive charges.

To fight or not to fight?

He glanced at his comrades. Everyone's face was tired and tense, their eyes bloodshot, but their fierce determination hadn't faded. He quickly unfolded the map, which was now soft from being soaked in sweat, and pointed his finger at the rendezvous point—less than three kilometers ahead, where the armored unit was blocking the vital passage.

Points... still a long way off. The cold numbers burned in his mind. These iron turtles and accompanying infantry in front of him, weren't they just moving "points"? This thought made his throat dry, filled with both a bloodthirsty urge and a deep sense of guilt. He dug his palms hard with his nails.

"Let's do it!" He lowered his voice, a slight tremor in his resolute determination. "Same old routine: strike the head and cut off the tails, then destroy the middle! Use the bazookas to take out the first and last vehicles, and use explosives to blow up the tracks of the middle one! Leave the infantry to the machine guns and grenades! Be quick, hit and run, no lingering!"

There was no time for details; it all depended on the tacit understanding honed through daily drills. Two demolition experts, carrying explosive charges, crept out like geckos along the ditch wall, using the foggy terrain to their advantage as they crept towards the center of the tank column. The bazooka gunner and his assistant were also in position.

He Yuzhu grabbed a captured Browning light machine gun, checked the ammunition belt, and whispered, "Wait for my signal."

Time passed amidst the roar of tanks and the tremors of the ground. He Yuzhu could even see the commander of the lead tank, half-exposed on the turret, peering through binoculars into the fog.

It's now!

He pulled the trigger sharply, and the machine gun spewed fire, bullets raining down on the jeeps and infantry behind the lead tank. "Swoosh—Boom!" Almost simultaneously, the bazooka gunner opened fire, and rockets, trailing white smoke, slammed into the side of the lead Pershing's turret. A flash of fire and thick smoke erupted, and the tank was paralyzed.

The attack came too suddenly. The tank at the rear of the column tried to reverse, but the assistant gunner had already loaded the last rocket and fired it again at extremely close range, accurately hitting the engine compartment at the rear, and that tank was also rendered immobile.

Two huge fireballs and black smoke suddenly erupted from under the left track of the middle Pershing! The heavy track snapped, and the vehicle tilted abruptly, unable to move.

All three tanks were destroyed in an instant.

The infantrymen in the jeep jumped off in a panic, seeking cover and firing wildly in the direction of the gunfire. The other soldiers lying in ambush on He Yuzhu's side opened fire at the same time, a hail of rifle and submachine gun bullets mixed with grenades raining down, and the narrow mountain road was instantly filled with flying blood and screams.

The battle was intense and brief. He Yuzhu had just emptied a belt of ammunition and was about to replace it when he caught a glimpse of a wounded American soldier leaning against the wheel of a jeep. The soldier was trembling as he raised his M1 carbine and aimed it at a young soldier throwing grenades not far away.

"Little Shandong! Get out of the way!" He Yuzhu's pupils shrank suddenly. Without thinking, he lunged forward and raised his machine gun to try to block.

"Bang!"

The bullet grazed the outside of his raised arm, a searing pain exploding instantly; his sleeve tore, and blood gushed out. He groaned, having already shoved the soldier called Xiao Shandong aside. The grenade Xiao Shandong had dropped rolled to the side, thankfully unexploded.

Ignoring the excruciating pain in his arm, He Yuzhu turned his head and saw that the wounded soldier was still about to fire. He picked up the machine gun with one hand and finished off the enemy with a short burst.

"Commander! Your hand!" Xiao Shandong cried out in alarm, his face turning deathly pale.

"A superficial wound! I won't die!" He Yuzhu roared through gritted teeth, cold sweat beading on his forehead. The wound wasn't deep, but blood was gushing out. His enhanced physique seemed to be working; despite the intense pain, he could still move his arm.

At this moment, the turret of the middle Pershing, with its broken tracks, began to slowly rotate. Its coaxial machine gun spewed fire, bullets sending stone chips flying and making it difficult for the crew to look up. Inside the vehicle, the enemy fought like cornered beasts!

"Rocket launcher!" He Yuzhu roared.

"Out of ammo!" the shooter replied anxiously.

He Yuzhu's eyes quickly scanned the area and saw an M9A1 bazooka and two rockets lying beside the dead enemy soldier. He rushed over, picked up the rocket launcher, and shouldered it with one hand (his injured left arm barely supported him). Without time to use the scope, he aimed at the side of the rampaging Pershing turret by feel and pulled the trigger.

"Swoosh—Boom!"

The rocket's trajectory veered off course, yet miraculously struck the junction between the turret and the vehicle body, unleashing a deafening roar and a burst of flames. The machine gun ceased firing abruptly, the turret's rotation stopped, and only thick smoke billowed from it.

"Retreat! Charge towards the rendezvous point!" He Yuzhu threw away the empty launcher and gave the order in a hoarse voice.

The survivors helped the wounded and sprinted desperately along the ravine. Scattered gunfire continued behind them, but they could no longer mount an effective pursuit. That armored patrol was utterly destroyed.

When the support troops came into view, almost everyone's legs buckled and they collapsed to the ground. He Yuzhu leaned against a rock, watching the medic rush to bandage his arm; the belated, excruciating pain finally gnawed at his nerves. He looked around: nine men had set out, seven had returned, all wounded, the seriously wounded being carried in shifts. The cost was heavy, but…

He closed his eyes. The cold, inaudible notification sound arrived as expected, pounding in his eardrums:

[Successfully ambushed and annihilated an enemy armored patrol (3 tanks, 3 jeeps, and approximately two squads of infantry).]

[Gain Battlefield Points: +400,000 (Dynamic efficiency bonus in effect).]

Battlefield Points: 9,828,398 + 400,000 = 10,228,398 points.

Ten million,220,000!

It exceeded! Not only did it meet the standard, it exceeded it by more than 200,000!

He Yuzhu suddenly opened his eyes, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. A surge of heat, a mixture of ecstasy, fear, and immense pressure, instantly washed away all his fatigue and pain. He had done it! The door to madness had been opened!

But after the initial euphoria came a deeper, more chilling cold. What's next? Should I really use it? How? What will happen after using it? Countless questions and the unknown consequences it might cause sent a chill down his spine.

The medic's bandaging action pulled him back to reality. He looked at the blood-soaked bandage on his arm, at his comrades around him, some sitting, some lying, all wounded but tenaciously alive, and then at the ever-present smoke and fire in the direction of Shangganling in the distance.

The final step has been taken.

But the real choices are only just beginning.