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

He Yuzhu switched the earphone from his left ear to his right ear.

The static was still there. It wasn't the radio—it was because the shells were falling so densely that the shockwaves traveled through the ground, making the air vibrate. He turned the volume down half a notch, and the sound from the other end finally became clear:

"Commander, this is the First Battalion! There are three pillboxes on the front of Position No. 3, facing interlocking fire. The First Company Commander is dead, and the Second Company Commander is seriously wounded. Less than forty are still breathing..."

The sound of cannon fire drowned out a few words. When it was restored, the person was different; his voice was as rough as sandpaper grinding iron.

"I am Zhang Chaorui. Give me thirty minutes, or I'll bring you my head."

He Yuzhu pulled the headphones down and hung them around his neck.

The rain had stopped long ago. Water was still dripping from the woods, pattering against the camouflage netting, one drop after another, like the slow ticking of a second hand. He leaned against the moss-covered rock, his left leg outstretched, his hand pressed against his knee.

His knuckles turned white. It took him a few seconds to realize it, and he moved his hand away.

Jiaoyan Mountain.

The map was in my head. The main peak was 760 meters above sea level. The gentle slope to the southeast was the closest, but it had already been riddled with artillery fire three times over; not a single tree remained to stop the bullets. There were three lines of barbed wire in front, a minefield 200 meters deep, and the firing range of the bunkers intersected to form a network.

The first battalion made three trips.

He pulled the map out of the waterproof bag and spread it on the stone. Old Lu and Yang Xiaobing came over, and the three of them, with six eyes, stared at the clump of pencils.

"There's no other way," Old Lu said in a muffled voice, as if he had a piece of iron in his mouth. "There's an iron plate right in front of us."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. His finger slid down from the main peak to the depression on the east side where the contour line was drawn.

The gully was eroded by rainwater. It's a dry gully during the dry season, but it fills with water during the rainy season. It's too narrow for a large group to pass, so even platoon-sized units have to squeeze along the cliff face.

He came here last year. He hid in this ditch from two artillery shells. There were enemy sentry posts at the mouth of the ditch, and he gambled at night while huddled in his bunker.

"Here." He pointed down with his finger.

Yang Xiaobing looked down for five seconds: "This communication route doesn't go to the top of the main peak; you have to climb over it halfway up the mountain."

"Climbing over there leads to the side and rear of Bunker No. 3," He Yuzhu said. "Slinging grenades in will silence the firing point."

Old Lu crushed the cigarette butt out on the sole of his shoe, and since he didn't have a new one, he just held it there.

"Deputy Division Commander, we don't have a direct radio connection with the 199th Division."

He Yuzhu peeled the map off the stone. Rainwater had soaked a small patch on the back of the paper, which he wiped with his thumb.

"Sent by someone."

Yang Xiaobing took half a step forward.

"I'll go."

He Yuzhu didn't reply immediately. His fingers were still pressed against the edge of the map, along the damp patch. His knuckles turned white again. He released his grip, pulled his hand back, and placed it on his knee.

Yang Xiaobing stood there waiting for him. Water dripped from the brim of his hat, staining the bullet pouch on his chest and spreading into a dark blotch.

"The journey back and forth," He Yuzhu said, "had to pass through the junction of two enemy positions. Without artillery cover, it all depended on how fast you were on foot."

Yang Xiaobing took the map from his hand, folded it several times, and stuffed it into his left leg wrap, right up against his skin. He bent down to fasten the straps, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.

"Deputy Division Commander." He finished fastening his belt and stood up. "You just said that for every brother in the 199th Division who dies, we'll have one less person to drink with when we get back."

He looked at He Yuzhu.

"I'll go and bring those forty brothers back to you for a drink."

He Yuzhu looked at him. Three seconds.

"Take two people with you," he said. "Old Lu, pick two fast runners from the second row."

He paused.

"Tell them, it's not about sending them to their deaths. It's about getting this paper into the hands of the commander of the 199th Division."

Yang Xiaobing grinned. He turned and crouched down, his backpack scraping against a clump of wet bushes, the leaves rustling.

He Yuzhu watched him and the two soldiers disappear at the edge of the woods. He put the earphones back on, his hand lingering on the knob for two seconds, then didn't turn it.

The electrical current crackled and hissed.

-

Twenty minutes after Yang Xiaobing and his men rushed out, two short and one long gunshot rang out from the east.

It wasn't a firefight. Just letting you know I'm safe.

Old Lu's tense shoulders slumped slightly. He pulled the extinguished cigarette butt from his pocket, put it back in his mouth, but didn't light it.

"We've passed the front line." The statement was vague.

He Yuzhu hummed in agreement. He set up the binoculars and adjusted the focus towards Jiaoyan Mountain.

The camera was filled with smoke. Black smoke from artillery shells, white smoke from incendiary bombs, and blue smoke from collapsed fortifications mingled together, obscuring the entire mountain into a blurry outline. Flames flickered deep within the smoke, like someone boiling molten steel inside the mountain.

The message came through the headset from the forward command post of the Corps:

"199, your unit has suffered too many casualties. Should we call in reserves to take over?"

pause.

"No need," came the rough, sandpaper-sharpening voice. "My men are still on the mountain."

He Yuzhu turned the headphone volume down by half a notch.

He heard Old Lu behind him shift his squatting position, his knee cracking. He could hear his own breathing, steady and even, one breath after another.

There were no new gunshots from the east.

-

Forty minutes later, the sound of breaking dry branches could be heard outside the woods.

He Yuzhu didn't move. Old Lu's hand had already touched the gun handle.

Yang Xiaobing emerged from the bushes. His trousers below the knees were completely torn, and there was a bloody gash on his left cheek, the blood congealed into a black scab, the edges still oozing out. He squatted down by the rock and bent down to untie the straps binding his legs.

I tried to unravel it twice, but couldn't.

He used his fingernail to pick at the knot. On the third try, it came undone.

He pulled the map from his leggings and handed it to me. His hand was steady.

"It's delivered." He was panting. "Commander Zhang of the 199th Division... looked at the map, didn't say thank you. He just had his staff officer pour me a bowl of water."

He paused.

"I drank the water. The bowl was on their table, and I didn't have time to return it."

He Yuzhu took the map and bowed his head.

Several new lines of handwriting appeared on the paper; the ink wasn't completely dry, and the strokes were sharp and distinct.

"The gully on the east side has been confirmed as usable. The flanking unit has moved forward."

"Thanks. All the drinks are welcome."

He Yuzhu folded the map and stuffed it into a waterproof bag. He looked up; Yang Xiaobing was still squatting there, his hand on his holster, pressed down, not letting go. He held it for more than ten seconds.

He looked down at his hands, as if he had just noticed them, and slowly lowered them.

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

-

At 4:20 a.m. on the 14th.

The sky in the east was beginning to turn grayish-white, while the direction of Jiaoyan Mountain was still dark. It wasn't that it was dark, but that the smoke was too thick, blocking out the dawn.

He Yuzhu stood up from behind the rock. His left leg was a little stiff, so he stomped his foot twice.

Through the telescope, a burst of fire suddenly erupted from the side and rear of the main peak.

It wasn't artillery fire. It was a cluster grenade explosion, with the blast point directly below the firing port of bunker number three.

He Yuzhu rubbed his thumb against the telescope's casing. He didn't realize how much force he had used.

The first bunker went silent. Then came the second, and the third. The flashes of explosions burned from the mountainside to the summit, like someone striking matches on the hillside—one, two, three.

The voice of the 199th Division's forward command post came through the earpiece, low but unable to suppress the excitement bubbling up from his throat:

"Flanking maneuver successful! Weapon points three, four, and seven are all silenced! Frontal forces, charge!"

Then came an overwhelming roar of battle cries.

The sound came through the headphones and also came directly from the distant hillside, three or four kilometers away, making people's scalps tingle.

He Yuzhu leaned against the rock, his binoculars fixed on the main peak.

-

6:15.

A red flag rose from the smoke of battle.

There was no wind. The flag drooped low, covered in gunpowder and dew, heavy and unable to flutter. But the soldier carrying the flag raised it above his head and shook it frantically, bending the flagpole into a bow.

Under the rising sun in the east, that flag looked like an inextinguishable fire.

He Yuzhu put the binoculars down.

He didn't move. The fire was still burning on his retina, yellowish-orange with bluish edges. He blinked, but didn't blink away.

He pulled the map out of the waterproof bag and spread it on the stone.

Wet your thumb and press it against the mark that says three months.

A rub.

The edges have become frayed. The pencil thread has broken.

Old Lu squatted down beside him, a half-lit cigarette dangling from his lips, staring at the flag in the east. He didn't speak. The cigarette butt rolled between his lips, from left to right.

Yang Xiaobing leaned against the crooked pine tree. The scab on his left cheek had dried. He stared at the flag, his eyes unblinking.

The voice of Zhang Chaorui from the 199th Division came through the earphones. It wasn't a shout, but a hoarse one, like there was cotton stuffed in his throat.

"Brigade Commander, this is 199. We've taken the main peak of Jiaoyan Mountain."

There was a few seconds of silence.

"The red flag... has been planted."

He Yuzhu took off his headphones and hung them around his neck.

Gunfire was still ringing out from the east. But it had become sparse, like the last few drops of rain at the end of a downpour.

He turned his head to look west.

From the direction of Erqingdong, a series of explosions erupted like popping beans.