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

Shells rained down on the ridge of Yashenli Mountain in swarms. Not one by one, but in swarms.

He Yuzhu lay prone behind the ridgeline. Through his binoculars, he saw the 203rd Division's assault company pinned down on a slope less than two hundred meters wide. A mortar shell every three seconds poured into the crowd. Flashes of light erupted, people were thrown to the ground, and before the smoke cleared, another shell landed.

The camera pans eastward.

A glint of light flashed from a lens nestled between two mountain ridges. An enemy artillery observation post. Strategically positioned—hidden in a blind spot of our artillery fire.

Old Lu sidled closer and lowered his voice: "Commander, we're still four kilometers from Erqing Cave. The best window will be open before dawn."

He Yuzhu remained silent. He pulled out half a map and, using the flashes of artillery fire, looked at the red circles. The White Tiger Regiment headquarters, the Erqingdong tunnel, was less than three and a half kilometers from the infiltration route. Two companies of the 203rd Division were still pinned down on the ridge, with men being laid down every minute.

He put the map back.

"The mission is a dead end," he said, looking up at Old Lu. "People are alive."

Old Lu was stunned for a moment.

"Second echelon, follow me." He Yuzhu pushed himself up, his left leg stiff, and stomped his feet twice. "The first echelon originally planned to make a feint towards Erqing Cave, making a big fuss so that the White Tiger Regiment would think we were still in the east."

"and you……"

"I'm going to gouge those eyes out."

Old Lu opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing, and turned to give the order.

He Yuzhu took out a silencer from his backpack and screwed it onto the muzzle of the submachine gun. He turned it round and round, tightening it very well.

Thirty men followed him down the ridge. There was no light, no sound. Thirty unsharpened bayonets sank into the night grass.

The observatory is located in the extension of the cave. Two bare pine trees stand upright at the cave entrance, dark and imposing, like doorposts.

He Yuzhu lay prone behind the earthen embankment on the west side, holding up three fingers. Group one: left; Group two: right; Group three: follow him to block the gate.

The sentry leaned against a bare pine tree, rifle dangling beside his legs, his head bobbing slightly. He wasn't dozing off—he was listening intently to the message coming from inside the cave, and he'd given himself away: there were still people inside.

He Yuzhu gestured: Two. One visible, one hidden.

Yang Xiaobing poked his head out, his palms sweating as he gripped the dagger. He gestured "I'm going" to He Yuzhu.

Before anyone could stop them, the person had already slipped out into the shadows.

Twenty seconds.

The sentry by the pine tree slumped to the side. Yang Xiaobing caught him and gently laid him down. The dagger had been drawn too quickly, drawing a sliver of blood that splattered onto his own hand. He paused for a moment, then didn't wipe it away.

A muffled thud came from inside the cave at the same time. It was very short. Like someone had fallen, but didn't make a sound.

He Yuzhu led his men into the cave.

The hole wasn't deep, only seven or eight meters at most. A map lay open on a folding table, the coordinates still on the paper. A red pencil rolled on the ground, spinning a little over halfway.

Three enemy observers—one lying down beside the radio, two lying down under the instrument rack. Each of them only managed to make one sound; there was no chance for a second.

Yang Xiaobing picked up an American-made radio from the corner, placed it on the table, and shrugged: "It's newer than the ones we captured."

He Yuzhu did not answer.

He picked up the work log on the table and flipped through a few pages—the correction sheet, target numbers, firing commands every ten minutes. The most recent entry: two minutes ago.

He tucked the journal into his pocket and glanced down at the unfolded map. The White Tiger Regiment's defense zone was densely marked. He took a red pencil and drew a circle in the direction of Erqing Cave.

I didn't use much force, so the lead marks are faint.

"withdraw."

The artillery fire from the western group's direction noticeably subsided after twenty minutes.

It didn't stop. It just lost its sight and its fighting became chaotic.

He Yuzhu squatted in the dry ditch, tuning the 203rd Division's frequency to a radio he had just captured. Someone on the other end yelled, "The enemy's mortar fire is weakening! Second and Third Battalions, now's the time to charge!"

Gunfire and explosions echoed across the ditch. Old Lu poked his head out halfway, then pulled it back after a dozen seconds, his face a mixture of sweat and rain: "The 203rd Division has moved."

He Yuzhu nodded and put away the radio.

Get up—

A burst of bullets exploded in the woods to the east.

Not a stray bullet. A submachine gun.

"We've been exposed!" Battalion Commander Chen Dashan tumbled into the ditch, his face covered in mud. "A reinforced company and two platoons have come from the route down the mountain!"

He Yuzhu peered out. Shadows loomed at the edge of the woods, and a beam of bright light sliced ​​through the night sky, fanning outwards towards the ditch. The movements were practiced; it wasn't a chaotic rout, but a coordinated encirclement.

"Retreat north," he said in a low voice. "Along the dry ditch, quickly."

The sound rang out from the east side as soon as the troops moved.

It wasn't a test—a hail of bullets poured into the ditch, suffocating the soldiers. He Yuzhu pressed himself against the ditch wall, bullets thudding against the earthen embankment above his head. He peered out and fired a single shot. The muzzle flashed for three seconds, and an enemy soldier fell.

More shadowy figures moved among the trees.

"Commander! Seal off the northeast corner too!" Chen Dashan roared.

He Yuzhu retreated back into the ditch.

The left pant leg was ripped open, and warm blood flowed down to the knee, soaking into the military boot. It was a shrapnel wound, not deep, but a long one.

He pulled out the first-aid kit, bit the bandage in his mouth, and wrapped it around the wound with one hand. Blood seeped through the wound once, then he wrapped it a second time.

Chen Dashan rushed over and grabbed him, yelling, "Do you even want your leg anymore?!"

He Yuzhu, biting his bandage, didn't have time to speak. He freed his right hand and gestured to Chen Dashan: Stop talking nonsense, let's go.

Chen Dashan bit his jaw so hard it jutted out, then turned and roared, "Machine gun team, suppress! Everyone else, move along the bottom of the ditch, quick!"

He Yuzhu tightened the bandage as much as possible.

He pushed himself up from the edge of the ditch. His left leg buckled as it touched the ground—he grabbed the ditch wall and braced himself.

"Walk."

Two hours before dawn, the 203rd Division's support team arrived.

He Yuzhu leaned against a rock at the mouth of the ditch when he heard someone shout, "Our soldiers are here!" Footsteps were hurried, and a flashlight shone in his face. A man squatted down, looked at his leg—covered in blood from knee to ankle—and gasped, "The medic!"

"No need." He Yuzhu tried to stand up by leaning on a rock, but his legs wouldn't obey him, and he sat back down. "Where is your commander?"

The soldier turned and ran, returning with a gaunt, middle-aged man. The collar of his cotton military uniform was worn white, and a medic's armband was tied to his left arm. Without a word, he cut open the trouser leg, examined the wound, and frowned deeply: "Shrapnel from a bullet, not embedded in the flesh. Half an inch deeper and you'd see the bone."

He poured out about half a bottle of sulfanilamide powder and changed the bandage. His movements were quick and gentle.

"Sir, the 203rd Division's artillery battalion captured several domestically produced walkie-talkies yesterday, the Type 702. They're lighter than the American ones, and one battery lasts for two days." He said while bandaging the wound. "The division commander instructed us to find Deputy Division Commander He and send two of them over."

He Yuzhu looked down at his newly bandaged legs, then looked up again: "How did your commander know I was here?"

The medic packed up his medical kit, stood up, and saluted: "After you took down the enemy observation post, the frontline artillery fire became chaotic. Our assault company's wave that rushed in lost over forty men."

He paused for a moment.

"The company commander said, 'They're helping us by gouging out our eyes from behind, while we can't even offer them a sip of water. If we don't get these two radios soon, we'll be too ashamed to face them on the battlefield.'"

He Yuzhu did not respond.

The soldier took out two walkie-talkies wrapped in oilcloth from his backpack and placed them at his feet.

"Commander, our brothers in the 203rd Division will remember you."

1 a.m. on the 14th.

He Yuzhu leaned against that rock.

Through the earpiece, the 203rd Division's forward command post reported: "Brigade, our unit has taken control of the entire Fangtongli, Lishidong, and Jianzhenxian line. The White Tiger Regiment's retreat route on the east side has been cut off, and communication on the west side has been severed. The main force of the enemy's Capital Division has been compressed to the south of Jinchengchuan."

He pulled his headphones down a bit and turned to look east.

In the direction of Erqingdong, the night was as thick as ink that could not be dissolved.

He pulled the map from his pocket and, using the last glint of his flashlight, found the red circle marking the White Tiger Regiment headquarters. The red pencil marks were still faint, so he didn't trace them over.

Just press it with your thumb.

I pressed for a long time. The skin was warm, but the paper was cool.

Old Lu squatted to the side, a cigarette butt in his mouth, but didn't light it for a long time.

"Commander, the first echelon is still lurking around the outskirts of Erqing Cave."

He Yuzhu used the stones to support himself as he stood up. The new bandage on his left leg didn't hurt as much anymore; every step felt like walking on cotton, so soft and effortless.

He picked up the 702 walkie-talkie, weighed it in his hand, and found it was half a pound lighter than the PRC-6.

"Tell Lao Zhou," he said, "to wipe out the White Tiger Regiment's headquarters before dawn."

He paused for a moment.

"I'll give you directions."