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

He Yuzhu lay behind the pile of logs overturned by the artillery fire, wiping the binoculars lens three times before he could make out the outline of the entrance to the Erqingdong tunnel.

It was converted from an abandoned mine shaft. The entrance was surrounded by a semi-circle of sandbags, and two light machine guns were mounted on top, their firing arcs intersecting, effectively sealing off a 60-meter-wide open area in front. Sentinels patrolled back and forth, one every ten steps, not densely packed, but with no blind spots.

Yang Xiaobing peeked half his head out from under his armpit, his voice barely audible: "At least three squads of sentries. There are also two bunkers."

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He moved the binoculars down, landing on the jeep that was half-leaning against the earthen slope.

A small flag was stuck to the front of the vehicle. The rain had soaked the flag, making it stick to the flagpole, but the tiger head insignia was still recognizable—it was a command and communications vehicle for the Operations Section of the Capital Division.

"When did you touch it?" Yang Xiaobing also saw it.

"An hour ago," Old Lu chimed in from the other side, "the enemy communications officer delivered the combat orders and was intercepted by our checkpoint on his way back. The vehicle was undamaged, the fuel tank was half full, and the flag was still in place."

He Yuzhu put away his binoculars and sat down against the log.

He couldn't straighten his left leg. He rested it on a piece of broken ammunition box plaque to keep the wound from getting dirty.

"I'll drive that car in."

Yang Xiaobing paused for two seconds, then turned to look at him.

"Commander, we're professionals at disguising ourselves and launching surprise attacks on our 607th Regiment. You…"

"You don't recognize that flag." He Yuzhu pulled out the pass he had found on the prisoner from his pocket, placed it on his lap, and smoothed the damp edges with his fingers. "It's a vehicle from the Capital Division's Operations Section. Sentrymen recognize flags, not people, especially at night."

He paused, then added, "But they'll check identification. You haven't learned the accent and resume of the Capital Division's staff officers."

Yang Xiaobing fell silent. Old Lu took the cigarette butt out of his mouth, clenched it for a while, and then stuffed it back into the cigarette case.

"Commander, your leg..."

"Use your right foot to step on the gas." He Yuzhu stuffed the pass into his left breast pocket, next to the unopened letter. "It's fine."

The rain intensified as the jeep started.

He Yuzhu pulled his military cap down, the brim obscuring half his face. Yang Xiaobing huddled in the shadows of the back seat, clutching the thinned steel wire, while two scouts beside him concealed their submachine guns in the folds of their raincoats.

The capital division command flag in front of the vehicle was being battered by the rain, its color obscured in the darkness, with only the blurry tiger head at the top of the flagpole remaining visible.

The sentry post was eighty meters outside the tunnel entrance. There were two barricades, a pile of sandbags, and four or five sentries huddled under a awning to take shelter from the rain.

As the car headlights swept past, a sentry stood up with his gun, took two steps forward, then stepped back and called out to the guard post.

He Yuzhu parked the car three meters in front of the barricade, turned off the engine, and left the small light on.

A second lieutenant wearing a raincoat came out of the guard post, walked to the driver's window, and placed his hand on the car door.

He Yuzhu rolled down the car window halfway and handed over the pass.

"Which unit are you from?" The lieutenant looked down at his identification, the flashlight beam shining on his face.

He Yuzhu didn't avoid the light. He lowered his eyelids, his voice low and hoarse: "Operations Section. Send in revised firing data."

He spoke Korean very slowly. Each word was pronounced in short, abrupt syllables, as if he were holding a mouthful of phlegm. This was the accent of staff officers who spent most of their time on the front lines; it wasn't a Seoul accent.

The lieutenant flipped the ID over to look at the back cover, then flipped it back and stared at the photo for three seconds.

"Where's Major Li? He's the one who usually drives us."

"Major Li was wounded yesterday and withdrew to the rear." He Yuzhu snatched the identification from his hand and stuffed it into his pocket. "It's raining so hard, are you going to interrogate me here all night?"

The lieutenant didn't speak. The flashlight beam swept around the car, past the three bulging raincoats in the back seat, and then back to He Yuzhu's face.

A very soft sound came from the back seat—

It wasn't a cough, but the sound of a steel wire tightening around the skin before inhaling.

He Yuzhu kept his left hand on the steering wheel and his right knuckles on the inside of the door handle, without moving.

The rain pattered on the car roof, like pouring beans.

The lieutenant turned off the flashlight.

"Go on over there. Someone will meet you at Erdaogang."

He waved. The sentry moved the barricade.

He Yuzhu rolled up the car window, put the car in gear, and released the clutch.

The jeep slowly glided past the checkpoint and drove into the heart of Erqingdong.

From the back seat came the soft rustling sound of Yang Xiaobing moving the body off his lap.

The tunnel entrance was wider than it appeared during reconnaissance.

The main alleyway was over three meters high, reinforced on both sides with sandbags and timber, with a lantern hanging every ten steps. The dim, yellowish light lingered in the damp air, casting flickering shadows.

He Yuzhu parked the car in a concealed spot on the side of the tunnel entrance, turned off the engine, and removed the key.

"One minute and thirty seconds." He glanced at the pocket watch on the instrument panel, which was not keeping time. "Send the signal when the second team is in position."

Yang Xiaobing stuffed the body under the back seat floor mat, covered it with a raincoat, and got out of the car.

Three combat teams emerged from the shadows on either side of the tunnel entrance, like water seeping from a crack in the rock. Each found their designated assault entrance—the main tunnel, the left-wing ventilation shaft, or the right-wing emergency exit.

He Yuzhu squatted behind the pile of sandbags at the entrance of the main tunnel, straightened his left leg, and took out the 702 walkie-talkie from his backpack.

"I am Lone Pine. I will reply once the second team is in position."

The static crackled for five seconds.

"Lone Pine, the second echelon has sealed off the rear of the tunnel. Enemy reinforcements are being blocked on the outside by the 609th Regiment's flanking battalion. You have twenty minutes."

He Yuzhu tucked the walkie-talkie back into his waistband.

He turned to look at Yang Xiaobing.

"Turn on the lights."

The battle began at 3:00 AM.

It's not a gradual approach; it's like pouring lead in from three directions simultaneously.

The sound of submachine guns firing inside the tunnel was twice as loud as outside, and spent cartridges bounced and rattled against the rock walls. The blast waves from exploding grenades spewed out of the ventilation shaft, bringing with them a cloud of black smoke mixed with embers.

He Yuzhu leaned against the outside of the tunnel entrance, kneeling on one knee. Unable to support himself with his left leg, he shifted his weight onto his right. The M3 submachine gun in his hand was pressed against his shoulder, the muzzle pointed deep into the main tunnel. He fired short bursts every three seconds, pushing back the enemy soldiers who tried to peek out from around the corner to retaliate.

Screams and shouts mingled in the tunnel. Someone shouted in Korean, "Retreat to the back cave!" while someone else yelled in English, "Hold the communications room!"

English.

He Yuzhu rolled to the left and forward, hiding behind a sandbag bunker.

He peered into the tunnel—there was a fork in the road halfway through, and the sound was coming from there. It wasn't the operations room, but the square marked "telecommunications" on the map.

Before he could give the order, flames suddenly erupted from the bunker on the left.

Machine gun bullets struck the sandbags, thudding and splashing sand from inside. He Yuzhu lunged to his right, his left leg buckling as he landed, causing him to lose his balance and slam his shoulder against the rock wall.

pain.

It wasn't the pain of a collision, but the burning sensation of a bullet grazing past. He looked down at his left shoulder. His cotton coat was torn open, the edges charred black. Blood was seeping from the tear, staining the epaulets a dark red.

"Commander!" Yang Xiaobing rushed out from the main alleyway.

He Yuzhu ignored him. He leaned against the rock wall, reached for the spare M3 behind his waist, picked it up with one hand, and the muzzle protruded from the edge of the sandbag.

The bunker's firing port is at the eleven o'clock position, less than twenty meters away.

He pulled the trigger. Not a long sweep, but a short burst, three shots, three shots, and then three more.

The machine gun went silent when the third volley of bullets entered the firing port.

Yang Xiaobing rushed over and stuffed a grenade into the firing port.

The moment he lunged back, He Yuzhu saw his back exposed to the side of the firing port—no bullets were coming. He fell silent.

Then came a muffled thud.

boom.

The shockwave surged out of the nozzle, carrying wood chips and blood mist. Yang Xiaobing was pushed forward by the blast wave, but he steadied himself and turned back to give He Yuzhu a hand gesture.

The bunker is gone.

He Yuzhu leaned back against the sandbag and looked down at his left shoulder. Blood had stained half of his sleeve red, but it hadn't spurted out; it was just slowly seeping in. It was a graze, not deep; the skin had a cut, but the bone wasn't broken.

He pulled a bandage from the first-aid kit, bit one end, and wrapped it around his shoulder with one hand.

When the third loop was wrapped, the fingertips touched the pocket on the inside of the left breast.

The letter is still there.

He paused for half a second, didn't look down, and continued to tighten the bandage.

Yang Xiaobing ran back, squatted down in front of him, watched him wrap the bandages, his lips moved but he didn't say anything.

He Yuzhu bit the bandage off and tied a knot.

"Has the tunnel been cleared yet?"

"The main tunnel and right flank are under control. The left flank is still engaged in firefight, and the enemy troops have retreated to the communications room in the rear cave."

He Yuzhu stood up, supporting himself with sandbags. The bandage on his left shoulder was tight, pulling at his skin and flesh; every movement felt like being cut by a knife. He ignored it.

"lead the way."

The communications room is located at the deepest part of the tunnel.

The door was ajar, and the lights were off inside. The indicator lights on several radios blinked green in the darkness.

Yang Xiaobing kicked the door open and fired a shot inside.

no one.

Two people in South Korean military communications uniforms lay on the ground. Next to the radio was another body wearing the yellow-green field jacket worn by US military advisors.

A battle map was pinned to the wall. A red arrow pointed north from Jincheng, the ink still wet. The thermos on the table was still steaming, with half a half-eaten compressed biscuit on the lid.

The person had just run away.

"Search," He Yuzhu said.

Two soldiers rummaged through the filing cabinet. One soldier crouched down to examine the fallen U.S. military advisor. Yang Xiaobing kicked aside the overturned chair and glanced at the row of metal cabinets, each as tall as a person, in the corner.

The first door is empty. The second door is cluttered. The third door is locked.

He raised the butt of his rifle, ready to smash the lock.

The cabinet door opened by itself.

Inside, huddled, was an officer in a U.S. military uniform. His gold-rimmed glasses were askew on his nose, and he clutched a dark green field radio tightly in his hand, the antenna not yet fully retracted.

He stared at Yang Xiaobing, then at He Yuzhu, who walked in behind Yang Xiaobing leaning on a gun.

Rain dripped from the brim of He Yuzhu's hat. It dripped onto the ground, drip-drip, drip-drip.

The officer looked down at the AN/GRC-9 in his hand, which was still in standby mode. He remained silent for two seconds.

Then he let go.

The radio slammed against the bottom of the metal cabinet with a dull, cracking sound, like the plastic casing shattering.

"Lieutenant Colonel Keating," He Yuzhu said in English. His voice was flat.

The officer didn't answer. He looked at the bandage on He Yuzhu's left shoulder, which was still bleeding, and at his collar—a faded amulet was peeking out from the edge of the inside pocket, the red thread soaked with rainwater.

He spoke, his voice hoarse.

"You are not from the Capital Division."

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He turned around and glanced at the battle map on the wall.

The red arrow points north from Jincheng. At the arrow's starting point, there is a circle marked "Erqing Cave".

He reached out, tore the map off the wall, rolled it up, and stuffed it into his pocket.

Then he took out his walkie-talkie and pressed the call button.

"Lone Pine calls for Thunder. Erqing Cave tunnel is under control. Target captured—"

He glanced at the U.S. Army lieutenant colonel sitting on the ground with his glasses askew to one side.

"The White Tiger Regiment headquarters no longer exists."

There was a three-second silence on the other end of the walkie-talkie.

Then came an almost distorted roar, barely contained within the static:

"Lone Pine, Thunder received! Repeat, Thunder received!"

He Yuzhu tucked the radio back into his waistband.

He turned and walked towards the tunnel entrance.

The bandage on my left shoulder had stained red again. Rain drifted in, hitting my face and blurring my vision.

He raised his hand and wiped it off, without turning around.

Behind him, Yang Xiaobing picked up the AN/GRC-9 radio with its shattered screen from the corner of the metal cabinet. The radio still had a faint red light on, like a dying eye that refused to close.

He looked up, wanting to call out to the regimental commander.

He Yuzhu had already stepped into the misty rain at the entrance of the tunnel.

The left hand is always placed on the inside pocket of the left breast.