Courtyard House: I Rely on Time-Space Trade to Build a Nation

In late July, Van Fleet made a move.

What he couldn't get at the negotiating table, he wanted to get on the battlefield.

The summer offensive began. The US 2nd Division, the ROK 5th Division, and other units launched a fierce attack.

The target wasn't large—just a few hilltops. But Van Fleet's calculations were clear: secure these key tactical points, improve his negotiating position, and force concessions from the Chinese side.

The fighting on the front lines is very tough.

In the mountainous terrain without tanks, it was infantry against infantry, fortification against fortification. The American artillery fire was still as fierce as ever, and there were still as many planes as ever, but they were afraid of being hit by Type 2 fighters and anti-aircraft missiles, so they dared not fly low.

Commander Peng's order consisted of only four words: "Fight for every inch of land."

By the seventh day of fighting, the US military had suffered over 3,000 casualties, while our army had suffered over 2,000 casualties. Those hilltops were still in our hands.

Van Fleet wrote in a telegram to Washington:

"The Communist army's defensive capabilities have not weakened because of the negotiations. On the contrary, their fortifications are even stronger than those in Tieyuan."

What he didn't know was that something truly solid was being built.

July 25, north of Shangganling, at the foot of Wusheng Mountain.

Several military trains were parked on the makeshift platform, their massive cargo covered by tarpaulins. Engineer Company Commander Zhou Daniu stood nearby, staring at the cargo for a long time in disbelief.

"What...what is this?"

Zhao Pingan jumped out of the car and dusted off his hands.

"Tunnel boring machine."

Zhou Daniu blinked.

"What machine?"

"A tunnel boring machine. Used for digging tunnels." Zhao Ping'an lifted a corner of the canvas, revealing part of the steel behemoth—a huge cutterhead, hydraulic lines, and a dense array of control valves. "It's 6.3 meters in diameter and can dig 25 meters a day. It can dig to a depth of 30 meters underground. Tanks can't hit it, planes can't hit it, and heavy artillery can't hit it. After it's reinforced with cement inside, although trucks can't move through, small tractors can still get around it."

Zhou Daniu circled the thing, reaching out to touch the hydraulic lines, drive motor, and cutter head. They were cold and heavy, unlike anything from this era.

"This thing... can dig 25 meters a day? And a tractor can run inside it?"

"Twenty-five meters. In a month, it would be possible to hollow out the entire mountain."

Zhou Daniu fell silent.

He recalled those nights in Tieyuan. Three hundred excavators and bulldozers roared through the night, the position was bombed flat thirteen times, and they repaired it thirteen times. Each time, brothers were killed on the construction site, and each time their bodies had to be moved away and the digging continued.

If only this thing existed back then...

"Minister Zhao," he looked up, "when can we use this?"

"How long will it take you to learn?"

Zhou Daniu glanced back at the soldiers behind him. They were all young men in their early twenties; some hadn't even finished elementary school, and some had never even ridden a train.

"Three days," he said. "If they can't learn it in three days, I'll personally teach them. Within a week, I'll get it up and running."

Zhao Ping'an looked at him.

"it is good."

September 7, evening.

The first tunnel boring machine started up 30 meters underground.

The cutterhead rotated, its whistling sound echoing underground as it sliced ​​through the rock. The hydraulic system transported the excavated soil backward, and concrete segments were installed one by one. Zhou Daniu squatted beside the control panel, staring at the numbers jumping on the instrument panel.

One centimeter, ten centimeters, one meter, two meters.

One day. Two days. Three days.

When the first section of the tunnel was completed, Zhou Daniu crawled out of the tunnel, his body and face covered in dust. He stood at the foot of the mountain, looking at the silent mountain.

The mountain is still the same mountain.

But things are already starting to change down below the mountain.

He grinned.

Those white teeth were exactly the same as those of the engineering company commander on the Tieyuan battlefield.

That evening, Commander Peng received a telegram from Zhao Ping'an.

"The tunnel boring machine has started. At a depth of 30 meters, it is advancing 25 meters per day. In three months, the area beneath Wusheng Mountain will be hollow."

Commander Peng read the telegram but said nothing.

He folded the telegram and put it in the drawer.

There was another telegram in the drawer, sent by Commander Deng from Kaesong a few days earlier:

"The US is still fixated on the dividing line. Van Fleet's summer offensive has been repelled. Negotiations are unlikely to make progress in the short term."

The atmosphere at the negotiating table has been tense for three months.

U.S. representative Lieutenant General Joey slammed his hat on the table, his voice eight octaves higher than usual:

"If you continue to obfuscate the demarcation line issue, then let the planes and cannons debate it!"

Commander Deng smiled after listening to the translation.

"General Joey, the debate between airplanes and cannons has been going on for almost a year. Have you won the debate?"

Joey's expression changed, but he didn't reply.

The negotiations ended in discord. As the US representatives left, their chairs bumped against the pool table.

Commander Deng returned to his residence and sent a telegram to Commander Peng:

"The US negotiator slammed his fist on the table today, saying he wanted to debate things with planes and cannons. I reckon another war is about to break out."

Commander Peng's reply came quickly:

"Let them do it."

On the same day, in Tokyo, at the Allied Command Headquarters.

Van Fleet stood in front of a huge battle map, where a staff officer was circling two points with a red pencil: Hill 597.9 and North Hill 537.7.

"Operation Showdown." Van Fleet pointed to the two points. "These two high points are the forward gateways to Mount Five Sacred Mountains. Take them, and Mount Five Sacred Mountains will be exposed to our noses. If Mount Five Sacred Mountains fall, their central defenses will collapse."

The staff officer asked, "How many troops are expected to be deployed?"

"Two battalions will suffice," Van Fleet said, even after suffering heavy losses at Tieyuan.

But Van Fleet believed that this time everything would be foolproof, because towards the end of the Battle of Ironfield,

The U.S. Air Force has gradually gained an advantage due to its superior number of pilots.

Therefore, Van Fleet believed that the Republic's air force had certainly not yet recovered.

With our air force having the advantage this time, we are not afraid of the enemy's Type 59 tanks at all.

Furthermore, Van Fleet had witnessed the immense damage heavy artillery had inflicted on the Republican army, so he boasted that he had found a solution.

"Intelligence indicates that there are at most two companies of troops defending those two hills. The fortifications are mediocre, and artillery support is limited."

"We can take it down in five days, with no more than two hundred casualties."

He paused.

"If we take these two hills, we can push the dividing line of the Kaesong negotiations 30 kilometers north."

The staff officer wrote in his notebook: Casualties are expected to be less than 200, and the estimated time is five days.

What Van Fleet didn't know was that these two numbers would later become one of the biggest jokes in the history of warfare.

Early October, Wusheng Mountain, a regimental command post.

The staff officer crawled into the bunker and handed Li Changhe a telegram.

"It's from the military. They say the negotiations have broken down and the US military might have to attack."

Li Changhe glanced at it and stuffed the telegram into his pocket.

"Let them do it."

The staff officer squatted down and lit a cigarette.

"Commander, if the Americans really want to attack, how do you think we can defend this place?"

Li Changhe remained silent. He stood up, walked to the entrance of the bunker, and looked outside.

In the darkness, the outline of Wusheng Mountain was pitch black.

Hill 597.9 and North Hill 537.7 stand like two sentinels, crouching in front.

He has been guarding this mountain for three months.

For three months, all he knew was that every few days, engineers would haul away slag from inside the mountain, truckload after truckload, but he didn't know where it was being taken.

He also knew that those engineers were not under his command; they had their own command post, their own logistics, and their own set of rules.

He asked once, and people told him: This was arranged by Minister Zhao.

Minister Zhao. Zhao Ping'an.

He didn't ask any more questions.

The staff officer followed him out and stood beside him.

"Commander, who exactly is this Minister Zhao?"

Li Changhe thought for a moment.

"I don't know. I just know that what he gave us can reduce the number of our people dying."

The staff officer didn't ask any more questions.

In the distance, to the south, there could be faint sounds of artillery fire, but they were very far away. That meant the American troops were fighting somewhere else.

Li Changhe squatted down, took out a cigarette from his pocket, and handed one to the chief of staff. The two squatted at the entrance of the bunker, smoking and listening to the distant sound of artillery fire.

"So," the chief of staff exhaled a puff of smoke, "how long do you think this war will last?"

Li Changhe remained silent for a long time.

"Fight until the Americans don't want to fight anymore."

On the same day, in Shenyang.

Zhao Ping'an stood beside the assembly line at the arsenal, holding a telegram he had just received.

"If negotiations break down, the US military may launch an autumn offensive. The focus may be on the Wusheng Mountain area."

Fold the telegram neatly and put it in your pocket.

The person next to him asked, "Minister, what do they need at the front?"

Zhao Ping'an didn't answer. He walked to the dispatch room and picked up the phone.

"How is the tunnel construction progressing towards Shangganling?"

A voice came from the other end of the phone: "All four tunnel boring machines are operating normally, with a total tunneling distance of 23 kilometers."

The main tunnels 597.9 and 537.7 have been completed, and branch lines extend to all forward positions. Ventilation equipment, anti-gas equipment, lighting equipment, communication lines, water tanks, and ammunition racks have all been installed.

"What about the supplies stored inside the tunnel?"

"Ammunition, rations, and drinking water are stockpiled according to three months' combat standards. We just replenished a batch today."

Zhao Ping'an remained silent for a few seconds.

"it is good."

I hung up the phone, walked out of the dispatch room, and stood at the entrance of the factory.

Outside the window, the sky over Shenyang was a hazy gray. In the distance, the sound of a train whistle could be heard, and a military train loaded with supplies was pulling out of the station.

I remember those nights in Tieyuan, and the white teeth that the engineering company commander showed when he grinned.

Zhao Pingan took out a pen and wrote a few lines on a telegram.

Commander Peng: The Wushengshan Tunnel Project has been completed.

The main tunnel connects the two high grounds, and the branch tunnels extend to all the forward positions.

The supplies inside the tunnels can sustain the operation for three months. The underground Great Wall is complete. Zhao.

He handed the telegram to the messenger.

The correspondent asked, "Minister, shall we issue it now?"

Zhao Ping'an nodded.

The messenger ran out.

December 13, 1951, evening.

Li Changhe squatted in the trench on Hill 597.9, looking south.

The sun was setting, casting an orange glow on the horizon. The American positions were eerily quiet; there was no artillery fire, no gunfire, nothing at all.

It's too quiet. So quiet it's unsettling.

The staff officer crawled over and squatted down next to him.

"Commander, something's not right today."

"Um."

"Normally at this time, we'd fire at least a few shots. Today, not a single shot was fired."

Li Changhe didn't speak. He stared at the south for a long time.

"Tell each company that tonight, men must not be separated from their guns, and guns must not be separated from men."

The staff officer nodded and picked up the walkie-talkie to notify each battalion and company.

Night slowly fell. The outline of Wusheng Mountain disappeared into the darkness, and even 597.9 and 537.7 could not be seen clearly.

Li Changhe remained squatting there, motionless.

He thought of Tieyuan. He remembered that morning when he was also crouching in the trench, looking south, and then the tanks came up, then the planes came, and then the third company commander died.

He shook his head, banishing those thoughts.

In the distance, to the south, all was still quiet.

But he knew that something was hidden beneath that quiet.

He stood up and took one last look at the south.

Then he turned around and crawled into the tunnel.

What Li Changhe didn't know was that by this time tomorrow, every inch of soil on Hill 597.9 would be turned upside down by artillery shells.

He had no idea that thirty meters beneath his feet lay the tunnel that the engineers had dug over three months.

It will allow countless people to survive in the days to come.

All he knew was that war was about to break out tomorrow.