The Courtyard House: The Little Red Devil Returning from the Peninsula

On the seventh day of my term, at night.

The window paper of the cave dwelling at Baimaling Regiment Headquarters was torn at one corner, and the wind blew in through the crack. The flame of the kerosene lamp flickered, casting long shadows of the two people.

Li Dazhu sat at the table, holding a piece of paper the size of his palm in his hand.

The paper was drawn with a supply line from Taigu County to Sanlidian. The pencil lines were crooked, but the exact distance was marked at each turn. There was also a line of small print next to it: "One transport every three days, departing at Chenshi (7-9 AM)."

"The intelligence has been confirmed."

He tapped the paper with his knuckles, and the paper bounced on the table.

"Tomorrow morning, a Japanese supply convoy will depart from Taigu County and head along the highway north of Baimagou to Sanlidian to collect grain. It will consist of about sixty men, with mules, horses, and a small amount of ammunition."

Zhao Weiguo stared at the map without saying a word.

He held a cigarette between his fingers; the ash had grown long and landed on the map at the location of Baimagou, burning a small black dot on it.

Li Dazhu brushed the black spots off with his fingers.

"The ambush point is chosen at Eagle's Beak Cliff." He pressed his index finger on a winding spot on the map. "A road runs between two cliffs, narrow at both the entrance and the exit."

"Once the mule caravan goes in, it will be blocked from both the front and the back."

Zhao Weiguo stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the table.

"Two hundred men from the first battalion ambushed from the front, the special operations company blocked the rear, and the regimental guard company set up heavy machine guns."

He picked up the Mauser pistol from the table and holstered it.

"I will personally take command."

Li Dazhu raised his head.

"Commander, this is just a small battle..."

"The first battle," Zhao Weiguo interrupted him. "The new regiment has just been established, and we must let the brothers see the regimental commander lying in the mud on the front line."

He fastened the holster.

"It's not about showing off, it's about calming down."

Li Dazhu's Adam's apple bobbed, and he swallowed the rest of his sentence.

At four o'clock in the morning, more than two hundred people reached Eagle's Beak Cliff.

It was still dark, with only a thin gray line visible in the east. The area above and below this gray line was entirely black; Eagle's Beak Cliff resembled a wild beast lying on the ground, its back towering high, silently waiting for something.

The cliff face was more than two people high, covered with shrubs. The branches were wet with night dew, slippery to the touch, and smelled of decaying dead leaves.

Zhao Weiguo lay prone behind the cliff face on the left. The frozen loess felt like an iron plate against his chest, and the cold air seeped into his bones through the mud. He exhaled, and a puff of white mist immediately formed around his mouth.

Beside him was Liu Dashan. Liu Dashan had the heavy machine gun wedged in a ditch, the muzzle lowered, aimed at the dirt road below. He muttered a curse, it was unclear whether he was cursing the cold or the hard ground.

Two ammunition handlers lay prone beside them, each holding a gleaming brass ammunition chain.

The metal gleamed with a bluish light under the cold moon. A gunner's hands were cracked from the cold, and he dared not move, only able to tuck his fingers into his sleeves.

Behind the cliff on the right, the First Battalion and the Special Service Company were deployed together.

Zhao Weiguo established a rule: fight not according to unit structure, but according to firepower configuration. Riflemen in front, machine gunners behind, and grenade throwers on the flanks.

Each firing point had two companies of men mixed together, some of whom didn't even know each other's names.

A new recruit lay prone beside a Type 96 machine gun, his finger on the trigger, his knuckles white. The machine gunner was a veteran named Sun, with a burn scar on his face.

He reached out and patted the recruit on the back of the neck.

"Don't rush to hug me. Wait for me to call."

The recruit swallowed hard, nodded, but didn't loosen his grip.

Old Zhou lay prone in a shallow pit, a Mauser pistol clutched in his hand. His cheeks were clenched so tightly that the wooden handle of the pistol creaked under his grip.

A young recruit next to him hunched over, his teeth chattering, whether from the cold or fear, it was hard to tell.

Old Zhou turned his head and lowered his voice.

"Don't shake. The Japanese can't hear you shaking, but they can hear the bullets."

The new recruit gritted his teeth and held on.

7:45.

The cold wind carried the snorting of mules and horses up the canyon. Then came the crunching sound of rubber boots on the frozen ground and broken ice, almost fifteen minutes earlier than predicted.

Zhao Weiguo wrapped the red cloth strip in his hand twice between his fingers. He slowly squinted down through the cracks in the cliff face.

Ten Japanese infantrymen, each carrying a Type 38 rifle, walked in front of the other, three steps apart, holding their rifles very level.

In the middle were more than thirty mules and horses, the grain sacks weighing them down, their horseshoes striking the frozen ground with a dull echo.

At the very end were twenty infantrymen and a lieutenant on a Japanese horse.

About sixty people. Nothing has changed.

Zhao Weiguo remained still.

The ammunition handler next to him was trembling, his knees hitting the frozen ground repeatedly. Zhao Weiguo didn't look at him, but simply reached out his left hand and pressed it against the butt of his rifle.

The ammunition handler took a deep breath and stopped trembling.

The mule caravan slowly entered the entrance to Eagle's Beak Cliff. The narrow dirt road, 300 meters long, would take ten minutes to traverse.

Zhao Weiguo counted the hoofbeats of the mules and horses. One, two, three... the last Japanese horse's hoof also crossed the center line of the narrow path.

He suddenly raised his hand and slashed the tightly clenched red cloth strip downwards.

"beat!"

Flames erupted from three cliff faces simultaneously.

The Maxim machine gun roared like tearing through tarpaulin. Dark red tracer rounds lashed the dirt road, sending clumps of frozen earth flying.

Bullets swept into the herd of mules and horses, and several mules collapsed to the ground with mournful cries. Grain sacks were pierced, and white rice mixed with blood sprayed onto the ground.

The rifles and machine guns of the first battalion then roared. The gunfire echoed back and forth in the narrow valley, making one's eardrums ache.

The pungent smell of gunpowder mixed with the stench of raw blood instantly filled the ravine.

The Japanese infantrymen at the front didn't even have time to dodge before they were riddled with bullets by the crossfire from above and fell straight into the muddy water by the roadside.

The machine gunner, surnamed Sun, yelled "Fire!" and the recruit pulled the trigger. The first few bullets flew high, leaving a patch of white dots on the cliff face.

Veteran Sun slapped his helmet.

"Lower the gun! Shoot it in the belly!"

The recruit, panting heavily, pressed the muzzle of his rifle downwards. The second burst of fire sent a mule crashing to the ground with a pitiful cry; grain sacks burst open, spilling white rice everywhere.

Old Hu led his special operations company and opened fire from the exit. Several Czech-made rifles blocked the retreat, cutting the Japanese troops in two.

But the Japanese army reacted extremely quickly.

The lieutenant suddenly tumbled off his horse. His horse, shot and lying on the ground, used the carcass as cover, drew his sword, and roared.

The surviving Japanese veterans rolled on the spot, quickly constructing a circular defense using dead mules and food sacks. In less than half a minute, two grenade launchers were set up.

"Thump! Thump!"

Two miniature grenades struck the cliff face on the left. With a deafening roar, a shockwave carrying debris swept over the area.

A rifleman beside Zhao Weiguo groaned as half his face was slashed by gravel, and blood blurred his vision.

Japanese machine gunners lay prone beneath their horses, providing suppressive fire on the enemy positions on the cliff face. Bullets struck the rocks in front of Zhao Weiguo, sending up stinging fragments that stung his face.

The enemy's marksmanship was terrifyingly accurate; with each sharp crack of a Type 38 rifle, a new recruit on the cliff might stop breathing.

Old Zhou was watching anxiously from the other side.

He saw the Japanese troops' circular formation slowly inching towards the lowest gap in the cliff face, while the grenade launchers continued to find their angle.

"Throw grenades! Follow me down!"

Old Zhou roared and braced himself with his left hand on the ground, trying to flip himself out of the shallow pit.

Zhao Weiguo suddenly pounced from the side and behind. He grabbed Lao Zhou by the back of the neck and pressed him firmly onto the frozen ground.

"Are you out of your mind?!"

Zhao Weiguo roared in a low voice.

Old Zhou's neck was stiff, veins bulging, and his voice cracked with anxiety.

"They're trying to break out; we can't keep up with their firepower!"

"It can be controlled!"

Zhao Weiguo stared at the circular formation below, his nose filled with the smell of gunpowder.

"The heavy machine gun's firing arc hasn't been closed yet. If you go down now, all the brothers will die from their own bullets!"

Old Zhou tried to struggle, but Zhao Weiguo pressed his knee against his back.

The machine gun began to fire.

Liu Dashan personally took the Maxim's grip. The thick ammunition belt spewed out bullets wildly from the feed port, and the dense bullets swept across from left to right like a giant scythe.

The newly formed Japanese circular formation was instantly torn apart. Food sacks were blown apart, and rice husks flew everywhere. Japanese soldiers behind cover were cut in half by large-caliber bullets, their blood and flesh splattering on the cliff face.

A burst of blood erupted from the lieutenant's chest, and he staggered to his knees. His mouth was full of blood, but he still gripped his sword tightly, trying to stand up.

"Bang."

Above the cliff, Gardenia calmly pulled the trigger. A bullet precisely pierced the lieutenant's right wrist.

The bones shattered. The sword slipped from his hand and fell onto the stone with a crisp "clink".

The gunfire gradually subsided.

The smoke from the gunpowder lingered at the bottom of the ditch, thick and choking.

Zhao Weiguo released Lao Zhou, stood up, and slid down the embankment. His boots made a sticky sound as they stepped into the mud mixed with blood and rice grains.

He walked up to the lieutenant, the dark muzzle of his gun pointed at the man's forehead.

The lieutenant lay on the ground, his left hand still desperately reaching for the commander's sword. He raised his head, his face, covered in mud and blood, twitching with muscle spasms. His eyes were fixed on Zhao Weiguo's face, and one corner of his eye twitched.

He stared at Zhao Weiguo for several seconds. So young, so incredibly young.

The battle ended within twenty minutes.

The canyon was filled with the pungent smell of blood.

Li Dazhu is taking inventory of the battlefield. More than fifty enemy soldiers were killed, and three were captured. Thirty bags of grain, five thousand rounds of ammunition, more than forty Type 38 rifles, and one Type 96 light machine gun were seized.

The cost was the sacrifice of four soldiers and serious injuries to seven others.

A seriously wounded man lay on a stretcher, his leg broken, blood soaking through several layers of bandages. He stared at the sky, his lips moving slightly, but no sound came out.

The medic next to him, while bandaging him, yelled, "Don't sleep! Open your eyes and look at me!"

Zhao Weiguo walked over, squatted down, and patted the wounded man's hand.

"Hang in there. We'll get some wine when we get back to Baimaling."

The injured man's lips twitched slightly, but he didn't actually smile; however, his eyes widened a little.

Zhao Weiguo squatted down in front of the lieutenant whose left hand was tied.

How often do supplies arrive in Taigu County?

The lieutenant gritted his teeth and turned his head away.

Zhao Weiguo didn't ask any more questions. He stood up, wiped the blood off his hands on his uniform, and turned to look at Old Zhou who was walking over.

Old Zhou's steps were somewhat heavy. He stopped in front of Zhao Weiguo, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he didn't speak.

"If I hadn't held you down just now," Zhao Weiguo said in a low voice, "your grenade would have blown up the bunker of our comrades below the cliff."

Old Zhou's shoulders slumped.

"As soon as your men charge down, they run right into Liu Dashan's machine gun firing range."

Zhao Weiguo dusted the dirt off his sleeves.

"I've calculated the blind spots of heavy machine gun fire. In war, you can't just look at the ten meters in front of you."

He thought for a moment.

"If you dare to charge forward without considering the overall situation again, I'll personally bring you back down."

"I'll get out of here myself," Old Zhou replied in a hoarse voice.

Zhao Weiguo withdrew his gaze and ignored him.

Back at the Baimaling Regiment Headquarters.

The kerosene lamp flickered. On the table lay the battle report that Li Dazhu had just written, the handwriting bearing the soot-blackened fingerprints of gunpowder.

Number of enemy killed, number of enemies captured, number of casualties.

The bottom is left blank.

Zhao Weiguo took the bronze seal out of his pocket and pressed it heavily into the vermilion ink. With a forceful press of his wrist, he firmly pressed it down into the blank space of the battle report.

The seal was removed.

The Eighth Route Army Independent Regiment.

Five red characters seeped into the rough texture of the paper.

Zhao Weiguo put the seal into the drawer and pushed open the door to the cave dwelling. A cold wind carrying the smell of gunpowder blew in.

Outside, it was already daylight. Old Wang from the cookhouse was starting a fire in the yard, ice crystals forming on the rim of the pot. He saw Zhao Weiguo come out and looked up.

"Commander, should breakfast be thicker?"

Zhao Weiguo looked at the sun just rising in the east.