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

On the evening of August 5th, Gardenia brought back supplementary intelligence.

Dongmeng Village.

Zhao Weiguo read through the intelligence report, then pushed it across the table for the monk sitting under the lamp to read.

The monk finished reading but said nothing.

Zhao Weiguo took out another list from the drawer and placed it next to him.

Two sheets of paper lay side by side. One contained intelligence about Zhi Zi. The other was written by Zhao Weiguo: a list of supplies needed for the Independent Regiment's sabotage operation.

The monk compared the two pieces of paper.

"How much is missing?"

Zhao Weiguo did not answer directly. He stood up, walked to the map hanging on the wall, and traced the Zhengtai Railway line with his finger.

"Thirty kilometers of railway, eight strongholds. Without enough explosives, a sabotage attack can only smash the tracks, not the bridges. Without radio, simultaneous operations from four directions would be chaotic."

The monk took the paper and glanced at the numbers. Thirty kilometers, eight outposts, lacking explosives, steel, and radios.

"Bring it back tonight."

Zhao Weiguo turned around and glanced at the monk again.

Zhao Gang put down his pen.

"A night raid would expose the preparations for the major battle."

Zhao Weiguo didn't respond immediately. The entire Independent Regiment was hidden in the shadows, and the Japanese hadn't noticed anything amiss. If something happened at Dongmeng Village, reinforcements would be deployed along the route, and the final offensive at the end of the month would lose the advantage of a surprise attack.

He sat back down at the table and thought for a moment.

"Without this batch of supplies, even if we reach August 20th, we won't be able to use that little bit of explosives. We don't have enough steel, and Zhao Tieshan can't make shell casings. We don't have radios, so simultaneous command from four directions relies entirely on messengers running errands; running thirty kilometers is exhausting."

Zhao Gang was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

"How do we fight?"

Zhao Weiguo turned to look at the monk.

"You take forty men. Thirty rifles, five light machine guns, and eighty grenades. Old Stone will come along. He knows how to dismantle boxes and identify detonators."

The monk stood up, folded the list, and put it in his pocket.

"Is it worth it to set up such a large operation for a small supply depot?"

Zhao Weiguo read the contents of the list again without explanation, just reading it aloud.

"Steel can be used to make artillery shell casings for Zhao Tieshan. Yellow explosives can be used to blow up bridges. Radio can extend the command distance."

The monk listened to the whole thing.

"value."

At exactly 9:00 PM, the monk led his men off from Baimaling.

Forty men rode horses. The horses' hooves were wrapped in cloth, and the men did not speak; only the occasional clinking of the iron rings on the saddles could be heard.

Once they were out of the ridge, the monk turned to Shuanzi and said...

"Dismount three kilometers outside Dongmeng Village. Tether the horse in the woods, and then walk the rest of the way."

Shuanzi nodded.

The forty men rode for half an hour and stopped at the edge of the woods outside Dongmeng Village. Everyone dismounted and handed the reins to the two men providing cover from behind. The remaining thirty-eight men continued on foot.

The monk walked in front, carrying a large cleaver on his shoulder. The scabbard was wrapped in several layers of cloth so it wouldn't reflect light.

In the middle of the night, the group arrived outside Dongmeng Village.

The monk lay prone behind an earthen embankment, peering out.

The supply depot was small. It had three brick walls and one wooden fence. Inside were three earthen warehouses, and in the northwest corner stood a small artillery emplacement. It wasn't tall, about three stories high, with two Type 92 guns mounted on top.

The main gate was on the south side, and a puppet soldier stood guard at the entrance, leaning against the wall, his head nodding. He was getting sleepy.

The lights in the barracks were still on. Through the windows, you could see the Japanese soldiers talking inside.

The monk stared at it for a while, then retreated behind the earthen embankment.

He divided the people into three groups.

"I'll take fifteen men to storm the gun emplacement. Old Stone, you take fifteen men to capture the warehouse. The remaining ten will stay on the perimeter, responsible for blocking reinforcements and watching the wagons. Remember, attack the gun emplacement first. If the machine guns don't fall silent, the warehouse team won't be able to get out."

No one made a sound.

11:45 PM.

The monk reached the west side of the fort.

The west side was a blind spot. The machine gun muzzles on the emplacement faced south and east, while the west side was a brick wall with no windows. The monk walked along the base of the wall, and when he reached the corner, he peeked out.

Two machine gunners sat behind sandbags on the upper level of the gun emplacement; one was smoking with his head down, while the other was cleaning his gun.

The monk drew his large cleaver from its sheath.

He climbed up the joint of the brick wall with one hand, pushed off the wall with his foot, and flipped himself up.

His movement pressed down on the wooden planks on the upper part of the gun emplacement, producing a low, muffled thud.

The smoking Japanese soldier had just looked up when the monk's back of his knife struck the back of his neck. The back of the knife, not the blade. The man stumbled forward, his face hitting the sandbag without a sound.

Before the other machine gunner could even stand up, the monk had already covered his mouth with his left hand and twirled his knife with his right, the hilt striking his temple.

The machine gun muzzle suddenly sank, and only the muffled sound from the concrete wall remained inside the turret.

The monk dragged the two men behind the sandbags, then set up his Type 92 rifle and aimed it at the barracks below.

He whistled down below.

The old stone started to move.

Two Japanese guards stood at the warehouse entrance, their bayonets flashing in the moonlight. Old Stone emerged from the shadows, his footsteps as light as a cat's.

When the first Japanese soldier saw him, Old Stone was already in front of him. He grabbed the rifle with his left hand and lifted it up, while his right hand slipped underneath and delivered a short punch to his Adam's apple.

The person collapsed without making a sound.

The second one had barely turned around when Old Stone's arm had already wrapped around his neck.

The two men landed one after the other, neither of them having time to touch their guns.

Old Stone picked up their rifles and handed them to the men behind him. He gestured with his hand. The warehouse door.

The door is locked.

Old Stone pulled out his dagger and pried open the door bolt. Luckily, the bolt wasn't very tight on the wooden door frame. With a quick pry, the door opened.

Three warehouses.

The first room was filled with steel. Steel plates, six and eight millimeters thick, were stacked layer upon layer, weighing about one ton and eighty centimeters.

The second room contained military supplies and clothing. Winter cotton-padded coats, trousers, shoes, and blankets were neatly stacked on wooden racks.

In the third room, when Old Stone pushed open the door, the light from the tinderbox illuminated the red characters on a wooden box: "Pyrotechnics."

He crouched down and pried open the box lid.

Yellow explosives.

Two hundred kilograms, neatly stacked in two rows. Next to them were detonators and fuses, rolled up in wooden crates.

Old Stone held his breath.

He was about to turn around and call for people to move the goods when his hand touched something under the third wooden crate. It was a tin box, smaller than a box of explosives, and it didn't feel heavy.

He dragged the metal box out and pried it open.

A radio.

It has a square shape with German lettering on the panel. Next to it are spare batteries, earphones, and an instruction manual. The machine's metal casing reflects a dull light under the torchlight.

Old Stone doesn't know German. That thing in the box is worth more than ten boxes of canned goods.

He turned and spoke to the person at the door.

"Call a monk. Tell him you've found something good."

The monk hasn't come down yet.

The Japanese soldiers in the barracks heard the commotion outside.

A Japanese soldier peered out of a barracks window and paused for a moment when he saw the dark muzzle of a machine gun on the gun emplacement.

The monk didn't give him time to react.

He pulled the trigger.

A burst of Type 92 bullets swept across the barracks door frame, sending splinters flying. The Japanese soldier who had been peeking out shrank back into the room.

Immediately afterwards, Old Stone's men sealed off the windows of the warehouse. They fired a volley in an unoccupied direction, shattering all the glass in the windows. Five machine guns were positioned at the windows, their fire illuminating half the wall.

"Stop firing!" the monk shouted from the gun emplacement. "Save the bullets for carrying steel!"

The Japanese soldiers in the barracks were trapped inside and couldn't get out.

Twenty-odd men, barefoot, rushed to grab guns, only to be driven back by machine gun fire as soon as they reached the door. Some tried to climb out through the back window, but Shuanzi, leading the outer perimeter team, positioned themselves fifty meters away and fired a shot at the first person to climb out—his shoulder, not his head.

The sergeant was directing from the gate, yelling for his men to assemble. Shuanzi, outside the courtyard wall, aimed in that direction.

One shot.

The sergeant's shout was cut off. He slammed into the doorframe and slid down. The remaining Japanese soldiers, without their commander, became even more chaotic.

The Japanese lieutenant inside the house was trying to organize a counterattack. He ordered the door to be blocked, hoping to rush out during the interval when the machine gun was being reloaded.

But the monk didn't give him a chance.

"Drop the bomb!" he shouted from the gun emplacement.

Two grenades were thrown in through the window.

The explosion drowned out all other sounds.

A few seconds later, a broken Chinese voice came from inside the room: "They've lowered their prices! They've lowered their prices!"

The remaining dozen or so Japanese soldiers threw down their guns. One seriously wounded soldier was dragged out, while the rest were held down by Shuanzi and his men.

The situation was even simpler with the puppet troops. Fourteen men were drinking when they heard the gunshots and before they could react, Old Stone's men had already kicked the door open.

"Put the gun down!"

The puppet soldiers glanced at the unfinished wine on the table, then at the dark gun barrels at the door, and raised their hands.

One of the puppet soldiers escaped through a window amidst the chaos.

Shuanzi chased after him for a few steps but couldn't catch up, so he returned to report to the monk.

The monk glanced at the dark fields to the east.

"Forget it. Let him run. If the Japanese know there are troops in this area, they won't dare to make any rash moves."

At midnight, the battle ended.

On the Independent Regiment's side, three were lightly wounded, but no one was killed.

Of the twenty-five Japanese soldiers, most were killed, and one seriously wounded prisoner was taken back for interrogation. Fourteen puppet troops surrendered, and one escaped.

The monk rushed into the three storerooms.

The first room required 1.8 tons of steel. It could be hauled away by mules and a horse-drawn cart.

The second room contained 360 sets of winter cotton-padded clothes, trousers, shoes, and blankets.

The third room contained 200 kilograms of yellow explosives, 500 detonators, and 30 rolls of fuse.

There is also a radio.

The monk squatted in front of the radio and shone a flashlight on the German nameplate on it.

"Who knows how to use this?"

Old Stone shook his head.

The monk flipped through a few pages of the instruction manual. It was all in German. He closed the manual and stuffed it into his backpack.

"Take it back. The commander knows about these things."

The team withdrew at 2 a.m.

Four Japanese horse-drawn carts, plus ten captured mules, were all put to use. Steel, clothing, explosives, detonators, and radios were loaded onto five carts.

The monk had a string of fake hoof prints left on the eastern side of the outer perimeter. Heading east, the direction led to the puppet army's territory of another county.

If pursuers come, chase them in the wrong direction for a while.

At 6:00 a.m. on August 6, the supplies entered the Baimaling Arsenal.

When Zhao Tieshan saw the steel, his eyes widened.

He walked over, touched the edge of the steel plate with his hand, and then squatted down to take a look at its thickness.

"Six millimeters plus eight millimeters. That's enough to make shell casings. We can also repair a batch of gun barrels."

He stood up and dusted off his hands.

Where is Zhao Weiguo?

"At the regimental headquarters."

Zhao Tieshan walked towards the regimental headquarters by himself, and after a few steps, he turned back and shouted to the people at the arsenal.

"Inventory and inventory. Not a single steel plate can get wet."

Inside the regimental headquarters, Zhao Gang was distributing supplies. Yellow explosives were allocated to the raiding teams, and the quantities for each section of railway track and bridge were marked. Clothing was prioritized for distribution to frontline veterans and the wounded.

Zhao Weiguo placed the radio on the table and looked at it. A few days ago, Ding Wei needed a radio, so Zhao Weiguo had the monk send one over to use temporarily, as a loan.

After distributing the supplies, Zhao Gang came over and looked at the radio.

Do you know how to use it?

Zhao Weiguo glanced at the German nameplate on the panel. Telephone Gen 1937. He didn't speak, but plugged in the headphone jack and turned it on.

There was static coming from the headphones.

A hissing sound of electricity.

Zhao Weiguo listened for a while, then turned the volume down and turned it off.

"It works. The backup battery is also full."

Zhao Gang breathed a sigh of relief.

Zhao Weiguo flipped through the operation manual and put it back on the table.

"With it, we can coordinate multiple attacks simultaneously."

Zhao Gang picked up the manual and flipped through it, but he still couldn't understand the German.

Who should we ask to translate?

Zhao Weiguo thought for a moment.

"I know someone. I'll go see him in a couple of days."

He plugged his headphones back in, and the static started up again. He listened to the static for a while, then turned it off.