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

The north gate of Liujia Town was wide open. Old Zhou led a battalion out, his shouts echoing through the streets. Some people lost their helmets, some tore off their leggings, and two soldiers carrying an empty stretcher deliberately knocked it over in the gate, the wooden frame hitting the blue bricks and cracking one of its legs with a crack.

"Don't pick them up! Retreat to Liugou!"

Old Zhou's shout was urgent and hoarse, and could be heard from the city walls and the streets. The soldiers of the First Battalion scattered into several groups, trudging along the muddy road outside the North Gate into the mountains. By the roadside lay empty ammunition boxes, tattered quilts, half-sacks of millet mixed with sand, and two Type 38 rifles with broken bolts. The bloodstains left from last night's attack on the city had not been washed away, and as the stretcher bearers passed by the bloodstains, the white cloth strips on their shoulders fluttered wildly in the wind.

A few villagers who had just dared to open their doors stood behind the cracks, dumbfounded. The Independent Regiment's flag had only been raised atop the city walls yesterday evening. How could they have been defeated so early this morning? An old man chased after them to the street corner, his voice low and menacing, "Battalion Commander Zhou, are the Japanese here again?" Old Zhou didn't stop, turning back to curse, "Close the gates, hide the grain, and don't stick your heads out!"

His face was frighteningly black, even the veins in his neck seemed taut. The old man quickly dragged the door back, and as the door sewed shut, he saw two soldiers throw a box of ammunition to the roadside. The lid was cracked, and the gleaming yellow shell casings rolled into the ditch. They were real bullets. Only the top layer was loaded. The battalion ran three miles past the north gate before the ranks began to regroup. Someone looked back and saw the flag still hanging on the city wall of Liujia Town, and couldn't help but grin: "Battalion Commander, doesn't our defeat look like we lost our wives and got kicked in the process?"

Old Zhou raised his hand and slapped him on the back of the head.

"If you laugh again, the Japanese soldiers can hear you from two miles away."

Those nearby were trembling with suppressed anger, but quickly composed themselves. The scout at the front gave a signal, and the column dispersed again. Some ran along the main road, others disappeared into the dry, grassy ditch at the foot of the slope, and a few dozen deliberately lagged behind, firing sniper shots towards Yangquan as they went. This was the first leg of their retreat. They would have to retreat four more legs in the next five hours.

In the observation post on the north slope of Liugou, Zhao Weiguo lay prone behind a grayish-white rock, only half of his hat brim visible. Through his binoculars, the shadows of people outside the north gate stretched long, with boxes, stretchers, and spent shell casings neatly arranged on the road. Zhao Gang squatted beside him, a troop roster spread out on his knees. A corner of the paper was curled up by the mountain wind; he used an ink bottle to weigh it down, his fingers moving down the list.

"After the battle of Liujia Town yesterday, the local backbone personnel who were brought in have been assigned to various companies. There are 8,000 on the payroll, and not a single one can be added."

He made a few dots on the edge of the paper with a pencil.

"The Second Battalion, with 600 men, is guarding the city, while 300 cavalrymen are keeping watch on the route from Yangquan. The positions on both sides of Liugou, north of Shiqiao, the reserve positions behind the bridge, the medical team, and the transport team all originate from this area, which is 8,000 li away. Li Yunlong and Ding Wei's men are only delaying on the outskirts and are not targeting our camp."

Zhao Weiguo lowered his binoculars: "Have the wounded been moved?"

"Those who are seriously wounded should stay in town. Those who are lightly wounded but can carry stretchers are not allowed to go with the battalion to pretend to be defeated soldiers. We can't use real wounded soldiers to put on a fake show again."

"Where's the grain?"

"The ambush troops have one day's rations. There are two ammunition trucks behind the bridge, and the mules have been unharnessed to prevent them from being startled by the artillery fire."

Zhao Gang closed his notebook and glanced at the winding dirt road below the mountain. The ambush area in Liugou stretched for nine kilometers in all directions, with the outer perimeter extended thirty kilometers away. If anyone slipped through at any end, the entire gully would be in grave danger.

"Once the stone bridge is blown up, heavy trucks will no longer be able to travel from Liujia Town to Liugou."

"Let's take down the reinforcements first."

"I know." Zhao Gang stuffed the notebook into his pocket. "I just wanted to write down the cost first, so that even if we win, no one will pretend they didn't see it."

Gardenia came up the slope, her cotton shoes covered in wet mud. Without saying a word, she handed her two thin sheets of paper.

"The reply from Yangquan has arrived. They first asked how many soldiers were left in Liujia Town. The reply from the city, based on the opening we left, said that the Independent Regiment had suffered more than half its casualties and was retreating north."

Who posted this?

"The radio operator we caught yesterday. He only sent the original text, and was taken back afterward. The cipher, word choice, and pauses were all in his usual style, and someone was watching him."

Zhao Weiguo glanced at the telegram. There were two ink blots on the paper, and the handwriting in one place was blurry, as if the sender's wrist had slipped. Zhi Zi continued, "Yangquan didn't fully believe it, so he released the scouts first. The main force behind them has already assembled, about nine hundred men, two armored vehicles, a radio truck, and several passenger cars."

"How long should we test the waters?"

"It can take anywhere from one to two hours."

Zhao Weiguo handed the telegram back to her: "Send them another message. The warehouse at the North Gate is on fire, and the Independent Regiment is rushing to transport artillery shells." Zhi Zi folded the paper: "Understood." She turned to walk towards the back slope, and Zhao Gang called her back: "Check the source again, don't let Yangquan change the radio operator." Zhi Zi turned back and nodded: "I've already heard it twice. It's still the same station."

Down the mountain, Old Zhou's battalion retreated to the second gentle slope. Four dark dots appeared first from the direction of Yangquan. The Japanese scouts rode slowly on horseback, dismounting every now and then to touch the ammunition boxes by the roadside. One Japanese soldier used his bayonet to push aside a tattered quilt, revealing a bloodstained uniform underneath. He waved to his back, and the other three riders followed.

The Independent Regiment soldiers lagging behind fired three shots. One horse's forelegs buckled, throwing the Japanese soldier on its back into a ditch. The remaining three riders immediately scattered, bullets sweeping down the slope, sending dry grass stalks flying. The rearguard sergeant cursed in a low voice, "Hit him! Run! Don't be greedy!" A young soldier had already raised his gun, but upon hearing the order, he could only grit his teeth and shrink back. He rolled down the slope for two meters, and when he got up, half his face was covered in mud. He followed his sergeant and retreated north.

The scouts didn't pursue too closely. They stopped for a while beside the dead horse and picked up the few live bullets lying by the roadside. A Japanese soldier smashed open a wooden crate, saw that it was filled with stones, his face changed, and he fired two shots in the direction of Liugou. The gunshots carried clearly to Old Zhou, who was ahead.

"Commander, they've discovered the box is fake."

"It should be fake." Old Zhou, panting, straightened his hat, which had been askew. "It's all real, that's why the Japanese didn't dare to chase us."

"Shall we turn around and bite him?"

Old Zhou stared at the horses behind them, his jaw twitching. This small group of scouts could be wiped out in a single volley. But if they were dealt with too easily, the nine hundred men behind would stop. He slung his rifle over his shoulder: "Keep retreating. Slow down on the third section, let them see someone has fallen behind." The young soldier froze: "Really fallen behind?"

"You fell."

"I?"

"Didn't you break your leg?"

A few people around him chuckled softly. The young soldier glanced down at his mud-caked trousers, then immediately limped to the back, cursing under his breath, making it seem like even his own men wanted to kick him. The Yangquan reinforcements left the city before noon. Two armored vehicles drove in the middle, their metal bodies covered in a layer of road dust. A small infantry squad led the way, splitting into two columns, bayonets flashing in the sun. A radio truck followed in the rear, its roof antenna swaying with the bumps of the dirt road.

Several trucks were towed behind the column, crammed with soldiers, their rifle butts clanging against the sides. The Japanese officers didn't force everyone onto the road; they ordered the vanguard to search along the route first, with the rear guard following at intervals. At each fork in the road, someone would climb the slope to check the ridges on both sides. They were cautious, yet reluctant to stop.

The grain, ammunition, and warehouses of Liujia Town were just ahead. The Independent Regiment had fought a day-long siege, with casualties littering the streets and supplies scattered outside the North Gate. A trail of footprints and wheel tracks stretched from the town all the way to Liugou; the muddy ground wouldn't send false telegrams. When the First Battalion retreated to the third section, the Japanese caught up. Machine gun bullets whizzed past the roadside, shattering a canteen. Water trickled down the soldier's lower back, chilling him to the bone. He wanted to turn around and curse, but Old Zhou pushed him behind a ditch.

"Get down, fire two shots, then leave!"

The battalion returned fire in scattered bursts. Some deliberately fired high, while others aimed specifically at the Japanese soldiers at the front. They would take down a few and immediately run. The Japanese machine guns had barely been set up when the vanguard had already disappeared over the slope, leaving only a few footprints and a torn leggings. The armored vehicles behind began to accelerate. The iron wheels rolled over the stones, causing the vehicles to lurch and sway. The machine gun at the front of the vehicle fired a burst towards the slope, sending up several pieces of stone that grazed a soldier's ear. He clutched his bleeding ear and ran forward. Old Zhou looked back and saw him, slowing his pace by a beat.

"Can you walk?"

"able!"

"Then don't cover it up, smear the blood on your clothes and show it to the Japanese!"

The soldier lowered his hand, blood trickling down his neck and into his collar. His mouth twitched in pain, but he still spat behind him. After retreating another two miles, a stone bridge appeared ahead. The bridge was narrow, with a shallow river that had just thawed in early spring flowing beneath it. The water was dark, and ice shards swirled around the bridge piers. South of the bridge was a low-lying area; north of the bridge, the road wound into a willow gully, the slopes on both sides narrowing until, at its narrowest point, only two vehicles could pass side-by-side.

The engineers planted explosives in the bridge arches last night, and laid wires along the cracks in the stones to the north bank. The bridge surface appeared unchanged, but upon closer inspection, one could see a ring of fresh mud around the edges of two stone slabs. Old Zhou's men crossed the bridge in batches. The last platoon didn't all cross; they fought on the south bank for about ten minutes. As soon as the Japanese scouts approached, they retreated to the north side of the bridge. Two soldiers carried their comrade with an injured ear, walking at different paces, as if they were truly being crushed by the pursuers.

Inside the observation post, Zhao Weiguo stared at the radio truck. The first armored vehicle had already crossed the bridge. The Japanese advance troops had also entered Liugou. The second armored vehicle rolled onto the bridge, but the radio truck behind it stopped on the south bank. The door opened, and a radio operator got out carrying his equipment, seemingly intending to set up the station at the bridgehead. Zhao Tieshan, crouching behind the artillery telescope, gripped the adjustment wheel: "Bomb now, we can intercept over six hundred enemy troops ahead."

The phone call from Duan Peng, sent from Dongpo, also arrived.

"The eastern pass can be sealed off," the communications officer said in a low voice. "Battalion Commander Duan is asking, 'Should we attack?'"

Zhao Weiguo didn't respond. The second armored vehicle on the bridge was in low gear, its wheels grinding against the stone slabs inch by inch, the muffled thuds carrying down the bridge piers. The radio truck still hadn't moved. The Japanese rear guard on the south bank dispersed along the road, some beginning to climb the slopes on either side. If they waited any longer, Old Zhou's side would face another round of fire. Zhao Gang glanced at him but didn't urge him.

On the other end of the phone, Duan Peng didn't ask any more questions. A gunshot rang out from the ditch. Immediately afterwards, a machine gun fired half a volley. Old Zhou's battalion was pushed back dozens of steps again, and a soldier rolled down the slope, his knee hitting a rock, unable to get up for a long time. Zhao Weiguo's knuckles pressed against the edge of the map, the corner of the paper digging into his fingernails.

The radio truck finally started moving. The driver, probably afraid of getting stuck in traffic on the south side of the bridge, stepped on the gas, swerved, and followed closely behind the second armored vehicle onto the bridge. The infantry behind were also urged to push forward, and the bridge, the north side of the bridge, and the mouth of the ditch were all packed with people.

"Let the radio truck go," Zhao Weiguo said.

The sappers gripped the detonator, sweat beading on their foreheads. The radio truck had crossed the bridge. Zhao Weiguo raised his hand: "Bomb!" The stone bridge bulged in the middle. A muffled thunderclap exploded across the river, sending bridge planks, stones, and sections of the guardrail flying into the air. The second armored vehicle had just reached the north bank when the blast wave pushed its rear wheels sideways, crashing into a roadside embankment. The rear half of the radio truck fell into the gap, its cab still hanging on the north bank, the antenna folded down and landing on the roof.

The Japanese troops south of the bridge, obscured by smoke and dust, retreated. Those north of the bridge, however, instinctively surged into the willow ditch. Some jumped into the ditch, their boots immediately filled with pebbles and icy water, their legs slipping as they climbed ashore. A signal flare rose from the western ridge. A red light swept across the willow ditch, trailing a short plume of smoke. Old Zhou had already retreated to the fifth section. He saw the red light, stopped abruptly, and turned back.

"Damn it, I've had enough!"

The battalion dispersed along the foot of the slope. The troops, who had been stumbling and fleeing north just moments before, suddenly lay prone in the shallow trenches they had dug beforehand. The machine guns, their tarpaulins pulled back from the mud, were pointed at the pursuing Japanese vanguard. The young soldier who had feigned a limp was the first to kneel. His face still covered in mud, he braced himself against the butt of his rifle on his shoulder and gritted his teeth, shouting, "Chase them!"

A volley of bullets rained down. The Japanese vanguard seemed to have crashed into an invisible wall; the first few fell, and those behind, unable to stop, rolled to either side, trampling over the corpses. An officer brandished his sword, trying to steer the column up the slope, but Duan Peng's machine gun had already opened fire on the eastern ridge. The gunfire pressed down from the hillside, first at the gully entrance, then at the infantry beside the armored vehicles. The fire from the western ridge followed suit. A flurry of fire from both sides instantly turned the roadside into a dense mass of men; anyone who looked up was shot.

"Artillery, vehicles, and radios!"

Zhao Tieshan's orders were relayed via telephone. The six mountain guns were divided into three groups, not firing randomly into the crowd. The first group targeted the two armored vehicles, the second blocked the north side of the bridge, and the third engaged the radio vehicle hanging on the broken bridge and the car behind it. The first shot landed in front of the armored vehicle, sending up a pillar of earth, and the debris clanged against the vehicle's exterior. The second shot missed the ditch wall, knocking a newly set-up machine gun and its crew off the ditch. The gun crew readjusted their aim, lowering the muzzle.

The Liugou gully wasn't wide, and the sound of artillery fire crashed against the two mountain walls, leaving only a buzzing in people's ears. Gun smoke lingered at the bottom of the gully, mingling with the smell of gasoline leaking from cars, stinging their eyes and bringing tears to their eyes. The first armored vehicle turned its front, intending to mow down the eastern slope with its machine gun. Just as its wheels ran over a corpse, an infantry gun at the foot of Xiling Mountain opened fire.

The gun emplacement was hidden behind a pile of stones, very close to the road. This was the angle the gun crew had been waiting for. A shell struck the outside of the armored vehicle's front wheel, sending sparks flying. The vehicle lurched downwards, the wheels tilting half a foot, but it didn't stop. The machine gun on the vehicle swept the gun emplacement, sending the stones flying into a cloud of dust, and the loader, hunching his shoulders, pushed the next round into the breech.

Zhao Tieshan stood at the back, his eyes fixed on the breechblock: "Hard-core shell, second shot." Six prototype shells had been packed separately in a wooden crate last night. A red circle was painted around each shell; no one was allowed to mix in ordinary ammunition. When the cannon fired, the gun carriage bounced backward. The shell struck the inside of the wheel, its tip shattering on the metal, shards splashing into the mud, leaving only a white mark on the wheel.

The loader's face changed: "It's blown!"

"Third shot, sight wheel shaft."

"Battalion Commander, the machine guns from the vehicle are closing in!"

"I see it. Loading."

Machine gun bullets whizzed past the gun shield, and a gunner's shoulder slumped, blood trickling down his sleeve. He didn't release the directional paddlewheel; the man next to him braced himself with his shoulder, stabilizing the gun muzzle at the junction of the wheel and the vehicle. The third shot was fired, and the armored vehicle jolted violently. The iron wheel didn't fly off, but the axle jammed. The vehicle lay sideways against the embankment, the machine gun still firing, but the muzzle could only sweep back and forth across a small section of the Xiling slope.

"That was a success." Zhao Tieshan didn't laugh. "Change targets."

The second armored vehicle had half its hull against the north end of the broken bridge, and the driver was about to reverse. The artillery crew turned the gun, and the fourth hard-core round grazed the front of the vehicle, hit the stone pillar, and broke into several pieces.

"Another one fired." The loader's jaw clenched so tightly it made a grinding sound.

Zhao Tieshan glanced through his binoculars: "Switch to another cannon. Fourth shot, aim at the front wheel hub."

"Only two hard-core rounds left."

"Fire this one, save the other two."

The fourth bullet struck the base of the front wheel, denting the metal and causing the axle to stiffen. The armored vehicle rolled half a meter over, its front end tilting towards the broken bridge railing. The engine was still roaring, but the front wheels were just grinding in the mud.

"This one's done. Stop using hard-core rounds." Zhao Tieshan turned to the loader, his throat hoarse from the gun smoke. "Don't use tool steel to turn a dead car into a sieve. Use regular armor-piercing rounds, aim for the cooling vents."

The two cannons fired, one in front of the other. A standard armor-piercing round shredded off a section of the front skid plate, while another penetrated the radiator window. Black smoke billowed from the gap, and the driver tried to climb out, but was pushed back down by rifles on the slope as soon as half his body was exposed. Both armored vehicles were now completely stuck.

The Japanese troops in Liugou began to panic. They tried to retreat south, but the stone bridge was broken. There were still about three hundred men south of the bridge; some fired across the broken section, while others ran downstream into the ditch, trying to find shallow water to bypass it. Ding Wei's men in the southwest did not approach the battlefield, but only fired a burst of gunfire at a more distant fork in the road, forcing the reinforcements from Yangquan to hesitate to attack the stone bridge directly. Several explosions came from the east; Li Yunlong's men destroyed a temporary roadblock and then retreated into the mountains, leading the Japanese troops who were trying to bypass the bridge astray.

Li Yunlong's liaison officer delivered a message in the afternoon; the note was soaked with sweat and became soft.

"Commander Li said that Commander Zhao was willing to put the city he just captured yesterday on the table and tolerate the First Battalion being attacked. This time it's not about saving face, it's about taking the whole thing."

After reading the note, Zhao Gang handed it to Zhao Weiguo. Zhao Weiguo didn't take it: "Tell him to hold out for another two hours on the perimeter, and not to enter Liugou." The liaison officer grinned: "Commander Li gave the same instructions. He said that if you cooked this pot of meat, he won't touch it." Zhao Gang finally smiled: "That sounds like him."

In the first hour after the encirclement, the Japanese troops were still launching counterattacks in groups. They sent out more than a hundred men, who rushed along the eastern slope towards the mouth of the gully, trying to carve out a path. Duan Peng moved the forward positions back several dozen paces, and only after the group had climbed halfway up the slope did the light machine guns on the flanks open fire. Hand grenades rolled down the slope, landing in the crevices of the rocks and exploding one after another, breaking the advancing troops into several pieces.

Duan Peng, panting heavily on the phone, said, "The east entrance is blocked. Give me another company, and I can push in."

"Hold your ground and don't let anyone squeeze in," Zhao Weiguo said.

"There's already chaos among them."

"Even in chaos, there are still guns. Leave room for the artillery."

There was a pause on the other end of the phone.

"clear."

Xiling didn't rush downhill either. Li Dazhu stayed behind to defend Liujia Town, while the western positions were taken over by the withdrawn battalion's firepower and reserves. The six hundred defenders held the north gate, warehouse, and wounded soldiers' camp tightly, and not a single gun in the town was transferred out. No matter how fiercely the fighting in Liugou raged, the flag of Liujia Town never fell. In the second hour, the Japanese radio went completely silent.

The radio truck hanging on the broken bridge was hit by a shell; the carriage split open, and the equipment and wooden crates rolled into the shallow river. Two radio operators, carrying parts, tried to take cover behind the bridge pier, but were swept away by the water and lost their footing. Those on the south side of the bridge couldn't see what was happening in the ditch and could only fire into the smoke and dust. Without the radio, the armored vehicles were immobilized, and Japanese officers began sending messengers.

Those on horseback couldn't cross the broken bridge, and those on foot had barely climbed the eastern slope when Duan Peng's men forced them back. Some men took off their uniforms and mingled with the wounded soldiers, trying to slip north, but were recognized by veterans of the First Battalion from their shoes. The ordinary soldiers' shoes were covered in mud, but these men had leggings wrapped around their shoes, and pistols were tucked into their belts. Old Zhou dragged them to the edge of the trench: "Want to leave? Put down your knife first."

The officer drew his knife and lunged at him. Old Zhou dodged to the side, the butt of his rifle slamming into the officer's wrist. The knife fell to the ground, and two soldiers rushed forward, shoving the man into the mud.

"Tie him up." Old Zhou took a breath. "Keep him alive for questioning."

"Battalion Commander, we can still pursue them from here."

Old Zhou glanced into the ditch. The enemy had retreated to around two broken-down armored vehicles and several cars, with a few machine guns forming a makeshift firing circle. If it were any other time, he would have led his men down there already. He wiped the mud from his chin: "Wait for the signal. Whoever gets there first today will have to clean the pots for the entire battalion for a month."

The young soldier muttered under his breath, "That would be worse than solitary confinement."

"What did you say?"

"I say the battalion commander is wise."

The shelling stopped briefly after the third hour. Suddenly, Liugou fell silent, save for the cries of the wounded, the hissing of leaking radiators in the trucks, and the soft clatter of ice against the rocks in the ditch. Zhao Weiguo ordered someone to use a captured tin megaphone to broadcast a message. First, the puppet troops and translators were called, then the Japanese soldiers. The message was brief: Put down your weapons, get out of the vehicles, and carry the wounded out first. Anyone who peeked out was immediately driven back by their own officers.

About ten minutes later, an argument broke out from behind a car. Two gunshots rang out, and a rifle emerged from behind the side of the vehicle, its bayonet tied with a white cloth. It shook twice before being raised above the roof. A puppet army translator stepped forward first, his knees trembling. He raised the rifle high above his head, taking a few steps and glancing back every now and then. Seven or eight wounded soldiers followed behind, some using their rifles as crutches, others carrying one soldier in twos.

The Japanese machine guns turned towards them. A light machine gun on the east side fired first, forcing the gunner back behind the vehicle. The men under the white cloth scattered and rolled into the shallow ditch by the roadside. Taking advantage of this opening, the battalion advanced about a hundred paces, while the fire from the west ridge pressed down. The final artillery barrage lasted only five minutes. The shells targeted the machine guns, vehicles, and the bunkers surrounding the armored vehicles. The soil at the bottom of the ditch was turned over several times, scraps of sheet metal became embedded in tree trunks, and smoke covered half the road. When the wind cleared the smoke, the machine gun muzzle of the first armored vehicle had already slumped, while the engine compartment of the second vehicle was still belching black smoke.

Old Zhou saw the second signal flare. This time it was green.

"superior!"

The battalion pressed back from the north, Duan Peng's men cutting down the eastern slope, while the firepower from the western ridge moved forward. The last Japanese troops were squeezed into a stretch of road only a few dozen feet long, with guns in front, a broken bridge behind, and hillsides on both sides. Some charged out with bayonets, only to be shot down after running less than ten steps. Others cowered under the vehicles, sticking their guns out from between the wheels. A soldier from the Independent Regiment rushed close, but before peeking out, he threw a stone to the other side of the vehicle. The gun fired, ricocheting off the stone, and only then did the soldier roll out of the mud, bringing his rifle butt down on the man's nape.

The gunfire gradually subsided. Half an hour later, only a few scattered resistances remained in Liugou. A small Japanese squad huddled at the north end of the broken bridge, their backs to the piers, refusing to surrender. There was no need for artillery to fire anymore. Old Zhou led his men to advance from both sides, throwing grenades behind the bridge railings. The explosions caused another rock to fall from the damaged bridge.

As the last officer with a knife rushed out, he stepped on some gravel and stumbled. Duan Peng didn't engage him in a knife fight, but instead shot him in the leg. After the man fell, he was still clutching the knife in his hand. Two soldiers used their bayonets to pry the knife away and then tied his arms behind his back.

"Keep it," Duan Peng said. "Zhi Zi needs to give a statement."

The sun was almost setting when the gunfire at Liugou finally ceased. The luring of the enemy took five hours. From the blowing up of the bridge to the completion of the encirclement, three hours had passed. The battlefield inventory began at the broken bridge. Zhao Gang led his men through the area, counting their own men first, then the enemy, recording the corpses, wounded, prisoners, and directions of escape separately. Anyone whose reported numbers didn't match had to return to their original spot and start the count again.

The Independent Regiment suffered 36 dead and 82 wounded. Stretchers were carried north from the ditch, the blood of the wounded soaking the canvas black. Some were still conscious, biting a piece of wood to remain silent; others grabbed the edge of the stretcher as soon as they were carried up, asking if the First Battalion had launched a preemptive counterattack. Old Zhou stood beside them, his face covered in dried mud.

"Not in advance."

The wounded soldier released his grip, grimaced, and inhaled sharply: "Then it wasn't for nothing." There were 711 enemy corpses and 148 prisoners. Another 41 escaped from the south of the bridge and downstream ravines; the cavalry battalion was already monitoring along the Yangquan direction and hadn't pursued them into enemy-controlled territory. Neither of the two armored vehicles could be moved immediately. One had a jammed axle, and the other had a damaged radiator and front wheel. The transport team first emptied the fuel from the vehicles, loaded it into captured iron drums, and then towed the functional vehicles to the north bank. One ammunition car pre-positioned behind the bridge was moved to the wounded, and the other was used to supply the various positions.

As Zhao Gang watched a group of prisoners being brought in, his first question was, "Have the wounded been separated?"

"They've been divided. Japanese soldiers, puppet troops, and translators are in one column each."

"Don't pile up guns in one place. Separate the bloody, usable, and damaged ones."

"How are armored vehicles counted?"

"Seized, awaiting repair. Do not write 'usable'."

Zhao Tieshan came down from his gun emplacement, carrying the wooden box marked with a red circle in his arms. There were two hard-core rounds left in the box, and the other four slots were empty. Zhao Gang looked at it: "How many rounds are ready?"

"Two shots shattered, both shots took effect. They brought both cars to a stop."

"Can we make more?"

Zhao Tieshan closed the box lid and patted a layer of dust off the wooden board with his palm: "Let's not build it yet. Hard cores require tool steel, and the mother machine is still waiting. We haven't even gotten the hang of the projectile body, heat treatment, and assembly yet. If we continue, we'll just be picking up materials and waiting for results." A gunner next to him couldn't help but say, "But it really came in handy today."

"Even if it's useful, we still have to consider the costs." Zhao Tieshan looked at the bandage that had just been wrapped around his shoulder. "We have cannons to shoot down the wheels, and explosives to break the bridge. There's no need to use the factory's tools to fill the gap."

Zhao Weiguo walked over and looked down at the two red-circled bullets in the wooden box.

"Keep the test records safe. Give the tool steel to the mother machine first."

Zhao Tieshan nodded: "I'll go back and find the two broken sections as well." Under the broken bridge, the engineers hadn't dared to go into the water yet. Grenade pouches, ammunition boxes, and radio parts were scattered in the ditch, and several broken wires were submerged in the black water. The southern half of the bridge had collapsed into the river, and the bridge planks on the north bank had also cracked in two places. The engineering company commander squatted by the bridge for a while, his shoes covered in mud.

"Building a temporary bridge will take at least three days. For heavy vehicles to cross, it will take a week. We also need to dismantle timber from Liujia Town."

Zhao Gang started a new line after the battle results list: The stone bridge was destroyed. The transport team took an extra twelve miles of detour through the mountains. After he finished writing, he looked up at Zhao Weiguo: "This debt is also yours."

"Calculate."

"The town's grain and seriously wounded soldiers cannot be transported out in a short time."

"Second Battalion, hold your position. Light vehicles, take the detour; stretchers, take the shortcut first. Prepare the bridge materials tonight."

Zhao Gang hummed in agreement and flattened the paper. The pencil tip hovered near the number 36 dead, then moved away after a moment. Zhi Zi questioned the prisoners three times. The first time she asked for their unit numbers, the second for their departure orders, and the third time she questioned the two officers separately. Both testimonies mentioned Yangquan and Shouyang in one instance. Seven strongholds along the line were preparing to consolidate their forces, with armored trains providing support along the railway. Once all the troops had converged, they would then advance towards Liujia Town and the surrounding base areas.

She handed the statement to Zhao Weiguo: "At the latest, five days. It could be earlier."

"Does Yangquan know about the defeat here?"

"The radio truck stopped sending complete telegrams after crossing the bridge. Those who escaped back will report it."

"Where are the locations of the seven outposts?"

"The prisoners only know the general situation. The railway telephones, bridges, warehouses, and outer city gates are all guarded, but the exact troop strength still needs to be verified."

Zhao Gang laid the Zhengtai railway map on an ammunition box. The wind blew in from the broken bridge, constantly lifting the edges of the paper. Zhao Weiguo used the wooden box containing hard-core ammunition to weigh down one corner, moving the pencil in his hand from Yangquan towards Shouyang. Thirty kilometers of railway, seven key points. Once the joint operation concluded, taking out these points with eight thousand men would require more than just one bridge and a hundred casualties.

The sound of horses' hooves echoed in the distance. The cavalry battalion reported back that no new large-scale attacks had been launched from the Yangquan direction; scattered deserters were fleeing back. Li Yunlong and Ding Wei's men had withdrawn from the outer perimeter as agreed, and neither of them came to Liugou to claim the spoils. Zhao Weiguo pressed his pencil down in the middle of the railway line.

"Tonight, collect the wounded, replenish ammunition, and take down the No. 7 stronghold."

Zhao Gang asked, "Shall we move tomorrow?"

"Move simultaneously."

At the bottom of the ditch, two armored vehicles lay one behind the other in the mud, their hulls still bearing the white marks of artillery shells. Old Zhou walked past the prisoner-of-war team, and a soldier picked up a helmet he had previously discarded by the roadside. The helmet's rim was dented, covered in mud and blood. Old Zhou took the helmet, wiped it on his trouser leg a couple of times, and then put it back on the soldier's head.

"Next time you suffer a defeat, don't actually lose your equipment."

The soldier straightened his helmet: "Still acting?"

"If the commander speaks up, you'll have to run."

Zhao Weiguo stood at the mouth of Liugou, watching the last rays of sunlight sink below the mountain ridge in the direction of Yangquan.

"The area surrounding Yangquan has been cleared."

His pencil fell on the straight line.

"It's time to cut the boy line."