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

At dawn on September 2nd, the 18-kilometer-long frontal blockade trench was completed.

The engineers dug all night. The trench wasn't deep, just waist-deep, but deep enough that a person could crouch down and not see anything, and could fire from the edge of the trench. The two trenches stretched parallel to each other, about eighty paces apart, with no man's land in between. Old Zhou walked along the second trench and stopped when he reached the gap about three hundred paces to the southwest.

He crouched down and looked at the bottom of the trench. It was covered with a layer of gravel, making no sound when stepped on. The trench walls were sloped, not straight up and down – a straight wall would be a graveyard if a shell came in. With the sloped walls, shrapnel would bounce up, allowing people to dodge to the sides.

The deputy battalion commander followed behind. Old Zhou didn't turn around, but pointed to the middle of the gap.

"The squad in the first trench deliberately left an empty ammunition box when they withdrew."

The deputy battalion commander was taken aback. "Why leave empty boxes?"

"The door can be opened, but there can't be no one behind it." Old Zhou stood up and patted the dirt off his knees. "A three-sided encirclement with one side open is a trap. This is to make it look like we're leaving the door open and an empty ammunition box by the entrance, so they'll think we're short-handed and have retreated. Once they think we've retreated, they'll dare to squeeze through the gap."

The deputy battalion commander thought for a moment. "What if someone actually escaped through the breach?"

"Release them if you can, don't chase them." Old Zhou's voice was as flat as if he were talking about the weather. "Anyone released will spread rumors. If you chase them, they won't come out again."

In the morning, the twelve mountain guns were deployed to four positions. Zhao Tieshan checked the firing tables one by one, forbidding the use of whole numbers. He had to mark every difference of a fraction of a degree in angle between each position on the table. The artillerymen squatted behind their positions, using binoculars to observe the impact points and adjusting the numbers on the firing tables with pencils.

The first round targeted an outer sentry post. A shell landed on an empty earthen wall, collapsing half of it and sending up a cloud of yellow smoke. The second round hit an abandoned thatched hut—a dummy target erected by engineers the day before, stuffed with dry grass and rags; a single shell burned it completely. The third round destroyed a water trough. The trough was made of sheet metal; the shell pierced through, creating a hole, and water gushed out.

Not a single shot hit the city wall or the three watchtowers. It wasn't that they couldn't aim; it was that they didn't fire. Old Zhou told Zhao Tieshan, "Leave the city wall intact. If we hit it, he'll know we want to attack. If we don't, he'll think we can't break through."

Zhao Tieshan nodded. He clutched the firing table in his hand, which was covered with densely packed decimals. A gunner asked if the angle could be rounded for easier setting, and Zhao Tieshan glared at him.

"The decimals are for the artillerymen. The whole numbers are for the superiors. If you find this troublesome, I'll go find Zhao Gang and have your name removed from the artillery roster."

The gunner shrank back and obediently loaded the decimal.

The garrison commander at the outpost was named Tanaka. He was in his early forties, with an old scar on his face from shrapnel in the Taihang Mountains last year, running from his cheekbone to his ear. Tanaka stood atop the pillbox, counting heads through binoculars. He counted three times, finding the number of soldiers to be less than two thousand.

Less than two thousand. Less than two thousand men were needed to besiege a stronghold of nine hundred. Tanaka put down his binoculars and touched the scar on his face. He had fought against the Eighth Route Army in the Taihang Mountains last year and knew their tactics: concentrate forces to annihilate enemy forces, avoiding sieges, attacks, and wasting ammunition. The fact that less than two thousand men were needed to besiege a stronghold of nine hundred could only mean one thing: the Eighth Route Army didn't have enough troops to destroy the stronghold; they had to besiege it.

Tanaka determined that the southwest defenses were the weakest. There were the fewest firing positions there, and the trenches were shallow; the mortars only fired two rounds before stopping. He ordered another layer of barbed wire to be added to the southwest, not to plug the gap, but in the opposite way: to make the Eighth Route Army think he was afraid of a breach in the southwest and was moving troops there. This would leave the north vulnerable.

He sent the first telegram asking for help.

The telegram was intercepted by Zhi Zi. Zhao Weiguo glanced at it and put the telegram on the table.

"They're willing to believe," he said, adding only this one sentence. The siege continued without reinforcements, and artillery fire proceeded as planned. Zhi Zi estimated the stronghold's food and water reserves to be about ten days' worth. This wasn't verified, just an estimate. Tian Zhong was unaware that his own food and water reserves had also been estimated; he only knew there was an opening in the southwest.

After noon, the southwest gate opened a crack.

Eight Japanese soldiers, accompanied by a dozen or so puppet troops, crouched low as they crept out from the gap in the trench. The leader, a sergeant, gripped his command sword, the scabbard clattering against his leg. They moved slowly, pausing every ten steps to listen for any movement. A squad from the first trench, following orders, withdrew, leaving empty ammunition boxes on the trench edge, their lids half-open, the boxes completely empty, not even a single spent shell casing inside.

The sergeant spotted the empty ammunition boxes. He crouched down to examine them, then turned and gestured to the men behind him. The Japanese troops continued advancing, and when they reached the middle of the gap, mortar shells began to fall.

The first shell landed about thirty paces ahead. It wasn't aimed at anyone; rather, clods of earth kicked up by the crater blocking the road splattered all over the sergeant's face, causing him to instinctively drop to the ground. The second shell landed on the straight road leading to the stronghold, blocking the retreat. Neither shell landed on the sides, deliberately leaving gaps on either side.

More than twenty men stumbled back to their stronghold. The sergeant left his command sword on the way and didn't dare go back to retrieve it.

The three machine gun crews in the second trench never exposed their guns. They didn't fire a single bullet. It wasn't that they couldn't hit anything, but firing would have revealed their firepower. This led Tanaka to believe that the southwest region truly only had two mortars and no machine guns, which was far more important than killing a few people.

Tanaka looked at the retreating men but didn't get angry. He nodded, acknowledging that the southwest defenses were indeed weak, with only sporadic mortar fire and limited firepower; the gaps could still be exploited. He sent a second telegram requesting reinforcements.

After reading the second telegram, Zhao Weiguo replied to Lao Zhou with eight words: "Release them if possible, but do not pursue them."

Old Zhou wrote those eight characters on a piece of paper, folded it, and stuffed it into his breast pocket. He said to the deputy battalion commander, "See? He sent two telegrams, both saying that it's passable in the southwest. He's not asking for help; he's requesting someone to come from the southwest."

"So we'll just wait?"

"Wait." Old Zhou squatted on the edge of the moat, took out a piece of dry rations, and took a bite. The rations were made of sorghum flour mixed with bran, so hard they could break your teeth. He chewed for a long time before swallowing. "The fish will bite on their own. You just need to put out the bait and wait."

As night fell on September 2nd, activity was detected at the three enemy relay stations. Telegrams from the east increased; the relay station near the railway inquired about shunting, while those heading towards Taiyuan checked the load-bearing capacity and repair status of two bridges. Duan Peng telegraphed from the East River Valley to inquire whether the bridge should be bombed.

"They only dared to cross when the bridge was in good condition," Zhao Weiguo replied, saying the exact same thing he had said to Duan Peng.

The second main force of 9,000 men entered the valley in layers. Reconnaissance cavalry led the way, identifying every fork in the road and mountain pass; infantry machine gun teams followed, deploying at designated points; artillery was prepared to cover the rear. The first line of defense consisted of no more than 3,000 men, with each support route approximately 25 kilometers long. The monk led 200 special agents from the general reserve, stationed between the two river valleys, monitoring radio and telephone lines, station switching times, and the direction of cavalry orders.

"Write it down first, don't shoot," the monk instructed his men. Each of the two hundred special agents was given a notebook and a pencil to write down everything they saw: the exact time of which road had headlights, the exact time and direction of gunfire, and the exact time enemy radios were activated. The monk said, "The pencils in your hands are more valuable than guns. A gun kills one person, but a notebook can save a hundred."

On September 3rd, the food rations at the stronghold were halved. They weren't starving, but Tian Zhong remained stationed in the fields. He didn't leave, but continued sending telegrams to guide reinforcements from the southwest. He wrote in great detail in the telegrams: approximately two thousand troops surrounding the stronghold, primarily armed with mortars; there was a gap in the southwest that could be exploited. He didn't know that every single one of these telegrams had been intercepted, and that each one was confirming one thing for Zhao Weiguo: the fish were on their way.

On the night of September 3rd, the barbed wire on the north side made a sound.

More than a hundred enemy soldiers crept out along the hidden ditch. The ditch was a drainage ditch dug by the Japanese themselves, no deeper than knee-deep, but deep enough for a person to crawl on their stomach. They split into three groups, each with more than thirty people, spaced twenty paces apart, and crept northward along the ditch. When they reached thirty paces in front of the first trench, someone tripped over the tripwire of the entrenching material, which had an empty tin can attached to it; it rattled when touched.

Two grenades flew out of the ditch. The first landed on the edge of the trench, knocking three soldiers down. The second landed at the bottom of the trench, but shrapnel hit the slope and bounced up, without injuring anyone. The telephone lines were severed. The Japanese soldiers knew where the telephone lines were before they approached; they were there to cut off communications.

The three platoons on the north side opened fire, firing only short bursts. They fired in groups of three, then changed positions. This concealed their firepower; the enemy wouldn't know how many machine guns and rifles were on their side, only hearing sporadic gunfire. The deputy battalion commander requested support from the machine gun team in the southwest over the phone. Old Zhou refused.

"Twelve people died in the north, a gunshot rang out in the southwest, and tomorrow Tanaka will know we're scared." Old Zhou's voice was calm on the phone. "Hold on."

The firefight lasted less than half an hour. The Japanese, unsure of the strength of their troops to the north, dared not charge. On their retreat, they left over thirty corpses behind the barbed wire. Several wounded lay groaning outside the wire, unable to be dragged away in time. Old Zhou ordered his men to call out that they could come and receive treatment if they laid down their weapons. No one came.

The First Main Force suffered twelve dead and thirty-seven wounded. When Zhao Gang received the casualty report, he first looked at the "Our Side" column. Twelve dead, thirty-seven wounded. He looked at the names one by one, and when he saw the last one, a soldier who had been in the army for seven months, he realized he was a mule cart driver. Zhao Gang had to look at the name twice before he remembered it. Zhao Gang ordered the supplementary report to be left blank for now.

"Don't let the later name overshadow the earlier one," he told the clerk.

Zhao Weiguo ordered two additional squads to be stationed on the north side and two more fire pits to be removed from the southwest. The breach was left open, and not only that, the fires were removed, making the gap appear even emptier and weaker. At night, looking from the direction of the stronghold, the southwest was pitch black, without even a single flame.

Zhi Zi delivered a report on the night battle: the enemy still believed the north flank was difficult to traverse and the southwest was undefended. A third telegram requesting reinforcements was sent, asking for reinforcements to approach from the southwest, stating that the besieging force numbered about two thousand and their firepower had weakened. The three telegrams were increasingly urgent and certain. Tanaka had already prepared the bait for Zhao Weiguo.

As dawn approached, the messages from the three relay stations came together: the first batch of reinforcements, numbering about 1,200, was expected to enter the East River Valley at dawn on September 4th.

Zhao Weiguo took a piece of paper out of his pocket and folded it into a paper boat. He handed the paper boat to the messenger and asked him to deliver it to Duan Peng.

"Don't cut off reinforcements, only cut off their retreat."

When Duan Peng received the paper boat on the north ridge, 1,200 people had already made their way into the valley along the 22-kilometer river. The vanguard had passed the first mountain pass, while the rearguard was still outside the bridge. The roar of their car engines echoed through the valley like a swarm of flies unaware that they had flown into a spider web.

Duan Peng looked at the paper boat in his palm, then stuffed it into his breast pocket. He turned to the battalion commanders beside him and said something. His voice wasn't loud, but every word rang like nails.

"The fish's in the net. Anyone who moves first, I'll shoot them."