Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Starting with the Korean War, returning home to take charge

It was bitterly cold; the withered grass looked as if it had been sprinkled with salt. He Yuzhu squatted beside the wreckage of a captured tank, his fingers unconsciously picking at the frozen mud on the tracks. Old Geng was dozing not far away, Zhang Dashan and his men were on guard duty, and the entire company huddled in the sheltered part of the valley, like a spring stretched to its limit that had finally released.

But He Yuzhu couldn't let his guard down. His gaze swept over the several tanks, some burned, some crippled, finally settling on the rolled-up map in his arms—its edges blurred with soot and dark brown bloodstains. On the map, about thirty kilometers away, there was a location circled in blue, with a series of abbreviations and numbers next to it: a regimental command post, also a key node on the road network. Judging from the fragmented testimonies of the prisoners and the map, it was clear that the location was housing routed soldiers from the front lines, a scene of utter chaos, like a punctured hornet's nest.

A thought flickered in his mind like a will-o'-the-wisp. Absurd, audacious, almost insane. But the newly acquired knowledge of "basic vehicle driving" was like pouring oil on the will-o'-the-wisp.

He got up and walked to the least damaged Sherman. There was a dent on the side of the turret, the paint was scratched, but the tracks were intact, and the hatch could be opened and closed normally. He walked around it, tapped on the cold armor, and then bent down and climbed into the driver's compartment.

A pungent smell of engine oil, sweat, and burnt odor wafted towards him. Most of the labels on the instrument panel were in English he didn't recognize, but he could identify the main gauges—speed, RPM, oil level, and coolant temperature—thanks to his newfound knowledge. The lever was heavy, but the mechanism wasn't jammed. He tried to turn it, hearing the gears meshing dully deep inside.

Can open.

When those two words came out, his heart skipped a beat.

He climbed out of the tank, his face expressionless, and called Lao Geng and Zhang Dashan over to him.

"I have an idea," he said bluntly, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep, "it's quite risky."

Old Geng rubbed his face: "Company Commander, tell me. Could it be any more dangerous than shooting a rocket launcher at a tank's rear?"

He Yuzhu pointed to Sherman, then to the mark on the map: "Let's drive it in and infiltrate that ragpicker's headquarters, and add fuel to the fire."

Zhang Dashan opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Old Geng stared wide-eyed, looking at the tank and then at He Yuzhu, as if trying to confirm whether the company commander had frozen to death.

"Drive this iron turtle?" Old Geng stammered, "Who among us can drive it?"

"I probably know a little bit," He Yuzhu said casually. "I've touched something similar before. Enough to move it, turn it, and drive it forward." He didn't mention the system.

"Where are the cannons and machine guns inside?"

"The cannon and main gun are too complicated to handle. But the bow and coaxial machine guns are simple; our gunners can figure them out and fire them—accuracy isn't important, as long as they can spray fire." He Yuzhu's thinking was frighteningly clear. "The crew doesn't need to be full: one driver, one scout, two machine gunners, plus two demolition experts, and plenty of grenades and explosives. Everyone outside should change into the American uniforms we collected earlier and follow at a distance, pretending to be defeated soldiers."

Old Geng licked his chapped lips: "What if it breaks down halfway? What if we get recognized?"

"If it breaks down, abandon the car and run. If they recognize it..." He Yuzhu paused, "then start the attack early. But it's darkest before dawn, people are most tired, and they're in disarray—the chances are high."

He looked at the two of them: "Are you in or not?"

Old Geng gritted his teeth: "Company Commander, if you dare to drive, I dare to ride! I've already earned my life!"

Zhang Dashan's eyes gleamed: "Let's do it! Let's get some more profit for the brothers who sacrificed themselves!"

They got right to work. He Yuzhu told Lao Geng to go to the company and find everyone who had ever tinkered with machines, repaired cars, driven tractors, or even worked with diesel engines. They found seven or eight people, including a soldier named Chen Tiechui, who had worked with foreign technicians at the Tianjin docks before enlisting and was considered a semi-expert.

Relying on his knowledge, He Yuzhu, along with Chen Tiechui and several quick-handed soldiers, inspected the selected Sherman truck using flashlights. The fuel tank was still half full, the engine oil was adequate, and surprisingly, the battery still had power. The biggest problem was starting it—the original starter motor seemed to be faulty. Recalling the situation, He Yuzhu directed Chen Tiechui to locate the manual crankshaft socket at the rear of the vehicle.

"Bring a few strong guys to take turns spinning!" he whispered.

Four burly soldiers stepped forward, chanting in low voices as they frantically cranked the heavy crank. A groaning sound of compression came from inside the tank, and after a dozen or so strokes, a muffled "boom" erupted as the diesel engine's brutal roar suddenly burst forth! The sound carried far in the pre-dawn silence, startling everyone.

"It's done!" Chen Tiechui roared excitedly, his face covered in grease.

He Yuzhu left him and another soldier with some knowledge in the driver's and mechanic's positions, while he quickly explained the basic operation of the Browning machine gun on the tank to the two selected machine gunners—both veterans who were the most reliable machine gunners in the company: loading, pulling the bolt, roughly aiming, and firing. He then had two bold and meticulous demolition experts hold onto their cluster grenades and explosive charges and crawl into the relatively spacious fighting compartment.

Outside, the other soldiers had changed into all sorts of enemy winter uniforms, some wearing captured helmets and hiding their own weapons. At first glance, they did look like a defeated army that had lost its armor and weapons.

He Yuzhu did one last check. A pale light began to appear on the eastern horizon. They couldn't wait any longer.

He patted the tank's cold armor and shouted to Chen Tiechui inside, "Watch the fuel gauge! Drive slowly along the dirt road ahead! Turn south at the fork in the road! Don't stop on people!"

Immediately afterwards, he led Lao Geng, Zhang Dashan, and a dozen others, following a hundred meters or so behind the tank, stumbling and pretending to be exhausted and defeated soldiers.

Sherman, adorned with a faded white star emblem, panted heavily as its tracks rolled slowly across the frozen ground. This steel behemoth was being piloted by the least likely to be able to control it, heading towards an unpredictable dawn.

The tanks didn't travel fast over the 30-kilometer distance, but they were much faster than human legs. Along the way, they encountered a few scattered groups of retreating American soldiers. Some numbly gave way upon seeing their own tanks, while others waved for a ride, but the tanks passed them without slowing down. He Yuzhu and his men followed behind, heads down, occasionally muttering curses in broken English about the weather and "damn yellow monkeys," yet they aroused no suspicion. The chaos became the best cover.

As dawn broke, the target valley came into view. A makeshift roadblock was set up at the entrance, and several sentries huddled behind sandbags. When they saw the tanks approaching, they visibly relaxed and waved to their comrades behind them to move the dilapidated trucks blocking the way.

The tank didn't slow down and charged straight at the roadblock. The sentry sensed something was wrong and leaned out to shout—

The coaxial machine gun on the turret suddenly spewed out flames!

"Da da da da—!"

Bullets swept across the sentry post and the wrecked truck behind the roadblock! The sentry fell to the ground with a thud. At the same time, a tank smashed through the broken roadblock and roared into the valley!

The valley was indeed in chaos. Tents were overturned, vehicles were parked haphazardly, and many disheveled and bewildered soldiers were lining up in the open space, with officers shouting and soldiers complaining mixed together.

A steel monster painted with a star suddenly burst in, and the entire valley fell silent for a moment.

The next second, the azimuth machine gun also opened fire, its flames licking at the nearest tents and crowd of people! The turret top was blown off, and two reconnaissance company demolition experts leaned out and hurled hissing, smoking cluster grenades at the parked vehicles and the communications tents dotted with antennas!

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Explosions rang out one after another! The command post was instantly thrown into chaos! No one knew what was happening: an enemy attack? A bombing? Had their own men gone mad? Soldiers screamed and scattered, officers drew their guns to organize resistance, but were mowed down by tank machine guns in the chaos, or hit by bullets from unknown sources—Old Geng and his men following behind opened fire.

He Yuzhu and his men mingled among the fleeing "own men," targeting those carrying maps, speaking into the radio, or wearing officer insignia. Daggers and pistols moved silently and efficiently. They stormed into the largest tent, where several staff officers were frantically burning documents when they were shot down. He Yuzhu, quick as lightning, snatched a stack of unburned telegrams and another roll of maps, stuffing them into his pocket.

The tank rampaged through the center of the camp for less than five minutes before the fuel gauge completely sank to the bottom. The engine groaned, and the tank came to a stop, becoming a massive steel roadblock.

"Withdraw!" He Yuzhu roared into the radio.

The raiding party regrouped at the other end of the valley. Before leaving, He Yuzhu had the last few explosives placed on the tank's fuel tank and ammunition rack, with short-delay fuses set.

As they rushed up the ridge on the other side of the valley, a violent explosion came from behind them—Sherman was reduced to a burning ruin, completely blocking the valley.

They ran for over ten miles in one go, and only after confirming there were no pursuers did the group collapse in a dense forest. A headcount revealed: four dead, two seriously wounded, and seven or eight slightly wounded. The cost was considerable.

But the results... He Yuzhu looked at the stack of telegrams and maps in his arms, then at the lingering smoke in the valley in the distance—everyone understood that they had done something that would cause the enemy excruciating pain.

He sat down against a tree, barely able to breathe, but still forced himself to persevere and peruse the captured telegrams. Most were coded abbreviations, difficult to decipher at first, but one air support coordination memorandum written in plain English caught his eye: it mentioned several unfamiliar airport code names and frequencies.

Deep within my mind, the system's deep voice resounded:

[A successful unconventional counter-offensive was carried out, destroying the enemy's legion-level command post and causing significant casualties and chaos.]

[Killed more than ten enemy officers of various ranks, destroyed communication facilities, vehicles, and important documents (some of which were captured).]

[Based on tactical disruption, the value of the victory, and the devastating impact on enemy morale, gain battlefield points: +300000.]

Current battlefield score: 649398 + 300000 = 949398 points.

Main quest progress: 949398 / 100,000,000 ≈ 0.949%

[Leaded large-scale, high-risk fraud and raid operations, significantly enhancing leadership skills.]

Three hundred thousand points. The total is approaching one million. Nearly one percent of the seemingly unattainable goal of one hundred million has been achieved.

He Yuzhu could only close his eyes in exhaustion. His points were increasing, the road was shortening, but the people around him were decreasing one by one. Every step these iron cavalry took in reverse was stained with blood—blood from their own people and blood from the enemy.

He gripped the rolled-up telegram tightly, his fingertips tracing the dried, dark brown bloodstains on the paper. The battle had to continue. But how could he achieve a surprise victory next time? Would the enemy give him such an opportunity again?

In the distance, Old Geng was bandaging a seriously wounded soldier, his movements rough but careful. Zhang Dashan squatted under a tree, silently wiping the confiscated pistol. He Yuzhu withdrew his gaze, carefully folded the map, and stuffed it into his breast pocket.

The coldness of the steel has long since faded, leaving only the gentle warmth of body heat.