Courtyard House: I Rely on Time-Space Trade to Build a Nation

At five o'clock in the afternoon, the division command post at the new Bao'an Station was filled with the smell of gunpowder, sweat, and a sense of relaxed fatigue.

Zhao Dongliang was the first to arrive.

He hadn't even taken off his oil-stained coat when he entered the room. He grabbed the kettle on the table and gulped down several mouthfuls before wiping his mouth and saying, "Peace, the war is over."

"Big brother, it looks like the battle went well..." Zhao Ping'an understood as soon as he saw Zhao Dongliang's expression.

Then Zhou Liang and He Jun came in one after the other.

Although all three were covered in dust, their faces shone with the kind of radiance that only comes from winning a battle.

"Please sit down." Zhao Ping'an turned around from the map table. Although his face appeared very calm, the excitement in his eyes was undeniable. "Brigadier Zhao, please speak first."

Zhao Dongliang found a chair, sat down, and began his report.

He spoke very frankly, without exaggeration.

"...The 101st Division was basically crumbled at the first touch."

Our artillery was prepared too fiercely; before they could recover, the tanks were already on their way.

The capture of prisoners went exceptionally smoothly—many of the prisoners on the other side of the battlefield were familiar faces from his hometown, some of whom had even fought the Japanese together. Upon hearing that his fellow villagers were on their side, and that Zhao Baoguo had defected again, they immediately threw their guns at them. He paused,

"Aside from some casualties during the early morning raid,

At noon, the resistance from the 267th Division increased somewhat, but the reconnaissance company advanced to mark firing positions, and heavy artillery targeted key targets.

The machine gun positions of the 267th were basically destroyed before the tanks could even launch an assault.

Although there was some resistance, they were all quite... vulnerable in the face of tanks and armored vehicles.

"16,000 prisoners have been captured. This number will increase as the battlefield is too large and more stragglers are being discovered."

"More than 3,000 people were killed or wounded."

Most casualties occurred in two time periods:

Firstly, when my heavy artillery was preparing its firepower in the early morning...

Secondly, during the morning's deep assault on the 267th Division, which destroyed the enemy's command system.

After saying that, Old Xu raised his head.

"Enemy commander Guo Jingyun has been confirmed to have been killed in the artillery fire."

The 267th Division began surrendering after 3 PM today, and the surrendered troops have now been largely integrated into the unit.

Old Xu turned a page, his voice slightly lower: "The casualties of my division. A total of two hundred and seventeen people."

This number caused a barely perceptible moment of relief in the command center.

Even Zhao Ping'an breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thirty-nine were killed in action, fifty-two were seriously wounded, and the rest sustained minor injuries," Old Xu continued reading.

"Most casualties occurred after the heavy brigades completed their frontal breakthrough, while the mechanized and motorized infantry brigades suffered casualties during the mopping-up operations and consolidation of their positions."

They encountered sporadic sniper fire or small groups of enemy troops putting up their last resistance in the remaining fortifications.

During the frontal assault phase, the heavy brigade suffered minimal casualties due to its superior armor protection and firepower.

He paused, then turned to the next page. This time, his brow furrowed slightly.

"In terms of consumption, the entire division consumed more than 2,600 rounds of various types of artillery shells today alone."

Among them were more than 800 rounds of 155mm grenade, more than 900 rounds of 122mm grenade, and more than 900 rounds of tank shells and mortar shells.

Fuel consumption is 3.2 times the normal training level.

As he read this, Old Xu looked up at Zhao Ping'an, his eyes holding something else.

It's not dissatisfaction, but rather a kind of reminder that comes from a steward, a reminder tinged with concern, only someone watching a head of household spend money extravagantly.

"Equipment damage report." He withdrew his gaze and continued reading.

"Four Type 59 tanks were damaged due to mechanical failure or combat, and some parts, mainly the tracks, need to be replaced."

Seven armored vehicles and six trucks also needed to be sent for repair.

All of the above equipment can be returned to service after repair. In addition, more than ten vehicles of various types have minor damage, which can be repaired at field repair depots.

Old Xu put down the document and remained silent.

There was a few seconds of silence in the command center.

Two thousand six hundred shells—this number weighed heavily on everyone's mind. Even Zhao Dongliang, who had just won a battle, couldn't help but start calculating the losses upon hearing this figure.

Zhao Ping'an stood up.

"Old Xu," the voice was calm, "do you think our battle today was a waste?"

Old Xu opened his mouth, but didn't answer immediately.

"Two thousand six hundred shells." Zhao Ping'an walked back to the table and placed his hand on the battle report.

"That sounds like a lot. If it were last year, it would probably have been enough for one of our corps to fight two tough battles."

Zhao Ping'an paused, his gaze sweeping over Zhao Dongliang, Zhou Liang, and He Jun before finally settling on Lao Xu's face. "But Lao Xu, have you considered another matter?"

He held up one finger:

"First, time. From four o'clock in the morning until now, less than twelve hours have passed, and an army—one of Fu Zuoyi's elite troops—is gone."

"If we used the old methods, how many troops would we need? How many days would the siege last? How many comrades would we have to sacrifice to take it down?"

Second finger:

"Second, casualties. Two hundred and seventeen people, compared to twenty-two thousand."

Thirty-nine comrades died in battle. My heart aches, and I must remember every single one of their names.

But if we don't use such heavy firepower, and instead of tanks and armored vehicles charging in, we can have our infantry comrades blow up bunkers, wade through barbed wire, and charge forward under machine gun fire.

"Tell me, how many people do we need to fill in today? Five hundred? A thousand? Or more?"

Zhao Ping'an's voice wasn't loud, but every word carried weight:

"What is ammunition? It is steel, it is gunpowder, it is something that can be made."

We've finished today's battle, and tomorrow we can bring in new ones from the rear. In the future, we can even manufacture them ourselves. This is the supremacy of firepower, this is the power of steel weapons.

That day is not far off. I guarantee that within one year, we will be able to manufacture all the ammunition we have, and within two years, all the equipment we are currently using.

"But where is he?" Zhao Pingan pounded his chest. "He's gone, he'll never come back."

Old Xu listened quietly.

The look of heartache on his face slowly faded, transforming into a more complex expression, one of heavy agreement.

"I understand, Commander." He let out a long sigh. "You're right. As long as it's to reduce the bloodshed of our soldiers, we should fire as many shells as we can." He paused, gave a wry smile, and added, "It's just that my mouth, which's in charge of logistics, is used to being meticulous and calculating, and I can't change that habit overnight."

"We still need to be careful with our spending."

"The shells must be accurate, and the firepower must be used where it is most needed—this is what we need to summarize next."

But the principle cannot change: as long as we have it, and as long as it reduces the number of soldiers who die, we must not hesitate to use it when necessary.

Zhao Ping'an sat down again. "The staff officers should compile the battle report and submit it to the Central Military Commission immediately."

All units should seize the time to clean up the battlefield, repair any fortifications that need repair, and replenish any ammunition and fuel that need replenishment.

The wounded were given priority for evacuation, and prisoners were dealt with according to policy.

Soldiers, you can sleep soundly tonight—but the sentry posts must not be withdrawn, and the patrols must not stop.

"yes!"