Chinese Literature

to Sachang, Yenchon or the stores. His conversation ranged from ammunition of various types to roast flour.... His voice had given way till it was only a husky whisper. The other aide used his tongue less but his legs more, running between the Section H.Q. and the Signals, to eet and send telegrams, and in between drafting orders for the Commandant. He was fagged out, and his bloodshot eyes were showing the strain he was under.

Commandant Shen told me with a grin that the young people couldn’t take it like the tough old ones. He was forty-three, the total of the aides’ combined ages! His uncropped hair framed his thoughtful face and his broad-rimmed spectacles. He sat cross-legged at a little Koreanstyle desk, reading, listening, giving orders and dealing with problems. He had to use all his faculties at full pitch, and work very closely with his two youngsters. I found him very matured from his previous self, more flexible and steadier. Even at the most critical points his face gave no sign of strain, and his level tones did not vary. At such time, in fact, he was apparently in the best of humour, cracking jokes. I did see some signs of change. His forehead was eriss-crossed with deeper wrinkles, and his hair was greyer. The uniform I knew him in in Shenyang was now changed to army red-bordered uniform. I was close to him now. My desk faced his, and we slept next to one another, and I went with him wherever he went. He gave the impression that all problems could be solved if he were around.

The night wore on. One aide came with an urgent report from Transport. Fifty trucks were loaded, but could not start... .

“What's the trouble?” asked the Commandant, not looking up from the telegram he was reading.

“They’re dropping delayed action bombs on the highway from the stores.”

“Tell the anti-aircraft to get the planes in this area, and mobilize the workers’ brigade to move the bombs.”

The enemy had found it useless to bomb the roads, and turned to scattering nails. He then found that this didn’t halt the traffic, so he had taken to dropping delayed action bombs. We had, of course, stepped up our struggle to meet these attacks from the sky. As Commandant Shen said, “If they’re trying bombing, we’ll take cover, deceive them, and answer with anti-aircraft fire. If they drop nails, we'll sweep them up. Now if they are trying delayed action bombs, we’ll shift them.” But as we’d just heard, this was easier said than done. Blowing out the candles, the Commandant told little Feng to come with him, and set off to see the matter for himself. I went with them.

It was midnight. The sky was dark, and the earth even blacker. We could hear sounds, but see nothing. Our jeep bucketed along, ignoring the machine-gunning and bombing of enemy aircraft. It was an awful job for the comrade driving. He could not use his headlights—