run away seven times, and each time another unit had captured him. The last time he tried to escape he had made it within a hundred
li
of his home, and then he ran into this cannon battalion. Old Quan said he didn’t want to run away anymore.
“I’m sick of running,” he said.
After we crossed the Yangtze River we wore cotton-padded jackets. And as soon as we passed the Yangtze, my dream of deserting also died. The farther I got from home, the less courage I had to attempt escape. In our company we had about a dozen fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boys. Among these soldiers was a
kid named Chunsheng, from Jiangsu province. He would always ask me if there was really fighting to the north, and I’d say there was, but actually I didn’t
know. I thought, if you’re a soldier then fighting should be inevitable. I was closest with Chunsheng. He would always be next to me, pulling my arm, asking, “Do you think we’ll be
killed?”
“I don’t know,” I’d reply.
As he asked me this my heart would feel wave after wave of pain. After we crossed the Yangtze, we began to hear the sound of cannons and guns. In the beginning it would echo from far away, but after walking two more days the gunfire grew louder and louder. It was then that we arrived at a small village. There weren’t any animals in that village, let alone people—there wasn’t a living being anywhere in sight. The company commander ordered us to set up the cannons, and I
knew that this time we were really going into battle. Someone walked over and asked the commander, “Commander, where are we?”
The commander said, “You’re asking me? Well, how the fuck am I supposed to
know? Who the fuck am I supposed to ask?”
The company commander didn’t know where we were, and the peasants had all run away. I looked around in all directions. Other than some bare trees and a few thatched huts, there was nothing. Two days later there were more and more common soldiers in yellow uniforms. They came unit by unit from all directions, and some of the battalions set up camp right beside us. After another two days we still had yet to fire a single cannon when our company commander told us, “We’ve been surrounded.”
We weren’t the only company to be surrounded—there were somewhere around a hundred thousand Nationalist troops that were surrounded within a twenty
li
square area. Everyone in sight was wearing these yellow uniforms; it looked like a temple fair. Old Quan was really something. He sat on a dirt mound outside a tunnel, smoking and watching the yellow-skinned common soldiers go back and forth. From time to time he’d say hello to one of them—he really
knew a lot of people. Old Quan had been all over, having drifted through seven different units. He laughed, told dirty jokes to some old friends and exchanged gossip on some other soldiers. It seemed as if everyone they asked about was either dead or someone had just seen them within the last few days. Old Quan told Chunsheng and me that back in the day all those guys had tried to run away with him. Just as Old Quan was speaking, someone called over in our direction, “Old Quan, you’re still not dead?”
Old Quan bumped into another old friend. Quan laughed. “You little bastard, when did they catch you?”
Before that guy could reply, someone else called Old Quan, who turned his head to look and jumped up to yell, “Hey, where’s Old Liang?”
The guy laughed and yelled back, “Dead.”
Dejected, Old Quan sat back down, cursing, “Fuck, he still owes me a silver piece.”
“You see?” Old Quan proudly continued, telling Chunsheng and me, “Nobody succeeds in deserting.”
In the beginning the Liberation Army just surrounded us, but they didn’t attack right off, so we weren’t really afraid. The company commander wasn’t afraid, either. He said that Generalissimo Chiang
Kai-shek would send in tanks to save us. Later, even when the rifle and cannon shots in front of us got
li
of his home, and then he ran into this cannon battalion. Old Quan said he didn’t want to run away anymore.
“I’m sick of running,” he said.
After we crossed the Yangtze River we wore cotton-padded jackets. And as soon as we passed the Yangtze, my dream of deserting also died. The farther I got from home, the less courage I had to attempt escape. In our company we had about a dozen fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boys. Among these soldiers was a
kid named Chunsheng, from Jiangsu province. He would always ask me if there was really fighting to the north, and I’d say there was, but actually I didn’t
know. I thought, if you’re a soldier then fighting should be inevitable. I was closest with Chunsheng. He would always be next to me, pulling my arm, asking, “Do you think we’ll be
killed?”
“I don’t know,” I’d reply.
As he asked me this my heart would feel wave after wave of pain. After we crossed the Yangtze, we began to hear the sound of cannons and guns. In the beginning it would echo from far away, but after walking two more days the gunfire grew louder and louder. It was then that we arrived at a small village. There weren’t any animals in that village, let alone people—there wasn’t a living being anywhere in sight. The company commander ordered us to set up the cannons, and I
knew that this time we were really going into battle. Someone walked over and asked the commander, “Commander, where are we?”
The commander said, “You’re asking me? Well, how the fuck am I supposed to
know? Who the fuck am I supposed to ask?”
The company commander didn’t know where we were, and the peasants had all run away. I looked around in all directions. Other than some bare trees and a few thatched huts, there was nothing. Two days later there were more and more common soldiers in yellow uniforms. They came unit by unit from all directions, and some of the battalions set up camp right beside us. After another two days we still had yet to fire a single cannon when our company commander told us, “We’ve been surrounded.”
We weren’t the only company to be surrounded—there were somewhere around a hundred thousand Nationalist troops that were surrounded within a twenty
li
square area. Everyone in sight was wearing these yellow uniforms; it looked like a temple fair. Old Quan was really something. He sat on a dirt mound outside a tunnel, smoking and watching the yellow-skinned common soldiers go back and forth. From time to time he’d say hello to one of them—he really
knew a lot of people. Old Quan had been all over, having drifted through seven different units. He laughed, told dirty jokes to some old friends and exchanged gossip on some other soldiers. It seemed as if everyone they asked about was either dead or someone had just seen them within the last few days. Old Quan told Chunsheng and me that back in the day all those guys had tried to run away with him. Just as Old Quan was speaking, someone called over in our direction, “Old Quan, you’re still not dead?”
Old Quan bumped into another old friend. Quan laughed. “You little bastard, when did they catch you?”
Before that guy could reply, someone else called Old Quan, who turned his head to look and jumped up to yell, “Hey, where’s Old Liang?”
The guy laughed and yelled back, “Dead.”
Dejected, Old Quan sat back down, cursing, “Fuck, he still owes me a silver piece.”
“You see?” Old Quan proudly continued, telling Chunsheng and me, “Nobody succeeds in deserting.”
In the beginning the Liberation Army just surrounded us, but they didn’t attack right off, so we weren’t really afraid. The company commander wasn’t afraid, either. He said that Generalissimo Chiang
Kai-shek would send in tanks to save us. Later, even when the rifle and cannon shots in front of us got
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