by Jung Chang
A night at Banyou, in a hut made of dried yak droppings plastered over wicker, able to dry one’s clothes by a bonfire of the all-purpose dung, was the lap of luxury for those who survived. In Lin Biao’s corps alone, 400 had died — some 15 percent of its complement.
This was the ordeal that Mao was demanding that Kuo-tao’s tens of thousands of troops should go through, instead of marching along proper roads on the route first assigned. Invoking the name of the Politburo, Mao kept piling on the pressure, urging Kuo-tao to “move fast to Banyou.” In one cable written after he had emerged from the swampland and knew full well what it was like, Mao lied through his teeth: “From Maoergai [where he had started] to Banyou, it is short in distance and plentiful in shelter.” He then advised Kuo-tao: “Suggest you … bring all the wounded and sick who can manage to walk, plus the matériel and equipment …” On the surface, this seemed to be telling Kuo-tao: Don’t abandon your wounded, but its real intention was to cause maximum suffering.
If Kuo-tao refused to obey, Mao could get him formally condemned and removed from command. Reluctantly, Kuo-tao agreed to come to Mao, and directed his huge army into the swampland. A couple of days’ taste of what lay ahead made him even less keen than before. On 2 September his force reached a river in spate. He cabled Mao: “We have reconnoitred 30 li [15 km] up and down the river, and cannot find anywhere we can ford. Difficult to find bridge-making material. Have food for only 4 days …”
A day later, he decided to go no further. “Have reconnoitred 70 li [35 km] upstream, and still cannot ford or build a bridge,” he told Mao. “There is food for only 3 days for all the units … The swampland looks boundless. Impossible to go forward, and seem to be waiting for our death. Cannot find guide. Sheer misery. Have decided to start back to Aba from tomorrow morning.” He barely hid his fury against Mao: “The whole strategy is affected. Last time … the troops ran out of food and suffered great damage. This time, you force us to move to Banyou, and get us into this …” Kuo-tao turned back.
By now, Kuo-tao and the main body of the army had been shunted around for a month, thanks to Mao. Moreover, in these highlands, murderous weather was setting in. Kuo-tao now made a decision that was just the one Mao had been angling for: to suspend the journey north and stay put until spring the next year. “The window of opportunity to go north has been lost,” he told Mao. Two-thirds of his troops had contracted foot infections and could hardly walk. If they were to embark on the long march north, nearly all the wounded and sick would have to be abandoned.
Mao, of course, knew all this; indeed, the whole point of hustling Kuo-tao’s army from pillar to post was to reduce it to this state. Mao had now achieved his key objective: he had made sure he would get to the Russians first, knocking Kuo-tao out of the running by penning him up in the south till the following year.
ONCE KUO-TAO GAVE the order not to go on north, Mao faced a major problem. Kuo-tao had issued this order as military supremo. Mao could issue orders in the name of the Party, but he was not at all sure that he could take any of the army, even his own troops, with him, if they were allowed a choice. Crisis time came on 8 September when Kuo-tao ordered his two commanders with Mao to bring the Right Column down south to him.
Aware that he lacked prestige among the troops, Mao ducked a straight confrontation. He did not dare challenge Kuo-tao’s order openly, even in the name of the Party. Instead, he kidnapped his own troops, using false pretenses. On the night of 9–10 September, he and Lo Fu told a select few an egregious lie — that Kuo-tao had ordered his men to harm the Party leaders; so, Mao said, they must secretly muster their subordinates and decamp that night. Mrs. Lo Fu remembered being woken up in the middle of the night and told: “ ‘Get up! Get up! Set off at once!’ We asked: ‘What happened?’ ‘Where are we going?’ [and were told]: ‘No questions, just get a move on and go!.. No noise, no torches … follow me!’ We rushed for about 10 li [5 km] and did not pause to catch our breath until after we crossed a mountain pass.”
At the same time as he was abducting his own troops, Mao got one of his top men to extract the 2nd Bureau, which handled radio communications, from HQ, and steal the detailed maps.
On this occasion, Mao had help from a crucial new ally — Peng De-huai. Just over three months before, Peng had challenged Mao for the military leadership, and had been friendly towards Kuo-tao, who had tried to cultivate him. But now Peng sided with Mao. The reason was not only that Mao controlled the Party leadership, but that he had also grabbed pole position for the Russian connection.
At dawn on 10 September, Kuo-tao’s commanders with the Right Column woke up to find Mao and Co. gone, as well as the maps. Moreover, they were told that the rear guard of Mao’s escape party had their guns cocked and would open fire on any pursuers. Officers stationed along the route the escapers were taking rang to ask whether they should use force to stop Mao and his band, as it was obvious that they were leaving surreptitiously. Kuo-tao’s commanders decided that “Red Army must not shoot Red Army,” so Mao was allowed to get away.
As Mao and his men went on their way, a propaganda team from Kuo-tao’s army appeared and began to wave and shout: “Don’t follow Big Nose! Please turn back!” “Big Nose” meant foreigner, in this case Otto Braun. Braun had also been told the lie that Kuo-tao had given an order “to break the resistance of the Central Committee, by force if necessary.” The shouting disclosed for the first time to the rank-and-file that there was a split in the army, and caused great confusion and anxiety. Mao’s political department immediately sent staff to urge the soldiers on, in case some took the opportunity to go with Kuo-tao.
At this point, Mao had fewer than 8,000 troops, and they were desperately bewildered men, who had not chosen to take his side. Most unusually for him, he now appeared in front of the troops. He did not address them, but just stood in silence by the roadside, watching them go by, counting their strength, trying to gauge their mood. He made sure to have Peng stand beside him, to lend authority. For most, even quite senior officers, this was the only time they got this close to Mao, who preferred to wield power in the shadows.
Mao’s next move was to make sure that Chiang Kai-shek gave his contingent no trouble. By now there could be no doubt that Chiang had been letting him through, but would allow only a weakened army to reach its destination. During the Long March, while Mao’s force had been given little trouble, Kuo-tao’s had had to fight every inch of the way — and the reason was that it was too large and too powerful.
It was thus to Mao’s advantage for Chiang to know that only a small branch was now going north, and that the CCP leadership was with it. Sure enough, within hours of Mao’s splitting, the Nationalists knew both these facts, and exactly which troops had gone with Mao, and how debilitated they were. On 11 September, the day after Mao bolted, Chiang told his governor in the area that he had “received information that Mao, Peng, Lin and their bandits are fleeing north, and they are all totally starved and worn out …”
Kuo-tao seems to have had no doubt that the information was deliberately leaked by Mao, as a cable he sent to Mao and Co. next day read: “The morning after you left, [the enemy] knew straight away that Peng De-huai’s unit had fled northward. Please beware of reactionaries … leaking secrets. No matter what differences we have, we must not reveal military movements to our enemy.”
This leak ensured Mao a smooth run for himself all the way to his destination — the Yellow Earth Plateau. There in North Shaanxi the only secure base in the whole of China awaited him, courtesy of Chiang Kai-shek. Mao and the core leaders had known about this base before the Long March, and Moscow had told them to expand it as far back as 3 May 1934, well before the March set off.
MAO ENJOYED A helping hand from Chiang, and the next thousand kilometers were virtually obstacle-free, militarily. “Except for native snipers,” Braun recorded, “this stretch was void of enemies.” Chiang’s forces shadowed them, but only to prevent Mao straying back into the heartland of China.
This final stretch was a cakewalk compared with before. Instead of snow and hail, and Tibetans sniping from the woods, here in south Gansu the Reds saw golden ears of grain in glorious sunshine, sheep at pasture and farmers tending fields. The locals were friendly, and Mao made an effort to keep them that way. He did not want another reception like the one from the Tibetans, and enjoined “strict discipline.” Muslims made up 60 percent of the population, and the Red Army was forbidden to slaughter or eat pigs, and ordered not to rob any Muslims, even the rich.
The locals allowed the Red Army into their homes, where the men had a hot bath for the first time in months, enjoyed a shave and a haircut, and ate hearty Muslim meals, with pancakes and noodles, mutton and chicken, garlic and pepper. The hospitality, Braun remembered, “astonished me greatly.”
But this friendly atmosphere became the cause of a major headache for Mao, as desertions soared. A Nationalist report showed that while Mao’s troops were in one county alone, Minxian, over 1,000 Red Army men gave themselves up. On 2 October Mao ordered the security forces to “collect” stragglers. “Collect” often meant execution. One senior officer (later army chief of staff in Communist China) recalled: “During the march to north Shaanxi, there were continual stragglers. The army political security organization … adopted cruel means of punishment again.” He was scared: “I followed the troops carefully, worried all the time that I might fall behind and be dealt with as a straggler.” “Deal with” was akin to the Mafia’s “take care of,” a euphemism for killing. One day, “on the verge of collapse,” he thought he might not make it: “my heart only settled back to its place when I got to quarters at 11 o’clock at night.”
When Mao finally arrived at the Red area in north Shaanxi that was to be his base, his army was down to well below 4,000. In the last — and easiest — month of the journey, he actually lost more than half his remaining men, between deserters, stragglers, and deaths both from illness and at the hands of his own security men. His force was just about the same size as when he had left the outlaw land back in January 1929, seven years earlier. And the troops were in the worst possible shape. One officer recalled:
We were famished and exhausted. Our clothes, in particular, were in shreds. We had no shoes or socks, and many people wrapped their feet with strips of blanket … Wuqi [where they arrived] was already a very poor place, but even the … local comrades kept questioning me: how come you got into such a sorry state? You really looked like nothing but a bunch of beggars.
But Mao was not feeling at all defeated when he set foot in the Red territory on 18 October 1935. “The darkest moment” in his life — as he described the threat from Kuo-tao — was over, and he was the winner. The Red Army might be on its last legs after a trek of some 10,000 km, lasting an entire year, of which four months were extra, thanks to him, but the Party was now, to all intents and purposes, his.
HIS ENVOY, Chen Yun, had reached Moscow, and delivered his message to the Comintern on 15 October. With Mao the clear winner on the ground, Moscow accepted, for the first time, that he was now the boss of the CCP. In November the Russians published a carefully edited version of Chen Yun’s report, proclaiming Mao by name as “the tried and tested political” leader of the Chinese Party. Two weeks later, Pravda published a feature article entitled “The leader of the Chinese people, Mao Tse-tung,” which portrayed Mao in florid, tear-jerking language as an almost Chekhovian invalid struggling heroically against illness and privation.
In mid-November a messenger arrived in North Shaanxi from Moscow, the first direct liaison for well over a year. He had traveled through the Gobi Desert disguised as a trader wearing a sheepskin coat. In his head he carried codes for resuming radio contact with Moscow, and he brought a radio operator with him. Within a matter of months, the radio link with Moscow was restored, and the person who controlled it at the Chinese end was Mao.
The messenger brought Stalin’s word that the Chinese Reds should “get close to the Soviet Union” by making for the border with Russia’s satellite, Outer Mongolia. The move “to link up with the Soviet Union” could now start.
CHIANG KAI-SHEK WAS less successful in achieving his private agenda. On 18 October, the day the Long March ended for Mao, Chiang saw Soviet ambassador Bogomolov for the first time since just before the March had started. Chiang proposed a “secret military treaty” with Russia. This could only be aimed against Japan, which had stepped up its efforts to detach five provinces from northern China by offering them bogus “independence.” The Russian response was that Chiang must first “regulate relations with the CCP.” The Generalissimo’s close associate and founder of the Chinese FBI, Chen Li-fu, began secret talks straightaway with Bogomolov and Soviet military attaché Lepin on the nuts and bolts of a deal with the CCP — even referring to “cooperation” with the Reds.
During these talks Chen Li-fu asked Bogomolov for the release of Chiang’s son Ching-kuo. Chen told us: “I said to him: We two countries are signing a treaty now, and we are on very good terms. Why do you still detain our leader’s son? Why can’t you release him?” (Loyally, Chen added that he was acting without telling Chiang—“He would not have wanted me to make this request.” This remark reflects the understanding among the few people in on Chiang’s Reds-for-son exchange that the deal must never be attributed to him, or allowed to leak out.)
But Stalin still refused to free his hostage. Ching-kuo had by now been separated from his parents for exactly ten years. In March that year, in his heavy machinery plant in the Urals, love had softened the young man’s bleak life when he married a Russian technician called Faina Vakhreva. In December they were to have their first child, born into the same captivity that Ching-kuo himself would endure for many more moons, as Mao’s fortunes rose, and rose again.
At the time, the lie was told in very vague words to only a few people. Mao later embellished it into a vivid story about how Kuo-tao had sent a cable to his men ordering them to “liquidate” him and the Center. And this became the official version. But Mao did not produce this claim until eighteen months later, on 30 March 1937, when he was trying to purge Kuo-tao. Until then, although there had been a Party resolution denouncing Kuo-tao for “splitting the Red Army,” it did not include this charge. Nor was the accusation mentioned in any of the many subsequent telegrams to Kuo-tao from Mao and his armies. Even Mao’s cable to Moscow denouncing Kuo-tao as soon as radio links were restored in June 1936 did not have a word about it. All this proves that there was no order from Kuo-tao to harm Mao.
There was one small skirmish at a pass called Lazikou, on 17 September. Although this involved only a handful of men, it was later blown up into a major battle — and a major victory. The reason for this fabrication was that, for Mao to validate his split from Kuo-tao, he had to show at least one feat of arms in the period after he broke away from him. In fact, Mao was simply let through at Lazikou.
PART THREE. BUILDING HIS POWER BASE
15. THE TIMELY DEATH OF MAO’S HOST (1935–36 AGE 41–42)
MAO’S HOME for the next decade was the Yellow Earth Plateau in northwest China, near the Yellow River, the second biggest in China after the Yangtze, and the cradle of Chinese civilization. The base had a population of nearly one million, occupying well over 30,000 sq km, mainly in northern Shaanxi, and straddling the border with Gansu province to the west. Far from the country’s heartland, in those days it was the only secure Red territory in the whole of China.
The landscape was dominated by vast stretches of loess, yellow earth, that looked bleak and barren, broken only by long jagged gorges, often hundreds of meters deep, slicing dramatically through the soft substrate formed with the passage of time by minuscule particles of dust blown in from the nearby Gobi Desert. Most of the dwellings were carved into the yellow hillsides. One could gaze far into the distance and often not see a single soul. Wuqi, the first “town” Mao saw on arrival, had only some thirty residents. This area was unique in being relatively underpopulated,
and enjoyed something unheard-of elsewhere in China — arable land to spare. Chiang Kai-shek had picked the locality to keep the Red Army alive, but small.
The founder of the base was a local Communist called Liu Chih-tan, who had an army of 5,000 men — more than Mao. For the local Red sympathizers, Chih-tan was a hero. For the Spanish Catholic bishop of the area, whose brand-new cathedral and other properties were seized by Chih-tan’s men in July 1935, he was “daring, and a conspirator in everything that was subversive.”
As Mao approached Chih-tan’s base, he pointedly remarked that Chih-tan’s leadership “does not seem to be correct,” meaning Chih-tan was politically unsound. And it seems that Mao gave secret orders to the Party bureau whose jurisdiction covered Chih-tan’s area (the Northern Bureau) to carry out a purge there. In mid-September Party envoys descended on the base, where they were joined on the 15th by a Red Army unit 3,400 strong which had been driven there from a different part of China. Together, these new arrivals struck out in a savage purge. Although Chih-tan’s forces were superior in strength, he offered no resistance either to the takeover or to the purge. When he was recalled from the front, and discovered on the way that he was going to be arrested, he turned himself in.
The Party envoys condemned Chih-tan for being “consistently right-wing” (newspeak for moderate), and charged him with being an agent of Chiang’s who had “created a Red Army base in order to wipe out the Red Army.” His willingness to submit to Party authority, far from being appreciated as an act of loyalty, was twisted against him, and he was accused of being “cunning, in order to deceive the Party into trusting him.” Hideous torture was applied. A colleague of Chih-tan’s had his right thigh pierced to the bone by a red-hot wire. Many were buried alive. One survivor wrote in 1992: “We were imprisoned in heavy leg-irons … We heard that the pit to bury us alive had already been dug …” Between 200 and 300 people are estimated to have been killed.