Out of the Gobi

by Weijian Shan

  Cui made the bluntest and bleakest assessment of the Construction Army Corps I had heard. It depressed me to think that there was no future for us here and that there might be no chance to go anywhere else. I told him that I did not think my parents had any back-channel connections. But I would write to them and ask.

  During the last part of the trip, Cui passed the time by telling me how some of his friends had escaped from the boredom of life in the Construction Army Corps of Yunnan, the southern province near Vietnam. They snuck across the border to join the North Vietnamese army and became officers because of their bravery in battles against the South Vietnamese and Americans. He said that it was easy to be promoted during war. However, he said, if one were caught trying to cross the border he would be executed, even if he said he wanted to fight the US imperialists.

  The conversation made the return trip seem much shorter. We arrived at the company compound late in the afternoon. The new barracks that were supposed to have been completed still had no roofs. So we moved back into our old shacks.

  That night I wrote a long letter to my parents. I explained why I had not written and reported the experience of the two weeks we had been away. Toward the end, I related my conversation with Cui and asked if they could see if there was any way they could get me out of the Gobi. With some hope, I sent the letter the next day.

  For some reason, the leaders forgot about that potato field. During my entire stay in the Gobi, I did not set foot in it or even see it again. Nobody was sent to seed potatoes the next spring or the springs after, probably because the place was too far away, and the leaders did not want to be bothered. I wondered what became of it. Maybe it became a private plot for the innkeeper. Maybe the migrating sand buried it. Nobody seemed to care.

  Chapter 7

  War Is Coming

  By 1969, China was in the rather unique position of having hostile relationships with both of the world’s superpowers simultaneously. Its hostility toward the United States dated back to the Korean War, although with an ocean between the two countries there had not been any recent flare-ups. And following China’s ideological split with the Soviet Union in the early 1960s, tensions from time to time erupted into clashes along the long border (4,350 kilometers or ∼2,700 miles) between the two countries.

  In March 1969, there was a major military clash between the two countries on Zhenbao Island (called Damansky by Russia) on the Wusuli (Ussuri) River in northeastern China. The Chinese side claimed that the Soviet casualties numbered 58 dead, 94 wounded, and 17 tanks and armored carriers destroyed or damaged, with the Chinese troops suffering 29 casualties. Russia claimed that at least 248 Chinese troops were killed, and of the Soviet border guards, 32 were dead and 14 wounded. The Chinese side shipped one of the crippled Soviet T-62 tanks to Beijing’s Military Museum. In another incident, on August 13, Soviet troops ambushed a Chinese patrol in a region called Terekti, which straddles the border of China’s Xinjiang Province and what is today the country of Kazakhstan. The Chinese side reported 35 military personnel and 3 reporters killed in the incident. There were no Russian casualties.

  On March 21, a couple of days after the fighting on Zhenbao Island, Alexei Kosygin, the Soviet premier, placed an urgent call to Mao Zedong. The Chinese switchboard operator refused to make a connection for him, retorting, “You are the head of the Soviet revisionists. You don’t deserve to speak with our great leader.” Kosygin then requested to speak with Premier Zhou. The operator said, “Our premier is too busy to speak with you,” and hung up the phone. Mao and Zhou later reprimanded the operator for hanging up before reporting the call to her superiors. The Soviet leader was almost in despair. The two premiers did not get to speak with each other until six months later.

  It is well documented that the Soviet Union had considered a preemptive surgical strike against China’s nuclear bases and certain border cities. According to various reports, the Soviet Union had asked the United States to stay neutral in the event of a nuclear attack on China, but the Nixon administration refused and leaked the information to the press, forcing the Soviets to abandon the plan. I have doubts whether the Russians had seriously considered such a nuclear strike, because by then China already possessed not only atomic but also hydrogen bombs, and the consequences of a nuclear conflict would have been unimaginable. It’s possible the Soviets had suggested neutrality as a “trial balloon” for testing the US reaction.

  In any case, the Politburo was reportedly terrified of a large-scale Chinese intrusion into Soviet territory. “A nightmare vision of invasion by millions of Chinese made the Soviet leaders almost frantic,” wrote Arkady Shevchenko, a high-ranking Russian defector to the United States, in his memoir. “Despite our overwhelming superiority in weaponry, it would not be easy for the USSR to cope with an assault of this magnitude.” In view of China’s vast population and long experience in guerrilla warfare, Shevchenko wrote, the Soviets feared that an attack on China’s nuclear program would leave them “mired in an endless war.”

  The name of the Construction Army Corps suggested dual purposes of our organization. One was to build and develop the border area; the other was to defend it when necessary. It was for the latter reason we were organized like an army, with leadership positions at the company level and above staffed by active-duty officers. While by and large we were not armed, we were always aware that we would have to fight if called to do so.

  * * *

  In mid-October 1969, the grain was brought in and a woeful accounting was made. Our company’s harvest was only 70,000 kilograms (∼140,000 pounds), for the year. Before we came, a mere dozen farmers had produced about 500,000 kilograms (∼1 million pounds). And we were tending a much larger piece of land than they, because the 300 of us young people had greatly expanded the fields. Even worse was that we had sowed about 750,000 kilograms (∼1.6 million pounds) of seeds. That meant that after a year of hard work, much fertilizer, and countless machine hours, not to mention the other costs of farming this land, our entire harvest equaled about one-tenth the weight of the seeds.

  The leaders now organized political sessions to study next year’s “economic plan.” Initially, the plan had called for 900,000 kilograms (∼2 million pounds) of grain. In view of the output by the old farm, this should have been well within reach. But having learned of our actual output, headquarters had scaled down the target to 90,000 kilograms (∼20,000 pounds). They still allotted about 750,000 kilograms (∼1.6 million pounds) of seeds. It did not take an expert to know that this made no economic sense.

  Instructor Zhang tried to address our doubts at the company gathering. He explained that our task here in the Gobi was not only to farm the land but also to act as a deterrent against the aggressive Soviet- revisionist social imperialists. Moreover, we were here to remold our world outlook and reform our ideology to become true members of the working class. Therefore, although it appeared that we expended more resources than we produced, it was worth it if you considered that we were making ourselves socialist new men and defending our great motherland against Soviet aggression. Indeed, he said, we should feel grateful that the Party and the state were willing to spend so much on us.

  The next session was to be a mobilization meeting. The political instructor and the commander would deliver speeches to pump up our morale. Representatives from each squad and platoon were to prepare notes to say how much they appreciated the concern of the Party and the state for the youth. We should show that we would uphold the motto “First, do not fear hardships and second, do not fear death,” and “strive for even greater victory.”

  * * *

  Now that the harvest was over, there was not much to do in the fields, and every morning we had political study sessions. The company commander or the political instructor would read us passages from The Selected Works of Mao Zedong. At first, we were grateful to be spared the backbreaking work. This was the longest break we had had and we badly needed it. Neither the company commander nor the political instructo
r had received much schooling, so there were many characters in the Works that they did not recognize. They mispronounced words constantly. It was amusing to hear them mangle these familiar words to us, and we were not reserved in our laughter. Instructor Zhang was the worse of the two. Whenever he read, people pricked their ears in anticipation of funny pronunciations.

  But those study sessions soon grew dull. We heard the same articles every day. Besides, it was tiring to sit outside on the ground for hours on pieces of newspaper or bricks. My back often hurt, and it was getting colder each day. Nobody was allowed to go to the toilet during these sessions, so I could not even use that excuse to stretch. It was then I would wish that I were working in the fields.

  Soon the leaders found something different for us to do.

  Throughout 1969, there had been military clashes between China and the Soviet Union in border areas. As the border tensions rose, China began girding for all-out war. Lin Biao, the defense minister, issued an order known as Order Number One 1969 on October 18 to evacuate the top leaders from Beijing. The troops were mobilized. Mao issued a slogan, paraphrasing the advice given to the first Ming emperor: “Dig deep holes, store much grain and never seek hegemony”—in other words, China should prepare for an invasion by the Soviet Union.

  The whole country went into a frenzy of constructing air-raid shelters and tunnels, spending millions of hours of manpower and much of the country’s resources. Every work unit in China built air-raid shelters. This was not new to me; the Beijing subway, which I had helped work on, also furthered nuclear war preparation. The construction included lead-filled, radiation-proof gates that could separate one part of the subway from the rest, all part of the system’s design to function as a fallout shelter if needed.

  The leaders had told us that there were 70 divisions of Soviet troops on the Sino-Mongolian border ready to strike. This had been mentioned to us every so often, starting with the speech given by the official from regiment headquarters on our second day in the Gobi. But most of the time we had been too busy with farm work to think about the possibility of war.

  One night, I was awakened by the sound of a bugle for an emergency gathering. I jumped out of bed to find that it was still completely dark outside. Nobody had a watch, so we did not know what time it was. Then Platoon Leader Liu told us to bundle a bedroll and come stand in formation. In about 10 minutes, the entire company was trotting in the direction of the Third Company.

  There was an area nearby where, miraculously, a few trees stood. Trees were rare in the Gobi Desert. I was surprised to find that there was already a large crowd there. Every company for more than a dozen kilometers (∼7.5 miles) had attended. Political Commissar Xuan of the regiment was there, too. He was known among us by his nickname “Xuan Junji,” because whenever he introduced himself, he would say, “My family name is Xuan, Xuan like in Xuan Junji.” Xuan Junji was the name of the North Korean ambassador to Beijing. Nobody remembered what the political commissar’s name was.

  By about five o’clock, every company that had been summoned had reported its arrival, with the exception of the Tenth Company. Xuan Junji started to speak. He first praised the companies that had arrived early as being “as fierce as thunder and as fast as wind.” This was the same slogan they had used when they gave us our potato harvesting assignment earlier.

  We were all proud that the Fifth Company was mentioned. Then he criticized the Fourth Company for arriving without their bedrolls. “It is possible that our regiment will move out of the area today. Can you survive a march of 1,000 li (300 miles) without supplies?” he bellowed. “No!” The crowd shouted in unison. I was wondering whether even with our “supplies” I could survive a march of 1,000 li. I had only a small quilt in my backpack.

  Then he loudly instructed his messenger to order the Tenth Company, which was supposedly on its way, to change direction and go to Batou “to wait for further instructions.” This was intended as punishment for their failure to show up.

  Some people stuck their tongues out at this news. It was fortunate that we had been “as fast as wind.” Batou, the regiment headquarters, was 25 kilometers (∼16 miles) away. The poor guys of the Tenth Company would run themselves ragged getting there.

  Then Xuan announced a strategy against the invasion by the Soviets. War, he said, was inevitable. But Chairman Mao had developed a grand scheme to defeat the aggressors. It was consistent with the strategic thinking contained in the Selected Works, which, therefore, we should now study especially hard. China would not fight with the Soviet Union on their terms—head on with troops and hardware—but on ours. We would lead them around by their noses. We would “lure the enemy deep into our territory” and “close the door to beat the dog.”

  In the vast land where our Inner Mongolia Army Corps was scattered, there were no natural barriers to stop an advancing army. Ours was the territory that Chinese troops should give up and sacrifice when the Soviets invaded. We would retreat to the mountains nearby. As the enemy marched into the country, we would come out of the mountains as guerrilla troops and strike at their supply lines. Of course, we would win the war, because it was to be a people’s war.

  * * *

  I wasn’t in the least afraid. On the contrary, like most of the boys, I was enthused and excited, even looking forward to the war. It never occurred to me that we might lose or die. Perhaps we hoped that a war would change our lot—the hard work in the fields, the endless political study sessions, and the terrible and insufficient food. Perhaps we could become heroes.

  For days after that emergency gathering, we discussed what we would do when the Soviets invaded. The reaction from the boys of our platoon ranged from excitement to indifference. Li Baoquan declared that once he became a war hero, he would like to be a policeman in Taiwan.

  Why in Taiwan? We were puzzled. “How handsome I will look standing under a big palm tree,” he said.

  One day, all the platoon leaders were summoned to the regiment headquarters for a meeting on strategy. When they came back three days later, Platoon Leader Liu told us that they had been taken deep into the Yin Mountains to survey the terrain and learn where each guerrilla division was to be based. He also said that some weapons would be distributed. But there were not enough to go around, so each company was to receive only 40 guns, sufficient to arm one platoon, which would be referred to as the armed platoon.

  We all hoped that our platoon would be chosen. Platoon Leader Liu said that he would give it his best try, but we had to behave well these few days to show that we were the best-disciplined platoon.

  We were quite disappointed when it was announced that the Second Platoon had been selected instead. Soon they all received submachine guns, which they showed off proudly. These turned out to be the same Russian-made submachine guns used by the Chinese army during the Korean War about 15 years earlier.

  Like us, the company leaders were excited about the prospect of war. They seemed to think that their positions had been enhanced: They could claim to be military officers on active duty. The company political instructor walked around with a new air of importance now, his fat belly protruding. When he came to our platoon one day, Li Baoquan stepped forward, saluted, and greeted him, “General!”

  Instructor Zhang grinned from ear to ear and reprimanded Li Baoquan in a fatherly tone: “You are being naughty again, Li Baoquan.” But we could see that he was pleased with the salutation. We were all smiling, knowing that Baoquan was being sarcastic.

  Baoquan said afterward that he would shoot the political instructor first if a war should really break out. “This dumb-head would have us all killed if he were to command us in a war,” he explained. But whenever he saw the political instructor again, he would call him “General.” The “General” would always grin, sticking out his belly even further.

  The fact was that none of the company leaders had had any experience in battle. But they decided that they would lead us in rigorous training anyhow.

  The trainin
g was not too difficult during the day. Those of us in platoons without weapons simply had to march and run in formation. The physical training sessions were mixed with sessions of political indoctrination because, according to Chairman Mao, the ultimate determinant of winning a war was political consciousness. We would be invincible if we possessed the “spiritual atom bomb.”

  A large portion of our physical training was devoted to crawling. We were supposed to learn how to move around under heavy gunfire. We would hit the ground and crawl rapidly forward, sideways, and backward, in whatever direction the leaders ordered. To train us to crawl under fire, they would take us to cow fields where the cow patties were still fresh and the earth was soaked with urine. We would be ordered to throw ourselves to the ground and crawl.

  I would not have minded crawling on cow manure if there had been hot water to wash it off. But there was none, and winter was coming. Our platoon had recently moved out of temporary barracks and into new ones, but these were still damp because the mud on the walls was not dry. It was colder inside than outside. It became more and more difficult to rinse off the cow manure in the freezing water.

  These training sessions were also hard on our clothes, of which we did not possess many. Each of us had been issued uniforms when we arrived, but they were of very poor quality. The cloth was so thin that some people joked that it should be used to make mosquito nets. These clothes quickly became rags. I had to mend my “mosquito-net uniform” often, putting patches upon patches. I never threw anything away because there were no substitutes. After a while, it was difficult to recognize the original fabric of the clothes.