Escape from Shanghai (13 page)

The lower-level bureaucrats saw what their leaders were doing, so they began to behave in the same way. The culture of corruption began to take hold at every level of government.

This situation was totally intolerable in several ways. It was a corruption of the Confucian ideal, and it promoted distrust between those who governed and those who are governed. Mom felt that something had to be done. But what?

From 1938 to 1944, Japan occupied a hundred-mile semi-circular ring of territory that included Hong Kong and Canton. This was their stronghold in the Pearl River Delta area. Then, in April, 1944, the Japanese made a major push inland. Their Twenty-Third Army left Canton and marched west toward Liuchow airfield. This army completely bypassed Shaoguan, which was due north of Canton.

About five hundred miles north of Shaoguan, the Eleventh Japanese Army headed south from Wuchang to take Changsha, a march of about two hundred miles.

These two Japanese Armies would meet in the middle, crushing any Chinese resistance in their way. Their objectives were six US/Chinese Airfields along a five-hundred-mile corridor that stretched across four provinces.

On June 18, 1944 the city of Changsha fell.

On August 8, the airfield at Hengyang was taken. September 4, Lingling Airfield.

November 10, Kweilin.

November 11, Liuchow.

November 24, Nanning.

The attacks were so well coordinated that the Japanese Northern Army reached Kweilin on November 10; while the Southern Army from Canton reached Liuchow on November 11. These two airfields are separated by a mere 100 miles. Both Japanese Armies had covered over three hundred miles on their march across central China.

Ultimately, the Japanese advanced beyond Kweilin. Their armies were only 300 miles from Chungking, the war-time capital of China. Japan was well on her way to conquering all of China by the end of 1944.

General Li’s 35th Army Group could not stop the Japanese. In fact, the Japanese had completely bypassed General Li’s position at Shaoguan. He saw no action during this Japanese advance. His strategy was to retreat and keep his army out of harm’s way.

Then, finally on February 1945, the Japanese took Suichuan airfield, which was roughly one hundred miles north of where Governor-General Li’s 35th Army Group was. Suichuan airfield is located at the strategic juncture of three provinces: Canton, Kiangsi and Fukien.

The Chinese high command was in a state of shock, if not panic because Japan had, effectively, conquered China. Mom knew that Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek’s armies could do nothing to stop the Japanese. As for General Li’s army, the best that his staff could do was to huddle over the map plotting the best escape route and debating the wisdom of a surrender.

Interestingly, Japan made this bold audacious move in China at a time when it was losing the war everywhere else. American B-29 bombers had been hitting both the Japanese supply lines and the main islands of Japan from these Chinese airfields. While the Japanese captured them, this did not stop the B-29’s. The Americans moved some of their planes inland and others to the new airfields in the Mariana Islands. The bombings continued from these new locations.

Japan was losing the war in the Pacific, but they knew that they could win the ground war in China. Their adversary was weak because of the corruption and a poor fighting spirit. Using 700,000 soldiers, the largest Japanese troop action during the war, their armies cut through the heart of China from Kaifeng in the north, all the way to Vietnam. In a little over seven months, they had captured a one-thousand-mile-long corridor down the middle of China. (As
a comparison, only 22,000 Japanese soldiers fought and died on Iwo Jima.)

Their strategy was to stop the bombings from Chinese airfields and at the same time capture the mainland. They could always use China as a bargaining chip with the allies. Japanese intelligence knew that the American military was anticipating mind-boggling casualties if the Allied forces were to land on the beaches of the main Japanese island. The Americans were not looking forward to losing one million men against the suicidal Japanese.

On the other side, the Japanese high command was still thinking in the old-fashioned way of a negotiated peace. They would use China as a bargaining chip to secure an armistice with the allies. This strategy would save a million American lives on the beaches of Japan.

China and a million American lives in exchange for peace with Japan.

In January of 1945, during this Japanese offensive, the temperatures at Governor Li’s Provincial Headquarters hovered in the 40s and rose to a pleasant 60 or higher by noon. Not far from his house was his big black Buick parked with rows of trucks
that formed the motor pool. Next to these vehicles were tall stacks of metal gasoline drums. Hundreds of fifty-five gallon drums of precious gasoline filled the large fenced-in compound.

The men in the motor pool generally looked after me. I liked to watch the mechanics work on those big army trucks. I didn’t have to go to school simply because there wasn’t one. And I didn’t like being tutored along with the general’s children. They made me feel like a second-class citizen, an employee’s child. When I described the situation and my unhappiness at being treated like a servant, Mom agreed to let me “work” with the soldiers instead. Clearly, there are different ways to learn about life.

An old man guarded the compound that stored the gasoline supply for the army. He was thin and frail as if he had not been properly fed for most of his life. He sat by the big wooden doors guarding the tall stacks of precious flammable liquid. The heavy odor of gas permeated the area, but he had gotten used to the smell. On cold mornings, he would crack the big door a foot or two to let the sun warm him. But the sun didn’t provide enough heat to suit him. Between his feet and in front of his rocking chair sat a chipped and dented white-enamel wash basin. The basin had a rounded bottom and it was about twelve inches in diameter and four inches deep. In
the middle of this metal basin were lumps of hot, glowing coals.

He sunned himself, smoked his pipe and warmed his feet and hands over his portable stove. He seemed oblivious to the gasoline stacked behind him.

Seeing a ready and available audience, he would call me over to join him. “Sit and warm yourself,” he said.

I used to sit on my haunches in front of the glowing red charcoal and listen to his stories.

“My boy,” the old man said, “do you know how many years I’ve been working for the general? Thirty. Thirty years,” he said proudly. “I was his rickshaw driver. When he got a car, he got rid of the rickshaw. But he still thinks very highly of me. And do you know why? Because I’m important to him. He trusts me. I’m not like the others who deal in the black market,” he said with pride.

He raised his right arm and pointed his thumb at the drums just behind his shoulder. “You know how much money they charge for gasoline? I could make a fortune, I tell you. But the general trusts me. That’s why he put me here, to watch over his gasoline. This is a very important job, watching the gasoline. There are thieves everywhere. That’s why the gasoline is here, behind this compound where no one can steal it. Smart huh? Yeah, the general is
very smart. He’s smart to keep me here to watch over things for him.”

I sat and listened, but it wasn’t long before the old man ran out of stories. When he began to repeat himself, I lost interest. I drifted away to watch the mechanics work on the trucks.

Then, one cold morning, there was a loud commotion at the gas depot. Thick, black, heavy smoke bellowed into the sky, followed by a loud roar and a huge ball of fire. In seconds, the entire area was consumed by thick pitch-black smoke. A huge black cloud mushroomed high into the sky. The metal drums of gasoline had completely disappeared. The heat from the flames peeled the paint off the nearby trucks. Hundreds of soldiers ran about tossing buckets of water on anything that was in flames.

Half dazed and blackened by smoke, the old man staggered about in the center of a circle of angry soldiers. “It wasn’t my fault,” he cried, “I fell asleep, that’s all.” Then he turned wildly to grab a nearby soldier. “It wasn’t my fault!” the old man screamed for everyone to hear. “The pan tipped over.” When he realized what he had just said, he covered his face and fell to his knees.

A soldier cursed him then roughly pushed him to the ground.

Mom ran into the circle of soldiers. “Has anyone seen my son?” she cried several times.

Luckily, I was in the truck repair area, away from the gasoline. I waved and called out to her.

“Thank goodness you are all right!”

The old man sobbed. “Someone turned over my pan...they...they...I couldn’t stop the fire. It just got bigger and bigger...” The ring of angry soldiers glared unmercifully at him. The Old Man propped himself up on one elbow. His body trembled uncontrollably with fear and panic.

Mom grabbed my hand and forcefully took me away. She knew what was about to happen.

Then I heard two shots.

Everything was in complete shambles. The decision had already been made. We would have to evacuate immediately. The general was certain that the huge column of black smoke could be readily seen by the Japanese. The threat of the oncoming Japanese was foremost on everyone’s mind.

Mom took me aside to explain the situation.

“You know, the fire is a very bad thing. The Japanese will see the black smoke. They are very close. We have to leave now,” she said firmly. Behind her, high up in the air, a long column of black smoke lingered in the cold blue sky.

“Where are we going?”

“We are going inland, away from the Japanese. The entire army is leaving.”

“Are we going in the Buick?”

“The car is only big enough for the general’s family. His children and their amahs will leave first. We will follow later with the rest of the army.” Then she sat down beside me and took my hand. “I’m going in one of the trucks with all the important papers.” She paused to clear her throat. “You’ll be going with the soldiers. The sergeant of the motor pool will be in charge of you. You do what he tells you,” she said. “We won’t be separated for long. Five days at most.”

I was nine at the time. That would make it four years since Mom and I escaped from Shanghai. And during those four years, whatever fears that I might have had, had been locked up inside of me. I hadn’t sobbed or cried when the Japanese soldier patted me on the top of my head. My hand didn’t tremble when I gave him his roll of money. In fact, I remember calmly looking up at him, as if this were the most important game in the world. And it was because I had fooled him.

During those four, formative years, fear was not an emotion that I exhibited. It wasn’t a question of
male pride that to show fear would mean being weak. I was too young to know about the macho aspect of being a “man.” After all, I was a young boy whose hormones hadn’t developed sufficiently to experience that macho feeling. I focused on being a good, obedient boy because that’s what boys are supposed to do.