The Decisive Battle in Korea

Chapter 3: Deserters

The winter nights in Korea were bitterly cold. The bare branches of the larch trees trembled in the wind, while the evergreens gently swayed their branches, as if trying to shake off the snow. The stars and crescent moon reflected on the white snow, casting a pale, cold light over what should have been a dark winter night, illuminating our path forward.

Most of the Chinese People's Volunteer Army (PVA) soldiers were nocturnal, and many believed they excelled at night fighting. However, I believe the PVA fought at night out of necessity, forced by circumstances. During the day, no matter how brave the soldiers, they would find it difficult to gain an advantage against the high-tech equipment of the American forces. At that time, night vision devices were still a novelty, not yet deployed to the American troops. Therefore, at night, the American planes, artillery, and tanks became useless, leaving them only with the option of direct confrontation with the PVA. Thus, the PVA mostly marched or launched offensives at night.

So, instead of being nestled in a warm bed, I was traversing mountains and valleys in the freezing cold.

Although it wasn't snowing, the chill was like an omnipresent spirit, frantically stealing the last bit of warmth from my cuffs, collar, and hood—from every possible opening. If the White-Haired Girl still dared to sing "The North Wind Blows, the Snowflakes Flutter," I swear I'd drag her here to see what true cold really was…

It all felt like a dream. I looked at the scenery around me, at the soldiers marching in front of and behind me, at the weapons and equipment they carried, and still couldn't believe it was real.

My feet moved forward mechanically, my mind searching for fragments of my fall from Mount Paektu. Finally, only one plausible, yet utterly helpless, explanation remained: I had fallen into that legendary cave, and the mysterious power within had brought me here, possessing the body of a frozen-to-death volunteer soldier. So I went to the Korean War battlefield… and became a volunteer soldier…

This thought almost drove me to despair, because I knew clearly how brutal the war was, and I knew clearly that a third of those who went into battle would never return to their homeland, never see their families again. No… I will never see my family again. I have returned to fifty-eight years ago, when my deceased grandfather was only a teenager, perhaps still somewhere in the country, struggling to give birth to my father!

“I wonder if my name will be on the monument to the War to Resist US Aggression and Aid Korea in the modern world.” I laughed self-deprecatingly: “If I had known it would be like this, I should have looked at those lists more often. But I probably won’t be on the list of heroes. Just kidding, I’ve spent my whole life with a pen, now you want me to wield a gun? Maybe I’ll be on the deserter’s list.”

"I don't want to be a deserter, but guns and bullets on the Korean battlefield are so hard to come by. The ruthless American imperialists completely control the air, and they can bomb our supply lines at will. So every gun, every bullet, every ration, every cotton coat, and every pair of rubber shoes represents the lives and blood of the logistics comrades who transported the supplies! So, to prevent these precious guns, ammunition, and supplies from being wasted on someone like me who has never been on a battlefield, for the victory of the Korean War, and for the happiness of hundreds of millions of people across the country... I'll just have to swallow my pride and be a deserter for once..."

This reason seemed quite plausible, so I slowly slowed my pace, avoided looking around, and tried not to show any sign of guilt, pretending to be exhausted and out of breath.

Speaking of my ability to pretend, I have a glorious history. Back in college, I once successfully convinced five innocent girls that I was a gentleman by putting on a serious face, and I almost won their hearts. I almost did, because in the end I realized I was the one who had been deceived…

A hero doesn't dwell on past glories, and now I'm practically praying to every god I can think of in my mind: Great gods! Let me successfully fake this one more time!

Watching one volunteer soldier after another stride past me, my heart raced… In those days, there was only one consequence for deserters: being shot and paraded by the roadside.

“Comrade…” Just as I was about to reach the end of the column, a familiar voice made my heart skip a beat. I turned around and saw the old sergeant's eyes, gleaming with an unusual light, smiling at me.

I looked at the old sergeant, then at myself, and quickly understood the problem. The old sergeant was carrying a military blanket, shovel, submachine gun, grenades, ration bags, ammunition pouches, and a canteen—it weighed at least seventy or eighty pounds. How could I, a young man with nothing on me, possibly outrun an old man carrying seventy-odd pounds of equipment…?

I felt deeply remorseful. How could I forget the traditional virtue of respecting the elderly and caring for the young? If I had approached the old sergeant with an angelic smile from the beginning, speaking gently and tenderly, "Uncle, your things must be heavy! Let me help you carry some," then my plan to feign weakness and escape would have been flawless. Now, I'm utterly humiliated; my mission failed before it even began…

"Comrade…" But unexpectedly, the old sergeant patted my shoulder and said kindly, "Tired, comrade… You've been through hell, it hasn't been easy… Hang in there a little longer, when we catch up with the main force we'll call the medic to check on you…" I froze, feeling a pang of shame. Before even experiencing the cruelty of the battlefield, I'd already felt the care of my comrade.

"It's alright, it's alright…" I replied softly, head bowed. The old sergeant's caring gaze seemed particularly piercing in the night.

"Halt! Stand by!"

"Halt! Stand by!"

...

I don't know how long we ran, but just as I was secretly amazed at the incredible stamina of the body I was inhabiting, orders to halt came one after another from ahead. Although it was a rest day, no one dared to sit down. Not only was there snow everywhere, but in such cold weather, anyone who sat down would likely freeze and never get up again. So everyone stood still, gently stamping their feet and breathing warm air into their hands. Some even huddled together for warmth...

Only then did I take a closer look at the company. There were about 160 men, lined up in a long queue. Normally, a company should have around 120 men, and an army should have over 30,000. But the Volunteer Army generally exceeded its quota; the first four armies to enter Korea all had no fewer than 40,000 men, so a company with over 160 men was quite reasonable.

Looking at their equipment, I only recognized the Type 38 rifle and the Type 24 rifle, which I often saw in movies. The only machine guns I could name were the Type 99 (or Type 11) light machine guns; there were probably seven or eight of them. Every soldier had three to five grenades strapped to their chest, and platoon and company commanders were mostly equipped with Mauser C96 pistols or submachine guns. To my surprise, I also saw two mortars. While this equipment couldn't compare to the American planes, artillery, and tanks, it wasn't as bad as the "millet and rifles" scenario that many Chinese people imagined.

I remember that after returning home, Ridgway wrote a book called *The Korean War*, in which he always emphasized how poor the American equipment was, how inadequate their supplies were, and how their soldiers suffered from cold and hunger. Of course, if someone returning home defeated and dejected claimed that their equipment was excellent, their food was good, and their winter clothes were thick, anyone would suspect that their head had been damaged by the Chinese People's Volunteer Army.

Similarly, if Chinese people emphasize how poor the equipment of the Chinese People's Volunteer Army was, it will better highlight the bravery of the Volunteer Army and its spirit of defeating the strong with the weak. Moreover, the equipment of the Volunteer Army was not even in the same league as that of the US military.

“Little Shandong…” The old sergeant waved and caught the short guy running past him. “How’s it going? Why aren’t you moving forward?”

“Can’t find the main force.” Little Shandong chuckled. “We’re on the main road, aren’t we? The company commander said the footprints ahead have been trampled, said to be from defeated Korean People’s Army soldiers and retreating villagers who don’t know how to get around.”

“This is troublesome!” The old sergeant frowned. “No map, no radio, we’re in unfamiliar territory, and in Korea no less. Even if we ask a villager for directions, they won’t understand our language…”

I’d heard that the Volunteer Army’s communication equipment was poor. Apparently, only battalions had telephones, and only regiments had radios. So there’s an old saying: if you send Volunteer Army units below the battalion level out to fight, you can’t call them back. Moreover, since it was the Volunteer Army’s first time entering the Korean War, even company-level units didn’t have maps. If they couldn’t find the main force now, it really would be as the old sergeant said—troublesome!

"I...I can speak..." I sniffed my frozen nose and said, "I can speak Korean, I'll go ask! Where are we going?"

"You can speak Korean? That's great!" A strange look flashed across the old sergeant's face, then a wrinkled smile spread across his face. "We're going to Wenjing, let's ask a local..."

"Wenjing?" I was taken aback. I knew this place name because the first shot of the Korean War was fired in Liangshuidong, near Wenjing.

I had read some information a couple of days ago. The original plan was for the 118th Division of the 40th Army of the Chinese People's Volunteer Army to advance on Wenjing, but they found that the enemy had already occupied Wenjing, so they hastily built fortifications in Liangshuidong to ambush the enemy troops continuing their northward advance...

"What date? What's today?" I asked anxiously.

"The 25th, October 25th." The old sergeant thought the question was a bit strange, but he still answered.

It was the anniversary of the Korean War, the day the war began.

"So you're the 118th Division of the 40th Army?" My voice was already trembling.

Seeing the old sergeant nod, I couldn't help but cry out in my heart: So soon I'm going to the battlefield! It's only been a few hours since I came into this world, and I haven't even had a chance to desert…

“Comrade, comrade…” The old sergeant looked at my pale face with suspicion and asked, “What's wrong? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing.” I shook my head weakly and slowly uttered a few words: “The main force is in Liangshuidong, not Wenjing.”