Canteen System Assistance Notes

The Japanese had already broken through the Demon City and were pursuing the retreating Nationalist forces, hoping to penetrate their positions before they could rebuild their defenses. However, in the battered and heavily bombed city of Nanjing, Carlson still found a number of Americans. Ambassador George Acheson, who received him, welcomed him: "Hello! Welcome to this besieged city.

"If you're staying here for Thanksgiving, and we can find a turkey, then stay and have a turkey dinner with us!"

It was nearly Thanksgiving Day 1937, and the Battle of Nanjing was about to begin. Carlson expressed his intentions to the enthusiastic ambassador and hoped to obtain his assistance.

"If you're planning a trip inland, now's a bad time." Ambassador Acheson looked troubled after hearing Carlson's request to explore the heartland of North and Central China, even into enemy-occupied areas. "You know, I should be advising our compatriots not to take such risks, but if that's what you insist on, I shouldn't be doing too much to stop you." He winked humorously. "After all, you probably won't listen to my advice, will you?"

"Now that I've received the order, I must complete it well," Carlson responded. "I've already reported this to the general, and he's agreed to let me conduct this expedition. Next, how should I get closer to the interior?"

"Hmm... then you should probably ask General Tang, who's in charge of this area's defense, for a communication card. Then, head to Jiangcheng, the transportation hub for the five provinces. From there, you can proceed to Gaojing." Ambassador Acheson snapped his fingers. "If you'll stay for Thanksgiving dinner, I'll introduce you to General Tang—haha, that's right, I just want you to stay for the holidays. It's not easy to get together with dear friends in this distant country and enjoy a hearty dinner under Japanese air raids."

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"In the end, I spent Thanksgiving in the Far East with the ambassador, the military attachés of the navy and army stationed in China, the embassy secretary, and several friends from the media, including the Associated Press and the New York Times. Ambassador George's chef ultimately couldn't find a turkey, a regular chicken, or even Nanjing's famous roast duck. But by God's grace, we did find a filthy goose, which we roasted for dinner."

"General Tang, who was defending the city, discussed with me many details about the street fighting. He also vowed not to retreat a single step and to make the Japanese invaders pay a heavy price before the gates of Nanjing."

During dinner, an air raid alarm sounded. I went to the roof of the embassy's air-raid shelter to observe. Japanese planes dropped a large number of small bombs, intending to kill soldiers and civilians in the city, spread fear, and thus force them to surrender. It was in this atmosphere that we spent Thanksgiving. I guess I will never forget this unplucked goose.

Carlson capped his pen, closed his eyes, and endured the various odors in the cramped carriage. This was his first time on a train since departing from Jinling City and traveling by water to Jiangling City. The train would turn to Gaojing at Shangcheng, a railway transportation hub where the Longhai Pinghan Line intersected.

Far from the foreigners in China, Carlson, with his passable spoken Chinese and American passport, earned considerable privileges. Huddled in a corner of the train car, he wrote with his notebook propped up on his lap. Around him were shivering refugees, wounded soldiers, and middle-class families—for no other reason than that, in his estimation, anyone who could carry a suitcase was considered above middle class.

He peered out the open door of the freight car. The train was chugging along a high embankment, the surrounding landscape changing from plain to loess, the green gradually fading. Flowing water and wind had carved gullies and furrows across this ancient land. Carlson felt as if the train he was on was gradually ascending into the air, and everything around him was sinking, disappearing below the horizon.

Then, the disappearing scenery suddenly changed back, and the train began to spew thick smoke and slowly passed through the valleys and mountains.

Suddenly, the train blew its whistle, and someone bravely climbed out from the side of the carriage, looked into the distance, and shouted loudly: "We've arrived at Haojing City!"

--------

Haojing was a very ancient city, even more powerful than Jinling or even the Forty-Nine City in its claim to be the capital of this even older nation. It had remained untouched by war and still enjoyed peace, its thick, classical walls enveloping the city and offering it protection. Carlson paid a few cents and found a travel agency guesthouse, where he finally had a good, hot bath.

Ah! A modern atmosphere!

There was even electricity here, allowing Carlson to say goodbye to kerosene lamps at night - in North China, he saw a large number of Mobil kerosene lamps and Mobil kerosene - he could complete his observation records and diaries at night without having to force himself to sleep as soon as the sun went down, or having his eyes hurt by the smell of kerosene lamps.

"Hey! Another foreigner!"

There was a knock on Carlson's door. The Marine officer, his hair still wet, looked at the two Slavs at the door in surprise. The two Slavs laughed in response: "Oh, hello! It seems we came at the wrong time!"

"We are pilots from the Soviet aid flight team in China," they introduced themselves confidently. "It's rare to see foreigners here."

"Hello, hello, I'm Carlson, from the United States. Like you, I'm a soldier, but I'm not a pilot flying in the sky."

"Hey, Americans!" The two pilots were very young, with the youthful impetuosity and vigor typical of youth. "There are Americans here too. Dr. Cloe at the hospital is American. There are even Germans. But what are you doing here? Are you here to preach as well?"

"I'm not a missionary." Carlson asked the two pilots to sit down. "I plan to go to the Communist-controlled area in the north to take a look. You know, it doesn't seem easy to get there. Is there anyone I should look for?"

After hearing this, they both burst into laughter.

"Who are you looking for? North of Fushe, our fraternal party has an aviation school with several runways! We occasionally go there to teach them how to fly and maintain aircraft. If you really need it, why not go directly to the Eighth Route Army office in Qixianzhuang? If they agree, they'll send you a telegram. Then we'll just put you in the back seat and fly over!"

Huh? The Eighth Route Army had an aviation school? And they even had regular flights to Gaojing?

During the 36 years that Snow came to Fushe and the border areas, the army and people there had an optimistic spirit and an indomitable spirit, but there was no doubt that they were living in poverty and financial difficulties - lacking medical care and medicine, guns and ammunition, and it was even more impossible to have airplanes and aviation schools.

With this in mind, Carlson prepared a bag of various medicines, from adhesive plasters to sulfa drugs, just in case he or those around him fell ill and were left without treatment. As for how to get to the border area, he thought he would ride a horse or donkey, trekking over the winding and rugged mountain roads. If there were a truck, it would be even better.

He was a little confused about the situation for a moment.

Chapter 66: Twin Stars (3) General's Banquet 1

Canteen System Assistance

By Forgotten Maple X

2184 words

2020-11-23 12: 00: 00

The Eighth Route Army's office in Haojing was located in a place called Qixianzhuang, where there were administrative personnel from the mysterious border region. Carlson knew that as long as he applied to them, there was a high probability that he would get approval to enter the border region for investigation and interviews, and meet those wonderful and magical leaders in Snow's stories.

However, as an American "China expert", Carlson knew to give the local actual leader a "face". Before revealing his plan, he decided to visit the director of the Gaojing Camp, the highest military and political leader in the area, General Jiang Mingsan.

"But why are there so many amputees? Is the amputation technology of the mission hospital famous here?"

After handing the secretary the ambassador's letter of introduction and presenting his correspondence card, which bore the seals of several war zones, Carlson had to wait a while to find a free time arranged by the secretary. The general was very busy, toiling day and night. He understood the busy daily life of such a high-ranking official, so he slipped away to visit Dr. Crowe at the American Mission Hospital in Gaojing.

"Ah, my dear Evans, not really."

Dr. Crowe is the director of this hospital, treating the wounded soldiers who have been evacuated. "There aren't many seriously injured soldiers returning, mainly because we and other hospitals here lack sufficient equipment and technology. To prevent infection and complications, we can only amputate to save these people's lives."

"..."

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Perhaps it was his status that played a role, as Carlson was soon led by a beautiful and capable secretary into a quiet, single-family compound in Haojing City. This large house, with its classical living room and side rooms, was the general's residence. Carlson waited for a while in an armchair, sipping a few sips of hot tea brought by the orderly, before finally meeting the somewhat serious official of the preserved fruit factory.

"Hello, General!"

Jiang Mingsan extended his hand to shake Carlson's. "Hello, Counselor. You must have walked a long way to get here from Shanghai. You're the first foreigner to have traveled so far in this land."

There are still many foreigners working and striving here. Carlson responded calmly, wondering if the general's lukewarm attitude meant his thoughts were known. He had learned from Snow about the history of Guofu and the Communist Party. He knew that during the past decade of civil war, Guofu had consistently sought to hunt down the Communists and eliminate them in their mountain strongholds. And General Chiang, Carlson understood, was one of the commanders.

Then, his stance is likely to be anti-communist.

--------

"I hope you are comfortable in our northwest."

"Thank you for your hospitality. I'm not dissatisfied with my current living conditions," Carlson replied. He didn't consider himself a soldier who sought good material comforts. He was quite content with the limited hot water and electricity. "I'm living with the Soviet pilots now."

"Oh!"

Jiang Mingsan paused and continued, "Are you planning to continue observing the battle here? I have to remind you that it won't be safe if you go deeper into the battlefield."

"Yes, I saw a lot of battles along the way," Carlson recalled the newspaper he bought at the train station. "I came here to observe the war myself. Soldiers cannot escape their mission. Whether it's the army in the north or the army in the south, I want to learn more about them."

"Then you've asked the right person. No one knows the situation in the Northwest better than me."

Jiang Mingsan clapped his hands and opened his arms. He walked to the map hanging in the living room. "The communist army in the north recently won an important victory here, but the Japanese still captured all the cities from Sijiucheng to Jiuyuan along the railway." He pointed along the railway. "They are also moving south along the railway, intending to attack the three towns of Jiangcheng, but now the Japanese army has not yet broken through the Yellow River. At the same time, the Japanese have occupied Shandong Province and Tianjin. They are trying to capture Jinyang City, the capital of Jin Province, along the Tongpu Railway and the Zhengtai Railway."

Carlson knew that the Japanese offensive was primarily along the railway lines. During the Battle of Shanghai, he had noticed that the Japanese Army, considered a third-rate force by European military standards, had little ability to conduct long-range operations far from the railway lines. Almost all of their operations relied on railroad supplies.

"But I'm here. I'm responsible for the defense of this section of the Yellow River."

Jiang Mingsan pointed proudly at the Yellow River on the map and said, "From Longgu Pass to Taolinsai, this is the gateway to Guanzhong, and my troops are defending here." He began to explain to Carlson in detail the river defense that he personally designed and participated in building, and said that with such defense, it would be impossible for the Japanese to enter Guanzhong.

This man was intelligent and eager to show off. Carlson took note of what he said and listened as he finished describing the river defense project. Just as he was about to shake hands and say goodbye, Jiang Mingsan, perhaps feeling inspired, extended an invitation to Carlson. "Tomorrow night, at the Northwest Hotel, I'll be hosting a banquet. If you're free, please come!"

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The Northwest Hotel was the newest hotel in Gaojing - that's what the young Soviet pilots told Carlson - and he put on the American military green uniform in his backpack and walked to the hotel, which was located in a prime location on East Street.

Entering the brightly lit hall, Carlson felt a bit dazed. Here, the atmosphere was filled with clinking glasses, melodious music blaring from a gramophone, waiters in white shirts pacing back and forth, and a variety of dishes covered with silver lids. In this banquet hall of eloquence, Carlson savored perfectly seared veal, drank strong local brandy, and even finished his meal with a strawberry cake topped with sugar and cream.

He remembered that in Nanjing City, even the embassy couldn't find a roast chicken on Thanksgiving, not to mention the civilians and soldiers in the Battle of Shanghai.

Amid the guests' carefree conversation, Carlson engaged in a lively conversation, as if transported back to a Navy Christmas party. General Chiang himself attended the banquet, delivering a congratulatory address, wishing all the visitors a good meal and a good time. After the banquet concluded, he cleared away the remaining food, set up a card table, and cordially invited the guests to join in the fun.

Carlson found an excuse, took the unfinished bottle of champagne, and slipped out.

Evans Fordyce Carlson laughed at himself as he looked at the beautiful cursive French calligraphy on the unfinished bottle of champagne. He still had to take the bottle to his pilot friends in the hotel.

The bright street lights in Haojing illuminated the bustling East Street, but in places where the lights could not reach, Carlson noticed that there were skinny figures leaning against the grassy walls - and these figures often had missing limbs.

The rickshaw he was riding in wobbled as it passed.

Chapter 67: Twin Stars (4) The Eighth Route Army 1

Canteen System Assistance

By Forgotten Maple X

2078 words

2020-11-24 12: 00: 00

"So, Mr. Carlson."

The square-faced gentleman in front of him switched to not very fluent English and asked, "How can I help you? Do you mind if I call you Mr.?"

"No, of course not. I don't mind at all."

The Eighth Route Army official was named Ye Yiwei, and his earnest and frank attitude made Carlson feel comfortable. However, the surrounding environment was not suitable for such a meeting.

They were now having a secret meeting in the dental clinic of German dentist Winge von Heber. Carlson's identity did not allow him to go directly to the Eighth Route Army Office in Qixianzhuang. At Ye Yiwei's kind reminder, the two changed the official meeting place to this place filled with the smell of Lysol.

"To make a long story short, I want to see the city, the army, and life under your management."

Carlson didn't want to waste any more time. He'd witnessed so much hassle and so many rules in Beijing these past few days that he'd even thought he was still in a bureaucratic Washington. He made his request bluntly: "This isn't some kind of observational journalist who can just snap a few photos and write a few front-page articles. I want to be part of you for a while."

Ye Yiwei stared into his eyes, somewhat surprised, as if unprepared for the American officer to state his purpose in this way. But a smile soon broke out on his face. "No problem, but I'll need to telegraph your request back to Fushe and then consult with our superiors. Generally speaking, as long as you get permission, you can travel to the border area. Whether by car, on horseback, or on an air force plane, it's all fine."

"only."

Ye Yiwei adjusted the collar of his cotton-padded jacket, which had been worn white. "Mr. Carlson, as your former colleague, I personally suggest that if you really want to observe us closely, why not start in Fushe? How about going to Jin Province? There's a real war going on there.

"I think it's more real there than Fushi. These past few days, I think you've seen both the true and false sides of this country in the Magic City, Nanjing, and Gaojing City—we Communists never hide anything about these things—but going to Jin Province is somewhat dangerous. We can't let you risk being captured by the Japanese. If you decide to go, I'll need to send guards with you."

"No problem, I just hope I don't have to wait too long."

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"Trust me, this won't take long."

Compared to historical intelligence transmissions that required human intervention, today's border regions react much faster. From the time a telegram was sent via radio at a dentist's office, to the time a shortwave antenna atop "a strange hill" in Fushi City received a properly coded signal, to the time the telegram and documents were printed, bound, and delivered to the desk of Zhou Gong, who was on duty during the day, it took no more than two hours.

Immediately, this process was reversed, and a telegram was deciphered by the decoding agency in Qixianzhuang. However, because the Eighth Route Army adopted the "time division multiplexing" principle that had been tested during the Long March, different radio frequency bands were selected to send messages according to a pre-set sequence at different times of the day. The monitoring agency in Guosu did not even hear this telegram.

Thanks to efficient decision-making, the application was returned to the Haojing office at noon that day.

Carlson had just bought a steamed bun from a street food stall and was eating while walking back to the hotel when he saw an officer in military uniform and an "Eighth Route Army" armband walk in.

"Mr. Carlson," he said, "how long will it take you to pack?"

"?"

Perhaps seeing his own surprised look, the official smiled mischievously, seeming quite satisfied with this successful "raid": "There is a train to Taolinsai at four o'clock in the afternoon. From there, you can go to Fengling with our soldiers. After spending the night there, you can cross the river and enter Shanxi Province the next day.

"If you miss this train, you'll have to wait about three days."

"!"

Carlson began to move his mouth quickly, finishing the steamed bun in his mouth as quickly as possible, and then ran up the stairs.

Ah, these comrades from the north seem to be getting rid of their procrastination habits, which is a good sign.

Although he was forced to change the plan, Carlson was not angry at all. Compared with candied fruit, faster decision-making can save a lot of time that is wasted for no reason. It is a valuable thing whether in wartime or peacetime.

He gathered his medicine box, packed his clothes, rolled up his long sleeping bag, stuffed it into a white Marine sailor bag, and tied it with rope to make a backpack. He quickly packed his equipment as if he were in military school and ran down the stairs.

At this time, the Eighth Route Army officer was waiting for him on the street, and he brought a team of armed guards, a total of eight people. Half of them were holding Bergmann submachine guns, and the other half were carrying Soviet rifles. They were waiting for Carlson downstairs.

"Where's your luggage?" This time it was the clerk's turn to be puzzled. "We also brought a donkey cart."

"Luggage? That's all!"

Carlson patted his backpack. The neatly packed bag contained all his equipment, enough to support him in surviving the sub-zero temperatures in North China. "My friend, what do you imagine me to be? A king on a trip? Or a lady on an outing?

"Now that I'm here, I'm ready to go to the battlefield!"

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Carlson's decisive style of action won the favor of these soldiers. They saw off the donkey cart and walked to the train station in Haojing. Along the way, Carlson chatted with the soldiers and observed their attire.

Unlike the preserved fruit soldiers, these Eighth Route Army soldiers clearly possessed superior physical fitness. Carlson's nutritional status always made him think that even a five-kilometer run with their gear on would cause severe calcium loss. While the Eighth Route Army soldiers before him showed some signs of malnutrition due to their older-than-life faces, they were at least well-fed and not starving.

As for the officer, from his attire to his posture and demeanor, there was no difference between him and a soldier.

But this is Haojing, and the conditions are better after all. Those soldiers fighting in the Japanese-occupied areas are fighting under the enemy's blockade. Will the situation there be the same?

Carlson was thinking as they crossed the entire East Street and walked past the ancient city wall of Haojing. The two-story train station soon appeared in his sight.

Will I ever encounter that "Utopia"? He thought about this, and couldn't help but feel full of anticipation.

Chapter 68: Twin Stars (5) Another Story 1

Canteen System Assistance

By Forgotten Maple X