The wind shifted slightly, blowing the smoke into the faces of the other favored soldiers and staff, and making their eyes water. It was always windy in the mountains, gusts and eddies chasing themselves like wildcats at play, but Chen had been careful to sit on the western side of the fire, keeping the strongest winds at his back and assuring that the worst of the smoke would blow away from him.
After all, it was in Chen's nature to leave nothing to chance, at least what was in his control. In Chen's mind, even something such as where to sit at the fire must be weighed carefully. Every action that one took had a consequence. Also, there was the fact that any attack by the enemy would come out of the east. Facing in that direction, Chen's keen eyes would spot the enemy planes.
Neither did Major Wu's approach escape his detection. The political officer always managed to look like he was on dress parade. His green uniform with the flashes of red at the lapels reminded Chen of a peacock in a muddy barnyard, brilliant feathers against the drab. The uniform itself appeared spotless. Chen marveled at how the major managed to stay so clean here on the front lines. His own uniform was dirty, the original bleached cotton fabric long since gone a sooty gray, and well-worn, if not quite ragged.
"There you are," said Wu. The major always managed to be smiling, but it was like the smile of the mythical trickster, Sun Wukong, and not to be trusted. "I am glad that you are enjoying your tea."
"Yes, sir."
"Good, good. I am glad that you are rested because we have more work to do."
"Yes, sir."
"First, we will be taking some photographs this morning."
Chen had no idea what the major was talking about. Major Wu might have said that first they were flying to the moon this morning. Chen had never had his picture taken.
His face must have betrayed his confusion, because Wu laughed. "Yes, we are going to shoot you this morning, and it won't hurt a bit! Come, come!"
Chen gulped the last of his tea and hurried to follow Wu, who was already striding away. He grabbed his sniper rifle and followed. Quickly, another man who had been sitting on the smoky side of the fire moved to fill the space upwind that Chen had occupied. Chen reflected that this was a good lesson that in China, someone was always waiting to take your place.
Off in the near distance, in the direction of what the Americans called Sniper Ridge, Chen could hear firing and the occasional detonation of an artillery shell. Two days ago, the Americans had pushed the Chinese off that ridge. Despite his efforts as a sniper, and even though he had shot many of the enemy down like vermin, Chen and Wu had been forced to retreat with their comrades. However, the American victory had been short-lived. Just last night, Chinese forces had used the system of tunnels and trenches on that ridge to counter-attack. The ridge was now back in Chinese possession.
Wu began to climb in that direction, with Chen following. The major paused only long enough to wave over a soldier carrying a device that Chen supposed must be a camera. Chen was a peasant and a soldier — he had never seen such a thing up close and he felt nervous about having his photograph taken. How should he act?
They reached a spot below the ridge, out of sight of the enemy's prying eyes, but where there was still a background of hills and sky.
"This will do," Wu announced. "Do you see the landscape behind us? How majestic!"
"You could take someone else's photograph, sir," Chen suggested. His nervousness prompted him to speak; with an officer, especially a political commissar, it was best to do what one was told without question. Also, he felt some familiarity with Wu because they had shared many long hours together, hunting the enemy.
Wu merely smiled in that way of his, as if thinking of something amusing that he did not plan to share with you.
The major straightened up and looked around. They were close to one of the trails leading to the ridge, and it was busy with squads moving back and forth — fresh men headed toward the fight, broken and exhausted men heading back for at least a few hours of relief and a bowl of rice.
Wu pointed at one of the straggling soldiers limping back from the battlefield. "You there! Come here!"
Having been singled out, the man had no choice but to obey. Clearly puzzled about what the officer wanted, he limped toward Wu. It was evident from the bandage around his ankle that he had been wounded in some way.
Still, the man managed to pull himself into something that resembled coming to attention.
"Sir."
Wu glared at him, the habitual smile vanished. "Why have you abandoned your post?"
The soldier appeared mystified. "Sir? I was sent back?"
"You have sent yourself back," Wu stated. “This is a case of cowardice. You are a deserter."
"Sir, I am not a deserter," the soldier stammered, confused about what was going on. Like so many in the ranks, the soldier was no more than a simple peasant.
Wu drew his pistol and leveled it at the soldier's head. Nearby, Chen watched in disbelief. The soldier was clearly not a deserter. What was Wu playing at? What could he mean by this?
The spectacle taking place here drew some attention, and the passersby slowed to see what all the trouble was about. No one interfered, not even the officers. Wu's commissar's uniform was like a talisman.
"You know the penalty for desertion," Wu said, his pistol never wavering.
He pulled the trigger and shot the man.
Chen watched helplessly as the lifeless body sagged to the ground. One moment breathing, the next moment, dead at Wu's hand. He noticed that Wu stepped away from the gushing head wound to avoid getting blood on his boots. Chen thought that he heard the photographer beside him making whimpering noises.
The major turned to them. Chen surprised himself again by speaking up. "Was that man really a deserter, sir?"
"Of course not. But he was not useful to me — or to anyone else. Look around you. Does anyone care?"
A few of the troop on the trail glanced their way, but Wu was right — no one seemed to be too curious about the dead man at their feet.
"No, sir. No one cares."
"That man died because he was not useful to me, Chen. He was not useful to Chairman Mao. This is a good lesson for you that it is important to be useful. Now, let us take those photographs."
Under Wu's direction, Chen posed with his rifle, pretending to shoot at the enemy, while the photographer took his picture. Chen realized that Wu's demonstration had been a little too effective, judging by the nervousness of the photographer. The man could barely keep his hands from shaking in fear.
Major Wu had made his point, at the cost of a man's life. Be useful.
Today, all that Chen had to do was to pose with his rifle. Tomorrow, he would have to use that rifle and aim true. Do what he was told.
Otherwise, the message was clear that Wu might have a bullet waiting for him.
Once the photography session was over, Major Wu dismissed the photographer and turned to Chen.
"Now that we are finished here, you can get on with your real work, Chen. I won't be going with you today, however. I have other business to attend to." He paused, his trickster grin returning. "Remember what I said about being useful."