George bent down and tested the weight of one of the cylinders. He looked up.
“The wing area is very small for that,” he said. “Besides, how are you going to drive them?” To himself he went further and characterized the devices as childish.
“We are not,” said Pang Li gently. “They are.” And he pointed towards the east.
They made their way up a communication trench where a chain of men were passing the completed winged cylinders from hand to hand. In the front line they encountered an officer directing the distribution. Pang Li stopped to exchange a few words with him and then led on. Against the parapet side of the trench the winged cylinders were upended in a row.
“There'd be a pretty sort of mess in here if a shell came over,” George suggested.
Pang Li shrugged. “One must run risks, even in war,” he observed.
They fed in a spacious dug-out. A bunk was afterwards found for George and he turned in. An hour before dawn an orderly roused him and he hurried out to find Pang Li waiting.
The Chinese greeted him and they drank tea.
“For a man whose business in life is the gratification of curiosity, you have been very patient,” Pang Li said with a smile. “I am now at liberty to end what for you must have been a most trying period.”
“Somewhat baffling,” George agreed. “For one thing I have not the least idea why I am here at all.”
“It is because, my dear George, today the deadlock is to be broken, and you are in a great degree responsible for its breakage.”
“Interesting, though hardly illuminating,” George returned.
“Come. I will explain.”
Pang Li led the way into the front-line trench. George noticed that the winged cylinders which had been so noticeable the night before had now vanished.
“Where are they?” he asked.
Pang Li pointed to the parapet.
“Over there. The Japanese barbarians plan to attack half an hour after dawn — that is 5.30,” he said. Their tactic is first to turn on magnetic beams all along the front. When this has disorganized us they will put up a barrage and advance behind it. Their men will be equipped with non-ferrous weapons — a kind of short sword of hardened bronze, I am told — which they will be able to wield freely while the magnetic beam makes our steel weapons unmanageable. Thus they plan to break the deadlock at last.”
“And I am responsible, so far as I helped them to get the plans of the beam generators?”
“Exactly.”
“Now suppose you tell me what is really going to happen.”
“No, I'll let you see that for yourself.” He looked at his watch. “It is after five already. Time we were going.”
As they left, non-commissioned officers were inspecting their men and giving orders. Helmets, rifles and all other articles of steel or iron were being placed on the parapet side of the duckboards which floored the trench. The men were laying them down obediently, but with a puzzled look on their faces.
Pang Li led the way by a series of twisting trenches to a well-masked concrete pillbox. The frontal embrasure was clear, for the two machine-guns had been dismounted and laid against the foot of the front wall. George, looking out, had his first comprehensive view of the scene. An early mist hung over the featureless no-man's-land, still masking the Japanese lines. Closer, he could see the Chinese front trench. It had an odd appearance now.
A slightly-inclined bank had been thrown up beyond the parapet and along this on the inner side so that it must be invisible from the east was a narrow strip of grey-white running parallel with the trench as far as he could see. Until he turned field-glasses on it he did not realize that it was made by the wings of thousands of the cylinders he had seen the night before. Through the glasses he could see, too, that the barbed wire beyond had been flattened down.
Pang Li looked at his watch. It was 5.20. Then he glanced up at the clouds, noticing their slow movement towards the other side with satisfaction.
“Light south-westerly wind,” he murmured.
“You're in luck,” George said.
“It prevails at this time. The chances were fifty to one that any wind there was would be south-west or west.” Li told him.
The world seemed strangely quiet. Somewhere just behind them a lark rose with a song. An air of serenity held the scarred land in front.
“5.25,” said Pang Li.
He took off his steel helmet and laid it carefully on the floor. Then he settled himself at the embrasure with George beside him.
“Now watch,” he said. “In a few minutes our Trojan horse will give its first kick.”
They looked out in a tense silence.
There was no warning. The whole thing happened at once. In the pill-box Pang Li's steel helmet slid across the floor, one of the dismounted machine-guns twisted and thudded against the wall. George, scarcely daring to blink, was watching the grey-white line. It jerked suddenly and slid forward, the miniature planes scraped and then rose a few feet as they streaked forward.
For some moments they were to be seen like a swarm of great locusts on a raid then, with the long- slender gas cylinders pulling ahead of the others, they were gone into the mist. Behind them the loosened wire turned over and began to roll to the east, a barbed and murderous moving hedge.
It was a matter of seconds, but seconds which hung suspended, while the watchers held their breath. Abruptly the machine-gun on the floor twisted again and thudded once more.
Then the peace of the new day was shattered. First came a few faint booms, then a roar of detonation which made the ground tremble and surged back in waves with crashing concussion out of the hanging mist.
A stir ran through the Chinese trenches. Men were picking up their helmets and rifles and fixing their gas-masks. Two minutes later they were over the top and running forward into no-man's-land with bayonets ready. Behind, the Chinese artillery thundered into action.
Pang Li sighed and laid down his field-glasses. He turned to George.
“Well?” he said.
“Yes,” said George. “I should think that about breaks the deadlock.” They turned and left the pill-box together.
FIRE FROM HEAVEN
There is no doubt, historically speaking, about the turning point of the last Sino-Japanese war. The Chinese line was pushed forward on August 22, 1965, and on succeeding days for distances varying from twenty to forty miles. Not until the Chinese communications became a problem were the Japanese able to make a stand. And from that time the conflict bore a different aspect. The attack was with the Chinese, and their enemies were reduced to purely defensive action.
But the war was not over. Chinese morale, raised to great heights by the prospect of sweeping their enemies back to the sea, suffered a reaction as the Japanese reorganized and dug themselves in. Within a month there was another deadlock. And if the Chinese spirit was better than before, their commanders were uneasily aware that fresh reinforcements were on the way from Nagasaki to stiffen the Japanese line.
George White came again to see his friend Pang Li at Kwei-Chow late in October 1965. He found the Chinese in better spirits than he had expected. For himself he had begun to think that the weary, dragging war would never end. But Pang Li seemed untouched by discouragement. He talked a little about the attack of August the 22nd.