Free The Cold War by Robert Cowley

oppose Mao's followers until the arrival of sufficient Nationalist forces. The Chinese puppet troops were considered of doubtful reliability, while the bandits had no motivation to fight other than a love of plunder from the helpless farmers. The bandits sometimes called themselves Communists, but only when it seemed convenient; we came to believe that they would side in any fight with whoever they thought would win.
    The 1st Marine Division's original assignment, to disarm and repatriate Japanese troops, went ahead on schedule, but as the situation became morechaotic, many of us increasingly found ourselves fighting the Communists in lonely outposts and along the railroad lines. The Communists bitterly objected to the U.S. presence and fired propaganda blasts at our high command—as well as bullets at marines out in the boondocks. Too many marines who had fought in World War II, and wanted to go home now that it was over, died protecting a bridge or railroad track in the wasteland of northern China.
    One of the many incidents involving some of these various forces occurred at Lang Fang on October 26, shortly after the egg quest. Breaking out our C rations for dinner, we heated stew and coffee and boiled eggs. As the orange sun began to sink through the dust and haze, we started to shiver in the chilly evening air. We wore tropical cotton dungarees, and although we had sweatshirts, we had been in the Pacific so long that we were not acclimated to even the slightest cool weather. Some of us walked around inside the compound, trying to warm ourselves.
    Just before sunset, a Chinese messenger arrived at the gate with a note from a puppet general seeking permission from our commanding officer to test-fire a light machine gun in a sandbagged position on top of a two-story building near the railroad station. With permission apparently given, we watched several puppet soldiers working with the Nambu. To our amazement, they aimed the machine gun directly at the area where my buddy and I had been among the unfriendly troops; then they fired several long bursts. We all knew that meant trouble.
    Initially, however, silence returned as darkness fell. We drifted into our quarters, wrapped ourselves in blankets, and tried to stay warm. The sentries on duty around the wall simply shivered.
    Then, in under half an hour, we heard rifle fire in the distance. The order came: “Break 'em out on the double!” Someone yelled, “Everybody outside on the double with weapons and ammo—let's move!” I pulled on my field shoes, grabbed the .45-caliber Thompson submachine gun I had carried through both Peleliu and Okinawa, rammed a twenty-round magazine in place, and tumbled outside. I headed for the fire step with everyone else. We were told to remain neutral in this fight, but if we saw anyone stick his head over the wall, we were to blow it off. The volume of rifle fire increased, and we began to hear the crash of 81mm mortar shells in the village. A Chinese ran through the dark, narrow streets tooting on a bugle. He sounded more like some drunk on New Year's Eve than any bugler I had ever heard. We were all apprehensive. Though the firing was almost unnoticeable compared to Peleliu and Okinawa, we hadreason to be concerned. Here we were, about forty U.S. Marines in the middle of what could explode into a vicious battle between two opposing Chinese forces numbering in the thousands. We had survived fierce combat in the Pacific, and none of us wanted to stretch his luck any further and get killed in a Chinese civil war. We felt abandoned and expendable.
    Then the word was passed along that Japanese troops were going out to guard the railroad station with two tanks. Most of us were not assigned to specific guard stations, so we ran the short distance to the wall bordering the road, to watch this incredible scene. With our weapons slung or buttstocks resting on the fire step, we silently watched as the tanks and about thirty infantry passed no more