WAR IN CHINA: Eagles in Shansi

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Riches. Some day Shansi may be China's Pennsylvania (see map). The province is watered by tributaries of the Yellow River, which divides Shansi from Shensi. Shansi's rough mountains are heavy with anthracite and iron, and because lack of communications has so far meant limited exploitation, the coal-poor, iron-hungry Japanese want it more than any other inland province. The Chinese, who realize that losing it means surrendering their last talon-hold in North China, have hung on like eagles. Some of China's best fighting men are there, reports Reporter White: the hard-riding cavalry of General Ma Chan-shan, "Giant Horse,"hero of Manchuria; the famous Communist 8th Route guerrillas; the cream of China's Government troops; and provincial troops, who are fighting for the soil on which they grew up. Early in the war, the Japanese chased the Chinese from the great alluvial plain around Peking into Shansi's mountains. Fighting has ranged, and still ranges, all over the province. Most coveted area is the Chin River Valley at the centre of the province—a tiny, complete world shut away by cupping mountains; a valley once bright with wheat, cotton, corn, yellow rice, persimmons, pears; surrounding hills dotted with grazing sheep and goats; and folded into the hills untold treasures of coal and iron. When the Japanese began a drive into that valley late last summer, White decided that was the part of Shansi he wanted most to see.

To get there, he flew from Chungking to Sian (400 miles) in five hours. Thence it took him five days by train to get to the Yellow River (70 miles)—his train jumped the track once, a bridge washed out under it once. He was given a horse, and for three solid weeks (rising at five, riding ten hours a day, sleeping wherever night caught him) he followed precarious mountain passes until he came to the Chin Valley.

At times he traveled over roads that were cut through beds of coal, with great chunks of shining anthracite used for fence rocks. Sometimes his path was a rushing muddy stream, over whose slippery rocks he had to pick his way. This precarious route, he found, was the lifeline of Chinese Armies. He passed numberless coolies, struggling and crawling with animal patience through the mountain gaps, overloaded with blankets, clothes, grenades, machine guns, rifles, cartridges, medical supplies, telephone wire; braying mules, struggling under dismantled bits of artillery; sick soldiers straggling from the front; stretchers jogged over the painful ways; beggars keening by the pathside; and over all heat, rain, flies, cursing.

When he reached the Valley of Chin, he found it no longer a land of rice and persimmons. It was a battleground, a mud-soaked, blood-soaked Hell. The severest rains in years and a Japanese Army crazed with hunger and lust had simultaneously descended on it. By the time he arrived the Japanese had been pushed back, but he was told and could see what had happened.

The Rape of Chin Valley. "The physical impact [was] tremendous. Village after village completely destroyed. Houses shattered and burned, wells fouled, bridges destroyed, roads torn up. Houses were burned by the soldiery both out of boredom and deviltry, and because they were cold and needed fire and warmth.