The
March of the Volunteers
Prologue: Morning Calm
|
From the moment the rugged plateaus of Soviet Central Asia
were overrun by the Draka, it was clear that the Dominate of
Draka will be driven out of its Eastern conquests only by
enormous expenditures of blood. Tenacious in defence and heedless
of casualty, the Draka’s mastery of that the harshest
terrain in the heartland of Asia can only be challenged by a much
larger army, and one that is prepared to pay an exorbitant price
for every inch of soil regained. |
Marshal
Peng Dehuai pulled aside the blanket that covered the doorway of the
last forward headquarters of the Taiping People's Volunteers, and
pulled on his somewhat snug field uniform as he emerged, suppressing
a slight shiver at the decidedly bracing morning air of the high
Pamirs. The so-called headquarters was a rather modest affair, little
more than a barn constructed by Uighur herdsmen God knows how many
decades ago to shelter their herds high in the mountains. That it was
abandoned had no little relevance to the this war - the border areas
had became too dangerous for herdsmen since the lands of the Tajiks
and the Kirghiz had been overrun by the Serpents in their drive to
flank the Soviet heartland. And so the fortuitously located barn
became a sentry post for Taiping borderers, and after that a
convenient command post to co-ordinate the largest infiltration
effort in the history of warfare.
At that, Peng looked back
at the shelter, and saw with a small start that a balding man in a
drab private’s uniform was standing just outside the entrance,
regarding him in silence. Even now, Peng couldn't quite believe that
the infamous Guo Sui, Nationalist guerrilla leader who had
plagued the Taipings, the moribund Qing and later the Japanese for
well-on two decades finally accepted the authority of the Heavenly
King. Mao Zedong, newly created Count of Yanan, had fought the
Taiping for many years in his native Henan before the Taiping's
concentrated efforts became too much for the Nationalists. And in a
Long March that would go down as one of greatest marches in history,
he led the Nationalist Army from Henan to Sichuan, through Eastern
Tibet, before he finally founded an enclave in Ningxia, the no-man's
land between the Mongolian puppet state, the rebellious Northern
provinces and Taiping core territories, where he began to build the
basis of a new China, one based on nationalistic principles and
unfettered by Western ideology or superstition. The Japanese's
invasion of the Northern provinces, of course, cut short his project.
Soon he found himself under assault from the North and the East, and
only his unparalleled expertise in guerrilla warfare and the
ruggedness of the terrain had prevented Yanan from being overrun by
the vastly superior enemies. In an ironic twist of fate, the Yanan
salient's survival had bought the Taiping prince of Gansu and
governors of Sichuan and Shaanxi precious time to arrange the defence
of south Shaanxi province, the gateway to Sichuan, the heart of
China's hinterlands, and so Mao found himself the saviour of his
bitter enemies. But that had paved the way to the Nationalist
leader's reconciliation with the Taiping regime. For did they not
both fight an enemy who would seek to extinguish China? For the good
of the Nation, then, Mao Zedong acknowledged that the Heavenly King
at present represented the interest of the Chinese nation. It was not
an admission of great, or indeed any grace, but the Heavenly King
understood the value Mao represented to national unity, his appeal as
a great Nationalist, and especially how it might further galvanise
the already growing resistance movements in the Northern provinces.
And so the Nationalist leader found himself Count of Yanan, and
commander of the re-organised Eighth Route Army of Long March
veterans which continued to defend the hills of Ningxia with tenacity
and skill, a thorn on the side of the Japanese, and a source of vital
intelligence which were to prove valuable in thwarting the second and
third Japanese drives against Xian.
Mao himself, however,
were of greater value to China elsewhere. So he found himself making
radio speeches and public appearances, and speaking to recalcitrant
nobles and gentry. Acutely aware as he was that his power was
severely weakened away from his gun barrels the Eighth Route Army,
nevertheless he acquiesced, perhaps to prepare for the future. When
Allied High Command first floated the idea of a Taiping force to
infiltrate Central Asia in order to relieve pressure on the buckling
Soviet Central Asian front, the Taiping General Staff immediately
thought of the one man who was the acknowledged master of getting an
army across thousands of miles of hostile territory, and so Mao
Zedong, Count Yanan, found himself the leader of a contingent of
formerly Nationalist advisors in the Westernmost extreme of the
Heavenly Kingdom, planning and overseeing the infiltration campaign.
“Your grace.” Peng nodded.
“Marshal.”
Mao walked forwards, hands behind his back.
“Last
words?”
“Only nineteen. Di jin wo tui, di zhu
wo yao, di pei wo da, di tui wo zhui. When the enemy advances we
retreat; when the enemy rests we harass; when the enemy tires we
attack; when the enemy retreats we pursue.”
Peng blinked,
and nodded. Perhaps a tad contrived, but sound advice. And then he
paused. “Those are sixteen words, your grace.”
“Go
with God.”
In reply, Peng merely raised his eyebrows.
Mao smiled. “It isn’t a matter of names, but of
China and her unity.”
At this point, another figure
emerged, saving Peng from having to reply to that. That figure was
quite incongruous with his surroundings, a tall, blond man in the
dishevelled uniform of a German Brigadegeneral, and, unlike
most Germans officers Peng’d seen, looked uncomfortable in it.
This was of course Max Looff, who still hadn’t gotten used to
the idea that he was an army officer. Max Looff was the commander of
the German cruiser SMS Königsberg during the Great War,
and was drafted along with his crew by the then Brigadegeneral
Paul Erich von Lettow-Vorbeck in the defence of Celicia. He soon
became the brigadier’s right-hand man, and learnt through
brutal warfare both guerilla tactics and meticullous planning, and it
is in that capacity he was seconded to the Taiping in assisting them
to draw out detailed operational procedures and decide upon different
operational zones for the regiments.
“Indeed, Marshal,
may God go with you.” Looff does not speak much Mandarin, but
that line was hard to miss in Taiping China. Switching to German, he
added, “It is time to go, Marshal. We shall see you to the
border.”
At this, the three of them walked towards the
bottom of the valley, where Peng’s entourage and the staff of
the TPV headquarters awaited.
------------------------------------------
This was to
be the first projection of Taiping power outside her territory in
this the worldwide struggle with the enemies of God and men. The
Heavenly King had been reluctant to commit so large a force, and more
critically, so large a force of veterans, to the North-western Front.
However, the needs of the allies – and to secure a safe supply
route for China, and to ensure that supplies in good quantity do
indeed go through, he had been persuaded to send the Taiping People’s
Volunteers, three Front Armies strong, into Drakan Central Asia.
There was no great ceremony to mark the beginning of the
march from which many will not return, no fanfare, no celebrations,
for all must be done with stealth and speed. Already the advanced
elements of the 1st Taiping Volunteer Front Army under Lin Biao’s
Heavenly Banner Army had entered Draka-controlled Kirgizstan in
regimental strength. To the south Prince-General Mahamed Beg’s
Western Volunteer Front Army had its own advanced elements under the
1st Uighur Volunteer Army almost on top of the Drakan garrison-towns
in the Ferghana valley, and the main body was poised to cross the
border at about the same time as Peng.
A hundred regiments of
light infantry against a million dug in Serpent Citizens and
Janissaries with heavy equipment and air-support.
Unbidden, a
poem from the times of the Tang came to Peng’s mind:
Qin
shi Mingyue Han shi Guan/
Wanli Changzheng ren mei huan.
Dan
shi Longcheng feijiang zai/
Bu jiao huma du Yinshan.
The
Moon since the Qin, the Gate since the Han/
In the march of ten
thousand li few ever returned.
If the General of the
Dragon City still lived/
No barbarian would have been permitted
to cross the Hills of Yin.
Straightening, Peng walked
towards the waiting Pamirs. This would be a long climb, and he wasn’t
getting any younger. It was time to begin.
In the distance, a
lonely bugle sounded.