BOOK ONE
Tong Ming Guo walked slowly down the sidewalk along Three River Road. It was mid-afternoon, and the crowds along both sides of the street moved just as slowly as he did in the heat and dense humidity. The summer lingered on in Wuhan, and the low, dark clouds withheld the afternoon thunderstorm that might provide the only relief. Ming Guo hoped the rain would hold off for a little bit longer. The more people on the street the better.
Up ahead he saw Little Chou, sitting on his yellow scooter across the road. Chou was talking to a shopkeeper who stood on the sidewalk. Ming Guo could see the shopkeeper’s daughter behind the counter, holding her hand over her mouth and laughing at something Chou had said. Always the girls with Little Chou. Ming Guo knitted up his brows. He should have picked a different spot for Chou; he should have checked the spot during the day and seen the shopkeeper had a pretty daughter. He never would have chosen that shop if he’d seen the girl. Too late now.
When he came abreast of Chou, Ming Guo stopped and turned to his right, facing the chickens hanging in the butcher’s window there. This one was prosperous. He had a glass window. He studied the reflection in the glass, watching to see where Chou’s attention was. Finally, he saw the boy check his watch and casually look around. At last Chou spotted him; he nodded once and then continued on north.
He could see the sign near ahead: The Yellow Crane Café. Just as he was about to turn into the restaurant, a group of Americans appeared walking south. They were all in uniform, all young men, laughing and talking loudly in their barking gibberish. He looked up at them as they passed him, towering giants striding along in their perfect, heavy boots, with their perfect, white teeth flashing under their big noses. Ming Guo suppressed a shudder of revulsion as one of them brushed against him, oblivious to his presence. He clutched tightly at the strap of the heavy canvas bag over his shoulder as the big American knocked into it. At least they kill Japanese, Ming Guo thought.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome!” called out one of the waiters in the café as he entered.
Ming Guo managed to summon a tight smile in response as he looked around. The table he’d picked out when they had ridden slowly down the street the night before was taken. A couple of well-dressed middle-aged women sat there, chattering back and forth in Shanghai dialect. The waiter was pointing to a table further back in the café. In his t-shirt and shorts, Ming Guo was not the sort who should be seated up front where he could be seen from the street. He ignored the waiter’s prompting and picked a table that was almost as good as the one he’d wanted; close to the front, not too far from the open wall that gave a good view of the street.
“I am waiting for someone. I’ll have some tea until he comes.” Ming Guo didn’t take his eyes off the street as he spoke. He carefully set his bag on the floor between his feet, but kept the strap draped over his leg.
The tea came and he looked at his watch as he took a sip. Late already. He quickly scanned his eyes around the restaurant. Three of the other tables were occupied. Two foreigners sat at one of them. Ming Guo tried to hear what they were saying, but couldn’t tell what language they were babbling in. He could distinguish between English and French, he thought, but he couldn’t tell what kind of foreigners these were. They wore suits and looked prosperous. Good enough.
The ubiquitous portrait of Chiang Kai-shek hung on a wall on the other side of the restaurant. This place had made the picture into the centerpiece of a little shrine, with banners proclaiming the virtues of the New Life Movement hung above it, and a couple of sticks of incense burning on a table that stood before the picture. Ming Guo let out a little snort at the sight, then quickly looked around to make sure no one had noticed. The Generalissimo would have a good view … if only the old bastard showed up.
Wuhan had become everything he despised about his country: Crawling with foreigners, every fifth sign in this area was in English or French, it seemed. The place was corrupt to the bones beneath the city’s hills, full of frivolous people oblivious to the creeping decay.
How his heart had soared three years ago when he’d been chosen to do this work. To get to that day, he’d walked every mile on the march to the dry, yellow hills of Shaansi, losing twenty pounds along the way. When they’d arrived, he’d been little more than a skeleton. He hadn’t minded – being lighter had eased the burden on his blistered bare feet. How clear and pure the very air there in the Shaansi Soviet had been. That place had been everything that places like Wuhan were not: full of committed people, energized by a shining light of patriotic commitment.
It had been Comrade Lin Biao himself who had addressed the little group that had been summoned to the cave complex where the Party leadership worked. He told them that they would be rewarded for their service to the people by forming part of a new unit of special fighters. They would receive intensive training and work behind enemy lines on only the most important assignments. What an honor to have the chance to do such great work!
But he missed the clarity of the dusty hills of Shaansi. Ming Guo grimaced at the finely-dressed ladies from Shanghai, silhouetted against the grey light from the street. If only they could know how they betrayed their country, sitting there gossiping over their tea.
Just as he was shooing the waiter away again his man appeared. Portly to the point of waddling, his eyes slits in his fat cheeks, the man was middle-aged with quite a bit of silver in his brush-cut hair. He wore a well-tailored, light grey suit and a bright red silk tie. He stopped on the sidewalk in front of the café and looked up at the sign after peering into the place. A low rumble of thunder sounded just as Ming Guo reached his hand up to gesture at the man. The fat man’s eyebrows shot up at the sight of Ming Guo, and he hesitated a moment. Ming Guo scowled and nodded at him. Yes, I’m the one, you fat turtle’s egg.
“What is the meaning of this?” he said to Ming Guo in a low, demanding voice after he had ordered tea.
“An emergency change in plans, General,” Ming Guo said, smiling as reassuringly as he could.
“I don’t like emergencies …” The older man went silent as the waiter set out a pot and a cup for him. When the waiter departed he went on: “Old Feng never said anything to me about this kind of meeting!”
“Really, General, I am so sorry for your trouble, but we must talk urgently.” Ming Guo leaned forward and put his hands around his tea cup.
“How do I know it is safe to talk to you?” the General asked. He turned slightly in his chair to look around the restaurant.
“Feng owes you something, yes?” Ming Guo reached down and grabbed the bag. He pulled it onto one of the empty chairs at the side of the table and nodded down to it. As the General looked down, Ming Guo folded it open to reveal the bundles of two-hundred yen notes.
“Yes, he does.” The General reached for the bag, but Ming Guo slid it back out of his reach. He put it into his own lap.
“We must have an updated report immediately,” Ming Guo said quietly.
“Give me the money, I will prepare a report and give it to Old Feng, just as we always do.”
“No. We must know now. There has been more activity at the American air base here in Wuhan. We need to know if there are plans to keep the new planes here indefinitely.”
The fat man frowned. “This is very irregular, very suspicious,” he growled.
“We do not have time, General. I am a special courier and must leave right away. Please tell me, and I will give you this package.” Ming Guo patted the bag in his lap.
“Well, alright.” The other man looked around nervously again. He leaned forward. “You will speak with Mori?”
“Yes, just as soon as I can.” It wasn’t a lie. Ming Guo would like very much to speak to Mori.
“Tell him that I require assurances that Nanking will be mine, as has been discussed before. Assurances!”
Ming Guo nodded and pursed his lips, trying to contain his impatience. “Yes, you want assurances about Nanking; I understand. Now, about the American planes?”
“Ha! Yes, there are more of them. For now. But they won’t stay. Their officers talk of nothing but how their Congress is making trouble for them.”
“Do they say whether they will be ordered to leave?”
“Most of them believe they will be gone in no more than two years. They talk about the election for their president next year … I’m not sure I understand it all. Somehow it will have a big impact on what they do. One party may stay, another may pull the troops out.”
“And have you found any of them – the Americans – that will work with us?”
The fat man snorted. He pulled a fine silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped sweat from his brow. “No. There are a few who have women here, some who may want money, but there is no way any of them would work for …” his voice trailed off.
“What about Chiang; what will he do if the Americans leave? Will he come to some accommodation?”
“No one knows what the Generalissimo will do. I see him rarely now. It seems he doesn’t have time for people like me. But I think preparations are being made to move up river if necessary.”
Ming Guo finally saw Little Chou appear on the street over the fat man’s shoulder. “One last question: Chen; General Chen, have you approached him about working with us?”
“Yes. Or, at least I tried. I don’t think he’s interested.”
“Good. Well, General, it is time for me to present you with what is owed to you.” Ming Guo reached into the bag and felt for the heavy lump at the bottom, beneath the bundles of money. He pulled the big Colt out of the bag as he stood. He rolled the hammer back as he brought the pistol to point squarely at the other man’s chest. Before the astonished look on his face could transform to one of fear, Ming Guo squeezed the trigger, and a flash of flame shot down from the pistol. The bullet’s impact drove the big man back from the table and his arms flung out, but he did not fall. As calmly as he could, Ming Guo raised the pistol to align its sights with big open circle of the General’s mouth and squeezed the trigger again. He hadn’t even heard the first shot. He never did. But this one registered with Ming Guo, a clap of thunder that seemed like it should bring down the walls of the restaurant. The fat man flipped backward as the back of his head exploded in a shower of blood and gore.
Ming Guo reached down and picked up the bag. Concentrating as hard as he could to control the racing of his heart and the ragged unevenness of his breathing, he carefully withdrew the big sheet of paper there among the Japanese currency. He unfolded it and laid it on the table, making sure the words written in large red and black ink were clearly visible:
Ming Guo was dimly aware that the other people in the restaurant were crouching down on the floor, and that there was yelling and screaming out on the street. One of the Shanghai ladies was moaning with terror. As he stepped around the traitor’s body, he turned the canvass bag over, spilling the bundles of yen out into the spreading pool of blood on the floor.
Only when he’d done that did he look up again. Little Chou had kept his post, but he looked terrified as he revved his scooter. All around him, people scrambling away from the entrance to the restaurant. Ming Guo held the pistol up where it could clearly be seen when he stepped out onto the sidewalk. There were more screams as he appeared to the onlookers.
Without a word, he threw his leg over the scooter’s seat. Little Chou let out the clutch and, with a cloud of blue smoke trailing behind, the two sped away on Three River Road.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Houston Post
September 1, 1951
WEDEMEYER TO TESTIFY ON SURGE
UP Washington. General Albert C. Wedemeyer has been summoned to testify before a joint session of the Senate Armed Services and Foreign Relations Committees regarding progress on the so-called “surge” strategy in China. Also expected to testify at the same joint committee hearings are War Department head Clarke and Secretary of State Acheson. Growing opposition to the increasing number of U.S. casualties in the undeclared war in China has spurred Senate minority leader Wherry to demand last Monday that the Barkley administration define a concrete timeline for withdrawal of American forces.
In anticipation of these hearings, the citizens group Move America On purchased full-page advertisements in newspapers all across the country this week, demanding an immediate end to what it called the “quagmire” in China. The advertisement, containing a petition signed by leading figures as diverse as John T. Flynn, Charles Lindbergh and Charlie Chaplin, also called for an accounting of funds spent on what it called the “dirty war” being waged in China by the mercenary group known as “the Flying Tigers.” The text of the petition called for an end to what was called the “wasteful spending on yet another endless and pointless war, when unemployment continues in this country at above 15%.”
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
CBS News
September 10, 1951
Transcript, Hear it Now
Murrow: Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, our topic is China. This week, General Alfred Wedemeyer will testify before Congressional committees about President Barkley’s increase in troop numbers in China, known as the “surge strategy.”
The American people are asking what America is doing in China. Are we at war? If not, what are we doing? Is something like “victory” possible in China? How will we know when we’ve achieved it? These are the questions we’ll be considering tonight.
Ever since America’s disastrous involvement in Germany ten years ago, people have begun to wonder whether our people will ever support fighting in foreign conflicts far from home. When President Roosevelt joined Winston Churchill’s so called “coalition of the willing” to intervene in Germany in 1938, the world seemed to be behind the two leaders. Speaking to the League of Nations, Churchill warned of Nazi poison gas attacks from a growing German air force. Hitler’s move into Austria seemed to prove him right, and also those, like George Marshall, who said a war in Germany would be over quickly. Just months after the Allied forces entered Germany, Churchill announced to Parliament that it was a “mission accomplished.”
But no poison gas was found. Nazis were forced out of their official positions, and it took months to find Adolf Hitler. Even when he was captured, violence continued. Factional fighting and rioting kept American forces in Germany for years. Thousands of American boys were killed. Both Churchill and Roosevelt lost elections because of the continuing violence. When the communists decisively won the 1944 elections in Germany, America was unceremoniously evicted from the country.
So, are we headed down the same road in China? That’s the question I put to our guests tonight, two retired U.S. Army Generals. Supporting the surge in China is George S. Patton. And speaking against it is Dwight D. Eisenhower.
DREAMLAND
CHAPTER ONETong Ming Guo walked slowly down the sidewalk along Three River Road. It was mid-afternoon, and the crowds along both sides of the street moved just as slowly as he did in the heat and dense humidity. The summer lingered on in Wuhan, and the low, dark clouds withheld the afternoon thunderstorm that might provide the only relief. Ming Guo hoped the rain would hold off for a little bit longer. The more people on the street the better.
Up ahead he saw Little Chou, sitting on his yellow scooter across the road. Chou was talking to a shopkeeper who stood on the sidewalk. Ming Guo could see the shopkeeper’s daughter behind the counter, holding her hand over her mouth and laughing at something Chou had said. Always the girls with Little Chou. Ming Guo knitted up his brows. He should have picked a different spot for Chou; he should have checked the spot during the day and seen the shopkeeper had a pretty daughter. He never would have chosen that shop if he’d seen the girl. Too late now.
When he came abreast of Chou, Ming Guo stopped and turned to his right, facing the chickens hanging in the butcher’s window there. This one was prosperous. He had a glass window. He studied the reflection in the glass, watching to see where Chou’s attention was. Finally, he saw the boy check his watch and casually look around. At last Chou spotted him; he nodded once and then continued on north.
He could see the sign near ahead: The Yellow Crane Café. Just as he was about to turn into the restaurant, a group of Americans appeared walking south. They were all in uniform, all young men, laughing and talking loudly in their barking gibberish. He looked up at them as they passed him, towering giants striding along in their perfect, heavy boots, with their perfect, white teeth flashing under their big noses. Ming Guo suppressed a shudder of revulsion as one of them brushed against him, oblivious to his presence. He clutched tightly at the strap of the heavy canvas bag over his shoulder as the big American knocked into it. At least they kill Japanese, Ming Guo thought.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome!” called out one of the waiters in the café as he entered.
Ming Guo managed to summon a tight smile in response as he looked around. The table he’d picked out when they had ridden slowly down the street the night before was taken. A couple of well-dressed middle-aged women sat there, chattering back and forth in Shanghai dialect. The waiter was pointing to a table further back in the café. In his t-shirt and shorts, Ming Guo was not the sort who should be seated up front where he could be seen from the street. He ignored the waiter’s prompting and picked a table that was almost as good as the one he’d wanted; close to the front, not too far from the open wall that gave a good view of the street.
“I am waiting for someone. I’ll have some tea until he comes.” Ming Guo didn’t take his eyes off the street as he spoke. He carefully set his bag on the floor between his feet, but kept the strap draped over his leg.
The tea came and he looked at his watch as he took a sip. Late already. He quickly scanned his eyes around the restaurant. Three of the other tables were occupied. Two foreigners sat at one of them. Ming Guo tried to hear what they were saying, but couldn’t tell what language they were babbling in. He could distinguish between English and French, he thought, but he couldn’t tell what kind of foreigners these were. They wore suits and looked prosperous. Good enough.
The ubiquitous portrait of Chiang Kai-shek hung on a wall on the other side of the restaurant. This place had made the picture into the centerpiece of a little shrine, with banners proclaiming the virtues of the New Life Movement hung above it, and a couple of sticks of incense burning on a table that stood before the picture. Ming Guo let out a little snort at the sight, then quickly looked around to make sure no one had noticed. The Generalissimo would have a good view … if only the old bastard showed up.
Wuhan had become everything he despised about his country: Crawling with foreigners, every fifth sign in this area was in English or French, it seemed. The place was corrupt to the bones beneath the city’s hills, full of frivolous people oblivious to the creeping decay.
How his heart had soared three years ago when he’d been chosen to do this work. To get to that day, he’d walked every mile on the march to the dry, yellow hills of Shaansi, losing twenty pounds along the way. When they’d arrived, he’d been little more than a skeleton. He hadn’t minded – being lighter had eased the burden on his blistered bare feet. How clear and pure the very air there in the Shaansi Soviet had been. That place had been everything that places like Wuhan were not: full of committed people, energized by a shining light of patriotic commitment.
It had been Comrade Lin Biao himself who had addressed the little group that had been summoned to the cave complex where the Party leadership worked. He told them that they would be rewarded for their service to the people by forming part of a new unit of special fighters. They would receive intensive training and work behind enemy lines on only the most important assignments. What an honor to have the chance to do such great work!
But he missed the clarity of the dusty hills of Shaansi. Ming Guo grimaced at the finely-dressed ladies from Shanghai, silhouetted against the grey light from the street. If only they could know how they betrayed their country, sitting there gossiping over their tea.
Just as he was shooing the waiter away again his man appeared. Portly to the point of waddling, his eyes slits in his fat cheeks, the man was middle-aged with quite a bit of silver in his brush-cut hair. He wore a well-tailored, light grey suit and a bright red silk tie. He stopped on the sidewalk in front of the café and looked up at the sign after peering into the place. A low rumble of thunder sounded just as Ming Guo reached his hand up to gesture at the man. The fat man’s eyebrows shot up at the sight of Ming Guo, and he hesitated a moment. Ming Guo scowled and nodded at him. Yes, I’m the one, you fat turtle’s egg.
“What is the meaning of this?” he said to Ming Guo in a low, demanding voice after he had ordered tea.
“An emergency change in plans, General,” Ming Guo said, smiling as reassuringly as he could.
“I don’t like emergencies …” The older man went silent as the waiter set out a pot and a cup for him. When the waiter departed he went on: “Old Feng never said anything to me about this kind of meeting!”
“Really, General, I am so sorry for your trouble, but we must talk urgently.” Ming Guo leaned forward and put his hands around his tea cup.
“How do I know it is safe to talk to you?” the General asked. He turned slightly in his chair to look around the restaurant.
“Feng owes you something, yes?” Ming Guo reached down and grabbed the bag. He pulled it onto one of the empty chairs at the side of the table and nodded down to it. As the General looked down, Ming Guo folded it open to reveal the bundles of two-hundred yen notes.
“Yes, he does.” The General reached for the bag, but Ming Guo slid it back out of his reach. He put it into his own lap.
“We must have an updated report immediately,” Ming Guo said quietly.
“Give me the money, I will prepare a report and give it to Old Feng, just as we always do.”
“No. We must know now. There has been more activity at the American air base here in Wuhan. We need to know if there are plans to keep the new planes here indefinitely.”
The fat man frowned. “This is very irregular, very suspicious,” he growled.
“We do not have time, General. I am a special courier and must leave right away. Please tell me, and I will give you this package.” Ming Guo patted the bag in his lap.
“Well, alright.” The other man looked around nervously again. He leaned forward. “You will speak with Mori?”
“Yes, just as soon as I can.” It wasn’t a lie. Ming Guo would like very much to speak to Mori.
“Tell him that I require assurances that Nanking will be mine, as has been discussed before. Assurances!”
Ming Guo nodded and pursed his lips, trying to contain his impatience. “Yes, you want assurances about Nanking; I understand. Now, about the American planes?”
“Ha! Yes, there are more of them. For now. But they won’t stay. Their officers talk of nothing but how their Congress is making trouble for them.”
“Do they say whether they will be ordered to leave?”
“Most of them believe they will be gone in no more than two years. They talk about the election for their president next year … I’m not sure I understand it all. Somehow it will have a big impact on what they do. One party may stay, another may pull the troops out.”
“And have you found any of them – the Americans – that will work with us?”
The fat man snorted. He pulled a fine silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped sweat from his brow. “No. There are a few who have women here, some who may want money, but there is no way any of them would work for …” his voice trailed off.
“What about Chiang; what will he do if the Americans leave? Will he come to some accommodation?”
“No one knows what the Generalissimo will do. I see him rarely now. It seems he doesn’t have time for people like me. But I think preparations are being made to move up river if necessary.”
Ming Guo finally saw Little Chou appear on the street over the fat man’s shoulder. “One last question: Chen; General Chen, have you approached him about working with us?”
“Yes. Or, at least I tried. I don’t think he’s interested.”
“Good. Well, General, it is time for me to present you with what is owed to you.” Ming Guo reached into the bag and felt for the heavy lump at the bottom, beneath the bundles of money. He pulled the big Colt out of the bag as he stood. He rolled the hammer back as he brought the pistol to point squarely at the other man’s chest. Before the astonished look on his face could transform to one of fear, Ming Guo squeezed the trigger, and a flash of flame shot down from the pistol. The bullet’s impact drove the big man back from the table and his arms flung out, but he did not fall. As calmly as he could, Ming Guo raised the pistol to align its sights with big open circle of the General’s mouth and squeezed the trigger again. He hadn’t even heard the first shot. He never did. But this one registered with Ming Guo, a clap of thunder that seemed like it should bring down the walls of the restaurant. The fat man flipped backward as the back of his head exploded in a shower of blood and gore.
Ming Guo reached down and picked up the bag. Concentrating as hard as he could to control the racing of his heart and the ragged unevenness of his breathing, he carefully withdrew the big sheet of paper there among the Japanese currency. He unfolded it and laid it on the table, making sure the words written in large red and black ink were clearly visible:
THIS IS THE FATE OF ALL TRAITORS
Patriots! Join the Chinese Communist Party’s
struggle against the Japanese invaders
who defile our beloved country.
LONG LIVE CHINA!
LONG LIVE THE CHINESE PEOPLE!
Patriots! Join the Chinese Communist Party’s
struggle against the Japanese invaders
who defile our beloved country.
LONG LIVE CHINA!
LONG LIVE THE CHINESE PEOPLE!
Ming Guo was dimly aware that the other people in the restaurant were crouching down on the floor, and that there was yelling and screaming out on the street. One of the Shanghai ladies was moaning with terror. As he stepped around the traitor’s body, he turned the canvass bag over, spilling the bundles of yen out into the spreading pool of blood on the floor.
Only when he’d done that did he look up again. Little Chou had kept his post, but he looked terrified as he revved his scooter. All around him, people scrambling away from the entrance to the restaurant. Ming Guo held the pistol up where it could clearly be seen when he stepped out onto the sidewalk. There were more screams as he appeared to the onlookers.
Without a word, he threw his leg over the scooter’s seat. Little Chou let out the clutch and, with a cloud of blue smoke trailing behind, the two sped away on Three River Road.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Houston Post
September 1, 1951
WEDEMEYER TO TESTIFY ON SURGE
UP Washington. General Albert C. Wedemeyer has been summoned to testify before a joint session of the Senate Armed Services and Foreign Relations Committees regarding progress on the so-called “surge” strategy in China. Also expected to testify at the same joint committee hearings are War Department head Clarke and Secretary of State Acheson. Growing opposition to the increasing number of U.S. casualties in the undeclared war in China has spurred Senate minority leader Wherry to demand last Monday that the Barkley administration define a concrete timeline for withdrawal of American forces.
In anticipation of these hearings, the citizens group Move America On purchased full-page advertisements in newspapers all across the country this week, demanding an immediate end to what it called the “quagmire” in China. The advertisement, containing a petition signed by leading figures as diverse as John T. Flynn, Charles Lindbergh and Charlie Chaplin, also called for an accounting of funds spent on what it called the “dirty war” being waged in China by the mercenary group known as “the Flying Tigers.” The text of the petition called for an end to what was called the “wasteful spending on yet another endless and pointless war, when unemployment continues in this country at above 15%.”
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
CBS News
September 10, 1951
Transcript, Hear it Now
Murrow: Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, our topic is China. This week, General Alfred Wedemeyer will testify before Congressional committees about President Barkley’s increase in troop numbers in China, known as the “surge strategy.”
The American people are asking what America is doing in China. Are we at war? If not, what are we doing? Is something like “victory” possible in China? How will we know when we’ve achieved it? These are the questions we’ll be considering tonight.
Ever since America’s disastrous involvement in Germany ten years ago, people have begun to wonder whether our people will ever support fighting in foreign conflicts far from home. When President Roosevelt joined Winston Churchill’s so called “coalition of the willing” to intervene in Germany in 1938, the world seemed to be behind the two leaders. Speaking to the League of Nations, Churchill warned of Nazi poison gas attacks from a growing German air force. Hitler’s move into Austria seemed to prove him right, and also those, like George Marshall, who said a war in Germany would be over quickly. Just months after the Allied forces entered Germany, Churchill announced to Parliament that it was a “mission accomplished.”
But no poison gas was found. Nazis were forced out of their official positions, and it took months to find Adolf Hitler. Even when he was captured, violence continued. Factional fighting and rioting kept American forces in Germany for years. Thousands of American boys were killed. Both Churchill and Roosevelt lost elections because of the continuing violence. When the communists decisively won the 1944 elections in Germany, America was unceremoniously evicted from the country.
So, are we headed down the same road in China? That’s the question I put to our guests tonight, two retired U.S. Army Generals. Supporting the surge in China is George S. Patton. And speaking against it is Dwight D. Eisenhower.
