So, what did happen at Yenangyaung?
How the Chinese rescued the British Army in Burma, April 1942
Jack Bowsher and I am currently recording (with the expert help of producer Robbie McGuire) the second series of our podcast on the Burma Campaign. Its hard work, but great fun, and the positive feedback for these two newbies has so far been encouraging. In this current series we’re talking about many aspects of the campaign long forgotten in our corporate memory of the war. We’re also introducing some experts to the field as well, with James Holland talking about General Alexander, Victoria Schofield on Wavell, Steve Rothwell on the Burma Rifles, Philip Woods on the media war, Hannah Watson on her fantastic book on the campaign for young learners and Philip Davies on Hugh Seagrim GC. You can follow the podcast, which starts with Episode 1 of Series II tomorrow (2 June), here.
Yesterday we recorded our episode on the involvement of the Chinese Army in 1942, which included the famous battle at Yenangyaung between 17-19 April 1942. Sadly in 45-minutes we can’t do justice to an enormous subject, and we just didn’t have time to do much more than scratch the surface. But, as the Yenangyaung battle is a fascinating one, with its own small degree of controversy, I decided to lay it out in this post. A mystery of the battle is the differing accounts of the Chinese attacks on the 19th April. In the British accounts (including Bill Slim’s in Defeat into Victory) the Chinese are blamed for failing to attack in the morning as they had promised, adding further jeopardy to the fate of the encircled 1st Burma Division. But was this true? The Japanese, Chinese and American accounts differ, so I thought I’d lay out the story to allow you, dear reader, to come to your own conclusion.
The scrap at Yenangyaung was the final Corps-sized battle before the order to evacuate Burma Corps was given in early May. The Japanese had pushed out of Rangoon in mid-March, driving up the Irrawaddy on the left and against Toungoo on the right. Allied plans for the defence of Burma were inadequate, both Chinese (on the right) and Slim’s Burcorps (on the left) effectively fighting separate battles. Attempts by General Harold Alexander, the Army Commander, to control the battle and constrain the advancing Japanese ultimately came to naught. Alexander, Slim and Lieutenant General Joe Stilwell, nominally commanding the Chinese 5th Army, tried every trick in the tactical rule book to bring a halt to the relentless Japanese advance, and to destroy them in battle. After a month of fighting in which the Chinese were pushed out of Toungoo, the British lost control of Prome and an attempt to consolidate a defensive line across the country failed, the Japanese moved up the Irrawaddy in an attempt to turn the British flank, breaking in at the oilfield town of Yenangyaung on 17 April. At the time Slim’s Burma Corps was attempting to withdraw to the north from Allamyo. The Japanese infiltration into Yenangyaung cut the British in half. The 1st Burma Division was now cut off in Yenangyaung. The battle by the already weakened division (amounting to probably no more than 4,000 troops) into the Yenangyaung pocket over the period 17 and 19 April proved to be the severest trial yet faced by British troops in the short Burma campaign, the pressure applied by the Japanese exacerbated by the intense heat and the lack of water.
It was critical that Slim defeated this Japanese infiltration, rescue the 1st Burma Division from encirclement and retain the integrity of his Corps. If Yenangyaung were lost the Japanese would be free to sweep north to threaten Mandalay. It was crucial therefore that the divisional commander – Major General Bruce Scott – held on for as long as he could. But Slim had no reserve. The only hope of relief lay in assistance from the Chinese far to his right. He concluded that if he could engineer a attack into the pocket by the Chinese, across the Pin Chaung, combined with a breakout attack by 1st Burma Division, they might have a chance of escape. Nothing else looked likely to succeed.
When asked, Stilwell agreed to Alexander’s request for help to be provided to Slim, and gave him Lieutenant General Sun Lijen’s 38th Division – responsible for the defence of Mandalay - for the task. Chiang Kai-shek had given Sun responsibility for defending Mandalay. At midnight on 16 April Sun received an order from General Lo Cho-yin, ‘to dispatch his 113th Regiment to Kyaukpadaung, there to be commanded by the British General Slim…’ Sun’s friend, Dr Ho Yungchi, recorded that by 3 a.m. he had arrived at Lo’s HQ at Pyawbe to discuss the order. Lo explained that the British were in serious trouble ‘in the oil town of Yenangyaung and had sent repeated requests for help.’ By 6.30 a.m. it was agreed that Sun would personally take command of the 113th Regiment, while the two remaining regiments stayed to defend Mandalay. Sun and 1,121 men of 113th Regiment (commanded by Colonel Liu Fang-wu) arrived at Kyaukpadaung on the morning of 17 April.
Slim recalled: ‘The situation was not encouraging, and I was greatly relieved to hear that 113 Regiment of the Chinese 38th Division was just arriving at Kyaukpadaung. I dashed off in my jeep to meet their commander and give him his orders… this was the first time I had had Chinese troops under me… I got to like all, or almost all, my Chinese very much. They are a likeable people and as soldiers they have in a high degree the fighting man’s basic qualities – courage, endurance, cheerfulness, and an eye for country.’[1]
At Yenangyaung, Slim’s plan was for Sun’s 38th Division to attack from the north on the morning of 18th April while the 1st Burma Division, within the pocket, fought its way out. As Slim and Sun Lijen talked, discussing the details of the attack planned for the following morning Slim decided that he would place the Stuart tanks of the 7th Armoured Brigade directly under Sun’s command. It was only a move a man confident in the capabilities of his allies could make. Slim commented that ‘I was impressed by Sun and it was essential to gain his confidence. His division had no artillery or tanks of its own, and I was therefore arranging that all the artillery we had this side of the Pin Chaung and all available tanks should support his attack.’ The commander of the British armoured brigade – Brigadier John Anstice – accepted this arrangement and according to Slim ‘he and Sun got on famously together.’ What’s more, the soldiers worked well together too, Slim recording that the ‘gunners and tank crews, as is the way of British soldiers, soon got on good terms with their new comrades, and, in spite of language difficulties of an extreme kind, co-operation was, I was assured by both sides, not only close but mostly friendly.’[2] Accordingly, at 6.15 a.m. on 18 April, Major Mark Rudkin of 2nd Royal Tank Regiment (2RTR) reported as instructed by Anstice to 38th Division HQ:
There was little activity except for the cooking of breakfast and it seemed most unlikely that the attack could start on time. I asked the British liaison officer with the Chinese what was happening and he informed me that as the Chinese realized that they would not be ready to attack at 0630 hours, they had put their watches back one hour, so that officially they were still attacking at 0630 though the time would in reality be 0730. They had, therefore, not lost “face” by being late.
The plan was that a troop of tanks would follow the leading troops of the leading Chinese battalion and give what support it could. Another troop was to follow the leading infantry battalion and assist the leading troop if required. The tanks would be almost entirely road bound owing to the going off the road.
At 0730 the assaulting Chinese moved forward off the ridge on a front of about four hundred yards, the leading troop keeping very close behind on the road. On foot near the tanks was a Chinese interpreter who carried out liaison between the tanks and infantry.
After advancing about half a mile the leading tank was hit by a Japanese 75-mm gun situated on the road just north of the Pin Chaung which was firing straight up 300 yards of road. The tank was disabled but there were no casualties.
The Chinese advance continued and by afternoon had almost reached the line of the ford on the Pin Chaung which was still held by the enemy. The Chinese had had heavy casualties, especially amongst officers, as it was the custom for Chinese officers to lead, whatever their rank. It was finally decided to hold positions about half a mile north of the crossing and continue the attack next day.[3]
With the first attack a failure, the Japanese retained their grip on both the ford and the village of Twingon. The situation for the surrounded remnants of the 1st Burma Division was desperate; the Japanese close to achieving a complete victory. Slim and Sun then worked through a plan for another attempt to be made the following morning, 19th April. This day also began badly, however. The Chinese attack was scheduled to begin at 7 a.m. British accounts subsequently recorded that a Chinese attack did not materialise at this time. Slim subsequently recorded in Defeat into Victory that the failure to attack must have been a function of the administrative difficulties faced by the Chinese. He rwrote that with the Chinese ‘lack of signalling equipment, of means of evacuating wounded and of replenishing ammunition, and their paucity of trained junior leaders it was not surprising that to sort themselves out, reform, and start a fresh attack took time.’[4] Slim was invariably impressed with what he saw of the Chinese soldier in action, but considered their support and command functions to be shockingly poor and a source of constant frustration to themselves, and to all who had occasion to operate with them.
Slim, and most other British published accounts, including the Indian and British Official Histories, record that the attack finally went in at 3 p.m., when Colonel Liu’s 113th Regiment successfully captured the ford and penetrated into Yenangyaung.[5] ‘When the Chinese did attack they went in splendidly’ wrote Slim in admiration. ‘They were thrilled at the tank and artillery support they were getting and showed real dash. They took Twingon, rescuing some two hundred of our prisoners and wounded. Next day, 20th April, the 38th Division attacked again and with tanks penetrated into Yenangyaung itself, repulsing a Japanese counter-attack. The fighting was severe and the Chinese acquitted themselves well, inflicting heavy losses, vouched for by our own officers.’
But was Slim correct in assuming that the Chinese did not attack at 7 a.m. on the morning of 19th April? In fact, both Chinese and Japanese accounts dispute Slim’s account - and that of the British Official History – not in terms of the effectiveness of the attack, but its timing. A range of compelling sources in fact assert that Chinese troops were in Twingon by the early morning of 19th April.[6] Indeed, the US account is very different to the British:
The Chinese (113th Regiment) attacked into Yenangyaung at 0800 on 19 April, expecting to meet the Burma Division there. Instead, they found the Japanese entrenched in five strong points. By 1130 three were taken, but there was no contact with the exhausted Burma Division. That force had managed to hold during the night of the 18-19th, though to the south it was now in contact with elements of the 215th Regiment. An attack toward the ford in the morning made little progress, some of the troops were demoralized. Another attack planned for later in the morning was canceled for fear it might lead to an inadvertent clash with the Chinese. Unknown to the Burma Division, a renewed Chinese attack by 1500 was making steady progress. To meet it, the Japanese shifted some of their men, leaving a gap. Consequently, when the tanks with the Burma Division were finally ordered to leave the road and look for a way out to the east over the oxcart tracks, at about 1300 they reported an unguarded track, and by using it, a part of the Burma Division with some tanks and vehicles was able to escape to the north. About 1600 under the force of the Chinese attack the Japanese fell back to the south and east, and the rest of the division was withdrawn over the black-top road. For its escape the division paid with most of its motor transport, its 40-mm anti-aircraft guns, most of its 3-inch mortars, eight cannon, four tanks, and 20 percent casualties.[7]
What accounts for this disparity? Is it significant, given the description of this delay in British sources? Was Slim wrong? The first thing to observe is that Slim was not at his HQ near the pocket on 19th April. He had been called away to a conference at Pyawbe with General Alexander, and so did not observe the attack – and the alleged delay – at first hand. The material he used was gathered by others in preparation for the publication of the British Official History, which Slim used in the writing of Defeat into Victory, published in 1956. Because the information at hand at the time seemed to corroborate the accounts of a delay, it was included in his book. But as has been suggested, Chinese and Japanese evidence – not available to the authors of the British Official History at the time, or of Slim when writing his massively popular war memoirs – was not seen by these otherwise diligent researchers, and thus not considered for inclusion. I certainly do not consider it credible that the British Official Historians deliberately lied, either by ignoring the available evidence or by distorting it, in an attempt to discredit Chinese involvement at Yenangyaung. There seems nothing for them to have gained by so doing, given the otherwise overwhelmingly positive accounts British sources recorded regarding the Chinese role in the battle. The extent of the records of the Official Historians as they compiled their histories, now in the National Archives at Kew, which contain vast quantities of preliminary notes, letters and memoranda associated with the minutiae of the campaign and their investigations into it, is too extensive for this claim to be credible. It is clear that further archival research is required to solve this conundrum, but an initial consideration already asserts itself in the American account. This is that the information that the Chinese had delayed their attack was probably not wrong, but it related to a small, perhaps minor section of the attacking force involved in a ‘renewed Chinese attack at 1500…’ The main force, as Japanese and Chinese accounts confidently suggest, were in fact in Twingon by about 8 a.m. that morning, and in the confusion and ‘fog of war’ this information never got back to HQ 1st Burcorps, and was not recorded in the 1st Burma Division War Diary. Meanwhile the attack the British recorded was an additional one later that day, and not the primary one undertaken first thing that morning.
Slim’s material is corroborated by too many original accounts on the British side to be suggested as erroneous, but so too are the Chinese and Japanese accounts. It seems probable therefore that both accounts are true. The problem for the British historians, in their detailed consideration of Chinese involvement at the times, was simply a lack of access to the Chinese files that described a different angle to the same overall story. The opportunity to analyse and compare contrasting accounts, in 1956 therefore, did not exist, although the obvious criticism is the failure of the British official historians to cross-reference their material with their counterparts in Washington. What some therefore have construed as conspiracy is more likely to have been the result of confusion.
The consequence of this failure was that the Chinese Expeditionary Force, and General Sun Lijen and Colonel Liu in particular, have never received the full public approbation due for their remarkable success in the battle of Yenangyaung. It is clear that the 113th Regiment achieved a significant victory, saving the 1st Burma Division – and 1st Burma Corps – from annihilation at the hands of the Japanese 33rd Division, and allowing the remnants to limp home to India the following month. It was achieved at the loss of 204 Chinese troops killed and 318 wounded, a desperately high casualty rate of nearly 50%. One person who was an eyewitness of part of the Japanese attack – whether on 18 or 19 April is not clear – was 22-year old Captain Gerald Fitzpatrick of the Second Battalion, King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry (KOYLI). According to his own account, published in 2001, Fitzpatrick played an unwitting role in the initial part of the Chinese success, as he led the men of his weakened company on an advance to contact along the southern edge of the Pin Chaung and cleared the Japanese from the old Customs Post on the high ground, allowing the Chinese troops to cross the Chaung unimpeded, and able to start their assault on Yenangyaung in good order. According to Fitzpatrick’s account, which is not corroborated by other descriptions of that confused struggle, the KOYLI attack was so rapid and effective that the Japanese fled, leaving their dead behind, as well as a large quantity of rice boiling in a drum. It is an important record, nevertheless, of a young British officer’s memory of watching a Chinese assault at first hand:
No handshake, or ceremony, was necessary on the north side of the Pin Chaung as the big, six-wheeled American Studebaker trucks spewed out Chinese troops… The most spectacular show of the war was about to begin, one comparable with any medieval pageant, except this one was for real…
Witnessing the show was sheer magic, hardly one word was spoken, and troops moved rapidly into position, deploying into practised formations. As the magic unfolded, we were to witness an operation which fully justified Chiang Kai-shek’s requirements for ‘a self-contained sector’ for his forces’ operation. Each of the Studebaker trucks carried 50 or 60 equipped troops. Systematically, as men dismounted, they streamed across the huge flat expanse of the chaung to the west side of the road, and without further survey or reconnaissance deployed rapidly over a wide front. Each man knew the job at hand, and the long-awaited Chinese support, and attack on Yenangyaung, had begun. The timing could not have been more apt. With a few men… I had cleared the pivotal Japanese outpost overlooking the wide chaung, in which the Chinese would most certainly have been ambushed and all the British to the south annihilated…
From the vantage point of the stone building on the hillock, it was a rare treat to witness the assault. It was spectacular, and efficient beyond belief, absolutely suited for the rough terrain around the oilfield. Most observation of action in war is restricted to only a few yards to right and left, whereas in this situation, I had a panoramic view of the whole disposition and action as the Chinese set to the task. To Western eyes, the disciplined automation was astonishing; each of the three commanders in their colourful uniforms adopted pre-planned positions, accompanied by a standard bearer carrying distinctive marker flags. Alongside each commander was a young bugler relaying calls, and messages, as troops moved speedily into their respective unit, and formed behind the flag. There was no delay, and the whole contingent moved forward in unison. It was a three-prong attack; one column went westward, towards the Irrawaddy, one centrally, and the other, by the road to our front.
The astonishing and most amazing scene was the follow-up ‘B-echelon’, support contingent. They followed immediately upon the heels of the troops; camp followers, some older men, but mostly women, all with duties, carrying ammunition cooking pots, medical aid, and rations, all loaded on the familiar bamboo poles, and balanced across the shoulders. Immediately the fighting units dismounted from the transports, they became totally self-sufficient, and independent; they did not rely on animal or mechanical assistance. Each detachment of this Chinese force had the ability of total self-containment. I was the sole British officer, along with my men, privileged to observe this rare spectacle; it was basic, primitive, and functional, the perfect fighting machine for the conditions of Central Burma…
The intensity of rifle and machine-gun firing increased immediately the Chinese started the advance, indicating the strength of build-up by the Japanese; obviously in preparation for a counter-attack on our KOYLI position. All hell broke loose as the Chinese swarmed forward, and further support troops arrived.
They in turn, adopted formation, and advanced rapidly. Each independent contingent was equipped with flag, bugler and camp followers. The movement was like poetry, or a dance, with these highly disciplined troops…
No other person was so privileged as to see the two most spectacular shows of the war, and both from front seats...
The Chinese began to suffer casualties, and a steady flow of wounded individuals made their lonely way back along the road. We set up a reception point in the stone building, and did what we could to treat, and dress, the wounds of casualties as they followed, one after another, with holes in arms, legs, and bodies.
Although only twenty-two years of age myself, I thought the Chinese soldiers to be very young; they had the ethereal look of good porcelain. Wounded as they were, through the leg, chest, shoulder or arm, they could smile their acknowledgement, as British troops ripped up the recovered sheets and blankets to make bandaging. Each of the wounded Chinese was delighted to see a friendly face, and to receive a helping of warm Japanese rice. They were soon on their way, across the Pin Chaung, to re-join the transports. Appreciative though they were of the medical assistance and food, no Chinese soldier would part with his short, lightweight rifle, not for the briefest of moments; one could look at the spotless weapons, but they never left the hands of those disciplined, and heaven-sent soldiers…
The Chinese withdrew shortly before nightfall, the movement being almost the exact reverse of the advance; quietly, they crossed the chaung, and re-joined the transports. The spectacular operation had taken no more than about four hours, yet the consequences must have been devastating to the Japanese, and their prospect of annihilating the British Army were severely set back, with they themselves suffering many casualties…
It takes a soldier to recognise a soldier, and when seen in action there was no doubt about the performance of this Chinese Army; it was excellent in its efficiency and effectiveness, particularly in the exacting combat met with on that Burma oilfield.[8]
The Chinese attack, watched by Fitzpatrick, made good progress and reached Thwingon, on the northern outskirts of Yenangyaung. This was attacked and taken with the help of 2RTR, ‘numerous Japanese being killed and two hundred British and Indian prisoners being released.’ Their success action freed the remnants of the encircled 1st Burma Division, who made their way northwards across the Pin Chaung during the afternoon and evening to safety, passing through the ranks of their Chinese liberators. Ho Yungchi remarked in 1948:
The rescued British were 9000 [sic] living.[9] It was hard to describe their wretched shape. They looked like men who had not washed for a year. Dirt and grime covered their persons from helmet to boots. On their faces worn with fatigue was the happy beam of having been rescued. As they trooped out, every Tommy stuck up his thumb and yelled “ting hao”; “China wan sui!”; “the Generalissimo wan sui!’ etc.
The depth of this cooperation was discovered at the end of the battle, when the Chinese troops clubbed together to provide the 85 men of Major Mark Rudkin’s tank squadron with a rupee each as a token of their appreciation for their cooperation during the battle. This story is contained in Jack Bowsher’s excellent Forgotten Armour. As historian Bryan Perrett suggests, ‘the gesture was very touching, especially as the Chinese were paid next to nothing. So ended the only occasion in history when British troops were directly under Chinese command.’[10]
Looking to reward Sun for his leadership General Alexander resorted to the unusual step of conferring on him a British award, a ‘Commander of the British Empire’ (CBE), ordinarily the prerogative of the King himself. According to Lieutenant James Lunt, who watched the occasion, Alexander ‘borrowed a pair of scissors, cut the ribbon of the CBE from his string of medal ribbons, went into the next room and pinned it on the chest of the gratified General Sun, who left us beaming all over his face. Later, I understand, Alex received a rocket from Buckingham Palace when the King came to hear of the incident.’[11] Nevertheless, the award was confirmed, and in 1943 formally presented to Sun, the first Chinese general ever to receive an Imperial decoration for saving foreign lives on foreign soil. The citation read:
Under the most trying conditions, General Sun displayed high qualities of leadership. The First Burma Division of the British force at Yenangyaung was extricated by the attack of the 38th Division and saved from annihilation. General Sun had his unit together at all times during the retreat and brought it ready for combat to India. His example of courage and leadership reflect great credit on Allied Arms.
General Harold Alexander wrote to Sun:
On behalf of the Imperial forces and especially the First Burma Corps, I should like to thank you for your personal cooperation and the gallant conduct of your splendid troops when fighting side by side with ours. I wish to show our appreciation by decorating you in the name of the King-Emperor with the Order of the Commander of the British Empire... Wishing you and your incomparable 38th Division all luck and good fortune.[12]
In addition, in 1945 King George VI conferred on Sun a knighthood, appointing him as a Companion of the Bath, a signal honour for any Briton, let alone a foreigner. The British Army knew all too well that it had been saved at Yenangyaung by the Chinese, and acknowledged it publicly by means of this award.
When, after the campaign, Chiang Kai-shek asked Stilwell why the Allies had been defeated Stilwell, never the diplomat, replied ‘that the main factors were the Chinese lack of air support; the inferiority of Chinese troops in morale, training, equipment, number of soldiers, transportation, logistics, command and organization; their unfamiliarity with the terrain; and their inability to conduct reconnaissance properly.’[13] It was a preposterous claim, and apart from infuriating the Generalissimo, ignored the principle failure of the British to adequately defend their colony, and their military forces to perform effectively under conditions of great trial. But to his diary Stilwell was more honest, listing: ‘Hostile population; no air service; Jap initiative; inferior equipment (arty [artillery], tanks, machine guns, trench mortars) inadequate transport… no supply set up; improvised medical service; stupid gutless command; interference by Chiang Kai-shek; rotten communications; British defeatist attitude; vulnerable tactical situation; knew it was hopeless.’[14] General Slim more honestly summed it up by stating that ‘The outstanding and incontrovertible fact’ he concluded, ‘was that we had taken a thorough beating. We, the Allies, had been outmanoeuvred, outfought and outgeneralled.’[15] The courage and self-sacrifice of the man in battle is too often used as a substitute for having no proper plan, or ineffective command. The collective failure of the Allies in the 1942 Burma Campaign was to refuse to look beyond the end of each party’s respective nose. Those who suffered were the hard-pressed Chinese infantryman every bit as much as it was the poorly prepared soldiers of the British, Indian and Burmese Armies, whilst the undoubted beneficiaries of these failures were the Japanese, who grasped with both hands the opportunities thus offered to them.
[1] Slim, Defeat into Victory (1956), p. 63.
[2] Ibid., p. 65.
[3] Bryan Perrett Tank Tracks to Rangoon: The Story of British Armour in Burma (London: Robert Hale, 1978)
[4] Slim, op. cit., p. 70.
[5] Bisheshwar Prasad (ed,) The Retreat from Burma 1941 – 42 (Calcutta, Combined Inter-Service Historical Section, 1954), p. 296.
[6] Dr Peter Chung Chieh conducted extensive interviews of Chinese soldiers for his book (in Mandarin) on Sun Lijen: Biography of General Sun Li-jen, (Mongolia: University Press of Inner Mongolia, 2000). Interviewees included Colonel Liu, the Regimental Commander, together with his deputy, Lieutenant Colonel Hu Dehua. All insisted that they had reached Twingon first thing on the morning of 19 April.
[7] C. F. Romanus and R. Sunderland, Stilwell's Mission to China (Washington; Department of the Army, 1953), p. 126.
[8] Gerald Fitzgerald No Mandalay, No Maymyo (79 Survive) (Lewes, East Sussex; The Book Guild, 2001), pp. 186-189.
[9] Yenangyaung was nevertheless a serious defeat for the British, who lost about 800 dead, wounded and missing from some 4,000 who started the battle. Ian Lyall Grant, Burma 1942: The Japanese Invasion, p. 259.
[10] Bryan Perrett Tank Tracks to Rangoon: The Story of British Armour in Burma (1978), p. 66.
[11] Major General James Lunt, ‘A Hell of a Licking’: The Retreat from Burma 1941-2 (1986), p. 245.
[12] Quoted in Ho Yungchi, The Big Circle: China’s Role in the Burma Campaigns (1948), pp. 50-51
[13] Hsi-sheng Ch’i The Military Dimension, 1942-45 in James Hsiung and Steven Levine China’s Bitter Victory: The War With Japan 1937-1945 (1992), pp. 158-159.
[14] Quoted in David Rooney, Stilwell The Patriot, Vinegar Joe, The Brits and Chiang Kai-shek (2005), p p. 52.
[15] Slim, op. cit., p. 115.
Fascinating . A good read .
Great article - thanks very much.
I wonder what happened to General Sun after the war.