Meditation in Kuling

Whenever Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek had a big decision to make, he liked to get away from his desk for quiet meditation. Early last month he went to the summer capital, Kuling, with Madame Chiang and a small staff. When he did not return after the first few days, the rumor factories in Shanghai and Nanking got busy: the Gimo had been assassinated; he had gone mad; he was preparing to resign. One other rumor was actually true: the Generalissimo had indeed received additional U.S. technical help--he had just been fitted with a brand-new set of American false teeth.

Planes on the Line. Chinese hoped that other U.S. help, recently announced in Washington, would also have a bite to it. They wondered. As a partial answer to critics, Washington had just revealed a top-secret agreement, signed in 1945, under which the Chinese had been promised 1,071 transport and military planes. Most of these planes had already been delivered. But a quarter of them had arrived in no condition to fly. Another third had become useless for lack of parts for repairs. In August 1946, the whole delivery program had been suspended for ten months when the U.S. Government tried to coerce Nanking into accepting a coalition with Chinese Communists. Now that the remainder of the planes and the necessary spare parts were going to be put on the line, Chinese were grateful. But the hour was late.

As usual, the worst news continued to come from Manchuria. During the week the Communists stormed and captured the critical port city of Yingkow. The Reds boasted that the garrison had gone over to their side. In beleaguered Mukden itself, freezing citizens tore down walls and rafters for firewood.

Chess by the Fire. Even more ominous than the military disintegration, if possible, was the weakening of civilian support. Manchurian landlords who had fled from the Communists were going back now, to accept whatever land the Reds would let them have. Parties of students were slipping away to join the Reds. In Yunnan Province, peasants were rebelling against further conscription.

In large areas of China the government still held control. Sometimes the Reds caught a lesson, as did raiding General Ting Hsi-shan. When he raided Tsingpu, near Shanghai, he ran into an ambush. His head was pinned to the Tsingpu city wall (see cut).

Despite such setbacks, the Reds' success had been dazzling. In a few months they would be able to go wherever they wanted north of the Yangtze, and even South China was restive.

One day last week the Generalissimo returned from his meditative sojourn at Kuling. Nanking learned only that he had passed the days in long walks or, when the weather was bad, in playing Chinese chess with Madame Chiang in front of the fireplace. But there was no doubt of what the Generalissimo had been meditating on: his China was breaking up.

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