"I won't, sir," cried back the sergeant, who was listening to a complaining prisoner.
Suddenly a GI burst out of our headquarters, shouting, "I got it!" He was holding our flag, which we had secreted in a wall. The find excited the Americans so much that some of them whistled. One did a jig with the flag wrapped around himself while others flung their heads back guffawing. Captain Larsen took the flag, raised it above his head, waving it at us, then started tapping his heels.
Although enraged and restless, we had no idea what to do. Most of us thought that at all costs we must not let them take our flag away. Some still remembered the self-sacrifice of the comrades in the Fifth and Seventh Battalions, so they were spoiling for a fight. Stealthily a few leaders went over to Wanren so that they could work out a plan of action. They talked and decided to let Shenning, a stout man who was the head of the Second Company, lead a group of prisoners to get the flag back. Without delay Shenning went to rejoin his men and tell them what to do.
When the Americans had finished searching, we were filing back into our quarters. Outside the fence the guards looked relaxed, while inside the compound their spoils were still on display – besides the flag there were daggers, spears, pliers, flashlights. Captain Larsen gave us a sneering smile that bared his long teeth to the gums. Slowly I was moving toward the gate, anxious about what was going to happen. I could feel the tension in the air. Many eyes were fixed on the flag held by the captain, who somehow didn't sense any danger. As Shenning and his men were approaching the gate, another group of inmates turned up, led by Little Hou, as if they too were coming to charge at Larsen. Shenning hesitated for a moment, wondering why Hou's group had appeared. Little Hou, our only code man, was under special protection and shouldn't participate in such an action. Inquiringly Shenning looked at Little Hou, who just nodded at him without a word. More prisoners entered the gate now. Passing Larsen, Shenning cried, "Get it from him!" In a flash a dozen men surrounded the captain and some grabbed the flag, struggling to pull it away. But Larsen held the other end of the flag with both hands and wouldn't let it go. He yelled at his men, "Give me a hand!" A short tug of war ensued, which scared us – if the GIs outside the fence came in with their weapons we wouldn't be able to continue the tussle. Little Hou bent down and bit the back of Larsen's hand. "Ouch!" the captain yelled and loosened his grip. With the flag in his hands Shenning dashed away, but, unclear where to go, he just ran. One of the GIs grabbed a shovel and set out chasing Shenning, who was frantically bolting along the fence.
"Put that down, you bastard!" the GI roared. Shenning kept running and running. How frightened we were! The armed guards outside the fence might have opened up on him, but luckily they didn't. Instead, they seemed to relish the scene, some smirking and some laughing.
Gradually the husky GI caught up with Shenning, who rolled the flag into a ball and threw it to Wenfu, the skinny orderly. Wenfu in turn pitched it into the opened window of the kitchen; immediately a cook removed a cauldron and spread the flag over a stove, whose flames at once engulfed the fabric. With the shovel the GI began hitting Shenning, who was rolling on the ground but didn't scream.
"Yeah, let him have it good!" yelled Captain Larsen, with both hands on his hips.
We all shouted at the GI, but he wouldn't give up thwacking our man. One blow hit Shenning's face and he stopped moving instantly. Meanwhile, Larsen ordered his men to round up all those who had participated in retaking the flag. Little Hou, Wenfu, the cook, and many others were singled out and forced to leave with their hands clasped on their crowns. The GIs prodded them with bayonets all the way to a truck parked outside the front entrance. They shipped them away to a large pit behind the fuel depot west of the prison camp. Later that evening Shenning was also sent there, directly from the hospital. Altogether they had seized eighteen prisoners.
Our leaders were worried, but mainly about the safety of Little Hou, without whom the camp's communication with Commissar Pei would be disrupted. How could we get him back? They thought hard for a solution, but couldn't find one.
Afternoon darkened into evening at the fuel depot, but the enemy still wouldn't release the detainees. Having eaten nothing, the eighteen men were shaking with cold and huddled together in the pit, which was actually a collapsed bunker. Above it stood more than a dozen GIs, all fully armed. A pair of searchlights formed two long, luminous cones atop the pit throughout the night. The prisoners were soon tired out and some fell asleep. Toward daybreak, the GIs began throwing stones into the pit, and several sleepers were hit and injured. One chunk of cement tile struck the cook in the forehead and opened a cut about two inches long, and blood spurted out. But the prisoners knew the enemy hoped to have a pretext for shooting at them, so they didn't respond to the provocation. Nevertheless, half an hour later, a submachine gun fired at them. A bullet struck Wenfu's head and killed him on the spot. The detainees raised a shirt soaked with blood, which stopped the gunfire.
The lieutenant in charge came over with five GIs and saw the body of our orderly. "Damn, it was so accurate," he muttered, then strode off to call for an ambulance.
A van came twenty minutes later and carried Wenfu's body away, together with four wounded men. The rest of them couldn't leave the pit until late that night. They had been starved for more than thirty hours. Our kitchen cooked millet porridge for them, because in such a state it was dangerous for them to eat solid food right away.
The same thing happened again: Commissar Pei sent his condolences and awards – on Wenfu was conferred the title of Revolutionary Martyr and the first-class merit citation, which was also issued to Shenning, Little Hou, and the cook – Huang Jian. Now that the battalion chief's orderly was gone, Shanmin was chosen for the job. I told my young friend that from now on he should give his cigarettes to Wanren, who could protect him. Wanren was a decent man and had never taken anything more than his own rations, so he might appreciate the extra cigarettes.
I was ambivalent about the attempt to reseize the flag. On the one hand, I admired the courage our men had displayed, and in a way I'd been awestruck by their passion and bravery, which I have to admit I didn't share. On the other, I doubted whether it was worth losing a man's life for the sake of a flag, which, symbolic as it might be, was just a piece of nylon cloth. I had noticed that there was a kind of religious fervor in some of these men, who were capable of laying down their lives for an idea. However silly the idea might be, the act of self-sacrifice made them truly remarkable. Potentially many of them were heroes.