Mao: The Unknown Story

by Jung Chang

  ALTHOUGH HE HAD decided to back Chiang as the head of China, Stalin was in no way cutting back on his clandestine efforts to build up the Chinese Red Army. In early September 1936 he endorsed a plan to ship a large cargo of arms to the CCP through Outer Mongolia. Mao’s wish list had included “monthly aid of 3 million dollars,” as well as “planes, heavy artillery, shells, infantry rifles, anti-aircraft machine-guns, pontoons,” together with Soviet personnel to fly the planes and operate the artillery. On 18 October he heard from the Comintern that “The goods are not as many as you requested in your cable of the 2nd [October] … and there are no planes or heavy artillery …” Still, the “foreign company” handling the shipment, a GRU dummy, would “supply 150 vehicles and provide drivers and gasoline; they can make two return trips … with about 550 tons to 600 tons” each trip. The number of rifles was almost exactly the same as the Russians sent to Spain, where the civil war had just broken out.

  In October the Chinese Red Army began its operation to smash through to a delivery point in the desert near the Outer Mongolian border. At this stage, Mao had 20,000 troops in the base, and the other Red Army branches were about to converge there in response to his summons to join him. They included the troops led by his now disabled rival Chang Kuo-tao, who had spent the winter on the Tibetan border, at the mercy of Nationalist bombing. Thousands froze to death, and many others developed snow blindness. During the previous year, Kuo-tao had lost half the 80,000 troops he had commanded when he met up with Mao in June 1935.

  Although he still had twice as many men, Kuo-tao now came as a junior partner. Sensing that he was done for, he became “very emotional,” as his colleagues witnessed. “He even shed tears. He said: ‘I’m finished. When we get to North Shaanxi, I’m going to prison …’ ” Though Kuo-tao was not exactly imprisoned, Mao was eventually to wreck his army further — and then purge him. But for now, Mao needed Kuo-tao’s large and efficient force to fight to the Outer Mongolia border.

  The other branch of the Red Army that came to Mao now was headed by Ho Lung, a tough former outlaw. He had been herded to North Shaanxi by Chiang Kai-shek from his base on the Hunan — Hubei border. The three branches of the Red Army joined hands on 9 October 1936, making Mao the chief of an army of almost 80,000 men, twenty times the number he had fielded just a year before.

  This was a formidable force, but in order to get to the Russian arms the Reds had to break through a powerful Nationalist army, and Chiang was determined to stop them. On 22 October he flew to Xian to take personal command, and this put the Young Marshal in a jam. The Young Marshal duly alerted the Reds about Chiang’s plans, as well as giving them cash and winter clothes, but that was his limit: he could not defy Chiang’s orders openly. So his men ended up fighting the Reds. Within a week, Mao’s push for the Russian supplies had been thwarted. A contingent 21,800 strong that had crossed the Yellow River was stranded on the other side. The main body of the Red Army pulled back to its corral in North Shaanxi, and was hemmed in again.

  Mao asked Moscow for money urgently: “Be quick,” he cabled. The Comintern immediately sent US$550,000, but it could not solve the long-term problems. For food, there was just coarse black beans. Housing in this region was mainly yao-dong, quarters dug into hills, like grander caves, and many of the troops lacked even these. It had started to snow, and the soldiers had threadbare clothes and straw sandals. At the front, Peng De-huai, the chief commander, was living in a shepherd’s shelter, a hole in the ground one meter deep and two meters wide, on the edge of the desert, battered by furious sandstorms. Even Mao was enduring discomfort, as the Party Center had been forced into the small town of Baoan, where he and his heavily pregnant wife were living in a dank cave, with water dripping from the roof. Once, when a bodyguard tried to push the door open, he was stung by an outsize scorpion. Plague-bearing rats abounded, half the size of house cats, and so bold that they would sit on people’s chests while they slept and flick their tails across their faces, waking them up with a start.

  BY THE END OF October 1936, the Reds were desperate. The Young Marshal saw an opportunity to rescue them, and gain favor with Moscow. His plan was simple, and extreme: to kidnap Chiang, who was about to step onto his turf. Even though the Young Marshal had not received the explicit commitment from Moscow that he had been seeking (his envoy had been given the runaround about his Russian visa), he calculated that saving the Chinese Red Army and having Chiang in his custody would change the whole equation for Stalin. This was a gamble, but the Young Marshal was a gambler. “My philosophy is gamble,” he had once said to his inner circle. “I might lose once or twice, but as long as the game goes on, the time will come when I get all my stakes back.” Having Chiang on his own turf was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  The Young Marshal discussed his plan with Mao’s secret liaison, Yeh Jian-ying, telling Yeh he intended to stage a “coup d’état,” using this term (which in Chinese is transliterated as ku-die-da). On 29 October, Yeh cabled Mao, using veiled language, that “there is a proposal to stay Chiang.” On 5 November, Yeh left for Mao’s place, carrying the coup plan.

  The idea of kidnapping Chiang was the Young Marshal’s — but it was undoubtedly spurred on by Mao through his envoy, Yeh. The Soviet intelligence insider Aleksandr Titov records that “the question of arresting Chiang Kai-shek was discussed by … Yeh Jian-ying and Chang Hsueh-liang in November 1936.” And Mao very deliberately concealed the plan from Moscow, knowing that Stalin would be dead set against it. Mao was now acting directly contrary to Stalin’s interests. Chiang was more crucial to Stalin than ever. On 25 November Germany and Japan had signed a treaty known as the Anti-Comintern Pact, confronting the USSR with its worst nightmare — belligerent enemies on both flanks in an alliance, with Japanese-backed forces on the move westward along the southern flank of Mongolia, towards Soviet Central Asia. The very day the pact was announced, Stalin urgently ordered the Comintern chief Georgi Dimitrov to impress yet more strongly on the CCP that it had to abandon its anti-Chiang position and support a united government: “We need … a government of national defence” in China, Stalin told Dimitrov. “Work out a plan …”

  Mao was running a considerable risk of infuriating Stalin by endangering Chiang. He tried to play safe by keeping his distance from the kidnap. Before taking the plunge, the Young Marshal cabled Yeh to return: “Vital thing to discuss. Please come instantly.” Mao held Yeh back, while pretending to the Young Marshal that Yeh was on his way. Then he spurred the Young Marshal on by wiring him that there was no prospect of the Communists reaching any compromise with Chiang, and saying the Reds were determined to continue their war against the Generalissimo. Mao gave the Young Marshal the impression that he, the Young Marshal, was their only possible partner, implying that Moscow would accept this.

  WHEN HE GOT to Xian on 4 December, Chiang made no exceptional arrangements for his personal security. His immediate quarters were guarded by several dozen of his own staff, but the gate and outer perimeter of the residence were patrolled by the Young Marshal’s men. The Young Marshal was even able to bring the kidnappers to reconnoiter Chiang’s residence, at a hot spring on the outskirts of town, and to check out the Generalissimo’s bedroom.

  At dawn on 12 December, Chiang was kidnapped. He had just finished his morning exercises, part of his strict routine, and was getting dressed when he heard gunfire. His quarters were attacked by some 400 of the Young Marshal’s men. Chiang’s guards resisted, and many were shot dead, including his chief of security. Chiang managed to escape into the hills behind, where he was found hours later hiding in a crevasse, clad only in his nightshirt, barefoot and covered with dust, and with an injured back.

  Just beforehand, the Young Marshal had informed Mao that he was about to act. When Mao received the cable from his secretary, he beamed: “Go back to bed. There will be good news in the morning!”

  This assassination is generally attributed to the Japanese, but Russian intelligence sources have recently claimed t
hat it was in fact organized, on Stalin’s orders, by the man later responsible for the death of Trotsky, Naum Eitingon, and dressed up as the work of the Japanese.

  This base also went through bloody purges conducted by the Reds between 1932 and 1934. Ho Lung himself said later: “in this one purge alone, over 10,000 were killed. Now [1961] there are only a few women comrades alive, and this is because men were killed first … and then the enemy came before [the purgers] got around to the women …” “Even today in the area … they dig out bones from one big pit after another.” Survivors recalled that many had been “put in jute sacks and thrown into Lake Hong with big stones tied to them. Fishermen did not dare to go fishing in the lake, because so many corpses came up, and the color of the lake changed.”

  These funds, as well as some further transfers, were sent through Mme Sun Yat-sen, from America.

  17. A NATIONAL PLAYER (1936 AGE 42–43)

  WHEN THE NEWS reached Party HQ that Chiang Kai-shek had been kidnapped, jubilant leaders crowded into Mao’s cave. Mao was “laughing like mad,” a colleague recalled. Now that Chiang was caught, Mao had one paramount goal: to see him dead. If Chiang was killed, there would be a power vacuum — and therefore a good opportunity for Russia to intervene and help to bring the CCP, and himself, to power.

  In his first cables to Moscow after the event, Mao implored the Russians to get seriously involved. Choosing his words with care, he solicited their consent to killing Chiang, saying that the CCP wanted to “demand that Nanjing sack Chiang Kai-shek and deliver him to the people for trial.” This was a euphemistic expression, unmistakably implying a death sentence. Knowing that his own goals were different from Stalin’s, Mao pretended not to have heard about the kidnapping until after it had happened, and promised that the CCP “would not issue public statements for a few days.”

  Meanwhile, he was maneuvering busily behind Moscow’s back to get Chiang killed. In his first cable to the Young Marshal after the kidnapping, on 12 December, Mao urged: “The best option is to kill [Chiang].” Mao tried to dispatch his ace diplomat, Chou En-lai, to Xian at once. Chou had negotiated with the Young Marshal earlier in the year, and they seemed to have hit it off. Mao wanted Chou to persuade the Young Marshal “to carry out the final measure” (in Chou’s words), i.e., to kill Chiang.

  Without spelling out the real purpose of Chou’s mission, Mao solicited an invitation for Chou from the Young Marshal. At the time, the Reds’ HQ was several days’ ride on horseback from Xian, at Baoan, nearly 300 km to the north; so Mao asked the Young Marshal to send a plane to collect Chou at the nearby city of Yenan (then held by the Young Marshal), where there was an airstrip which Standard Oil had built when it was prospecting in the area earlier in the century. To encourage the Young Marshal to act quickly, Mao made him a spurious promise on the 13th: “We have made arrangements with the Comintern, the details of which we will tell you later.” The clear implication was that Chou would be bringing news of a plan coordinated with Moscow.

  What the Young Marshal needed was not off-the-record promises relayed by the CCP, but Russia’s public endorsement. Yet on the 14th, front-page articles in the two main Soviet papers, Pravda and Izvestia, strongly condemned his action as helping the Japanese, and unambiguously endorsed Chiang. Two days into the kidnapping, the Young Marshal could see that the game was up.

  He turned a deaf ear to Mao’s suggestion to send Chou. But Mao dispatched Chou anyway, telling the Young Marshal on the 15th that Chou was coming, and asking for a plane to pick him up in Yenan. When Chou reached Yenan, there was no plane, and the city gate was closed to him; he had to wait all night outside the walls, in sub-zero temperatures. “The guards refused to open the gate and refused to listen to reason,” Mao wired the Young Marshal, exhorting him to do something. The Young Marshal was literally freezing Chou out, an indication of how bitter he felt about the Reds misleading him over Moscow’s attitude.

  On the 17th he relented. He was looking for a way to end the fiasco, so he sent his Boeing to fetch Chou. His American pilot, Royal Leonard, was shocked to find he was carrying Reds (who had only recently been peppering his plane). En route back that snowy afternoon, he played a trick on his passengers. “I deliberately picked rough air,” he wrote in his memoirs. “Occasionally, I peeked back into the cabin and enjoyed watching the Communists … holding their black beards aside with one hand and vomiting into a can held in the other.”

  The Young Marshal accepted Chou through gritted teeth, though he presented an amicable façade and played along with his guest. When Chou urged him to kill the Generalissimo, he pretended he would do so “when civil war is unavoidable and Xian is besieged” by government forces.

  Mao had in fact been trying to provoke a war between Nanjing and Xian. He hoped to trigger this off by moving Red troops towards Nanjing. On the 15th he secretly ordered his top commanders to “strike at the enemy’s head: the Nanjing government …” But he had to scrap the plan, as it would have been suicidal for the Red Army, and there was no guarantee it would set off a Nanjing — Xian war. To his delight, on the 16th Nanjing declared war on the Young Marshal, moving armies towards Xian and bombing the Young Marshal’s troops outside the city. Mao urged the Young Marshal not just to fight back, but to broaden the fighting into a major war by striking out towards Nanjing. The following day, Mao cabled him, saying: “The enemy’s jugulars are Nanjing and [two key railway lines]. If 20 to 30 thousand … troops can be dispatched to strike these railway lines … the overall situation will change at once. Please do consider this.” Mao’s hope was that by taking such action, the Young Marshal would burn his bridges with Nanjing and thus be more likely to kill Chiang.

  WHILE MAO WAS maneuvering to have Chiang killed, Stalin put his foot down to save the Generalissimo. On 13 December, the day after Chiang was seized, the Soviet chargé d’affaires in Nanjing was summoned by acting prime minister H. H. Kung (Chiang’s brother-in-law) to be told that “word was around” that the CCP was involved in the coup, and that “if Mr. Chiang’s safety was endangered, the anger of the nation would extend from the CCP to the Soviet Union and could put pressure on [the Chinese government] to join with Japan against the Soviet Union.” Stalin understood that the kidnapping might pose an urgent threat to his strategic interests.

  At midnight on the 14th, the phone rang in the office of Comintern chief Dimitrov. Stalin was on the line. “Was it with your permission that the events in China took place?” he asked. Dimitrov hastily answered: “No! That would be the greatest service anyone could possibly render Japan. Our position on these events is the same.” Using ominous language, Stalin went on to question the role of the CCP’s delegate at the Comintern, who had submitted to Stalin the draft of a cable to be sent to the CCP in favor of executing Chiang: “Who is this Wang Ming of yours? Is he a provocateur? I hear he wanted to send a telegram to have Chiang killed.” At the time, Dimitrov’s Chinese assistant recalled, “you could not find anyone” at Comintern HQ who did not think that “Chiang must be finished off.” Even Stalin’s top man at the Comintern, the normally cool Manuilsky, “rubbed his hands, embraced me, and exclaimed: ‘Our dear friend has been caught, aha!’ ”

  Wang Ming pleaded that the draft cable had been suggested by the deputy head of the GRU, Artur Artuzov. Artuzov was soon arrested and accused of being a spy. Before he was shot, he protested his innocence in a letter written in his own blood, which, his jailer noted icily, had come “from his nose.” Stalin spared Wang Ming. And Dimitrov scrambled to clear himself and lay the blame on Mao. He wrote to Stalin: “in spite of our warnings, the … Chinese Party in fact entered into very close, friendly relations with [the Young Marshal].” More damningly, Dimitrov told Stalin: “it is hard to imagine [the Young Marshal] would have undertaken his adventurist action without coordination with them [Mao and his colleagues] or even without their participation.” This was clearly suggesting that Mao was lying about having no prior knowledge of the event, and that Mao had flouted Moscow’s or
ders.

  Stalin was suspicious that Mao might be in cahoots with the Japanese. Stalin had already begun to have almost all the Soviet “old China hands” denounced and interrogated under torture. Four days after Chiang was kidnapped, a leading detainee “confessed” to being involved in a Trotskyist plot to provoke an attack by Japan (and Germany) on Russia. Mao’s own name soon surfaced in confessions, and a hefty dossier on him was compiled, with accusations that he was an agent of the Japanese, as well as a Trotskyist.

  Dimitrov sent a stern message to Mao on the 16th. It condemned the kidnapping, saying that it “can objectively only damage the anti-Japanese united front and help Japan’s aggression against China.” Its key point was that “the CCP must take a decisive stand in favour of a peaceful resolution.” This was an order to secure the release and reinstatement of the Generalissimo.

  WHEN THE CABLE arrived, Mao reportedly “flew into a rage … swore and stamped his feet.” His next move was to pretend that the message had never reached him. He kept it secret from his Politburo, from the Young Marshal, and also from Chou En-lai, who was en route to Xian to try to persuade the Young Marshal to kill Chiang. Mao went on maneuvering for Chiang to be killed.

  This was a high-risk tactic vis-à-vis Moscow. Mao was not simply withholding from the Kremlin the fact that he had encouraged the kidnap plot, he was also suppressing — and defying — a direct order from Stalin. But for Mao, the vistas opened up by the elimination of Chiang outweighed the risks.

  But the Generalissimo was not about to disappear off the map. Once the Young Marshal knew he had no Moscow backing, which was immediately after the kidnap, he decided to keep Chiang safe. Mao had proved worthless. In spite of all its posturing in private communications, the CCP kept a public silence for three long days after the kidnapping, voicing no support for the Young Marshal. Its first official statement did not emerge till the 15th. It made no mention of backing the Young Marshal to be head of China, as Mao had specifically offered earlier. Instead, it recognized the authority of Nanjing.