Darksome Love Stories of the Chinese Civil War - Part I: The Long March 1934-1937

By Cal Pflugrath

We follow the exploits of three remarkable young women engulfed by the Chinese Civil War, and their amazing struggle to survive against incredible odds. They endure to find their soulmates among the nightmare of perpetual conflict under the most dangerous circumstances imaginable. As China shakes off the shackles of colonialism, these amazing young people reinvent their society and lives from the remains of one of the world's most significantly productive cultures.
Though the Holocaust of the East ends up costing forty to eighty million Chinese lives, the result is a new, dynamic nation free of foreign influence and control.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329175716

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Darksome Love Stories of the Chinese Civil War - Part I: The Long March 1934-1937

Darksome

Love Stories of the Chinese Civil War

A Work of Historical Fiction

By Cal Pflugrath

Book One

The Long March:

1934 to 1937

Part One

Tan Tia, AKA Little Devil

Chapter One

The Death of a Thousand Cuts

Light rain fell at dawn as we left jail to be executed. A waiting crowd cheered pelting our naked bodies with rotten fruit and other refuse. Smiling guards held the reins of two wooden ponies on wheels.

A phallus stuck up over three inches through those saddles upon which we would be mounted. I gulped and grimaced head shaking. The poor terrified young man beside me wailed for mercy. He had my sympathy.

As a young Communist female fighter my mind resolved to endure this dishonor. I shall not grovel or beg our three rules and eight points helping me die possessing some dignity. Considered a traitor by these Nationalists in their eyes this Red Devil deserved her gruesome finish.

A court condemned that unlucky farm peasant to please female spectators. He was guilty of nothing more than being late for work. Injustice seemed western China’s rule rather than exception in early May 1936.

Wrists bound behind a judge's execution orders dangling about our necks guards lifted us over the waist high ponies. My womanhood and his bottom were driven down on erection shaped stakes.

I grimaced away a scream. Having been gang assaulted that night before my privates felt loose and numb.

The boy’s rear opening was worked onto a shaft inch by painful inch. Grinning guards leaned their weight on the fellow’s shoulders. Two more yanked quivering legs. That peasant sank down, down a phallus to the saddle seat. He shrieked large manhood stiffening. Our mob howled approval.

The unlucky boy’s tears streaked swollen cheeks. As guards tied squirming ankles together under that pony he pleaded, But I arrived late for work! You're not going through with this, do that to me for being late!?

The crowd laughed. Several made cutting gestures across their necks or thumbs down motions indicating this poor forsaken fellow's approaching doom. Some of our delighted mob probably worked alongside condemned boy splashing in those rice paddies yesterday.

Not satisfied by my performance a smiling guard reached under the pony. He shoved that phallus up another three inches. I squealed and rose. The crowd guffawed.

Ankles lashed together we paraded off to the public termination stand. Our ride's wheels bounced on cobblestone streets driving stakes further into jolted tortured bodies.

The rotten fruit and insults continued. Squeezing thighs on that shaft during this final journey towards some executioner’s rack I prepared myself for the death of a thousand cuts.

This gruesome execution form had been removed from China’s penal code in 1905. Thirty years later that didn't stop judges and courts still carrying it out. People journeyed long distances to enjoy a good cutting.

With numerous film and still cameras around a victim's final ordeal might be published far and wide.

An agonizing half mile later guards pulled us from our ponies. Marched up the scaffolding steps they secured wrists and ankles to heavy wooden vertical frames.

That crying young man and I found ourselves spread wide. Iron stakes protruding through the frame’s bottoms were worked up rear ends holding us in place. A fire pot of burning charcoal smoked below those stakes heating them up nice and hot.

Photographers swarmed that platform. I tried not to look in the cameras or display any fear realizing my Socialist family would likely see this film. Eyes closed I gulped.

Two lines formed. One for the boy. Another was mine. Our crowd took turns.

I blotted out the ordeal. Most of these Nationalists appeared small. Their thrusts had little effect on numb swollen privates. The male spritz helped lubricate.

My body didn't enjoy their slapping and biting nor that squeezing and pulling on little nipples and breasts. I tried to stay loose and relax focusing on breathing.

The boy not so fortunate several women administering his punishment strung him up. A rope constricted tight around that gasping fellow’s neck. Using some burning torch they roasted late boy’s dangling erection and spheres.

Pubic hair sizzled away leaving singed red privates bald as a baby. Laughing woman removed that iron stake and rammed a thick wooden rod up his bottom. He screamed and bucked in helpless desperation.

Grinning females alternated between roasting and milking. Male juice whooshed across the execution platform as he shrieked out another painful orgasm. Our crowd roared. That boy gushed a large discharge on my left foot. Shivering I watched as rain washed sperm off toes and away through gaps between those floor planks.

A half hour later and this mob sexually satisfied the executioners returned. That male administer of justice held his sharp curved blade above my head. Those Nationalists cheered. The female executioner lifted her blade over that poor late boy. They yelled louder.

The order of our slaughter determined most jeering voices belonged to women. Poor females in China were considered property less than livestock. The girls relished a helpless naked male’s slow public sexual humiliation.

This boy's pretty executioner invited female audience members assisting in her victim’s agony. He would endure their sadistic degradations one well planned slice or snip at a time.

The young man shrieked and screamed, begged and pleaded.  Those women laughed and poked enjoying his suffering. My ears hurt from the screams. That crowd savored their terrified prey’s torment.

The death of a thousand cuts was favored by our enemies. Every district enjoyed its own variation. This insidious tradition had its origins in prehistoric times.

The selected victim might be a prisoner captured from their neighboring enemy village. After a lengthy ravaging the chosen boy or girl would be butchered, roasted, and consumed during some special ceremony. In modern times our mangled remains were more likely fed raw to this town’s starving stray dogs.

I first witnessed a public execution for my sixth birthday. Some land owner’s house slave sold as a baby my master already threatened that cutting death. Now he made me watch and see what to expect the next time I misbehaved.

Our condemned victim, some young female slave, appeared about thirteen. The thrall’s capital offense had been displeasing her master. After the naked pony parade towards an execution block they hung that crying, squirming child upside down.

A noose tightened around the girl’s neck wrists bound behind she looked terrified thrashing about in desperation. This poor slave had witnessed cutting deaths and knew what was in store for her.

Though well secured at the actual cutting several male volunteers grabbed and held their prey’s straining legs and body. She wailed as they tortured. Those executioners laughed playing with breasts and loins.

These sadistic fiends sexually satisfied themselves as they cut the victim to pieces. Women in the crowd cheered encouraging their men during that poor child’s humiliating ordeal.

Seeming to last forever slicing her body and snipping off digits the condemned female screamed and shrieked. I fainted before they finished her.

As those laughing women abused the bawling boy I tried not to look.  This fellow dangled barely two feet away. Our toes almost touched though he possessed fewer of those by the shrieking minute.

In seductive fashion women licked and flittered his nipples. Then they joked and cut them off. That crowd cackled and mocked. Those cameras recorded. The poor late boy screamed bloody murder. Breasts, fingers, and toes were snipped off digit by digit chunk by chunk.

Now rain turned into a downpour. I shivered, freezing, thirsty, and starved panting like an exhausted animal stretched wide for some cruel pagan sacrifice. The late boy's ordeal started getting to me.

This naked humiliation apparent I felt that resolve slipping away.  The young man twitched moments from being finished. I would soon experience my own slow painful screaming nightmare slice and snip for our cheering crowd's pleasure.

Late boy’s final cut was administered by some teenage executioner. She kissed her terrified victim's trembling lips then knelt before him. He didn't beg anymore knowing his ordeal should soon be over.

Guided by older women that girl jerked a flaccid organ hard again. Licking his orbs she used the two-handed rope climb on a large breeding tool. Her condemned victim's member stiffened.

That young grinning woman lifted whimpering boy's erection up out of her way. Squeezing his throbbing head tight with two fingers and left thumb this winsome executioner dug the sharp curved blade into him just below dangling jewels. In a graceful arcing slice she cut off the now shrieking, struggling boy's manhood. That blade tip scrapped pelvic bone.

He bled out screaming as hard shaft and large spheres swung free of him in the air. A grinning girl held that erect manhood by its head. Some final sperm seepage trickled from his removed organ moistening delicate fingertips.

Women laughed congratulating her on a cleanly removed blood dripping trophy. Their dying victim, body crumpling in that wooden frame, spurted out his life's fluid. The crowd cheered and cursed.

Now it was my turn. That male executioner approached nodding and smirking. Several grinning men climbed those platform stairs anxious to assist.

I gulped closing eyes making a silent prayer for gentle Buddha. Heavy rain began pouring down. My ears heard some remote thunder boom maybe three miles away. Then several more without those usual lightning flashes.

Suddenly an artillery shell crashed into the town square. That panicked crowd howled taking cover. Those cameramen fled as well.

Where did the Commies get heavy cannons, tormentors screamed.

Many lay dead or dying about a smoke-filled square. Others scrambled away. Additional rounds shrieked down exploding in an increasing deluge.

I prayed Buddha might grant me a direct hit.

Then some smiling well-dressed young man wearing tall black riding boots appeared. He released a clamp pulling that hot metal rod from my rear. In heavy billowing smoke this man cut those ropes and helped me down from that execution frame.

Can you run!? he questioned. Or should I carry you? We haven't got much time.

Swaying, having trouble standing, I hadn't eaten or drunk anything for two days. Due to that molestation and torture my body felt like jelly but was alive.

Nodding I beamed, Thank you! Where should we run!?

The smiling man grabbed my left wrist and grinned, This way! We darted through that smoke and destruction. Another dozen hits plowed into a now abandoned square. Flying debris filled the air showering down.

I staggered after that liberator. Looking back through swirling fumes a salvo blasted the execution block and still hanging boy to bits. Townspeople might think parts of him were me.

Several streets and alleys later that rescuer led into some building and narrow dark hall. A pile of clothes lay on the floor.

He handed me a towel. Grateful I dried off. Then that guardian angel produced some wig featuring a long traditional ponytail.

The man ordered, Put this on. You'll never make it through those National's lines sporting your short hair.

I dressed in underwear, a pair of long blue pants, grey shirt, light grey jacket, warm white socks, and comfortable green slippers.

As a slave I'd never worn shoes, in the army only straw sandals.  These socks and slippers felt like Heaven on my warming feet.

Here, that lifesaver said holding a small jar of salve. Put this in your pocket and use it for those injuries.

He opened the door pointed and said, Your lines maneuver about three miles west. This combat situation is fluid. The Nationals are between us and your Red family. Be careful.

Handing me a water skin and rice sleeve the handsome young man commanded, Get going!

Smiling up on tip toes I kissed his lips hugging him tight.

He didn't kiss back pushing me away. You've got to go now! Don't count on luck. It’s dried up around these parts!

What's your name!? I insisted poised at the continuing downpour’s edge. Please tell me that!

Zhu Jin! Now go, silly devil!

Zhu Jin! Tan Tia thanks you from the bottom of her sixteen-year-old heart! I kissed him again then dashed off smiling into a rising storm. At least that time he kissed back.

The smoke-filled streets remained in an uproar. People hurried every which way displaying no clear purpose other than avoiding that continuing Communist cannon fire.

In this melee I made it out of town. Running a few miles west Zhu Jin’s handsome face seemed etched into my mind. Who could he be? The rescuer must be working for us.

At a stand of partially burned forest and brush that looked familiar my exhausted body insisted on stopping. Hiding beside a shallow tree sheltered ditch I huddled some few dozen feet off the road.

A tree protected me from continuing rain. Thirsty lips downed a third of that water skin taking slow deliberate gulps. Then it was time for rice. Jin’s sleeve contained some five-day supply. I devoured a day's worth.

My Red family must be somewhere around here and I wanted to rejoin them but exhaustion possessed the better of me. Slipping off towards sleep, dreaming about an executed late boy and that lifesaver, their roles were intermixed during a weird flashback nightmare-love dream.

First I relived a poverty-stricken horror story childhood. Third of three girls, Dad drowned those first two in our urine bucket shortly after birth.

Mom managed to save me. She convinced my opium addicted father that by not drowning girl number three at some urine bucket a son might be next. Mom was right. Ten months old that brother just brought into this world father sold me to some landlord family. They intended their new slave as breeding stock of a son not yet born.

Pretty like mom folks considered me a valuable reproductive thrall. Those two older sisters were deemed not so attractive or lucky.

I learned ever expanding duties. At age six, that breeding partner Bue Soh recently born, my job became caring for him diaper and beyond. We were not wed. He would marry a rich girl. I was for his sexual entertainment expected to produce boys.

The owners kept a close watch. If this slave did not show that future breeding partner proper respect and submission there might be punishment. Though not allowed to learn I schooled myself listening near Soh’s teachers and could read and write by ten.

At eleven years old Communists first came through town. They put on plays, sang songs, and gave out reading materials helping those poor with food and clothing.

Red army soldiers took over this region driving out all landlords and dispersing their wealth among local poor.

That landlord family fled. They came back a month later when National forces ran off the Reds. Those owners left me behind at their enemy’s questionable mercy. These Commies treated everyone well displaying unexpected respect and affection. They saw about our physical needs for food and shelter. My mind felt intrigued.

Five years later a Communist front army returned and I joined.  Though small they gave me that benefit of the doubt realizing a slave girl’s limited local options.

The Red army became my family. No longer considered property I was equal among these fellow soldiers. The Communists showed me affection and comradeship like a loving tribe.

This dream shifted from the past to some future time. That rescuer Zhu Jin struggled naked bound upon his skinning frame. He grimaced without a sound while laughing women swarmed him. I wondered if my mind dreamed ahead in space/time when those Nationalists caught up with Jin's double agent status.

A gasping Jin transformed into that shrieking late boy. Women and girls cheered holding and pulling. The late boy squirted and screamed.

My body recalled a pain filled humiliation endured beside that young man's final dreadful moments.

This dream shifting Jin and I lay naked upon a mattress. Smiling he pulled me on top loins straddling his waist.

We looked at each other in growing passion. I lowered lips towards his and slid back bringing my womanhood to his manhood.

Hey Tia! Wake up, lucky Little Devil! How are you still alive!? 

I gasped shaking myself awake. That rain gone birds chirped and insects buzzed. A ray of late morning sunshine breaking through clouds warmed me beside the drying ditch.

Captain Ling Meka my hospital company group leader smiled down. Several male and female unit comrades grinned alongside.

How did you find me!? I exclaimed rising to hug Meka tight.

Your snoring, noisy devil! Who's this Jin you moaned about, sweet sexy devil thing!?

I swallowed grinned and sighed; A friend from town. What are you doing here!? Weren’t we pulling out!?

Meka shook her head. Yet another of our Russian's bad counter offensives! It'll cost us plenty, but command captured some big guns and rescued you, devil girl! She hugged again asking; Are you sure you’re okay, Tia!?

I'm fine, maybe tired and sore. I felt like fainting but soldiers of the three and eight don't go down so easy.

Meka smiled and called for the spare mule. Remembering that wooden pony ride bouncing on those cobblestones I grimaced and shook. Thighs and bottom feeling raw some mule excursion could not help.

Please! I'd rather walk!

We retreated another fifteen miles stopping at sunset. My unit carried me the last six. Feeling feverish, mind slipping in and out, I staggered down that muddy trail falling on wobbling knees. Several unit mates lifted me to a stretcher.

Thank you, Comrades! I sighed. Booming cannons thundered in the distance.

We set camp and reformed for an emergency evacuation west.  Meka came and sat beside. In gentle fashion she pulled me up lifting her water-skin. Grateful I drank.

Thank you, Captain!

She kissed my hot forehead and said, They've taken back the big guns. We can't stay here long. How mobile are you?

I knew what she meant. They might leave me behind unless able to stay with the march. I can keep up! As if on cue light mist started again.  Those stretcher bearers began setting up the tents.

Meka smiled and kissed my lips cooing, It's good having you back! I'm not much of a superhero minus my sexy little sidekick! Get some rest, sneaky devil. I'll bring you rice and hot stew in a few hours when it's ready. We'll talk later about what happened at the town.

With dawn’s light our front army pulled out. Rain continued cooling that fever. The hospital unit, Third Medical, assisted me along.

I walked lugging some holstered Mauser machine pistol, rice sock, water skin, and light pack. That good night's sleep and food helped. As a Communist soldier alongside my loving Red family I can survive and recover from anything.

Those Nationalist recaptured big guns started up after the beginning of our day’s march. Their aim seemed terrible.

The food gave some energy. Damaged senses began turning back on; hearing, sight, smell and most unfortunate for me, memory.

To survive that torture and assaults of those last two days my memory shut down. In a horrible cascade these recollections returned.

At the jail I had been interrogated and ravaged. Unclothed and hung by wrists several soldiers molested me. It felt savage and cruel. I submitted in no position to fight back and knowing what response any resistance could earn.

Having satisfied their male desires they began asking those usual questions. How many Second Front Army red devils are left? Where is your unit of prostitutes from and are they all randy like me? They became aroused again and were back at it. My whole body ached and trembled.

When satisfied these soldiers marched me before some low short table. It featured a pair of three-foot posts sticking up at one end. Those fiends secured ankles on them, wrists bound at the opposite table legs. Head hanging over that table lip a noose was slipped around my neck and run through some floor ring below.

I then endured additional assaults by other soldiers, boys, and even a few angry women. If their captive didn't satisfy or respond quickly enough these grinning tormentors yanked the noose.

Realizing my only option I tried pleasing them hoping this storm of sexual anger directed at me might blow itself out. It didn't.

That last guest would be the elderly condemning judge. Once finished guards unbound me from that block and retied hands behind.

The smiling magistrate kissed my lips then slapped me hard. He slipped a termination order over my head and I joined that doomed late boy at the jail exit. Our wooden ponies awaited us in light rain outside.

While marching along my mind felt such rage. I considered unloading on Meka about this ordeal but seemed so embarrassed. How could anyone describe what had just and almost happened?

Wishing to forget it all except Jin my mind thought about his tall boots and our last kiss! Zhu Jin kissed back. I enjoyed a brief tongue tip to tip before pulling away. Thinking about that handsome rescuer helped me move from those bad memories.

Fever breaking around mid-morning by noon I resumed my surgical nurse duties treating our wounded on the run.

Meka jogged up smiling her silly inquiring grin. 

I smiled back. I'm fine, Captain, though some rest could be helpful.

Meka shook her head then hugged me. Oh, Little Devil I felt so afraid we'd lost you! Thank the Gods you are saved!

Captain Ling was called for further up the line. She nodded to that request turned and said; I'll be back later, wobbly demon! Let’s talk then!

Operating on the injured I marched among our retreating army, seeing to these torn and battered soldiers recalling that poor late boy and his ghastly ending. As we tramped on working in those guts and gore my mind tried not thinking about that death of a thousand cuts.

Chapter Two

Fighting at the Edge of Forever

Our two thousand soldier rear guard kept the Nationals at bay cutting that enemy vanguard off from food and ammo. Their sacrifices allowed us to get one day ahead during a nasty-rainy week on the run.

National aircraft, American P-36 Curtiss monoplanes, required us marching at night or in the rain during daylight hours.

Those night marches were hardest. Carrying stretchers it became a slow dangerous slog through muddy darkness. One false step and there went that stretcher and its occupants squawking into the muck.

We later learned ten captured rearguard comrades had been executed by those townspeople Zhu Jin helped me escape. Knowing how those doomed men and women perished I promised myself to never again be taken alive.

Second Front Army re-formed on the move combining shattered battalions. Having started out fielding eighty thousand people our four armies were down to less than ten thousand soldiers.

Weather clearing those National planes bombed and strafed. This time it was Hitler's BF-109s.

They dropped their bombs on some defenseless town. Medical units rushed in. Most villagers seemed beyond our help. Those few survivors sifted through the rubble of their shattered lives.

Nazis and Americans Hitler and Roosevelt joined forces helping Chiang destroy us. That Nationalist President General Chiang Kai shek's Christian wife, an internationally famous Chinese opera star, convinced him to convert. This sealed his deal among the evangelical world.

Less than two percent of Chinese worshiped Christ. Chiang's conversion might have been popular with Europe and America but among us Han it was viewed as a negative ploy. He favored one minor Chinese religion over all the others.

We hid in thick forests for half that night and most of a sunny day. Over three thousand Second Front Army fighters were lost during the last breakout. Rumors claimed some thousand bandits allied with Chiang’s Nats lurked before this westward march.

I didn't think much about that. Three thousand less mouths to feed meant supplies might last a little longer. That my starving body found interesting. Rice sleeves re-filled yesterday containing three days of food command told us, Stretch it for five.

The rest under those trees proved helpful. Of fifty-four wounded in Third Medical Unit's mobile facilities thirty-three now walked on their own.

That evening we headed south. Chow Ye my stretcher-mate and I carried some young fighter. He’d suffered a broken wrist and ankle.

I hear the army turned southwest outflanking those bandits, Ye suggested. We're making for a high pass into the unknown!

Tibet, that soldier fumed. Eventually it appears.

Eventually? I asked.

First the column works our way through some border districts ruled by opium lords and bandits. Hang on to your warmer gear and keep an eye out for bad guys, Comrades.

Tibet! I gasped. I'd heard dark tales from there in song and fable. Perched upon the top of this world peasants like me should not dare go there. Only fairy princesses and noble demigods could beg those Mountain God's favor.

My mind felt thrilled and terrified. I gulped silently reciting the three and eight. They would get us through even if it required tramping across Tibet’s demon and monster haunted desolation.

We walked all night and through most of a misty day. Their planes didn't find us under this fog. The formation marched on.

All Communist front armies were arranged in some similar leadership unit down to the company level. Each was led by a commander and commissar. These two decided the best course of action unless directed otherwise from above.

The commander made military decisions while commissars would address political or disciplinary concerns.

All commissars were controlled by the army's Political Protection Bureau our secret police. Nobody knew who a member might be. It could be anyone among your unit. They watched for rule breakers and spies.

They also worked in that loop with the Committee of Confiscation.  Everything comrades gathered from wealthy landlords or National troops must be turned over to them.

They distributed food and supplies for locals or our own soldiers depending on their greater need. We treated all natives well. Their trust in us would be crucial to China's future.

Those who didn't follow the rules faced punishment. They might be discharged from this army or under some extreme circumstances executed. Nationals who joined the cause were watched. 'Dogs take after their masters’ was a favorite phrase. Sometimes it took demotions or whippings before new recruits entered full operational mode.

Captured deserters would be given a hearing and sent