War Photographer's Notebook

Chapter 1729 No. 25, No. 26, the First Escapers

After driving the car back to the tent and covering it with canvas, Wei Ran continued to wander around this seemingly safe position with his camera in hand.

Perhaps because the news from the front lines about the war today seemed to be going relatively smoothly, there was not much tension here at all, so much so that he even saw a Christmas tree near the kitchen.

This Christmas tree is decorated with many small stars made of magazine paper of various colors, as well as photos of beautiful women cut out from magazines.

Next to it, several white soldiers were whistling and decorating the Christmas tree more carefully.

At the bottom of the Christmas tree, there is even a car light that was taken from someone’s car.

Although this car light was not on, a snowman with a carrot nose and a military cap had been built not far away.

In its arms, it was holding a not-so-big wooden sign, on which was written in beautiful red cursive a confident and bold statement: Let's celebrate Christmas in advance, otherwise we will all be back home by the time Christmas comes.

I like your confidence.

Wei Ran raised his camera while muttering to himself, and focused on the snowman, the Christmas tree, and the two soldiers who were decorating the Christmas tree.

"Gentlemen, look here." Wei Ran greeted them enthusiastically.

Hearing this, the two soldiers looked at Wei Ran, smiled warmly at him, and allowed him to press the shutter for them.

"Mr. Reporter, can you take a picture for us, too?"

When he finished taking the first photo, several more soldiers came over.

"sure"

Wei Ran readily agreed, and when the soldiers stood on the left and right of the snowman, he also pressed the shutter button towards them.

His voluntary act of taking photos soon attracted many soldiers to "enthusiastically sign up", and he accepted all of them and enthusiastically took "Christmas photos" for these soldiers in advance.

Just as he finished shooting two rolls of film, Grant also walked over from a distance.

"Do you want to take a picture?" Wei Ran asked while changing the film.

“Let’s take a picture together.”

As Grant spoke, he was already standing on one side of the snowman. Seeing this, Wei Ran handed the camera with the film changed to a soldier, stood on the other side of the snowman with an inexplicable smile, and took a photo with the other person.

"Do you have any good news?" Wei Ran asked as he took the camera.

“The front line is advancing smoothly.”

Grant said while helping the soldiers around him take photos, "The Eighth Army is still advancing. Maybe we can really go home before Christmas."

"Maybe?" Wei Ran, who was also taking pictures, glanced at the other party.

"Nothing," Grant responded vaguely, but did not continue the topic.

They dismissed the soldiers around them by pressing the shutter again and again. As it was almost noon, the two of them simply walked into the nearby kitchen and each took a fairly hearty lunch.

"Where did you go this morning?" Grant asked as he put food into his mouth.

"Those battlefield prostitutes behind the position," Wei Ran replied, "I went over there for a look."

"Battlefield Nightingale?"

Grant burst out laughing, "What an accurate description."

"I heard that you got the nickname of Honest Man?" Wei Ran asked.

"Same nickname as Ryan. Do you remember Ryan? The bombardier from Dumbo."

"Remember"

Wei Ran nodded, "You are a young man with a Mohawk haircut. You seem to have concealed your experience of participating in World War II."

"I'm not my brother Brad," Grant said, lowering his voice slightly. "I will not return to the battlefield as a soldier, and I don't want to show off my past experience."

"I will keep it a secret for you"

Wei Ran asked while eating, "Do you have any plans for the afternoon?"

"I'd better go to the command post and wait to see if there's any new information," Grant replied, "What about you?"

"Just stroll around," Wei Ran said indifferently.

"You don't seem to care about the war situation?"

“I’m not here to be a reporter.”

Wei Ran answered indifferently, he really didn't care. Now he just wanted to run away as quickly as possible, or surrender as soon as possible and become a prisoner of war again.

If you are lucky and have been reformed well in the prisoner-of-war camp for two years, you might even be able to get a good ranking in the Olympics.

The premise is that Grant can perform the actions he just assumed.

"Whether you are here as a reporter or not, how about doing me a favor later?" Grant said.

"What help?" Wei Ran asked nonchalantly.

"Developing Film"

Grant said, "I've got a lot of film that I haven't had time to develop lately, and frankly, you came at the perfect time."

"Brad gave me the same job back then," Wei Ran said with a smile.

"So it's okay?" Grant asked with a smile.

"Of course, of course." Wei Ran agreed indifferently. All he wanted to shoot and see had been satisfied. He had no intention of continuing to suffer the cold outside for the rest of the afternoon.

"Then it's settled"

Grant took off his windbreaker, unloaded a cross-body canvas bag, and handed it to Wei Ran, "It's all here, help me rinse it out."

"Remember to bring me dinner, bring plenty." Wei Ran said, "And bring back some fuel, your jeep is running out of gas."

"No problem," Grant agreed.

As for the jeep, it was naturally not short of oil. Wei Ran had checked it carefully when he drove it back to its original position. The fuel gauge was almost full, and there was a spare oil tank at the rear of the car.

But since he didn't know how far he would have to run, he naturally didn't mind storing more fuel in the car - if Grant planned to run and not surrender.

After finishing lunch in a flash, Wei Ran took the key to the box from the other person, took the canvas bag containing the film on the table, borrowed a bucket of coal from the canteen, and returned to the tent alone.

After locking the tent door, Wei Ran placed the coal he brought back on the dying charcoal fire in the iron bucket, and then opened the suitcase that belonged to Grant.

The washing equipment in this box was much more complete than the one in the metal book, but he did not rush to wash it. Instead, he searched through it openly.

He first took out the 1911 pistol, disassembled it for inspection, then reassembled it, put the bullets back in place, and Wei Ran took out the 1911 pistol in the metal notebook and checked it. Seeing that it was also full of bullets and there were bullets in the chamber, he put the box of bullets he had just taken out back in place.

He continued to search here. Although he couldn't find the photo album that Brad had placed in the box, he found two other photo albums.

The content of this first film made him recognize at a glance that it was China, the China in the midst of the War of Liberation.

These photos were taken professionally enough, and the strict style makes it easy to tell that they were specially used for newspapers. Under each photo, the detailed time and address of the photo were written down, as well as some parameters of the camera and film used.

These addresses include the capital, Tianjin, Shanghai, and mountain cities. Some seem to be the names of villages, as well as some scenic spots that are well-known to later generations, such as "West Lake".

The second half of this photo album is the film album. The strips of film are of different lengths, but they are marked with the same markings as the front ones.

Just from this photo album, we can tell that Grant is serious enough about being a journalist, or a photographer, at least much more serious than Brad.

After putting this photo album back to its original place, Wei Ran opened the second photo album like a voyeur.

The moment he saw the first photo album, Wei Ran sighed. This was a photo of Grant and the woman named Yang Minhua. In addition, there was a silk handkerchief in the album, and inside the handkerchief was a warm bracelet.

Putting the bracelet aside for the moment, he looked at the group photo on the first page again. On the rest of the page, Grant wrote down his memories of the first time he met the female translator.

Continuing to flip through the pages, most of the remaining photos seemed to have been taken secretly, but around these photos, the sincere sentences recorded every detail of taking these photos.

Finally, there appeared a photo of Grant, Brad, their family of three, and their mothers by the Christmas tree.

Around this photo, the sentences Grant wrote describe how he told his mother and brother's family that he fell in love with a Chinese girl, the encouragement and blessings from his mother, brother Brad, and his KPD sister-in-law, the gifts he carefully selected, and he joked that he had been learning from his brother Brad.

His brother was on the bomber, so he was on the bomber, too.

His brother returned to the battlefield after the war, so he also returned to the battlefield.

His brother fell in love with a KPD, and he fell in love with a CPC. He was not even sure if the other person was really a CPC, but he was very sure that he had fallen in love with the other person.

Continuing to flip through the pages, several more photos of Yang Minhua appeared, along with Grant's unique memories attached to them.

But when Wei Ran turned to the next photo, the only photo showed only a tombstone and a small grave, as well as Grant's pain, despair and regret between the lines, and the curse on the Statue of Liberty, the French who occupied the country, just like Brad did back then. Without turning the pages, Wei Ran rewrapped the bracelet left by Yang Minhua and put it back in place along with the album that only showed pain.

With a long sigh, he took out the flushing tools and medicine from the box, lit the American oil stove, and boiled hot water to help control the temperature.

As he was busy, rolls of film gradually turned into negatives that could be seen by light.

Most of what is recorded in these films is American-style joy.

Beer, Coke, cigarettes or marijuana, and the seemingly endless supply of women and football. Of course, there are also Thanksgiving turkeys and Christmas trees that were planted a month early.

The few parts recorded some moments that made Wei Ran clench his fists. There was the body of a volunteer soldier covered with frost, tied to a tree, soaked in water and frozen into ice, and tortured. There was also a volunteer soldier with wounds all over his body, one arm missing and one eye seemingly blind, spitting at some beast to the side of the camera. In this film, he could even see the thick spit still flying towards the target.

In the next photo, there was a bullet hole on the soldier's forehead.

Grant kept most of the shot on the soldier, while leaving only a corner for the hand holding the 1911 pistol. He did not take a picture of the person who fired the gun, but he did take a picture of the American flag tattoo on the back of his hand.

If you were still alive, these two photos might become classics.

Wei Ran shook his head regretfully and hung the film on the drying line. Taking this opportunity, he also developed all the films he had taken today.

Then, he found an L-shaped flashlight with a white silk cover in the suitcase and lit it up, continuing to look for more moments related to the Volunteer Army in these photos, while also patiently waiting for Grant to come back.

They waited until about seven in the evening, when Grant finally returned to the tent with two dinners. Behind him, the black soldier he had just met that morning was helping to carry a barrel of fuel.

After politely thanking the black soldier, Grant threw a pack of cigarettes to Wei Ran, took the flashlight with a silk cover, and said while checking the photos that Wei Ran had helped to develop, "I got the latest news. The CPVA has begun to fight back."

"Oh"

Wei Ran responded indifferently, tore open the box of Marlboro that the other party brought back, took out a cigarette, lit it next to the iron barrel with the bonfire, and took a sip.

"You don't seem surprised?"

Grant, holding a flashlight, asked without turning his head, "Your flushing skills are still as good as before."

"Mr. Edward Murphy told me the result." Wei Ran said jokingly.

"The Air Force engineer?" Grant asked with a smile.

"That's right"

Wei Ran took another long puff of his cigarette, "What about you? You don't seem surprised either."

“I understand Chinese people better than they do.”

Grant said, "More than most of the rookies and commanders outside the tent."

“But you don’t seem ready to do anything.”

“I’m a journalist”

Grant said, "I'm just a reporter. Who will listen to me? Mr. MacArthur or Mr. Walker? Or Mr. Gay?"

"I mean, isn't Mr. Grant, the reporter, going to do something?"

Wei Ran asked again, "Like leaving here?"

"I know you plan to take me back to the United States as soon as possible. I will go back, and I promise to be back before Christmas."

Grant, still looking at the negatives, said, "But I just got here, and the war situation is not so bad that I need to leave."

"Okay, pretend I didn't say anything."

Knowing that he couldn't persuade him, Wei Ran sighed helplessly in his heart and decided to just watch the development of the situation quietly.

"What about you?"

Grant asked, "Aren't you going to do something?"

"I surrender"

Wei Ran said indifferently, "I plan to surrender. I mean, if the enemy attacks here, I will surrender without hesitation."

"This is not like you." Grant looked at Wei Ran strangely.

"I'm not a soldier anymore," Wei Ran answered frankly.

"Okay," Grant smiled, "Hurry up and have dinner. I came back late and only brought back these foods."

Having said that, Wei Ran was quite satisfied with the dinner.

A few slices of bread, a steak, a box of beef stew still in an open tin, and an opened box of luncheon meat, in addition to this, there was a can of beer and an apple.

"Don't you plan to eat together?" Wei Ran asked.

"I've already eaten at the command post," Grant said apologetically, "These are for you."

"Then I won't be polite," Wei Ran said, picked up the fork and spoon and started eating.

"I'm going to the command post to wait for news. I may not be back tonight."

Grant put the flashlight on his shoulder and consulted the notebook he had taken out. He wrote numbers on the developed films and said, "Victor, please keep an eye on the suitcase for me and remember to put these negatives in the sealed tubes, okay?"

"No problem," Wei Ran agreed happily.

Hearing this, Grant picked up a typewriter, took a few stacks of manuscript paper and film, and hurried out of the tent.

After eating and drinking, Wei Ran spat a mouthful of thick phlegm into the half-left lunch can, used it as an ashtray to smoke a cigarette, then put the plate outside the tent door, and lay down on the folding bed covered with a duck down blanket with the can of beer, covering himself with a sleeping bag and taking a sip of cold beer from time to time.

When the can of beer was about two-thirds drunk, a historian with a bad taste untied his belt, helped the bird to add some hot water to the beer can, and then placed it outside the tent. Then he walked away and poured the remaining half of his urine on the snow.

Back in the tent, he collected all the films that had been developed in the afternoon, put them into sealed tubes, and placed them one by one in the compartment of the suitcase.

That night, Wei Ran, who had calmed down, slept very soundly in the warm tent wrapped in his sleeping bag. Grant, as he said, did not return to the tent all night.

When the time came to the 26th, Wei Ran, who was woken up, immediately came out of the tent and took a look at the plate and beer can placed at the door last night. Seeing that the remaining food on the plate and the can of beer were gone, a slightly childish and smug smile appeared on his face.

He went back into the tent, put on his clothes and dried his boots. When he came out again, the Kodak camera was hung around his neck again.

In just one night, the soldiers in this position had lost the relaxation and optimism they had yesterday about Christmas. Even the prostitutes who had stayed in someone's tent the previous night and the "volunteers" who were looking for food near the canteen were driven out.

The position was under martial law, and Wei Ran, upon seeing this, carefully checked the Willys Jeep, filled the tank with fuel, then started the car and let it run for a while to avoid any trouble when it was needed.

While he was busy checking the tools for escape, Grant came back with two breakfasts.

"Mr. Murphy is absolutely right."

When Grant saw Wei Ran, he said, "Things are starting to go in a bad direction."

"What's the situation now?" Wei Ran followed the other party into the tent and asked.

"I'm not sure, but the atmosphere in the command post was very tense, and they kicked me out as a reporter."

Grant sat on the bed, shoveling his breakfast into his mouth and said, "I guess there will be a war here soon."

"What about you? Still not planning to leave?" Wei Ran asked.

"Wait a little longer"

Grant said, "It's just starting to get worse, but it's not that bad yet."

"So what now?" Wei Ran asked while eating breakfast.

"I'm going to take a nap later"

Grant replied vaguely, "I have been up all night, but I haven't gotten any valuable news."

"Aren't you going to resign? Why are you working so hard?"

“I’m not fighting for the New York Times.”

While Glint was talking, he had already finished his breakfast, threw the plate onto the ammunition box that served as a table, wiped his mouth hastily, took off his windbreaker and boots, and crawled into the warm sleeping bag.

Leaving the tent to Grant and helping him add some coal to the campfire bucket, Wei Ran, who had eaten and drunk his fill, came out of the tent and stretched again. Then he held up his camera and took pictures with interest of the soldiers who looked a little more nervous than yesterday.

He even borrowed a bicycle to take a look at the prostitute camp near the position.

He had to admire the sensitivity of these "businessmen". At this time, these people were already packing their luggage.

Perhaps this business is really profitable, as almost all of the tents have two bicycles pushed out at the door. The men are now hanging iron baskets welded with steel bars on both sides of the bicycle load-bearing seats, tying them up, and putting all the "prostitution money" that the women have worked hard to earn into them.

Some of the more timid ones even dismantled their tents and folding beds and tied them to the bicycle seats. The men rode the bicycles pulling the heavy belongings, while the women rode the bicycles carrying themselves, their "colleagues", and even their children, and began to escape.

After taking a few photos of these special fugitives, Wei Ran turned around and rode back to the camp. He was already looking forward to the next fate of the 7th Cavalry Regiment stationed here - even though he knew clearly what was going to happen next.