SHADOWS OF THE VALLEY
Chapter 13: The Choice and the Oath
Date: February 5, 1937
Location: Site Echo, Northern Shaanxi
Winter held the plateau in a vice of sterile cold, but a deeper chill had settled in Li Fan's bones. For two months, since the Xi'an Incident had forced the United Front, the world beyond their valley seemed to hold its breath. Yet the silence wasn't peaceful—it was the pause before a tidal wave. He stood at the mouth of the main cave, watching his men.
Below, in a sheltered gully, Zhao Quan drilled the expanded squad. The unit now numbered thirty-four: his nine veterans, twenty-one vetted local recruits from the militia program, and four new souls—two miners who understood explosives, a former hunter with preternatural tracking skills, and a wiry teenager who could scale cliffs like a gecko. They were becoming a company in truth. But to what end?
His historical knowledge was a map only he could see. The United Front against Japan was a temporary marriage of desperation. The civil war would resume, vicious and total, the moment the Japanese were defeated. Survival, true survival for his men and the cause he still served in his heart, meant being on the right side of that historical divide before the guns turned inward. The time for ambiguity was over.
"Liu Feng," he called out, his voice cutting through the crisp air. "A word."
The scout detached himself from a map-reading session and approached, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "Sir."
"Walk with me."
They climbed a narrow goat path to a wind-scoured promontory overlooking the frozen valley. The view was desolate, beautiful, and fraught.
"The Kuomintang battalion has stopped looking for us," Li Fan began.
"Officially, yes. But their intelligence cells are still active. They catalogue us."
"As a future problem to be solved," Li Fan finished. "When the Japanese war concludes—and it will, in our favor, but at a cost of millions—the Kuomintang will turn on all irregular forces not under their direct control. Especially those with proven skill and local loyalty. We will be at the top of that list."
Liu Feng was silent, absorbing the grim prophecy. He didn't doubt it. "Our local support is strong. We could fade back into the villages, become farmers again."
"We could," Li Fan acknowledged. "And when the conscription officers or the secret police come, they would take the men and hang the leaders. There is no civilian future for us, Liu Feng. Not after what we've built. We are soldiers. We need an army. A real one."
Liu Feng's gaze turned north, towards Yan'an. "The Red Army."
"The only army with a future that aligns with the people we've sworn to protect," Li Fan said, his voice low and definitive. "But we do not go as beggars or raw recruits. We go as a proven asset. A ready-made, special operations capable company. We join not just as fighters, but as catalysts."
"You've decided."
"I have. But this company is not a dictatorship. It is a brotherhood. The decision must be collective. And it must be rooted in more than tactical necessity." He turned to face Liu Feng. "Prepare the men. Full assembly, tonight. No drills. We talk."
---
That evening, the great chamber of Site Echo was packed. Thirty-four men sat on the cold stone, their breath mingling in the candlelit gloom. The veterans occupied the front, their faces etched with the gravity of the summons. The newer recruits fidgeted, sensing a turning point.
Li Fan stood before them, not on a dais, but on the same level. He carried no weapon.
"For over a year," he began, his voice carrying easily in the silent cave, "we have survived. We have fought bullies, warlords, and a Kuomintang battalion. We have built trust with the people of this valley. We have become something unique—a brotherhood of skill and purpose." He paused, meeting the eyes of his original five, then letting his gaze sweep the ranks. "But we have always been reactive. We defend. We retaliate. We survive. The world outside is changing. The Japanese wolf is at the door of our nation. A real war is coming, one that will wash over this valley like a flood."
He picked up a piece of chalk and drew a rough map of China on the wall. "The Kuomintang in Nanjing talks of resistance, but its heart is in crushing internal dissent. It is a fractured, corrupt machine. It will lose this war because it does not trust its own people." He then drew a rough circle in the north. "There is another force. One that has been driven across this country, yet grows stronger. One that arms the peasants, teaches them to read, and fights with a political purpose as sharp as any bayonet. The Chinese Communist Party and its Red Army."
The words hung in the air. For many of the local recruits, the CCP was a rumor, sometimes a dark one spread by Kuomintang sympathizers. For the veterans, it was the mysterious source of Commissar Deng's visits.
"We have a choice," Li Fan continued. "We can remain independent. We can be a small, sharp knife in this valley, until a larger hammer finds us and shatters us. Or we can join our strength to a larger cause. Not as subordinates to be disbanded, but as specialists who can teach, who can shape how that army fights."
Xu Hong stood up, his regular army background giving him a practical skepticism. "Sir. With respect. The Red Army is poor, ill-equipped, and hunted. Joining them is not a path to safety. It is a path to more hardship, maybe annihilation."
"You are correct, Xu Hong," Li Fan said, surprising him. "It is not safe. It is necessary. The Kuomintang will never give power to the people in these villages. They will never give Old Luo his land back, or guarantee Chen Rui's family won't starve. The CCP's promise—the promise I believe they will fight for, and die for—is to build a country where the man with the calloused hand has as much say as the man with the gold ring. That is why we fight. Not just for survival, but for the world that comes after."
He was speaking from a future they could not imagine, from decades of witnessing the arc of history. His conviction was a physical force in the cave.
Chen Rui stood, his youthful face serious. "My father was beaten to death by a tax collector for Magistrate Gao. The Kuomintang officer we captured laughed about it. The Red Army commissar who came asked about our harvest. I… I believe the Commander. I want to fight for something that builds."
One by one, the veterans spoke. Zhao Quan, voice steady: "We have followed you from nothing. If you say this is the path to truly protect the people, I follow." Liu Feng, analytical: "Their need for our skills is our leverage. We can retain our integrity within their structure." Zhang Wei, boiling it down: "The Kuomintang took my anvil. The Reds fight the ones who take anvils. My choice is made."
The debate lasted hours. Fears were voiced: political indoctrination, loss of freedom, being used as cannon fodder. Li Fan addressed each one honestly. They would remain a cohesive tactical unit. They would focus on military training and operations. Their value was their skill, and that would be their shield.
Finally, Old Luo's nephew, Xiao Jun, now a squad leader, spoke for the local recruits. "My uncle says you are the only soldiers who ever gave back more than you took. If you vouch for this Red Army, we trust you."
It was not a unanimous vote, but it was a consensus. The company would seek to join the Chinese Communist Party's forces.
"But we do not go empty-handed," Li Fan announced. "We bring a dowry. Liu Feng."
Liu Feng unrolled a detailed map. "The complete defensive layout, patrol schedules, and supply depots of the Kuomintang 3rd Battalion. As well as logs of their interactions with Japanese 'advisors.'"
"A final gesture," Li Fan said. "We gift this intelligence to the Red Army. We demonstrate our value, and we cripple a local Kuomintang unit that will inevitably harass their rear. We strike one last time as shadows, then we step into the light."
---
Date: February 28, 1937
Location: The Northern Bank of the Yan River, Designated Contact Point
The meeting was arranged through old, careful channels. Commissar Deng was there, but he was not in charge. Beside him stood a taller, leaner man with a calm, assessing gaze and the weathered face of a career soldier. He wore a simple Red Army uniform with no insignia, but his authority was palpable.
"Captain Li," Deng said formally. "This is Senior Commander Wang of the Eighth Route Army Headquarters."
Li Fan saluted, a crisp, modern PLA salute he couldn't break habit of. Commander Wang returned a more traditional one, his eyes missing nothing—the bearing of the men, the quality of their modified gear, their disciplined silence.
"Commissar Deng's reports were not exaggerations," Commander Wang said, his voice gravelly. "You wish to join the Revolution?"
"We wish to join the fight for China's future," Li Fan corrected, meeting his gaze squarely. "And we believe the Communist Party is the only vehicle for that future. We offer our company, our skills, and this." He handed over Liu Feng's intelligence packet.
Commander Wang took it, his eyebrows rising slightly as he scanned the contents. He passed it to an aide. "This is… significant. It shows capability and commitment. But the Party is not a mercenary force. Why do you wish to join?"
Li Fan spoke not for himself, but for his men. He pointed to Chen Rui. "His father, murdered by a feudal levy." To Zhang Wei. "His livelihood, stolen by a corrupt garrison." He swept his hand across the company. "They are all men who have been failed by the old China. They fight for a new one. We have trained them to fight well. We ask for the chance to fight where it matters most, under the banner that promises to build that new China."
The political answer, grounded in the men's real grievances, was the correct one. Commander Wang nodded slowly. "The Party welcomes all true revolutionaries. Your unit will be inducted as the 1st Special Service Company, 8th Route Army. You will retain operational autonomy for special missions. You will also accept a Party political instructor to integrate you into our political work. Your primary mission will be to train scout and sabotage detachments for our frontline units. Your first deployment will be to the Shanxi front later this year, to conduct reconnaissance against Japanese positions."
It was real. It was happening.
"There is one more thing," Li Fan said. He turned to his company. "We do not join as individuals alone. We are a brotherhood. Those of us who wish to, should have the right to apply for membership in the Chinese Communist Party itself, to understand and carry the cause we fight for."
This was the critical, non-negotiable step. Integration was not just military; it was political. To survive the coming civil war, they needed to be of the Party, not just alongside it.
Commissar Deng's eyes lit up. Commander Wang gave a slow, approving nod. "That can be arranged. Instruction will be provided."
That night, in a clearing under a sky dense with cold stars, a different ceremony took place. Before Commander Wang, Commissar Deng, and a simple red banner with a golden hammer and sickle, Li Fan and his nine veterans stood in a line. The newer recruits watched, understanding they would follow in time.
They raised their right fists.
Commissar Deng's voice was clear in the freezing air. "Do you swear to uphold the program of the Communist Party, to fight for the liberation of the Chinese people, to submit to Party discipline, and to keep Party secrets, even at the cost of your life?"
Li Fan's voice joined with those of Zhao Quan, Liu Feng, Chen Rui, Zhang Wei, Xu Hong, Lin Mao, Wang, and Bao. "I swear!"
The words were an oath to the past and future. In that moment, the Shadows of the Valley ceased to be outlaws. They became revolutionaries. They had woven their fate inextricably into the fabric of the Party and the army that would one day forge a new China. The long, bloody road to Yan'an was behind them. The even longer, bloodier road to national victory lay ahead, but they would now walk it with the weight of history, and the might of a cause, at their backs.
End of Chapter 13