南竿，一九七三
張東瀛
2009-07-16 完稿， 2010-06-23上網
無灞橋煙水，也無十里長亭。夜晚的基隆港，星空映照船影，冷豔中帶著淒涼。悄悄地，登陸艇開始移動，越過東方皇后號，就要離開碼頭。不久，岸上的燈光終於消逝。雖說男兒志在四方，冒著九級風浪出海，心境卻瀟灑不起來。忽然間，一個巨浪打來，船身晃了兩下，坦克艙中的人和背包，如同煎鍋裡的香腸，不停地翻滾著。不知過了多久，終於聽見有人大喊「看到陸地了」。從搖擺的甲板遠望，馬祖列嶼像在潮中下碇的風帆，不停地起伏上昇。下午一時三十分搶灘。我要報到的地點在鐵板，還有一段路要走。車子在山道上拐來拐去，遠方傳來砲聲隆隆。到達連部，天色已暗。吃過飯，在燭光下才發現，餐廳原來是蘆葦搭蓋的草寮。
儲水澳西南方有一座廢碉堡，看來是五零機槍陣地。三向開窗，從射口可以遠眺海面。太陽偶爾露個臉，一下子又躲起來。若是春雨綿綿，羊腸小徑準是泥濘滿佈。從露儲場可以俯視港口和西尾，放眼北望，第三根通訊桿盡頭，就是北竿和高登。三、四月間，春霧正濃，馬祖港宛如罩上白紗，只聽到氣笛聲嗚嗚乍響，霧薄時候，諸島就在虛無縹緲間了。媽祖廟前，有幾個人在編竹筏。粗大的麻竹先用草繩捆綁，再塞上木楔，便緊靠一起。有一次我從小徑下山，看到一艘漁船正在海裡衝浪。金黃色陽光，從灰黯的雲隙灑落，風很急，浪很高，雷電交加，小舟卻不屈不撓。年青力壯的負責打漁，老人和婦女忙著煮魚、曬魚。丁香魚在陽光下閃閃發亮，孩子們聚精會神把玩彈珠。像他們那樣的年紀，我也常在地上流連，曾幾何時，看到玻璃珠子，卻有陌生的感覺。
潮水沖擊岩石，浪花飛濺。梅石澳口，不時傳來稀稀落落的槍聲。還在睡夢中的鳥雀，突然從樹叢飛出。一九七三年九月二十七日凌晨五時三十一分，金池二號演習的第二天，我們已經在壕溝裡蹲了一夜。天氣有點涼，太陽仍在地平線下，只有幾道紅霞，偶爾從濃密的雲層穿出。排陣地在六八高地前緣，左方是第一班，右方是第二班，兩挺機槍火網交叉，剛好封鎖澳口。第三班在高地背面，傳令不時跑上跑下，一下子毒氣來了，一下子心戰喊話。幾度喧嘩過後，周遭又恢復靜寂。秋桂山一帶，看來十分安祥。天主堂旁邊有幾頭乳牛，悠閒地吃草，我卻擔心，那兩箱手榴彈全是真的，不曉得會不會有人好奇打開。驀地，一片血紅映入眼簾；石蒜花正盛開，讓人怵目驚心。從望遠鏡裡，隱約還可見到蘆花在微風中輕搖，朝露點點滴滴。幸運草原本下垂的葉子，不知何時展開了。海風陣陣吹來，天空沒有一絲雲彩。好不容易捱到傍晚，一眉新月在落日餘暉中閃爍著。敵軍已經奉命休息，弟兄們也取出便當大口吃著。傳令兵把一張「請把飯多裝一點」的字條放進空飯盒。他不知道，過了今晚，演習就要結束了。
午夜時分，沒有月亮。全副武裝的戰士，由儲水澳魚貫而出。途經秋桂山，風不太大，只是有點刺骨。部隊過了珠螺，霧氣從海面掩至，星光逐漸消失。戰備道微微可循，小徑已被暗夜吞沒，兩公尺外一片漆黑。走過一段下坡碎石山路，幾個弟兄東倒西歪，所幸只是有驚無險。步兵碉堡幾乎全在海邊。耳際傳來怒濤拍岸，猶勝萬馬奔騰。值班的哨兵，在寒風中經常凍得發抖。這些充員戰士，眼看著牆上蠟炬，不知何時返台，難免跟著淚痕斑斑。沿著海岸繞上一圈，最快也要四個小時。回到駐地，濃霧瀰漫山谷，兩碗熱粥下肚，寒意盡除。不久，遠處傳來幾聲雞啼，天尚未破曉，井邊的轆轤已經轉個不停。
天氣相當晴朗，坐在碉堡裡，不時聽到鳥鳴。桃花初綻，春日已近。樹林裡的斑鳩突然展翅，似乎發現有人偷窺。隔壁步兵的公雞，喔喔叫了幾聲。通往海灘的小路，被無情的雷區阻隔，不知危險的牽牛花，卻放肆地爬滿四周。池邊的芒草，長得約有一人高。從壩頂流下的山泉，經過層層土石，到達下游彎曲處，已經變得清澈透明。山谷背風面，林木相當茂盛。松果早已掉光，殘存的楓葉與藍天白雲相映，分外悅目。澳口的海水，平靜無波。桃花正在吐蕊，迎風漫步，有一種酸酸麻麻的感覺。陽光照在臉上，很溫暖，原來是三春暉。老枝奮力抽出嫩葉，小蟲忙著翻開新土，當相思樹綴滿黃花，蟬聲響起，我也要買棹歸航。
細雨打在玻璃板上，冷風夾著水氣吹入車窗。我拉高衣領，突然發現山隴和清水在雨霧裡顯得格外青翠。遠處漁帆片片，山道蜿蜒曲折。峰巒路樹、滿佈偽裝的碉堡和石砌小樓構成一幅美麗的圖畫。車過八角亭，微雨初霽，不覺想起李白的「菩薩蠻」。兩年的軍旅生活，即將在南竿的碧空下結束。這裡，無曉角悲鳴，無薤露垂淚，卻有戎馬的倥傯，和喚不回的青春歲月。遠離市囂，面對千山萬水，一朝回首，方知所見，仍是十里紅塵。
又是五月黃梅天。聽！碉堡外狂濤怒吼，風過蘆葦，絲絲作響。歸期已屆，再會吧！南竿。
「南竿，一九七三」，是我的服役側寫。歷經多年，走馬燈般的回憶，沉澱出這篇短文。彼岸花正紅，腦海中一再浮沉的影像卻是暮春時節，儲水澳的野百合與鐵板的轆轤。當年因緣際會，如今物換星移。謹以此文紀念1973-1974戍守戰地的馬祖同胞和弟兄們。
Setting Sail
There's no Ba River's smoke or Ten-Mile Long Pavilion. In the night of Keelung Harbor, the starry sky reflects the shadows of the ships, a cold brilliance tinged with desolation. Quietly, the landing craft begins to move, crossing over the Queen of the East, about to leave the pier. Before long, the lights on shore finally fade away. Though a man's ambition lies in distant lands, setting out to sea amidst a stormy sea, the mood cannot be lighthearted. Suddenly, a huge wave hits, the boat sways twice, and the people and backpacks in the tank compartment tumble like sausages in a frying pan. After who knows how long, someone finally shouts, "Land ahoy!" From the swaying deck, looking into the distance, the Matsu Islands appear like sails anchored in the tide, rising and falling continuously. Landing at one thirty in the afternoon. The place I need to report to is Tieban, with a long way to go. The car twists and turns on the mountain road, and distant cannon fire can be heard. Arriving at the camp, it was already dark. After dinner, it was only under candlelight that I realized the restaurant was originally a thatched hut.
Sketch of the Harbor
To the southwest of Wushui Bay, there is an abandoned bunker, apparently a machine gun position from the fifties. Three windows facing different directions, offering a view of the sea from the gun ports. Occasionally the sun peeks out, then hides again. If it's drizzling in the spring, the narrow paths are sure to be muddy. From the dew storage yard, you can overlook the harbor and Xitou, and looking north, at the end of the third communication pole is Beigan and Gaodeng. In March and April, with the spring fog thickening, Matsu Harbor seems to be veiled in white gauze, with only the sound of the foghorn echoing. When the mist clears, the islands disappear into the void. In front of the Mazu Temple, some people are building bamboo rafts. Thick bamboo is tied together with grass ropes and wedged together. Once when I was walking down the path, I saw a fishing boat surfing in the sea. The golden sunlight sprinkled through the dark clouds, the wind was strong, the waves were high, the thunder and lightning were frequent, but the boat remained resilient. The young men were busy fishing, while the old men and women were busy cooking and drying fish. The pomfret sparkled in the sunlight, and the children were engrossed in playing marbles. At their age, I used to roam around on the ground, and sometimes, when I saw glass marbles, I felt a strange sensation.
Combat Readiness Exercise
The tide hits the rocks, and spray flies. At the mouth of Meishi Ao, sporadic gunfire can be heard. Birds still sleeping suddenly fly out of the trees. At 5:31 a.m. on September 27, 1973, the second day of the Jinchi No. 2 exercise, we had been squatting in the trenches all night. The weather was a bit chilly, the sun was still below the horizon, with only a few streaks of red clouds occasionally breaking through the thick clouds. The formation is on the edge of the 68th high ground, with the first platoon on the left and the second platoon on the right, with two machine guns crisscrossing, blocking the mouth of the bay. The third platoon is on the back of the high ground, the messenger running up and down, sometimes poisonous gas comes, sometimes psychological warfare. After a few noisy moments, silence returns to the surroundings. The Autumn Laurel Mountain area looks quite peaceful. There are a few cows next to the church, leisurely grazing, but I worry that those two boxes of hand grenades are all real, and I don't know if anyone will be curious enough to open them. Suddenly, a blood-red scene appeared before my eyes; the garlic flowers were in full bloom, making people's hearts ache. Through the telescope, you could still faintly see the reeds swaying in the breeze, with dewdrops dripping down. The lucky grass, whose leaves were drooping, had opened up at some point. The sea breeze blew, and the sky was cloudless. It was finally dusk, and a new moon was twinkling in the afterglow of the sunset. The enemy had been ordered to rest, and the brothers took out their lunchboxes and ate heartily. The messenger put a note in an empty lunchbox that read, "Please put more food in next time." He didn't know that after tonight, the exercise would be over.
Tactical March
At midnight, with no moon in sight, fully armed soldiers filed out of Wushui Ao. Passing through Qiugui Mountain, the wind was not too strong, but it was a bit chilly. The troops passed by Zhuluo, and mist began to cover the sea surface, gradually obscuring the starlight. The war road could barely be discerned, the trails had been swallowed by the dark night, and it was pitch black two meters away. After walking down a section of downhill rocky mountain road, a few brothers stumbled, luckily it was just a scare. Almost all the infantry bunkers are by the sea. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore could be heard from afar, even louder than ten thousand galloping horses. The sentries, freezing in the cold wind, often shiver. These combat soldiers, watching the candles on the wall, don't know when they'll return to Taiwan, inevitably shed tears. Along the coast, it would take at least four hours to complete the circuit. Back at the camp, the thick fog filled the valley, two bowls of hot porridge warmed the chill away. Before long, a few roosters crowed in the distance, the sky was not yet dawn, and the well-side windlass was already turning non-stop.
Half a Day in Floating Life
The weather is quite sunny, sitting inside the bunker, occasionally hearing bird chirps. The peach blossoms are just blooming, indicating the approach of spring. Suddenly, the spotted doves in the woods spread their wings, as if they've detected someone spying. The rooster from the neighboring infantry crows a few times. The path leading to the beach is ruthlessly blocked by minefields, yet the unaware morning glories boldly climb all around. The reeds by the pond are about as tall as a person. The mountain spring flowing down from the dam, passing through layers of soil and stones, reaches a bend downstream, becoming clear and transparent. The windward side of the valley is lush with trees. The pine cones have long fallen off, and the remaining maple leaves against the blue sky and white clouds are especially pleasing to the eye. The sea water at the mouth of the bay is calm and waveless. The peach blossoms are budding, swaying in the wind, giving a sour and tingly sensation. The sunlight on the face feels warm—it turns out to be the spring sunshine. The old branches vigorously sprout new leaves, while insects busily turn over new soil. When the acacia tree is adorned with yellow flowers and the cicadas start singing, I too must set sail for home.
The Long Pavilion Becomes Shorter
Fine rain beats against the glass, and cold wind mixed with moisture blows into the car window. I raise my collar, suddenly noticing that the mountains and clear water appear particularly lush in the rain and fog. In the distance, fishing sails dot the landscape, and the mountain road winds and twists. Peaks, roads lined with trees, and camouflaged bunkers and stone buildings form a beautiful picture. Passing by the Octagonal Pavilion, with the light rain clearing up, I can't help but think of Li Bai's "Ballad of the Goddess." Two years of military life are about to end beneath the azure sky of Nangan. Here, there's no mournful cries at dawn, no tears of bitter dew, but there are the hustle and bustle of the military and irretrievable years of youth. Far from the noise of the city, facing thousands of mountains and rivers, looking back one day, I realize that what I saw was still the hustle and bustle of life.
It's the May season of yellow plums again. Listen! Beyond the bunkers, the roaring waves echo, and the wind rustles through the reeds. The time to return has come, farewell! Nangan.
Afterword
"Nangan, 1973" is my portrayal of military service. After many years, memories like a revolving lantern have precipitated into this short essay. While the amaryllis is in full bloom, the recurring images in my mind are from late spring—the wild lilies of Wushui Ao and the windlass of Tieban. Circumstances have changed since then. With this text, I respectfully commemorate the Matsu compatriots and brothers who served in the front lines of 1973-1974.
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