THE LESSONS OF HISTORY:

THE CHINESE PEOPLE’S LIBERATION ARMY AT 75

Edited by

Laurie Burkitt

Andrew Scobell

Larry M. Wortzel

July 2003
ii

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ISBN 1-58487-126-1
iii

CONTENTS

Foreword 

Ambassador James R. Lilley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . v

Part I: Overview. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

1. Introduction: The Lesson Learned by China’s Soldiers

Laurie Burkitt, Andrew Scobell, and Larry M. Wortzel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3

2. China’s Defense Establishment: The Hard Lessons of Incomplete 

Modernization 

Paul H. B. Godwin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

Part II: The Services . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59

3. PLA Ground Forces Lessons Learned: Experience and Theory

Dennis J. Blasko. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61

4. PLA Air Force, 1949-2002: Overview and Lessons Learned 

Kenneth W. Allen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89

5. The People’s Liberation Army Navy after Half a Century: 

Lessons Learned in Beijing

Bernard D. Cole. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157

6. The People’s Liberation Army and China’s Space and Missile Development: 

Lessons from the Past and Prospects for the Future

Mark A. Stokes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193

Part III: The Campaigns. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251

7. How Beijing Evaluates Military Campaigns: An Initial Assessment

Ron Christman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253

8. From Surprise to Stalemate: What the People’s Liberation Army 

Learned from the Korean War — A Half-Century Later

John J. Tkacik, Jr. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293

9. Concentrating Forces and Audacious Action: PLA Lessons 

from the Sino-Indian War

Larry M. Wortzel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 327

10. The 1979 Chinese Campaign in Vietnam: Lessons Learned

Edward C. O’Dowd and John F. Corbett, Jr. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 353

11. The Lessons of the 1995-1996 Taiwan Strait Crisis: Developing a New Strategy 

Toward the United States and Taiwan 

Arthur S. Ding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 379
iv

Part IV: Domestic Deployments and Civil-Military Relations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 403

 

12. Lessons Learned from the Cultural Revolution and the Tiananmen Massacre 

June Teufel Dreyer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 405

13. Seventy-five Years of Civil-Military Relations: Lessons Learned

Andrew Scobell . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 427

About the Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 451
v

FOREWORD

With the armed forces of the People’s Republic of China 

celebrating their 75th anniversary on August 1, 2002, it only seemed 

appropriate and timely to take stock of the world’s largest military. 

The People’s Liberation Army (PLA) has officially been in existence 

for three-quarters of a century, and its history is one filled with 

turmoil and warfare. One weekend in September 2002, a group of 

PLA specialists gathered at Carlisle Barracks, the home of the U.S. 

Army War College, to assess what lessons China’s soldiers had 

drawn from the history of their own armed forces. 

This volume constitutes the final product of months of extensive 

research by the individual authors and hours of intense discussion 

at the 3-day conference by approximately 50 participants. The 

conference was sponsored jointly by the American Enterprise 

Institute, the Heritage Foundation, and the U.S. Army War College. 

It is with great pleasure that I commend this book to anyone with a 

serious interest in the Chinese military.

Ambassador James R. Lilley

Senior Fellow

American Enterprise Institute
PART I:

OVERVIEW

3

CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCTION:

THE LESSON LEARNED BY CHINA’S SOLDIERS

Laurie Burkitt

Andrew Scobell

Larry M. Wortzel

The title of this volume, “The Lessons of History: The Chinese 

People’s Liberation Army at 75,” captures well the overall theme 

of the twelve chapters that follow. The primary focus is not on 

summarizing the lessons that analysts or scholars from outside 

China have learned when they look back at the past three-quarters 

of a century of Chinese military history. Rather, the emphasis of 

this volume is to assess key lessons that the top ranks of the People’s 

Liberation Army (PLA) have drawn from their own military’s 75-

year history. The reader should be clear at the outset: this volume 

is not a comprehensive up-to-date overview of the state of the PLA; 

nor is it a comprehensive 75-year history of the Chinese communist 

military. Anyone seeking these will have to look elsewhere.1 The 

primary value of this volume, we believe, is that it provides insights 

into what Chinese military leaders themselves take from their past. 

Learning Chinese Lessons and Avoiding Pitfalls of Analysis.

The PLA is certainly not monolithic and to attribute a single, 

collective point of view is foolish, if not futile. Nevertheless, the 

contributors to this volume attempt to distill lessons learned by the 

Chinese military as an institution. However, in many cases, it is 

impossible to assert with 100 percent reliability what precise lessons 

have been gleaned by the PLA. Wherever possible, the contributors 

have used Chinese published source material originating from 

within what Paul Godwin calls “China’s Defense Establishment.” 

Moreover, it should be noted that the analyses in this volume are 

based entirely on open source materials. 

There are challenges for any outsider researching a military 

organization, and there are particular challenges in studying an 
4

opaque institution like the PLA.2 Since analysts are not always privy 

to the classified studies conducted for the internal use of the Chinese 

military, there is the ever-present danger of dutifully parroting the 

propaganda published in official works produced for public and/or 

foreign consumption. Often the researcher is left to read between the 

lines, discerning what is left unsaid or taking the logic of the official 

printed lesson a step further. These challenges can be partially 

overcome by supplementing open sources with internally circulated 

materials wherever possible and through interviews and firsthand 

observation. For the non-Chinese researcher, another challenge 

to be overcome in studying China’s armed forces is that of mirror 

imaging. Many PLA analysts today have served or are serving in the 

militaries of their own countries and still others work in the defense 

intellectual communities.3 There can be a tendency to presume that 

all militaries think and operate more or less like one’s own does. 

Yet, the kinds of lessons the U.S. Army may draw from a particular 

experience may be very different from those that might be drawn by 

the PLA’s ground forces. Fortunately, mirror imaging is kept under 

control because most specialists have had to immerse themselves in 

Chinese language, history, and culture often for a decade or more. 

Many have spent months--if not years--of their professional lives in 

China with day-to-day interaction with the PLA. 

Lessons or Reactions? Individual or Institutional? Learned or 

Lost?

What is a lesson? As conference participant Wendy Frieman 

cautioned, lesson should not be conflated with reaction. Soldiers and 

strategists often have gut reactions. But these are not the same as an 

individual or an institution learning a lesson. Even if an individual 

battlefield commander has learned a lesson, that does not mean an 

army as a whole has absorbed a lesson. Dennis Vetock, in his history 

of U.S. Army Lesson Learning, observes:

An army learns lessons after it incorporates the conclusions 

derived from experience into institutional form. Out of the 

commander’s experience may come a lesson, and from that lesson 

may come new or adapted doctrine or perhaps dissemination of 

potentially useful information. Only after its institutionalization 
5

can the lesson be correctly described in the past tense as a lesson 

learned. Until then it remains just a lesson or usable experience, a 

semantic distinction that few fully appreciate.4

Moreover, just as lessons can be learned, they can also be “lost.”5

In short, for a military lesson to be truly “learned,” it must result 

in a real change or transformation and this kind of thoroughgoing 

institutional change can take years, if not longer. Indeed, 

fundamental change does not come quickly or easily to a large 

bureaucratic organization such as a military institution.6

Military Modernization: Lessons and Frustrations.

The history of the PLA in the eyes of its 2.5 million service 

members is a glorious one of heroic struggle and triumph over 

insurmountable obstacles. A fundamental lesson learned by the 

PLA is that the weak can triumph over the strong. No matter how 

daunting the difficulties and how superior the foe appears to be, 

ultimate victory is possible if selfless Chinese soldiers and civilians 

doggedly pursue their tasks. After all, China built an atomic bomb, a 

daunting undertaking,7 and the PLA Navy and Air Force developed 

from extremely humble beginnings, each officially established as a 

separate service in 1949. While the PLA remains an overwhelmingly 

“muddy boots” military, its air and naval arms have made significant 

progress in recent decades in terms of quality of equipment, caliber 

of personnel, and operational capabilities. Here it is worth quoting 

General Liu Zhen, who recalled thoughts he had running through 

his mind when he was appointed commander of the air force of 

the Chinese People’s Volunteers on the eve of China’s military 

intervention in the Korean War. General Liu wrote in his memoirs 

that upon his appointment, he had to admit to himself that the whole 

subject of airpower was a “mystery.” In fact, he had absolutely no 

experience in commanding aircraft formations. Liu went on to state 

the obvious: “. . . in our level of tactics and technology we were way, 

way below those of our enemy [i.e., the U.S. Air Force].” In facing 

his apparently hopeless task, Liu could only draw inspiration from 

the fact that the PLA had long struggled against unbelievable odds 

on the battlefield, always learning through a painful process of trial 

and error. He was comforted when recalling: “I . . . had a resolute 
6

thought running through my mind over and over again: the cause 

of the revolution had all along developed out of nothing, gone 

from small to big, developed as a brutal, difficult, death-defying 

struggle.”8

More recently, the PLA has undertaken a massive, wholesale 

transformation from a mass peasant infantry to smaller, highlytrained, and well-educated integrated army that stresses high 

technology and is capable of waging modern 21st century warfare. 

The PLA’s failings were well-understood by some senior leaders back 

in the mid-1970s: Deng Xiaoping, for example, bluntly criticized the 

military for being “bloated, lax, conceited, extravagant, and inert.”9

Such failings became glaringly evident during the 1979 war with 

Vietnam (see Chapter 10 by John Corbett and Edward O’Dowd). 

But the process of defense transformation was not started in earnest 

until the mid-1980s and, today, some two decades later, still remains 

incomplete. There is continued frustration at the slow pace of 

change and at some of the glaring failings that remain, perhaps none 

more so than the inability of China’s military industrial complex to 

produce, with a few notable exceptions such as ballistic missiles, 

complete indigenous modern weapons systems that the PLA can 

promptly deploy.

If We Hadn’t Acted the Situation Would Have Gotten Much 

Worse . . . .

Chinese analysts and military historians tend to look at conflicts 

in which the PLA was involved and claim success each and every 

time. In part, this likely represents propaganda and human nature: 

to pronounce any military operation a failure risks incurring the 

wrath of one’s superiors, not to mention a natural tendency to reject 

the idea that soldiers died for naught. But this publicly claimed 

100 percent success rate also seems to represent a widespread and 

sincere belief among Chinese civilian and military leaders that 

China did the right thing in every instance. The logic of this belief 

can be explained with reference to what Thomas Christensen calls 

“trend analysis.”10 According to this concept, the PLA used force in 

a particular instance with the goal of countering negative trends that 

are extremely harmful to China’s national interests. In the logic of 
7

Chinese strategists, even if these trends were not halted or reversed 

by military action, they were at least mitigated. That is, if China had 

not used military force in a particular instance, then things would 

have gotten even worse. For example, Beijing judges the 1995-96 

Taiwan Strait Crisis to have been a success because negative trends in 

Taiwan and the world were checked. If China had not made a show 

of force, the situation would have further deteriorated. Indeed, as 

Ronald Christman notes, China’s leaders do not tend to evaluate the 

success of a military operation in terms of the operational outcome 

(as measured by any quantitative metric of casualties inflicted or 

received) but rather in terms of the impact of the conflict on the 

“overall situation.” 

At the risk of sounding trite, we suggest a primary implication to 

be drawn from trend analysis might be that, after the fact, China’s 

leaders never seem to have seen a war they didn’t like. What we 

mean is that the overall lesson these individuals seem to draw from 

instances since 1949 where China used military force is that these 

were justified, measured, and correct. We are certainly not trying 

to argue that China’s soldiers or civilians are warmongers. On 

the contrary, like dedicated soldiers the world over, the men and 

women of the Chinese military seem to view war as a necessary evil 

and desire to fight only as a last resort. However, neither do we 

claim that Chinese soldiers are dovish; on the contrary, uniformed 

members of the PLA tend to be quite hawkish, especially on issues 

such as Taiwan. But “hawkishness” should not be confused with 

“belligerency” or “bellicosity.”11 In the final analysis, decisions 

to go to war usually are not made by soldiers. In China, as in 

most countries, it is civilian superiors who make these decisions, 

albeit often with military advice. While political leaders are not 

necessarily trigger-happy, they do tend to be more willing than their 

counterparts in uniform use military force.12 

If, indeed, when China’s leaders review the last 75 years of 

military history, they have never met a war they didn’t like, then 

this may make Beijing far more predisposed to use force in the 

future than foreign analysts might think. And when China leaders 

assess the strategic environment and determine that macro trends 

are going against China’s national interests, they may decide that, at 

some level, use of military force may be required (likely in tandem 
8

with other nonmilitary measures) to achieve specific political goals. 

Indeed, this appears to be essentially articulated in China’s 2002 

Defense White Paper.

13 It is not implausible to imagine top Chinese 

leaders concluding that use of military force in a particular instance 

is urgently needed and there is an excellent likelihood of success. 

Moreover, Chinese leaders would reason that, not only is military 

action necessary to protect national interests, it is also purely 

defensive in nature, strictly limited in scope, with minimal danger 

of escalation.14

The conventional wisdom is that China has fundamentally 

changed since the era of Mao Zedong. The country has been 

transformed by economic reforms that have seen the country become 

far more prosperous and more integrated into the global economy. 

In Mao’s day, China was poor, autarkic, and saw little to lose from 

military adventures. After 2 decades of sustained economic growth, 

China has far more to lose from a military conflict, no matter how 

limited in scope or duration. This is certainly true. But the above 

analysis, together with recent analyses of China’s use of force since 

1949, presents a more sobering prognosis. What is evident from 

this record of military activity is that Beijing has a proclivity for 

taking calculated risks.15 Furthermore, the PLA’s current doctrine 

of limited war under high technology conditions also makes it likely 

that Beijing will see conflict as an acceptable risk. In Mao’s China, the 

assumption was that war, when it came, would be total and global 

in scope, and the resulting devastation would also be total. Despite 

Maoist bravado, this tended to make China think rather carefully 

before it used force because of the real dangers of escalation. Today, 

from Beijing’s perspective, the dominant trends in the world are 

supposed to be “peace and development.”16 While wars will 

continue to break out, they will be limited and local, with much less 

danger of escalation. For China’s leaders, the macro environment 

and current PLA warfighting doctrine (not to mention improving 

power projection capability) make military conflict more thinkable 

than it was in Mao’s day. This is not to say that China’s leaders 

do not recognize that the costs of a conflict may be considerable, 

particularly to China’s economy,17 but these costs may be deemed 

acceptable if action prevents a critical situation from getting worse.
9

Lessons in Modernizing China’s Defense Establishment.

In analyzing the lessons learned, scholars have feared an 

impending projection of pessimism. Whereas many of their papers 

focus on China’s strategic failures and thus hint at an underlying 

negativity of the PLA, scholars remind us that — in this case — 

pessimism emerges merely by virtue of the analytical theme. Changes 

resulting from positive historical instances do not compare to those 

of their counterparts. China’s military failures have been catalysts 

for change, the reason for reaction, and are thus predominant in 

analysis of the lessons learned.

Limitations on ground operations have opened doors for the 

development of China’s naval and air services in China. In the 

struggle of the Korean War, Chinese military leadership realized 

that the People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN) had the capacity to 

become the military’s essential component for amphibious defense, 

for protecting naval traffic, and for establishing order on coastal and 

inland waters. Bernard Cole writes that, despite PLAN success, such 

as the victory in 1974 over a South Vietnamese task force, Beijing did 

not fully stress naval development until the late 1990s. After the 1996 

Chinese defensive operations--in the face of U.S. naval deployments 

around Taiwan--China carried out a series of modernizations to 

ensure that the navy will be capable of executing defensive and 

offensive national strategic missions. 

Since its establishment in 1949, the PLA Air Force (PLAAF) has 

undergone more than a handful of changes. With a retrospective 

view on PLAAF utility during the Korean War, the 1958 Taiwan 

Strait Crisis, and the 1979 Vietnam border conflict, Kenneth Allen 

examines PLAAF modernizations and concludes that there were 

“lessons learned.” Allen’s chapter reveals that PLAAF leadership, 

organization, theory, operations, weapon systems, and training 

have all proven to be responsive in terms of deployment, defense, 

and modernization. Historically, the PLAAF has faced political, 

budgetary, and structural limitations that have forced officials to 

focus on the necessity of continuous administrative and operational 

updates. 

Though failure has been the impetus for military modernization, 

successful historical performances have also been catalysts for 
10

lessons learned. Larry Wortzel’s chapter on the Sino-Indian War 

focuses on the ability of the Chinese leadership to learn from their 

successful operations. During their war on the borders of China and 

India, the Chinese suffered few casualties and were able to destroy 

key targets within the Indian Army. Their success reinforced 

PLA principles of war: surprise, mass, maneuver, and strategic 

employment of terrain. 

Notwithstanding the claim of success or failure, the Chinese 

military is anything but stagnant. Self-strengthening, self-criticism, 

and self-assessment are familiar terms within Chinese history, and 

the PLA has utilized them in their path to modernization. Paul 

Godwin notes that, in its attempt to develop a new program of 

defense modernization, post-1978 Beijing reviewed the causes and 

consequences of its failure to sustain past programs and began 

revisions based on this assessment. The chaos created by campaigns 

and “misdirected policies” left the PLA in strategic shambles--

shambles that forced the PLA to abandon Mao’s strong desire for 

self-reliance and to reacquaint itself with more reliance on foreign 

assistance. Though the post-Mao era has seen increased use of foreign 

arms in the modernization process, the Chinese long-term objective 

of self-reliance has not been erased. The PLA merely understands 

that it must join the leading international forces in modern warfare 

and that it must be a competent competitor on the international 

front. 

Lessons of Campaigns and Civil-Military Relations.

Beijing apparently lives by the motto that it’s not whether you 

win or lose, but how you play the game. While Western leaders 

concentrate on winning statistics, using quantitative figures 

to weigh military success, CCP leaders assess success through 

subjective, qualitative indicators. According to Ron Christman, 

effective military campaigns in China are measured by the impact 

on the Chinese Communist Party’s ability to maintain control. 

Beijing assesses success through strong central authority, solidarity, 

national unity, and the ability to furnish self-defense. The last item 

on that list provides possible explanations for China’s desire to 

develop and maintain a nuclear retaliatory capability. To secure a 
11

robust international status, the Chinese government pushes missile 

and space development and has launched China into its longest 

period of sustained modernization.

Though the PLA has recently experienced its most expansive 

historical modernization period, PLA warfare strategy has not 

overwhelmingly been transformed in the process. The focus of the 

warfare strategy, however, has shifted. The strategic shifts, discussed 

in John Tkacik’s chapter, illustrate lessons learned from a time when 

obvious weaknesses existed in the ground strength of the PLA--the 

Korean War. Chinese troops in the Korean War were deprived of 

adequate food, ammunition, and sleep. They suffered relentless 

American attacks, and death in the trenches revealed their lack 

of static combat experience. The Chinese quickly saw the value of 

persistence and adequate preparation. They learned, moreover, that 

positional warfare was not their forte. Trained to fight and retreat, 

the army was not skilled in immobile defense. They were, however, 

skilled in the element of surprise and certainly had strength in 

numbers. By fusing the successful elements of their campaigns, 

the PLA demonstrated qualitative evaluation. Their tactical lesson 

learned: in order to take advantage of numerical strength, the army 

must use the element of surprise. 

Operational limitations and complications in the 1979 Chinese 

campaign in Vietnam shaped a massive post-Mao military 

modernization program. In their chapter, Edward O’Dowd and John 

Corbett suggest that ineffective artillery, crude combat engineering, 

and faulty land navigation weakened the 1979 campaign. The extent 

of the failures was so great that infantry schools began to study the 

complications that arose from the disastrous logistics of Vietnam. 

The PLA Academy of Military Sciences even published an analysis 

of the 1979 campaign and identified its weaknesses. Due in part 

to the 1979 failures and subsequent criticism, the PLA has been 

upgrading its training programs and standardizing its equipment 

and procedures. 

The PLA’s role in reunification campaigns has been updated 

more than a few times in the post-Mao era. Arthur Ding notes that 

China’s military intervention in Taiwan’s 1996 presidential elections 

resulted in heightened security in the region, and it forced China 

to realize the necessity of military modernization. Chinese officials 
12

began to understand that reunification battles would not be fought 

in the absence of a militarily superior United States. If military 

reunification is to be successful, China must deter U.S. intervention, 

which would necessitate greater modernization and perhaps a more 

willing Taiwan. The capability gap between the mainland and the 

United States, Ding notes, has affected Beijing’s relationship with 

Taiwan officials and was perhaps a factor in the comparatively 

prudent reaction to Chen Shui-bian’s “one country on each side of 

the Taiwan Strait” remark in August of 2002. 

Subsequent to the challenges of the Cultural Revolution and the 

Tiananmen Square Incident, the Chinese regime has reassessed PLA 

deployment and national security. As highlighted by June Teufel 

Dreyer, the Chinese leadership’s handling of these tumultuous 

periods illustrates the regime’s propensity to resort to military means 

for the sake of regaining control of the population. In order to prevent 

the kind of unbridled military chaos and dominance experienced 

during the Cultural Revolution, Chinese leaders have learned to 

pull in the reigns on military intervention. Post-Tiananmen use of 

the military indicates that the leadership has learned that the PLA 

should not be utilized in situations where it must directly challenge 

popular will. 

The CCP’s past inclination for PLA support has created an 

intertwined relationship in which the party has become almost 

indistinguishable from the gun. In combination with blurred partyarmy relations, military intervention in the 1989 student protests 

sent a message to the Chinese population that the “P” in PLA no 

longer stood for “People’s.” The 1989 suppression signaled an 

alternate meaning for PLA — Party’s Liberation Army. Andrew 

Scobell notes that this alternate meaning had roots long before 1989, 

dating back to the Long March in 1935. The relationship between 

Chinese society and the military has been a delicate one and is often 

under appreciated. Often ignored, however, is the relationship 

between armed forces and the state. As illustrated in the Lin Biao 

incident, ignoring the relationship can be dangerous if loyalty to the 

state is not ensured within the military. Scobell’s chapter reveals that 

the past 75 years have taught the Chinese state that the party-gun 

relationship is mutually beneficial but potentially fragile. The PLA 

may be the one defining feature in upholding a communist China. 
13

There is no doubt among the PLA conference scholars that the 

extended modernization of the Chinese military indicates a series of 

lessons over the past 75 years. Through failure and through success, 

Beijing continues to review its own history and recognizes the value 

of qualified personnel, standardized equipment, and advanced 

training. The evidence indicating the utility of these lessons is 

whether the PLA continues to improve its personnel, upgrade its 

weapon systems, and step up its training schedule. The true test, 

however, will only come when China’s military is forced to prove 

itself in future conflict.

ENDNOTES - CHAPTER 1

1. For a thorough overview of the PLA circa 2003, see David Shambaugh, 

Reforming the Chinese Military, Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California 

Press, 2003; for recent scholarly overviews of the history of the PLA, see the 

chapters by Dennis Blasko, June Teufel Dreyer, William Wei, and Larry Wortzel 

in David A. Graff and Robin Higham, eds., A Military History of China, Boulder: 

Westview Press, 2002.

2. See, for example, Alfred Stepan, The Military in Politics: Changing Patterns 

in Brazil, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1971, Appendix (“Researching 

A Semi-Closed Institution . . . .”).

3. For example, seven of the contributors for this volume are retired U.S. 

military personnel, and one is currently on active duty; three other contributors 

either previously or currently work as civilian analysts in the U.S. defense 

community. 

4. Dennis J. Vetock, Lessons Learned: A History of U.S. Army Lesson Learning, 

Carlisle Barracks, PA: U.S. Army Military History Institute, 1988, p. 128.

5. Ibid., p. 119.

6. General Donn A. Starry, “To Change an Army,” Military Review, March 

1983, pp. 20-27.

7. See the heroic depiction of China’s Manhattan Project in John L. Lewis and 

Xue Litai, China Builds the Bomb, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1988.

8. Liu Zhen, Liu Zhen huiyilu (Memoirs of Liu Zhen), Beijing: Jiefangjun 

Chubanshe, 1990. The quotes and information are from pp. 337, 338, and 342.
14

9. “The Task of Consolidating Our Army,” speech given at an enlarged 

meeting of the Central Military Commission on July 14, 1975, in Selected Works of 

Deng Xiaoping (1975-1982), Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1984, p. 27. 

10. This explication of “trend analysis” is based on the comments made by 

Thomas Christensen during the September 2002 conference and discussions with 

Andrew Scobell. Any error of interpretation is solely that of these authors. 

11. See Andrew Scobell. “Show of Force: Chinese Soldiers, Statesmen, and the 

1995-96 Taiwan Strait Crisis,” Political Science Quarterly, Vol. 115, No. 2, Summer 

2000, p. 228.

12. On China, see Andrew Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force: Beyond the 

Great Wall and the Long March, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003; on 

the United States, see Richard K. Betts, Soldiers, Statesmen, and Cold War Crises, rev. 

ed., New York, NY: Columbia University, 1991.

13. The official English language version reads as follows: “In accordance 

with the needs of national development strategy, the PLA, by employing military 

means flexibly and in close coordination with political, economic and diplomatic 

endeavors, improves China’s strategic environment, reduces factors of insecurity 

and instability, and prevents local wars and armed conflicts so as to keep the 

country from the harm of war.” 

China’s National Defense in 2002, Beijing: Information Office of the State Council 

of the People’s Republic of China, p. 13.

14. See, for example, the analysis in Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force.

15. Allen S. Whiting, “China’s Use of Force, 1950-1996,” International 

Security, Vol. 26, No. 2, Fall 2001; Andrew Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force, 

Conclusion.

16. This has been true for approximately the past 25 years and is still true 

today. For a recent statement of this view, see China’s National Defense in 2002, p. 

5.

17. See, for example, Andrew Scobell, ed., The Costs of Conflict: The Impact on 

China of a Future War, Carlisle Barracks, PA: U.S. Army War College, 2001. 
15

CHAPTER 2

CHINA’S DEFENSE ESTABLISHMENT:

THE HARD LESSONS OF INCOMPLETE MODERNIZATION

Paul H. B. Godwin

PROLOGUE

In the mid-19th century, the Qing dynasty’s antiquated armed 

forces were incapable of successfully defending China against 

the military incursions of the Western powers. Since those first 

humiliating defeats, no Chinese government has developed armed 

forces capable of meeting its most dangerous foreign adversaries 

on equal terms. In part, this is due to China’s modern history. Selfimposed isolation meant that neither the industrial revolution nor 

the scientific knowledge that transformed the West and created 

its military strength penetrated China. Continuous rebellions, 

revolution, internal and international wars so disrupted China from 

the mid-19th century into the mid-20th century that no government 

had the opportunity to industrialize and acquire the science and 

technology that was at the root of modern warfare. The best any 

government could do to enhance its military capabilities was to 

follow the path initially set by the mid-19th century Qing “SelfStrengtheners.”1

 Western weapons and naval combatants were 

purchased and Western military advisers recruited. Arsenals and 

naval shipyards were constructed with foreign assistance. Chinese 

students were sent abroad for military training, and military 

academies based on Western models were established in China. 

This pattern of acquisition and borrowing did not grant any Chinese 

government the military capabilities held by the industrialized 

powers, including Japan, which had been far more successful in 

adopting Western technologies and military methods. 

With its defeat of the Kuomintang (KMT) armies on the mainland 

in 1949, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) inherited a country 

disrupted by a century of internal and international wars. China was 

in political chaos and its economy in a shambles, with no industrial, 

scientific, and technological infrastructure of any consequence. Like 

preceding governments, if the new People’s Republic of China (PRC) 
16

was to build a modern national defense establishment, it could do so 

only with foreign assistance. 

The defense modernization objective set by Beijing sought to 

break the pattern of dependence Chinese governments had to 

accept over the previous century. Although it could do so only 

with extensive Soviet help, Beijing’s long-term objective for the 

modernization programs launched after the Korean War was to 

build a self-sustaining defense establishment as free as possible 

from foreign sources of technology. Chinese industries were to 

equip the People’s Liberation Army (PLA), as the services and 

branches of China’s armed forces are collectively named, with the 

most modern armaments. Nonetheless, in succeeding years Mao 

Zedong’s domestic and foreign policy initiatives prevented China 

from achieving this objective. Today, after 23 years of pursuing 

the defense modernization programs initiated by Deng Xiaoping in 

1978, China remains significantly dependent on foreign technologies 

and foreign technicians. Furthermore, Mao’s policies had denied 

China access to the advances in military technologies that have 

so dramatically changed the weaponry and supporting systems 

of modern warfare. With no opportunity to employ the military 

capabilities these new technologies created as they emerged, China’s 

armed forces have to draw extensively on foreign military doctrine 

and operational concepts as they prepare for war in the 21st century. 

In short, 150 years after the Qing dynasty’s self-strengthening 

movement was launched, China’s defense modernization goals yet 

remain significantly dependent on foreign military technology and 

foreign doctrinal experience and innovation.

It is ironic that, as successor to the country that first assisted the 

PRC in building a modern defense establishment, Russia should 

return as China’s principal source of imported advanced arms, 

equipment and military technology. Moreover, the United States is 

again the potential adversary of greatest concern to China and the 

primary focus of Beijing’s Russian-assisted defense modernization 

programs. Nonetheless, China today is far different from the 

underdeveloped, poverty stricken, politically dislocated society 

the CCP inherited, and China’s security environment has radically 

changed from the threatening bipolar Cold War structure the PRC 

entered in 1949. 
17

This chapter will be devoted to assessing the lessons learned by 

Beijing from the difficult passage its defense modernization programs 

have followed. To accomplish this, the assessment is divided into 

two parts. First, it will review the objectives and multiple causes and 

consequences of the failure to sustain the defense modernization 

programs launched in the mid and late 1950s. Second, the defense 

modernization programs initiated since 1978 will be examined. 

Here the focus will be on the difficulties created by the aborted 

programs of the 1950s and China’s changing threat environment. 

The chapter’s conclusions will concentrate on the lessons China’s 

defense modernizers have learned as they sought to overcome the 

obstacles they confronted and the implications of these experiences 

for China’s future defense establishment.

Defense establishment is a central construct of this chapter. This 

concept is broad and designed to encompass the reality that military 

hardware must be joined with appropriate doctrine, strategy, 

operational principles and training to create an effective defense force. 

Consequently, the concept of a defense establishment includes more 

than just the armed forces. It also embraces the defense industrial 

base, the research and development (R&D) infrastructure, and the 

professional military education (PME) system, research centers, and 

training that prepare the armed forces for near-term security threats 

and potential long-term requirements. 

SETTING THE OBJECTIVES

Beijing’s defense modernization requirements were initially set 

by the experiences and consequences of contesting the Republic 

of China’s (ROC) presence on Taiwan and China’s participation 

in the Korean War. Although KMT forces on the mainland had 

been decisively defeated, the ROC’s continued existence on 

Taiwan presented quite specific military requirements. ROC forces 

continued to garrison offshore islands and provide the basis for 

a revived military capability on Taiwan. Since their 1949 retreat 

to Taiwan, ROC forces had constantly harassed China’s coastal 

shipping and conducted frequent small-scale raids and air attacks 

on the mainland. China’s preparations to evict ROC forces from the 

islands they controlled and to invade Taiwan were suspended by 
18

the outbreak of the Korean War2 but were reinstated with the war’s 

end. The post-Korean War contest to control the Taiwan Strait led 

to major clashes between ROC and PRC forces3 and ultimately a 

1954 mutual defense pact between the United States and the ROC. 

Although Chinese and American forces did not engage one another, 

the ROC received American military assistance in the Taiwan Strait 

confrontations of 1954-55 and 1958, including a U.S. threat to employ 

nuclear weapons.4 With this alliance and the arms and training the 

United States provided the ROC, Beijing’s ambition to conclude the 

civil war and restore China’s territorial integrity by seizing Taiwan 

had to be put off indefinitely. 

Beijing’s poorly equipped expeditionary forces entered Korea 

in October 1950, and for almost 3 years they engaged a United 

Nations (U.N.) coalition led by the world’s leading military power. 

No war China has fought since that time has been as long, costly, or 

bloody. Until the Korean War, commanders of the Chinese People’s 

Volunteers (as Beijing named its expeditionary forces) had not 

experienced the firepower-intensive joint operations conducted by 

the ground, air, and naval forces of advanced industrial states. Since 

the founding of the PLA in 1927 as the Red Army of Workers and 

Peasants, the experience of most commanders had been in irregular 

warfare fought with inadequately armed light infantry units. As it 

rotated forces in and out of Korea’s battlefields, the PLA learned 

much about its own extensive deficiencies in firepower, combined 

arms warfare, logistics, and command and control. By the latter part 

of 1951, when Soviet-supplied tanks and artillery began arriving 

on the battlefield in some numbers, the conflict had ground to 

stalemate where static lines of defense did not allow maneuver 

warfare. Offensive operations were local and tactical. Similarly, 

the PLA had no experience in air warfare until the Union of Soviet 

Socialist Republics (USSR) provided combat aircraft and training 

for the newly established People’s Liberation Army Air Force 

(PLAAF) during the Korean War. Although many Chinese pilots 

gained experience in aerial combat, their missions did not include 

close air support (CAS) and battlefield interdiction (BAI), which 

were standard operational requirements for established air forces.5

Because naval operations were an insignificant component of 

Chinese operations, the recently created People’s Liberation Army 
19

Navy (PLAN) gained no experience in maritime warfare. 

What was to prove extremely influential in China’s defense 

modernization programs was the U.S. threat to use nuclear weapons 

in the closing year of the war.6 This nuclear threat was reinforced 

after the war when the United States adopted a national military 

strategy of “massive retaliation” to be built around a mix of strategic 

and battlefield tactical nuclear weapons.7

Beijing’s experience in the Taiwan Strait confrontations and the 

Korean War created two essential defense requirements. First, to 

acquire ground, air, and naval capabilities that would enable the 

PLA to recover the offshore islands and provide an effective defense 

of China’s territory, coastal waters, and air space. Second, that 

China’s future defense industrial base and R&D infrastructure must 

be capable of supporting the PLA’s requirements for the changing 

technological demands of war in the nuclear age. This was an 

immense task for a developing country lacking the industrial, 

technological, and scientific capabilities required to support such a 

goal. Only the USSR’s willingness to engage in the largest industrial 

and technology transfer program ever to occur between a developed 

and developing country made such a national objective even 

plausible, yet alone possible. 

DEFENSE MODERNIZATION FOR THE NEW ERA

China’s primary security concern was to counter the threat 

posed by U.S. overwhelmingly superior military capabilities both to 

the mainland and to the recovery of Taiwan. This, in turn, required 

the PLA to be transformed and a major investment in the defense 

industrial sector of China’s economy. But, if the CCP was to bring 

China out of its poverty and build the PRC into a great power, 

Beijing also needed to undertake development of the civil sector 

of the economy. The industrial dilemma Beijing confronted was 

to integrate defense requirements with the overall development of 

China’s economy. 

In 1953, Beijing and Moscow signed the first of a series of 

agreements in which the USSR agreed to assist China in the 

construction of an entire defense industrial base and R&D 

infrastructure. Beijing sought to produce a complete range of 
20

modern armaments for ground, air, and naval warfare. Soviet 

technicians assisted in the modernization of China’s shipyards, 

brought Russian-supplied factories on-line, and provided blueprints 

for the weapons these plants were to produce. China’s pursuit of 

advanced conventional weaponry was quickly joined by its quest for 

nuclear arms. In January 1955, Beijing made the decision to develop 

nuclear weapons, and in 1956 to build their ballistic missile delivery 

systems. Both programs were to receive Soviet assistance. In 1958, 

when Moscow refused to support the development of nuclearpowered attack (SSN) and ballistic missile submarines (SSBN), 

Beijing undertook indigenous programs for the submarines and 

solid-fueled ballistic missiles to arm the SSBN.8

Balancing defense production and R&D with civil sector 

requirements was to prove difficult. Beijing had ambitious goals but 

its resources were extremely limited. In particular, the decision to 

develop strategic nuclear weapons received most opposition. There 

were two sources of resistance to overcome.9 Civilians concerned 

with building China’s basic industrial base and technological 

infrastructure saw nuclear weapons programs jeopardizing civil 

sector development. Within the military, a group viewed them 

as diverting too many resources from conventional weapons 

programs. Marshal Nie Rongzhen, the senior officer responsible 

for military R&D, proposed that the strategic weapons programs 

actually served China’s overall national technological progress. He 

and his supporters argued that the sophisticated technologies these 

weapons and their delivery systems required would stimulate the 

development of an advanced technology base for China that at the 

time was essentially nonexistent. The same was true of advanced 

conventional weaponry such as combat aircraft. Ultimately, and 

until the 1980s, the military came to control the most technologically 

sophisticated sectors of China’s industry and dominated the R&D 

programs. Military precedence occurred despite Mao Zedong’s 

pronouncement in his April 1956 report to the Politburo that the 

defense sector had to serve the overall interests of the national 

economy.10

Transforming the PLA into a modern combined arms force 

capable of joint warfare was undertaken as the defense industrial 

base and R&D infrastructure were created. Soviet military advisers 
21

helped establish the new military schools and training centers 

that were to provide officers for a modernizing tri-service PLA. 

Continuing a practice going back to the 1920s, PLA officers were sent 

to the USSR for professional military education (PME) and training 

in Soviet service and branch schools.11 Given China’s extensive 

needs, such a comprehensive level of assistance and the extent to 

which Soviet military advisers were involved in building the new 

PLA, Soviet doctrinal and operational principles were undoubtedly 

introduced. 

Beginning in 1958, these ambitious programs were severely 

disrupted by Sino-Soviet dissension and the domestic economic 

and political crises brought about by Mao Zedong’s “Great Leap 

Forward” campaign and the poor harvests of 1959-60. Mao’s Great 

Leap Forward emphasized quantity over quality just as the defense 

industries were beginning production of weapons from Soviet 

supplied kits. Trapped by Mao’s demand for quantity, defense 

plants began to produce armaments of very poor quality. According 

to Chinese sources, for example, in the years 1959-60 the aviation 

industry did not produce a single acceptable aircraft.12 The SinoSoviet split added yet another blow to China’s defense modernization 

programs. A series of disagreements were creating tensions between 

Moscow and Beijing.13 Attempting to pressure China into accepting 

its positions, in the summer of 1959 Moscow withdrew its support 

of Beijing’s nuclear weapons R&D, and in 1960 ended its assistance 

for both civil and military programs. China then entered an era of 

unwanted self-reliance that left its ambitious defense modernization 

plans in limbo and with a very uncertain future.

Disruption of the post-Korean War defense modernization goals 

was accompanied by Mao’s dispute with the PLA officer corps.14

Mao’s criticisms were not directed at modernizing the armed 

forces’ arms and the development of air and naval power. There 

was agreement that to be an effective fighting force the PLA had to 

be armed with advanced weaponry and that modern arms would 

require changes in doctrine and operational principles. What Mao 

perceived was that in accepting the technology-driven doctrine of 

the Soviet armed forces, the PLA officer corps was also rejecting the 

egalitarian military ethic that so characterized the earlier years of the 

PLA. In its place, the PLA was implementing the strict hierarchical 
22

model of the USSR’s armed forces. Mao’s egalitarian model stressed 

unity between commanders and common soldiers and between the 

army and the “people.” This unity was an integral component of 

the People’s War political-military doctrine that had served the PLA 

and its predecessors so well in the 1930s and 1940s when fighting 

against the materially superior forces of Japan and the KMT. As they 

modernized the PLA under Soviet influence, and, drawing on their 

Korean War experience, senior PLA commanders placed far greater 

importance on advanced weaponry and the capabilities of soldiers, 

sailors, and airman to use these weapons effectively. Mao Zedong’s 

People’s War doctrine was viewed as largely irrelevant to demands 

of modern firepower-intensive combined arms operations. In 1959, 

this clash brought down Marshal Peng Dehuai, defense minister and 

commander of China’s expeditionary forces during the Korean War. 

Peng’s replacement was Marshal Lin Biao, who sought to provide 

a better balance between the demands of modernization and Mao’s 

insistence that the PLA restore his People’s War military ethic.

The Era of Unwanted Self-Reliance: Mao’s Disruptive 

Interventions Continue.

Severance of Russian technical support threw China’s defense 

industrial base and R&D infrastructure into chaos, and the Great 

Leap Forward’s economic dislocation created a budget crisis. 

Facing serious budgetary shortfalls and with no technical assistance 

forthcoming from the USSR, defense modernization priorities had to 

be carefully examined. The summer of 1961 saw the conventional 

weapons lobby inside the PLA try to reduce funding for the strategic 

weapons programs and return to the priority initially granted 

aviation, artillery and armor in the mid-1950s. They failed. The 

argument that programs associated with nuclear weapons did more 

than serve the defense industries but also benefited the national 

economy and China’s overall technological advancement won 

Mao’s support.15 With this decision, R&D for conventional arms 

became minimal. 

Renewing the priority granted strategic weapons set back an 

earlier agreement on the development of conventional arms. In 

December 1960, priorities had been set for each of the industries and 
23

research centers responsible for ground force arms, aviation, naval 

vessels, air defense weapons, cruise missiles and electronics.16 Their 

task was to transition from copying to modifying Soviet systems 

and then to developing and producing indigenous armaments. The 

budget priorities set in 1961 did not grant conventional weaponry 

the resources required to make this transition. The fate of the 

conventional arms industries and R&D received a further setback in 

1964 when Mao Zedong launched yet another damaging initiative--

his “Third Line” strategy. 

As the United States expanded its role in the Vietnam War, Mao 

feared the conflict could spread to China and result in a nuclear 

attack. Drawing on the USSR’s shift of its defense industrial base 

east of the Ural Mountains in World War II, Mao’s Third Line 

strategy was to move industrial and R&D facilities from the coastal 

areas to China’s northwest and southwest interior.17 This massive 

relocation and construction process began in 1965. Over the next 

decade, 1.6 million workers built research facilities, factories, roads 

and railroads in remote parts of central and northwest China. 

Ultimately, 483 factories and 92 research institutes were constructed, 

and thousands of technical and scientific personnel were assigned to 

work in them.18

The Third Line strategy was yet another in a series of Maoist 

missteps. As Chinese sources have stated, the lives of workers and 

research staffs were disrupted, and widely separated institutes 

and factories led to uncoordinated projects and severe production 

difficulties.19 Yet, even as this massive project was underway, Mao 

Zedong launched what was to be his last and most disruptive mass 

political campaign. The Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution 

launched in 1966 tore China apart until Mao’s death in 1976. 

The Cultural Revolution’s decade brought the final blow of 

Mao’s wrecking ball to the PLA, the defense industries and defense 

R&D. The PLA itself was drawn into the internecine warfare that 

marked the highest levels of China’s leadership. Furthermore, for 

10 years China’s armed forces went without any systematic training. 

The navy and air force were torn apart by Maoist radicals. The 

aviation industry, already severely disrupted by the Third Line 

transition, was reduced to a shambles. Indeed, no part of the defense 

industries or R&D infrastructure escaped disruption, including the 
24

strategic weapons programs.20 When the defense industries began 

to put themselves together, the best they could do was produce poor 

quality copies of Soviet armaments from the 1950s.21 The core of a 

nuclear deterrent was emerging, but the delivery systems were of 

questionable reliability and accuracy and, being liquid-fueled, could 

not be kept at high levels of readiness. Nonetheless, China’s first 

SSN had entered service in 1974, and the SSBN was to join the fleet 

a decade later. The priority granted China’s strategic weapons was 

paying off.

Reconstructing the Defense Establishment.

When Deng Xiaoping set out to reconstruct the defense 

establishment in 1978, it had suffered not only from the Cultural 

Revolution’s “ten lost years,” but from the 20 lost years that 

commenced with Mao’s Great Leap Forward in 1958. The most apt 

description of its condition would be one of anarchic obsolescence. 

The strategic weapons programs were the single bright spot to emerge 

from Mao’s years. In all other aspects, the defense establishment was 

a shambles and the task of reconstruction enormous.

The PLA itself was excessively manned and would require 

large manpower reductions. Its basic military doctrine, concepts 

of operations, organization, logistics, and command and control 

required revision to meet the demands of modern warfare. The 

officer corps had to be rebuilt in order to provide a leadership at 

all levels that could conceptualize, plan and conduct contemporary 

warfare. This required renovating the PLA’s long neglected PME 

and research centers. Systematic training had to be restored in order 

that the PLA be prepared for combat operations. The shadow cast 

over these requirements was the basic obsolescence of the PLA’s 

armaments, which were at least 2 decades behind those of the major 

powers. Overcoming this deficiency would be extremely difficult, 

for China’s defense plants were incapable of producing weaponry 

more sophisticated than copies or modifications of Soviet systems 

based on 1950s technologies. The defense industries and R&D 

infrastructure needed resuscitation before they could be a source of 

advanced arms, and, even if Beijing had access to the international 

arms market, China had insufficient funds to purchase modern 
25

weaponry. Nor would the PLA be capable of absorbing advanced 

weaponry and supporting systems. Operations, tactics, logistics, 

and maintenance were based on 1950s weapons. Leaping ahead to 

arms and equipment based on 1970s technologies without extensive 

preparation was simply not plausible. There was in fact no “quick 

fix” for the 20 years of neglect the PLA, especially the conventional 

general-purpose forces, had suffered under Mao Zedong’s 

dominating influence.22

Beyond the sheer complexity of the task and scarce resources, 

two additional factors contributed to the slow, incremental 

approach to defense modernization mandated by Deng Xiaoping. 

First was the absence of any significant external assistance. In the 

1950s, Soviet support had been central to the rapid construction 

of a modern defense establishment. In 1978, there was no source 

of foreign assistance that could come even close to the extent of 

support the USSR had provided. China’s 1972 rapprochement 

with the United States would quickly become formal diplomatic 

recognition, but could not conceivably lead to any major defense 

assistance programs. Deng, however, would use the access to the 

West provided by rapprochement and U.S. diplomatic recognition 

to implement his “open door” (kaifang) strategy. Although obviously 

not immediately beneficial, this strategy would provide access to 

Western defense establishments. Such access would allow both 

the PLA and the defense industries and R&D sectors to understand 

what had passed them by in the 20 years of isolation and turmoil 

Mao had inflicted on China. Knowledge and understanding would 

be gained, but it would be slow. 

The assessment of China’s security environment was the second 

factor. Since Mao’s death, there had been a debate over the degree 

of military threat presented by the USSR. A central argument was 

that the Soviet threat along China’s long border was so menacing 

and close that defense modernization had to be granted the highest 

priority. At the Third Plenum of the Eleventh Central Committee 

held in December 1978, Deng Xiaoping ended the dispute. He 

asserted that although the Soviet Union was China’s principal 

security concern, Moscow’s military threat was insufficiently 

menacing and imminent to require the highest priority in China’s 

resource allocation.23 His position was strengthened by the Reagan 
26

administration’s early 1980s defense buildup and resolve to oppose 

any further expansion of Soviet influence. 

By the mid-1980s, Deng’s guidance to the PLA could state that 

it was no longer necessary to prepare for a major and possibly 

nuclear war. Any future military conflicts would be localized and 

limited in political objectives and geographic scope.24 Furthermore, 

Beijing actively sought to ensure that China’s regional security 

environment was as benign as possible. After Gorbachev’s 

readjustment of the USSR’s foreign and defense policies in the mid 

and late 1980s, relations with the Soviet Union improved to the 

point of rapprochement and its successor, Russia, became a quasially of China.25 The troublesome Sino-Indian border was the focus 

of careful diplomatic management as both New Delhi and Beijing 

sought to avoid remilitarizing their longstanding border dispute.26

Working closely with Russia and the newly independent Central 

Asian states, China developed confidence-building measures such 

that the historically threatening inner Asian frontiers of China were 

no longer a major security concern.27 Tensions remained, especially 

in the South China Sea and over Taiwan, but these were territorial 

and sovereignty issues that did not of themselves threaten mainland 

China. Consequently, as Beijing pursued the reconstruction of 

its defense establishment, the military security of China became 

more assured and less threatening than at any time since the early 

19th century. These same years were accompanied by impressive 

economic growth and development.

Nonetheless, as China’s overall military security improved, 

two developments emerged almost simultaneously that would 

significantly influence Beijing’s perception of its defense 

modernization requirements. First, PLA assessments of U.S. military 

operations in the 1991 Persian Gulf War demonstrated the extent 

to which its forces remained woefully obsolescent in both their 

armaments and operational doctrine. Second, these unsettling 

assessments occurred as Sino-American relations were in the midst 

of their post-Tiananmen degeneration and the bipolar Cold War 

global security environment had become part of history.28 With the 

Cold War’s end and the disintegration of the USSR, the United States 

emerged as the world’s most powerful state. With this transformation, 

China’s strategic value to the United States evaporated. The sale of 
27

150 F-16s to Taiwan in 1992 signaled just this to Beijing. By the early 

1990s, Beijing’s security assessments had concluded that the United 

States was using its overwhelming military, political, and economic 

power to contain and encircle China with reinvigorated military 

alliances. The dispatch of two aircraft carrier battle groups (CVBG) 

to the Taiwan area in response to Beijing’s use of coercive diplomacy 

to intimidate Taipei in 1996 served to confirm China’s convictions. 

Despite the Sino-America summit meetings of 1997 and 1998, the 

United States remained China’s primary security concern. 

China’s 2000 defense white paper made Beijing’s position 

eminently clear. While declaring China’s policy to be one of 

peacefully settling disputes, the white paper cast the United 

States in a distinctly different light: “However, in view of the fact 

that hegemonism and power politics still exists and are further 

developing, and in particular, the basis for the country’s peaceful 

reunification is seriously imperiled, China will have to enhance its 

capability to defend its sovereignty and security by military means.”29

The threatening posture taken by the Bush administration’s 2001 

Quadrennial Defense Review confirmed Beijing’s perception of 

American intentions.30 Indeed, it may well have convinced Beijing 

that it now faces a long-term strategic competition with the United 

States in East Asia that goes beyond the immediate issue of Taiwan. 

Changing Threat Environments and Defense Modernization. 

Changing threat perceptions over the years since 1978 had 

critical consequences for Beijing’s understanding of its defense 

modernization requirements. Deng Xiaoping’s 1985 assessment 

that it was no longer necessary to prepare for major and possibly 

nuclear war with the Soviet Union resulted in a fundamental change 

in China’s national military strategy that continues to reverberate 

throughout PLA doctrine and concepts of operations. The PLA’s 

new strategic guidance was to prepare for local, limited wars 

(jubu zhanzheng) on China’s periphery. These wars were expected 

to be short, probably high intensity, conflicts fought in confined 

geographical areas for limited political objectives potentially under 

conditions of nuclear deterrence. Although a Soviet attack for 

limited political objectives was seen as possible, the 1985 guidance 

broadened the scope of PLA planning from a single-minded focus on 
28

preparation for war with a known enemy to contingency planning 

that included China’s maritime periphery. Strategies based on 

protraction and attrition were seen as ineffective responses to these 

kinds of military contingencies. The most probable future wars were 

expected to break out with little warning. Because they would be 

fought for limited political objectives, the PLA had to be prepared 

for swift, lethal responses to crises involving the threat or application 

of military force with little time for mobilization.31

Seen in this context, the 1991 Persian Gulf War was precisely the 

kind of contingency the PLA had been preparing for since the mid1980s. It was a short, high-intensity war fought for limited political 

objectives within a confined theater of operations. What sent a shock 

wave throughout the PLA was the overwhelming effectiveness of 

U.S. joint service operations fought with high technology arms and 

equipment. The conduct of the Gulf War, especially the synergy 

created by the linkage between military technology and joint 

operations, generated a turning point in Beijing’s comprehension of 

the PLA’s defense modernization requirements for both defensive 

and offensive capabilities. This was reflected in Beijing’s refinement 

of the PLA’s strategic guidance from preparing for local, limited war 

to preparing for local, limited war “under high-tech conditions” 

(jubu zhanzheng zai gaoji jishu tiaojian xia).

Looked at more broadly, over the years since defense reforms 

began in 1979, China’s high priority defense requirements 

transitioned from continental defense with a primary emphasis on 

land warfare where the PLA was most experienced and comfortable 

to defending China’s maritime approaches. This transition shifted 

primary operational responsibility from land to air and naval 

warfare where the PLA had the least experience and was least 

comfortable. Not only was this a demanding transition for the PLA’s 

deeply entrenched ground force culture where the air force and 

navy are subordinate services, but it was joined with the escalating 

importance of military technology. The accelerating importance 

of technology was found in five principal areas. Combat aircraft, 

naval combatants, and ground force weaponry were all benefiting 

from technological advances. Standoff weapons launched from 

aircraft, ships, and submarines were increasing in range, accuracy, 

and lethality. Space systems for intelligence, surveillance, and 
29

reconnaissance (ISR) and communications had vastly increased 

battlespace awareness capabilities. Information warfare (IW) was 

coming of age as an additional realm of defensive and offensive 

military operations. Finally, renewed U.S. R&D in missile defenses 

threatened the continued viability of China’s aging nuclear 

deterrent.

These developments would not have been so important had 

China’s defense modernization requirements been driven primarily 

by potential regional adversaries. Even here, however, regional 

concerns presented difficulties, especially territorial issues in 

the South China Sea. China could establish and sustain a naval 

“presence” in those waters, but until aerial refueling became an 

operational capability, neither the air force nor naval aviation could 

sustain air cover for a naval presence. Without air cover, China’s navy 

was susceptible to air attack; a danger exacerbated by the weak air 

defense systems of its combatants. Despite the low threat environment 

Beijing nurtured across inner Asia, ground forces modernization 

was needed and would have application along China’s extensive 

interior frontiers. Beijing’s primary dilemma, however, was created 

by its perception of the potential threat presented by the United 

States in a military confrontation over Taiwan. Nonetheless, Beijing 

would recognize that military capabilities specifically developed for 

a Taiwan scenario had application elsewhere in the region. 

Lessons Learned. 

As reforms were implemented over the past 20 years, the PLA 

senior leadership learned what is required to conduct contemporary 

warfare. They fully understand that advances in military technology 

have transformed the battlefield. For current and future warfare, 

space and cyberspace have joined the traditional land, air, and sea 

battlefield dimensions to create an integrated battlespace. This 

battlespace is being made increasingly transparent by wide area 

strategic surveillance and tactical reconnaissance made possible by 

advanced military technologies. Mobility, speed, and long-range 

precision guided munitions, together with offensive joint operations 

and information warfare, are recognized as the keys to military 

success in this battlespace. Revisions to PLA concepts of operations 
30

and training concentrate on developing the skills required for joint 

operations,32 and China’s military research centers are focused 

on preparing for the demands of future wars, with a particular 

concentration on information warfare.33

China’s defense industries and R&D infrastructure have similarly 

become aware of their deficiencies and the changes required if they 

are to achieve the level of self-sufficiency Beijing hopes to achieve. 

In response, Beijing has adopted essentially the same strategy it 

applied in the 1950s, but with a critical difference. In the same 

manner that the PLA learned from observing and assessing U.S. 

military operations in the Gulf War and after, Chinese scientists have 

gleaned much from their contact with the United States. In the 1950s 

and 1960s, advanced military technology was viewed as stimulating 

the civil sector of China’s industries. This perspective has now 

changed. When Deng Xiaoping initiated his open door strategy in 

the late 1970s, Chinese began participating in international science 

and technology exchanges and hosting their counterparts in China.34

From these exchanges, China’s weapons developers learned that 

in modern armaments and other military related areas such as 

space systems, many of the components and system integration 

processes are innately “dual use.” Beginning in the 1980s, China’s 

R&D programs reflected the interdependence of civil and military 

technologies. 

This understanding led to the “863” programs for long-term S&T 

development. They were named after the year (1986) and month 

(March) the first program was initiated, with the follow-on “Super863” program commencing a decade later. The first 863 program 

focused on information technologies, biotechnology, astronautics, 

energy, lasers, and new materials. The second concentrated 

on areas that included microelectronics, telecommunications, 

bioengineering, machine tools, computerized manufacturing, 

exotic materials, nuclear, aviation, marine, and space technologies. 

China’s intent to move into the most advanced areas of defense 

research, development, testing and evaluation (RDT&E) and build 

the capability to manufacture weapons and supporting military 

systems based on the most advanced technologies is not in doubt. 

The integration of civilian and military R&D was part of the defense 

conversion process where China’s extensive military industrial 
31

complex was directed to produce products for the civilian market. 

The policy’s intent was not only to assist in developing the civilian 

economy but also to improve China’s military manufacturing 

capabilities, which were abysmal.35 Because of the paucity of 

adequate reliable information, the degree of success being achieved 

cannot be determined. All observers agree, however, that although 

China remains far behind the major industrial powers in technology 

and precision manufacturing, progress in military “niche” areas is 

quite possible.36 It is perhaps more important that China is making 

a concentrated effort to achieve indigenous capabilities in the most 

advanced realms of military technologies--the same objective set by 

Mao Zedong in the 1950s. 

Just as Beijing was encountering the problems created by the 

escalating role of technology in modern warfare, China’s improved 

relations with Russia provided a source of modern arms and 

military technology that existed nowhere else. As China’s economy 

boomed, Russia was experiencing the economic downturn that came 

with the USSR’s disintegration. An expanding economy gave China 

the funds to purchase weapons and military technology, and Russia 

needed sales to keep its defense industries alive. This coincidence 

could not have come at a more fortuitous time for Beijing.

Again reflecting the modernization strategy adopted in the 1950s, 

China’s efforts in defense RDT&E are accompanied by attempts 

to advance its manufacturing capabilities through the licensed 

production of imported weapons and components. China has 

obtained, for example, licensed production rights to the Su-27, now 

being assembled from kits provided by the Russian manufacturer. 

Unlike the 1950s, China is also building its own advanced weaponry 

and platforms, albeit often with imported components, technologies, 

and foreign assistance. These projects include solid-fueled, tactically 

mobile conventional and nuclear ballistic missiles, long-range cruise 

missiles, combat aircraft, naval surface combatants, conventional 

and nuclear-powered submarines, tanks and armored fighting 

vehicles, and air defense systems.

That China’s defense industrial complex deficiencies continue 

to hamper domestic design and production of modern military 

systems is evident from the range of weapons Beijing continues to 

import. Acquisitions from Russia are equipping both the PLA Air 
32

Force and the PLA Navy. These imports include advanced combat 

aircraft together with their ordnance, long-range heavy-lift transport 

aircraft, diesel-electric submarines with their torpedoes and cruise 

missiles, guided missile-armed destroyers, and long-range air 

defense systems. Aerial refueling technologies have also been 

acquired from abroad, and because the U.S. blocked Israel’s sale of 

airborne warning and command system (AWACS) aircraft,37 China 

is actively seeking to acquire this capability elsewhere--most likely 

from Russia.38

PROBLEMS AND PROSPECTS

Despite Beijing’s considerable efforts to modernize its defense 

establishment over the past 2 decades, it is evident that severe 

problems remain. In large part, these problems continue to reflect 

the 20 years when Mao Zedong’s domestic and foreign policies 

resulted in a defense establishment isolated from advances in 

military technology and the changes in military operations these 

technologies made possible. China therefore remains dependent 

on foreign sources for much of its advanced weaponry, ordnance, 

supporting systems, and technology.39

Nonetheless, China is far from the poverty stricken undeveloped 

society and economy that undertook major defense modernization 

programs in the mid-1950s. After more than 20 years of rapid 

economic growth, China is far richer than it was in the 1950s 

and manufacturing capabilities have been upgraded by foreign 

imports. They have not yet reached the standards that exist in 

North America, Europe, or Japan, but manufacturing capabilities 

have been enhanced. China’s scientific and technological personnel 

base has also improved in both size and sophistication. The cadre of 

S&T personnel that was developed and expanded by the weapons 

programs of the 1950s and 1960s have been joined by a younger 

echelon whose training began in the 1980s. Even with all the 

recognized deficiencies, it would be prudent to assume that China 

is far more capable of developing a modern indigenous defense 

industrial base and RDT&E infrastructure than it was in the 1950s.

Extensive reform of the PLA since the late 1970s has provided 

the basic building blocks required for sustained improvements in 
33

operational capabilities. A series of force reductions brought the 

total number of personnel from around 4 million in the early 1980s to 

some 2.5 million in early 2002.40 Officer recruitment has been changed 

to an emphasis on college graduates rather than selecting from the 

ranks of serving enlisted men and women, and advancement in rank 

now requires attendance at the appropriate PME schools.41 The PLA 

National Defense University (PLA-NDU) was established in 1985 

as the armed forces’ first joint service school and their capstone 

PME center. The PLA Academy of Science (AMS) was revitalized. 

Together with the PLA-NDU Institute for Strategic Studies, the 

AMS has generated research in the conduct of war to assist in 

preparing the PLA’s combat arms for contemporary warfare and 

military planners for thinking about potential future requirements. 

Improving the enlisted personnel is being sought through a program 

to build a noncommissioned officer (NCO) corps. First initiated in 

1986,42 the NCO program has accelerated for the past several years. 

The force structure has been extensively changed from what it was 

in the 1970s.43 These force structure changes have been accompanied 

by doctrinal revisions, improved command and control, and more 

realistic training to prepare the PLA for joint service operations.44

There is no sense within the PLA’s leadership that these reforms are 

sufficient, but there is the distinct impression that their armed forces 

are being transformed into a more flexible, quicker responding 

combat force. 

It is plausible to conclude that reforms undertaken since the late 

1970s in the economy, the manufacturing base, the S&T infrastructure, 

and the PLA have reached the point where the modernization of 

China’s defense establishment can now progress quicker than it has 

over the past 2 decades. The task Beijing confronts, however, has 

two critical components: a potential confrontation with the United 

States over Taiwan and the continuing quest for self-reliance. In 

the recent past, both the former Soviet Union and the United States 

abruptly severed military relations with China to demonstrate their 

dissatisfaction with Beijing’s policies or actions. Self-reliance today 

is undoubtedly influenced by these very hard lessons. Despite the 

progress China has made, however, self-reliance must remain a very 

long-term strategic objective. In the shorter term, preparing for a 

possible Taiwan scenario will provide the overriding priority for 
34

defense modernization. 

Whether in the short or long-term perspective, China’s defense 

modernization is focused on obtaining the most advanced weapons, 

ordnance, and technology available. As General Fu Quanyou, 

chief of the PLA General Staff, stated the objective in analyzing the 

challenges facing the PLA in 2002:

. . . we must earnestly implement the strategy of strengthening the 

armed forces with science and technology, vigorously cultivate 

new-type military talents, increase the science and technology 

content of our weaponry, deepen science and technology-based 

military skills, work hard to effect our armed forces’ fundamental 

transition from one characterized by its large personnel to one 

oriented toward quality performance and from a labor-intensive 

model to a technology-intensive model, and take additional steps 

to raise our armed forces’ overall combat capability under hightech conditions.45

An important aspect of this speech before a PLA-NDU class 

of senior officers is recognition that China’s armed forces are yet 

in transition to a modern defense force and that in the military 

environment faced by the PLA, quantity cannot substitute for 

quality. It is just this approach the PLA has applied to future 

warfare against potential adversaries armed with high technology 

armaments. Winning battles against these forces requires weapons, 

ordnance, and supporting systems employing the most advanced 

military technologies.

China’s defense modernization goals are importantly not based 

on matching the capabilities of adversaries as well-equipped and 

trained as U.S. armed forces, but on countering them. In assessing 

these requirements, PLA analysts returned to their core military 

doctrine from the late 1930s and its focus on how to defeat materially 

superior enemies. In part, PLA assessments have sought to determine 

what advanced military technologies are required to defend against 

U.S. advantages and exploit perceived American vulnerabilities. In 

analyzing U.S. military doctrine and observing American operations 

over the past decade, these analyses have come to quite specific 

conclusions. 

• A military confrontation with the United States will involve nuclear 
35

deterrence.

• U.S. operations place highest emphasis on degrading enemy defenses in 

the opening phase of a war, therefore PLA bases, command and control 

facilities, air defenses, and other high priority military targets will come 

under immediate attack.

• U.S. weapons of choice for degrading China’s defenses will be long-range 

precision guided munitions launched from ships and aircraft. 

• The “hard” attack of munitions will be coordinated with the “soft” attack 

of information warfare.

Major U.S. vulnerabilities are:

• Dependence on foreign-hosted bases and extended lines of logistical 

support for sustained combat operations in the West Pacific.

• Dependence on space systems for the command, control, communications, 

intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance that make U.S. offensive 

joint operations so effective.

• Dependence on aircraft carrier battle groups for the opening offensive air 

operations, including cruise missile attacks.

Although the PLA anticipates it will have to confront the 

United States with a mix of old and new weapons, acquisitions and 

indigenous development programs focus on developing advanced 

technology capabilities to offset specific U.S. advantages and exploit 

American vulnerabilities. To evaluate PLA problems and prospects 

in these tasks, it is useful to break them down into three broad 

missions areas: strategic deterrence, mainland defense and offshore 

defense. 

Strategic Deterrence.

Beijing’s strategy is based on “minimal deterrence” logic. This 

logic assumes that even states with overwhelming nuclear power 

can be deterred from the threat or use of nuclear weapons if credibly 
36

threatened with a second strike. The adversary’s uncertainty that its 

first strike has failed to eliminate all of China’s strategic weapons 

provides the second strike threat.46 As Beijing states China’s nuclear 

posture:

China maintains a small but effective nuclear counterattacking 

force in order to deter possible nuclear attacks by other countries. 

Any such attack will inevitably result in a retaliatory nuclear 

counterstrike by China. China has always kept the number of 

its nuclear weapons at a low level. The scale, composition and 

development of China’s nuclear force are in line with China’s 

military strategy of active defense.47

The force structure48 supporting this logic is currently composed 

of around 20 liquid-fueled Dong Feng-5/5A (East Wind–DF) fullrange intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBM). The DF-5 achieved 

initial operating capability (IOC) in 1981, with its numbers gradually 

increasing over the past 2 decades. Because these weapons are liquidfueled, they cannot be maintained at high levels of readiness, but 

are normally deployed unfueled in their silos with their warheads 

stored separately. Fueling the launchers and mounting the warheads 

can take 2-4 hours. The second long-range weapon in China’s 

inventory is the 3,400-mile range liquid-fueled DF-4 deployed since 

1980. There are now perhaps 20 of these weapons, which have the 

same limitations as the DF-5/5A. China’s single SSBN armed with 

12 solid-fueled 1,000-mile range Ju Lang-1 (Big Wave — JL-1) ballistic 

missiles entered service in the late 1980s. This ship has been so 

troublesome over the years that it likely never became operational 

and is a doubtful component of China’s strategic forces.

These strategic forces are complemented by a regional deterrent 

force of perhaps 90 warheads deployed on intermediate-range 

ballistic missiles (IRBM). There are some 40 DF-3A liquid-fueled 

mobile missiles with ranges of 1,700 miles. With an IOC of 1971, 

these are Beijing’s oldest weapons. China’s newest IRBMs are the 48 

solid-fueled mobile DF-21As with a range of more than 1,000 miles 

that achieved IOC in the mid-1980s. American bases in the West 

Pacific are within the effective range of both weapons.

Modernization programs to replace the inaccurate, unreliable, 

slow-responding liquid-fueled systems with more reliable, accurate, 
37

quicker responding solid-fueled tactically mobile weapons were 

initiated in the early 1980s. Tactical mobility was sought to reduce 

the vulnerability of China’s forces to a disarming first strike, thereby 

sustaining the uncertainty principle at the root of Beijing’s deterrent 

strategy. Four new weapons form the heart of China’s modernization 

programs. The 7,500-mile range DF-41 was to replace the DF-5, but 

may have been cancelled or delayed by development problems. The 

DF-4 is to be replaced by the 5,000-mile range DF-31. The DF-31 also 

serves as the basis for the 5,000-mile range JL-2 submarine-launched 

ballistic missile (SLBM) for the new SSBN class (the 09-4 program), 

should this project come to fruition. The fourth weapon is the 1,000-

mile range DF-25, which will replace the aging DF-3. This system 

employs the first two stages of the DF-31 three-stage launcher. 

As it anticipates deploying more capable nuclear forces, Beijing 

faces an increasingly complex strategic environment. In part, this 

stems from the weaponization of India’s and Pakistan’s nuclear 

programs. Of greatest concern to China, however, are U.S. ballistic 

missile defense programs (BMD), especially given the higher 

priority they have received from the Bush administration. The 

danger Beijing perceives is quite straightforward. Even a “thin” 

deployment of 100 terminal defense interceptors could threaten 

the viability of a Chinese deterrent based on as few as 20 weapons. 

Some Chinese strategists may well be apprehensive about a 

particular scenario where the United States becomes confident that 

its BMD will capture whatever retaliatory forces are launched after a 

disarming first strike. Such confidence undermines the uncertainty 

principle upon which China’s deterrent depends. Under these 

conditions, China could be exposed to the threat of nuclear coercion 

— something Beijing refers to as “nuclear blackmail.” Should the 

United States be successful in theater missile defense, which is now 

part of what the Bush administration conceives as a single integrated 

missile defense strategy,49 China’s regional deterrent would also 

become threatened. 

China’s potential response to American BMD programs involves 

a number of feasible options.50 With so much invested in developing 

a new family of nuclear weapons, including the 09-4 SSBN class and 

a submarine-launched ballistic missile, cost will not necessarily 

constrain China’s choice. Additionally, with an operational ballistic 
38

missile defense some distance in the future, Beijing is under no 

immediate pressure to make a firm commitment to a radically 

changed strategy and force structure. These conditions suggest that 

the most probable Chinese response will be to increase the number 

of weapons and warheads to reinforce the uncertainty principle 

at the root of its minimal deterrence strategy. This can be done 

most effectively by keeping the DF-5 family on line and adding the 

tactically mobile DF-31 armed with multiple reentry vehicles (MRV), 

including penetration aids. Because China has the capability,51

arming its missiles with multiple independently targeted reentry 

vehicles (MIRV) warheads is a probable option. Whether or not 

China will go ahead with the 09-4 class SSBN is unclear. Given 

that the JL-2’s range is believed to be around 5,000 miles, an 09-4 

SSBN could strike the United States from waters close to China. 

This capability would assist the uncertainty principle embedded in 

China’s deterrence doctrine. SSBNs could also be seen as a reserve 

force to be fired should a retaliatory strike of land-based weapons be 

defeated by missile defenses.

A particular political constraint may limit the size of the force as 

Beijing’s planners think through their potential responses to BMD. 

China has a longstanding commitment to “no first use” (NFU). That 

is, China’s nuclear forces are retaliatory and will not be used first 

or against a non-nuclear state. A major buildup of nuclear forces 

would cast doubt on China’s NFU commitment and alarm China’s 

Asian neighbors as well as the United States. Such a buildup would 

suggest a more aggressive strategy and make it difficult for Beijing 

to argue as it has done for many years that its nuclear forces are 

strictly defensive. Thus, Beijing will consider what increase in force 

size it can defend as a response to U.S. BMD as it seeks to preserve 

its uncertainty principle.

Going beyond sustaining its minimal deterrence strategy brings 

China into realms of technology that it has yet to master. Launch 

on warning requires space-based sensors to identify the source 

and dimensions of an attack in near real-time to provide sufficient 

warning for a retaliatory strike. China’s R&D in space-based sensors 

is known,52 but when these programs will produce operational 

capabilities is not known. 

Given that a U.S.-layered BMD capable of providing multiple 
39

engagement opportunities along the entire path of ballistic missiles 

at all ranges is only plausible in the far distant future, it is most 

probable that Beijing will delay any major strategy and force 

structure change. Ensuring the uncertainty principle by increasing 

the number of launchers, especially tactically mobile systems, 

and mounting MRV/MIRV warheads is well within China’s 

technological capabilities. Whatever constraint Beijing places on 

the size of the force structure will depend on the intersection of two 

factors. First, how many launchers and warheads China’s strategists 

believe are required to penetrate an initial U.S. BMD, which will 

almost certainly be a terminal defense system. This requirement will 

be balanced by whatever Beijing believes is the maximum number 

of launchers it can deploy before its nuclear strategy is seen as more 

offensive than defensive in its intent. 

Defense of the Mainland.

Chinese military analysts anticipate that in the opening phase of a 

war the United States will seek to crush China’s defenses and cripple 

the PLA’s ability to conduct sustained offensive operations. PLA 

authors had identified offensive operations as central to American 

military doctrine from their Gulf War assessments,53 but defense 

of China’s mainland did not become a central issue until NATO’s 

mid-1999 Allied Force operations against Serbia. The turning point 

appears to have been the analysts’ estimate that 95 percent of the 

weapons used against Serbia were PGMs, whereas only 8 percent of 

the weapons employed against Iraq were precision-guided.54 The 

escalating employment of precision munitions becomes important 

when PLA planners assume that in a military confrontation over 

Taiwan U.S. forces will follow their doctrine and will initiate their 

campaign by launching intensive PGM attacks on China’s air 

defenses, air and naval bases and missile launch sites. These “hard 

attack” weapons are expected to be joined with the “soft attack” 

of electronic and information warfare designed to disrupt PLA 

communications, air defense, and intelligence networks. From 

observing the U.S.-led campaign against Serbia, some PLA analysts 

assume that transportation hubs, fuel reserves, oil refineries, and 

other economic targets will also come under attack.55
40

China’s deficiencies in defense are exposed as the PLA devises 

ways to offset U.S. offensive capabilities. China lacks an integrated 

air defense system (IADS), therefore its antiaircraft artillery (AAA) 

and surface-to-air missiles (SAM) are limited to point defense. This 

does not provide an effective defense when aircraft and cruise 

missiles will be attacking their targets from multiple directions. 

Nor is it likely that the PLAAF will be able to gain and sustain air 

superiority. Consequently, the PLA has concentrated its near-term 

defenses on low-tech responses to a high technology attack. These 

include camouflage, deception, dispersal and hardening of military 

facilities to limit the effectiveness of U.S. reconnaissance and the 

damage inflicted by weapons. Defense of military communications 

is critical and will depend in part on redundancy. China has long 

placed priority on constructing a national C4I (command, control, 

communications, computers, and intelligence) infrastructure that is 

secure, mobile, and less susceptible to hard and soft attack. Defense 

against offensive information operations is a priority, but it is 

difficult to determine what progress has been made.

In reporting China’s defense measures, the military press has 

placed great emphasis on the “three attacks and three defenses” 

training program. This rubric covers attacking stealth aircraft, cruise 

missiles, and helicopter gun-ships and defense against precision 

attacks, electronic warfare, reconnaissance, and surveillance.56 Great 

successes are claimed for this training, but a far less optimistic note 

was sounded by an unidentified Group Army deputy commander 

writing in the Beijing Military Region newspaper.57 He charged 

that training for the three attacks and three defenses was far too 

“idealistic.” Training exercises were criticized for underestimating 

the generation gap between the weapons employed by the attacking 

and defending forces, and that imagination was given precedence 

over reality. As examples, he cited the use of rifles to down 

Apache helicopters and artillery to attack Tomahawk cruise missiles. 

Misconceptions such as these, he declared, were not only wishful 

thinking, but also using such misconceptions in training would 

produce bad results. It is necessary to defeat the enemy using 

existing equipment, the critique concluded, but that to be effective 

training must be realistic and “seek truth from facts.”

It is no surprise that the application of People’s War methods to 
41

mainland defense has received considerable attention. In addition 

to the expected mobilization of militia, reserve, and People’s Air 

Defense (PAD) units, the Chongqing military garrison introduced 

the “militia network warfare fendui.” This unit, reportedly the 

first of its kind in the PLA, was formed out of graduate students, 

professors, and other computer specialists to conduct network 

warfare.58 Additional People’s War tactics suggested are the use of 

civil-defense installations to store military supplies and the use of 

local telecommunications, media and network systems, and civilian 

technological services to assist the military.59 Major General Yao 

Youzhi of the AMS credited Serbia with using People’s War methods 

to preserve its military strength when under attack and declared that 

Mao’s doctrine will remain a “magic weapon for prevailing over 

enemy forces in the future.”60

All of these efforts to offset U.S. technological and operational 

superiority will have some measure of effectiveness, but they do not 

solve China’s basic problems in conducting an effective defense. Its 

weapons are mostly obsolete and the PLA’s current C3 (command, 

control, and communications) network is inefficient.61 Point defense 

of essential military facilities may be reasonably effective, but a 

truly capable air defense will require China to integrate advanced 

Russian SAMs into an IADS. Here, the PLA has long recognized 

the requirement for an effective intelligence, surveillance, and 

reconnaissance (ISR) capability to provide warning of an attack.

Following the pattern set by almost all of China’s advanced 

technology military programs, ISR capabilities are being sought 

through a combination of indigenous efforts, importing foreign 

technologies, international cooperation in space programs, and the 

acquisition of complete systems.62 R&D and acquisitions are being 

applied to space, airborne, ground, and sea-based platforms. For 

its space programs, China can build on its cooperative endeavors 

with Russia, Ukraine, Britain, France, Germany, and Italy. With 

the possible exception of Russian and Ukrainian assistance, it is 

doubtful this cooperation contains specifically military applications. 

Nonetheless, the foreign technology and advice China receives 

for civil projects can be transferred to military programs. Space 

systems will be complemented by ground-based over-the–horizon 

radars (OTHR), and tactical reconnaissance will be conducted by 
42

manned aircraft and unmanned aerial vehicles (UAV). When these 

programs and acquisitions mature, China will have the capability 

to continuously monitor and track air and naval activity in the West 

Pacific, thereby greatly improving defense against air and missile 

attack.

Offshore Defense.

China’s pursuit of ISR capabilities serves offshore defense as 

much as it does defense of the mainland. As in all other areas 

of advanced technology warfare with the exception of nuclear 

weapons and ballistic missiles, the sharp point of the PLA’s spear is 

currently formed by foreign acquisitions and imported technologies. 

In particular, Russia is supplying China’s most advanced combat 

aircraft and naval combatants. These acquisitions are complemented 

by indigenously developed aircraft, ships, and submarines built in 

China but using some imported technologies and sometimes with 

foreign assistance. The follow-on SSN to the current five Han-class 

ships will probably incorporate Russian technology. Although far 

from the cutting edge of modern armaments, these indigenous 

weapons are more capable than those derived from Soviet models 

of the 1950s and early 1960s that yet equip much of the PLA.63 These 

acquisitions appear to support an “area denial” strategy. Reviewing 

Chinese assessments of U.S. vulnerabilities, this strategy appears to 

have three central components.

• Keeping U.S. aircraft carrier battle groups (CVBG) as distant as possible 

from China’s maritime periphery by threatening them with cruise missile 

attack from aircraft, surface combatants, and submarines together with 

torpedo attack.

• Threatening foreign-hosted American bases with cruise and ballistic 

missile attack to hamper U.S. capabilities to conduct sustained combat 

operations, especially air operations, from these facilities.

• Developing the capabilities to attack U.S. space systems, thereby degrading 

the ISR and communications capabilities that make American military 

operations so effective.

Because they entail both defensive and offensive operations 
43

and tactics, these objectives require substantial improvements in 

China’s air and naval capabilities. By shifting China’s maritime 

defense several hundred miles seaward the navy would lose the 

protection provided by land-based air defenses. PLAN ships do 

not have an area defense capability and few have a competent point 

defense against air and cruise missile attack. Moreover, except 

possibly for the newly acquired Russian Sovremenny guided missile 

destroyers (DDG), China’s surface combatants have only limited 

anti-submarine warfare (ASW) capabilities. Consequently, a PLAN 

surface fleet cannot successfully defend itself against a sophisticated 

and competent adversary. Certainly, the PLAN is aware of these 

deficiencies and is seeking to overcome them — again primarily 

with imported weapons and technologies. 

Air and naval operations against a U.S. CVBG are equally, if not 

more, demanding. First, one has to assume that China develops the ISR 

capabilities to locate and track a moving battle group. Depending on 

the battle group commander’s interpretation of his tactical situation, 

the CVBG’s defense “bubble” will range out 200 to 400 miles. 64 This 

means that an air-launched cruise missile will have to be very long 

range to be effective. Inside the bubble, attacking aircraft have to 

penetrate the CVBG’s defending aircraft and missiles. Even so, when 

the attacking aircraft launch a cruise missile, it must be able to select 

its target from the defensive decoys and ships forming the battle 

group and survive the area and point defenses directed against 

it. This is a very demanding mission against a navy that prepared 

such defenses against a foe as formidable as the former USSR. Shiplaunched cruise missiles face the same problems, assuming the 

launching ship could get close enough to fire its weapons. 

Yet another alternative mooted in China’s military press is the 

employment of ballistic missiles to attack a battle group.65 Even 

assuming China develops the ISR capability to locate and track 

a moving battle group, a ballistic missile with terminal guidance 

would still have to distinguish the aircraft carrier from among the 

decoys and other ships forming the battle group. This is not an easy 

task. 

The most effective offensive capability being acquired by the 

PLAN is the Kilo diesel-electric submarine acquired from Russia, 

especially the type 636. This is an exceptionally quiet submarine that 
44

can be armed with sub-surface launched cruise missiles and both 

wire-guided and wake-homing torpedoes.66 Even considering the 

ASW capabilities found in a U.S. CVBG, this submarine presents a 

very real threat. Assuming the next generation Chinese SSN (the 09-

3 program) benefits from Russian technology, weaponry, and design 

assistance, the submarine threat to U.S. naval operations over the 

coming decade is going to increase significantly.

Degrading American ISR and C2 is yet another tactic mooted in 

Chinese journals as a way of degrading U.S. offensive operations. 

With so much of American effectiveness dependent upon real-time 

intelligence and communications, crippling the systems that support 

long-range precision attack and joint operations would substantially 

reduce U.S. superiority.67 With so much available from public 

sources, China probably has a quite complete understanding of 

U.S. space systems and operations. It is likely that China is applying 

imported technologies to develop laser radars to track U.S. imaging 

satellites and conducting R&D on jamming the Global Positioning 

System (GPS). Satellite optical sensors are susceptible to damage by 

lasers, so it may be assumed that China is conducting research on 

these capabilities. Jamming communication satellites, airborne early 

warning systems, and the Joint Tactical Information Distributing 

System (JTIDS) is also probably high on China’s R&D agenda. Thus 

far, these capabilities are only in the research stage of development 

and are years from operational application. Here again, however, 

China has made its intent clear.

The final vulnerability seen in U.S. military operations is their 

dependence of foreign-hosted bases for sustained combat operations 

in the West Pacific.68 Long-range land attack cruise missiles (LACM), 

which China is trying to develop, and conventionally armed ballistic 

missiles would be the weapons of choice. Threatening to attack 

these targets would be politically charged and designed to minimize 

primarily Japan’s support for U.S. operations. Whether China 

would undertake to attack bases such as Kadena Air Force Base on 

Okinawa is questionable. Among the issues such attacks would raise 

is whether the United States would see them as widening the war. 

It is very unlikely striking these bases would result in the United 

States backing away from aiding in the defense of Taiwan. It is far 

more likely that whatever restraints the United States had placed on 
45

its operations, other than crossing the nuclear threshold, would be 

lifted in anticipation of a potentially wider war.

China’s Taiwan Dilemma.

The PLA views preparations to counter U.S. military superiority 

in the West Pacific as an essential component of planning for the 

use of force against Taiwan. Beijing assumes that the use of military 

coercion against Taiwan will result in U.S. military intervention. 

This assumption almost certainly contributed to the judgement 

of some PLA analysts that the most effective use of military force 

would be to crush Taiwan’s defenses and compel acceptance of 

Beijing’s reunification terms before the United States had sufficient 

time to intervene. A joint missile and air attack to quickly subdue 

Taiwan’s defenses seems to be at the heart of such a campaign.69

Other military options are available, including variations on an 

intimidating display of military power, blockading the island, and 

an escalation strategy that begins with intimidation and gradually 

increases the level of military coercion before implementing a direct 

attack. These options, however, provide strategic warning to the 

United States and Taiwan, allowing them to coordinate a diplomatic 

and military response to China’s coercion. 

A short, decisive military campaign to compel Taiwan’s 

submission fits into the pattern of operational doctrine the PLA has 

been developing since the mid-1980s, especially the “high-tech” 

variant adopted in 1993. This high-tech variant has been the focus 

of the advanced weaponry and military technology China has been 

importing, and to some extent indigenously developing, for the past 

decade. Nonetheless, for near-term planning the PLA faces a serious 

dilemma when it contemplates a short, decisive high-tech military 

campaign designed to compel Taipei’s compliance with Beijing’s 

demands. First, PLA planners anticipate American intervention. If 

these planners accept that U.S. forces will implement the offensive 

operational doctrine they observed in the 1991 Persian Gulf War 

and after, they are confronted with a difficult task. The advanced 

weaponry in the PLA’s inventory remains limited, therefore the 

units equipped and fully trained with these armaments is limited. 

In planning for a short, decisive campaign against Taiwan, these 
46

forces must be divided among three tasks. Some, perhaps the 

majority, will be assigned to the sudden air and missile assault on 

Taiwan. A second element must be assigned the task of deterring or 

defeating U.S. forces coming to Taiwan’s aid. A third element must 

be assigned to defending critical facilities on the mainland against 

intense U.S. precision attack. Allocating the PLA’s technologically 

advanced air, naval, and missile assets among these three tasks will 

be extremely demanding. Whereas the PLA expects to confront the 

United States and Taiwan with a mix of old and new weapons, the 

new weapons are clearly seen as the sharp point of the PLA’s spear. 

For some years, the PLA will be short of just the weapons it believes 

are required to implement its preferred operational doctrine.

A final dilemma the PLA has to confront is that it has not fought a 

major military conflict since the 1979 border incursion into Vietnam. 

That now distant experience is hardly useful because it was a 

ground war where the PLA had the most experience and against an 

adversary where quantity could play an important role in the combat. 

A military confrontation over Taiwan brings the PLA into a realm of 

military operations it has never experienced: joint warfare fought in 

the air and at sea. Certainly, PLA exercises are increasingly joint and 

realistic, including amphibious warfare, but the Taiwan scenario 

involves confronting the world’s best-equipped, best-trained, most 

operationally experienced armed forces. Furthermore, the PLA will 

be contesting United States forces in realms of warfare where they 

are most experienced--maritime and air power force projection. The 

PLA will recognize what an exacting task this is. 

Ground Forces Modernization: Straddling Inner Asia and the 

Taiwan Scenario.

Although highest priority is now granted preparation for the 

demanding Taiwan scenario, China’s defense modernization 

programs are not myopically focused on this potential conflict. In the 

same manner that air, naval, ISR, and IW programs concentrating on 

a Taiwan confrontation are applicable to other maritime theaters, 

such as territorial disputes in the South China Sea and protection 

of China’s sea lines of communication (SLOC), ground forces 

modernization has benefits that extend beyond a Taiwan scenario. 
47

Undoubtedly, the large joint service amphibious warfare and other 

exercises extensively reported in the Chinese and Hong Kong 

press70 do reflect preparation for a Taiwan conflict. Nonetheless, 

and despite the low threat conditions that currently exist, ground 

forces modernization programs have implications for the defense of 

China’s extensive inner Asian frontiers. The operational doctrine 

driving ground forces modernization parallels that of the air, naval, 

and missile forces. Since the mid-1980s, PLA ground forces have 

concentrated on developing the capability to respond quickly and 

lethally to limited, localized military conflicts along China’s borders. 

The overall objective has been to transform the ground forces from 

the large, lumbering field armies that existed in the 1970s into more 

flexible, quicker reacting forces capable of responding effectively to 

a wide range of potential threats. Since the late 1990s, their training 

has focused on preparing to fight as the ground component of a joint 

operation. 

In striving to achieve their modernization objectives, the 

ground forces have undergone a series of force reductions and 

reorganization.71 In the most recent PLA force reduction of 500,000 

completed in 2000, the ground forces experienced an 18.6 percent cut. 

The air force was reduced by 12.6 percent, the navy by 11.4 percent, 

and the 2nd Artillery Corps manning China’s strategic forces was 

reduced some 2.9 percent.72 Reductions in force (RIF) have been 

undertaken for more than simply slimming down PLA organization 

and reducing manpower costs. They are part of the objective to 

make the ground forces more mobile and quicker reacting. Thus, 

in the recent RIF some 30 combat divisions were reduced to 

brigades. Brigades are a central component of creating what the 

PLA refers to as “rapid reaction” units. Rapid reaction units have 

been complemented by the creation of “fist” and “special operating 

forces.” These types of units, which have been under development 

since the late 1980s,73 include ground, airborne, aviation, and marine 

forces. It appears they received greater emphasis following PLA 

assessments of the Gulf War, and the high visibility given U.S. 

Special Forces operations in Afghanistan will probably spur even 

more attention to these kinds of units.

Modernizing ground forces weapons and equipment has not 

benefited from foreign acquisitions as much as the air and naval 
48

forces. In part this may be because China’s R&D and manufacturing 

plants are more capable of developing and producing modern 

tanks, armored personnel carriers (APC) and artillery than they are 

advanced technology ships and aircraft. It may also reflect that the 

ground forces have a lower priority than air and naval forces. This 

lower priority is perhaps indicated by the fact that although ground 

force aviation units were first formed in the 1980s, there are still only 

around 300 helicopters assigned to them and they continue to lack a 

dedicated attack helicopter. If funds were made available, dedicated 

attack helicopters could be purchased in numbers from Russia along 

with any other rotary-wing aircraft. 

It seems probable that the most modern arms and equipment 

available to the ground forces have been assigned to units that fall 

into three categories. First, those assigned to be part of, and exercise 

for, a Taiwan scenario, especially the amphibious, rapid reaction, 

and “fist” units. Second, forces deployed along particularly 

sensitive border areas, such as the Sino-Indian border. Third, units 

tasked with developing the tactics and learning the maintenance 

requirements for the new weapons and equipment. The knowledge 

and experience gained by these training units is to be passed on to 

other units to prepare them for the new weaponry.

This suggests that the majority of PLA ground forces remain 

equipped with older weapons, but that selected units with high 

priority missions are far better equipped and trained than the 

majority. In this sense, the ground forces reflect the same pattern of 

modernization as the air, naval, and missile forces. What percentage 

of PLA ground forces are capable of quick, decisive, and lethal 

responses to threats on China’s borders cannot be determined 

without access to far more detailed information. It is nonetheless 

evident that some ground force units, and probably an increasing 

number, are now far more capable of conducting rapid response 

joint operations than was true only a decade ago. Again, as with the 

other services, the intent of ground force modernization is clear even 

if the progress made is not.

LESSONS LEARNED

The first and perhaps most important lesson learned by China’s 
49

defense establishment occurred long before systematic defense 

modernization was reinstated as a national goal in 1978. Twenty 

years of Mao Zedong’s mass campaigns and too often misdirected 

policies had left China’s military industrial complex in obsolescent 

chaos, and the PLA corroded into a hulking obsolescent giant. 

Overcoming and correcting these conditions was understood to be 

a long-term process. As Beijing struggled to reconstruct its defense 

establishment over the following 24 years, other critical lessons 

emerged.

When in the 1980s Chinese scientists and technicians began 

participating in international science and technology exchanges, 

weapons developers learned that technologies found in modern 

armaments and the complex supporting systems of contemporary 

and future warfare are often closely tied to civilian products. They 

learned that the components and systems integration processes 

that form much of advanced weaponry are intrinsically “dual 

use.” The same was obviously true for space systems, electronic 

warfare, information technologies, and just about any other area 

of advanced military technology. This allowed China to institute 

R&D on advanced technologies with military applications by 

employing a broad array of civilian scientists and technicians. This 

did not imply that the defense industrial complex could quickly 

and easily be reconstructed. It did mean that high priority research 

programs would have greater resources to work with without 

unduly burdening civil sector research and development as they 

did in the 1950s. In the current era, military and civil R&D are often 

complementary. 

Placing advanced weapons in serial production is far different 

from undertaking R&D on arms and components. The fact that the 

PLA’s most advanced armaments are imported or, as in the case of 

the Su-27, assembled from kits, indicates the severe and continuing 

deficiencies in China’s defense manufacturing plants. Whether this 

has diminished China’s quest for a self-sufficient defense industrial 

complex is unclear. Producing indigenous systems with imported 

components and foreign assistance is a step forward, but it is 

most likely that China’s longstanding pursuit of self-sufficiency is 

understood to be achievable only in the far distant future. 

The principal lesson the PLA has learned over the past 24 years is 
50

that, in both defensive and offensive operations, advanced military 

technologies have made the conduct of contemporary and future 

warfare incredibly complex. China’s planners survey a military 

environment where ballistic missile defenses, space-based ISR, 

long-range precision strike munitions, information operations, and 

all the other advances in military technology present the PLA’s 

current operational capabilities with daunting demands. Even the 

PLA’s much discussed “asymmetric” approaches to a war with the 

United States concentrate on advanced technologies such as laser 

weapons to attack U.S. space systems. More importantly, as the 

PLA assessed U.S. military operations in the Gulf War and against 

Serbia, Mao Zedong’s insistence that man is more important than 

weapons struck home with a vengeance. Whether it is the officer 

corps planning and preparing for war, the soldiers, sailors, airmen, 

and marines fighting the war, or the logisticians supporting the war, 

professional knowledge and training are now recognized as essential 

for military success. Since 1999, a constant theme in speeches by 

senior PLA officers and Jiang Zemin as Chairman of the Party’s 

Central Military Commission is that China’s armed forces must be 

capable of applying advanced weaponry and supporting systems in 

combat. Assessments of U.S. military operations taught the PLA that 

conceptual operational doctrine has to be applied by well-trained 

forces. These demands would not be so high in border disputes 

with many of China’s neighbors, but Beijing’s concerns focus on a 

potential military conflict with the United States over Taiwan. 

China’s search for arms and supporting systems capable of 

contesting U.S. military superiority introduced the PLA to the 

complexity of current military operations. Beyond the already 

difficult demands of conducting joint operations involving ground, 

air, naval, and missile forces are the yet untested tasks of integrating 

wide area and tactical ISR into an ongoing campaign against an 

aggressive and competent adversary. As it has in developing joint 

operations, the PLA is undoubtedly scouring U.S. doctrine and actual 

operations to determine how to do just this. Realistic training in the 

task of integrating ISR into joint operations will be as important 

and in many ways as demanding as the RDT&E and production 

of the systems themselves. What the PLA has learned as it probes 

the demands of contemporary and future warfare is that the more it 
51

understands, the more complex military operations become. 

To remain dependent on foreign arms, military technology and 

assistance for now some 150 years must be a source of profound 

frustration for a civilization that produced one of the world’s 

foremost philosophers of war. There is certainly pride in the 

knowledge that Sun Tzu is seriously studied in the war colleges of 

the world’s most powerful armed forces. However, for what remains 

of the military cadre that fought the Korean War and then saw 

their defense modernization ambitions aborted by Mao Zedong’s 

obsessions, this frustration must be intense. Nonetheless, today’s 

China has dramatically progressed in science, technology, and 

manufacturing skills, and its defense establishment is experiencing 

the longest period of sustained modernization since the PRC was 

founded. This progress and the promises it suggests for the future 

must produce a degree of confidence inside the PLA even as it 

generates apprehension in Asia and the United States.

ENDNOTES - CHAPTER 2

1. For an extremely useful discussion of this period in Chinese defense 

modernization, see John Frankenstein, “Back to the Future, A Historical 

Perspective on Chinese Military Modernization,” a chapter prepared for the 

International Studies Association Annual Meeting, Anaheim, CA, March 1986.

2. He Di, “The Last Campaign To Unify China: The CCP’s Unrealized Plan 

to Liberate Taiwan, 1949-1950,” The Chinese Historian, Vol. V, No. 1, Spring 1992, 

pp. 1-16.

3. See David G. Muller, Jr., China as a Maritime Power, Boulder, CO: Westview 

Press, 1983, pp. 16-31, for an assessment of PLA operations to recover the offshore 

islands.

4. Gordon H. Chang, “To the Nuclear Brink: Eisenhower, Dulles and the 

Quemoy-Matsu Crisis, 1954-1955,” International Security, No. 12, Vol. 4, Spring 

1988, pp. 96-122.

5. Xiaoming Zhang, “China and the Air War in Korea, 1950-1953,” The Journal 

of Military History, No. 62, April 1998, pp. 335-370.

6. Robert Dingman, “Atomic Diplomacy During the Korean War,” and 

Rosemary Foot, “Nuclear Coercion and the Ending of the Korean Conflict,’ both 
52

in International Security, Vol. 13, No. 3, Winter 1988-1989, pp. 50-91 and 92-112, 

respectively.

7. Samuel P. Huntington, In the Common Defense, New York: Columbia 

University Press, 1961, pp. 83-84.

8. Evan A. Feigenbaum, “Soldiers, Weapons and Chinese Development 

Strategy: The Mao Era in China’s Economic and Institutional Debate,” The China 

Quarterly, No. 158, June 1999, p. 289.

9. Ibid., p. 291.

10. John Wilson Lewis and Xue Litai, China’s Strategic Seapower: The Politics of 

Force Modernization in the Nuclear Age, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 

1994, pp. 74-77.

11. William W. Whitson, The Chinese High Command, New York: Praeger 

Publishers, 1973, chapter 11; Muller, China as a Maritime Power, pp. 48-50; Kenneth 

W. Allen, Glen Krumel, and Jonathan D. Pollack, China’s Air Force Enters the 21st 

Century, Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1995, p. 35. 

12. Selections from China Today: National Defense S&T Undertakings, Vols. I & II, 

Beijing, 1992, in Foreign Broadcast Information Service (hereafter FBIS), JPRS Report: 

China’s Science & Technology, May 23, 1994, p. 3.

13. For a summary analysis of these disagreements, see Lewis and Xue, China’s 

Strategic Seapower, pp. 1-20.

14. For a succinct analysis of the issues involved, see Ellis Joffe, The Chinese 

Army After Mao, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1987, pp. 8-10.

15. Feigenbaum, “Soldiers, Weapons and Chinese Development Strategy,” 

pp. 294-296.

16. Selections from China Today: National Defense S&T Undertakings, p. 4.

17. Barry Naughton, “The Third Front: Defense Industrialization in China’s 

Interior,” The China Quarterly, No. 115, September 1988, pp. 351-386.

18. Lewis and Xue, China’s Strategic Seapower, pp. 93-95.

19. Selections from China Today: National Defense S&T Undertakings, p. 4.

20. Lewis and Xue, China’s Strategic Seapower, p. 83; and John Wilson Lewis 

and Xue Litai, “China’s Search for a Modern Air Force,” International Security, Vol. 

24, No. 1, Summer 1999, pp. 67-68.
53

21. Lewis and Xue, “China’s Search for a Modern Air Force,” p. 67-69; and 

Lewis and Xue, “China’s Strategic Seapower, p. 83.

22. These topics have been extensively covered in numerous books and 

monographs, including Ellis Joffe, The Chinese Army After Mao, Cambridge, MA: 

Harvard University Press, 1987; David S. Shambaugh and Richard H. Yang, eds., 

China’s Military in Transition, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997; James C. Mulvenon, 

Professionalization of the Senior Chinese Officer Corps, Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 

1997; and James R. Lilley and David S. Shambaugh, eds., China’s Military Faces the 

Future, Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1999.

23. Harry Harding, “The Domestic Politics of China’s Global Posture,” in 

Thomas Fingar, ed., China’s Quest for Independence, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 

1980, pp. 93-137.

24. Generals Zhang Zhen and Li Desheng’s discussion of the May-June 1985 

directive at a meeting of the Jiefangjun Bao editorial board reported in Ta Kung 

Pao (Hong Kong), February 16, 1986, in FBIS, Daily Report: China (hereafter FBIS 

- China), February 18, 1986, pp. W11-W12.

25. John W. Garver, “Sino-Russian Relations,” in Samuel S. Kim, ed., China and 

the World: Chinese Foreign Policy Faces the New Millennium, Boulder, CO: Westview 

Press, 1998, pp. 114-132.

26. Waheguru Pal Singh Sidu and Jing-dong Yuan, “Resolving the Sino-Indian 

Border Dispute: Building Confidence through Cooperative Monitoring,” Asian 

Survey, Vol. XLI, No. 2, March/April 2001, pp. 351-376.

27. Garver, “Sino-Russian Relations,” pp. 122-123.

28. Thomas J. Christensen, “Posing Problems Without Catching Up: China’s 

Rise and Challenges for U.S. Security Policy,” International Security, Vol. 25, No. 4, 

Spring 2001, pp. 5-40.

29. China’s National Defense 2000, Beijing: Information Office of the State 

Council, October 2000, p. 4.

30. Quadrennial Defense Review Report, Washington, DC: Department of 

Defense, September 30, 2001, Internet version, p. 4. [Although not named, the 

reference to a possible “military competitor with a formidable resource base” 

emerging in Asia is a clear reference to China.]

31. This transition is discussed in detail in Paul H. B. Godwin, “Chinese 

Military Strategy Revised: Local and Limited War,” The Annals of the American 

Academy for Political and Social Science, Vol. 519, January 1992, pp. 191-201.
54

32. There have been numerous articles on the PLA’s transition to joint warfare. 

See, for example, Liu Jun and Zhou Ruhong, “How to Concentrate ‘Capability’ in 

Joint Operations,” Jiefangjun Bao, June 12, 2001, in FBIS-China, July 6, 2001.

33. James C. Mulvenon, “The PLA and Information Warfare,” in James C. 

Mulvenon and Richard H. Yang, eds., The People’s Liberation Army in the Information 

Age, Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1999, pp. 175-186.

34. Evan A. Feigenbaum, “Who’s Behind China’s High Technology 

‘Revolution’? How Bomb Makers Remade Beijing’s Priorities, Policies and 

Institutions,” International Security, Vol. 24, No. 1, Summer 1999, pp. 95-106.

35. See Jorn Brommelhorster and John Frankenstein, eds., Mixed Motives 

Uncertain Outcomes: Defense Conversion in China, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner 

Publishers, 1997, for detailed assessments of these issues.

36. For these assessments see Richard A. Bitzinger, “Going Places or Running 

in Place? China’s Efforts to Leverage Advanced Technologies for Military Use,” 

in Susan M. Puska, ed., The PLA After Next, Carlisle, PA: U.S. Army War College, 

Strategic Studies Institute, August 2000, pp. 9-54; and Roger Cliff, China’s 

Commercial Technology: Implications for Future Military Capabilities, Santa Monica, 

CA: RAND, 2001.

37. “Israel Calls Off Sale of Radar System to China,” Associated Press, July 12, 

2000.

38. John Pomfret, “Russia Likely to Sell Radar to China,” The Washington Post, 

November 19, 2000, p. A-4

39. For a critical assessment of China’s defense industrial reform, see John 

F. Frankenstein, “China’s Defense Industries: A New Course?” in Mulvenon and 

Yang, The People’s Liberation Army in the Information Age, pp. 187-216.

40. Beijing, Xinhua News Agency, March 3, 2002.

41. See Mulvenon, Professionalization of the Senior Chinese Officer Corps, for an 

assessment of the effect of PME on changing the officer corps. 

42. Beijing, Xinhua News Agency, November 27, 1986.

43. For an extremely valuable discussion of force structure changes and the 

accessible sources, see Dennis J. Blasko, “PLA Force Structure Changes: A Twenty 

Year Perspective,” in James C. Mulvenon and Andrew N.D. Yang, eds., Seeking 

Truth From Facts: A Retrospective on Chinese Military Studies in the Post-Mao Era, 

Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 2001, pp. 51-86.
55

44. For a discussion of doctrinal changes, see Paul H. B. Godwin, 

“Compensating for Deficiencies: Doctrinal Evolution in the People’s Liberation 

Army: 1978-1999,” and David M. Finkelstein, “Commentary on Doctrine,” both in 

Ibid., pp. 87-118 and pp. 119-130, respectively.

45. Li Xucheng, “Fu Quanyou Stresses Need to Actively Meet Challenges 

Posed by New Changes in the Military Arena and Vigorously Promote Our 

Armed Forces Modernization,” Jiefangjun Bao, April 26, 2002, in FBIS-China, April 

26, 2002.

46. For the uncertainty principle, see Li Bin, “The Effects of U.S. NMD on 

Chinese Strategy,” Jane’s Intelligence Review, March 7, 2001.

47. China’s National Defense in 2000, p. 6.

48. The size and composition of China’s strategic and regional forces are drawn 

from “NRDC Nuclear Notebook,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, Vol. 57, No. 5, 

September/October 2001, Internet version, pp. 1-3. Development information is 

drawn from John Wilson Lewis and Hua Di, “China’s Ballistic Missile Programs: 

Technologies, Strategies, Goals,” International Security, Vol. 17, No. 2, Fall 1992, 

pp. 5-39.

49. Lieutenant General Ronald T. Kadish, USAF, Director, Ballistic Missile 

Defense Organization, testimony before the House Armed Services Committee, 

July 19, 2001.

50. This discussion draws from Robert A. Manning, Ronald Montaperto and 

Brad Roberts, China’s Nuclear Weapons and Arms Control, New York: Council on 

Foreign Relations, 2000.

51. The Intelligence Community Damage Assessment on the Implications of China’s 

Acquisition of US Nuclear Weapons Information on the Development of Future Chinese 

Weapons, Washington, DC: Central Intelligence Agency, April 21, 1999.

52. Mark A. Stokes, “China’s Military Space and Conventional Theater Missile 

Development: Implications for Security in the Taiwan Strait,” in Puska, ed., The 

PLA After Next, pp. 112-118.

53. See, for example, Sun Hungwei, “New Developments in the Use of 

Airpower,” Jiefangjun Bao, March 22, 1991, in FBIS-China, April 15, 1991, pp. 55-

57; and Dong Wenxian, “Preliminary Study of Modern Territorial Air Defense,” 

Jiefangjun Bao, September 6, 1991, in FBIS-China, October 7, 1991, pp. 41-44.

54. Xu Sheng, “Accurate Attacks Will Dominate Future Battlefields,” Jiefangjun 

Bao, June 22, 1999, in FBIS-China, July 15, 1999.
56

55. Xu Sining, “Analysis on New Characteristics of Rear Counter-Air Strike 

Operations,” Jiefangjun Bao, June 29, 2001, in FBIS-China, June 28, 2001.

56. Chen Youyuan, “Deepen Training in the New ‘Three Attacks and Three 

Defends,’” Jiefangjun Bao, November 14, 2000, in FBIS-China, June 22, 2000.

57. (no title or author given), Zhanyu Bao, October 3, 2000, cited in PLA 

Activities Report, December 13, 2000.

58. Zhongguo Guofang Bao, August 28, 2000.

59. Xu Sining, “Analysis on New Characteristics of Rear Counter-Air Strike 

Operations.” 

60. Yao Youzhi and Zhao Dexi, “How Will China Handle War in the 21st 

Century,” Liaowang, No 2, January 10, 2000, in FBIS-China, February 14, 2000.

61. Annual Report on the Military Power of the People’s Republic of China, U.S. 

Department of Defense, July 10, 2002, (hereafter Annual Report 2002), p. 25.

62. Ibid., pp. 28-29.

63. Ibid., pp. 16-23.

64. I am grateful to Professor Bernard D. Cole of the National War College for 

discussing with me the principles of battle group defense.

65. See, for example, Feng Changsong, Xu Jiafang, and Wang Guosheng, 

“There is no spear that can pierce every shield, and no shield which cannot be 

pierced,” Zhongguo Guofang Bao, March 3, 2002, in FBIS-China, March 28, 2002.

66. Dong Hua, “An Aircraft Carrier’s Natural Enemy: The Anti-Ship Cruise 

Missile,” Junshi Wenzhai, July 1, 2002, in FBIS-China, July 19, 2002, advocates subsurface launched cruise missile attacks jointly with air-launched cruise missile 

attacks.

67. Mark A. Stokes, China’s Strategic Modernization: Implications for the United 

States, Carlisle, PA: U.S. Army War College, Strategic Studies Institute, September, 

1999, pp. 117-123; and Annual Report 2002, pp. 32-33.

68. Colonel Yu Guohua, “On Turning Strong Force Into Weak and Vice Versa 

in a High-Tech Local War,” Zhongguo Junshi Kexue, May 20, 1996, in FBIS-China, 

January 3, 1997, identifies these vulnerabilities.

69. Stokes, “China’s Military Space and Conventional Missile Development,” 
57

presents the case for an overwhelming air and missile attack intended to paralyze 

Taiwan.

70. See, for example, Wei Lin and Song Fang, “Air Division Carries Out Joint 

Live-Fire Exercises With Neighboring Troops, Concentrates Efforts to Enhance 

Night Fighting Exercises at Sea,” Jiefangjun Bao, May 2, 2002, in FBIS-China, May 

6, 2002. Jin Shaoyang, “Areas Within Circumference of 350 Sea Miles Under 

Reconnaissance and Control,” Wen Wei Po, Hong Kong, August 12, 2001, in FBISChina, August 14, 2001, reported a major 3-month joint service exercise directed at 

Taiwan.

71. This discussion draws from Annual Report 2002, pp. 23-25.

72. China’s National Defense, pp. 17-18.

73. See, for example, Li Qianyuan, “A Cursory Analysis of the Characteristics 

of Limited War of the Future,” Jiefangjun Bao, December 19, 1986, in Joint 

Publications Research Service, China Report, No. 048, September 23, 1987, p. 91.

PART II:

THE SERVICES

61

CHAPTER 3

PLA GROUND FORCES LESSONS LEARNED:

EXPERIENCE AND THEORY

Dennis J. Blasko1

The lessons learned by PLA ground forces since their founding 

can be divided into two distinct periods: first, lessons learned 

through their own combat experience from 1927 to 1979 and second, 

lessons from studying the experience of other armies in modern wars 

from 1979 to the present. This division roughly parallels China’s 

revolutionary experience, led primarily by Mao Zedong, followed 

by the period of economic development, characterized by “reform 

and opening,” initiated by Deng Xiaoping. Many of the lessons of 

the revolutionary period are now considered “assumptions” about 

army building in the period of reform. Underlying both periods are 

lessons derived from the pre-modern Chinese military, primarily the 

tenets of Sun Tzu Art of War, and the influence of the Soviet military, 

especially in force structure, doctrine, and equipment.

The lessons learned in the first 52 years of the PLA were derived 

from combat experience in both guerrilla and conventional action 

against the Nationalists (KMT), Japanese, and Americans and their 

allies. The 1979 campaign against the Vietnamese was a major 

influence for the period of reform to follow. Prior to the “selfdefense counterattack,” Deng had already identified many elements 

of future reform, but the bloody combat in northern Vietnam 

provided impetus for their implementation (along with Deng’s 

accession to the country’s primary leadership role). To reinforce the 

value of combat experience, the PLA rotated a series of units to the 

Vietnamese border in the 1980s to expose the troops to battlefield 

conditions.

This chapter will examine each of those two periods in turn. 

Major lessons are categorized into civil-military relations; China’s 

technological level, including the “Red versus Expert” debate; and 

military doctrine, tactics, and force structure.
62

LESSONS FROM THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD

Though there are certainly other sources from the revolutionary 

period, this chapter will rely on the fountainhead of Chinese 

Communist wisdom, the thoughts of Mao Zedong, for its outline 

of lessons learned. While these quotations from the Chairman are 

certainly “party line,” they were selected because of their enduring 

impact on the PLA’s current ideology, force structure, and doctrine. 

There have been numerous modifications to Mao’s lessons over 

the years, but many of his observations have become “traditions” 

in the PLA and are now assumptions used to structure the force 

and formulate its doctrine in the modern period. The examples 

cited illustrate how these lessons remain a major factor in PLA 

modernization.

Civil-Military Relations.

Every Communist must grasp the truth, “Political power grows 

out of the barrel of a gun.” Our principle is that the Party 

commands the gun, and the gun must never be allowed to 

command the Party.2

Though the primary mission of the PLA is defense of the country 

from external threats, it retains a secondary mission of domestic 

security, including protection of senior Chinese Communist Party 

(CCP) leaders.3 Party control of the gun is emphasized foremost here 

because it is likely the army would be called on to perform internal 

security operations if the Public Security police and People’s Armed 

Police (PAP) failed to maintain order.

Party control over the armed forces was not much of an issue 

during the revolutionary period when most Party leaders were or 

had been Army leaders. Of course, internal disputes flared over 

which Party-Army leaders were in control, but except for confusion 

during the decade of the Cultural Revolution that culminated in Lin 

Biao’s alleged coup attempt, the military as a whole stood behind 

the Party. The issue was put to the test in the spring of 1989 when a 

significant number of officers and men failed to follow the orders of 

their chain of command. Nevertheless, the Party prevailed and units 

of the PLA from across the nation applied deadly force against an 
63

unknown number of demonstrators and citizens.

In the following decade, Party and PLA leaders stressed 

“absolute loyalty” to the Party in numerous political slogans and 

campaigns. Ideological training was consistently listed as first 

priority — demonstrated by three of Jiang Zemin’s “Five Sentences 

on Army Building” (“politically qualified, militarily competent, 

good work style, strict discipline, and adequate logistical support”), 

referring to political loyalty and party discipline. In recent years, 

political training has focused on Jiang’s “Three Represents.”

Party control is supervised by the political commissar/instructor 

and Party committee systems that extend from the highest levels to 

basic grass roots units.4 Periods of tension between commanders 

and commissars have occurred, but that tension appears to have 

lessened today even as fewer officers move from one track to 

another.5 Traditionally, the PLA has also been a school to train 

young communists for their eventual return to society as loyal 

servants of the Party.

Though there has been talk of transforming the PLA into a “state 

army,” these efforts were set aside after Tiananmen and, in reality, 

Party control trumps any mention of “state control.” Jiang Zemin 

and Hu Jintao, two Party and state leaders with no formal uniformed 

military experience, head the Central Military Commission (CMC); 

currently no uniformed military officers are found on the Party’s 

highest policy making organ, the Standing Committee of the Political 

Bureau.

The sole purpose of this army is to stand firmly with the Chinese 

people and to serve them whole-heartedly.6

The Red Army was different from warlord and Nationalist 

armies in its relationship to the Chinese peasants and workers. For 

example, the “Three Main Rules of Discipline” and “Eight Points of 

Attention”7 were a code of behavior intended to enlist support from 

the Chinese masses in the Red Army’s fight against stronger KMT 

forces. As a guerrilla force, the Red Army was the fish in the sea of 

the Chinese people.

The concept “serve the people” continues into the modern period 

in the PLA’s provision of labor to economic projects, such as the 

laying of optical fiber lines throughout the country, and especially in 
64

its efforts in disaster relief throughout the country. The manpowerheavy, mobile, and disciplined ground force with logistics and 

helicopter support has regularly been used as a “shock force,” along 

with PAP, reserves, and militia, during floods, earthquakes, and 

other natural disasters. These undertakings have multiple benefits: 

1) they improve the image of the PLA in the eye of the average 

Chinese and 2) they allow the units to exercise their command and 

control and logistics functions while providing valuable leadership 

experience for officers and noncommissioned officers (NCOs) in 

small units.

For the first time in 2002, the PLA included rescue and disaster 

relief operations in its unit training programs.8 Additionally, a total 

of 19 special units to fight floods have been formed in designated 

engineering regiments and brigades.9

We have an army for fighting as well as an army for labor. For 

fighting we have the Eighth Route and New Fourth Armies; but 

even they do a dual job, warfare and production.10

In its early years of fighting against both the KMT and Japanese, 

the Red Army had to fend for itself in remote, rural areas. The 

communists reduced the burden on the peasants by raising their 

own crops and livestock. This tradition continued into the PLA era, 

helping to reduce government expenditures for defense. However, 

the practice got out of hand in the mid-1980s and 1990s during the 

period of rapid economic growth, but of limited official allocations 

to the military. Training time was lost, graft and corruption 

were rampant, and profits were problematic as the PLA moved 

from subsistence farming and light industry into a vast array of 

commercial enterprises.

In 1998, President and Chairman of the CMC Jiang ordered the 

PLA and PAP to divest themselves of most of their commercial 

enterprises. However, as noted by the U.S.-China Commission:

[T]he Chinese government decided to allow the PLA to retain a 

number of production units and enterprises, proving the “notion 

that the PLA is out of business is not true.” Observers estimate 

the PLA has held onto 8,000 to 10,000 such enterprises and units 

of which “a vast majority were subsistence” units like farms and 

food-processing units. Militarily useful enterprises were retained 
65

for national security reasons, most notably telecommunications, 

space and satellite-launch services, radar technologies and optoelectronics, lasers, civil aviation and railways. Some enterprises 

that provided cover for intelligence gathering, national security, 

foreign affairs, and front operations were only partially 

divested.11

China’s Technological Level.

Weapons are an important factor in war, but not the decisive 

factor; it is people, not things, that are decisive.12

Mao’s view of the importance of “man over technology,” 

sometimes criticized as an attempt “to make a virtue out of necessity,” 

was logical at the time for a guerrilla force operating in a country 

with a large population and of limited industrial modernization. In 

1959 Lin Biao modified the precept with the formulation that “men 

and material form a unity with man as the leading factor.” Lin’s 

“balanced policy” was important in providing justification for the 

development of the PLA’s more technical arms, i.e., missile, air, and 

naval forces, at the expense of the ground forces.13

The balance of man and weapons is directly related to the tension 

between “Red” and “Expert” that began almost immediately after 

the founding of the Red Army. In oversimplified terms, Mao’s 

“Red” vision emphasized the ideal “Party soldier” operating with 

the support of the masses in a “People’s War,” utilizing hit and 

run guerrilla tactics. Modern weapons were less important to 

this kind of force, which often was under-equipped and relied on 

what it could acquire from the enemy, than they were to a more 

technologically advanced foe. This vision contrasts with the “Expert” 

professional military concept that stressed regularized organization 

and conventional tactics as advocated by Zhu De and nearly all 

early Red Army leaders.14 In fact, the Chinese army has used both 

styles of fighting depending on the circumstances and today the 

PLA requires that soldiers be both “Red” (politically reliable) and 

“Expert” (capable of employing modern weapons and equipment in 

a highly structured organization).

. . . a force which is inferior but prepared can often defeat a 

superior enemy by surprise attack.15
66

Chinese military planners constantly are looking for tactics and 

techniques by which “the weak can overcome the strong.” Rapid 

movements, surprise, deception, and camouflage and concealment 

characterize the PLA’s preferred operating style and can be traced 

back to Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. The 1999 air campaign in Kosovo 

reinforced the importance of these techniques for ground forces by 

highlighting the success of stealthy movements at night and the 

employment of camouflage and concealment to elude and degrade 

the effectiveness of NATO’s precision-guided munitions.

As the U.S.-China Commission report points out, PLA writers 

and researchers have a fascination with “trump cards” or “assassin’s 

mace weapons”:

In fact, assassin’s mace weapons have been given the highest 

level of attention since August 1999 when Jiang Zemin called 

for their priority development in a speech. Such weapons fall in 

line with a host of other asymmetrical strategies–such as cyber 

warfare–that the Chinese believe would help to counter U.S. 

military superiority.16

It is arguable, however, whether “trump cards,” information or 

cyber warfare, and other asymmetric forms of warfare, especially 

if untested and available in limited numbers, will prove decisive in 

conflict. Outside the technical journals, Chinese writings seldom 

address the difficulties in taking these weapons from concept to 

reliable, deployable form. Successful use of such weapons and 

techniques might temporarily wound or stun a more technologically 

advanced enemy, but would they be effective enough for China to 

achieve its political objectives in a rapid and conclusive manner? 

What if the enemy does not respond in the way China expects 

— either before or after the use of the “trump card”? And what 

happens if their initial use spurs the enemy into a protracted, more 

destructive war against China? A skeptic might say that over-selling 

the effects of the “assassin’s mace” is actually a distraction from the 

more difficult task of properly training a professional force to fight 

a modern high-technology war. These weapons could be included 

among the “force multipliers” the PLA is pursuing, but should not 

be considered ultimate weapons, which will single-handedly bring 

an enemy to his knees.17
67

We stand for self-reliance. We hope for foreign aid but cannot be 

dependent on it . . .18

Self-reliance has been stressed for decades, even more so after 

the Soviets pulled their industrial and technological support in the 

late 1950s and after the Tiananmen massacre when the United States 

cancelled its Foreign Military Sales programs and imposed a set of 

sanctions that continue to this day. In a book entitled The ThirdGeneration Leadership Group of the Party and the Building of the Quality 

of Armed Forces published in 1997, Commander of the Chengdu 

Military Region Liao Xilong is quoted:

Jiang Zemin has emphasized time and time again that self-reliance 

should be the key word in strengthening our Army’s modernization. 

Judging by this, in developing its arsenal for cross-century 

purposes, the PLA will continue to adhere to the principle of 

mainly relying on self-reliance and drawing on foreign experience 

to a limited extent. As far as some leading-edge weapons are 

concerned, in particular, domestic production will be the top priority.

19

(emphasis added)

Through the decade of the 1990s, as China turned primarily to 

Russia for approximately $10 billion in arms imports, the ground 

forces received only limited numbers of Mi-17 helicopters and 

SA-15 mobile air defense systems20 and perhaps some precision 

guided artillery munitions and anti-tank weapons. By the turn of 

the century, however, Chinese factories were once again producing 

significant numbers of new model, Chinese design main battle tanks 

(MBT), amphibious tanks, armored personnel carriers, self-propelled 

artillery, and helicopters. This new equipment is being deployed 

to units throughout the country, though still in relatively limited 

numbers. The 2002 DOD report quotes open sources predicting 

that 1,800 new MBTs will be deployed by 2005.21 The 2000 Chinese 

Defense White Chapter states, “In the field of conventional equipment, 

China has made a fundamental shift from copying to independent 

production . . .”22

Military Doctrine, Tactics, and Force Structure.

. . . our strategy and tactics are based on a people’s war . . .23
68

“People’s War” initially was a concept of continental defense for 

a low-tech, manpower intensive force, supported by loyal citizens.24

Though air and naval dimensions were added in the late 1940s, it 

is an army-oriented doctrine. The doctrinal shifts of the 1980s and 

1990s to “Local War” put greater emphasis on air, naval, and missile 

forces, and these services received priority in modernization efforts. 

Nevertheless, at the beginning of the 21st century, the PLA remains 

led primarily by ground force officers. The shift in operational 

mindset from continental defense to operations in the air and at sea 

is as great a task as modernization of equipment.

“People’s War” is still considered an effective deterrent to a land 

invasion of the mainland. A major dimension of the continuing 

viability of People’s War is renewed attention to reserve and militia 

forces, with particular attention to defense of Chinese cities from 

air attack. Active army units are smaller in number and size, more 

mobile combined arms formations than their predecessors. Still a 

large number of ground force units remain equipped, trained, and 

deployed principally for continental defense of the mainland.

The object of war is specifically “to preserve oneself and destroy 

the enemy” . . . Attack is the chief means of destroying the enemy, 

but defense cannot be dispensed with. . . . If war is taken as a 

whole, attack remains primary.25

Despite the confusion generated by the sound of the term “active 

defense” and the tasks of the armed forces of the PRC “to consolidate 

national defense, resist aggression, defend the motherland, safeguard 

the people’s peaceful labor, participate in national construction 

and serve the people wholeheartedly,”26 Chinese military doctrine 

has never relied solely on the defense at any level of war--tactical, 

operational, or strategic. Fighting shifts between the offense and 

defense as circumstances change. For example, the Third Stage of 

Protracted War is “the counter-offensive.” Mao’s understanding that 

attack is the decisive form of combat is consistent with Clausewitz 

and Soviet and U.S. doctrine.

Our principles of operation are: (1) Attack dispersed, isolated 

enemy forces first; attack concentrated, strong enemy forces 
69

later. . . . (3) Make wiping out the enemy’s effective strength our 

main objective . . . (4) In every battle, concentrate an absolute 

superior force . . . (5) Fight no battle unprepared, fight no battle 

you are not sure of winning . . . (6) Give full play to our style of 

fighting . . . 27

A common perception of the PLA is that it is “the largest military 

in the world,” with the implication that Chinese leaders rely simply 

on mass to overpower their enemies. As can be seen in the quote 

above, the goal is to apply “absolute superior force” (which consists 

of both mass and firepower) at key points, not necessarily along the 

entire front. Even in Korea by early 1951, the Chinese volunteers 

adhered to this concept despite the “conventional wisdom”:

The press still reported human seas and overwhelming hordes, 

but except where they were massing for a breakthrough, the 

Chinese remained apart and in moderate numbers on the line. 

Front-line soldiers began to joke: “Say, Joe, how many hordes 

are there in a [Chinese] platoon?” Or, “We were attacked by two 

hordes last night. We killed both of them.”28

The Chinese also learned “in open battle no amount of savage 

cunning could substitute for firepower.”29 Subsequently following 

Soviet doctrine and with Soviet assistance, the PLA incorporated large 

formations of artillery into the ground force. Today, conventional 

surface-to-surface multiple rocket and missile units extend the range 

of tube artillery. New self-propelled artillery and multiple rocket 

launchers are entering the inventory. The Chinese press recently 

has noted these developments, albeit somewhat simplistically: 

“Artillery has evolved into the biggest arm of the army. It is learned 

that the number of artillery guns in China is the second largest in the 

world. The biggest change to the Chinese artillery is that the groundto-air missile and ground-to-ground missile units have joined this 

family.”30

Jiefangjun Bao offered a more sophisticated analysis of the role of 

firepower and its relationship to information warfare in an article of 

July 2000:

Although firepower warfare is the basic means in modern wars, 

it is never isolated. It will need the guarantee and support of 
70

mobility, capability in information warfare, engineering work, 

logistics, equipment, and technology. However, . . . if we 

exaggerate the position of mobility, information warfare, and 

various types of logistical support to an inappropriate extent, it 

will mislead and bring harm to the state’s preparations against 

war and army building . . . . The correct practice should be 

studying in an all-round way to employ the firepower of various 

arms of services in a joint operation and fully raise the firepower 

capability of various arms of services.31

This perspective of modern war is consistent with the use of force 

multipliers (e.g., information warfare, engineers, etc.) to enhance the 

effects of firepower and maneuver. In order to retain firepower, the 

PLA’s most advanced, mechanized group armies, i.e., the 38th and 

39th, apparently have not downsized any of their maneuver divisions 

to brigades and have been assigned organic helicopter groups.32 At 

the same time, the PLA is increasing battlefield mobility with the 

introduction of several types of new, wheeled armored vehicles, 

trucks and transports, and all-terrain vehicles.

The operational and tactical lessons learned by the PLA through 

several decades of actual combat operations are not that different 

from other armies’ 20th century experience. A prime example is 

the PLA’s understanding of the logistics lesson from the 1973 ArabIsraeli conflict: mid-intensity modern combat results in higher than 

expected expenditure of munitions requiring a logistics tail that 

can efficiently support extended operations. In recent years, each 

Military Region headquarters has established a “Joint Logistics 

Department” that seeks to maximize sources of supply and reduce 

duplication of effort among the services.

The PLA’s problem generally has been, however, that it was the 

technologically weaker force with inferior weaponry, forcing it to 

rely more on the principles of speed, surprise, and deception than its 

foes. This is what Mao meant by “our style of fighting.” While that 

style may have served its political purposes in early 1979 in northern 

Vietnam, it may not be suitable for the more likely wars of the future 

— limited, local wars on the periphery of China. The PLA began a 

multifaceted program of modernization at about the same time the 

country shifted its focus to “national economic development.” This 

period of reform brought new challenges to the Chinese ground 

forces.
71

LESSON FROM THE PERIOD OF REFORM

Three major factors have defined the parameters of ground force 

lessons learned in the era of reform. First, in contrast to the 1950s 

and 1960s, when Mao’s revolutionary zeal put a national emphasis 

on developing atom bombs, missiles, and conventional forces, since 

1978 military modernization has been subordinated to national 

economic development. This translated directly into smaller resource 

allocations than the military brass may have preferred. At the end 

of the 1990s, China began to reap the benefits for its patience as the 

announced defense budget received real double-digit percentage 

increases,33 while at the same time planning and preparation for 

possible Taiwan scenarios were pushed to the forefront.

Next, Deng’s pronouncement that the threat of major world 

war was low and the most likely form of warfare that China would 

face was local, limited war allowed for military modernization to 

be conducted in a phased, long-term manner. Deng’s guidance 

resulted in a shift in emphasis in the PLA from the ground forces 

to development of the air, naval, and missile services. At the turn 

of the 21st century, as a result of force reductions and defense 

budget increases, priority for the ground forces appears to have 

been reinvigorated with an infusion of new, indigenously-produced 

weapons and an increase in realistic training opportunities.34

Finally, the PLA’s lack of ground combat experience since its 

experiences with Vietnam has required it to learn lessons vicariously 

based on studying the contemporary experience of other armies. The 

PLA has developed doctrine, refined its force structure, upgraded 

command and control, improved its logistics system, instituted 

training reform, and introduced new equipment into the force, but 

has yet to prove these changes meet the requirements of the modern 

battlefield. No measure is as effective as the crucible of battle to 

test the efficacy of reforms and to spur the innovation necessary to 

overcome deficiencies unforeseen in theory.

Civil-Military Relations.

One of the greatest examples of the PLA’s loyalty to the Party 

in the period of reform has been acceptance by the senior military 
72

leadership of the relatively low priority afforded to military 

modernization in relation to other elements of national economic 

development. While there has been a significant adjustment to 

the resources dedicated to the PLA since 1999, the U.S.-China 

Commission report is half right and half wrong when it says: “In 

1997, the Chinese Communist Party defined the country’s economic 

strategy. It called for close coordination between the military and 

civilian sectors, and put the civilian sector at the service of the military.”35

(emphasis added)

The Commission bases this conclusion on the 16-character slogan: 

Junmin jiehe–Combine military and civilian; Pingzhan jiehe–Combine 

peace and war; Junpin youxian–Give priority to military products; Yi 

min yang jun–Let civilian production support military production. 

According to China’s Defense Conversion, published in 1994 by the 

China Economic Press, Deng proposed the 16-character slogan in 

January 1982 and it was adopted by the Party Central Committee to 

guide “both the military industrial construction policy of China and 

the policy for the development of the national economy.”36 The book 

specifically states: “The national defense economy is not a “purely 

consumer” economy. It is built on the national economy, and it follows 

and serves the national economy.”37 (emphasis added)

The fourth 4-character phrase (Yi min yang jun), “Let civilian 

production support military production,” often causes confusion 

and may lead to the interpretation that “the civilian sector is at 

the service of the military.” Indeed, China’s Defense Conversion

acknowledges “money earned developing civilian products was 

used to develop military products,” but then explains “the basic 

meaning” of the phrase to be:

From the overall view of the nation, national defense expenditures 

cannot directly create wealth, but they are a necessary condition 

for civilian production to generate wealth. National defense 

expenditures are taxes generated by civilian manufacturing 

turned into national financial income and spent as such. Basically, 

military expenses come from the conversion of civilian-product 

profits.

38 (emphasis added)

This interpretation of the phrase in question explains how taxes 

from the civilian sector support the military sector — a situation 
73

similar to that found in most countries.39 With this background 

in mind, the actual relationship between the military and civilian 

sectors of the economy is more accurately stated in China’s Defense 

White Paper of 2000:

Developing the economy and strengthening national defense are 

two strategic tasks in China’s modernization efforts. The Chinese 

government insists that economic development be taken as the center, 

while defense work be subordinate to and in the service of the nation’s 

overall economic construction. Meanwhile, along with economic 

development, the state strives to enhance its national defense 

strength, to effectively support the armed forces in their efforts 

to improve their quality and to form a mechanism which enables 

national defense and economic development to promote each 

other and develop in harmony.40 (emphasis added)

President Jiang is quoted in the Yangcheng Wanbao in February 

2001 making direct reference to the 16-character slogan and saying, 

“We must persistently ensure unreserved coordination by building 

a system of coordination in the whole society to facilitate scientific or 

technological development for national defense. We must combine 

military efforts with non-military efforts and build a structure 

full of vitality for developing science and technology for national 

defense.”41 (emphasis added) Close coordination between the 

civilian and military sectors is different than placing “the civilian 

sector at the service of the military.” Uniformed military leaders 

consistently reflect the thoughts expressed in the Defense White Paper 

and by President Jiang in their numerous public pronouncements 

and writings. For example, in April 2002, Chief of the General Staff 

Fu Quanyou stated:

First, we must uphold the central task of economic development, 

subordinate ourselves to and serve the overall interest, carry 

forward the spirit of plain living and hard struggle, bring into 

full play our armed forces’ special characteristics and strong 

points, contribute more to socialist modernization, and lay a solid 

material foundation for us to meet the challenges brought about 

by the new changes in the world military arena.42

At the 2002 National People’s Congress, the Jiefangjun Bao quoted 

several PLA deputies about the coordination of the defense and 
74

civilian sectors:

Deputy Chief of the General Staff Kui Fulin: It is necessary to 

persistently include national defense in the overall planning 

for the development of the national economy, give overall 

consideration to it and make all-round arrangements for it, 

and promote the coordinated development of national defense 

construction and economic construction.

General Logistics Department (GLD) Political Commissar Zhou 

Kunren: [G]overnments at all levels should give great support 

to national defense and army building, and regard preparation 

for military struggle as their duty. For example, they should 

give full consideration to military needs in the construction of 

highways, railways, and other projects, and should make efforts 

to link national defense construction with national economic

construction to form a complete set of the two.

GLD Deputy Director Zhou Youliang: It is necessary to give 

full consideration to the needs of national defense in economic

construction, implement the principles of “integration of 

peacetime and wartime needs; and military and civilian 

compatibility,” strive to link national defense construction with 

national economic construction to form a complete set of the 

two.43

The ideas of thrift and more efficient use of funds allotted to 

the PLA are now common themes even as resources available to 

the PLA grow. Nevertheless, in the Chinese military mind, there is 

no confusion about where the modernization of the PLA stands in 

relationship to national economic development — a reflection of the 

military’s absolute loyalty to the Party.

China’s Technological Level.

CMC Chairman Jiang is committed to “building a strong army 

with science and technology and pressing ahead with the army’s 

quality building” by “transforming our army from a force known 

for quantity and scale into a force known for quality and efficiency 

and from a personnel-intensive force into a science- and technologyintensive force as well.”44 He and the senior military leadership 

recognize the PLA’s limitations:
75

[W]e should know that our armed forces still have difficulties 

or even defects in fighting or winning a local war under hi-tech 

conditions at the moment, including such outstanding problems 

as relatively backward weapons, equipment, personnel quality, 

structure, establishment, and so on in terms of overall scientific 

and technological contents, lack of experiences in or a capability of 

fighting a war under hi-tech conditions, and so on. . . . At present, 

our army’s modernization standard is still incompatible with the 

needs of fighting a modern war, this being a major contradiction 

faced by our army building. . . . At present, our army still lags 

far behind armed forces of developed countries in the West in 

terms of weapons or equipment, intelligence or reconnaissance, 

telecommunications or liaison, command or control, joint 

operations, logistic support, and in other basic fields as well.45

With limited resources available for military modernization the 

PLA has had to prioritize the distribution of funds. As a general rule, 

ground forces have been the losers in this competition, though recent 

evidence suggests that situation may be changing to some degree. 

Instead of an across-the-board upgrading of forces, only a portion 

of the force has been selected to receive the newest equipment and 

training priority. The result of these decisions has been the creation 

of “pockets of excellence” and rapid reaction or fist units.

The army has accepted the fact that for the foreseeable future 

its forces will be a mix of high, medium, and low-technology units 

equipped with an assortment of high, medium, and low-technology 

equipment. President Jiang has stressed the importance of man in 

relationship to modern weapons, “Though we’re unable to develop 

all hi-tech weapons and equipment within a short period of time, we 

must train qualified personnel first, for we would rather let our qualified 

personnel wait for equipment than the other way round.”46 Thus, it is 

more important to train officers and men in how to maintain and 

operate new equipment according to the PLA’s newly promulgated 

doctrine than it is to flood the troops with weapons that could not be 

absorbed by the units. This is a rational, if long-term, solution to the 

problem of an army with a low education and technological base.

In order to prepare the force to properly employ new weapons 

and equipment in the 1990s the General Staff Department issued 

guidance for experimental test beds to be established in the different 
76

Military Regions for various technologies and tactics. Lessons 

learned through actual troop trial would then be applied throughout 

the force and in the military school system. In this manner, the 

ground forces could learn how to best operate small numbers of 

modern equipment, such as night vision devices, under the current 

conditions in the PLA.47 Despite the preparation undertaken prior to 

the issuing of new equipment, it is still common to read accounts of 

soldiers and units that are afraid of using or breaking the new gear.48

Reticence of this sort is not unique to the PLA, however.

While the army has received fewer imported weapons from 

Russia than the other services, especially in the last few years, new 

models of Chinese-produced tanks, armored vehicles, artillery, and 

logistics equipment have been introduced into units throughout the 

country, and particularly to units in the Military Regions opposite 

Taiwan. These new prestige weapons undoubtedly will help build 

morale in what otherwise can be an unenviable situation.

The role of the NCO is being expanded, in part to assist in the 

training and operation of new equipment, but also to assist the 

officers in small unit leadership. This is a lesson learned from the 

study of foreign armies and personal observation of the NCOs 

during overseas travel by PLA leaders. The ongoing maturation of 

the NCO corps also is related to the reduction in terms of conscription 

for ground force soldiers from 3-2 years that occurred in the late 

1990s. With conscripts staying in the army for a shorter amount of 

time, NCOs have increased in number and had their responsibilities 

expanded to provide stability in units and properly train younger 

soldiers to maintain and operate new equipment. Some units now 

are able to attain higher levels of unit proficiency in shorter periods 

of time than in the 1990s, allowing for major training exercises to 

begin in April and continue for several months.49

Military Doctrine, Tactics, and Force Structure.

In order for the ground force to fight potential Local Wars, it has 

had to 1) create or reorganize units capable of getting to a battle on 

China’s periphery, and 2) focus on combined arms and joint training. 

The transformation of army corps to group armies and the formation 

of the first helicopter units in the 1980s were initial steps. The 
77

growth of the army helicopter force has been slow, with only about 

300 aircraft distributed among 12 aviation groups or regiments.50

Numerous Chinese sources have photographs of growing numbers 

of Zhi-9 and Mi-17 helicopters; some are gunships armed with guns 

and rockets.51 The PLA still lacks an “attack helicopter,” designed 

specifically for that single role. In the 1990s, Special Operations 

Forces (SOF) units were established in each of the Military Regions 

and received considerable attention in the Chinese media. These 

units routinely train with army helicopter units and elements from 

the PLA Air Force and Navy — they are among the few PLA army 

units who can carry the battle beyond the borders of China.

The number of group armies has been reduced and their 

composition changed through transfer of units; many divisions were 

restructured into smaller brigades with the intention of making these 

units lighter and more rapidly deployable. Other divisions have had 

their structure modified. In the late 1990s, divisions or brigades that 

had been designated as “tank” were redesignated as “armored” 

units to emphasize their “combined arms” capabilities. Also in the 

late 1990s, the 1st Amphibious Mechanized Infantry Division of 

the 1st Group Army in the Nanjing Military Region was fashioned 

from the former 1st Motorized Infantry Division. By 2001, the 124th 

Amphibious Mechanized Infantry Division was created from the 

former 124th Motorized Infantry Division in the 42nd Group Army 

of the Guangzhou Military Region.52 PLA ground forces now have a 

larger number of designated amphibious troops than does the PLA Navy 

with its two marine brigades.

53 Because of the elevation of planning for 

Taiwan scenarios, amphibious operations are receiving emphasis in 

ground force units throughout China and new amphibious armored 

vehicles are being introduced into the force.

An assortment of “high-technology units,” such as the 

“Guangzhou Military Region Informationized Unit,” “Jinan Military 

Region Tech Rapid Reaction Unit,” and other “Hi-Tech Units,” have 

been added to the various electronic warfare units previously in the 

order-of-battle.54 For the first time, a surface-to-surface missile unit 

has been assigned to the ground forces, as opposed to the Second 

Artillery, in the Nanjing Military Region. This unit in Shangrao, 

Jiangxi province was converted from an artillery brigade in 1997.55

Nanjing is also the first Military Region headquarters in which a 
78

“Conventional Guided Missile Department” has been identified.56

Training. The Military Training Plan for 2002 carries forward 

lessons learned in past years and focuses “on improving the 

quality of training, instead of focusing on how much time is used in 

training.”57 Standardized training criteria and evaluation guidance 

have been issued to units from the General Staff Department to 

ensure quality. The use of simulators to enhance field training 

appears to be expanding.

Joint and combined arms training has become more common 

and more realistic, to include forces crossing Military Region 

boundaries to exercise in increasingly complex tasks.58 Force-onforce maneuvers (“confrontational” exercises) are widespread, as 

are dedicated “Blue Force” (“enemy”) units. Training is more “hightechnology” oriented with a focus on the “three attacks and three 

defenses” (strike at stealth aircraft, cruise missiles, and gunship 

helicopters; defend against precision strikes, electronic jamming, 

and reconnaissance and surveillance). The Persian Gulf War and 

the NATO Kosovo operations are generally cited as the influences 

that led to the adoption of the “three attacks and three defenses” 

scheme.

In addition to joint amphibious training areas in the Nanjing and 

Guangzhou Military Regions at Dongshan, Pingtan, and Zhoushan 

islands, and near Shantou,59 combined arms training bases have been 

identified in the Beijing, Guangzhou, Jinan, Lanzhou, and Shenyang 

Military Regions, along with five additional “Tankmen” (armored 

forces) training areas.60 According to the 2002 DOD report:

PLA ground forces training and exercises since the mid-1990s 

have focused on various themes, although without a predictable 

pattern or sequence from year to year. Training activity in 2001 

reportedly emphasized maritime and amphibious training and 

integration of conventional ground units with Airborne, Marines, 

and SOF. It built on previous years and included more combat 

units, which incrementally improved the PLA’s abilities to deploy 

and sustain the force, and to conduct amphibious operations in 

a multi-service environment . . . . Over the past year, Beijing’s 

military training exercises have taken on an increasingly realworld focus emphasizing rigorous practice and operational 

capabilities, and improving the military’s actual ability to use 

force.61
79

Deterrence. The Chinese leadership relies on its numerically 

large force as the basis for conventional deterrence. An article in the 

journal of the Academy of Military Science observed in 2001: 

In conventional deterrence, demonstrations of power can take 

various forms, but they are generally expressed as tests and 

exhibitions of high-performance weapons, focused concentrations 

of armed forces, large-scale military exercises, threats and strikes 

that serve as warning examples, and limited combat operations, 

etc.62

In order for a deterrent force to be credible it must be structured 

for and capable of carrying out its military missions. In the Chinese 

strategic mindset, significant ground forces stationed throughout 

the country are key to deter against both external aggression and 

domestic disturbances. Because of the difficulty in rapidly moving 

large formations of troops along with their supplies and equipment, 

ground forces are found in all corners of the country. Many group 

armies remain deployed along traditional avenues of attack into 

China.

PLA ground forces are also the ultimate guarantor of China’s 

domestic stability. Although the National Defense Law of 1997 

assigns to the PLA the primary mission of “defensive fighting” 

against external attack, “the standing army, when necessary, may 

assist in maintaining the public order in accordance with the law.”63

The PLA leadership would prefer for the PAP and Public Security 

forces to handle domestic disturbances and approved transferring 

14 PLA divisions to strengthen the PAP in the late 1990s. Currently, 

PAP internal security forces are estimated at about 800,000 in 

approximately 45 division-like units.64

At the same time that the PLA is changing its doctrine and 

training regimen, the PAP is receiving more specialized equipment 

and training to perform its main task. As the PLA becomes more 

mechanized and modernized, additional training for domestic 

security operations will be a distraction from preparation for its 

primary mission. My experience with PLA officers has caused me to 

conclude that most Chinese military leaders have learned the same 

lesson as many American officers that “soldiers don’t make good 
80

policemen.”65

With regard to “terrorism, separatism, and extremism”66 especially 

in China’s western regions, the PLA may likely be used in addition 

to, or in lieu of, PAP and local police forces. The PLA considers 

dealing with armed insurgents who challenge the authority of the 

Chinese government an integral part of its mission. In October 2002, 

the PLA held its first “cross-border,” bilateral, antiterrorist exercise 

with a Shanghai Cooperation Organization member, Kyrgyzstan. 

The 2-day maneuver involved over 100 soldiers from each side, as 

well as armored vehicles and helicopters. The Xinjiang Military 

District provided the PLA contingent for this exercise.67

CONCLUSION

If anything, the PLA has proved itself to be a good learner from 

the lessons of its own experience and that of others. It is not afraid 

of making modifications to its thinking, practices, and structure if 

circumstances warrant. However, most often, course corrections are 

still framed in an ideological tradition that dates back to Mao. The 

effectiveness of recent attempts at modernization is yet to be proven 

in battle, and it is certain that if it is involved in future combat the 

PLA will make further adjustments based on its successes and 

failures in practice.

Perhaps for the army, the most significant lesson of the period of 

reform is that the ground forces will not be the predominant factor 

in most likely future scenarios. Therefore, the army leadership has 

given greatest priority to that portion of ground forces that can get 

to the fight. Only a relatively small percentage of the large ground 

force is likely to be applied at key points in the battle, while the 

rest of the force provides a distraction to the enemy and cover for 

smaller movements. The units that fight the first battle probably will 

be quite different from those called on later to participate in a longer 

struggle.

In the years ahead, a true commitment to a doctrine of joint 

warfare may be demonstrated by the elevation of air, naval, or 

Second Artillery officers to the most senior national leadership 

positions or as Military Region commanders. With the exception of 

Liu Huaqing, who was both an army and naval officer, nonground 
81

force officers have not been included in the highest decisionmaking 

circles of the Chinese military in recent years. This is likely to be 

a gradual process, but at the grass roots levels there is evidence of 

exchanges of officers in schools to become more familiar with the 

inner workings of other services.

Currently, there is little indication that the PLA will be anything 

but a Party-controlled army in the near to mid-term. If it were to 

become truly a state-controlled army, political conditions would 

have to be vastly different than they are today. In the meantime, it is 

a good assumption that the fundamental tenet of the Chinese armed 

forces for 75 years — “the Party commands the gun, and the gun 

must never be allowed to command the Party” — will endure.

ENDNOTES - CHAPTER 3

1. Thanks to Paul Godwin, Ellis Joffe, Harlan Jencks, and Andy Chan for 

reviewing and commenting on early drafts of this chapter. Special thanks to John 

Corbett for unique support in the preparation of this chapter. Readers interested 

in the themes discussed in this review of PLA ground forces lessons learned are 

recommended to consult, among others, William W. Whitson with Chen-hsia 

Huang, The Chinese High Command, A History of Communist Military Politics, 1927-

71, New York: Praeger Publishers, 1973; Allen S. Whiting, The Chinese Calculus of 

Deterrence: India and Indochina, Ann Arbor: The Center for Chinese Studies, The 

University of Michigan, 1975, 2001; Harlan W. Jencks, From Muskets to Missiles: 

Politics and Professionalism in the Chinese Army, 1945-1981, Boulder, CO: Westview 

Press, 1982; United States Defense Intelligence Agency, Handbook of the Chinese 

People’s Liberation Army, Washington, DC: 1984; Monte Bullard, China’s PoliticalMilitary Evolution: The Party and the Military in the PRC, 1960-1984, Boulder, 

CO: Westview Press, 1985; Ellis Joffe, The Chinese Army After Mao, Cambridge: 

Harvard University Press, 1987; Paul H. B. Godwin, The Chinese Communist Armed 

Forces Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Air University Press, 1988; Robert L. Worden, 

Andrea Matles Savada, and Ronald E. Dolan, eds., China—A Country Study,

Washington, DC: Federal Research Division, Library of Congress, 1988; Michael 

Swaine, The Military & Political Succession in China, Santa Monica: RAND, 1992; The

China Quarterly, No. 146, Special Issue: “China’s Military in Transition,” June 1996; 

Bates Gill, “China and the Revolution in Military Affairs: Assessing Economic and 

Socio-Cultural Factors,” and Lonnie Henley, “China’s Capacity for Achieving 

a Revolution in Military Affairs,” in China and the Revolution in Military Affairs, 

Carlisle Barracks, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, 1996; C. Dennison Lane, Mark 

Weisenbloom, and Dimon Liu, eds., Chinese Military Modernization, Washington, 

DC: American Enterprise Institute Press, 1996; James R. Lilley and Chuck Downs, 

eds., Crisis in the Taiwan Strait, Washington, DC: American Enterprise Institute and 
82

National Defense University Press, 1997; Michael Pillsbury, ed., Chinese Views of 

Future Warfare, Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 1997; Larry 

M. Wortzel, China’s Military Potential, Carlisle Barracks, PA: Strategic Studies 

Institute, 1998; Larry M. Wortzel, ed., The Chinese Armed Forces in the 21st Century, 

Carlisle Barracks, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, 1999; James C. Mulvenon and 

Richard H. Yang, eds., The People’s Liberation Army in the Information Age, Santa 

Monica, CA: RAND, 1999; Michael Pillsbury, China Debates the Future Security 

Environment, Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 2000; James C. 

Mulvenon and Richard H. Yang, eds., Seeking Truth From Facts, Santa Monica, CA: 

RAND, 2001; Andrew Scobell and Larry M. Wortzel, eds., China’s Growing Military 

Power: Perspectives on Security, Ballistic Missiles, and Conventional Capabilities, 

Carlisle, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, 2002; David A. Graff and Robin Higham, 

eds., A Military History of China, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 2002.

2. “Problems of War and Strategy,” Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung, 

New York: Bantam Books, 1967, pp. 33, 55.

3. PLA ground forces (the Central Guard Unit) routinely provide local 

protection for senior Party leaders and compounds in Beijing.

4. The political officer system is a prime example of early Soviet influence on 

the PLA.

5. See James C. Mulvenon, “Professionalization of the Senior Chinese Officer 

Corps Trends and Implications,” Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1997, pp. 25-33. Two 

samples of senior officers show a trend toward specialization with a decline in 

“cross-fertilization.” The implication is that PLA officers, whether commander, 

political, or technical, recognize the need for their mutual cooperation.

6 “On Coalition Government,” Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung, p. 54.

7. The “Three Main Rules of Discipline” are 1) Obey orders in all your actions, 

2) Do not take a single needle or piece of thread from the masses, 3) Turn in 

everything captured. The “Eight Points of Attention” are 1) Speak politely, 2) Pay 

fairly for what you buy, 3) Return everything you borrow, 4) Pay for anything you 

damage, 5) Do not hit or swear at people, 6) Do not damage crops, 7) Do not take 

liberties with women, 8) Do not ill-treat captives. Quotations from Chairman Mao 

Tse-tung, p. 145.

8. “Rescue, Disaster Relief Included in Military Training,” Xinhuanet, March 

13, 2003, internet version.

9. “All-Army Conference on Building Flood-Fighting Units Held in Hubei 

14-16 May,” in Foreign Broadcast Information Service (hereafter FBIS), Wuhan Hubei 

Ribao (Internet Version-WWW), in Chinese, May 17, 2002; and “PRC: Army Sets 
83

Up Special Flood-Fighting Units,” in FBIS Beijing Xinhua, in English, 1349 GMT, 

June 11, 2002.

10. “Get Organized!” Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung, p. 55.

11. Report To Congress of the U.S.-China Security Review Commission — The 

National Security Implications of the Economic Relationship Between the United States 

and China, Chapter 9, p. 173. For a detailed examination of the PLA’s business 

empire, see Tai Ming Cheung, China’s Entrepreneurial Army, Oxford: Oxford 

University Press, 2001; and James C. Mulvenon, Soldiers of Fortune: The Rise and 

Fall of the Chinese Military-Business Complex: 1978-1998, Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharp, 

2000.

12. “On Protracted War,” Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung, p. 77.

13. Harlan W. Jencks, From Muskets to Missiles: Politics and Professionalism in the 

Chinese Army, 1945-1981, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1982, pp. 55-62.

14. The emphasis on expert/professionalism was another Soviet, as well as 

German and Japanese, influence.

15. “On Protracted War,” Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung, p. 53.

16. Report To Congress of the U.S.-China Security Review Commission, Chapter 1, 

p. 26.

17. The U.S. Department of Defense “Annual Report on the Military Power of 

the People’s Republic of China,” released on July 12, 2002, does not refer to “trump 

cards,” but does address the development of force multipliers, pp. 14-15. For a 

different perspective and interpretation on the capabilities of “assassin’s mace” 

weapons, see the copious works of Mark Stokes, Michael Pillsbury, Richard 

Fisher, and William Triplett in addition to the U.S.-China Commission report.

18. “We Must Learn to Do Economic Work,” Quotations from Chairman Mao 

Tse-tung, p. 110.

19. “PLA Support for Jiang Analyzed,” FBIS, Hong Kong Kuang Chiao Ching, 

in Chinese, No 300, September 16, 1997, pp. 12-17. This article was published 

before the 15th National Party Congress and provides a good insight to the PLA 

modernization process.

20. PLAAF air defense forces may also control some or all SA-15s.

21. “Annual Report on the Military Power of the People’s Republic of China,” 

p. 24. This appears to be a large number, but 1,800 only represents about 23 
84

percent of the estimated 8,000 MBTs in the PLA inventory, according to The 

Military Balance 2001-2002, International Institute for Strategic Studies, p. 188.

22. “Science, Technology and Industry for National Defense,” China Defense 

White Paper, October 16, 2000.

23. “The Present Situation and Our Tasks,” Quotations from Chairman Mao Tsetung, p. 53.

24. With the acquisition of modern weapons, today the PLA envisions 

incorporating high technology equipment into its concept of People’s War for the 

defense of China.

25. “On Protracted War,” Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung, p. 50.

26. “National Defense Policy,” China Defense White Paper, October 16, 2000.

27. “The Present Situation and Our Tasks,” Quotations from Chairman Mao Tsetung, pp. 51-52.

28. T. R. Feherenbach, This Kind of War, New York: Bantam Books, 1991, p. 

424.

29. Ibid., pp. 423-424.

30. “XNA Reviews Evolution of PLA Ground Force in Recent History, New 

Units” in FBIS Beijing Xinhua Hong Kong Service in Chinese 0737 GMT, June 18, 

2002.

31. “PLA Daily Article on Primacy of Firepower Over Information Warfare,” 

in FBIS Beijing Jiefangjun Bao (Internet Version-WWW), in Chinese, July 04, 2000, 

p. 6.

32. Thanks to Andy Chan for pointing out the retention of the division 

structure in the 38th and 39th Group Armies.

33. In the early and mid-1990s, announced defense budget increases were 

often negated by inflation.

34. Thanks to Lonnie Henley and John Culver for insights into the renewed 

emphasis on the ground force.

35. Report To Congress of the U.S.-China Security Review Commission, Chapter 10, 

“Introduction,” p. 179.
85

36. China’s Defense Conversion, Daily Report Supplement, FBIS-CHI-95-144-S, 

July 27, 1995, pp. 2, 18, 23.

37. Ibid., p. 17.

38. Ibid., p. 22.

39. For a thorough examination of the problem of interpretation of the 16-

character slogan, see Alastair Iain Johnston, “The Cox Report on Governance 

and Policy in China: The Problems of Fact, Evidence, and Inference,” in “The 

Cox Committee Report: An Assessment,” December 1999, pp. 23-24, 26-32, at

http://216.239.39.100/search?q=cache:TgQaPaaSbX8C:cisac.stanford.edu/docs/

cox.pdf+&hl=en&ie=UTF-8.

40. “National Defense Policy,” China Defense White Paper, October 16, 2000.

41. “Jiang Zemin’s Book on Technology, Army Building Viewed,” in FBIS

Guangzhou Yangcheng Wanbao (Internet Version-WWW) in Chinese, February 13, 

2001.

42. “PRC Chief of General Staff Fu Quanyou Asks PLA To Meet New Military

Challenges,” in FBIS Beijing Jiefangjun Bao (Internet Version-WWW), in Chinese 26 

Apr 02 P 1.

43. “PRC: NPC Military Deputies Discuss National Defense Modernization,” 

in FBIS Beijing Jiefangjun Bao (Internet Version-WWW), in Chinese, March 9, 2002, 

p. 4.

44. “Jiang Zemin’s Book on Technology, Army Building Viewed.”

45. Ibid.

46. Ibid.

47. See Dennis J. Blasko, Philip T. Klapakis, and John Corbett, Jr., “Training 

Tomorrow’s PLA--A Mixed Bag of Tricks,” in The China Quarterly, June 1996, pp. 

494-499.

48. For example, see “JFJB Article Discusses Need To Train Specialists To 

Operate Modern Weaponry,” in FBIS Beijing Jiefangjun Bao (Internet VersionWWW), in Chinese, May 10, 2002, p. 2.

49. PLA Troops To Conduct Military Exercises in Retaking Taiwan in Mid 

Aug,” in FBIS Hong Kong Wen Wei Po (Internet Version-WWW), in Chinese, 

August 5, 2002.
50. The number of aircraft is from the “Annual Report on the Military Power 

of the People’s Republic of China,” p. 24; and the number of helicopter units is 

from The Military Balance 2001-2002, p. 188.

51. A rash of articles in the summer of 2002 heaped lavish praise on the 

commander of the 38th Group Army’s helicopter group, Sun Fengyang. 

Accompanying photographs show both Zhi-9 and Mi-17 helicopters in his unit.

52. Directory of PRC Military Personalities October 2000, pp. vi, 183; and Directory 

of PRC Military Personalities October 2001, pp. vi, 187.

53. In the late 1990s, one of the two PLAN marine brigades was formed from a 

former ground forces division in the Guangzhou Military Region.

54. Directory of PRC Military Personalities October 2001, pp. 190, 198.

55. Ibid., pp. vi, 209.

56. Ibid., pp. vi, 147.

57. “China to Carry out New Military Training Scheme,” People’s Daily Online, 

January 11, 2002.

58. Susan M. Puska, “Rough but Ready Force Projection: An Assessment of 

Recent PLA Training,” in Andrew Scobell and Larry M. Wortzel, eds., China’s 

Growing Military Power: Perspectives on Security, Ballistic Missiles, and Conventional 

Capabilities, Carlisle, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, 2002, p. 224.

59. “PLA Troops To Conduct Military Exercises in Retaking Taiwan in Mid 

Aug.” See also Xinhua, “PLA to simulate landings, attacks,” China Daily online, 

August 6, 2002, which quotes the Wen Wei Po article.

60. Locations of training bases are found in the Directory of PRC Military 

Personalities November 2002.

61. U.S. Department of Defense “Annual Report on the Military Power of the 

People’s Republic of China,” pp. 26, 50.

62. “PRC Military Journal Examines Conventional Deterrence,” in FBIS Beijing 

Zhongguo Junshi Kexue, in Chinese, September 30, 2001, pp. 88-93.

63. “’Law of the People’s Republic of China on National Defense,’ Adopted at 

the Fifth Session of the Eighth National People’s Congress on March 14, 1997,” in 

FBIS Xinhua Domestic Service, March 14, 1997.

86
87

64. The Military Balance 2001-2002, p. 191. Total PAP forces are estimated to 

number 1.5 million. Other sources put total PAP strength closer to one million.

65. For a recent example of this debate, see Eric Schmitt, “Wider Military 

Role in U.S. Is Urged,” in The New York Times, internet edition, July 21, 2002. For 

a discussion of the mental and physical differences between modern soldiery and 

police work, see Dennis J. Blasko and John F. Corbett, Jr., “No More Tiananmens: 

The People’s Armed Police and Stability in China, 1997,” in China Strategic Review, 

Spring 1998, pp. 86-90.

66. This formulation is found in “‘Text’ of Shanghai Cooperation Organization 

Foreign Ministers’ Statement,” in FBIS Beijing Xinhua Domestic Service, in Chinese, 

0848 GMT, January 7, 2002.

67. “China, Kyrgyzstan hold joint anti-terror military exercise,” Xinhuanet, 

October 11, 2002; “China and Kyrgyzstan launch anti-terrorism exercises,” China 

daily, October 11, 2002; “Joint war games boost terror fight,” South China Morning 

Post, October 12, 2002.

89

CHAPTER 4

THE PLA AIR FORCE: 1949-2002

OVERVIEW AND LESSONS LEARNED

Kenneth W. Allen

In a future high technology local war, the PLAAF will be the first 

to impact the enemy, and will be utilized throughout the war. We 

will develop elite troops armed with precise weaponry, quality 

training, rapid reaction, and the ability to attack and defend. The 

PLAAF will accelerate development of weapons and equipment 

to form a killing machine on a fixed scale. In recent years, troops 

have put education and training in a strategic position. We have 

already set the stage for war strategy research to defeat enemies 

with high technology weapons and equipment, but we must still 

form a military theory system with special PLAAF characteristics. 

One group of experimental troops has already begun to take 

new operational theories and concepts and has developed them 

into live fire exercises. Initial results have been scored in mobile 

operations, air attack, seizing air superiority, nighttime attack, 

defense, and the increased use of simulators. Future training will 

further highlight tactical training, including air blockades, air 

attack, and participation in combined operations by all three PLA 

services.

 General Liu Shunyao, May 20001

INTRODUCTION

This chapter provides an overview of the PLA Air Force (PLAAF) 

and examines lessons learned since it was established in 1949. 

Whereas most Western articles focus primarily on weapon systems 

and order of battle, this article examines the PLAAF as a whole 

by looking at the seven areas of leadership, organization, theory, 

operations, weapon systems, education and training, and logistics 

and maintenance. Each of the seven sections begins with a short 

summary of the key topics, followed by supporting background 

material. The conclusion section ties these lessons learned into 

challenges for the future.2

In terms of operational experience, the chapter looks at three 
90

external campaigns the PLAAF has participated in — the Korean 

War, the 1958 Taiwan Strait Crisis, and the 1979 Vietnam border 

conflict.3 During those campaigns, several hundred combat aircraft, 

antiaircraft artillery (AAA) units, surface-to-air missile (SAM) units, 

and thousands of support personnel deployed to a few airfields 

near the border, but the per-pilot sortie rate was minimal. More 

importantly, none of these campaigns involved enemy attacks 

against targets inside China’s borders, so the aircraft, airfields, and 

troops were safe in their sanctuaries. 

Since the Gulf War and Kosovo conflict, the PLAAF has 

acknowledged its next war will most likely be completely different 

from any previous wars it has fought. It readily admits its aviation 

and air defense assets, not only near the front but also in rear areas, 

will not be safe from attack by stealth aircraft and long-range cruise 

missiles in an intense electromagnetic environment. As a result, 

the PLAAF is concentrating on shifting from positional, defensive 

operations to mobile, offensive operations that involve camouflage, 

concealment, and deception (CC&D) and dispersal measures. 

As noted in former commander Liu Shunyao’s comments above, 

the PLAAF has made improvements across the board so it will be 

prepared to fight and win future local wars under modern hightechnology conditions. His comments also provide elements of the 

PLAAF’s aspirational doctrine, laying out its goals for the future. 

The question remains, however, whether the PLAAF is applying 

satisfactorily what it has learned in order for it to be prepared to 

fight these kinds of wars in the future, especially against a modern 

military like the United States.

During the 1950s, the PLAAF “learned from the Soviet Union 

and its own experience in the Korean War and standoff with the 

Nationalist forces on Taiwan.”4 As a result of the devastation 

to military professionalism during the Cultural Revolution, the 

PLAAF was unprepared to fight a major war as it entered the Deng 

Xiaoping era of the 1980s. Although the PLAAF has begun acquiring 

some high-tech weaponry from Russia, the bulk of the force and 

its tactics are still based on weapons and concepts designed in the 

1960s and 1970s. The PLAAF is trying to adapt itself to the future 

goal of simultaneous offensive and defensive operations, but it is 

still hampered by institutional impediments. Because the PLAAF’s 
91

last major battle was fought in 1958, it is trying to “learn” from 

foreign air forces and adapt those lessons to itself. It is making some 

progress, but the process is slow. This chapter will examine these 

ideas in greater detail.

LEADERSHIP

Summary.

Over the past 53 years, leadership has resided in the hands of only 

nine commanders and 11 political commissars.5 When examining 

their backgrounds, several generalizations can be made. First, until 

the mid 1980s, almost all of the leaders served initially in the ground 

forces. The PLAAF did not have a deputy commander with aviation 

experience until 1973 and a commander with pilot experience until 

1985. Since then, all commanders have been pilots. Second, three of 

the nine commanders served first as the political commissar, but 

there is no discernible trend for political commissars becoming the 

commander in the future. Third, it has sought to promote younger 

leaders at all levels throughout the force, but the trend does not 

appear to apply to the commander’s position. Fourth, the PLAAF 

has only limited general officer representation outside the Air Force 

structure. Fifth, the leadership has increased its interaction with 

foreign militaries.

It is difficult to make any predictions about the PLAAF’s future 

leadership. Given that Qiao Qingchen is currently 63 years old, 

he will have to retire in 2004. Will his successor be in his late 50s, 

so he can lead for 7 to 8 years before retirement, or will he be a 

placeholder like Qiao for 2 to 3 years? Will he be one of the current 

deputy commanders, or come from a Military Region Air Force 

(MRAF) with no headquarters experience like Cao Shuangming did 

in 1992? Either path will tell something about the political dynamics 

at Headquarters Air Force (HqAF) at the time. Most importantly, 

will he be a strong leader with a broad vision, or will he merely fill 

the position and carry out the will of others?

Background.

All members of the PLA are assigned one of 15 grades.6 Their 
92

grade also designates the level of their service or organization within 

the PLA hierarchy as shown below:

• Grade 1: Chairman and vice chairmen, Central Military Commission 

(CMC).

• Grade 2: Members of the CMC. This includes the four General Department 

directors.

• Grade 3: Leaders (commander and political commissar) of the seven 

military regions (MR), Navy (PLAN), PLAAF, Academy of Military 

Science (AMS), and National Defense University (NDU).7

In spite of the PLA’s focus on jointness, the PLAAF is not yet 

fully integrated into senior-level joint positions. It was not until the 

late 1980s that MRAF commanders were integrated into the MR 

command staff as deputy MR commanders. Prior to the late 1990s, all 

PLAAF officers working in the four general departments — General 

Staff (GSD), General Political (GPD), General Logistics (GLD), and 

General Equipment (GED) — were required to wear an Army 

uniform regardless of their job. It does not appear there is a single 

PLAAF general officer assigned as a deputy commander or secondlevel department director in any of the four general departments. Nor 

does it appear there are any PLAAF general officers in the prestigious 

AMS, where the PLA’s strategy and doctrine are formulated. A 

major general is the director of the Training Department at NDU.8

In spite of the lack of general officers in these organizations, the Air 

Force does have senior colonels (U.S. military O-7 equivalents) and 

colonels serving in each of these organizations.

Commanders. Of the nine commanders, the first four, covering 

1949 to 1985, were all ground force officers who moved into various 

command positions when the PLAAF was formed in 1949.9 In 1985, 

Wang Hai became the first aviator to be selected as the commander. 

Since then, all of the commanders have been career aviators. 

Chart 1 shows each commander’s date of birth, dates he served as 

commander, age when he became commander, and the age he left 

office. With the exception of Liu Yalou, the age for assuming the 

commander’s position has ranged from 50 to 63 years old. Although 

Wang Hai and Liu Shunyao assumed the commander’s position 

at age 59 and 57, respectively, Cao Shuangming, Yu Zhenwu, and 
93

Qiao Qingchen took office at age 63 and could serve for only 2 years 

before reaching the mandatory retirement age of 65. The political 

clout of the commanders has apparently decreased over the years. 

Some, but not all, of the commanders, political commissars, deputy 

commanders, deputy political commissars, and directors of the 

four administrative departments have been representatives at the 

National People’s Congress (NPC). All of the commanders and 

political commissars have been members of the Party Congresses, 

and some of them have been members or alternate members of the 

Party Congress Central Committee. Liu Yalou was a member of 

the CMC, Wu Faxian was a member of the Politburo and deputy 

director of the CMC General Department, and Zhang Tingfa was a 

member of the Politburo and CMC. Zhang was the last commander 

to hold these positions.

One reason for the lack of political clout stems from the Cultural 

Person DOB Held office Age assumed 

office

Age left office

Liu Yalou 1910 Oct 1949–May 1965 39 55 (died)

Wu Faxian 1915 May 1965–Sept 1971 50 56 (arrested)

Ma Ning 1922 May 1973–Apr 1977 51 55 (replaced)

Zhang Tingfa 1918 Apr 1977–Jul 1985 59 67 (retired)

Wang Hai 1925 Jul 1985–Nov 1992 60 65 (retired)

Cao Shuangming 1929 Nov 1992–Nov 1994 63 65 (retired)

Yu Zhenwu 1931 Nov 1994–Dec 1996 63 65 (retired)

Liu Shunyao 1939 Dec 1996–May 2002 57 63 (retired due to 

health)

Qiao Qingchen 1939 May 2002–Present 63 Currently in 

position

Chart 1. PLAAF Commanders.
94

Revolution. For example, the PLAAF went without a commander 

for 18 months after Wu Faxian was arrested following Defense 

Minister Lin Biao’s plane crash over Mongolia in September 1971. 

When Deng Xiaoping gained control of the CCP in 1978, he sought 

to upgrade China’s airpower capabilities, but one of his unstated 

purposes was to assert his authority over what he and other senior 

officials regarded as a “potentially dangerous service.”10 Deng’s 

leadership group attached special political weight to the PLAAF, 

because Defense Minister Lin Biao had wrested control of the Air 

Force through Wu Faxian during the Cultural Revolution. As a 

result of these and other power struggles in the Cultural Revolution 

that involved the Air Force, Party leaders thereafter sought to keep a 

much tighter rein over the PLAAF than the other service arms. 

Political Commissars. The PLAAF has had 11 political commissars 

since 1949 (see Chart 2). There is no set template or discernible trends 

for these leaders. While seven of them spent their entire career in 

the political commissar system, two served in command positions 

before becoming the political commissar, and two of them had a mix 

of command and political commissar positions. Qiao Qingchen has 

been the only pilot. The first four political commissars spent their 

entire career in the political commissar system (Wu Faxian became 

commander under Lin Biao after being the political commissar for 

almost 15 years).11 In an apparent attempt to weed out the political 

commissar influence in the PLAAF following Lin Biao’s death, Ma 

Ning became the commander and Fu Chuanzuo became the political 

commissar in 1973 — both officers had spent their entire career in 

command positions, none of which were in the headquarters. 

Zhang Tingfa, who was the political commissar from 1975 

to 1977 and the commander from 1977 to 1985, had previously 

spent his entire ground force and Air Force career in command 

positions. When Zhang was commander, the political commissar, 

Gao Houliang, had a mixed command and political commissar 

background. Zhu Guang, who was the political commissar with 

commander Wang Hai from 1985 to 1992, had served in only 

political commissar system positions, moving back and forth 

between Army and Air Force billets. Zhu’s replacement, Ding 

Wenchang, had also spent his entire career in political positions, 

but they had all been in the PLAAF. The current commander, 
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Person DOB Held office Age 

assumed 

office

Age left office

Xiao Hua 1916 Oct 1949–Feb 1957 33 34 (to GPD)

Wu Faxian 1915 Feb 1957–May 1965 32 39 (to commander)

Yu Lijin 1913 May 1965–Sep 1968 50 53 (to CAAC)

Wang Huiqiu 1911 Sep 1968–May 1973 57 59 (to Shenyang MR PC)

Fu Chuanzuo 1914 May 1973–Nov 1975 59 61 (retired)

Zhang Tingfa 1918 Nov 1975–Apr 1977 57 59 (to commander)

Gao Houliang 1915 Apr 1977–Jul 1985 62 68 (retired)

Zhu Guang 1922 Jul 1985–Nov 1992 63 70 (retired)

Ding Wenchang 1933 Nov 1992–Feb 1999 59 65 (retired)

Qiao Qingchen 1939 Feb 1999–May 2002 60 63 (to commander)

Deng Changyou 1947 May 2002–Present 55 Currently in position

Chart 2. PLAAF Political Commissars.

Qiao Qingchen, has a mixed command and political commissar 

background, having served as the deputy political commissar in 

the Jinan MRAF before moving up to become the commander of the 

Beijing MRAF. From there he became a PLAAF deputy commander, 

then the political commissar, and replaced Liu Shunyao as 

commander in May 2002, when Liu had to retire for health reasons. 

Little background information is available on the new political 

commissar Deng Changyou, except that he served in political 

department and commissar positions in the Lanzhou MRAF before 

moving to Headquarters Air Force in 1995 as the deputy director 

and then director of the Political Department.

Deputy Commanders. Since 1949, the PLAAF has had 32 deputy 

commanders, who collectively have been responsible for the 

following general areas: schools, training, maintenance, logistics, 

equipment, research and development, operations, air defense, and 
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discipline.12 The first 14 deputy commanders were ground force 

officers who had served in the Army until the PLAAF was formed 

in 1949. Immediately after the PLAAF and Air Defense Force (ADF) 

merged in 1957, the PLAAF had seven deputy commanders, two of 

whom came from the ADF. These were the last two deputies with 

an air defense background, even though the air defense component 

(SAM/AAA) has been instrumental in defending China’s airspace, 

including AAA troop involvement in the Vietnam War. Although one 

of the deputy commanders is always responsible for the air defense 

role, at least one of the deputy chiefs of staff (deputy directors in the 

Headquarters Department) generally has an air defense background. 

For example, Major General Chen Huiting, who was a deputy chief 

of staff in the late 1980s, had served as a SAM battalion and division 

commander, and as the deputy commandant of the SAM academy.

It was not until 1973 that the PLA assigned a pilot (Zhang Jihui) 

as a deputy commander. Between 1973 and 1982, all of the other 

deputy commanders had their roots in the ground forces as political 

commissars or commanders. In 1982, Wang Hai became only the 

second pilot to be assigned as a deputy commander. Since then, 

most of the deputy commanders have been pilots. 

The most notable exceptions to assigning pilots as deputy 

commanders are two former commanders of the PLAAF’s 15th 

Airborne Army. Jing Xueqin was the airborne commander from 

1990 until he moved up to became a PLAAF deputy commander 

in 1993, where he remains today. His successor, Ma Diansheng, 

became a PLAAF deputy commander in September 1999, then 

moved to the Nanjing MR as a deputy MR commander in July 2000. 

Jing’s appointment came at the same time airborne forces upgraded 

its brigades to divisions and the Air Force began receiving its first 

Il-76s to support the airborne forces.13 Adding them as deputy 

commanders clearly indicates the elevation of the airborne forces in 

the PLA’s force planning.

Seeking Younger Leaders. Overall, the PLAAF has made a 

concerted effort at reducing the age of its leaders. When ranks were 

reinstituted in 1988, almost two-thirds of the 32 lieutenant generals 

promoted were over 60 and about two-thirds of the major generals 

were over 54.14 Today, the PLAAF has approximately 150 general 

officer positions, including one general, 25 lieutenant generals, and 
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125 major generals. The average age of officers assuming the same 

positions as those in 1988 has been reduced by about 3 to 5 years 

(lieutenant generals are about 57 and major generals about 52), 

thus indicating a move toward a younger force. By comparison, 

an analysis of current senior USAF leaders shows that they entered 

the Air Force between 1966 and 1970, and were promoted to major 

general at age 47 to 49, lieutenant general at 48 to 51, and general at 

52 to 53.15

Although the Air Force has succeeded in reducing the overall age 

of its leaders, it has lost all of its leaders with any operational wartime 

experience.16 When Wang Hai was commander (1985 to 1992), three 

of the four HqAF deputy commanders, three of the seven MRAF 

commanders and two deputy MRAF commanders were Korean War 

veterans.17 By the mid 1990s, all of these officers had retired. Today, 

there are no Korean War veterans still on active duty, and probably 

no one left from the 1958 conflict over the Taiwan Strait. This means 

that the historical experience today’s leaders bring with them comes 

primarily from the Vietnam War of the 1960s, where the PLAAF’s 

main involvement was its AAA troops stationed inside Vietnam and 

Laos, plus a handful of air engagements along the border.18

Foreign Relations. The PLAAF began sending delegations abroad 

in August 1949, when Liu Yalou led a delegation to Russia to purchase 

aircraft and equipment. As with the rest of the PLA, however, this 

program lagged until Deng Xiaoping opened the door in the late 

1970s. Since 1979, commanders have emphasized direct contact with 

foreign air forces by leading an average of one delegation abroad 

per year and hosting visits to China by two to four foreign air force 

commanders annually. In addition, political commissars since 1988 

have also paid visits to several countries, including the United States, 

Russia, Canada, Mexico, Cuba, Portugal, and Turkey. 

Most importantly, the record shows each of the delegations led 

by the commander or political commissar have included directors 

from key headquarters departments, regional commanders, and/or 

personnel from research institutes and academies. In addition, most 

of the deputy commanders and deputy political commissars have 

visited abroad as part of delegations led by senior PLAAF or PLA 

officers. These types of visits also help indicate who the PLAAF is 

grooming for future leadership positions. For example, as a deputy 
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commander, Liu Shunyao accompanied Defense Minister Chi 

Haotian to the United States in November 1996 and became the 

commander the next month. In September 1998, Deputy Political 

Commissar Qiao Qingchen accompanied Zhang Wannian to the 

United States and became the political commissar 3 months later.

There are several limitations to the future growth of the PLAAF’s 

foreign relations program. The first limitation is the small size of the 

Foreign Affairs Division, which has only about five full-time officers 

and has not grown appreciably over the past 15 years. These officers 

must plan the itinerary for and escort all delegations to and from 

China. Second, each commander is authorized only one visit abroad 

per year under ordinary circumstances, and the number of foreign 

air force leaders accepted for visits to China is guided by the overall 

PLA visitors plan. Besides meeting with foreign commanders, the 

PLAAF also hosts or sends out an average of five to ten functional 

exchange delegations per year. Third, the PLAAF must pay for all incountry expenses for visiting delegations and all international travel 

expenses for PLAAF delegations. Fourth, the PLAAF has military 

attachés posted in only two locations — Washington and London 

— and only about ten countries have air force attachés assigned to 

Beijing. This limits the day-to-day interaction between the PLAAF 

and foreign air forces.

The trend is for more working-level exchanges, but not 

necessarily high-level exchanges. The biggest question arising 

from the PLAAF’s involvement in foreign affairs is whether these 

exchanges are helping it improve its capabilities to conduct warfare 

against U.S. and Taiwan forces, or whether they are providing 

an opportunity for the current and next generation of leaders to 

understand the importance of peaceful global interaction. 

ORGANIZATION

Summary.

The chain of command is organized into four operational and 

administrative levels: 

• Headquarters Air Force

• Military Region Air Forces
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• Air corps, command posts, and bases

• Operational units and elements 

Although the PLAAF has always been subordinate to the ground 

forces, its operational and administrative structures were not fully 

synchronized until the late 1990s. The operational structure can be 

divided into two components: (1) the campaign command structure, 

which includes the military regions, air corps, command posts, and 

bases, and (2) the campaign and tactical unit (budui) and element 

(fendui) force structure. 

The administrative structure closely followed, but did not 

always match, the PLA’s structure until 1998, when the GED was 

established. The most important exception was the fourth first-level 

department that was responsible for aviation maintenance and was 

subordinate to the General Logistics Department prior to 1998.

From 1949 to 1971, the PLAAF created a total of 50 air divisions. 

Beginning at the end of the 1980s, however, the number of air 

divisions has gradually been reduced to just over 30.19 These changes 

have taken place in order to incorporate new weapon systems, 

retire older systems, meet new mission requirements, and reduce 

personnel.

The PLAAF’s campaign command structure at the MRAF level 

did not match the ground force structure until 1985, when the PLA 

reorganized its eleven military regions into seven. The PLA did not 

begin to fully integrate the PLAAF into the campaign command 

structure until the late 1980s, when the MRAF commanders became 

concurrent MR deputy commanders. The PLAAF also began 

reducing the size of its campaign and tactical force structure in 

the 1990s in terms of numbers of air divisions and the number of 

regiments per division. 

Since 1949, the PLAAF has implemented five reductions in force 

(1960, 1970, 1975, 1985, and 1992), all of which were part of larger 

PLA force-reduction programs.20 The current force is less than 

400,000 personnel.21

Background.

According to the PLA’s writings on force structure, the PLAAF’s 
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organizational system includes the administrative structure, five 

operational branches/service arms, specialized support units, plus 

academies, schools, and research institutes.22 It also has maintenance 

and logistics support units, including repair facilities, hospitals, and 

sanitoriums. In addition, there are various types of training bases, 

regiments, and groups that are directly subordinate to either HqAF 

or to the seven MRAF Headquarters.23

Administrative Structure. Over the past 50 years, the overall 

administrative organization from HqAF down to the lowest unit can 

be compared to a deck of cards that occasionally gets reshuffled.24

Only a few new cards have been added, and the other cards have 

merely been moved to a different location in the deck. HqAF, 

located in Beijing, is equivalent to the U.S. Air Force’s Air Staff 

and is organized into four first-level administrative departments 

— Headquarters, Political, Logistics, and Equipment — and 

their subordinate second-level functional departments, bureaus, 

divisions, offices, sections, and branches. This structure is basically 

copied down to the lowest units, where many of the functions are 

combined into smaller offices.

For all practical purposes, the administrative organization has 

been similar to the ground forces’ structure, but there have been 

notable exceptions, especially concerning aircraft maintenance. 

Between October 1949 and mid 1957, the CMC created a total of 

8 subordinate PLA general departments (General Staff, Training 

Inspector General, Armed Forces Inspection, General Political, 

General Cadre, General Logistics, General Finance, and General 

Armament) and their second-level departments and bureaus.

Between mid 1957 and late 1958, the eight general departments 

underwent a major reorganization, so that by the end of 1958 there 

were only three general departments — GSD, GPD, and GLD. This 

structure remained until the GED was added in 1998.

The PLAAF started out with only three first-level administrative 

departments — Headquarters, Political, and Logistics — but by the 

end of 1949, HqAF adjusted its structure to somewhat match the 

eight PLA general departments.25 As a result, from 1949 to 1955, it 

had six first-level departments — Headquarters, Political, Training, 

Engineering, Logistics, and Cadre/Personnel. 

In May 1955, HqAF was restructured to include 11 first-level 
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administrative departments plus a Military Law Division. Between 

1955 and 1969, further additions and mergers occurred, but the 

number of first-level administrative departments remained at 11. In 

conjunction with a PLA-wide reduction in force in 1969, the number 

of first-level departments was reduced to the Headquarters, Political, 

and Logistics Departments.

Throughout its history, one of the lessons learned about its 

administrative organization was the need to have a separate 

structure for aircraft maintenance. Maintenance for all other 

equipment and weapon systems came under the PLAAF’s Logistics 

Department and the GLD. Although it tried to match its structure 

to the three general departments’ structure in 1969, it found the 

need to recreate a separate department for aircraft maintenance. 

Therefore, in May 1976, the Aeronautical Engineering Department, 

which had been downgraded to a second-level department in 1969, 

was re-established as the fourth first-level department. In November 

1992, the PLAAF changed the name to the Equipment-Technical 

Department.26 Following the April 1998 creation of the GED, the 

PLAAF changed the name of the Equipment-Technical Department 

to the Equipment Department and moved several second-level 

departments from the Headquarters and Logistics Departments to 

the Equipment Department.27 In this particular case, it was a matter 

of the PLA changing the structure of the general departments to 

meet that of the services and branches, rather than the other way 

around.28

Air Divisions and Independent Regiments. Over the years, the 

PLAAF has adjusted the size of its total aviation force in terms of 

numbers of divisions and numbers of regiments per division to 

incorporate new weapon systems, retire older systems, and meet 

mission requirements. From October 1950 to early 1954, it deployed 

a total of 3,000 aircraft in 28 new air divisions composed of 70 

regiments, plus five independent regiments (three reconnaissance, 

one bomber, and one transport). The air divisions consisted of 

fighters, bombers, transports, ground attack, and reconnaissance 

aircraft.29

From January 1954 to 1971, the PLAAF created an additional 22 

air divisions throughout China for a total of 50 air divisions. The 

introduction of new aircraft such as the A-5 ground attack aircraft 
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and the B-5 and B-6 bombers also influenced the formation of new 

combat units.30 While some units merely upgraded to the new 

aircraft, other units were formed using the new aircraft as their basis. 

Many of the early divisions relocated several times as the PLAAF 

expanded to meet operational needs, especially during the late 1950s 

opposite Taiwan and the 1960s during the Vietnam War.

Since the 1950s, the standard table of organization and equipment 

(TOE) for a fighter division has been 72 aircraft (plus 8 trainers) and 

120 pilots — a 1:1.5 ratio — with each fighter regiment having 24 

aircraft and 40 pilots.31 The TOE for a bomber division is 54 aircraft 

and 90 crews — a 1:1.7 ratio — with each regiment having 18 aircraft 

and 30 crews. When it began forming its first air divisions, most 

divisions had two regiments, but a few divisions had three regiments, 

stationed at one to two airfields. By 1953, it began upgrading all of 

its divisions to three regiments. Each regiment has three to four 

subordinate groups (dadui), which, in turn, are divided into three 

to four squadrons (zhongdui).32 One confusing event that occurred 

between 1964 and 1970, was that the PLAAF changed the name 

of each regiment to a group without changing the organizational 

structure. Thus, the 24th air division’s 70th air regiment in 1963 was 

renamed the 70th group in 1964. In 1970, the regiment name was 

reinstituted.

According to a 1999 Department of Defense report, the PLAAF’s 

combat aircraft are currently organized into some 30 air divisions, 

plus about 150 transport aircraft organized in two air divisions.33

A June 14, 2000, Jane’s Defence Weekly report stated that the PLAAF 

currently consists of 33 divisions, including 27 fighter, 4 bomber, and 

2 transport divisions.34

The Other Branches. 

1. SAM and AAA Troops. Prior to 1985, SAM and AAA units 

were structured as separate organizations. In most cases, they were 

organized into divisions or brigades with subordinate regiments. In 

some cases, the regiment was the highest level structure. In 1985, the 

PLAAF began restructuring some of its AAA and SAM regiments 

into combined brigades, with the goal of eventually combining 

as many SAM and AAA units as possible.35 The process involved 

turning over most of the AAA to the ground forces, and combining 
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some of the remaining AAA regiments with SAM regiments into 

combined brigades. By the end of the 1980s, all of the SAM and 

AAA divisions had apparently been abolished, but some individual 

SAM and AAA brigades and regiments still existed.36 By the end of 

the 1990s, the PLAAF had reinstituted the division level, at least 

for SAMs, and had apparently raised at least some, if not all, of the 

combined brigades to a combined division level starting in 1993.37

This change probably reflects the PLAAF’s acquisition of the S-300s 

from Russia, and an increased number of SAMs overall, plus the 

view that the combined brigades may not be the best solution to 

accomplishing the air defense mission.

2. Radar Troops. During the 1980s and early 1990s, the basic 

radar unit was the regiment. By the early 2000s, radar brigades were 

noted in the Shenyang, Beijing, Nanjing, Chengdu, and Guangzhou 

MRAF’s.38 This indicates that the number of radar units in these five 

military regions has grown considerably, thus necessitating higher 

level headquarters to maintain a proper span of control.

3. Airborne Troops. The airborne forces have also gone full circle. 

The PLAAF’s airborne forces began in the early 1950s as a single 

brigade and then expanded to become a division.39 In 1961, the CMC 

redesignated the PLA’s 15th Corps as the PLAAF 15th Airborne 

Army and subordinated the original airborne division to this 

new organization. By the mid 1970s, the airborne army had three 

airborne divisions.40 Sometime after 1984, the three divisions were 

reduced to brigades, but were again enlarged to divisions in 1993, 

each with about 10,000 troops.41 Although the airborne forces were 

sometimes mentioned as the sixth PLAAF branch through the 1980s, 

they apparently became an official branch around 1992.42

Operational Control of the Force. As the PLAAF rapidly increased 

the number of its air divisions and independent regiments, it also 

created command organizations to control the aviation and air 

defense assets. Over its 52 year history, it has established a total of 

nine MRAFs, 13 air corps, and several command posts and bases to 

control large geographic areas that were somewhat aligned with the 

ground force MRs and military districts. Some of the organizations 
104

were responsible for only a major city and its surrounding area. Each 

of these command organizations controlled one or more air divisions 

and air defense assets (SAMs, AAA, radar). As the PLAAF created 

its first 28 air divisions between 1950 and 1954 to deal primarily with 

the Korean War, it also established five air corps to control those 

assets. One more air corps was created opposite Taiwan in the mid 

1950s.

When the PLAAF deployed 16 new air divisions in the 1960s in 

response to the Sino-Indian border conflict, the Vietnam War, and 

the new Soviet threat, it also formed six air corps and two command 

posts. During the Cultural Revolution, many PLAAF command 

organizations ceased to exist and were reestablished during the 

late 1970s. In addition, it added only three new air divisions and 

one air corps in the 1970s. As the PLAAF expanded and realigned 

its operational areas to match those of the ground forces during the 

late 1970s and early 1980s, several of the air corps either replaced 

MRAF headquarters, were abolished, or were downgraded to a 

command post. The key point is that these command organizations 

were composed of staff members only. When they moved, they did 

not necessarily have organic aviation and air defense units that 

moved with them. As these command organizations were moved 

around to replace existing organizations or establish new command 

organizations, they took control of aviation and air defense units 

that already existed in the command area. 

According to General Wang Hai’s autobiography, the PLA 

wanted to abolish the MRAF headquarters completely following 

the 1985 MR realignment, but the PLAAF fought and won to keep 

them.43 Beginning in 1993, all of the command posts, with the 

exception of Lhasa, were further reorganized as bases.44 For all 

practical purposes, a command post and base are identical, except 

that a command post is equal to an air corps (Grade 5), while a base 

is a deputy corps level (Grade 6) organization. One of the primary 

reasons command posts replaced air corps was to meet reduction 

in force requirements, to eliminate unnecessary administrative 

functions, and to make the command post an operational rather than 

an administrative organization. 

Today, the PLAAF still has seven MRAFs (Shenyang, Beijing, 

Lanzhou, Jinan, Nanjing, Guangzhou, and Chengdu), five air corps 
105

(1st/Changchun, 7th/Nanning, 8th/Fuzhou, 9th/Wulumuqi, 10th/

Datong), six bases (Dalian, Tangshan, Xian, Shanghai, Wuhan, and 

Kunming), and one command post (Lhasa).45

Personnel Force Reductions. Since 1949, the PLAAF has implemented 

five reductions in force (1960, 1970, 1975, 1985, and 1992), all of which 

were part of larger PLA force reduction programs.46 Early programs 

were aimed primarily at cutting the size of headquarters staffs from 

15 to 20 percent. In December 1975, the PLAAF reduced its entire 

force by 100,000 people, and in August 1985, it further downsized 

20 percent by eliminating some organizations, reforming the unit 

organization structure, and eliminating old equipment. In October 

1992, it carried out yet another 20-percent reduction.

THEORY

Summary.

The PLAAF has three levels of theory: strategic, campaign, 

and tactical. Throughout its history, the Air Force has gradually 

developed campaign and tactical theory and the supporting 

regulations based on its own combat operations and Soviet doctrine, 

but it has yet to articulate a strategic theory. The closest attempt at 

a strategic concept was introduced by commander Wang Hai in 

1987, which called for the Air Force to have the goal of “moving 

from defending the country’s air space to building an air force with 

simultaneous offensive and defensive capabilities.”47

Given the preeminence of the ground forces in the PLA, the 

PLAAF has always focused on operations to support the Army at 

the campaign and tactical level. The PLAAF’s campaigns can be 

conducted independently or as joint service campaigns in positional 

or mobile modes. Based on their characteristics and objectives, air 

force campaigns can be divided into three basic types:

• Offensive air campaigns

• Defensive air campaigns

• Air blockade campaigns

Although the PLAAF has adhered to the PLA’s strategic 
106

guidelines of active defense, it was not until the 1990s that the Air 

Force’s offensive component began receiving the greatest attention.

Background.

During its first few decades, theory and operations were 

primarily formulated to support the ground forces’ needs. This is 

not surprising, since only 29 of the 5,500 original members of the 

PLAAF had any aviation background. The remaining troops came 

from the ground forces.48 In 1951, commander Liu Yalou wrote, “The 

PLAAF must oppose two erroneous tendencies. The first tendency is 

to believe the PLAAF is a new service that can disregard the legacy 

of the Army. The second tendency is to be complacent with just 

some of the Army’s experience. Both of these tendencies are wrong 

and will impede development.” In February 1951, the first expanded 

meeting of the PLAAF Party Committee formally affirmed the 

guiding principle that “the Air Force will be developed on the basis 

of the Army.” 

As late as the early 1980s when the PLA began reorganizing 

its ground forces into group armies, the PLAAF was tasked to 

provide defense for group army positions. The CMC gave specific 

guidance that “each branch and unit of the PLAAF must establish 

the philosophy that they support the needs of the ground forces 

and that the victory is a ground force victory.”49 This dependence 

is enhanced by the fact that the PLAAF must use ground force 

campaign terminology as the basis for its own theory.

Developing Theory and Regulations. When it was founded, the PRC 

did not have any experience in developing aviation theory, so the 

PLAAF used the Soviet Air Force as its model.50 In 1957, it began to 

make changes to Soviet doctrine by developing and teaching its own 

theory based on its experience in the Korean War and operations 

against the Nationalists on the islands off of Zhejiang Province. 

In 1959, the Air Force created a Regulations Committee that wrote 

over 300 regulations, including the first elements of China’s airpower 

theory.51 In 1962, the committee published the draft PLAAF Combat 

Regulations (Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjun Kongjun Zhandou Tiaoling) 

that laid out the concepts for its air superiority mission, which it 

divided into two types:52 strategic air superiority and campaign and 
107

tactical air superiority.

The PLAAF defines strategic air superiority as “the ability to 

influence a war by conducting air superiority for the entire war or 

a specific period of time at a particular location or locations over 

a sustained period of time.” Tactical air superiority is defined as 

“the ability to influence a battle by conducting air superiority over 

a critical or limited area for a short period of time.” In the past, 

however, tactical air superiority pertained primarily to areas around 

China’s airfields, since its aircraft did not have long legs and its SAM 

coverage was limited. 

Although the PLAAF compiled teaching materials on tactics 

during the late 1950s and early 1960s, it was not until the 1980s that it 

published several documents on tactics theory for each of its aviation 

troop components and airborne troops.53 During the mid 1960s, it 

wrote a set of rules and regulations, courses of study, and teaching 

materials that showed its military theory had entered the phase of 

“using the PLAAF as the dominant factor” (yi wo wei zhu). Little 

progress occurred, however, in the way of developing theory during 

the late 1960s and 1970s as a result of the Cultural Revolution. 

The PLAAF’s research on military theory since the early 1980s 

began to focus even more on air force campaign theory. The PLA 

describes a military campaign (zhanyi) as “combat operations 

consisting of a series of battles conducted by juntuan-level 

organizations under a unified command to achieve a local objective 

or an overall objective in a war.”54

Serious changes in the way the PLAAF thought about its future 

really began as a result of Deng Xiaoping’s 1985 “strategic decision” 

that directed the armed forces to change from preparation for an 

“early, major, and nuclear war” to preparing for “local limited 

wars around China’s borders, including its maritime territories and 

claims.” These changes included writing new teaching materials, 

conducting research on simultaneous offensive and defensive 

capabilities, and doing research on campaign and strategic theory. 

Other events helped spur on these changes, including the burgeoning 

foreign military exchange program, the start of the F-8-2 foreign 

military sales program (Peace Pearl) with the U.S. Air Force, and the 

move to establish a rapid reaction force composed of “fist units,” of 

which the 15th Airborne Army would be a lead element.
108

Searching for Strategic Theory. The PLAN began developing its 

own offshore defense (jinhai fangyu) strategy in the mid 1980s to 

protect China’s growing maritime trade, but the PLAAF is still 

searching for its own strategic theory in the new century. While 

the PLA has always had an active defense (jiji fangyu) strategy, it 

was not until commander Wang Hai laid out a program in 1987 

that the Air Force formally set forth the concept of “moving from 

defending the country’s air space to building an air force with 

simultaneous offensive and defensive capabilities.” This concept 

was formally identified in the 1987 publication Science of Strategy

(Zhanlue Xue) as the PLAAF’s long-term goal.55 Wang emphasized 

that the combined arms combat environment of the 1980s required 

a force that could move quickly over long distances, could fight in 

an electronic environment, could have the capability to attack an 

enemy, and could keep it from sustaining complete damage from 

an enemy air attack — none of which the PLAAF had at the time. 

Recent discussions with PLA officers in Beijing indicate that the Air 

Force still does not consider this concept as a strategy.56

Although Wang Hai initiated the concept of simultaneous 

offensive and defensive operations in 1987, it did not receive much 

publicity until late 1996, when Chinese leaders, including CMC 

Chairman Jiang Zemin and the PLAAF’s new commander, Liu 

Shunyao, began to emphasize the need to fight offensive battles. The 

timing coincided with Taiwan’s final preparations to receive its first 

squadron of 150 F-16s and 60 Mirage 2000-5s in April 1997.57

An illuminating article in the March 2000 issue of Zhongguo 

Kongjun magazine stated, “If the PLAAF is to have direction in the 

future, then it must have the means to accomplish it as well. This 

means developing its own strategic theory. Only in this way can 

each branch and each department become unified and take the form 

of a joint force.”58 The article further stated, “It is heartening the 

PLAAF’s strategic theory is now receiving high-level attention, and 

the training system will change appreciably as a result.”

PLAAF Campaign Theory. The PLAAF has traditionally conducted 

its combat operations as a series of air campaigns within the PLA’s 

overall campaign, so it has focused on campaign and tactical 

theory rather than strategic theory.59 The PLAAF spent three years 

(1984 to 1987) compiling material for its first book on campaign 
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theory entitled Air Force Science of Campaigns (Kongjun Zhanyi 

Xue).60 In 1988, the GSD’s Training Department published PLA Air 

Force Science of Campaigns (Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjun Kongjun 

Zhanyi Xue), which explained the characteristics of campaigns, the 

development of campaign theory, and the mission of the PLAAF’s 

campaign juntuan, and how these three elements pertain to a unified 

command organization.61 This was the first time it included the idea 

of attack (jingong) in its earlier Soviet formulation of an air campaign. 

Thereafter, Air Force Campaign Course Materials (Kongjun Zhanyi 

Xue Jiaocheng) and complementary categories of teaching materials 

were published to guide campaign training. 

The PLAAF has been methodical in the way it has defined its 

campaign theory and used it to provide operational guidance for its 

forces. The term “air force campaign” is a general term for all types 

of air force campaign operations.62 It describes an air force campaign 

as “using from one to several campaign large formations (zhanyi 

juntuan) or campaign tactical formations (zhanyi zhanshu bingtuan) to 

carry out the integration of a series of battles (zhandou) according to a 

unified intention and plan to achieve a specific strategic or campaign 

objective in a specified time. An Air Force campaign is implemented 

under the guidance of the national military strategy and the 

PLAAF’s strategy.”63 PLAAF juntuan level organizations refer to the 

seven MRAF headquarters, and bingtuan level organizations include 

air corps, command post, division, and brigade headquarters.

The PLA also describes an air force campaign as “a campaign 

conducted independently by an air force campaign large formation 

or with the coordination of other services and branches. An air force 

campaign is guided by the national military strategy and is limited 

by the PLAAF’s strategy. An air force campaign involves various 

air-to-air, air-to-ground, and surface-to-air battles to achieve specific 

military objectives. The campaign determines the battle’s character, 

goals, missions, and actions, and directly supports the local and 

overall war.”64

PLAAF campaign theory can be categorized into campaign theory 

for aviation (aircraft), air defense (SAM, AAA, and radar troops), and 

airborne troops.65 Not surprisingly, these three categories reflect the 

way it is organized administratively and operationally in terms of 

its five branches (aviation, SAM, AAA, radar, and airborne troops) 
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and support elements (political structure, logistics, maintenance, 

communications, etc.). 

Based on command relations, the PLAAF’s campaigns can be 

conducted independently or as joint service campaigns in positional 

or mobile modes.66 Based on their characteristics and objectives, air 

force campaigns can be divided into three basic types — offensive, 

defensive, and blockade.

OPERATIONS

Summary.

This section highlights PLAAF operations in the Korean War, 

the 1958 Taiwan Strait Crisis, and the 1979 border conflict with 

Vietnam.67 It also provides an overview of the PLAAF’s air defense 

operations from 1949 to 1969.

Several key points come out of this discussion. First, the 

PLAAF was basically unprepared for each of the conflicts, but 

made preparations and deployed troops fairly rapidly once the 

decision was made to launch the campaign. Second, ground support 

personnel preceded the deployment of aviation and air defense 

weapon systems by several days or weeks. Third, a good deal of 

political work was necessary to motivate the troops and to inform 

the local population about the necessity of what was happening. 

Fourth, the CMC established specific rules of engagement for each 

conflict. Fifth, the PLAAF used each conflict to train its troops as well 

as to engage in combat operations. Sixth, it has been able to mass 

hundreds of aircraft near the border for each conflict, using Chinese 

territory as a sanctuary. Finally, there will always be a discrepancy 

among the participants in statistics for aircraft losses, but these 

discrepancies could foster a false sense of accomplishment and 

expectations for the PLAAF for any future conflict.

The Korean War.

Although a small number of pilots from the North Korean Air 

Force (NKAF) and Soviet Air Force took part, the PLAAF was the 

primary air force involved in the Korean War on the communist 
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side.68 From the PLAAF’s perspective, the Korean War accomplished 

several goals. The most important of these were to establish a 

command organization, repair and build suitable airfields inside 

China, acquire substantial numbers of modern combat aircraft 

organized into 28 air divisions, and gain combat experience for its 

pilots, staff, and support personnel. As discussed earlier, the basic 

organizational structure developed during that time still exists 

today.

Lessons Learned. As part of its official history, the PLAAF provided 

an analysis of the Korean War and drew six principal conclusions.69 

The first conclusion focused on the policy of trying to repair 

North Korean airfields as stepping stones toward the south and for 

providing direct support to the ground forces. It was not until the 

end of 1951 that the Chinese military leadership conceded this policy 

would not work because the United Nations (U.N.) forces controlled 

the skies over North Korea and could bomb the airfields at will. 

The CMC also determined the PLAAF could not directly support 

the ground troops. As a result, the mission changed to maintaining 

air superiority in northwestern Korea, providing point protection 

of key transportation lines and military and industrial targets, and 

providing indirect support for the ground forces. 

The second lesson was the primacy still placed on the human 

factor. Even though the U.N. forces had higher-quality equipment 

and technology, the PLAAF insisted its forces were superior because 

they had come from the ground forces accustomed to difficult 

situations and were willing to sacrifice themselves for China. 

The third lesson was that high technical skills among pilots and 

maintenance personnel are the keys to victory. For example, the 

PLAAF compared the kill ratio and aircraft malfunction ratio during 

the war. From September 1951 to May 1952, according to PLAAF 

data, the USAF kill ratio was purportedly 1.46:1, and the PLAAF had 

an average of one maintenance malfunction for every 558.8 sorties. 

After October 1952, when the F-86 became the primary fighter, the 

USAF kill ratio was 1.42:1, but the PLAAF had an average of only 

one malfunction for every 1,000 sorties.

The fourth lesson was the imperative need to improve the 

command level to ensure victory. Several instances were cited of 

missions being conducted mechanically that resulted in the needless 
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loss of aircraft.

The fifth lesson was the pivotal importance of equipment. Specific 

examples included PLAAF claims of a kill ratio of 1:7.8 against the 

F-80 and F-84. The situation changed when the U.N. forces acquired 

the F-86, but the PLAAF’s acquisition of MiG-15bis fighters evened 

up the odds. For example, of the 125 air battles engaged in during 

1952, 85 were with F-86s. Of these, the PLAAF purportedly won 9 

(i.e., shot down at least one F-86 with no PLAAF losses), came out 

ahead in 15 (had fewer losses than the U.N. forces), tied 34, and had 

more losses in 27. In the remaining 40 battles against other aircraft, 

the PLAAF won 20, came out ahead in 10, tied 8, and lost 2. 

The final lesson was the continued importance of the political 

commissar system’s emphasis on political work among the troops to 

ensure victory.

But these “lessons learned” reveal a disconnect, even today, 

between the Chinese and American versions of the war. The wide 

discrepancy in air-to-air combat figures cited by both sides of 

the Korean War is a good illustration of the PLA’s difficulties in 

analyzing the effectiveness of airpower. 

According to the PLAAF’s published history, the PLAAF shot 

down 330 aircraft and damaged another 95 in air-to-air combat, 

compared to having only 231 aircraft shot down and 151 damaged — 

a ratio of 1.1:1 in favor of the PLAAF. According to USAF data, U.N. 

forces together destroyed 976 enemy aircraft in air-to-air combat. In 

the course of its operations, U.N. forces lost a total of 1,986 aircraft, 

of which 1,041 were destroyed by hostile action and only 147 were 

lost in air-to-air combat. The number of U.N. aircraft damaged in 

air-to-air combat was not given.70 In his autobiography, former 

commander Wang Hai, who flew in the Korean War, responded to 

the figure of only 147 U.N. aircraft lost in air-to-air combat quoted in 

Futrell’s book by saying, “This is a lie as big as the heavens.”71

It should be noted that the USAF had gun camera film to support 

most of its claims, and it is doubtful whether the Chinese had any 

similar accountability system. Some of the differences may be 

explained by Russian and North Korean participation. For example, 

in 1993 a pair of Russian authors challenged the authority of gun 

camera film by stating “some of these MiG-15s, seemingly shot 

down on Sabre gun camera film, actually landed at their airfields 
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with damage.” More interesting is their revelation that Soviet losses 

totaled 345 MiGs.72

The real key to analyzing the war and the effectiveness of the 

PLAAF’s air-to-air capabilities, however, comes from examining 

combat between the F-86 and MiG-15. According to Futrell, by the 

conclusion of the war, Sabre pilots had destroyed 810 enemy planes, 

including 792 MiG-15s, some of which were piloted by Soviet 

airmen. Meanwhile, Far East Air Force (FEAF) lost a total of 139 

aircraft in air-to-air combat, including 78 Sabres. The Sabre pilots 

thus maintained a 10:1 margin of victory over the MiG-15.73

Despite its problematic record in certain areas, the PLAAF 

nevertheless scored some significant accomplishments. In only a few 

years, the PLAAF had grown from a force of a few obsolescent combat 

aircraft to 28 divisions and 3,000 aircraft, many of which were highly 

advanced systems for their time. Chinese forces virtually stopped 

the FEAF B-29s from flying daytime missions and, according to their 

statistics, shot down more than 140 aircraft in air-to-air combat, thus 

gaining a training edge that put it ahead of most of the world’s air 

forces. The PLAAF had also gained valuable combat experience, 

established a command organization and administrative structure, 

built and refurbished countless airfields, and trained a cadre of 

maintenance and logistics personnel under combat conditions. The 

Korean War experience also helped the PLAAF lay the foundations 

for future growth, and provided the operational experience for the 

PLAAF’s leaders in the 1980s and 1990s.

The 1958 Taiwan Strait Crisis.

In 1956, the PLA began building a new group of airfields in 

Fujian, Zhejiang, and eastern Guangdong Provinces to counter the 

Nationalist Air Force, which basically controlled the skies from 

Taiwan to Shanghai. In the aftermath of a 2-month-long meeting 

of the CMC between May and July of 1958, Beijing began a sharp 

upsurge in propaganda calling for the “liberation” of Taiwan. The 

plans called for the Air Force to enter Fujian and for artillery to 

begin shelling Quemoy. In response, Washington announced its 

forces in the Far East were going on alert and would conduct naval 

and air force patrols north to Okinawa and south to the Philippines. 
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In addition, Taiwan put its forces on alert and began conducting 

reconnaissance flights along the coast of Fujian and Guangdong, 

publicly calling this “preparations to quickly counterattack the 

mainland.”

PLAAF Preparations. Overall, the battle for air superiority took 

three months and can be divided into two phases.74 Phase 1 took 

place from July 27 to August 22, and consisted of moving into Fujian 

and Guangdong. Phase 2 took place from August 23 to mid October 

and consisted of air cover for the naval and army artillery shelling 

and the blockade of Quemoy. 

As in the Korean War and, subsequently, in the 1979 SinoVietnamese border conflict, the political commissar system expended 

considerable propaganda efforts to increase political mobilization by 

explaining to the troops and local Chinese populace the reason for 

entering Fujian.

During preparations for the assault, the CMC also established the 

following three rules of engagement (ROE) for the Air Force: 

1. The Air Force could not enter the high seas to conduct operations.

2. If the Nationalist Air Force did not bomb the mainland, the PLAAF could 

not bomb Quemoy and Matsu.

3. The Air Force was not allowed to attack the U.S. military but could defend 

against any U.S. aircraft entering Chinese territory.

PLAAF Operations. Once the general plan and ROE were 

established, the order to implement the plan was given.75 Once the 

command, radar, and AAA units were in place, the first aircraft 

(MiG-17s) deployed to Liancheng and Shantou. Prior to these 

deployments, the United States and Taiwan were not fully cognizant 

that the Soviets had provided the PLAAF with the MiG-17. 

During Phase 1 of the air operations (July 29 to August 22), 

PLAAF statistics showed that its units flew 1,077 sorties in 255 groups 

and engaged in four battles, shooting down four aircraft, damaging 

five, and losing one. Assuming that only the six regiments (about 

200 aircraft) deployed along the front line conducted these sorties, 

each fighter flew an average of five sorties over the 23-day period 

— one sortie every four days. If the number of aircraft was greater, 
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the number of sorties declines accordingly. This indicates that the 

PLAAF logistical support capabilities were still far from adequate.

Phase 2 was also highlighted by further deployment of aircraft 

on both sides of the Taiwan Strait and larger air battles. The PLAAF 

redeployed some of its aircraft to airfields in Fujian and eastern 

Guangdong. The United States also deployed more troops and 140 

F-100s and F-104s to Taiwan. In addition, the Nationalists, who 

began using U.S.-supplied Sidewinder air-to-air missiles for the first 

time, flew 100 to 200 sorties a day, including 30 to 80 aircraft at a time 

along the coast. During this period, there were seven air battles.

During one skirmish over Quemoy, PLA AAA units shot down a 

PLAAF aircraft. As a result, the Air Force and artillery commanders 

met and came up with the following principles, which were intended 

to guide all future air and ground combat coordination:

• If there is an air battle in progress, the ground artillery will not 

fire.

• If PLAAF aircraft cannot take off or if there are no friendly 

aircraft in the air, the ground artillery will engage the enemy.

• If the enemy is conducting bombing, the ground forces will 

engage the aircraft even if there is an air battle going on 

between enemy and friendly forces.

• Coastal forces should not open fire, except when enemy forces 

are attacking their specific positions.

By the end of October, Beijing deescalated the crisis with a 

temporary cease-fire followed by intermittent shelling of Quemoy 

and Matsu. The air defense situation had reached a stalemate, with 

the Nationalists controlling the airspace over the Strait and the 

PLAAF gradually controlling the airspace over Fujian, Zhejiang, 

and Guangdong provinces. Over the next few years, the Nationalists 

continued to probe the mainland’s defenses with reconnaissance 

flights (including high-altitude U-2 flights, of which the PLAAF shot 

down five between 1962 and 1967).

As in many cases, the data on combat victories and losses reported 
116

by the opposing sides vary widely. For example, according to 

China’s data, the PLAAF and naval aviation flew 3,778 sorties in 691 

groups (five to six aircraft per group). Their aircraft were engaged in 

13 air battles, shooting down 14 and damaging 9. On the other hand, 

according to USAF data, there were 25 air-to-air engagements, with 

Nationalist pilots destroying 32 aircraft, downing probably 3 more, 

and damaging 10. Nationalist forces lost four of their own aircraft.76

On the positive side for the PLAAF, it now had a permanent 

presence opposite Taiwan, and the Nationalists no longer owned 

the airspace over Fujian and eastern Guangdong provinces. On 

the negative side, the PLA was not able to take Quemoy or Matsu, 

and, at least according to U.S. statistics, the Nationalists had an 8:1 

kill ratio over the PLAAF. Coordination between fighter forces and 

ground-based defenses had been found wanting as well. Although 

the PLAAF deployed over 500 aircraft to the area, they did not 

capitalize on their numerical superiority, nor did they show any 

type of surge capability. 

Finally, despite mounting frictions with Moscow at that time, 

China continued to receive military assistance from the Soviet 

Union. In October 1958, China received its first SA-2 missiles (5 

launchers and 62 missiles) from the Soviet Union, which were 

deployed around Beijing.

PLAA Air Defense Operations: 1949–69.

In January 2002, former PLAAF deputy commander, Lieutenant 

General Lin Hu, wrote a book describing the Air Force’s air defense 

operations for the period of 1949 to 1969.77 In the book, Lin stated the 

PLAAF shot down a total of 95 aircraft and damaged 200 additional 

aircraft during this period while conducting its air defense mission 

over China and along China’s periphery. The numbers were broken 

down into 38 aircraft destroyed and 21 damaged in air-to-air combat, 

48 destroyed and 158 damaged by AAA, 9 aircraft downed by SAMs, 

and 1 aircraft damaged by radar troops using high-powered rifles. 

These figures do not cover any aircraft engaged over Korea during 

the Korean War. Lin stated the PLAAF drew five lessons from its 

air defense operations that are applicable to the Air Force today as 

follows:

1. Mao Zedong Thought is the PLAAF’s magic weapon (fabao) for defeating 
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the enemy.

2. Always being alert is the necessary requirement to take the initiative while 

in a passive mode.

3. The PLAAF must continue to develop new air defense tactics to 

complement its mobility and flexibility.

4. The PLAAF must use crack troops for combat and must continue to 

advance its weapons.

5. China must develop its own aircraft engines or China will not be able to 

become self-sufficient.

The 1979 Sino-Vietnam Border Conflict.

China’s “punitive war” or “self-defensive counterattack” with 

Vietnam lasted from February 17 to March 17.78 Deng Xiaoping 

was named the overall commander of Chinese forces, Marshal Xu 

Xiangqian and Marshal Nie Rongzhen were appointed deputy 

commanders, and Geng Biao was named the chief of staff. Under 

the central command, two fronts were established — northern 

and southern. The Northern Front, which included the Shenyang, 

Beijing, Jinan, Lanzhou, and Xinjiang MRs, was placed under the 

command of Li Desheng, who already served as commander of the 

Shenyang MR.

Because the war was being fought in the south, the arrangement 

for the Southern Front was more important and complicated. 

Xu Shiyou (commander of the Guangzhou MR) was appointed 

commander; Yang Dezhi (new commander of the Kunming MR) 

was the deputy commander; and Zhang Tingfa (commander of the 

air force) was the chief of staff and the commander for all air forces. 

The Guangzhou MRAF commander (and future PLAAF 

commander), Wang Hai, was placed in charge of PLAAF troops 

in the Guangxi operations area.79 The Kunming MRAF command 

post director, Hou Shujun, was placed in charge of PLAAF troops 

in the Yunnan operations area. Each operations area was further 

divided into several operational routes, and a combined command 

post was established at one strategically located airfield within each 

operational route to command and coordinate all matters among 
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different branches, aircraft types within that district. The Guangzhou 

MRAF headquarters also established a forward command post at an 

unidentified location, which worked closely with the 7th Air Corps 

at Nanning as the unified authority for the PLAAF’s participation in 

the conflict.

Drawing from several MRs, the Chinese assembled approximately 

31 divisions (330,000 men, which equated to about 10 percent of total 

ground force strength) and 1,200 tanks on the border. Depending 

on the source, figures vary from 800-1,100 aircraft stationed at 15 air 

bases in Yunnan, Guangxi, Guangdong, and Hainan, many of which 

deployed to these areas from elsewhere in China.

PLAAF Involvement. The PLAAF’s operational capabilities had 

declined seriously over the previous 14 years due to the Cultural 

Revolution.80 The military reforms launched during the Third Party 

Plenum of the 11th Party Congress in 1978 came too late to improve 

PLA capabilities in a substantial way during the 1979 conflict. The 

PLAAF had been so decimated during China’s protracted internal 

upheavals that it simply was not prepared mentally or operationally 

for the border conflict with Vietnam.

Although the PLAAF deployed hundreds of aircraft to the border 

area, neither the PLAAF nor the Vietnamese Air Force flew missions 

in direct support of their ground troops.81 According to the PLA 

General Staff, “the Vietnamese Air Force did not dare start anything 

during the border conflict, which the Chinese limited to a certain area, 

time frame, and goals, because the PLAAF was able to maintain air 

superiority.”82 The air force also cites its “deterrent capability” as the 

primary reason the Vietnamese Air Force did not become involved 

in the conflict. In reality, neither side wanted to escalate the limited 

conflict by introducing aircraft into the campaign.

According to PLAAF statistics, a total of 8,500 sorties, using 3,131 

groups of aircraft, were flown. Transport aircraft performed a crucial 

function, flying 228 sorties, carrying 1,465 troops and 151 tons of 

materiel.83 These figures most likely represent all activity over a 2 to 

3-month period, including area familiarization, flights during the 30-

day conflict, helicopter evacuation of wounded personnel, and postconflict sorties. Given a total of almost 1,000 aircraft deployed to the 

border area, this is only about ten sorties per aircraft over a minimum 

of 60 days — about one sortie every 5 days.84 Thus, the low sortie 
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rates achieved in the conflicts with Taiwan during the late 1950s 

had not been improved upon and probably reflected continuing 

problems in support functions, which were further exacerbated by 

the effects of the Cultural Revolution. According to PLAAF data, 

maintenance personnel achieved a 97.5 percent readiness rate and 

a 99.7 percent takeoff rate for aircraft — probably not a difficult feat 

with such a low sortie rate.

Besides not wanting to escalate the conflict, the PLAAF was 

probably not capable of providing direct fire support for the ground 

troops or of gaining air superiority over the battle area. As a result, 

the PLAAF restricted its missions to fighter reconnaissance and 

early-warning missions along the border, helicopter rescue missions 

to pick up wounded soldiers, and air transport missions. It did not 

fly any ground attack aircraft or bomber sorties over the border 

during the conflict. Later PLAAF analysis of the conflict criticized 

the lack of effective reconnaissance and early warning capabilities 

and identified these as areas for improvement. The Air Force did, 

however, use the conflict to build, repair, or acquire new equipment 

and facilities as far north as the Shenyang MR, which it had not been 

able to do during the Cultural Revolution.

According to a summary of the report produced by the Chengdu 

MR, as one of its first missions, the PLAAF identified the need to 

educate the troops in Guangxi and Yunnan about the reasons for 

the upcoming operations and the need to motivate them to work all 

out preparing for the influx of additional troops.85 Upon receiving 

the combat readiness alert, the PLAAF’s political commissar system 

provided all of the troops in the region with intensive education by 

having them study the Military Commission’s and HqAF’s orders 

and relevant newspaper articles. In addition, three simple principles 

were put forth — everything is subordinate to war; resolutely carry 

out orders; and hard work comes first.

One of the most important tasks prior to the conflict was to 

prepare the airfields in Guangxi for the influx of about 20,000 

PLAAF aviation, SAM, and AAA troops and more than 700 aircraft 

of different types. Because the Vietnamese Air Force was equipped 

with a limited number of MiG-21bis, the PLAAF deployed some 

units equipped with F-7s to front-line airfields in Guangxi and 

Yunnan; however, the PLAAF’s F-7s were having major problems 
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and the entire program was in jeopardy at the time.

Before and during the conflict, the PLAAF’s logistics organizations 

had two primary missions — support housing for those troops 

already stationed in Guangxi and prepare housing, food, water, 

and electricity for the incoming troops. These organizations issued 

about 10,000 mobile beds, more than 32,000 meters of water pipe, 

and 200 km of electric cable; built 43,000 m2 of bamboo sheds; and 

repaired more than 23,000 m2 of old housing. In addition, the Air 

Force used vehicles and its boat troops to transport mobile housing 

with the troops to Tianyang. During the conflict, the Nanning Wuxu 

field station dispatched over 16,500 vehicles to provide support for 

portions of one aviation regiment and one independent air group.

The logistics organizations also had to acquire and supply 

enough fuel for the incoming aircraft. Based on initial estimates of 

the amount of fuel required, the PLAAF’s fuel supply was totally 

inadequate, and several depots were almost empty. Therefore, 

during the preparation period, fuel depots at all of the region’s 

airfields were filled. This included the depot at Tianyang, which 

relied on water transport for its fuel supply. Some of the airfields 

did not have rail spurs, so vehicles had to bring in all the fuel. In 

addition, all of the combat-readiness tanks available throughout the 

MR and some from outside the MR were quickly transferred to the 

front-line airfields. These expanded the amount of aviation kerosene 

by over 50 percent. By the time the conflict began, the amount of 

fuel supplied to all the Guangxi airfields was 4.3 times the normal 

amount.

Supplying fuel during peacetime in China was difficult enough, 

but it proved even more difficult during wartime. Because some 

airfields, such as Ningming, are close to the border, their fuel storage 

was partially underground, and the rail lines supplying the bases 

were overscheduled. As a result, the PLAAF was concerned that the 

Vietnamese might destroy or disrupt fuel supplies. Because of this 

situation, the PLAAF took about 45 days to build more than 50 km of 

semipermanent fuel pipes to three different airfields.

Since it did not fly any actual combat missions during the 

conflict, only about one-fourth of the fuel estimated for combat was 

used, and the difficulties with fuel consumption were fewer than 

expected; however, several organizational and facilities problems 
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were highlighted. For example, the fuel depot capacity at the 

PLAAF’s airfields was too small, and there was no way to support 

several types of aircraft or the sustained combat use of fuel for 

several batches of aircraft. In addition, the refueling equipment was 

deemed backwards and incompatible.

Once the conflict began, the air force flew numerous sorties along 

the border, but found that its on-station time was severely limited 

due to the distance it had to fly and the limited range of the F-6s.86

On the other hand, the air force flew a large number of helicopter 

sorties to transport wounded soldiers to Nanning. Since the nearest 

point was 110 km and the farthest was 280 km, each helicopter trip 

took 2 to 4 hours. During most sorties, the helicopters could not 

turn off their engines or refuel at the pickup points. Altogether, the 

helicopters picked up 628 wounded soldiers from front-line field 

hospitals and transferred them to the rear.

Lessons Learned. The 1979 border conflict was a wake-up call 

for the PLAAF. Following the devastating years of the Cultural 

Revolution, the PLAAF took advantage of the conflict to begin 

rebuilding its logistics and operational infrastructure throughout 

China. The conflict also helped launch Wang Hai into the PLAAF 

commander’s position in 1985. In addition, air units began rotating to 

the border region for several months at a time for area familiarization. 

These rotations helped lay the foundation for the rapid-deployment 

concept that was developed in the late 1980s.

The PLAAF also made some concrete decisions regarding the 

future of its fighter aircraft acquisitions, which is discussed in the 

section below on weapon systems.

WEAPON SYSTEMS

Summary.

The PLAAF’s aircraft acquisition can be divided into five 

overlapping phases. With a few exceptions, the PLAAF’s weapon 

systems have either been reverse engineered from Soviet/Russian 

systems, purchased outright from the Soviet Union/Russia, or have 

encompassed significant amounts of technology from several foreign 

countries. This process has allowed the PLAAF to modernize fairly 
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rapidly when the procurement pipelines were open, but it has also 

placed specific limitations on what it could receive, especially when 

there were internal and external political constraints. The process 

has also kept China’s aviation ministry from developing its own 

systems, and has placed the PLAAF at the mercy of foreign suppliers 

for spare parts.

During its formative years, the PLAAF acquired primarily 

defensive weapon systems to be able to provide an adequate air 

defense capability for its major cities and industrial areas. Units 

appear to have been established, merged, and abolished based on 

three criteria: the need to have a presence in a particular area, such 

as in the Guangzhou MRAF during the Vietnam War; production 

of new types of aircraft with new missions, such as the A-5 and B-6; 

and mission requirements that demand a specific overall force size. 

As the PLAAF’s campaign theory shifted in the late 1980s toward the 

goal of simultaneous defensive and offensive operations, it sought to 

acquire specific weapons in a systematic way. Fortunately for China, 

the Russian arms market opened up in 1990, or the PLAAF would 

not be as far along as it is in reaching its goals.

Background.

Because PLAAF history books and articles have all focused 

on aviation, there is very little information available in Chinese 

writings about the history of the AAA, SAM, and radar branches 

and acquisition of their systems. Acquisition of the aviation branch’s 

weapon systems can be divided into five overlapping phases.87

The first two phases, which covered the relationship with the 

Soviet Union in the 1950s, had a lasting impact on the development 

of China’s aviation industry. During that period, China acquired vast 

numbers of Soviet aircraft, including transports (An-2), helicopters 

(Mi-4), trainers (Yak-18), fighters (MiG-15, MiG-17, MiG-19, and 

MiG-21), ground attack aircraft (Il-10), and bombers (Il-28, Tu-2, Tu4, and Tu-16). Of these, China received production rights to the MiG15, MiG-17, MiG-19, MiG-21, Il-28, and Tu-16 but did not receive 

all the technical material or machinery before the Soviets withdrew 

in 1960.88 China also received its first Soviet SAMs and air-to-air 

missiles (AAM) in the 1950s. Although the Chinese did not receive 
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the production rights, they reverse engineered most of the SAM and 

AAM systems by the mid 1960s.

Phase One. The first phase covered 1950 to 1954, as the PLAAF 

force structure expanded rapidly following the PRC’s intervention 

in Korea. Having started with only a handful of aircraft left from 

the Japanese and Nationalist forces, the PLAAF quickly began 

purchasing hundreds of aircraft from the Soviet Union. In January 

1950, China purchased 586 combat aircraft. The pace accelerated 

when the Korean War began, and by mid 1951, China had acquired 

1,050 aircraft. By early 1954, the PLAAF had purchased a total of 

3,000 aircraft.89

Phases Two and Three. The second phase began in December 

1953 when the Soviet Union agreed to give China production rights 

to produce the MiG-15bis and YAK-18 trainer, and China began 

designing its own aircraft based on existing Soviet aircraft. The third 

phase began in July 1960 when the Soviet Union notified China it was 

withdrawing all of its specialists and canceling all of its contracts.

Once this happened, China took several years to either modify 

or reverse engineer some of the aircraft and missiles furnished by 

the Soviet Union. Chinese efforts reached a peak around 1965 only 

to be severely disrupted by the Cultural Revolution. Between 1969 

and 1971, continued disruptions led to profound quality-control 

problems. As one history of the aviation industry notes, “It was a 

time of industrial anarchy or semi-anarchy . . . the whole industry 

was in the difficult position of trying to preserve order.”90

For its part, the aviation industry places the blame on the direct 

interference of PLAAF commander Wu Faxian and the military. 

Official accounts claim, for example, in 1971 alone, 27 types of 

aircraft were authorized to be developed. Even though there were 

no blueprints for any of them, the industry was expected to bring 

them to the production stage in two to three years. Development 

time for aircraft stretched out for 10 to 15 years or more because 

production decisions were constantly delayed by protracted 

development problems or by leadership indecision. According to 

the official history of the aviation industry, 46 projects went into 

operation without the necessary materials or designs between 1969 

and 1971; 36 of the projects had not even been approved.91

Phase Four. The fourth phase began following the 1979 border 
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conflict with Vietnam, when the PLAAF realized the F-6 could no 

longer meets its long-term needs. At the same time, the military 

began establishing its relationship with the United States. During 

the conflict, the F-6s were barely able to fly to the border from the 

existing bases, loiter for a few minutes, and return home before they 

ran out of fuel. As a result, the F-6 program was terminated that 

summer, and money was infused into the F-7 and F-8 programs, 

which were faltering at the time.

Modernization of the F-7 has continued in various forms since 

the late 1980s, but it still lacks a good engine and fire control system. 

In 1964, the Shenyang Aircraft Corporation began a development 

program to design, manufacture, and test fly the F-8, whose baseline 

was a Soviet aircraft that was never approved for production. Because 

of serious design and economic problems related to the Cultural 

Revolution, the first aircraft was not deployed until December 1979 

— 15 years after development began — but the PLAAF still called 

the F-8 an “operational testbed aircraft” 10 years later.92 Shortly after 

the first F-8 was deployed, the PLAAF established its modification 

requirements for the F-8-2, with emphasis placed on the following 

areas:

• Change the nose intake into side inlets to allow for a larger radar 

antenna, resulting in an increased search and track capability.

• Exchange the engine for a more powerful one.

• Upgrade the avionics (to include electronic counter-counter 

measures [ECCM], a fire control system, an automatic flight 

control system, etc.) to enhance combat efficiency.

• Increase maintainability.

From its first flight in 1984, the Chinese F-8-2 development 

project actually consisted of two programs. One program was the 

integration of an American fire control system acquired through 

the “Peace Pearl” program.93 The second program involved the 

installation of a Chinese fire-control system. Following the military’s 

involvement in Tiananmen Square in June 1989, the U.S. suspended 
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arms sales to China. The first F-8-2s with the Chinese-designed 

fire-control system were deployed to a Naval Aviation regiment on 

Hainan Island in 1992.94

Phase Five. The fifth phase began in 1990, when China returned 

to Moscow for weapon systems and technology. In May 1990, just 

prior to CMC Vice Chairman Liu Huaqing’s visit to Moscow to 

negotiate the first Su-27 contract, the PLAAF laid out its plans for 

future weapon systems procurement to meet its doctrinal needs and 

budgetary constraints.95 The PLAAF stated that if China relied on 

developing these capabilities exclusively through indigenous efforts, 

it would take many years to satisfy its needs. Although self-reliance 

in designing and developing new equipment remained a strategic 

goal for the aviation industry, the PLAAF had few alternatives to 

selective acquisition of much-needed components and subsystems. 

Given this acquisition strategy, the PLAAF planned to modernize its 

equipment according to the four criteria of “new, quality, modify, 

and introduce.” 

• New meant using the newest weapons and equipment already 

in the inventory. 

• Quality meant focusing on acquiring and employing 

weapons and equipment that provided meaningful military 

capability and possessed a high operational rate. It also meant 

maintaining aircraft and engines to extend their service lives. 

• Modify meant using new technology and materials to upgrade 

existing equipment, thus giving it new life. Designing and 

developing a new aircraft from the ground up was not 

considered a feasible option and would consume vast amounts 

of capital. 

• Introduce meant acquiring and integrating advanced weapons 

and equipment from abroad. 

The PLAAF also stated it would concentrate its deployment 

of modern equipment based on the size of the threat among the 

theaters of operations. In this manner, it could be ready to form 
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quickly for battle and could organize its training more easily. It also 

stated it should avoid trying to give every unit the same equipment, 

which would only dissipate its strength where it would be needed 

the most.

When deciding which weapons and equipment to modernize, 

the PLAAF stated it must focus on six combat capabilities: air 

superiority, ground attack, transporting troops and supplies, airborne 

early warning and reconnaissance, electronic countermeasures, and 

maintenance and logistics.

The 1990 plan also laid out the following general guidelines for 

proportionally developing its force, although no precise percentages 

or numbers were specified:

• Fighter aircraft must have the highest priority.

• The proportion allocated for ground attack aircraft must 

be larger than the portion for bombers, since ground attack 

aircraft with a refueling capability could be used against rearechelon targets.

• There must be a certain proportion of bombers, especially 

strategic bombers.

• Reconnaissance aircraft, jamming aircraft, and airborne early 

warning aircraft must be supplied in relevant proportions.

• Development of transport aircraft, which have a strategic 

capability of moving troops and supplies, cannot be slowed 

down.

• Aerial refueling must constitute a certain proportion of 

combat aircraft as a force multiplier.

• China must pay attention to developing helicopters, especially 

armed helicopters, for the Army and Navy.

• The Air Force must develop ground-based weapon systems, 

particularly air defense missiles, radar, and communication 

systems.
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Over the past decade, the PLAAF has implemented its acquisition 

strategy to varying degrees, primarily because of its access to 

Russian systems.96 The list of Russian aviation and air defense 

weapons procured so far includes Su-27 and Su-30 fighters, Il-76 

transports, S-300s SAMs, and Mi-17, Ka-28, and Mi-8 helicopters. 

The PLAAF has also deployed its first B-6 aerial refueling tankers 

for F-8-2 fighters. So far, the PLAAF has not met its goals in the area 

of strategic bombers and acquisition of an airborne early warning 

and control (AEW&C) aircraft.

For more than 3 decades the PLAAF has shown a great interest 

in an AEW&C capability to help offset deficiencies in its air defense 

system.97 Although acquisition of a dedicated AEW&C system 

has again been deferred following Israel’s cancellation of the A50I Phalcon system in July 2000, indications are that the PLAAF 

will most likely buy or lease a small number of A-50U/E aircraft 

from Russia. A number of formidable challenges will test the Air 

Force’s ability to effectively employ any future systems. First, 

there are some indications the PLAAF has yet to institute a major 

training program for its AEW&C mission crews. Second, because 

maximizing on-station time close to an area of interest is the main 

reason to have such a system, the PLAAF will have a difficult but 

expensive requirement of rapidly increasing annual flying hours to 

unprecedented levels. Third, the PLAAF will have to address the 

issue of basing for the aircraft, so that the crew can practice with 

the appropriate aviation and air defense units as often as possible. 

Fourth, the PLAAF will require certain types of logistics support 

from Russia to sustain training and operations, perhaps as several 

airfields. Fifth, the PLAAF must determine whether the systems will 

perform strategic or tactical surveillance missions, or both. Sixth, the 

PLAAF must decide how best to protect the aircraft while they are 

on the ground during a conflict.

TRAINING AND EDUCATION

Summary.

The PLAAF’s system for training and education is an integral part 

of the greater PLA’s system. The PLA is proud of the fact that “while 
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it had successfully extricated many, but not all, cadres [officers] from 

illiteracy when the PRC was formed, more than 70 percent of the 

cadres had a college-level education or above in the year 2000.”98

When looking at the PLA’s schools and academies, a distinction 

must be made between training and education.99 For simplicity, 

“training” can be defined as preparing cadets to effectively perform 

their responsibilities in their respective specialties once they reach 

their combat or support unit. The cadets learn how to perform their 

duties at the “tactical and technical” level of war. Officer training 

takes place at the PLA’s technical schools and the majority of the 

academies. As officers’ responsibilities increase with grade, their 

training requires a broader focus and “education” for conducting 

their specialties at the campaign and strategic levels of war. 

Education begins to take place when members of the PLA attend 

one of the various service’s command colleges and the National 

Defense University. Conscripts receive their training in specialized 

training bases, regiments, and groups. They do not attend schools 

and academies. 

Since the late 1980s, the PLA’s training and education has 

been based on the “5–3” tier system, which consists of five tiers 

of specialized or technical training and education for officers:100

secondary specialized, specialized college or equivalent, university 

or equivalent, masters degree program, and doctorate program.

As a result, most PLA schools and academies specialize in 

training cadets in basic skills for their branch or support function. 

For example, there are separate branch (infantry, artillery, and 

armor) academies for the ground forces, and separate branch and 

support service academies within the PLAAF for pilots, maintenance, 

logistics, AAA, SAMs, communications, and radar.

There also is a three-tier system of professional military training 

and education for officers at the various command colleges — basic, 

intermediate, and advanced.101 The basic level is aimed at “training” 

staff officers who work in the various headquarters and platoonlevel officers for the tactical level of war. The intermediate level 

“trains and educates” officers at the regiment level in the tactical 

and campaign levels of war, including combined arms operations. 

The advanced level is aimed at “educating” officers at the corps and 

group army level at the campaign and strategic levels or war. 
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Given the PLA’s origins as a peasant army and the previous 

emphasis on “Red versus Expert,” the PLA has tended to focus 

primarily on training instead of education. This was especially true 

during the Cultural Revolution and into the early 1980s, when most 

PLA schools were closed and officers were selected from the enlisted 

ranks based on political rather than technical qualifications. 

The PLAAF’s system for training and education can be divided 

into two basic categories based on the type of institution involved. 

The first category consists of schools and academies for officers, plus 

a single school for NCOs focusing on communications. Within this 

category, the emphasis is on training cadets and educating middleand senior-level officers. 

The second category consists of basic training and combat 

training for the entire force. Basic training institutions are primarily 

aimed at teaching technical skills to conscripts and advanced 

pilot skills to flying academy graduates who are transitioning to 

combat units. This training takes place at specialized training bases, 

regiments, and groups. After the officers and conscripts reach their 

combat unit, individual and unit training continues throughout the 

rest of their career. 

Since the late 1980s, the PLAAF has gradually upgraded its combat 

training so it can eventually meet its doctrinal requirements and carry 

out its training guidance concepts. The PLAAF has concentrated on 

aviation combat tactics in various locations, including the Flight Test 

and Training Center near Tianjin, the tactics training center in the 

Gobi Desert near Dingxin, Gansu Province, and at combined arms 

tactical training zones in the various military regions. The PLAAF 

also created a “Blue Army” aggressor unit to simulate offensive and 

defensive operations against the “Red Army.” The tactics developed 

are now being moved to the unit level, where several units have 

begun to turn these new combat theories and concepts into liveammunition exercises. To round out the PLAAF’s tactical training 

and help make up for the limited number of flying hours per year, 

the PLAAF has increased its use of flight simulators. As a result of 

these changes in training, PLAAF pilots have been noted flying in 

more sophisticated simulated air-to-air combat.

In 1951, the PLAAF issued its first training guiding concepts. Since 

then, it has revised them 7 times, with the last revision taking place 
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in October 2001. These guiding concepts are then operationalized 

through the PLAAF’s training program.

The PLAAF’s increased training has been accompanied by 

problems with pilot and maintenance proficiency. As a result, the 

PLAAF revived a program in 2002 known as the “Two Overall 

Inspections” to help remedy the situation.

PLAAF Schools and Academies.

The PLAAF has always placed great emphasis on training 

officers to be proficient in “tactical and technical” skills, but did not 

begin focusing on officer education until the mid 1980s. Whereas the 

schools before the 1980s taught officers to fly, maintain, and support 

aircraft, they did not spend much time on teaching theory on how to 

conduct war at the campaign and strategic levels. Like the rest of the 

PLA, in 1986 the PLAAF changed the name of most of its schools to 

academies so that it could begin offering masters degrees in certain 

subjects. In 1999, three schools were combined administratively to 

become the PLAAF Engineering University, so that doctorates could 

be offered. 

Unlike the USAF, the PLAAF does not have a single academy. 

The PLAAF has always had several flying academies plus specialized 

technical schools for officers in each branch and support element. 

Each school lasts from 2 to 4 years, depending on the specialty. 

Except for pilots, who spend 1 year at a transition training base after 

graduation from their flying academy, all other officer graduates 

are assigned directly to an operational base, since they receive their 

technical training at the academy. Basic and technical training for 

conscripts is conducted at various training bases, regiments, and 

groups throughout China. 

The total number of PLAAF schools and academies has expanded 

and contracted over the years in reaction to policy changes regarding 

training objectives or war preparations. For example, there were as 

many as 17 flying schools during the Cultural Revolution, when 

Minister of Defense Lin Biao and PLAAF Commander Wu Faxian 

were advocating a doctrine of imminent war. Today, there are 

8 flying colleges, 10 specialty colleges (Command, AAA, SAM, 

Communications, Engineering, Logistics, Political, Radar, and two 
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for aircraft maintenance), and one NCO school for a total of 19 

schools and colleges.

Because of the political and economic turmoil during the Cultural 

Revolution, the PLAAF stagnated. In matters involving flight safety, 

education, training, strategy, and tactics, PLAAF historians claim 

there was actual atrophy.102 Almost all PLAAF nonflying schools 

were closed for nearly 6 years, halting nonflying and ground training. 

Within the flying academies, all classes on theory were dropped. 

From 1966 until at least 1982, officers were promoted from 

within the enlisted force based on political reliability rather than 

operational capabilities. In addition, “intellectuals,” “technical 

officers,” and anyone with a college education were looked down 

on. This was especially true for the PLAAF, which was considered 

a technical service. Under Deng Xiaoping’s guidance, the situation 

gradually began to change during the early 1980s. For example, 

during an interview in 1985, PLAAF commander Zhang Tingfa 

discussed changes by saying, “People throughout our country are 

talking about respecting knowledge and talented people and taking 

loving care of intellectuals. So is the PLAAF, because knowledge 

and talented people are indispensable for the modernization of our 

troops.”103

In response to new operational concepts in the 1980s, the senior 

PLAAF leadership joined other services in placing a greater emphasis 

on officer training and education.104 Qualitative improvements 

were introduced for academic education, flight training, combined 

arms training, and joint exercise training. Academic excellence 

was increasingly stressed in the PLAAF, as it was throughout the 

military. To support this objective, the PLAAF closed some schools 

to consolidate resources and upgraded many schools into academies. 

For the first time, new pilots were expected to graduate from PLAAF 

academies with college degrees. Seven PLAAF academies also began 

in 1985 to confer masters degrees in technical fields.105

Because the PLAAF does not have an NCO corps like the 

USAF, officers are trained for hands-on operations. For example, 

maintenance officer cadets at the PLAAF’s Engineering College and 

two Maintenance Technical Training Academies complete from 2 to 

4 years of hands-on training on aircraft maintenance, and once they 

are assigned to an operational unit, they conduct much of the actual 
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aircraft maintenance. The same is true for the other schools and 

subsequent jobs in the operational units.

In 1993, the Command College implemented an in-depth 

teaching reform to change the PLAAF’s operating methodology 

from “employing single branches and single types of aircraft to 

using multiple branches and several types of aircraft in an air force 

combined arms campaign, with the goal of shifting to operations in a 

joint service campaign.” Previously, the training of middle-ranking 

commanders was aimed mainly at directing combat involving a 

single branch and single types of aircraft in warfare under general 

conditions.106 Commanders who graduated from such training were 

good at the tactical operations of their own types of aircraft and 

their own branch, but they did not know much about other types of 

aircraft or other branches and services. Joint operations consisted of 

cover airplanes and attack airplanes flying far apart from each other 

and not having much to do with each other. 

A 1996 Zhongguo Kongjun article discussed the lack of adequate 

combined arms and joint service training facing the PLAAF in the 

early 1990s.107 During one exercise, several types of aircraft were 

deployed simultaneously to an airfield in southern China for combat 

readiness training. What the Air Force found out, however, was that 

it did not have a competent joint force commander. The person 

selected could handle only administrative affairs and could not direct 

the training and combat of other types of aircraft, resulting in errors 

in identifying the type of aircraft entering into the exercise airspace. 

In another similar exercise involving a mixed formation of fighter 

and attack aircraft, the commander did not know how to arrange the 

formation. During a joint Navy and Air Force exercise, the Air Force 

commander was concerned only about the take-off time, route, and 

destination of the Air Force aircraft but did not know anything about 

the Navy’s actions and demands, not to mention how to coordinate 

with the Navy to bring into full play the power of air attacks at 

the critical moment. The PLAAF summarized its commanders as 

“lacking knowledge, having poor concepts, and being incompetent 

in joint operations.” 

As part of the reforms to produce “transcentury commanders,” 

the Command College also began focusing on theories such as 

joint combat operations, mobile warfare, information warfare, and 
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electronic warfare and updated its combat theory. The new combat 

theory embodied the following “four changes”:108

• Change from studying air combat under general conditions to 

studying air combat under high-tech conditions. 

• Change from stressing air defense to stressing air offense.

• Change from air combat supported by joint operations with 

the Army to air combat supported by joint operations of Army, 

Navy, and Air Force.

• Change from warfare involving a single branch and single type 

of aircraft to combined arms warfare involving the multiple 

branches and types of aircraft. 

PLAAF Training Guiding Concepts and Program.

Beginning in 1951, the PLAAF established specific “military 

training guidance concepts” (junshi xunlian zhidao sixiang) as the basic 

principles for its military training.109 These concepts summarized 

the basic direction Air Force training would take in the future. 

The concepts were issued to unify training ideology service wide, 

address major problems the Air Force faced at the time, note specific 

training limitations, and establish certain training objectives. PLAAF 

senior officers have pointed out it is essential to review and modify 

military training guidance concepts when situations and mission 

development change, weapons and equipment are replaced, and 

new regulations and outlines are implemented. 

The PLAAF has stressed that training guidance concepts 

are time-specific. The PLAAF’s Party Committee issued the first 

training concepts in 1951, and has revised them 7 times since then 

— 1952, 1954, 1958, 1965, 1974, 1987, and 2001. In October 2001, the 

Party Committee changed the concepts to “closely adhere to actual 

combat situations (jintie shizhan); stress training against opposing 

forces (tuchu duikang); be hard and strict during training (cong nan 

cong yan);110 and apply science and technology during training (keji 

xingxun).
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Since the latest concepts were issued in 2001, all PLAAF 

branches, training units, schools, and support elements have tried 

to implement them in conjunction with carrying out the military 

training program (kongjun junshi xunlian dagang), which was 

revised in 2002 based on the new training guidelines. According to 

the PLAAF Dictionary, the dagang is the general plan for Air Force 

training. The program includes training goals, principles, content, 

implementation phases and procedures, timing, methods, and 

quality-control inspection procedures.111 The program is divided 

into several categories, including training for command personnel, 

headquarters department, branches (aviation, AAA, SAM, airborne, 

and radar), and all support elements such as the communications 

troops. 

An April 2002 article in Kongjun Bao provides a good look at 

how the PLAAF has implemented the latest program, which was 

formally issued that month.112 The article explained the PLAAF has 

now incorporated more flying time and training periods than in the 

past.113 Under the new program, each pilot can fly one to two more 

sorties per period than under the old program. In addition, whereas 

the old program allowed each pilot to fly only 2.5 hours each day, 

the new guidelines allow pilots to fly 3.5 hours or more each day. 

PLAAF Aviation Combat Unit Training.

Since the late 1980s, the PLAAF has gradually upgraded its 

combat training to eventually meet its doctrinal requirements 

and carry out its training guidance concepts. In 1987, the PLAAF 

established a Flight Test and Training Center at Cangzhou airfield 

near Tianjin. This center has three primary missions:114 1) test new 

aircraft under development by the aviation ministry, 2) train the 

initial cadre of pilots in new type aircraft before the aircraft are 

deployed to an operational base for the first time, and 3) devise new 

air combat tactics. 

Based on various articles in Jiefangjun Bao over the past decade, 

the Training Center also established a “Blue Army” aggressor unit 

located nearby to simulate offensive and defensive operations 

against the “Red Army.” The aggressor aircraft (F-7s and F-8s) 

engage in exercises against PLAAF operational units, employing 
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dissimilar aircraft air intercepts utilizing evasive maneuvers. The 

tactics developed at the training base and through the “Blue Army” 

are now being moved to the unit level, where several units have 

begun to turn these new combat theories and concepts into liveammunition exercises. According to various interviews, aggressor 

units have been established in each of the seven MRs.115 The 

aggressor aircraft engage in exercises with local units, employing 

dissimilar aircraft air intercepts utilizing evasive maneuvers.

In 1958, the PLAAF built a large center for testing its AAMs and 

SAMs in the Gobi Desert near Dingxin, Gansu Province.116 During 

the mid 1990s, the PLAAF began expanding this base to include 

a large tactics training center, where multiple PLAAF units could 

practice the tactics developed at Cangzhou and tested in individual 

units throughout the force. The training base has a sophisticated 

command and control center and air and ground tactical training 

ranges, plus a mock-up of Taiwan’s Chingchuankang (CCK) airbase, 

including the runways, air defense SAM and AAA sites, radars, 

command posts, ammunition depots, and oil depots. Since the mid 

1990s, several large-scale exercises have been conducted at the base.

The PLAAF has also apparently established combined arms 

tactical training zones where different types of aircraft can train 

together with SAM and AAA units. For example, in 1995 the Nanjing 

MRAF set up a coordinated tactical training zone composed of strike, 

ground attack, bomber, and reconnaissance air units.117

In April 2000, the PLA Navy’s North Sea Fleet and an 

unidentified air division in the Jinan MRAF agreed to conduct joint 

service training for the first time.118 It is not clear whether the PLAAF 

has similar agreements with the East and South Sea Fleets. During 

July 2000, the PLAAF’s attack aircraft, most likely A-5s, conducted 

single-ship and formation attacks on a flotilla as they each made 

tactical maneuvers. The flotilla and the air division also practiced 

ship-to-aircraft communications, identification friend or foe (IFF), 

air reconnaissance, and shipborne ground controlled interception 

(GCI). The ships also practiced calling in the aircraft for air cover. 

The aircraft conducted 150 sorties during the two-day exercise. The 

article did not mention anything about Naval Aviation participation 

in the exercise.

To round out the PLAAF’s tactical training and help make up for 
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the limited number of flying hours per year, the PLAAF has increased 

its use of flight simulators. The PLAAF now reportedly conducts 

more than 90 percent of its tactical training on simulators.119

As a result of these changes in training, some PLAAF pilots have 

been noted flying in more sophisticated simulated air-to-air combat 

with the aggressor units, training in an ECM environment, flying 

over the Taiwan Strait and East and South China Seas, conducting 

live missile firings beyond the coast, and dropping live bombs at 

ranges, as well as flying at night, under different weather conditions, 

and at low altitudes. They have also practiced emergency mobility 

deployments to permanent and auxiliary airfields within and 

outside their assigned MRs. All of these changes have been aided by 

the acquisition of improved navigation equipment.

The current description for PLAAF fighter, bomber, and 

ground attack mobile offensive air campaign operations can be 

summarized as “transregional rapid mobility integrated longdistance strikes at night in all weather conditions from multiple 

levels and different directions under unknown conditions. These 

attacks can be conducted against land or maritime targets, and the 

navigation routes can be over land or over water.” Media reports 

discussing the PLAAF’s exercises have mentioned all of the above, 

but, from the PLAAF’s perspective, one of the newest aspects of its 

training program is that during exercises both antagonists are told 

when a war begins, but they are not told the other side’s number 

of sorties, location, or altitude. Therefore, they must decide how to 

achieve victory in a completely unknown environment. An exercise 

conducted by a Jinan MRAF fighter regiment indicates the PLAAF’s 

trend in training for emergency mobile transregional operations. 

According to a November 2000 report in Kongjun Bao,

120

A regiment of fighters consisting of over 20 aircraft departed its 

home base in the Jinan MR [Shandong and Henan Provinces] on 

a rainy night “under concealment” in late October. The aircraft 

flew to an airfield south of the Yangzi river [probably in the 

Nanjing MR] to conduct air patrols and render air support to 

the war zone. This emergency combat mobility drill signified a 

new breakthrough in its capability for large-fleet, long-range, allweather operations at all hours and in all airspaces. The regiment 

holds monthly simulated drills of emergency take-off, mobility, 

and change of alert conditions. It has switched to unfamiliar field 
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targets for target practice, and changes ground markers frequently 

to enhance aviators’ capabilities for independent navigation and 

target identification. It flies frequent low- and ultra-low altitude 

flights, some over sea areas under unknown conditions. It also 

subjects aviators to maximum daily flying time training. Training 

for complicated weather conditions is conducted in minimal 

weather conditions. On one exercise, the regiment practiced using 

ECM, penetrating enemy defenses from different directions, 

coordinating attacks from high and low altitudes, and simulating 

attacks over water.

The Two Overall Inspections.

During 2002, the PLAAF also revived a program known as 

“The Two Overall Inspections (liangge da jiancha)” that was initially 

implemented in 1977 but had not received much attention since 

then. In 1997, Deng Xiaoping, who at that time was Chief of the 

General Staff and vice-chairman of the CMC, ordered the PLAAF 

to implement the inspection program, because the PLAAF had 

suffered numerous serious aircraft accidents.121 Over the course of 

the year, the Air Force inspected several thousand pilots, more than 

1000 flight commanders, and about 200 division and school leaders. 

In 2002, the PLAAF reinvigorated the program “due to poor pilot 

and maintenance personnel performance.”122

LOGISTICS AND MAINTENANCE

Summary.

Over the past decade, the PLAAF’s logistics and maintenance 

forces have gradually made adjustments to their organizational 

structure and methods of operations to support the PLAAF’s shift 

toward joint mobile offensive operations.

The PLAAF’s logistics organization has begun to establish small 

elements capable of supporting aircraft deploying from their home 

unit to alternate airfields or different types of aircraft from another 

unit deploying to their airfield. 

The PLAAF logistics forces have also been working on refueling 

aircraft, which has been one of its weakest links. New systems have 

been developed for at-home refueling and for refueling at alternate 
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and field runways.

Although the PLAAF has made a concerted effort to improve its 

mobile logistics capabilities, several exercises have pointed out that 

many difficulties still lie ahead.

Background.

Prior to the 1990s, the PLAAF’s logistics and maintenance 

structure was organized to support 1 or 2 types of aircraft at a single 

airfield without outside support.123 Therefore, each base had about 

one year’s worth of spare parts for the aircraft. However, because 

many subsystems and spare parts produced in China are not made 

on a standardized model and each aircraft is put together by hand, 

an aircraft might not be able to fly until the broken part is fixed and 

reinstalled in the same aircraft.124

Over the past decade, the PLAAF has emphasized its desire to 

transform itself from a force capable of employing single branches 

and single types of aircraft in positional defensive campaigns to 

using multiple branches and several types of aircraft in air force 

combined arms, mobile offensive operations campaigns, with the 

goal of shifting to operations in joint service campaigns. Within 

this goal, the PLAAF’s logistics and maintenance forces have had to 

change their operational structure and methods of operation from 

supporting single types of aircraft at their home base to supporting 

multiple types of aircraft at their home or deployed bases for short 

and long periods of time.

It appears that the PLAAF’s logistics system has made 

progress toward reaching its goal of supporting mobile forces. 

Organizationally, it has established emergency mobile fendui of 

platoon or company size to support deploying aircraft into and 

out of airfields. These fendui are also responsible for helping set 

up mobile operations at field airstrips and highway landing strips. 

Although the articles reviewed discuss the need to preposition 

adequate material in the campaign areas before a war breaks out, 

they did not discuss whether this has actually happened. 

From a training perspective, it appears that the PLAAF’s logistics 

forces are applying their theory to operational exercises. As noted 

in several Zhongguo Kongjun magazine articles with accompanying 
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photos over the past 2 years, the exercises involve repairing damage 

to airfields after notional enemy attacks, including runway repairs, 

taking care of wounded personnel, putting out fires, and preparing 

to recover aircraft that are en route home and have been damaged 

during their mission. At the same time, the logistics forces have 

deployed some fendui to begin preparing the field airstrips or 

highway landing strips for recovering aircraft or for generating 

follow-on combat sorties. During 2002, the PLAAF also conducted a 

major exercise involving civilian fuel trucks.125

One of the most important issues that is not clear from the 

articles reviewed is how proficient the PLAAF would be during a 

real conflict, especially if some of the key first-line airfields were 

destroyed — as the PLA anticipates will happen in a conflict 

involving the United States. Would the PLAAF, in fact, be able to 

conduct combat sorties out of field airstrips and highway landing 

strips, or would it merely be there to disperse the aircraft until they 

could fly to another operational airfield? Would the PLAAF opt to 

move its aircraft further to the rear as its airfields began sustaining 

damage? Will the PLAAF actually be able to provide logistics 

support to multiple types of aircraft at a single base? 

Many airfields have a single regiment with two types of aircraft 

(generally F-6s with F-7s or F-8s), or have two regiments with 

different types of aircraft, such as one regiment with F-7s and one 

with F-8s. While these field stations, which are the PLAAF’s aviation 

maintenance organization at the unit level, are organized to support 

more than one type of aircraft, other field stations with only a single 

type of aircraft are not prepared to do so. But how proficient will 

the logistics forces at first-line airfields be if they have to support 

several regiments of different types of aircraft? Although bombers 

have conducted exercises where they stopped at multiple airfields, 

the media reports did not specify the types of airfields they transited 

or the types of support they received.

Two probable weak links for the logistics forces during a 

campaign will be communications and transportation. According 

to Logistics Support for Mobile Operations, “When lines of 

communication are disrupted, logistics along this chain are also 

disrupted. Therefore, the PLAAF needs to establish an independent 

command communications network, consisting of radio, landline, 
140

and computers.”126 It is not clear from the media reports or the PLA 

books reviewed whether this is actually taking place. 

Although the PLAAF has ordered that transport aircraft should 

be used to move logistics forces during campaigns, road and 

rail will still be the most likely means. A logistics transportation 

exercise conducted during summer 2001 in the Guangzhou MRAF 

emphasized the PLAAF is not yet prepared to operate under poor 

weather conditions or nonscripted exercises. During his critique, the 

Guangzhou MRAF transportation director emphasized “training 

still consists of form without substance just to pass the test. Some 

units were thrown into disorder with just the slightest change in the 

predetermined disposition.”127

The PLAAF has already constructed additional airfields and 

aircraft shelters, some of which are hardened shelters and some are 

environmental shelters, at bases near the coast and land borders.128

Additional fuel-storage facilities have been built. For example, 

during the mid 1990s, the Chengdu MRAF increased investment 

to speed up the modernization of the logistics support system of 

Air Force stations in Tibet, where POL and ammunition reserve 

bases were built and their supportive warehouses and logistics 

support systems were also built or improved; aviation control 

centers and modern logistics command systems were connected 

with the operational logistics command offices by system networks; 

construction of logistics support facilities for rear-area airports was 

stepped up; the conditions for logistics support for airports were 

improved; and aircraft parking areas were enlarged.129 During the 

period immediately leading up to the start of a campaign, the PLAAF 

would ensure there is adequate fuel at each of the key bases.

CONCLUSIONS

Having examined the PLAAF from seven different perspectives, 

the question is whether the PLAAF has really learned anything 

that will help prepare it to fight and win local wars under modern 

high-technology conditions? In August 2002, Major General He 

Weirong, the PLAAF’s deputy chief of staff for training, addressed 
141

this question in a significant article that revealed the state of PLAAF 

pilot training.130 In the article, General He stated, 

The PLAAF is in an important development period. It is 

gradually transitioning from being primarily a support service 

toward being a strategic air force. It is also transitioning from a 

national territory air defense type of air force to one that conducts 

simultaneous offensive and defensive operations. The PLAAF’s 

equipment is rapidly becoming newer. Military training guidance 

concepts are undergoing an important adjustment. The military 

training program is also undergoing serious reform. 

General He also identified serious flaws in the PLAAF’s training 

regimen. Based on having led several delegations abroad to observe 

foreign training, he emphasized the PLAAF must “borrow methods 

and experiences from foreign militaries and adopt them to upgrade 

quality and effectiveness.” He pointed out that foreign pilots carry 

out large amounts of tactical and technical battle training based on 

real requirements at their flying academies and transition training 

bases. He emphasized, 

This is not the case for the PLAAF, which does not conduct 

tactical training until after pilots have been assigned to their 

combat units and completed transition training in their assigned 

aircraft. Furthermore, while conducting their technical training, 

they do not deviate their altitude, speed, or direction. Most 

importantly, this is the reason for the PLAAF’s long history of 

inflexible combat methods. 

General He laid out specific problems associated with the 

PLAAF’s ground attack training by stating, 

When the PLAAF conducts ground attack training, the targets 

used for the flying academies, transition training bases, and at 

combat units are either triangles or circles. Pilots follow the same 

pattern under strict ground control. This type of rote training does 

not allow pilots any flexibility or creativity, and is not conducive 

to training pilots to learn to take tactical initiative, distinguish 

between real types of targets, and conduct independent combat 

missions. Furthermore, the quota for flight time has been going 

down but pilots have erroneously filled out their log books. 
142

General He concluded his observations by recommending “the 

PLAAF should use real war requirements as the standard and 

completely overhaul the entire training program, training and 

teaching materials, manuals, scoring standards, and regulations.” 

Besides the limitations General He identified, the PLAAF has 

faced a wide range of political, budgetary, personnel, equipment, 

and structural limitations to becoming a more modern force. Over 

the past decade, the PLAAF has readily acknowledged the following 

limitations to becoming a modern air force:

• Lack of an Air Force strategy;

• Minimum per-pilot sortie generation capability;

• Reliance on strict GCI; 

• Flying aircraft to less than full capabilities;

• Lack of dissimilar aircraft training;

• Lack of upward professional mobility;

• Lack of over water flying;

• Inadequate combined and joint service training;

• No airborne early warning and control aircraft;

• No aerial refueling capability until the late 1990s, and only 

limited since then;

• Insufficient airlift for the airborne forces;

• A force composed mostly of 30-year-old F-6s and other aging 

aircraft;

• Lack of good air-to-air missiles, precision guided munitions, 

and cruise missiles;
143

• A force still structured primarily for positional rather than 

mobile warfare; and,

• An aviation industry incapable of designing and producing 

weapon systems to meet the PLAAF’s needs.

Therefore, given these limitations, can the PLAAF implement 

General He’s vision? If the PLAAF does have to engage in battle 

sometime in the near future, the keys will be pilot proficiency, sortie 

generation and sustainability, adequate logistics support across 

the board, reliable communications and real time intelligence, and 

equipment maintenance capabilities. It is clear, at least from reading 

PLAAF writings, that much of what it wants to do is still aspirational, 

but it is definitely putting the pieces of the administrative and 

operational structure in place to accomplish its goal of simultaneous 

offensive and defensive operations sometime in the future. 

The PLAAF has adopted a formal campaign theory to guide 

it toward the future, and is working on strategic guidelines. The 

PLAAF is starting to acquire the modern weapon systems, including 

Su-27s, Su-30s, aerial refueling, airborne early warning and control 

aircraft, and S-300 SAMs to conduct an offensive campaign, but may 

also be too reliant on foreign technology and weapon systems, as it 

was in the 1950s.

The PLAAF has begun moving from exercises involving a single 

type of aircraft to using multiple types of aircraft in a combinedarms and joint service environment. The Air Force has established a 

“Blue Force” aggressor squadron and a tactics development center at 

Cangzhou, and a “USAF Red Flag-type” tactics training center in the 

Gobi Desert, all of which are starting to show positive results, both 

operationally and psychologically. Whereas the PLAAF rarely flew 

over water in the 1980s, it is a routine matter for some units today. 

The PLAAF is also beginning to formalize its training with the North 

Sea Fleet, as indicated by the memorandum of understanding for 

joint training signed in 2000. The logistics forces are beginning to 

move from being able to support one or two types of similar aircraft 

only at their home base to supporting large numbers and types of 

deployed aircraft at home and away.
144

What is apparent is that the PLAAF is part of a larger PLA 

campaign process based on coordinated action plans. What is not 

apparent, however, is whether the PLAAF, which has not had any 

significant aerial combat since 1958, is capable of sustaining sortie 

generation in an environment where its own airfields could come 

under attack from long-range cruise missiles. What is clear is the 

PLAAF’s realization that it lacks any real-time reconnaissance 

capability, hence the emphasis on conducting operations in an 

unknown environment. According to the 2002 U.S. Department of 

Defense report on the PLA, 

The PLAAF does not appear to have been putting large numbers 

of aircraft in the air simultaneously, controlling large numbers of 

engagements, or sustaining high sortie rates for extended periods 

of time. Pilot proficiency is improving, but China’s best pilots lag 

behind their Taiwan counterparts in terms of capabilities. PLAAF 

and Naval Aviation fighter pilot tactical training continues, 

albeit slowly. During 2001, some of the PLAAF’s more advanced 

aircraft reportedly conducted advanced tactical training involving 

fighters of dissimilar types. PLAAF and Naval Aviation exercise 

activity during 2001 reportedly concentrated on mobility, air 

defense, and support to amphibious assault forces. Air defense 

exercises were said to be highly scripted and the scenarios lacked 

realism, limiting the benefit PLA pilots could have gained from 

the exercises.131

Based on analysis of previous campaigns, it is clear that the CMC 

will provide specific rules of engagement (ROE) for the PLAAF 

before it becomes involved in any conflict. In the past, those ROEs 

have kept the PLAAF from engaging certain forces, whether in the 

air, on the ground, or at sea, that could lead to an escalation of the 

conflict. In any future conflict, it might be more difficult to impose 

and adhere to strict ROEs, especially if the PLAAF’s airfields and air 

defense sites come under attack.

There is no doubt the PLAAF should be proud of its recent 

accomplishments, but it should also be careful not to overemphasize 

its capabilities to Beijing’s leaders based on its performance during 

the Korean War. For example, the PLAAF consistently points out it 

has shot down a total of 1,474 and damaged 2,344 aircraft over the 

past 50 years. What it neglects to mention is the breakout for air-
145

to-air combat and those aircraft downed or damaged by AAA and 

SAMs. 

In the final analysis, however, the PLAAF may lack the most 

sophisticated weapon systems today, but it should not be sold short. 

Based on the author’s interviews throughout Asia over the past 5 

years, China’s neighbors are definitely concerned about what the 

PLAAF will look like in 20 years, especially if China’s economy 

remains strong and the PLA’s modernization efforts continue at 

their current pace. As the PLAAF has shown in the past, it could 

move hundreds of aircraft, SAMs, and AAA, as well as thousands of 

support troops to unsophisticated airfields near the front in a short 

period of time if necessary. It may not be as far along as it would like 

in training to implement its air offensive theory, but it would salute 

smartly and attempt to carry out its orders if required to do so.

ENDNOTES - CHAPTER 4

1. Quan Yue, “PRC Air Force Commander on Capabilities, Priorities,” Foreign 

Broadcast Information Service (hereafter FBIS) CPP20000505000035, May 5, 2000, 

Hong Kong Zhongguo Pinglun, in Chinese, May 5, 2000.

2. Research for this chapter revealed that the amount of information on 

the PLAAF available from Chinese-language open-source material has grown 

considerably over the past decade. These include histories, encyclopedias, 

dictionaries, handbooks, biographies, magazines, and newspapers. In addition, 

foreign journals have provided much data on weapon systems, and more foreigners 

are writing lengthy analytical pieces on the Air Force. Although Chinese-language 

sources provide good data, for the most part they tend to concentrate on the early 

years and center on the aviation branch at the expense of the three air defense 

branches (surface-to-air missiles, antiaircraft artillery, and radar), the airborne 

troop branch, and support elements. The sources also discuss the future in terms 

of aspirational doctrine without providing details on how to get there, and, with 

few exceptions, lack critical analysis of the people and events that have shaped 

the history. Furthermore, these sources have not addressed critical events, such 

as the 1979 border conflict with Vietnam. For example, former commander Wang 

Hai’s autobiography, published in 2001, provides valuable insights into what was 

going on in the PLAAF during his career, but he does not have a single mention of 

the conflict, during which time he was the Guangzhou Military Region Air Force 

(MRAF) commander. Another example is former deputy commander Lin Hu’s 

book published in 2002 on air defense that covers only 1949 to 1969.

3. No aircraft were involved in the 1962 border conflict with India or in 1969 

with the Soviet Union.
146

4. Hua Renjie, Cao Yifeng, and Chen Huixiu, editors, Kongjun Xueshu Sixiang 

Shi, (Air Force Art and Thought History), Beijing: Jiefangjun Publishers, 1991, 

p. 294.

5. In the PLA system, the commander and political commissar share equal 

power. The U.S. Air Force has had 17 chiefs of staff since 1947. Biographical 

information on the PLAAF’s leaders comes from Zhu Rongchang, ed., Kongjun 

Da Cidian (Air Force Dictionary), Shanghai: Shanghai Dictionary Publishing House, 

September 1996, 799-854.

6. In the U.S. military, the terms “rank” and “grade” are effectively 

synonymous. In the PLA, however, they are quite distinct. Military ranks (junxian) 

were abolished in 1965 and not reintroduced until 1988. Most importantly, all 

officers, regardless of service, are assigned one of 15 grades (zhiwu dengji), which 

is equivalent to an army command position or army equivalent position (AEP). 

The highest grade (Grade 1) is the chairman and vice-chairmen of the CMC. 

Members of the CMC, which includes the head of all four general departments, 

are Grade 2. Within the PLA, the AEP, not the rank, reflects authority and 

responsibility across service, branch, and organizational lines. Thus, while rank is 

a key indicator of position within the hierarchy for foreigners, AEP is still the key 

indicator within the PLA. Even though the commander and political commissar 

hold the same grade, they oftentimes do not have the same rank due to time in 

grade requirements. Regulations regarding retirement ages refer to AEP, not rank. 

Military pay is calculated on the basis of rank, AEP (grade), and time in service.

7. It is not clear whether the leaders for the Second Artillery Corps are grade 

4 or 5 (deputy MR leader), because the Second Artillery Corps is an independent 

branch, not a service. Various PLA officials have told the author the leaders are 

Grade 5, but the author has not seen anything in writing to support this one way 

or the other.

8. A PLAAF major general who had been the director of the Political 

Department at NDU was transferred to the Nanjing MRAF as the political 

commissar in August 2002.

9. The PLAAF did not have a commander following Wu Faxian’s arrest in 

September 1971 until Ma Ning became commander in May 1973. According to one 

informed PLA official, Ma Ning flew Il-28s as a young officer, thus making him the 

first pilot to be selected as the PLAAF commander. However, PLAAF biographies 

for Ma do not indicate this to be the case. According to Zhu Rongchang, 1996, 842, 

Ma’s biography does not make any mention of attending flight school or being a 

pilot. In this biography, he moved directly from being a deputy operations division 

director in the 12th army’s headquarters department before 1949 to serving as the 

PLAAF’s 21st air division deputy commander and commander until 1967. Even if 

Ma did fly Il-28s for a short period, for all practical purposes, in 1985 Wang Hai 
147

became the first full-fledged aviator to become the commander.

10. John Wilson Lewis and Xue Litai, “China’s Search for a Modern Air 

Force,” International Security, Summer 1999. William W. Whitson, The Chinese High 

Command: A History of Communist Military Politics, 1927-71, New York, Washington, 

London: Praeger, 1973, p. 550. Stanley Karnow, Mao and China: A Legacy of Turmoil, 

New York: Penguin Books, 1972, 429. Dangdai Zhongguo Kongjun (China Today: Air 

Force), Beijing: China Social Sciences Press, 1989, p. 481. Lin Biao controlled the 

PLAAF through Wu Faxian and the PLA Navy through Li Zuopeng, who was 

the Navy’s political commissar and basically ran the Navy. Events surrounding 

the fate of Wu and Li were confusing after Lin Biao’s death in a plane crash over 

Mongolia in September 1971. According to Dangdai Zhongguo Kongjun and recent 

interviews with PLA officials, Wu and Li Zuopeng were tried along with the Gang 

of Four. Wu was sentenced to 17 years in prison and Li to 20 years.

11. In May 1950, Wu became PLAAF deputy political commissar and director 

of political department, and, for all practical purposes served as the political 

commissar, since Xiao Hua was transferred to GPD in April 1950; Wu officially 

became the PLAAF political commissar in February 1957.

12. The PLAAF had as many as seven deputy commanders immediately 

following the merger with the Air Defense Force in 1957. During the 1960s and 

1970s, the average was four deputy commanders. In the mid 1980s, the PLAAF 

tried to reduce the number from four to three, but found that they could not 

manage all of their responsibilities properly. Therefore, in 1987 a fourth deputy 

was added. This situation remains today.

13. This was also about the same time the PLAAF began consistently 

identifying the airborne forces as a branch. Previously, the airborne forces were 

not always listed as a branch.

14. Zhu Rongchang, 1996, pp. 799-854. When ranks were given in 1988, all 

of these generals had already held their positions or equivalent positions for 1-5 

years. According to the 1989 issue of Shijie Junshi Nianjian (World Military Yearbook), 

Beijing: PLA Press, 1989, p. 6, the PLA conferred ranks on 17 three-star generals, 

146 two-star lieutenant generals, and 1,251 one-star major generals in 1988. 

15. Information on USAF generals was taken from biographies available on 

the USAF internet link, http://www.af.mil/lib/bio/.

16. According to interviews with PLA officials, although the PLAAF has some 

input into selecting its leaders, the CMC is responsible for promoting two- and 

three-star PLAAF officers.

17. Kenneth W. Allen, Glenn Krumel, and Jonathan D. Pollack, China’s Air Force 

Enters the 21st Century Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1995, p. 85. While Wang Hai was 
148

commander, the HqAF deputy commanders who are Korean War veterans were 

Lin Hu, Li Yongtai, and Liu Zhitian. The other three MRAF commanders were Liu 

Yudi (Beijing), Sun Jinghua (Lanzhou), and Hou Shujun (Chengdu). The MRAF 

deputy commanders were Yao Xian (Beijing) and Han Decai (Nanjing).

18. Allen, Krumel, and Pollack, 1995, Chapter 3, pp. 76-78. The official PLAAF 

history dedicated only a few pages to the Vietnam War, covering the PLAAF's 

involvement from August 1965 to March 1969.

19. “The Security Situation in the Taiwan Strait,” report submitted by Secretary 

of Defense William Cohen to the US Senate as directed by the FY99 Appropriations 

Bill, February 17, 1999.

20. Zhu Rongchang, 1996, pp. 973, 977, 980, 982.

21. Secretary of Defense, “Report on the Current and Future Military Strategy 

of the People’s Republic of China,” Report to Congress Pursuant to the FY2000 

National Defense Authorization Act, June 23, 2000.

22. Yao Yanjing, Lai Mingchuan, Wang Yamin, Junshi Zuzhi Tizhi Yanjiu

(Military Organization System Research), Beijing: National Defense University 

Press, June 1997; Xin Ming, ed., Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjun Kongjun Shouce (People’s 

Liberation Army Air Force Handbook), Qingdao: Qingdao Publishers, June 1991, 97. 

Zhu Rongchang, 1996, pp. 142-143; Xin Ming, pp. 97-98. The PLAAF identifies the 

following as specialized support units: radar, communications, chemical defense, 

reconnaissance, and electronic countermeasures troops.

23. In the PLAAF, aviation units are organized into air divisions, regiments, 

groups, and squadrons, and aviation maintenance units are organized into 

groups, squadrons, and flights. The air defense and support units are organized 

into divisions, brigades, regiments, battalions, companies, platoons, and squads. 

A command post/base is slightly lower than an air corps (the commander is 

equal to a deputy corps commander); a brigade is slightly lower than a division 

(the brigade commander is equal to a deputy division commander); a battalion 

and aviation group are equal; a company and aviation squadron are equal; and a 

platoon and flight are equal. See Xin Ming, pp. 97-98.

24. For example, over the years the training department and schools 

department have been first-level departments, have merged, and have been 

separated several times, but their functions have not changed.

25. Yao Jun, ed., Zhongguo Hangkong Shi (A History of China’s Aviation), 

Zhengzhou: Dajia Publishers, September 1998, p. 376.

26. Zhu Rongchang, 1996, p. 146.
149

27. 1999 Yearbook, p. 103.

28. During the 1990s, the PLA Navy had five first-level departments — 

Headquarters, Political, Logistics, Equipment Repair Department, and Equipment 

Technical Department — and the Second Artillery Corps had four first-level 

departmentsHeadquarters, Political, Logistics, and Technical Equipment. When 

the General Equipment Department was created in 1998, all of the services 

and branches reorganized their structure to completely match the four general 

departments. 

29. Yao Jun, 1998, p. 163-164.

30. The PLAAF began receiving the A-5 in December 1969, the B-5 in 1967 

(even though other PLAAF units had received Soviet-built Il-28s earlier), and the 

B-6 in 1976. See Yao Jun, 1998, pp. 260, 413, 415, 664.

31. Yao Jun, 1998, p. 293.

32. Groups are battalion-equivalent organizations, and squadrons are 

company-equivalent organizations.

33. “The Security Situation in the Taiwan Strait,” Report submitted by 

Secretary of Defense William Cohen to the US Senate as directed by the FY99 

Appropriations Bill, 17 February 1999. The PLAAF began reducing the number of 

air divisions from 50 in the late 1980s.

34. Robert Sae-Liu, “PLAAF fixed-wing fleet cut in major restructuring,” Jane’s 

Defence Weekly, June 14, 2000, p. 41.

35. 1991 Yearbook, p. 65.

36. Allen, 1991, Section 17. An interview with a senior PLAAF officer in April 

1989 indicated that the PLAAF was not pleased with the process of combining 

all of the AAA and SAMs into combined brigades and was considering various 

options.

37. Yan Jin, “Chen Shikun, Beikong Daodan Mou Shi Kaizhan ‘Xuexi Gao Keji 

Renren Dong Junshi’ Huodong,” [ A Certain Beijing MRAF SAM Division Conducts 

Activities to 'Study High Technology So Everyone Understands the Military'], Jiefangjun 

Bao, 27 May 1999; Zhang Jinyu, “Beikong Huncheng Lu Mou Shi Yindao Guanbing 

Fayang Gan Daying Pin Jingsheng Gongke Xunlian Nan Ti,” [The Officers and Soldiers 

of a Combined Brigade of a Certain Beijing MRAF Division Conduct Difficult Training 

Tasks], Jiefangjun Bao, May 20, 1999; Wang Jiqing, Yao Jian, “Beikong Daodan Mou 

Shi Qufen Cengci Peiyang Xin Zhuangbei Qushou,” [A Certain Beijing MRAF Division 

Conducts Tiered Training on New Equiptment], Jiefangjun Bao, September 23, 1998; 

Zhu Rongchang, p. 160.
150

38. Xin Ming, p. 111-112. Review of various PLA and Xinhua reports.

39. Allen, Section 17.

40. Handbook on the Chinese Armed Forces, Washington, DC: Defense Intelligence 

Agency, DDI-2680-32-76, July 1976, pp. 4-47.

41. Handbook of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army, Washington, DC: Defense 

Intelligence Agency, DDB-2680-32-84, November 1984. “PLA Airborne Brigades 

Become Divisions” Jane’s Defence Weekly, Vol 20, No. 14, October 2, 1993, p. 12. 

Department of Defense, “The Security Situation in the Taiwan Strait.” Report 

submitted by Secretary of Defense William Cohen to the U.S. Senate as directed by 

the FY99 Appropriations Bill, February 17, 1999.

42. The communications troops had always been noted as the fifth branch 

until around 1992, but they were lowered to a support force when the airborne 

forces became the fifth branch.

43. Wang Hai, Wang Hai Shangjiang: Wode Zhandou Shengya (General Wang Hai: 

My Combat Career), Beijing: Zhongyang Wenxian Chubanshe (Central Literature 

Publishers), February 2000. 

44. Zhu Rongchang, 1996, p. 147. 

45. Directory of PRC Military Personalities, no publisher given, October 2001.

46. Zhu Rongchang, 1996, pp. 973, 977, 980, 982.

47. Hua, Cao, and Chen, 294-331, 294-331. Gao Rui, ed., Zhanlue Xue [Science 

of Strategy], Academy of Military Science, October 15, 1987, p. 114.

48. Hua Renjie, Cao Yifeng, and Chen Huixiu, ed., Kongjun Xueshu Sixiang 

Shi, (Air Force Art and Thought History) Beijing: Jiefangjun Publishers, 1991, pp. 

294-331. Only 36 pages of this book discuss the history of the PLAAF’s theory. The 

remainder of the book discusses the history of U.S. and Soviet air force theory. 

49. Chengdu Military Region Campaign Training Office, Jituanjun Yezhan 

Zhendi Fangyu Zhanyi Kongjun de Yunyong [Air Force Utilization During the Campaign 

to Defend Group Army Field Positions], February 1982, p 1.

50. During the early years, 70 percent of the aviation force consisted of fighters, 

leaving the remaining 30 percent to be divided among the other types of aircraft 

(bombers, ground attack, and transport) and systems for the other branches (SAM, 

AAA, airborne, radar, and communications). 
151

51. Hua, Cao, and Chen, 1991, pp. 315-316.

52. Teng Lianfu and Jiang Fusheng, ed., Kongjun Zuozhan Yanjiu (Air Force 

Operations Research), Beijing: National Defense University Publishers, May 1990, 

p. 159.

53. These documents included fighter tactics (qianji hangkongbing zhanshu), 

ground attack tactics (qiangji hangkongbing zhanshu), bomber tactics (hongzha 

hangkongbing zhanshu), reconnaissance tactics (zhencha hangkongbing zhanshu), 

transportation tactics (yunshu hangkongbing zhanshu), airborne troop tactics 

(kongjiangbing zhanshu), AAA tactics (gaoshepaobing zhanshu), and SAM tactics 

(dikong daodan zhanshu). 

54. Wang Houqing, Zhang Xingye (ed.), The Study of Campaigns (Zhanyi Xue), 

Beijing: National Defense University Press, May 2000, p. 9. Zhongguo Junshi Baike 

Quanshu (Chinese Military Encyclopedia), Beijing: Academy of Military Science 

Publishers, July 1997, Vol. 3, p. 748.

55. Hua, Cao, and Chen, 1991, pp. 294-331; Gao Rui, ed., Zhanlue Xue [Science 

of Strategy], Academy of Military Science, October 15, 1987, p. 114. 

56. Interview in Beijing, April 2002.

57. Oliver Chou, “President calls for hi-tech push by Air Force,” South China 

Morning Post, March 3, 1999. 

58. Wang Jianyun, “We Must Win the Next Battle: Two Fighter Division 

Commanders’ Views of Simultaneous Offensive and Defensive Capabilities,” 

Zhongguo Kongjun (China Air Force), No 85, 2000-2, pp. 4-8.

59. It is difficult to find the term “doctrine” in PLA writings. The Academy 

of Military Science encyclopedia does not use the term, nor does the PLAAF’s 

dictionary. In most cases where we might use “doctrine,” the PLA uses the term 

“theory” (lilun), “thought” (sixiang), or “art” (xue). For purposes of this article, 

however, the term doctrine is used when appropriate.

60. Lin Hu, ed., PLAAF Headquarters Education and Research Office, Kongjun 

Shi (History of the Air Force), Beijing: PLA Press, November 1989, p. 252.

61. Hua, Cao, and Chen, 1991, pp. 294-331. One of the difficulties in discussing 

the PLAAF’s theory is the problem of translating certain terms. For example, the 

Kongjun Da Cidian (Air Force Dictionary) translates zhanyi as both operations and 

campaign, yet translates zuozhan zhanyi as operational campaign. The PLAAF 

dictionary translates kongjun zhanyi xue as air force operational art, but CNA is 

translating Zhanyi Xue as the Study of Campaigns.
152

62. Teng and Jiang, 1990, p. 157.

63. Teng and Jiang, 1990, p. 152. Wang and Zhang, 2000, p. 346.

64. Wang and Zhang, 2000, p. 346. The Chinese is: Kongjun zhanyi, you kongjun 

zhanyi juntuan dandu huo zai qita junbingzhong peihe xia shishi de zhanyi.

65. Teng and Jiang, 1990, p. 155.

66. Teng and Jiang’s 1990 book discussed independent and combined arms 

(hetong) campaigns. It did not discuss joint service campaigns at all. The PLAAF 

did not begin discussing joint service operations until around 1995.

67. Information on the Korean War, the 1958 Taiwan Strait Crisis, and the 

Vietnam border conflict is taken in part from Allen, Krumel, and Pollack, 1995.

68. As part of the “People’s Volunteer Army,” China’s air force was organized 

and known as the “People’s Volunteer Air Force,” but the term PLAAF is used 

in this article. Unless noted, the primary sources for information in the book are 

blended from three sources: Robert F. Futrell, The United States Air Force in Korea 

1950-1953, revised edition, Washington, DC: U.S. Air Force, Office of Air Force 

History, 1983; China Today: Air Force, 1989; and Lin Hu, 1989.

69. China Today: Air Force, 1989, pp. 203-211.

70. Of the total of 1,986 allied aircraft lost, U.N. records show that 945 were lost 

to nonenemy causes and 1,041 to enemy action, including 147 in air-to-air combat, 

816 to hostile ground fire, and 78 to unknown enemy action. 

71. Wang Hai, p. 156.

72. Gordon Yefim and Vladimir Rigmant, MiG-15, Osceola, WI: Motorbooks 

International, 1993, p. 114. Futrell, 1983.

73. Futrell, 1983.

74. The material in this subsection draws from China Today: Air Force, 1989, pp. 

333-351. Unless otherwise indicated, quotations herein are from that publication.

75. The material in this subsection draws upon China Today: Air Force, 1989, pp. 

333-351. Unless otherwise indicated, quotations herein are from that publication.

76. USAF Historical Division, 1962, p. 39.

77. Lin Hu, Baowei Zuguo Lingkong de Zhandou: Fight to Protect Motherland’s 

Airspace, Beijing: PLA Publishers, January 2002, pp. 323-329.
153

78. Information on the general setting for the border conflict comes from 

Chen, King C., China’s War With Vietnam, 1979: Issues, Decisions, and Implications, 

Stanford, CA: Hoover Institute Press, 1987.

79. Of note, Wang Hai did not even mention the 1979 border conflict in his 

2001 autobiography.

80. The material in this subsection draws from Kenneth W. Allen, People’s 

Republic of China, People’s Liberation Army Air Force, Washington, DC: Defense 

Intelligence Agency, May 1991, pp. 18-3, 18-4; and Allen, Krumel, and Pollack, 

1995, Chapter 5, pp. 87-97.

81. Li, Man Kin, Sino-Vietnamese War. Hong Kong: Kingsway International 

Publications, Ltd., 1981, pp. 33-35. The PLAAF deployed F-5, F-6, and F-7 fighters, 

plus Il-28 bombers, to the border. At that time, the Vietnamese Air Force was 

equipped with MiG-21s and MiG-23s, plus U.S. F-5As and A-37s left over from 

the war. The Vietnamese also had SA-2, SA-3, SA-6, and SA-7 SAMs, plus the 

formidable ZSU-57-2 self-propelled AAA.

82. Chengdu Military Region, 1982.

83. China Today: Air Force, 1989, p. 638.

84. In contrast, according to interviews in the Pentagon, USAF aircraft were 

envisioned to fly up to three sorties a day in a European conflict.

85. Chengdu Military Region, 1982.

86. No statistics are available about the actual number of sorties flown near 

the border.

87. Information on the PLAAF’s weapons systems comes from Allen, 1991, 

Sections 28 and 29. For an excellent summary of PLAAF weapon systems 

acquisition, see Lewis and Xue, 1999. 

88. China did not actually produce any MiG-15s, choosing to produce the 

MiG-17 when it became available.

89. Information on the PLAAF’s order of battle was compiled from China 

Today: Air Force, 1989, pp. 78, 88; Lin Hu, 1989, 46; and Yao Jun, 1998.

90. China Today: Air Force, 1989, p. 83.

91. Ibid., 1989, pp. 83-84.
154

92. According to discussions with PLAAF officers and officials at the Shenyang 

Aircraft Corporation in 1987-1989, the program continued despite these problems 

because the government’s investment in the program was high, and China 

wanted to encourage the construction of the aeronautics industry, including the 

infrastructure for R&D, manufacturing, and flight testing. 

93. Contrary to many reports, the program did not include any technology 

transfer, because the fire-control systems were modular sets that the United States 

produced and would fix in the United States if problems occurred. 

94. Interview with PLA officials.

95. Teng and Jiang, 1990.

96. Richard Fisher has written extensively on the PLAAF’s acquisition of 

Russian weapon systems.

97. The analysis on the AEW&C program was provided by Luke G.S. Colton, 

“PLAAF AEW&C Acquisition: Background, Current Challenges, and Future 

Prospects,” January 12, 2002.

98. The PLA uses officer and cadre interchangeably, especially since there was 

no rank system before 1955 and between 1965 to 1988.

99. Dr. Paul Godwin and Dr. Tom Bickford provided guidance on how 

to distinguish between training and education within the PLA’s schools and 

academies.

100. Allen, Krumel, and Pollack, 1995, p. 128.

101. Chinese Military Encyclopedia, 1997, Vol 2, p. 389.

102. China Today: Air Force, 1989, pp. 480-491; Lin Hu, 1989, pp. 195-202.

103. Tsang Hsing, “Zhang Tingfa Interviewed on Air Force Reforms,” Hong 

Kong, Kuang Chiao Ching, June 16, 1985, reported by The British Broadcasting 

Corporation, June 21, 1985.

104. To emphasize the focus on training, the Commandant of the PLAAF 

Command College, Lieutenant General Yang Zhenyu, became one of four 

deputy commanders at Headquarters Air Force in 1993. Another of the deputy 

commanders, Lieutenant General Lin Hu, was previously a deputy commandant 

at the PLAAF Command College, and the current commander, Lieutenant General 

Yu Zhenwu, was director of the Training Department at Headquarters Air Force.

105. The 8th and 9th Flying Schools were abolished, and the 11th Flying School 
155

was changed to the Test Flight and Training Center. The SAM, Weather, Political, 

Radar, and Communications Engineering academies, as well as the Engineering 

and Air Force Command colleges, have begun awarding masters degrees.

106. Hong and Tian, 1996.

107. Hong Heping and Tian Xia, “Head to the New Century,” Zhongguo 

Kongjun, October 1, 1996.

108. Hong and Tian, 1996.

109. See Zhu Rongchang, 1996, p. 779, under the heading Principles of Flying 

Training of Air Force and on p. 180 under the heading Guide Thought for Air Force 

Military Training. “History and Evolution of PLAAF Military Training Guiding 

Concepts,” Kongjun Bao (Air Force News), January 15, 2002. 

110. According to interviews, Chinese athletic teams use this phrase to stress 

training hard.

111. Zhu Rongchang, 1996, p. 180.

112. Kongjun Bao (Air Force News), April 25, 2002.

113. Each training day is broken into at least three training periods (changci)-

-the morning, afternoon and evening, and nighttime. Therefore, a pilot could 

conduct sorties during two training periods on the same day.

114. The author visited the center in April 1989.

115. Interviews in China, Taiwan, Japan, and the United States.

116. Dangdai Zhongguo Kongjun (China Today: Air Force), Beijing: China Social 

Sciences Press, 1989, p. 311; Zhang Nongke and Zhang Jinyu, “Air Force Builds 

Modern, Comprehensive Tactical Training Base,” Jiefangjun Bao, October 28, 1996, 

FBIS-CHI-96-228, November 26, 1996; “China Builds Airport Copy,” Associated 

Press, April 28, 1999.

117. Chen Hanzhong, Chen Yiyuan, and Hong Heping, “Training Conducted 

Under Conditions More and More Similar to Those of Actual Combat,” Jiefangjun 

Bao, July 19, 1995 (FTS19950719000807).

118. Jiefangjun Bao, July 19, 2000.

119. Hua Chun, Chang Tun-Hua, Kuo Kai, “Air Force Trains Crack Units 

Troops for Offensive, Defensive Operations,” Interviewing Lieutenant General 

Liu Shunyao, PLA Air Force Commander,” Hong Kong Ming Pao, August 2, 1997, 
156

FBIS-CHI-97-226, August 2, 1997.

120. “Air regiment holds transregional night maneuver,” Air Force News, 

November 23, 2000.

121. Zhu Rongchang, 1996, pp. 778-779.

122. Numerous articles in Kongjun Bao (Air Force News) for 2002 discuss how 

PLAAF flight schools and aviation units have implemented the two overall 

inspections programs.

123. This section provides a summary from Kenneth W. Allen on “Logistics 

Support for PLA Air Force Campaigns,” pp. 251-306, in Andrew Scobell and Larry 

M. Wortzel, ed., China’s Growing Military Power: Perspectives on Security, Ballistic 

Missiles, and Conventional Capabilities, Carlisle, PA: U.S. Army War College, 

Strategic Studies Institute, September 2002. 

124. China’s combat aircraft are made by hand without using standardized 

templates for drilling holes. Workers drill holes by the “eyeball method.” 

Therefore, some parts might not fit another aircraft. 

125. Zhongguo Kongjun (China Air Force) magazine, Issue 4, 2002, p. 21.

126. Wen Guangchun, ed., Jidong Zuozhan Houqin Baozhang, (Logistics 

Support for Mobile Operations), PLA General Logistics Department Headquarters 

Department, PLA Press, January 1997, pp. 189-190.

127. Zhao Bo, “Seven Days and Nights of Exercises in the South China Sea: 

Revelations as Guangzhou Military Region Air Force Military Transportation 

System Conducts a Comprehensive Support Exercise under Modern Conditions,” 

Jiefangjun Bao, Internet Version-WWW, August 5, 2001, FBIS-CHI-2001-0806, 

August 5, 2001.

128. See http://www.fas.org/nuke/guide/china/facility/airfield.htm. 

129. Deng Guilin, “Air Force in Tibet Sets Up a Comprehensive Logistics 

Support System,” Jiefangjun Bao, July 17, 1996. 

130. He Weirong, “Enlightenment from Examining Foreign Air Force 

Training,” Air Force News, August 15, 2002. He became one of the four deputy 

chiefs of staff in 1996. He was assigned as the Jinan MRAF Commander in 

December 2002.

131. Department of Defense, “Annual Report on the Military Power of the 

People’s Republic of China,” July 2002, p. 27.
157

CHAPTER 5

THE PEOPLE’S LIBERATION ARMY NAVY 

AFTER HALF A CENTURY: 

LESSONS LEARNED IN BEIJING

Bernard D. Cole

INTRODUCTION

The People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN) was officially 

established in May 1950; almost a quarter-century after the People’s 

Liberation Army (PLA). This chapter will examine how Beijing has 

viewed the PLAN as an instrument of national security strategy. 

In particular, what “lessons learned” has the People’s Republic of 

China (PRC) government drawn about employing its navy? The 

answers to that question should allow some tentative conclusions 

about how Beijing may aspire to take advantage of the “ubiquitous 

striking force of sea power.”1 

This chapter will review the PLAN’s role as an instrument of the 

nation’s security strategy during the past half-century, since that 

history provides guidance toward how current Chinese leaders view 

naval power as an instrument of the state. Beijing is modernizing

its navy; does this program aim to change the PLAN from a coastal, 

“brown-water” force to an open ocean “blue-water” service able to 

secure Beijing’s vast maritime territorial claims?2

Lessons Learned.

The first question about China’s maritime lessons learned is 

the degree to which Beijing has learned or not learned the value of 

maritime power as an instrument of national policy. The post-1949 

regime has consistently made national security decisions within a 

historically and geostrategically continentalist framework. Hence, 

Chinese views of naval power as an instrument of national power 

are likely to be constrained by a focus inland, to the north and west.

That said, the PRC government has never ignored sea power, has 

employed naval force on several occasions, and has learned some 
158

hard lessons about the benefits, drawbacks, and requirements of 

employing that military instrument. The first interpretive period in 

this chapter is from 1949 to 1960, from the founding of the PRC to the 

apparent resolution of the post-Korean War struggle for control of 

PLA strategy and modernization. Beijing faced the full spectrum of 

strategic challenges during this decade, from very serious domestic 

unrest to possible global nuclear war. Domestic political events were 

an important influence on the development of China’s navy, and, 

by inference, the leadership’s view of its value. The Korean War 

exacerbated the lack of resources available for naval development 

in China, and the new PLAN relied on the Soviet Union for ships 

and assistance until 1960. Chinese policymakers learned the value 

of naval power in executing several national security missions: 

conducting joint amphibious operations with the army and air force, 

defense against amphibious raids, protection of sea-borne merchant 

traffic — including blockade-breaking — and establishing law and 

order on coastal and inland waters. These missions required only 

a limited, coastal defense navy, a “lesson” that China’s experience 

in the Korean War did little to contradict, despite the ability of the 

allies to directly affect the course of that conflict through their almost 

unchallenged command of the sea.

Naval developments during the next period, from 1961 to 1976, 

were highlighted by the war in Southeast Asia, the split with the 

Soviet Union, the after-effects of the Great Leap Forward, and 

especially by the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution (GPCR). 

Chinese strategic thought remained focused on land warfare, with 

the PLAN assigned to support the army; the primary naval role was 

to oppose a possible Soviet amphibious assault. Beijing apparently 

did not learn lessons about the greater usefulness of its navy from 

the PLAN’s victory over a South Vietnamese task force in the South 

China Sea’s Paracel Islands in 1974. Similarly, and as was the case 

in the Korean War, the American ability to use its command of the 

sea to launch air strikes and logistically support its forces ashore 

in Southeast Asia seemed not to impress Chinese strategists. The 

leadership did seek during this period to develop naval strategic 

nuclear deterrent power. 

The following period, 1976-early 1990s, was marked by the 

end of the Cold War and the U.S. final emergence as sole global 
159

superpower. One Chinese analyst, who decried the constraints 

imposed on naval developments during the GPCR, implied that the 

PLAN did not recover from that cataclysm until at least 1980, when 

“the Navy actively initiated research on weapons development 

planning.”3 The PLAN played no significant role in the 1979 war 

with Vietnam, although it defeated a Vietnamese naval force in 1988 

in the Spratly Islands. This victory was the first step in an extended 

series of South China Sea island seizures that lasted through 1995, 

when China occupied Mischief Reef.4 Beijing’s view of the PLAN 

as a coastal force, dedicated primarily to opposing possible Soviet 

attack, started to change towards the end of this period. China’s 

strategists apparently learned from allied operations in Southwest 

Asia the lesson that the PLAN had to be larger, technologically 

modernized, and capable of executing a range of national security 

missions.

The final period, 1995 to the present, began dramatically with the 

1995-96 events in the vicinity of the Taiwan Strait. Other influential 

events were the allied campaign in the Balkans, highlighted by the 

bombing of China’s Belgrade embassy, and Beijing’s attempts to take 

advantage of post-Cold War events which have had an increasing 

non-nation state flavor. This period’s new naval lesson to China’s 

leaders may well be a Mahanian5 belief in the PLAN’s role as an 

instrument of national strategy. More to the point, Beijing learned 

from the spring 1996 events that to be effective, any policy toward 

Taiwan requires a creditable PLAN, if only to give pause to possible 

U.S. intervention.6

THE FRAMEWORK: GEOPOLITICS AND HISTORY

Although China includes over 11,000 miles of coastline 

and contains more than 6,000 islands, it historically has been a 

continental rather than a maritime power, more often viewing 

the sea as a potential invasion route for foreign aggressors rather 

than as a medium for achieving national goals. China has always 

depended primarily on ground forces to guard its national security 

interests — for the simple reason that threats to those interests have 

consistently arisen in the northern and northwestern Asian vastness. 

However, China, in spite of its historic focus on continental security 
160

concerns, has not ignored its maritime boundaries. There have been 

periods during which the government has deployed powerful fleets 

dedicated to vital national security interests. 

Chinese historians date organized naval warfare in their 

nation to the 6th century BC, Spring and Autumn period.7 Navies 

were built, doctrine developed, and a supporting administrative 

infrastructure established intermittently during the Song, Yuan, 

Ming, and Qing dynasties, from approximately 900 to 1900 AD. 

These naval forces were used to pursue national security objectives, 

but when these objectives had been achieved the navy was largely 

disestablished, as the government diverted resources to the more 

consistently important continentalist and domestic elements of 

national security.

No dynasty fell as a direct result of maritime invasion or pressure; 

the navy was never vital to a dynasty’s survival. Nonetheless, the 

Imperial period offers what may be significant cues to the way 

current Chinese leaders intend to employ their navy.

By the 19th century, China had fallen so far behind the global 

norm in naval power that it was unable to prevent the influx of 

imperialists — who came almost entirely by sea.8 As China reeled 

from this onslaught, “self-strengthening” efforts adopted the slogan 

“Chinese learning as the fundamental structure, Western learning 

for practical use.” Naval modernization embodied admiration of 

modern warship technology and a belief that China’s humiliating 

defeat by the imperialist powers had been made possible by their 

naval and commercial sea power. China had deployed a modern 

navy by 1884, using three approaches to build the new force: 

indigenous production, purchases abroad, and reverse engineering 

foreign systems. The new navy suffered from high-level 

governmental corruption and weak administration and soon came 

to grief in war with two foreign naval powers: France in August 

1884 and Japan 10 years later.9 Beijing’s 19th century fleets failed to 

become a coherent, national navy. Land warfare also dominated the 

civil war and Japanese aggression that lasted from 1911-49; naval 

forces were weak and peripheral to the struggle. 

CHINA “STANDS UP”: THE PLAN, 1949-60

The communist victory in 1949 was an army victory, but the 
161

terminal stages of the war against Kuomintang (KMT) forces 

had required the PLA to deal with a riparian environment.10 The 

precursor to the PLAN was a naval force established in February 

1949 by the Third Field Army in East China, under the leadership 

of Marshall Chen Yi. Chen “informed” General Zhang Aiping that 

he was to oversee the project, with orders to complete the process 

by the end of 1949 so the new navy could be used to transport and 

support infantry troops against Taiwan. 

Zhang immediately organized the East China Navy. His task 

was “jump-started” in April, when 25 warships of the KMT Navy’s 

Second Fleet under the leadership of Admiral Deng Zhao-xiang 

defected to the communist regime. Zhang also began building 

a shore-based infrastructure, with a naval school established in 

Nanjing in August, and organized a rudimentary maintenance and 

logistics infrastructure.11

The East China Navy began augmenting its forces by rapidly 

repairing available ships. By the end of October, the first group of 

16 escort vessels and gunboats was ready for operation, forming the 

communist regime’s first navy unit.12

China’s new rulers recognized the need to deal with maritime 

issues. The nation’s policymakers were mindful of China’s recent 

history: “In the past hundred years,” wrote one PLA strategist, “as a 

result of our complete lack of coastal defense, imperialist aggression 

against us has come mostly from the sea. . . . naval defense is an 

important component part of national defense and that our national 

defense would not be solid unless there is a powerful naval defense 

force.”13 In late August, Mao Zedong and other CCP leaders decided 

to send Zhang Aiping to the Soviet Union to discuss importing Soviet 

vessels and inviting Soviet naval advisors. Zhang’s naval delegation 

arrived in the Soviet Union in mid-September and “quickly received 

positive Soviet responses to their demands.”14

The new government in Beijing immediately faced attacks on its 

coastline and island territories by the KMT regime that had fled to 

Taiwan. In fact, on June 21, 1949, the KMT government announced 

a blockade of all coastal ports in the CCP “occupation zone,” and its 

naval and air forces started harassing merchant ships operating to 

and from the mainland; mines were laid to block the mouth of the 

Yangzi River; KMT bombers attacked coastal cities and former KMT 
162

naval vessels that had defected to the CCP.15

Chinese new naval forces were assigned specific missions on 

several occasions. First, two maritime threats were perceived in 

1949: the local threat from Taiwan, and a more general threat from 

the United States. This perception was accurate insofar as the 

KMT navy continued raiding coastal installations, landing agents, 

attacking merchant craft and fishing vessels, and threatening 

invasion of the mainland on a larger scale. Hence, in 1950 coastal 

defense was emphasized as the primary mission of the newly created 

“East China Military Command,” headquartered in Shanghai and 

deploying more than 450,000 personnel. 

Second, Beijing recognized China’s maritime vulnerabilities 

and opportunities, including a long, exposed coast, dependence 

on fisheries, reliance on coastal commerce, weak economy, and a 

historic continentalist defense orientation. 

Third, when the “East China People’s Navy” was established on 

May 1, 1949, its mission was described as defending China’s coast 

against “imperialist aggression from the sea,” continuing the fight 

against Chiang’s forces, and helping with economic reconstruction.16

The navy’s commander repeated its mission in slightly different 

words, averring that the fleet was needed to safeguard China’s 

independence, territorial integrity and sovereignty: 

against imperialist aggression. . . . to destroy the sea blockade of 

liberated China, to support the land and air forces of the People’s 

Liberation Army in defense of Chinese soil and to wipe out all 

remnants of the reactionary forces.”

Fourth, senior strategy makers in China saw the need for naval 

forces to establish law and order on coastal and riverine waters, 

in addition to the oft-stated missions of helping the army capture 

offshore islands still occupied by the KMT, and preparing for the 

capture of Taiwan. Hence, the CCP Politburo charged the new navy 

with “defending both [eastern and southeastern] China coasts and 

the Yangtze River.” 

In other words, even before the PRC was formally established 

in October 1949, its leaders had learned that the new government 

needed an effective navy. The PLAN was formally established in 

May 1950 under the command of General Xiao Jinguang.
163

Not at all surprisingly, given the emphasis on defense and the 

paucity of resources, Beijing adopted a maritime strategy — in so 

far as it adopted one at all — of the Soviet coastal defense doctrine 

known as the Young School. This strategy emerged in the Soviet 

Union in the very early 1920s, as the new revolutionary regime 

lacked the means to do little more than defend itself against White 

Russian and foreign assaults. This strategy relegated naval forces to 

supporting the army.

There were striking lessons for PRC leaders to draw from 

comparing the strategic situations of their new regime and the early 

1920s Soviet Union:

1. a new regime that was under military and political attack by 

several capitalist countries and had not completely quelled 

domestic fighting; 

2. a regime that expected to be attacked by capitalist nations, with 

amphibious attack a current fact and future threat, especially 

from “the ultimate bastion of imperialism, the United 

States;”17

3. a navy that was in disarray, and almost entirely manned by 

captured/defected former enemy personnel;

4. budgetary shortages that limited the amount available to spend 

on expensive naval systems;

5. lack of an industrial infrastructure to produce indigenously 

modern naval armaments; and

6. a maritime frontier hemmed in by adversarial fleets and 

bases.

The most practical lesson from such a comparison was that 

the PRC needed an inexpensive naval force that could be quickly 

manned and trained. When the PLAN conducted a ceremony to 

name its ships on May 23, 1950, it had 51 combat vessels, 52 landing 

vessels, and 30 auxiliary vessels, with a total tonnage of about 43,000; 
164

it already outclassed the KMT in both quantity and quality, at least 

on paper. 

Generals Zhang Aiping and Xiao Jinguang were typical of early 

PRC naval leadership: revolutionary officers who had spent their 

entire career as ground commanders and were transferred to the 

navy for reasons of political reliability and proven combat record, 

rather than for any naval experience. In fact, this system continued 

to dominate until 1988, when career PLAN officers began leading 

the navy. That effective naval commanders require a different 

background of education, training, and experience than do army 

commanders is an example, perhaps, of a lesson not learned until 

relatively late in the life of the PRC.

Soviet Assistance.

Soviet assistance for establishing the PLAN had been obtained 

by Mao Zedong during his 1949-50 visit to Moscow: China used 

half of the initial Soviet loan of $300 million for the navy, including 

the purchase of four old Soviet submarines, two destroyers, and 

a large number of patrol boats. The new force also included 

about 10 corvettes, 40 ex-U.S. landing craft, and several dozen 

miscellaneous river gunboats, minesweepers, and yard craft, all 

from the Nationalists.18 Moscow helped establish a shore-based 

infrastructure, including shipyards, naval colleges, and extensive 

coastal fortifications.

The Soviet Union provided old, poorly maintained ships, and 

insisted that China pay for its purchases. This exacerbated the 

PLAN’s acquisition problem, since Mao Zedong instituted two 

priorities for the first Five-Year Plan in 1953: fighting the war in 

Korea and rebuilding industry. The armed services were limited to 

30 percent of national expenditures. Hence, the PLAN was limited 

in the amount of money allocated for the purchase of foreign ships, 

while even domestic shipyard allocations had to be “based upon 

China’s industrial growth,” meaning that warship construction was 

not necessarily prioritized over commercial ship construction.19 One 

reason for this low priority was the lesson Chinese leaders drew 

from the Korean War: land power remained the dominant element 

in national defense.
165

Events during this initial period of navy building highlighted 

to Beijing issues that had to be resolved before effective maritime 

forces could be deployed. These included recruiting, training, 

and educating enlisted and officer personnel and the industrial 

requirements of building and maintaining a fleet. 

LESSONS: THE OFFSHORE ISLANDS

Beijing’s immediate goal in 1949 was seizure of the offshore 

islands still occupied by the KMT; the invasion of Taiwan was 

initially scheduled for the spring of 1950, but soon postponed to the 

summer of 1951. Mao Zedong’s strategic goal was to complete the 

unification of China and hence bring the revolution’s initial phase 

to a successful close. He considered the capture of Taiwan “an 

inseparable part of his great cause of unifying China.”20 Mao lacked 

experience in naval warfare, but quickly learned that a successful 

campaign against Taiwan would require adequate amphibious 

training, naval transportation, “guaranteed air coverage,” and the 

cooperation of a “fifth-column” on the island — requirements that 

still apply. 

Most of the islands that remained under Nationalist control lay 

within 25 nm of the mainland. Most prominent among these many 

island garrisons were the approximately 20,000 KMT troops who 

had retreated to the Kinmen (Quemoy) Islands; perhaps 5,000 to the 

Dongshang Islands, about 1,000 to Mazu (Matsu) Island, and 160,000 

to Hainan. 21

Initial efforts by the new regime to capture these islands, including 

Daxie, Jintang, and Taohua, succeeded with little difficulty; as a 

result, PLA commanders probably underestimated the difficulty in 

completing the occupation of all the islands, including Taiwan. But 

the PLA in late 1949-early 1950 still lacked significant air and surface 

elements, was short of shipping suitable for troop lift (and lacked the 

crews to man what it possessed), and was ignorant of the parameters 

of even short-range amphibious operations. 

The first hard lesson about amphibious operations was learned 

when a 10th Army Corps division made a landing on Kinmen on 

October 25, 1949. The KMT held control of the sea and the air, and 

knew that the invasion was coming. They destroyed all the PLA 
166

transport vessels after their embarked troops landed on the island; 

the invading soldiers were quickly defeated and thousands captured. 

Then, a division of the PLA’s 7th Army Corps — between 5,000 and 

7,000 men — landed on Dengbu Island on November 7 and was 

similarly routed. These defeats “shocked the CCP leadership.”22

The losses made the military and party leadership realize that 

the PLA demanded new skills and training. The strategic goal 

— reuniting all insular territory with the mainland — remained the 

same, but operational doctrine and tactics had to change.

China achieved a major amphibious victory in April 1950 when 

the PLA occupied Hainan, after Taiwan the second-largest island 

held by the Nationalists. The campaign cost heavy PLA losses, but 

more than 90,000 Nationalist troops were captured. This victory 

resulted from careful planning, followed by the neutralization of 

superior Nationalist ground, naval, and air forces.23 Shore-based 

artillery was employed to gain effective control of the sea and 

airspace between Hainan and the mainland, and Taiwan’s senior 

commanders performed poorly.

In retrospect, China did not have to be concerned about American 

intervention in its island campaigns, even that involving an assault 

on Taiwan; neither the United States nor any other foreign power 

was likely to intervene in what promised to be the final stages of the 

Chinese civil war.

The U.S. Navy considers amphibious warfare to be the most 

difficult of all naval operations to conduct, a lesson learned by the 

PLA during this period. Previous success in land warfare did not 

necessarily lead to success in island warfare. As it learned in the 

early island operations, PLA victory against Taiwan would require 

effective joint warfare, with the cooperative efforts of land, sea, and 

air forces.

The list of specific lessons learned by Beijing during the 1949-50 

island campaigns was headed by that of simply finding a way to 

cross intervening straits. Other major problems included acquiring 

sufficient transport vessels; how to load, organize, and control those 

vessels to transport troops and then to use small boats to land the 

troops; how to avoid soldiers’ seasickness; how to establish and 

then exploit beachheads; and gathering information about weather, 

currents, tides, and bottom topography. Developing plans for 
167

invading Taiwan included mobilization of all civilian vessels in the 

coastal provinces, with the organization of three naval task forces to 

transport the troops necessary for the cross-strait operation.24

LESSONS: TAIWAN

First Phase.

Extending Beijing’s rule over Taiwan has remained near or at the 

top of China’s list of vital strategic interests since 1949. On June 14th 

of that year, Mao Zedong ordered General Su Yu, the Third Field 

Army commander, to “pay attention to studying the problem of 

seizing Taiwan,” stating that, 

if Taiwan is not liberated and the KMT’s naval and air bases not 

destroyed, Shanghai and other coastal areas will be menaced 

from time to time. If Taiwan is not liberated, we will not be able 

to seize hundreds of thousands of tons of vessels. Our coastal 

and inland water transportation will thus be controlled by foreign 

merchants.25

Chinese shipyards hastened the repair and construction of 

transport vessels, at a cost of 1.9 trillion yuan.26

By January 1950, twelve armies had been assigned to the Taiwan 

campaign, with four armies designated for the assault phase. This 

force probably numbered approximately 150,000 troops. 27 General 

Su Yu estimated that 760,000 tons of shipping, plus 2,000 small boats, 

were needed to execute this campaign plan, but these forces were not 

available.28 The general knew even more troops would be required, 

since the KMT forces on Taiwan were becoming more capable with 

the passage of time, but more troops required more transports and 

supporting vessels. PLA planners in 1950 had to try to compensate 

for the shortage of the most vital resource for carrying out an assault 

on Taiwan, troop lift, which remains a problem for the PLA.

Hence, the PLA was far from completing preparations for 

the Taiwan campaign at the outbreak of the Korean War. These 

preparations were effectively shelved in July 1950, when both 

Generals Su Yu and Xiao Jinguang were transferred to serve as 

commander and deputy commander, respectively, of the Northeast 
168

Border Defense Army.

Second Phase.

The Korean War so absorbed China’s military attention and 

resources that the PLA would never again come as close to being 

prepared to assault Taiwan, as it had been in the early spring of 1950. 

The strategic ambition remained, but no serious effort was made to 

deploy a navy sufficiently strong to carry it out. The most obvious 

evidence of this is that during the 1950s Beijing did not authorize 

construction of a single amphibious ship.29 

China’s leaders remembered the lessons of the 1949 Kinmen 

battle: a joint operational capability was required for successful 

amphibious assaults, and shipping requirements were complicated 

by the fact that it was not enough to offer sufficient transport vessels 

to the first line forces; if the second-line forces did not have adequate 

means of transportation, the first-line forces would be cut off from 

logistics support, isolated, and defeated. 

Beijing’s fear of American intervention was heightened in June 

1950, when President Harry Truman ordered the U.S. Seventh Fleet 

into the Taiwan Strait at the outset of the Korean War. Although he 

explained America’s reentry into the Chinese civil war as a means of 

preventing either side from attacking the other, Beijing believed that 

Truman was in fact committing the United States to the defense of 

Taiwan — after having refused to do so for many months. Premier 

Zhou Enlai called Truman’s move “violent, predatory action by the 

U.S. Government [that] constituted armed aggression against the 

territory of China and total violation of the UN charter.”30 Beijing 

recognized the complete U.S. air and sea superiority in East Asia.

Although some smaller KMT-held islands were captured in the 

summer of 1950, in August General Chen Yi, commander of the 

PLA’s East China Headquarters, recommended to the CCP Central 

Committee that the Taiwan campaign be delayed from 1951 to 1952. 

The Central Military Commission (CMC) approved, noting that “It is 

also decided not to [re]assault [even] Kinmen before April 1951.”31

Third Phase.

The Korean War presented mixed naval lessons to China. The 
169

amphibious landing at Inchon in September 1950 was a major 

turning point of the war, while allied command of the sea allowed 

aircraft carriers and battleships to bombard Chinese and North 

Korean forces at will. The U.N. forces suffered only one significant 

maritime defeat, when a planned amphibious assault on the east 

coast port of Wonsan in October 1950 had to be canceled because of 

North Korean mines. Overall, however, Korea was not a maritime 

conflict and the PLA’s efforts were evaluated as successful, which 

contributed to continued belief in a defensive, coastal navy.32

This conclusion was not unanimous; after witnessing the effects 

of modern weaponry first-hand in Korea, some PLA leaders wanted 

to modify Mao’s theory of “People’s War” by acknowledging 

the importance of “modern weaponry.” Peng Dehuai, who had 

commanded Chinese forces in Korea, was the most prominent of 

these. Peng reportedly stated that “People’s War and such stuff are 

outdated [at sea because] in battle the Navy relied upon the tonnage 

of its vessels, the caliber of its guns and the slide rule.”

Peng’s attempts at “regularization and modernization” of the 

military brought the accusation that he was trying to “negate the 

principle of people’s war” by placing “military technique in the 

first place and [denying] that political and ideological work is the 

primary factor in building up” the PLA’s “combat strength.” His 

attempt to modify Mao’s military theories was one of the reasons he 

was dismissed from office in disgrace in 1959.33

 The end of the Korean War gave rise to apparent debate at the 

senior-most levels of the CCP about the means of implementing 

national security strategy. This debate may be simplistically 

described as a contest between those who wished to modernize the 

PLA based on Korean War experiences, and those who believed in a 

more fundamentalist version of “people’s war.”

Naval lessons were “learned” by some PLA leaders, then, but 

were subsumed within a debate that involved the economic and 

social disasters inflicted on China by Mao Zedong, and probably 

included something of a leadership struggle. Mao and his adherents 

prevailed, with severe impact on the PLAN: modernization was 

extremely limited, focusing almost entirely on Mao’s directives to 

develop a sea-borne nuclear deterrent. Any Korean War lessons 

learned in maritime warfare were disregarded for the near-term.
170

The PLAN was not ignored, however: in December 1953, Mao 

stated at an expanded session of the Central Committee Politburo 

“we must build a strong navy”: (1) to get rid of disturbances by 

ocean pirates and protect the security of ocean channel shipping; 

(2) to prepare the strength to recover Taiwan at an appropriate 

opportunity and eventually unify our entire country; and, (3) to 

ready our forces to resist an invasion of imperialism from the sea. 

He qualified these goals, however, by noting that the navy had 

to be built “in a planned, progressive way in accordance with the 

situations regarding industrial development and finance.”34

Recovering Taiwan remained a key national goal for Beijing, 

but little was done to equip the PLA to achieve that goal. The navy 

during the decade following the end of the Korean War had little 

standing in military budget priorities; few ships were acquired 

and it was only in the latter half of the 1960s that the PLAN began 

acquiring vessels equipped with guided missiles and other relatively 

modern equipment. 

Taiwan remained too weak for its stated goal of recovering the 

mainland to serve as anything but empty rhetoric. On Beijing’s 

side, Taiwan was treated as a means of national security signaling, 

with Beijing creating the crises of 1954-55 and 1958 in the straits. 

China naval operations in the mid-1950s focused on defeating the 

continuing KMT attacks against the mainland and on capturing 

islands still held by Taiwan. 

The first of these major incidents began in September 1954, when 

PLA artillery began shelling Kinmen Island. This barrage continued 

until May 1955, and included KMT naval vessels as targets; in 

November 1954, the 1,400-ton KMT destroyer escort Taiping was 

sunk.”35 The 1954-55 episode included PLA capture of the Dachen 

Islands, an effort that took advantage of superior PLA air power and 

a well-coordinated amphibious assault against an outlying island.36

China demonstrated that it had learned the lessons of the Kinmen 

debacle regarding the conduct of amphibious warfare.

This success at the operational level was more than offset by 

the strategic defeat Beijing suffered when Chiang Kai-shek was 

able to use the crisis to leverage a mutual defense treaty with the 

United States. The de facto American intervention that had followed 

Truman’s June 1950 action had now become a de jure alliance. As 
171

demonstrated by the role played by U.S. naval forces in helping 

to evacuate the Dachen Islands in 1955 and to resupply Kinmen in 

1954-55, the PLAN remained a limited factor in the Sino-American 

strategic equation.

Mao renewed the strait crisis in the summer of 1958, primarily 

with artillery barrages that peaked between August and October.37 In 

neither of these straits crises did Beijing apparently intend capturing 

Kinmen or Mazu, and the incidents emphasized the PLAN’s limited 

capabilities.

Nonetheless, the 1950s ended with Chinese possession of all the 

disputed islands except Kinmen, Mazu, and, of course, Taiwan. The 

PLAN also stopped most of the KMT raids on the mainland, as well 

as attacks on merchant and fishing vessels.38 Beijing clearly had 

learned the lesson of the need for naval forces to protect sea-borne 

trade and the fishing industry.39

This was a turbulent period in China, due to the break with the 

Soviet Union, the Great Leap Forward, and power struggles within 

the CCP. It was not a time of innovation or significant change in the 

military structure. Despite the naval lessons so painfully learned 

during the 1950s, the most important military experience of the 

decade for China’s leaders had been Korea, overwhelmingly a land 

war for the PLA. Hence, the PLAN’s “lessons learned” had little 

effect on the strategic thought and policymaking of the nation’s 

political-military leadership at the end of the PRC’s first decade.

A NEW SITUATION: 1960-76

The PLAN began to grow and modernize during this period, 

despite the severe disruptions of the GPCR, the break with the Soviet 

Union, and the continuing standoff with Taiwan. The navy’s input 

to the third 5-year plan was approved by the CMC in April 1967, 

including the design and construction of “advanced medium-sized 

surface ships, medium-sized submarines, and nuclear submarines. 

. . .[and] a new missile seaward defense boat.”40 This program 

indicates an early move toward “offshore active defense,” the term 

frequently used in recent years by Chinese analysts describing the 

PLAN’s strategic role in national security strategy. 

For nuclear deterrent forces, Beijing initially relied on the Soviet 
172

Union during the 1950s. The stresses in the alliance with Moscow 

became more divisive as the decade progressed, however, in part 

because Mao Zedong was determined that China develop its own 

nuclear forces, proclaiming “even if it takes 10,000 years, we must 

make a nuclear submarine.”41 The budgetary priority accorded 

nuclear weapons, the economic disruptions resulting from the 

disastrous Great Leap Forward, and continuing belief in Maoist 

orthodoxy all contributed to the lack of resources for building a 

strong Chinese navy during the late 1950s and 1960s. The PLAN 

had been organized, sent to sea, and proven effective as a coastal 

defense force within 10 years of its founding, but except for the 

CMC-controlled program to launch a sea-borne nuclear deterrent 

force, the navy remained in a supporting role for the army. 

Despite the split with the Soviet Union and the war in Vietnam, 

China’s strategic focus during this period was domestic, mostly 

because of crises of the leadership’s own making. Problems for the 

PLAN resulted from the Soviet withdrawal in 1960, fuel shortages, 

maintenance inadequacies, difficulty finding well-educated recruits, 

and continued second-class status in the national security strategy 

hierarchy. Another bit of evidence that Beijing was slow to learn 

how to deploy a modern, effective navy was the “auxiliary maritime 

militia,” a Maoist hangover composed of fishermen and coastal junk 

sailors. This force, probably numbering approximately 750,000 

people aboard some 140,000 craft, was intended to supplement the 

navy’s ability to conduct coastal reconnaissance and surveillance 

operations.42 In fact, the militia served as little more than a dead 

zone for already scarce PLAN resources. 

The 1960s were marked by major foreign and domestic events that 

further constrained development of a sea-going navy. The split with 

the Soviet Union was signaled during Nikita Khrushchev’s October 

1959 meeting with Mao Zedong in Beijing and was dramatically 

executed in mid-1960, when Soviet advisors (and their plans) were 

withdrawn from China. The navy suffered with the rest of the PLA, 

as projects were left in turmoil. Furthermore, none of the other 

significant events in the early 1960s, including battles with India and 

the Southeast Asia conflict, directly involved the navy; they did not 

provide justification for improving the PLAN, but rather served to 

limit naval modernization. 
173

Although the PLAN’s strategic role remained limited by a Maoist 

emphasis on People’s War, Minister of Defense Lin Biao may have 

wanted to institute a policy of technological development coequal 

with “politics in command.” He did not press his ideas, however, 

and as the decade ended was solidly on the side of “politics,” writing 

“long live the victory of people’s war.”43 This may have simply 

reflected Lin’s belief that the CCP had to remain firmly in control 

of the PLA for China to survive and that ideological reliability was 

more important than modern hardware, a strategic view certain to 

maintain the prominence of army forces at the expense of the navy.

China’s strategic picture changed radically during the 1960s as 

relations with the Soviet Union deteriorated to the point of armed 

conflict along the Amur River. The former ally was now the enemy; 

soon the United States would be China’s ally, which meant that 

Beijing’s strategic focus was primarily to the north and west — away 

from the sea. 

The GPCR, lasting from 1966 to 1976, seriously hampered naval 

modernization; even the relatively sacrosanct missile, submarine, and 

nuclear weapons programs were affected.44 The PLAN continued 

to serve in support of the army; modernization was limited, since 

People’s War viewed technology and weaponry as less important 

than soldiers imbued with Maoist ideology.

A review of global naval developments indicates that PLAN 

modernization was retarded by perhaps two decades as a result 

of the program restrictions and personnel losses that occurred 

during this political maelstrom. Except for the evolution of 

maritime nuclear power, the PLAN missed or was very late joining 

common developments in most warfare areas during the 1950s and 

1960s, including guided missiles in anti-air (AAW), anti-surface 

(ASUW), and anti-submarine warfare (ASW); automation and 

computerization of command and control (C3); the expanded use of 

ship-borne helicopters; automation of gunnery and sensor systems; 

and even the advent of automation and gas turbine technology in 

ship propulsion.

PLAN modernization was still hamstrung at the end of the GPCR 

by the “Gang of Four.” For instance, Jiang Qing led an attack on 

naval missile development. Another member of the “Gang of Four,” 

Zhang Chunqiao, expressed the Gang’s anti-navy position and 
174

support for the “continentalist view.”45 Despite this attitude and 

a lack of resources for major conventional force development, the 

PLAN had moved into the missile age by 1976, deploying a Sovietdesigned ballistic missile submarine and the first frigate armed with 

anti-ship cruise missiles.

Mao’s determination that China become a nuclear power carried 

through the ideological turmoil of the late 1950s, 1960s, and early 

1970s, as Beijing invested heavily in developing nuclear-armed 

missiles and a nuclear-powered submarine to launch them. These 

were national rather than PLAN projects, however, and did not 

significantly increase the navy’s strategic status in the view of the 

leadership. Strategic thought in Beijing remained focused on land 

warfare, with necessary airpower and nuclear adjuncts; the PLAN 

remained characterized as a supporting arm of the army.

1976-99.

Mao Zedong reportedly supported the development of a modern 

navy in May 1975 at a meeting of the CMC.46 He was probably 

reacting both to the Soviet threat and to the development of a 

powerful navy by China’s ancient protagonist, Japan. The PLAN’s 

first priority in the 1970s was defending against possible Soviet 

amphibious assault from the northeast, since Moscow’s navy was 

considered a major threat, despite the weak Soviet amphibious 

forces in the Pacific.47 Other missions included combating criminal 

activities such as smuggling, piracy, and illegal immigration; sea and 

air rescue (SAR); and safety of navigation. These were important, 

but did not have strategic implications.

Perception of an increased maritime threat from Moscow was 

heightened by Soviet naval developments in the 1960s and 1970s, 

even though they were defensive in motivation and aimed at the 

United States. China’s concern about Soviet maritime power was 

strengthened when Moscow demonstrated its new global navy in 

the 1975 Okean exercises.

The Soviet Pacific fleet had become the largest of Moscow’s four 

fleets by the mid-1970s, almost doubling in size and including the 

latest combatants, notably nuclear-powered and nuclear-armed 

surface ships and submarines. Soviet merchant and fisheries ships 
175

were also omnipresent in Pacific waters vital to China’s economic 

interests. The Soviet navy in the late 1970s and 1980s was poised 

to threaten sea lines of communications (SLOCs) vital to Beijing’s 

rapidly increasing merchant marine and overseas trade, as Moscow’s 

naval forces maintained a continual presence in the South China Sea, 

Indian Ocean, and North Arabian Sea. 

Several factors continued to impede development of a large, 

modern Chinese navy during the early years of this period. The 

political after-shocks of the GPCR, as Hua Guofeng and Deng 

Xiaoping contested for the leadership of post-Mao China, limited 

the resources devoted to military modernization. This struggle was 

not resolved until 1980, with Deng emerging on top. 

After the Gang of Four were arrested in October 1976, Premier 

Hua Guofeng noted the PLAN’s nuclear deterrent mission. In 

1980, however, Deng Xiaoping reemphasized the navy’s role as a 

coastal defense force, a view retained throughout the first half of 

the decade. “Our navy,” Deng asserted, “should conduct coastal 

operations. It is a defensive force. Everything in the construction of 

the navy must accord with this guiding principle.”48 CMC Standing 

Committee Vice-Chairman Yang Shangkun reemphasized this in 

August 1985, when he declared that “the construction of the Chinese 

Navy has been determined by the nature of our state. . . . The Navy 

is fundamentally a coastal defense force. The Navy must be built in 

accordance with this characteristic.”49

Naval growth was also limited by disorder in China’s economic 

and social structures that lasted beyond the end of the GPCR. 

This turmoil especially affected the military-industrial complex, 

hindering PLA modernization efforts. Furthermore, the PLAN was 

not significantly involved in the 1979 “punishment” of Vietnam; the 

sobering lessons of that conflict applied most directly to the army. 

Hence, the PLAN’s position within the PLA almost certainly did 

not improve by comparison with the army; the recognized need to 

improve that branch’s capability probably lessened the budgetary 

resources available to the navy.

Finally, the triangular play among China, the Soviet Union, 

and the United States meant that by 1980 Beijing could rely on the 

world’s largest, most modern navy to counter the Soviet maritime 

threat. Furthermore, given the U.S.-Japan security treaty, Beijing 
176

could subsume concern about future Japanese aggression within 

its strategic relationship with Washington.50 Hence, the PLAN 

could not expect a more significant role as an instrument of national 

strategy in Beijing as the 20th century approached its final decade. 

There was no reason for China’s strategists in the early 1980s to have 

learned new lessons about the value of the PLAN as an instrument 

of national policy.

Events soon occurred, however, that probably raised the PLAN’s 

profile in the minds of China’s leadership. First was the new 

military strategy adopted by the CMC in mid-1985, shifting the 

PLA’s focus from a major (nuclear) war with the Soviet Union to 

local, limited wars on China’s periphery. Five types of limited wars 

were discussed in Chinese military journals in the late 1980s: (1) 

small-scale conflicts restricted to contested border areas; (2) conflict 

over territorial seas and islands; (3) surprise air attacks; (4) defense 

against deliberately limited attacks into Chinese territory; and, (5) 

“punitive counter-attacks” launched by China into enemy territory 

to “oppose invasion, protect sovereignty, or to uphold justice and 

dispel threats.”51 This new paradigm, especially case (2) above, 

implies a lesser role for heavy army units, and a greater role for 

naval forces. Major exercises in the past decade and a half seem to 

cover these five scenarios, with the PLAN the dominant service in 

several, including annual events since 1988.52

Second was the end of the Cold War and the concomitant decay 

of the Russian Pacific Fleet to the point where few of its warships got 

underway on a regular basis. Third was the heated up sovereignty 

disputes in the South and East China Seas during the first half of the 

1990s. The complex situation in the South China Sea occurred in an 

area where the PLAN was used to victories (in 1974 and 1988); this 

record continued during the imbroglio with the Philippines during 

1995-98. In the East China Sea, where China and Japan dispute 

the sovereignty of the Daoyutais (or Senkaku Islands in Japanese), 

Beijing and Tokyo worked successfully to keep the lid on the 

disagreement.

Fourth was China’s increasing dependence on imported sources 

of energy, a dependence that began in 1992 and continues to increase. 

This brought to the fore the traditional navy mission of maintaining 

the security of the SLOCs, a mission the PLAN was and remains 
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capable of performing only in China’s coastal waters.

Fifth, Beijing’s analysis of the post-Cold War world assumed 

that a multilateral international structure would emerge. That 

this did not occur was probably disappointing and perhaps even 

disillusioning to Chinese policymakers. However, the world that 

did develop in the 1990s, although featuring the United States as 

“unipower,” was also disruptive enough to give some credence to 

the more diffuse international political situation envisioned by some 

Chinese analysts. The decade’s events in the Persian Gulf, Africa, 

the Middle East, Southeastern Europe, Russia, and South Asia may 

have lent credence to those who believed that the PLAN should 

be developed as a primary instrument of enforcing sovereignty, 

especially in view of China’s very long coastline, plethora of islands, 

and offshore territorial claims.

Sixth, the economic disaster that befell most of East Asia after 

mid-1997, exacerbated by Japan’s continuing economic torpor, has 

left China in a position of relative economic strength not seen since 

the height of the Qing Dynasty. This has allowed double-digit 

increases in the PLA (and the PLAN) budget, as well as providing a 

comfortable zone within which senior policymakers could entertain 

projecting China’s presence on a more consistently global basis, a 

role best carried out by the PLAN.

The navy also proved its value as an instrument of the state 

across a wide spectrum of nationally sanctioned activities during 

the 1980s. These included several deployments to the South Pacific 

to support intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM) flight tests; the 

first successful launch of a long-range missile from a submerged 

submarine; support of early satellite launches; Arctic and Antarctic 

explorations; and the conduct of foreign port visits, including in 

1989 the first PLAN visit to a U.S. port.

In short, major changes in China’s domestic and international 

situation in the 1980s heightened the importance of maritime power 

to national security strategy. Beijing’s second maritime priority, 

after the Soviet threat, was securing offshore territorial claims. 

Taiwan was the most important of these, but the South China Sea 

was also significant. Successful action against South Vietnamese 

naval forces in 1974 resulted in Chinese possession of the disputed 

Paracel Islands; whether Beijing learned any lessons from this 

episode — other than that other claimants to the South China Sea 
178

islands and reefs would not accede meekly to Beijing’s territorial 

claims — is difficult to evaluate, since we lack detailed knowledge of 

PLA planning and intentions preceding the actual battles.

This episode may have convinced Chinese strategists of the 

need for a force dedicated to amphibious warfare, and hence 

contributed to the 1979 resurrection and assignment to the South 

Sea Fleet of the PLAN’s Marine Corps, which first had formed in 

1953 but disbanded in 1957. The navy’s slender amphibious assets 

were improved and concentrated in the South Sea Fleet, with a 

training regimen that included “island seizing” exercises.53 This 

development strengthened Beijing’s policy view of the PLAN as 

necessary to enforcing insular territorial claims. 

Another date which may have been pivotal in China’s post-Cold 

War national security view actually occurred before that period was 

clearly over: the June 1989 massacre in Tiananmen Square, which 

effectively cut Beijing off from American military assistance and 

eased the turn to Moscow for modern weaponry, especially for 

the PLAN. Furthermore, Beijing employed its navy as a primary 

instrument for combating the U.S.-led efforts to isolate China after 

the Tiananmen events by conducting a campaign of ship visits 

throughout Southeast and South Asia in the second half of 1989 and 

1990.

By the turn of the 21st century, China’s leaders came to understand 

and value the PLAN’s role in diplomacy and as a deterrent force. 

The navy’s role in national strategy was greatly enhanced over that 

of 1950, 1960, or 1980, but still remained secondary to land forces in 

terms of value as an instrument of national defense.

THE NEXT PLAN

One useful list of generic naval missions includes (1) maritime 

diplomacy; (2) domain maintenance; (3) maritime presence; (4) 

sea control/sea denial; (5) deterrence; (6) tripwire; and (7) power 

projection.54 Counterpoised to this list are Beijing’s most important 

national security concerns today, and how the PLAN fits into those 

priorities. What lessons about employing naval power have been 

absorbed by China’s national security policymakers? At one level, 

Beijing’s number one national security priority is maintaining 

the CCP in power, which requires maintaining social peace and 
179

domestic stability; the second is achieving status as East Asian 

regional hegemon, and the third is status as a world power. At a 

second level is defense of continental China; defending and exerting 

sovereignty, including disputed insular territories; and reuniting 

Taiwan with the mainland.55

A strong PLAN is, ipso facto, necessary to achieve these seven 

goals, since the first depends on accomplishing the latter five. Naval 

units are particularly useful for exercising diplomatic presence, 

for demonstrating China’s interests throughout East Asia and 

indeed throughout the world; a two-ship PLAN task force recently 

completed a circumnavigation of the globe, the first in China’s 

history, visiting Asian, African, European, and Western Hemisphere 

nations.56

Naval forces also are inherently mobile and flexible instruments, 

and hence particularly well-suited for “wars on the periphery.” This 

mobility also allows naval forces to serve as a “force multiplier,” 

affecting a security situation to a degree greater than the strength of 

the units involved. 

Naval expansion and modernization may also have been spurred 

during the 1980s by the coastal concentration of China’s burgeoning 

economy and military facilities. Also, the resources necessary for a 

modernized PLAN became available as a result of China’s dramatic 

economic development and increasing wealth. Beijing’s increasing 

focus on the national security issues posed by Taiwan and other 

insular disputes strengthened the apparent value of naval forces as 

an instrument suited for their resolution.

Several events contributed to an environment favorable to 

PLAN modernization in the 1990s. First was Beijing’s 1985 strategic 

decision that the Soviet Union no longer posed a major threat to 

China in terms of global nuclear war, and that in the future the PLA 

would have to prepare instead for “small wars on the periphery” of 

the nation. The emphasis on a “peripheral” (to a significant extent 

maritime) rather than continental strategic view improved the 

PLAN’s position in obtaining resources within the PLA. 

Second was the rise to prominence of General Liu Huaqing. He 

had been schooled in the Soviet Union, served most of his career in 

the science and technology arms of the PLA, and was close to Deng 

Xiaoping. Liu’s appointment to head the navy was unusual, since he 

held substantive (general/admiral) rank senior to that (lieutenant-
180

general/vice admiral) normally held by the PLAN commander. 

His promotion indicated that Deng wanted to improve the navy’s 

capability and status within the PLA, and raise its profile as an 

instrument of China’s national security strategy.

Liu exerted a strong force on naval developments as navy 

commander from 1982-87, and then as vice-chairman of the CMC 

until 1997. He is best known for promulgating a three-stage 

maritime strategy for China that provided justification on which 

PLAN officers and other navalists could base their plans for a larger, 

more modern navy. More important were his accomplishments in 

reorganizing the navy, redeveloping the Marine Corps, upgrading 

bases and research and development facilities, and restructuring the 

school and training systems.57

Third, China’s widening maritime concerns and increased budget 

resources in the 1980s raised interest in a strong modern navy. 

PLAN modernization proceeded along three paths — indigenous 

construction, foreign purchase, and reverse engineering — much 

as had the Qing Dynasty’s “self-strengthening” navy of 100 years 

earlier. The 1980s program proceeded at a measured pace, however, 

and Beijing did not embark on a major naval building program. 

China’s national security strategy in the 1980s and 1990s shifted 

between the United States and the Soviet Union as the Cold War 

ended. Throughout, Beijing seemed to follow Lord Palmerston’s 

dictum that a nation has no permanent allies, but only permanent 

interests.58 China’s strategic concerns remained primarily domestic 

and continentalist, but the maritime element gained in importance.

Current maritime strategic thinking in China remains somewhat 

opaque, with most public statements made by uniformed officers 

who have an obvious interest in advancing such strategy. A good 

summary of such thought still remains Allen Whiting’s 1996 article on 

PLA threat perceptions.59 He cites both naval officers and business/

government leaders as to the value of the PLAN’s mission; they cite 

national interests — sovereignty, defense of the homeland, offshore 

economic deposits — that are not new but that are increasingly 

important to an increasingly anachronistic communist regime in 

Beijing striving to retain power over an increasingly capitalistic 

society. Hence, the PLAN has almost certainly garnered new regard 

as an instrument for achieving national strategic goals.

The navy has grown and modernized at a steady if moderate 
181

pace during the past 2 decades. Construction has included guidedmissile destroyers (DDGs) and frigates (FFGs), replenishment-at-sea 

ships, conventionally and nuclear-powered attack-submarines, and 

support craft including missile-tracking ships and officer-training 

vessels. Foreign purchases were at first concentrated in the west, 

with the United States selling China modern maritime gas-turbine 

engines and torpedoes, and western European nations selling 

weapons and sensor systems that included Italian torpedoes, French 

cruise missiles, and British radars.

More recently, the PLAN has gone to Russia for ships, weapons, 

and sensor systems. European nations, including Israel, have 

continued serving as a source of some systems. This acquisition 

process reflects an increased budget for the PLAN, not just in its 

“regular” budget, but also in “special” funding allocated by the 

CMC for the purchase of major systems, such as the Sovremennyclass DDGs and Kilo-class submarines.

The nation’s recognition of its globalizing economic interests 

may have resulted in a more Mahanian view of the value of naval 

power to protect and perhaps expand those interests that are 

increasingly important to the well being of China’s huge population, 

and the continuing empowerment of the CCP. Protecting offshore 

petroleum assets, other seabed minerals, and fisheries also received 

increased attention. 

CONCLUSION

China is a maritime nation, dependent on sea-borne trade, energy 

imports, and fisheries. Despite this maritime environment, China’s 

national security concerns during the past 75 years focused almost 

entirely on internal security and continental threats, except for 

Taiwan. China fought the KMT, Japan, the Soviet Union, Vietnam, 

India, South Korea, and the United States during that period; none 

of those conflicts involved significant Chinese naval participation, 

although the sea provided Japan, the United States, and the Soviet 

Union with a haven from which China could have been attacked.

The new regime in 1949 recognized the importance of maritime 

issues. Mao Zedong understood that conquering Taiwan required a 

navy with expertise in amphibious warfare, sea-borne logistics, and 
182

maritime air power. The effort to organize such a navy was aborted 

because of the Korean War, however, and thereafter limited by 

domestic political events.

Naval development was all but frozen during the 1960s by 

the Sino-Soviet split and the GPCR. Only at the end of the 1970s, 

after the end of the GPCR and the post-Mao power struggle, was 

the PLAN in a position to “take off.” No such take-off occurred, 

however, because Beijing’s security concerns remained focused on 

continental threats posed by the Soviet Union and India, as well as 

by border instabilities with Vietnam and in Central Asia. 

Beijing did begin devoting significantly greater resources to 

the PLAN in the 1980s and 1990s, apparently in recognition of the 

increasing importance of its maritime concerns. This trend has 

continued, and the PLAN today probably receives more than its 

share of China’s defense budget, although the military remains 

dominated by the army.60 

China’s leadership has viewed its navy through much the 

same prism as its imperial and Republican predecessors; the navy 

building for the 21st century owes a good deal to this history, 

marked by some enduring legacies. First, while Chinese naval 

power has never held top priority in Beijing’s strategic calculations, 

its utility in resolving specific issues usually has been understood. 

Two senior naval officers at the PLAN’s leading research institute 

argued that a strong navy is necessary for homeland defense, since 

“the seas have become the new high ground of strategic competition 

. . ., a key national security defense . . ., [and] of crucial importance to 

a country’s prosperity and honor . . . .”61

Second, PLAN modernization has been closely linked to the 

nation’s economic development, with the claim that a nation not 

understanding the importance of the ocean is a nation without a 

future.62 Naval modernization will almost certainly continue, in 

view of China’s continuing economic growth. 

Third, Chinese naval development has been marked by 

significant interaction with foreign navies, most notably reliance 

on Soviet/Russian advisors, strategy, equipment, technology and 

engineers.63

Fourth, the Chinese government has on several occasions 

employed naval force in pursuit of national security goals. 

Furthermore, island campaigns of 1949-55, the Straits crises of 1954-
183

55 and 1958, and the 1974, 1988, and 1998 actions in the South China 

Sea are almost all evaluated by Beijing as successful. 

Finally, Beijing wants a navy capable of ensuring coastal 

defense and the success of discrete, well-defined campaigns to 

defend its maritime territorial claims. A major sea power must be 

capable of defending its maritime territorial rights. Additionally, 

China’s willingness to resort to naval force even when apparently 

outgunned bears a cautionary message for foreign analysts, and 

Beijing’s willingness to employ military force to “teach lessons,” 

means that the PLAN may be deployed in situations not anticipated 

by opponents. 

The post-Cold War focus on offshore sovereignty, economic, 

and resource issues has added to the PLAN’s perceived importance, 

as has the core issue of reunifying Taiwan. China today aims to 

deploy a modern navy capable of operating on, above, and below 

the sea’s surface, to “become a Great Wall at Sea.”64 Chinese 

maritime strategists discuss the need for a strong navy in geopolitical terms, including the demand for increased lebensraum for a 

nation that supports almost a quarter of the world’s population on 

approximately seven percent of its arable land.65 Beijing’s focus on 

its maritime borders was highlighted in a 1996 statement by a PLA 

strategist who claimed that 

in the last 109 years, imperialists have repeatedly invaded China 

from the sea . . . .470 times, . . . 84 of these being serious invasions. 

The ocean has become an avenue for the aggressors to bring 

in their troops and haul away our wealth . . . . the ocean is not 

only the basic space for human survival, but also an important 

theater for international political struggle . . . . The better people 

can control the sea, the greater they have the sea territorial 

rights [which have] become inseparable from a country’s 

sovereignty . . . .66

China’s naval “lessons” since 1949 may be readily identified; 

the degree to which they have been “learned” — understood 

and translated into strategic policy, doctrinal developments, and 

operational applications — is more difficult to evaluate. The island 

campaigns of the 1950s offered operational-level lessons that were 

understood but implemented only on a limited basis. Fear of first 

American and then Russian aggression was viewed largely in a 
184

continentalist context; the PLAN was improved but as an adjunct of 

the army. 

Recent PLAN exercises have demonstrated several “lessons 

learned,” including:

• the need for a reliable, comprehensive material acquisition 

infrastructure, with minimal dependence on foreign 

suppliers;

• the need to integrate logistical support, to include cooperation 

with the civilian sector;

• the requirement for well-educated, well-trained, wellexercised, dedicated personnel;

• the need for a clear, coherent command structure to ensure 

an effective linkage from Beijing headquarters to fleet 

operatives.

• the importance of effective joint operation of air, surface, and 

ground forces, especially for amphibious operations.

Nations have traditionally devoted the resources necessary to 

become naval powers when they meet three criteria. First, they are 

secure on their land borders; second, domestic tranquility is assured; 

and third, indigenous technology is sufficient to support a state of 

the art naval force. China has concerns about all these criteria.67

The problematic nature of these factors limits Beijing’s learning 

from its use of naval power. China’s leadership understands the 

navy’s role as an instrument of national security strategy, but 

the PLAN is not being allocated the attention and the resources 

necessary to make it a primary instrument for accomplishing 

strategic objectives. China’s leadership recognizes the nation’s 

maritime dependence, but the lessons learned from the PLAN 

record continue to be limited in application.

ENDNOTES - CHAPTER 5

1. Herbert Rosinski, quoted in B. Mitchell Simpson, III, Essays on Maritime 
185

Strategy, Newport, RI: U.S. Naval War College Press, 1972, p. 25.

2. “Blue water” is part of a maritime strategy paradigm with “brown” and 

“green” water. Brown water refers to littoral ocean areas, within about 100 nm 

of the coastline; green water is less definite, referring to ocean areas from about 

100 nm to the next significant land formation. For China, for instance, green 

water extends from brown water to Okinawa or from brown water throughout 

the South China Sea. “Blue water” is represented by the so-called “second island 

chain,” delineated by a line from Japan through the Bonin Islands, the Mariana 

Islands, and the Caroline Islands. A “blue-water” PLAN, then, would have to be 

capable of projecting power to a distance of at least 1,600 nm from China’s coast 

and beyond, including the Yellow, East China, and South China Seas. 

3. This paragraph, and that preceding it, draws from “Strengthening Research,” 

Dangdai Zhongguo Haijun, China Today: The People’s Navy, Beijing, October 1987, pp. 

459-465, in Ai Hongren, Zhonggong Haijun Toushi--Maixiang Yuanyangde Tiaozhan, 

(An Inside Look Into the Chinese Communist Navy--Advancing Toward the Blue Water 

Challenge), Hong Kong, 1988, in Foreign Broadcast Information Service (hereafter 

FBIS): Joint Publications Research Service (hereafter JPRS), July 16, 1990, p. 17.

4. Called Meiji Jiao by China, Panganiban Reef by the Philippines, and Da 

Vanh Khan by Vietnam, which also claims this land feature.

5. Alfred Thayer Mahan, the late-19th century American naval officer who 

is arguably the most prolific and influential historian and theoretician of naval 

power of the modern era, has been read in PLAN schools since the mid-1950s; 

his most widely accepted “lesson” is simply that a powerful navy is a crucial 

instrument of power for a maritime nation.

6. Although not cited, this chapter depends significantly on research I 

conducted for my 2001 book, The Great Wall at Sea: China’s Navy Enters the 21st 

Century, Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2001.

7. Zhang Tieniu and Gao Xiaoxing, Zhongguo Gudai haijun Shi (Naval History of 

Ancient China), Beijing: The Eight One Publishing House, 1993, Preface.

8. Zhang and Gao state in their Preface that “the Qing Dynasty locked its door 

against the world, and . . . the Chinese navy was almost at a standstill. . . . As a 

result, when the western big powers opened the door to China with powerful 

cannons and powerful ships, China had to take a beating and to surrender its 

sovereign rights under humiliating terms.”

9. See Juo Ting-yee, “Self-Strengthening: The Pursuit of Western Technology,” 

in The Cambridge History of China, Vol. 10: Late Ch’ing, 1800-1911, Part I, John K. 

Fairbank, ed., Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1978. Fairbank, 
186

China: A New History, p. 220, relates one famous case of corruption: the diversion 

of perhaps $50 million in naval construction funds to the building of the Empress’s 

Summer Palace in Beijing, complete with a large boat made of marble.

10. PLA NDU, Zhongquo Renmin Jiefangjun Zhanshi Jiangian (A Brief History 

of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Revolutionary War), Beijing: PLA Press, 

p. 600, cited in Larry M. Wortzel, “The Beiping-Tianjin Campaign of 1948-49: 

The Strategic and Operational Thinking of the People’s Liberation Army,” in a 

chapter prepared for the U.S. Army War College’s Strategic Studies Institute, 

Carlisle, PA, n.d, Chart 1, which shows that in July 1949 the PLA possessed 

seventy-seven “naval vessels.” Wortzel notes, for instance, that the campaign to 

capture Tianjin had to deal with the fact that the city is surrounded by water and 

crossed by canals and waterways, as it is the gate to the sea for the North China 

plain. Nationalist forces had flooded much of the area by the first week of January 

1949, “slowing movement and forcing the Communist forces to gather boats to 

conduct their attack.” Also see Gene Z. Hanrahan, a naval intelligence officer 

writing in “Report on Red China’s New Navy,” Naval Institute Proceedings, Vol. 

79, No. 8, August 1953, p. 847, who describes the Nationalist contribution to this 

force as “twenty-five vessels ranging from LCTs to destroyers, representing an 

estimated one-fourth of the total Nationalist naval force. . . .” An article in Dangdai 

Zhongguo Haijun, October 1987, p. 58, (in JPRS, 23 February 1990) in the collection 

by Ai Hongren, stated that Chinese naval forces in early 1950 totaled 183 ships, 

displacing 43,268 tons; the former KMT ships were included. To these were soon 

added an additional 217 vessels displacing 90,335 tons, but these numbers included 

various commercial and fishing vessels, salvaged ships, and “48 old ships [bought] 

in Hong Kong.” Furthermore, the Chinese author of this report noted that “the 

performance of these ships was quite poor, as they were obsolete.”

11. See Hanrahan, p. 847; also see David G. Muller, Jr., China as a Maritime 

Power, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1983, p. 10, who quotes Deng Zhao-xiang, 

who also commanded the ROC cruiser Chongqing, describing the “large number 

of ROC’s Navy officers [who] joined the People’s Navy with their warships and 

accouterments.”

12. He Di, “’The Last Campaign to Unify China’: The CCP’s Unmaterialized 

Plan to Liberate Taiwan, 1949-1950,” Chinese Historians, No. 5, Spring 1992, p. 8.

13. Chen Wanjun, “Interview with Sr. Capt. Yu Guoquan, Director of Division 

of Ships, Dept. of Armaments & Technology, PLAN,” Jianchuan Zhishi, Beijing, 

July 7, 1995, pp. 2-3, in FBIS, July 8, 1995, p. 54.

14. He Di., p. 5.

15. Ibid., p. 2.
187

16. Shu Guang Zhang, Mao’s Military Romanticism: China and the Korean War, 

1950-1953, Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1995, p. 48. Also see statement 

by PLAN Vice-Commander Zhou Xihan, 1957, quoted in Muller, p. 47.

17. Vladimir Lenin, quoted in Bruce W. Watson, “The Evolution of Soviet 

Naval Strategy,” in Bruce W. Watson and Peter M. Dunn, eds., The Future of the 

Soviet Navy: An Assessment to the Year 2000, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1986, p. 

115.

18. He Di, p. 8. KMT defectors included the cruiser, Chongqing, but that was 

soon sunk by KMT air attack. The new PLAN also tried to order two cruisers from 

Great Britain and to obtain modern foreign warships through Hong Kong, efforts 

that were frustrated by the outbreak of the Korean War. 

19. In Ai Hongren, p. 9; the PLAN was told to spread a 3-year purchase 

agreement with the Soviet Union over the life of the 5-year plan.

20. He Di, p. 2.

21. Troop numbers are from Edward Marolda, “The U.S. Navy and the 

Chinese Civil War, 1945-1952,” Ph.D. diss., The George Washington University, 

1990, pp. 125ff.

22. He Di, p. 6.

23. The PLA force numbered approximately 142,000 against 160,000 KMT 

soldiers. Marolda, p. 126. The most complete account of this successful PLA 

operation is Reed Richards Probst, “The Communist Conquest of Hainan Island,” 

Ph.D. diss., The George Washington University, 1982.

24. He Di, p. 12. Edward Marolda, p. 139, states that by spring 1950 Beijing 

“had assembled a motley armada of 5,000 vessels . . . freighters, motorized junks, 

and sampans” to use for the invasion of Taiwan; this force was to be manned by 

“30,000 fishermen and other sailors.”

25. Ibid., p. 1.

26. Ibid., p. 9. Wu Yuan-li, The Economy of Communist China: An Introduction, 

N.Y.: Praeger, 1965, pp. 85, 170, gives a 1952 exchange rate of approximately Y1 = 

$.33.

27. He Di, p. 11, calls these “field armies,” which is probably not correct: John 

Gittings, The Role of the Chinese Army, London: Oxford University Press, 1967, 

estimates that the PLA was organized into five field armies in 1951 containing 

approximately 2.1 million troops; Yuan Wei, ed., Zhongguo Renmin Jiefang Jun 
188

Wu Da Yezhan Budui Fazhan Shi Lue (History of the People’s Liberation Army’s Five 

Field Armies), Beijing: PLA Press, 1987, also lists five Field Armies in the PLA in 

1950, totaling approximately 4.6 million troops. My thanks to Kenneth Allen for 

bringing this second source to my attention, and to Dennis Blasko, Paul Godwin, 

and Ellis Joffe for their comments.

28. The enormity of this tonnage is illustrated by the fact that in 1950 the 

three classes of U.S. troop transports designed for amphibious assault displaced 

12,000, 16,000, and 18,000 tons, respectively: “760,000 tons” would equate to 

approximately 42 of the largest these troop transports, and that number simply 

did not exist, anywhere. Furthermore, initial U.S. plans to assault the island in 

1944 called for 450,000 troops.

29. William H. Whitson, with Huang Chen-hsia, The Chinese High Command: A 

History of Communist Military Politics, 1927-71, N.Y.: Praeger, 1973, p. 53. 

30. Quoted in Marolda, pp. 119-120.

31. He Di, p. 15. The assault on Taiwan had been delayed from the summer 

of 1950 to the summer of 1951 during the spring of 1950, before the Korean War 

broke out.

32. “Success” in this case is certainly not indisputable, given the 

disproportionately high losses suffered by the PLA, but it continues to represent 

China’s official position.

33. The Case of P’eng Teh-huai, 1959-1968, Hong Kong: Union Research Institute, 

1968, pp. 164-165. Peng’s statement about the navy is quoted in Bruce Swanson, 

Eighth Voyage of the Dragon: A History of China’s Quest for Seapower, Annapolis, MD: 

Naval Institute Press, 1982, pp. 206-208. Also see Whitson, p. 462, who states that 

“after P’eng’s dismissal in 1959, a variety of restraints, both political and economic, 

conspired to reduce allocations to conventional military modernization.”

34. Quoted in Ai Hongren, p. 38, Appendix 1: “A Chronology of Events for the 

Chinese People’s Liberation Navy, 1949-1985,” p. 38.

35. Thomas J. Torda, “Struggle for the Taiwan Strait: A 50th-Anniversary 

Perspective on the First Communist-Nationalist Battles for China’s Offshore 

Islands and Their Significance for the Taiwan Strait Crises,” Unpublished 

manuscript, 1999, p. 1. This ship was the ex-USS Decker.

36. Gordon H. Chang and He Di, “The Absence of War in the U.S.-China 

Confrontation Over Quemoy and Matsu in 1954-1955: Contingency, Luck, or 

Deterrence?”, The American Historical Review, Vol. 98, No. 5, December 1993, p. 

1514, describe this action as one in which”10,000 PLA troops . . . overwhelmed 
189

1,086 Kuomingtang soldiers.”

37. “[N]early 450,000 shells” were fired at Kinmen and Mazu during these 

three months; later, the PLA began firing only on even-numbered days. Ai 

Hongren, Appendix 1, p. 40, quotes Mao as justifying the 1958 barrage as support 

for “the revolutionary struggle of the Middle Eastern peoples,” as well as striking 

“against provocations by the U.S. and Chiang Kai-shek forces.”

38. Other islands remained under Taipei’s control, including the Penghus, just 

off the southwestern Taiwan coast, and the Pratas Islands and Itu Aba in the South 

China Sea. Taiwan attacks on the mainland continued into the 1960s. Early PLAN 

naval campaigns are addressed by Xiaobing Li, “PLA Attacks and Amphibious 

Operations during the Taiwan Straits Crises of 1954-1958,” Chapter presented at 

the CNA Conference on the PLA’s Operational History, Alexandria, VA, June, 

1999. 

39. Also, fisheries agreements were negotiated with Japan, North Korea, and 

Russia during the 1950s: see Muller, p. 65, n. 46; “Developments in the Fishing 

Industry in Communist China,” Ajiya Kenkyu, June 6, 1961 in JPRS, February 1, 

1962, p. 1; and Asakawa Kenji, “Fishery Production and Policy in Communist 

China,” Chuyoku Kenkyu Geppo, Tokyo, October 30, 1961, in JPRS, February 1, 

1962.

40. Ai Hongren, p. 13.

41. Quoted in Dangdai Zhongguo Haijun, Beijing, October 1987, pp. 239-249, in 

Ai Hongren, Section 3: “Self-Directed Research and Development,” p. 13. 

42. Muller, p. 90, discusses the 1960s maritime militia.

43. Quoted in Swanson, p. 205.

44. See John Wilson Lewis and Xue Lita, China’s Strategic Seapower: The Politics 

of Force Modernization in the Nuclear Age, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 

1984, pp. 206ff, 231, 236; even Zhou Enlai was unable to protect these programs 

completely.

45. Ibid., pp. 147-148, 223.

46. Muller, p. 154.

47. Raymond V.B. Blackman, ed., Jane’s Fighting Ships: 1970-1971, London: 

Jane’s Yearbooks, 1971, p. 610, credits the Soviet navy with just four “large” (4,000 

tons displacement) amphibious ships, and eighty smaller (600-1,000 tons) vessels, 

and these were spread out among all of the Soviet Union’s four fleets: Pacific, 
190

Black Sea, Baltic, White Sea.

48. Lewis and Xue, p. 223, discuss Hua’s decision; they quote Deng on p. 224

49. Quoted in Ai Hongren, Appendix 1, p. 51.

50. The most memorable expression of this factor was by Lieutenant General 

Henry Stackpole, USMC, commander of the Third Marine Expeditionary Force on 

Okinawa, who was quoted in Fred Hiatt, “Marine General: U.S. Troops Must Stay 

in Japan,” Washington Post, March 27, 1990, p. A14, describing the United States as 

“a cap in the [Japanese] bottle.” 

51. Discussed in Paul H. B. Godwin, “Chinese Military Strategy Revised,” The 

Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, Vol. 519, January 1992, 

p. 194.

52. Best known, perhaps, are the 1988 South China Sea exercises, as well as 

those conducted in the Taiwan Strait area in 1995, 1996, and most recently in 2001; 

further, Beijing has announced annual exercises of at least four months in duration 

featuring the PLAN.

53. In 1980, for instance, a major fleet exercise in the South China Sea focused 

on the seizure and defense of islands in the Paracels. Several major exercises 

since then have apparently been designed to “mirror image” an assault against 

Taiwan.

54. Harold K. Kearsly, Maritime Power and the Twenty-First Century, Aldershot, 

UK: Dartmouth Press, 1997, p. 107.

55. Michael Swaine and Ashley Tellis more elegantly address these general 

points in Interpreting China’s Grand Strategy: Past, Present, and Future, Santa 

Monica, CA: RAND, 2000.

56. See Kenneth W. Allen, “Showing the Red Flag: The PLA Navy as an 

Instrument of China’s Foreign Military Relations,” draft ms.; also see Allen and 

Eric A. McVadon, China’s Foreign Military Relations, Washington, DC: Henry L. 

Stimson Center, 1999, for the most complete account of the PLAN’s diplomatic 

role.

57. Alfred Wilhelm, China and Security in the Asian Pacific Region Through 2010, 

CRM 95-226, Alexandria, VA: Center for Naval Analyses, 1996, p. 43, gives a good 

overview of Liu’s accomplishments. For a more laudatory view of Liu, see Jeffrey 

B. Goldman, “China’s Mahan,” Naval Institute Proceedings, Vol. 122, March, 1996, 

pp. 44-47, who cites him as the champion of a “blue water navy.” 

58. Palmerston stated in an 1848 speech to the House of Commons that “We 
191

have no eternal allies, and we have no perpetual enemies. Out interests are 

eternal, and those interests it is our duty to follow.”

59. Allen Whiting, “The PLA and China’s Threat Perceptions,” China Quarterly, 

No. 146, June 1996, pp. 600-601.

60. China’s defense budget--itself a term that should be cautiously used--

remains an arcane topic; the best analysis is the work of David Shambaugh, notably 

his forthcoming Modernizing China’s Military: Program, Problems, and Prospects, 

Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003. As Dennis Blasko has pointed out, 

there are still no PLAN officers assigned as Military Region commanders, and 

none appear in the senior levels at China’s NDU or in the CMC infrastructure.

61. Yan Youqiang and Chen Rongxing, “On Maritime Strategy and the Marine 

Environment,” Zhongguo Junshi Kexue (China Military Science), Beijing, May 20, 

1997, pp. 81-92, in FBIS, May 22, 1997.

62. Fairbank, “Maritime and Continental in China’s History,” discusses these 

factors.

63. I agree with Whitson and Huang, p. 473, who argue that “On balance, it is 

evident that the evolving Russian model of military ethic and style, especially on 

the issues of military role, commander authority, and strategy, has been the most 

important European influence to alter traditional Chinese perspectives.” 

64. Xu Zuzhi, “Chinese Navy Has Truly Become a Great Wall at Sea,” Zhongguo 

Xinwen She, Beijing, October 1, 1999.

65. Kearsly, p. 17, offers a construct that PLAN strategists would likely find 

attractive: he uses the phrase “territorialization of the seas” to describe national 

control of ocean areas under the “idea that a state’s jurisdiction over the land is 

simply pushed seaward in terms of rights and duties concerning good order, the 

exploitation of resources and the exercise of limited sovereignty.” He also cites 

“environmental concerns, nationalism and above all, economic exploitation. . . .” 

and argues that ‘sovereignty protection’ is now a high priority naval mission.” 

66. Chen Wanjun, “Interview with Senior Captain Yu Guoquan, Director of 

Division of Ships, Department of Armaments and Technology, PLAN,” Beijing 

Jianchuan Zhishi, No. 7, July 95, pp. 2-3, FBIS, January 9, 1996, p. 54.

67. Christopher R. Bullock, “China’s Bluewater Ambitions: The Continental 

Realities of Chinese Naval Strategies,” Georgetown Journal of International Affairs, 

Summer/Fall 2002, p. 59, discusses these factors.

193

CHAPTER 6

THE PEOPLE’S LIBERATION ARMY AND 

CHINA’S SPACE AND MISSILE DEVELOPMENT: 

LESSONS FROM THE PAST AND PROSPECTS 

FOR THE FUTURE

Mark A. Stokes

INTRODUCTION

On September 18, 1999, Jiang Zemin, President of the People’s 

Republic of China (PRC), and members of the Political Bureau of the 

Standing Committee assembled in the Great Hall of the People to 

honor central figures in one of the PRC’s most ambitious long term 

development projects in history. The ceremony eulogized aerospace 

and nuclear engineers involved in China’s “two bombs, one satellite” 

(liangdan yixing) program that produced China’s first nuclear bomb, 

strategic ballistic missile, and satellite. Medals were conferred upon 

23 engineers, such as Qian Xuesen, who sparked the imagination of 

a nation and rekindled the martial spirit and grandeur of China.1

As demonstrated by the September 1999 ceremony, the PRC 

has long recognized the importance of aerospace power. In the 

21st century, a nation’s military prowess often is defined in terms 

of its aerospace power. Aerospace power provides a country a 

credible means to deliver weapons of mass destruction (WMD) for 

the purposes of deterrence. It also presents a nation with trappings 

of prestige and the ability to wage war quickly and at reduced costs. 

Since shortly after establishment of the nation, the PRC’s space 

and missile establishment has been a primary element of China’s 

nuclear deterrent. Its aerospace power has provided the PRC with 

prestige and power that few nations enjoy. Today, aerospace power, 

including tactical missiles and supporting assets, are important 

coercive tools and force multipliers that could play a decisive role in 

a future conflict around China’s periphery.

A number of drivers have prompted Beijing to build up its 

aerospace technology base. These include the desire to develop 

and maintain an assured nuclear retaliatory capability; a need for 
194

prestige and international respect; the availability of technology 

and expertise; and a requirement to dominate conflicts around its 

periphery quickly and at low cost. Developing the ability to deliver 

payloads across continents, launch satellites, and, more recently to 

strike targets around its periphery with conventional payloads did 

not come easy. It has been a long and bumpy road from the time Qian 

Xuesen made his initial proposals in 1956 to today. This winding 

path was fraught with failure, frustration, political landmines, and 

intermittent success. Today, however, China’s long history of space 

and missile development and the sacrifices of its first generation of 

aerospace engineers have established a viable foundation to use 

force to pursue its national security interests.

This chapter traces the development of PRC aerospace power. 

Space and missile development are integrated under the heading 

of hangtian, a Chinese term that captures satellites, launch vehicles, 

ballistic missiles, surface-to-air missiles, and cruise missiles. This is 

juxtaposed against the aviation, or hangkong, industry. This chapter 

focuses primarily on space and ballistic missile programs, and 

its primary customer, the Second Artillery of the PRC’s People’s 

Liberation Army (PLA).

This chapter focuses on technological development instead of 

defense organizations, doctrine, and operations. First, the Second 

Artillery and the General Armaments Department, which is 

responsible for space operations, are two of the most technologically 

advanced organs in the PLA today. There is a close affiliation 

between these two entities and their industrial supporters. Secondly, 

there is a paucity of information regarding the Second Artillery.

This chapter examines key factors that have driven the 

development of aerospace power; addresses key organizational and 

personality issues; and traces the development of key space and 

missile programs since the inception of the PRC aerospace industry. 

This paper divides China’s space and missile development into three 

phases: Phase 1: establishment of China’s aerospace industry and 

the Second Artillery (1957-84); Phase 2: China’s quest to maintain 

strategic sufficiency (1984-91); and Phase 3: relative shift in focus 

to maintaining national sovereignty (1991 to the present). The 

chapter concludes with a general discussion of potential future 

developments.
195

ESTABLISHING THE FOUNDATION: THE EARLY YEARS 

(1957-82)

The humble origins of China’s aerospace industry coincide 

with the return to China of prominent U.S. Air Force engineer 

Qian Xuesen in 1955. Sent to the United States on a scholarship in 

1935, Qian was educated at MIT and Caltech and became one of the 

initial cadre of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. As one of the world’s 

foremost experts in propulsion and aerodynamics, Qian worked on 

a number of advanced aircraft and missile projects. As an Army 

Air Corps colonel, he was a member of the U.S. team dispatched to 

Germany after World War II to debrief Werner von Braun, designer 

of the German V-1 and V-2 missiles. As a member of the U.S. Air 

Force Scientific Advisory Board, he authored futuristic concepts 

including nuclear powered aircraft propulsion, manned space flight, 

and rocket powered transcontinental aerospace vehicles that travel 

at speeds in excess of 10,000 mph. Qian participated in the drafting 

of the U.S. Air Force’s first long range vision, Toward New Horizons. 

However, suspected of harboring communist sympathies, Qian was 

deported to China in 1955.2

Shortly after his return to China, Qian urged Minister of Defense 

Peng Dehuai to make development of ballistic missiles, satellites, 

and launch vehicles a national priority. On February 17, 1956, Qian 

submitted a formal proposal to the party leadership to establish 

research and development (R&D) facilities for space and missile 

development. Premier Zhou Enlai convened a special conference to 

consider the proposal and on October 8, 1956, he formally directed 

the establishment of the Fifth Academy under the PLA. Qian Xuesen 

was appointed as its initial director of an organization composed of 

10 research sections.3

In November 1957, the Fifth Academy organization was 

readjusted. The First Sub-Academy (diyi yanjiu fenyuan) was 

responsible for engine development, while the Second Sub-Academy 

was responsible for control systems. In addition, an aerodynamic 

testing range was formed, along with a ballistic missile training unit. 

Zhou Enlai and Nie Rongzhen recruited into the Fifth Academy 

more than 30 engineers, most of whom were Western educated.4

The early years of China’s space and missile program were 

marked by assistance from the Soviet Union. Discussions began 
196

in September 1957 when a delegation, led by Nie Rongzhen, 

visited Moscow to negotiate a technical assistance agreement. The 

two sides signed an agreement on October 15, 1957. It included 

provisions for the transfer of missiles for reverse engineering (two 

R-1 and 14 R-2 ballistic missiles), the technical data packages for 

the missiles, acceptance of Chinese students at Soviet military 

engineering academies, and assignment of approximately 100 

Russian technicians to assist China in its missile program. Russian 

assistance was terminated, however, when Soviet technicians 

abruptly departed China on August 12, 1960.5

In March 1958, Minister of Defense Peng Dehuai approved a 

proposal for construction of four R&D bases (general systems and 

engine, control and guidance, engine testing, and aerodynamics) and 

one test base in Gansu province. With Soviet assistance, the design 

of the Gansu test facility (Northwest Missile Test Base), located near 

the ancient town of Jiuquan, was completed by September 1958 and 

construction began a month later. A rail line was constructed that 

connected Jiuquan with Fifth Academy facilities in Beijing. China’s 

initial test of an R-2 missile, loaded with Chinese propellants, was 

carried out on November 5, 1960, using radio control.

Between 1961 and 1965, China’s space and missile industry 

witnessed a remarkable expansion. The Third Sub-Academy, 

responsible for anti-ship cruise missile development, was established 

in September 1961. Shanghai Academy of Space Technology 

(SAST), responsible for surface-to-air missile and sounding rocket 

development, was formed from the Second Electro-Mechanical 

Bureau on August 1, 1961.6 To oversee China’s expanding strategic 

weapons program, the Chinese Communist Party established the 

Central Special Committee in November 1962. 

In June 1964, central authorities established another organization—

the Fourth Branch Academy — for research, development, and 

production of solid motors. The Fourth Sub-Academy, located 

in Hohhot, Inner Mongolia, created at the urging of Qian Xuesen, 

centered on a small group of engineers that constituted the Solid 

Motor Institute, a small organization that was formed in 1961.7

In January 1965, the aerospace industry was reorganized. The 

PLA Fifth Academy became the Seventh Ministry of Machine 

Building (qijibu). Subordinate subacademies became full-fledged 

academies, and all military personnel within the new Seventh 
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Ministry were demobilized. Chinese Communist Party (CCP) 

Chairman Liu Shaoqi appointed PLA Air Force Deputy Commander 

Wang Bingzhang as Minister.

Deliberations began in early 1967 concerning the establishment 

of a unified entity for space technology and to ensure China’s 

objective of launching a satellite by 1970 was met. Combining a 

number of institutes involved in space-related activities (i.e., the 651 

Institute, Beijing Scientific Instrument Factory, Lanzhou Institute of 

Physics, Shanxi Taihua Scientific Instrument Factory, etc.), the China 

Academy of Space Technology (CAST) was formed on February 20, 

1968.8

During this timeframe, China’s central leadership also began 

to develop “third line” facilities to augment key space and missile 

research and production centers in Beijing and Shanghai. In March 

1965, the CCP Central Committee approved a Seventh Ministry plan 

for diversifying design, R&D, and production in “third-line” bases 

deep inside China, such as Sichuan, Hunan, Shaanxi, and Guangxi. 

At the same time, design and production facilities in Shanghai were 

expanded.9

At the same time, the space and missile industry developed an 

R&D and production strategy. The strategy, called “Three Moves 

in a Chess Game” (sanbuqi), called for three models in the R&D/

production cycle at any one time--one system in trial manufacturing 

and testing; a follow on model under design and R&D (xinghao 

yanzhi); and preliminary research (yuxian yanjiu, or yuyan) on basic 

technologies associated with a generation-after-next model. Chief 

designers were appointed to coordinate efforts among various 

research institutes, academies, academic centers, and industries.10

As it expanded and developed strategies for fielding ballistic 

missiles and satellites, however, the Seventh Ministry was paralyzed 

by the chaos of the Cultural Revolution. During the summer of 1966, 

Nie Rongzhen attempted to shield engineers, accused by some of 

being “reactionary elements,” by soliciting assistance from the 

Beijing Garrison Command. However, the Seventh Ministry divided 

into factions in 1966, the September 15 Rebellion Corps (“915”), 

dominated by administrative personnel; and the September 16 

Rebellion Corps (“916”), dominated by the engineering community. 

On January 23, 1967, a young missile engineer, Ye Zhengguang, 

overthrew the Seventh Ministry leadership and forcibly removed 
198

Minister Wang Bingzhang, Vice Minister Qian Xuesen, and other 

senior cadre. Violence between the two factions reached a crescendo 

on June 8, 1968, when a mob killed one of China’s foremost missile 

engineers, Yao Tongbin. After Yao’s death, Zhou Enlai directed that 

key engineers be placed under special protective custody.11

Others were persecuted as well. Missile guidance specialist 

Song Jian, leading an R&D effort into ballistic missile defense, had 

his home ransacked and property confiscated in June 1968. For a 

period of time, Qian Xuesen and Huang Weilu, in charge of the JL-1 

project, were forced to do manual labor. Missile tests were delayed 

due to local disputes, and educational institutions within the space 

and missile industry were closed. Many in the third line industries 

suffered due to an overzealous attempt at a hasty expansion.

The effects of the Cultural Revolution on the focus and pace of 

China’s strategic programs were severe. While various programs 

sputtered along, the loss of morale, vision, and momentum after 

the Cultural Revolution were significant. A factionalized Seventh 

Ministry was rife with vengeful engineers and administrators who 

were skeptical of their national leadership. They had also wasted 

precious time in their race to maintain some degree of symmetry 

with the West.

After suffering 10 years of political turmoil, however, the CMC 

decided to hasten the development of key projects. In order to 

focus its resources and regain lost momentum, China’s leadership 

initiated the “Three Grasps” (sanzhua) in September 1977. The 

“Three Grasps” centered on three programs: development and 

testing of intercontinental and submarine launched ballistic missiles; 

and launch of a communications satellite. With Song Renqiong 

appointed as the new Seventh Ministry minister, Tu Shou’e was 

designated as the chief designer of the ICBM; Huang Weilu as chief 

designer of the SLBM; and Ren Xinmin as the chief designer of the 

communications satellite.12

BALLISTIC MISSILE DEVELOPMENT

Between the mid-1950s to the early 1980s, China dedicated itself 

to developing its first generation of ballistic missiles and establishing 

the Second Artillery Corps. During the this period, China space and 

missile industry, guided in large part by Western-trained engineers, 
199

equipped the Second Artillery with two intermediate range ballistic 

missile (IRBM) variants and one intercontinental ballistic missile. 

China’s initial ballistic missile program, under the heading of 

Project 1059, was based on reverse engineering two Russian 600-

kilometer range R-2 ballistic missiles that were delivered to Beijing 

in December 1957. This program, led by Chief Designer Liang 

Shoupan, began in October 1958. Despite a series of failed tests and 

withdrawal of Soviet support in 1960, the Fifth Academy began trial 

production of the R-2 ballistic missile in 1960. China’s first launch of 

a ballistic missile took place on November 5, 1960. 13

After the successful production of the R-2 (DF-1) ballistic missile, 

China turned its sights to the DF-2 medium range ballistic missile 

in the Spring of 1960. China’s senior leadership assigned Xie 

Guangxuan and Ren Xinmin to serve as chief designers of China’s 

first inertially guided ballistic missile. The initial test of the 1050-

kilometer range DF-2 from the Northwest Missile Test Base (Jiuquan, 

or the 20 Base) failed in March 1962. After a series of successful tests 

between May and July 1964, China decided to expand the range of 

the missile to 1250 kilometers through use of a more efficient liquid 

fuel in February 1965. The expanded range version of the DF-2 was 

tested several times from November 1965 to mid-1966. The first test 

of a nuclear armed ballistic missile, the DF-2, occurred on October 27, 

1966, 4 months after standing up the Second Artillery Corps. More 

than 100 DF-2 missiles were produced between 1962 and 1969.14

Shortly after branching off from the PLA in 1965, the Seventh 

Ministry leadership approved an Eight-Year Plan (1965-1972) for 

development of missile technology. The plan involved four kinds of 

missiles by 1972 (banian sidan). The first two missiles — the extended 

range DF-2 (designated the DF-2A) and the DF-3 already were well 

along. However, the second two, the DF-4 and the DF-5 presented 

new technical challenges due to the ranges involved. The plan 

envisioned a phased program toward an ICBM that would include 

a 4000 kilometer range missile (the DF-4) that could hold Andersen 

AFB hostage; and the 12,000 km range DF-5 that could cover the 

United States from sites in northern China. These two systems 

would be developed in parallel.15

In March 1965, the China’s senior leadership approved a 

program for the intermediate range DF-3 ballistic missile, China’s 

first independently designed missile. Key players in the missile’s 
200

development, which began as early as April 1964, included Sun 

Jiadong, Ren Xinmin, Hao Fujian, and Yao Tongbin. The initial 

flight test was conducted in December 1966 but encountered engine 

difficulties. In December 1968, the 2,650-kilometer range DF-3 was 

taken to the newly constructed Northwest Missile Test Center (Base 

25) for full range testing. The missile, capable of carrying a 2,150 

kilogram payload, was deployed to the Second Artillery in May 

1971. In 1981, the First Academy initiated a modification to the DF-3 

to increase its range to 2,800 kilometers; two flight tests in December 

1985 and January 1986 were successful.16

After a 9-month technical feasibility study, R&D on China’s next 

missile, the “intermediate-long range” DF-4, began in March 1965. 

Ren Xinmin was appointed as chief designer. Using the DF-3’s first 

stage, the DF-4, China’s first multiple staged missile, was designed 

to carry a 2200-kilogram warhead. The missile was first tested in 

November 1969 from Jiuquan. However, the second stage failed 

to separate from the first and the missile was detonated. A second 

test, carried out on January 30, 1970, was successful. A full range 

test was conducted in November 1970 from the newly constructed 

Northeast Missile Test Base (near Jingyu, in the northwest province 

of Jilin). Shortly thereafter, work began on extending the range 

of the DF-4. However, due to complications associated with the 

Cultural Revolution and the higher priority allotted to the DF-5, 

further progress on the missile was deferred until 1975. The missile 

eventually was tested in a series of tests from May 1976 to October 

1980 to a range of 4,750 kilometers, and began deployment to the 

Second Artillery in November 1980.17

The DF-5 was intended to be able to range the entire continental 

United States from sites in northern China. The DF-5 R&D 

proceeded in parallel with the DF-4. In 1966, Qian Xuesen advocated 

development of an advanced DF-5 warhead with penetration aids, 

including electronic countermeasures and light exo-atmospheric 

decoys.18 The initial successful test of the DF-5 took place on 

September 10, 1971, approximately 20 months after the first test of 

the DF-4. Alarmed by actions of the former Soviet Union, the PRC 

accelerated deployment of the DF-5 in 1980. Shortly after two full 

range flight tests in the western Pacific Ocean in May 1980, the DF-5 

was deployed in an operational training mode in June 1980, into an 

experimental unit in December 1980, and into two operational silos 
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by the end of 1981. In 1983, China’s senior leadership approved 

development of an extended range version of the DF-5, known 

as the DF-5A, a system that can carry 3200 kilograms over 13,000 

kilometers.19

Solid Fueled Ballistic Missiles.

China had attempted to elicit Soviet support on solid motor 

development but to no avail. Preliminary research on solid 

propellants began in the late 1950s. Under the leadership of Li 

Naiji, a solid motor research group was established in Hohhot, Inner 

Mongolia, and a series of solid motors, ranging in diameter from 

77 to 286 millimeters, were tested between 1960 and 1962. After 

formation of the Fourth Sub-Academy in 1964, formal work began 

on developing solid motors in August 1965. The Sub-Academy was 

granted full academy status in January 1965. The academy next 

fabricated 28 motors, all 300 millimeters in diameter, for the purposes 

of testing. Sufficiently confident in its mastering of smaller motors, 

the Fourth Academy began to develop a 1400-millimeter motor, 

which was tested on December 1, 1966. It also began development 

of a 770-millimeter motor to serve as the third stage for China’s first 

launch vehicle, the Long March-1.20

With a 1400-millimeter test successful, a formal decision to move 

to the next development stage of a solid-fueled ballistic missile was 

made in March 1967. However, due to the turmoil of the Cultural 

Revolution, conceptual design work did not commence until August 

1978. Leadership over the project was turned over to the Fourth 

General Design Department, with Huang Weilu appointed as Chief 

Designer.21

Construction of test facilities for the JL-1 and DF-21 began at the 

North China Missile Test Site near the city of Taiyuan, in Wuzhai 

county (also known as 25 Base) in 1973 and was completed by 

June 1980. Initial JL-1 tests were conducted in December 1980 and 

January 1981, but failed. A subsequent test in June 1981 from the 

25 Base succeeded. At least four follow-on tests were conducted 

between November 1981 and January 1982. The missile was declared 

operational in August 1983, although testing continued on a second 

production batch through early 1985. Planning for the land based 

version of the JL-1, known as the DF-21, began in 1978. A series of 
202

ground tests were conducted from April to May 1984 and the first 

test of the DF-21 was conducted in May 1985. 22

Establishment of the Second Artillery.

Shortly after the formation of the Seventh Ministry of Machine 

Building in 1965, the Central Military Commission formed the 

Second Artillery Corps, an organization that has expanded and 

diversified its missions since its founding in the 1960s. As China 

began its ballistic missile program, China’s first strategic missile 

training group (dadui) was formed in Changxindian, in the 

southwestern suburbs of Beijing, in December 1957. Six hundred 

officers and technical specialists were drawn from throughout the 

PLA and defense industry. Eighteen months later, in July 1959, this 

training group was transformed in a launch battalion that serve as 

a “seed unit” (zhongzi budui) to provide the initial cadre of missile 

launch specialists that could form subsequent units. 

After a survey team led by then Deputy Chief of General Staff 

Zhang Aiping examined four military regions, each formed their 

own surface-to-surface missile battalions in March 1960. At least 

one battalion, located in Northwest China, was formed from an 

artillery school. These battalions consisted of a headquarters 

department (chu), political department, logistics department, as 

well as subordinate technical companies. These four battalions 

were upgraded to regiments in January 1964. From 1963-1966, 

these units conducted four exercises that involved the launching 

of eight missiles (six of the launches were successful). In 1966, the 

PLA Artillery commander, Wu Kehua, proposed to the Central 

Military Commission the formation of an independent service arm 

that should be formed from artillery and Chinese People’s Public 

Security units (zhongguo renmin gong’an budui). Mao Zedong and 

the CMC approved this concept in June 1966. Zhou Enlai named the 

organization the “Second Artillery” to sow confusion among outside 

observers as the true purpose of the organization.23

The Second Artillery was officially established in a ceremony on 

1 July 1966. Commanded by General Xiang Shouzhi, the original 

organizational structure had the standard headquarters, political, 

and logistics departments (bu), as well as engineering, intelligence, 

surveying, calculation (jisuan), weather, chemical defense, and 
203

camouflage support (baozhang) units. With the primary Second 

Artillery command post established in Beijing, an underground 

reserve command post (yubei zhihuisuo) was established at Taibai, 

south of the Shanxi city of Baoji.24

While under the General Staff for administrative purposes, the 

Second Artillery units were to report directly to the CMC. Initially 

equipped only with short range ballistic missiles, DF-3 intermediate 

range ballistic missiles were introduced into the Second Artillery 

inventory in 1971. “Intermediate-long range” missiles (i.e., the DF4) and the DF-5 intercontinental ballistic missile began introduction 

in the early 1980s.

Over the next several years, six Second Artillery bases, numbered 

51-56, were established throughout China. Between 1966 and 2000, 

each base oversaw between one and three regiments or brigades. 

While initial units were equipped with the DF-2 medium range 

ballistic missile, four DF-3 units, consisting of about 120 missiles 

and 40 launchers, were formed near Dengshahe, Liaoning (51 Base); 

Lianxiwang, Anhui (52 Base); Jianshui, Yunnan (53 Base); and 

in Qinghai (56 Base). Two DF-4 units, managing approximately 

40 missiles, were established in the 1970s in western Hunan and 

Qinghai provinces. The Second Artillery established two DF-5 

ICBM brigades in the 1980s in Hunan and Henan provinces.25

SATELLITE AND LAUNCH VEHICLE DEVELOPMENT

Like its missile program, the impetus for China’s satellite 

development lies with Qian Xuesen, who stressed the importance 

of a space program shortly after returning to China. More calls for 

initiating a space program began shortly after the launch of Sputnik 

in October 1957. In January 1958, Qian and a group of engineers 

drafted a formal proposal to develop a satellite and launch vehicle 

and designate a team to work on the project under the code name 

“581.” To observe Soviet satellites, China developed an early 

satellite observation network centered on China’s space observatory 

on Purple Mountain in Nanjing. Other satellite tracking sites, which 

provided data to the Purple Mountain observatory, were set up in 

Beijing, Guangzhou, Yunnan, and Shanxi.26

Mao Zedong committed to developing a Chinese satellite on 

May 17, 1958 during a speech before Central Committee meeting 
204

in Beijing. Development of a satellite was included in the August 

1958 12-Year plan for Scientific and Technical (S&T) Development. 

The project, originally assigned to the Chinese Academy of Sciences, 

was code-named the “581 Program.” A leading group in charge 

of the project was directed by Qian Xuesen, who established three 

design institutes responsible for general systems design; automation 

and control; and space physics. Members of the leading group 

made a visit to Soviet satellite developing facilities in October 

1958. The satellite R&D was centered in Shanghai. To assist in 

its satellite development, Shanghai-based research centers focused 

on development of sounding rockets for exploration of the upper 

atmosphere. At this time, China’s Academy of Sciences also began a 

series of conferences and R&D on manned spaceflight.27

China temporarily shelved its satellite program in January 1959 in 

favor of concentrating on its ballistic missile development. However, 

in 1962, at the urging of Qian Xuesen, China’s leadership decided 

to resume satellite R&D after initial successes in China’s ballistic 

missile and sounding rocket programs, and after France and Great 

Britain launched their first satellites. Qian Xuesen recruited a team 

of four designers from Shanghai’s Institute of Electro-Mechanical 

Design and drafted a game plan for the development of satellites. In 

January 1963, the Shanghai Institute of Electro-Mechanical Design 

was integrated into the Fifth Academy.

Definitive plans for the launch of China’s first satellite began 

in January 1965. In August 1965, the Central Special Commission 

approved a CAS proposal for satellite development, but assigned 

the Commission for Science, technology, and National Defense to 

organize and coordinate the satellite development and launch center, 

while CAS would handle the ground segment. A 64-day design 

conference (known as the “651 conference”) began in September 

1965. In January 1966, the “651 Design Institute” under CAS began 

conceptual design work on China’s first satellite. China’s first 

satellite, the DFH-1, was launched on a Long March-1 on April 24, 

1970. A second satellite project for scientific research, known as the 

Shijian-1 (SJ-1), was launched in March 1971. Afterwards, there was 

a 4-year gap before the launch of the next satellite in 1975.
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Reconnaissance Satellites.

Because of the need for accurate targeting data, China’s 

reconnaissance program is intimately related to its nuclear missile 

program. Since the modest beginnings of a satellite reconnaissance 

program in early 1966, China has launched at least 22 reconnaissance 

satellites.28 Initial space reconnaissance efforts were geared toward 

developing the optical cameras, receivers, and attitude control 

mechanisms to support imagery and electronic reconnaissance 

programs.

Under the leadership of Wang Xiji and Sun Jiadong, the 

recoverable project was divided into four phases: 1) program 

assessment from early 1966 to September 1967; 2) the conceptual 

design from September 1967 to March 1970; 3) prototype development 

from March 1970 to January 1973; and 4) flight model development 

after January 1973.29 After a 3-day conference, the Eighth Design 

Institute (now the 508th Research Institute) forwarded a conceptual 

proposal for a film-based recoverable system to the Central Military 

Commission in September 1967, which approved and assigned 

the project to China Academy of Space Technology (CAST) in 

February 1968. Development of the optical remote sensing devices 

was initiated in November 1967. Key developmental issues for the 

project, dubbed the 911 Program, that had to be tackled included 

the solid motor and parachutes for braking the reentry capsule; the 

attitude control system; satellite structure (heat protection); and the 

optical sensors. After initiating work on a prototype in early 1973, 

the initial test of the satellite on a Long March 2 launch vehicle was 

conducted on November 26, 1975; the 4-day mission was a partial 

success, and subsequent test launches were conducted in December 

1976 and January 1978. The program entered the applied phase in 

1979, with the initial launch of the Jianbing-1 (JB-1) in September 

1982.30 After launching six JB-1 satellites between 1982 and 1987, the 

PRC developed a second-generation reconnaissance satellite, the JB2, which was launched in 1987. 

To augment its optical reconnaissance program, Zhou Enlai 

directed initiation of the 701 Program and its launch vehicle, the 

FB-1, on 14 August 1969. The PRC experimented with electronic 

intelligence (ELINT) satellites, euphemistically called “technical 

experimental satellites” (jishu shiyan weixing), in the mid-1970s 
206

under the Shanghai Bureau of Astronautics’ 701 Program. The first 

Chinese ELINT satellite was launched from Jiuquan in July 1975 on 

the FB-1 launch vehicle, which was specifically designed to meet the 

weight and orbital accuracy requirements of ELINT platforms. The 

FB-1 launched two more experimental ELINT satellites in December 

1975 and August 1976. For unknown reasons, the program was 

discontinued.31

Communication Satellites.

Having mastered smaller reconnaissance satellites in low earth 

orbit, Beijing’s space industry focused on larger communications 

satellites in geosynchronous orbit, 36,000 kilometers above the 

equator. Such a program required a much more powerful launch 

vehicle and a new launch site. Inspired by U.S. ability to beam 

images into American living rooms during the visit of President 

Richard Nixon in 1972, Beijing began to evaluate its requirements for 

communications satellites. Theoretical studies on a communications 

satellite were carried out in the mid-1960s. However, it was not 

until the Central Committee approved a State Planning Commission 

proposal in February 1975 that serious R&D was initiated. Mao 

granted final authorization in April 1975, naming Sun Jiadong as chief 

designer. After evaluating a number of orbital concepts, including 

the Soviet Molniya orbit, the PRC settled on a geosynchronous 

orbit. A formal application was submitted to the International 

Telecommunications Union in March 1977. Initial mock-ups 

were produced in 1977, the first electrical design prototype was 

developed in 1979, and the final integrated satellite, labeled as the 

DFH-2, was completed in Spring 1983. The satellite was transported 

to Xichang Space Launch Center in January 1984 and launched on 

a LM-3 vehicle on January 26, 1984. However, technical failure of 

the third stage resulted in the satellite being stranded in a low earth 

orbit. A second DFH-2 satellite launched on April 8, 1984, this time 

successfully.

SPACE LAUNCH INFRASTRUCTURE

China's space program was dependent upon the successful 

development of a space launch infrastructure, including launch 
207

vehicles, launch centers, and tracking, telemetry, and control 

network. Work on China's first launch vehicle, designated as Long 

March-1 (LM-1), began during the second half of 1965. The vehicle, 

which served as the basis for subsequent launchers, was developed 

for the specific purpose of launching the DFH-1 satellite. The 

technical challenge was development of multiple engine stages that 

could generate 100 tons of thrust and lift a 300-kilogram satellite into 

a 440-kilometer low earth orbit. Initial design work was carried out 

by the Seventh Ministry's 8th Design Institute, but was transferred 

to the China Academy of Launch Technology (CALT). Under the 

guidance of CALT director, Ren Xinmin, liquid engines for the first 

two stages of the LM-1 were derived from the YF-2 engines used 

in the DF-3 intermediate range ballistic missile. The third stage 

incorporated a 770mm diameter solid motor developed by the Fourth 

Academy in Hohhot, Inner Mongolia. Subsystem development was 

completed by Fall 1968, when general assembly and large scale 

ground tests began. To ensure uninterrupted progress on the LM-1 

project, Zhou Enlai placed 3,456 specialists on the special protection 

list. The LM-1 was delivered to Jiuquan Space Launch Center on 

March 26, 1970, and successfully delivered the DFH-1 satellite on 

April 24, 1970. The LM-1 launched a second payload, the SJ-1, on 

March 3, 1971.32

China's second generation launch vehicle, the LM-2, is 

a modification of the DF-5 intercontinental ballistic missile. 

Preliminary research on the heavy lift vehicle began in 1966. Under 

the leadership of chief designer Tu Shou'e, model design work on 

the LM-2 began in 1970 for the purpose of launching China's first 

generation reconnaissance and scientific satellites. The launch 

vehicle was designed to place a 1800 kilogram payload into a low 

earth orbit. The initial LM-2 launch on November 5, 1975, failed 

to place its payload into proper orbit due to a fractured wire in its 

control system. A second successful launch occurred on November 

26, 1975.33 The LM-2 launched two more satellites in December 1976 

and January 1978.

Because the system essentially duplicated the LM-2, initiation of 

the Fengbao-1 (FB-1) program in Fall 1969 was an anomaly of the 

Cultural Revolution. The decision to develop two nearly identical 

rockets concurrently can be blamed on the turbulent factional 

politics after the Cultural Revolution. Prompted largely by the 
208

“Gang of Four” to provide a larger role for Shanghai based space 

establishment, a design team was centered on the Shanghai Second 

Bureau of Electro-Mechanical Industry. General system design, led 

by Shi Jinmiao, was started in December 1969. Like the LM-2, the 

FB-1 was a derivative of the DF-5 ICBM. Under the heading of the 

701 Program, the ostensible purpose of the FB-1 space launch vehicle 

was to boost a “technical experimental” payload into orbit. The first 

prototype was assembled and delivered for testing in October 1970. 

The first launch of the FB-1 from Jiuquan took place in August 10, 

1972. The final launch, involving the placement of three satellites on 

one vehicle, took place in 1981, a year after the Gang of Four were 

tried in court and handed lengthy prison sentences.34

China’s decision in 1976 to deploy a communications satellite 

required a new launch vehicle. The design that was selected — the 

Long March 3 (LM-3) was a three-stage launch vehicle designed for 

delivery of a 1,500-kilogram satellite into geosynchronous transfer 

orbit. Assigned to the Seventh Ministry’s First Academy (CALT), the 

LM-3 and its communications satellite payload were designated as a 

national priority under the “Three Grasps” campaign in September 

1977. Xie Guangxuan, assisted by Long Lehao, was appointed as 

chief designer. The first two stages of the LM-3 are similar to those of 

the LM-2. However, what made the LM-3 unique was its third stage 

that used a cryogenic (liquid hydrogen and oxygen) engine capable 

of multiple ignitions. The first launch of the LM-3 from the Xichang 

Space Launch Center took place on January 29, 1984. However, 

the third stage failed to re-ignite a second time and the satellite did 

not reach its proper orbit. A second attempt on April 8, 1984, was 

successful.35

In August 1978, China’s senior leadership decided to develop 

a backup launch vehicle for the communication satellite project. 

Designated the Long March 4, the Commission of Science and 

Technology for National Defense (COSTND) assigned the project 

to the Shanghai Astronautics Bureau and conceptual design work 

began in February 1979. In addition to backing up the LM-3, China’s 

senior leadership decided in October 1982 to use the LM-4, which 

uses a conventional third stage instead of a cryogenic engine, to 

launch China’s first generation of weather satellites. Sun Jingliang 

was assigned as LM-4 chief designer. After the successful launch 

of the DFH-2, the LM-4’s primary mission became the launching 
209

of sun synchronous weather satellites. The first weather satellite, 

Fengyun-1 (FY-1) was launched from Taiyuan Space Launch Center 

on September 7, 1988.36

Launch Centers.

The initial decision to construct space launch centers coincided 

with the March 1965 decision to develop third line industries. A 

decision had already been made as early as 1958 to construct a 

missile test (Number 3 Launch Area) and space launch facility 

(Number 2 Launch Area) in the Gobi desert near the town of Jiuquan. 

Construction on the initial portion of the Jiuquan Space Launch 

Center, known as the “5020 Launch Complex” was completed in 

April 1967 and hosted the initial LM-1 launch in April 1970. The 

second center, known as the “138 Launch Complex” was completed 

in 1970 and hosted the initial launch (probably ballistic missile) in 

September 1971; the FB-1 in July 1975; and 1981 DF-5 test into the 

Pacific Ocean.37

Because the Jiuquan Space Launch Center was considered 

unsuitable for launches into geosynchronous orbit, the State Council 

and CMC decided in December 1970 to construct a new launch site 

further south and closer to the equator near the town of Xichang, 

Sichuan province. The Cultural Revolution and engineering 

challenges associated with constructing a space launch facility 

in mountainous terrain resulted in slow progress until the 1977 

decision to hasten development of the communications satellite and 

associated launch facilities. Construction was completed in 1983, 

and the first satellite launch on an LM-3 (DFH-2) took place in April 

1984.38

China’s senior leadership also decided to diversify the mission 

of its North China Missile Test Site near Taiyuan to include a space 

launch capability in 1966. Due to complications associated with the 

Cultural Revolution, progress was delayed until November 1977, 

when the central leadership decided to launch sun synchronous 

satellites from Taiyuan. The Taiyuan Space Launch Center was 

completed at the end of 1987.39
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Satellite Tracking, Telemetry, and Control.

A space infrastructure requires a capable ground segment 

that can locate, track, and monitor satellites during and after 

launch. China’s space tracking network, based on its astronomical 

observatories, began shortly after the launch of Sputnik in October 

1957. Formal planning for establishing a dedicated space tracking 

began in 1965. Led by Wang Daheng and Chen Fangyun, a group 

of engineers proposed that the China Academy of Sciences develop 

a national network. In Spring 1967, after assigning responsibility 

for developing the TT&C network to COSTND, satellite tracking 

tests against foreign satellites were conducted from sites in Beijing, 

Nanjing, Shanghai, and Wuhan. Plans were laid for adding a seabased component for the network. Weinan, Shanxi province, was 

established as the command center for the network in 1970. Upon 

completion, a new organization was formed — China Launch and 

Tracking Control General (CLTC), which functioned as the space 

launch operations arm of the PLA. Roughly analogous to U.S. 

Space Command, CLTC was commissioned to oversee three satellite 

launch centers and China’s vast tracking, telemetry, and control 

(TT&C) network. 40

MAINTAINING STRATEGIC SUFFICIENCY (1984-91)

The PRC leadership and its incipient aerospace industry adjusted 

its focus during the early 1980s to ensure the vitality of its new 

nuclear retaliatory force and consolidate technical achievements in its 

space program to support military modernization and development 

of the national economy. As China’s space and missile program 

accumulated successes, President Ronald Reagan’s announcement 

of the Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI) in March 1983 served as a 

rude awakening, demonstrating how far China had fallen behind 

the rest of the world. China’s leadership directed a series of studies 

to evaluate the effect SDI would have on the ability of the Second 

Artillery to reach its targets. By 1986, Chinese experts generally 

agreed there were three potential responses: expansion of offensive 

forces; development of technical countermeasures; and deployment 

of anti-satellite (ASAT) systems to destroy space-based ballistic 

missile defense (BMD) systems.41 In February 1986, the reorganized 
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Commission of Science, Technology, and Industry for National 

Defense (COSTIND), with CMC support, sanctioned the overall 

long-term development effort and further directed the formation of 

18 study groups to focus on designated critical technologies.42

Some within the defense S&T community believed COSTIND’s 

plan was not sufficient to meet the technical challenges posed by SDI. 

In March 1986, some of China’s most prominent defense engineers 

presented a petition to the Central Committee on establishing a 

“High Technology Research and Development Plan Outline.” 

The plan, referred to as the 863 Program, was jointly managed by 

COSTIND and the State Science and Technology Commission and 

functioned as a guide and funding source for numerous preliminary 

R&D projects, including space systems, high powered lasers, 

microelectronics, and automated control systems.43

Organizational Issues.

Beginning in the early 1980s, the space and missile industry 

underwent a series of reorganizations to help manage the postCultural Revolution environment and support Central Committee 

decisions made in December 1978 to prioritize economic 

development. In May 1982, the Seventh Ministry of Machinery was 

restructured to become the Ministry of Astronautics Industry, with 

Zhang Jun appointed as Minister. In April 1988, the Astronautics 

Industry was merged with the Aeronautics Industry in an attempt to 

reduce management overhead and merge the technology base of the 

aviation and aerospace sectors. To consolidate senior level oversight 

of space and missile activities, the State Council and CMC decided 

to establish a State Space Leading Group in March 1989, with the 

Executive Secretariat of the group located within headquarters of 

COSTIND. In 1993, the Ministry of Aeronautics and Astronautics 

was split, and the astronautics sector was incorporated as the China 

Aerospace Corporation (CASC).44

Ballistic Missile Developments.

In the mid-1980s, China implemented a gradual program to raise 

the level of sophistication of its space and missile programs. During 

the annual senior meetings at Beidaihe in 1984, the central authorities 
212

issued an edict that no major world war was expected in the next 10-

15 years. China would have a decade or more to improve its first 

generation ballistic missiles and develop a second generation of 

missiles based on solid motor technology. On December 26, 1984, the 

space and missile industry released a directive shifting the emphasis 

away from liquid to solid fueled ballistic missiles; from strategic to 

tactical ballistic missiles; from first generation strategic missiles to 

second generation missiles; and from experimental to operational 

satellites.45 With the Fourth Academy achieving success in testing 

a two-meter diameter solid motor at the end of 1983, China’s senior 

leadership began model R&D on a solid-fueled replacement for the 

DF-4, known as the DF-31, in early 1986. Plans also began for a 

more advanced solid fueled ICBM, the DF-41.46 The move toward 

solid-fueled ballistic missiles was driven at least in part by a desire 

to enhance the survivability of its small nuclear force in the wake 

of U.S. President Ronald Reagan’s announcement of the Strategic 

Defense Initiative in March 1983. Commercial interests served as the 

primary impetus for development of conventional tactical ballistic 

missiles.

During the mid-1980s, Beijing’s senior leadership began to develop 

options for arming solid fueled ballistic missiles with conventional 

warheads. During Spring 1984, the First Academy submitted 

proposals for developing conventional short and medium range 

ballistic missiles. Engineers believed that technologies associated 

with China’s new generation of solid-fueled ballistic missiles could 

be adapted for operational purposes. Initial conceptual design work 

on the 600-kilometer range DF-15 began in April 1984. The missile 

was marketed at the First Asian Defense Exhibition in November 

1986. An agreement to sell the missile to Syria ostensibly was signed 

in early 1988, before the initial test of the missile in June 1988.47

Another entity, the 066 Base in western Hubei province, entered 

the competition for conventional ballistic missiles. Also known 

as Sanjiang Space Corporation, the 066 Base, which previously 

developed solid motors for the Third Academy, evolved into an 

independent R&D and production base during the latter half of 

the 1980s. In 1984, the 066 began development of the 300 kilometer 

range DF-11 ballistic missile, which was first tested in mid-1990 and 

sold to Pakistan in 1991.48
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SATELLITE AND SPACE LAUNCH DEVELOPMENTS

During this phase, China’s space and missile industry focused 

on increasing its space lift capabilities in support of the PLA and the 

civilian economy. After three successful launches of the LM-2, work 

began in 1980 on enhancing its lift capacity into low earth orbit from 

1,800 to 3,000 kilograms. The LM-2 variant, known as the LM-2C, 

was first launched from Jiuquan Space Launch center in September 

1982. Another LM-2 modification was initiated shortly after China’s 

commitment to enter the international space launch market. This 

vehicle, known as the LM-2E utilized four external boosters to raise 

the lift capacity to 9,200 kilograms. China also developed subsequent 

variants of the LM-3. The LM-3A utilizes the first and second stages 

of the LM-3, but uses an improved cryogenic third stage to allow 

lifting of a 2,650 kilogram payload into orbit. Another variant, the 

LM-3B, uses the same three stages as the LM-3A, but adopts the LM2E’s external boosters to allow the vehicle to launch a 5,000 kilogram 

payload. 49

In 1986, China’s senior leadership formally directed initiation 

of model R&D on the next generation communication satellite, the 

DFH-3. Satellite development went through four phases: conceptual 

design (lunzheng sheji); program design (fang’an sheji); preliminary 

design (chuyang sheji); and primary design (zhengyang sheji). Three 

satellites were produced during the preliminary design phase for 

electronic, structural, and heat testing. Testing was completed in 

September 1994 and launch on an LM-3A took place from Xichang 

Space Launch Center on November 30, 1994. Equipped with 24 

transponders, the DFH-3 carried six times the communications 

capacity as the first generation DFH-2 and filled an important gap in 

civil and military telecommunications.50

In addition to the DFH-3, China’s strategic sufficiency period 

witnessed the launch of its second-generation reconnaissance 

satellite. The system, known as the Jianbing-2, reached IOC in 

September 1987 when it was launched from Jiuquan Space Launch 

Center and returned to earth with its film in Sichuan. The JB-2 

provided for wide area imaging and orbited for eight days. Four JB2 satellites were launched between 1987 and 1992. In 1993, a problem 

in its attitude control system resulted in a failed JB-2 mission. The 

final JB-2 satellite was launched from Jiuquan in July 1994. 51
214

A follow-on variant of the JB-2 satellite, known as the JB-2A, 

carries 2,000 meters of film and has a resolution capability of at 

least 10 meters. The first JB-2A was launched in August 1992, with 

subsequent launches in 1994 and 1996. One of the more significant 

aspects of the JB-2A was its demonstrated maneuvering capability. 

The JB-2A orbited for 15 or 16 days before returning to earth with 

its imagery package.52 On October 20, 1996, using the LM-2D from 

Jiuquan, China launched another “scientific survey” (kexue shence) 

satellite, which orbited 15 days before returning to earth.53 The 

1996 JB-2A launch was expected to be the last in this series as China 

moves to a more advanced imaging system.54

International Cooperation.

In the early 1980s, China’s space and missile industry stressed 

development of international contacts as a means to diversify its 

sources of expertise and to generate additional income to subsidize 

its budget. China signed a contract with Germany’s Deutsche 

Aerospace for technical assistance with its DFH-3 program. Taking 

advantage of high international demand for launch services in the 

mid-1980s, China began marketing its launch vehicles in 1985. With 

a credible success record, China was able to undercut U.S. and French 

competition by offering launch services at 30-75 percent below the 

cost of Western providers. After signing a bilateral agreement with 

the United States, the Ministry of Astronautics Industry signed initial 

contracts for satellite launching services with U.S. and European 

companies. Between 1987 and 1990, Swedish, German, French, and 

Pakistani space industries contracted for Chinese launch vehicles to 

carry experimental payloads.55

MAINTAINING NATIONAL SOVEREIGNTY (1991 TO THE 

PRESENT)

Since 1991, the space and missile industry has focused on 

supporting limited wars under high technology conditions. A 

renewed confidence and vision regarding the purpose of its space 

and missile assets have characterized this most recent phase. A 

series of events in the early 1990s, reinforced by a series of political 
215

shocks later in the decade, have created a sense of urgency that has 

not existed since the Cultural Revolution.

The 1991 Gulf War was a rude awakening for the Central Military 

Commission and the aerospace industry. The awesome display of 

military power demonstrated how vulnerable the Chinese homeland 

is to attack from a potential enemy. The war proved the preeminence 

of air power and long range precision strike, augmented by space 

based command, control, communications, computers, intelligence, 

surveillance, and reconnaissance (C4ISR) systems. According to one 

source, in a December 1995 meeting the CMC concluded “ground 

fighting can only enhance the results of battle.”56 The war also 

highlighted the political and potential military utility of conventional 

ballistic missiles.

As China was absorbing lessons from the Gulf War, events on 

Taiwan sounded alarm bells in Beijing. In May 1991, The Period 

of Mobilization for Suppression of the Rebellion, which had been 

in force since the withdrawal from the mainland in 1949, was 

terminated. That same year, the National Unification Council 

adjusted its definition of “One China,” claiming for the first time that 

“China is temporarily divided” and that “each side of the Taiwan 

Strait is administered by a separate political entity.” In April 1992, 

open advocacy of Taiwan independence was legalized. Adding to 

Beijing’s consternation was the announcement in September 1992 of 

the release of U.S. F-16A/B fighters to Taiwan.

The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 and the willingness 

of Russia and Ukraine to assist China’s aerospace development 

presented opportunities that had not existed since August 1960. 

Access to foreign assistance, combined with other events later in the 

decade, reinforced and intensified Beijing’s sense of urgency to field 

a new generation of solid fueled ballistic missiles with penetration 

aids; a space-based C4ISR architecture; and conventional ballistic 

missiles. The visit of Lee Teng-hui to the United States in May 1995 

and the U.S. dispatch of two aircraft carrier battle groups off the 

coast of Taiwan in March 1996 removed any doubt that the PLA 

would require an ability to deter or complicate U.S. intervention in a 

Taiwan Strait conflict.

A series of events that occurred between March and August 

1999 sharpened PRC focus on the United States and Taiwan in its 

strategy and force planning. There is a large body of evidence that 
216

suggests an important high level decision was made in the early to 

mid-May 1999 timeframe to accelerate key weapons systems R&D 

and production programs. After the initiation of the NATO air 

campaign in March 1999, media reporting suggests the CMC lobbied 

for funding to accelerate several programs, including new ballistic 

missile variants, land attack cruise missiles, and other systems. 

During a April 10, 1999, meeting, CMC Vice-Chairman Chi Haotian 

was alleged to have announced that CMC Chairman Jiang Zemin 

had signed a work report to speed up and intensify R&D on 15 

projects and to advance and expand production on 12 programs. 57

The accidental bombing of the Chinese embassy in May 1999 

further increased the leverage of hardline elements within the PLA. 

The Politburo and State Council were alleged to have approved 

fiscal support to a CMC R&D and production acceleration scheme 

on or about May 15, 1999. General Equipment Department Director 

Cao Gangchuan directed that extraordinary efforts be expended to 

achieve breakthroughs in key areas and reduce the time needed 

for development and testing of systems. The State Planning and 

Development Commission had the responsibility of coming up with 

the means to fund the effort. The direction to accelerate R&D and 

production was a key theme of a June 1999 GED-sponsored AllArmy conference on military armaments.58

Responsibility for accelerating weapon system R&D and 

production largely fell on the two entities that constituted the 

China’s space and missile industry after a 1999 reorganization of 

China Aerospace Corporation: China Aerospace S&T Corporation 

(CASC) and the China Aerospace Electro-Mechanical Corporation 

(CAMEC). On May 10, 1999, China Space News reported that key 

academies under CASC and CAMEC held a May 9, 1999 meeting to 

review the status of key R&D programs and develop a game plan for 

acceleration of weapon system R&D.59

On May 18, 1999, the aerospace industry leadership convened 

a second meeting, chaired by CAMEC Director Xia Guohong, on 

Kosovo and China’s aerospace policy. The meeting of China’s 

foremost experts on aerospace technology concluded that future 

warfare depends on precision guided munitions and long range 

precision strike; integrated air and missile strikes supported by 

space technologies; and electronic countermeasures. Then-Deputy 

Director of the Second Academy, Yin Xingliang, noted, “all of these 
217

characteristics serve to tell us that future wars will be face-offs 

decided by real military strength in the air. It is not likely that a 

ground war between large countries will break out.” According to 

Xia, the solution to China’s security lies in “trump card” (shashoujian) 

weapons and increasing the precision of China’s tactical missiles. 60

Organization.

To meet the challenges of the 21st century, the State Council and 

CMC directed the reorganization of its space and missile industry on 

April 13, 1999. CASC was divided into two organizations — China 

Aerospace Science and Technology Corporation (new CASC, or 

zhongguo hangtian keji jituan) and China Aerospace Machinery and 

Electronics Corporation (CAMEC). Wang Liheng, a cruise missile 

specialist, was appointed as CASC director, but acknowledged that 

he would serve only as an interim leader as the new organization 

settled. The new organization, responsible for strategic ballistic 

missiles, launch vehicles, and satellites, incorporated the China 

Academy of Launch Technology (First Academy); the Fourth 

Academy; CAST (Fifth Academy); Shanghai Academy of Space 

Technology (SAST, or the Eighth Academy); 062 Base (Jiangnan 

Space Group); and the 067 Base. CASC reshuffled its leadership in 

December 2001, with Wang Liheng retiring and 40-year-old Zhang 

Qingwei assuming his position. Jin Zhuanglong and Xu Dazhe were 

appointed as deputy directors.61

To place additional focus on precision inertial guidance and 

navigation, the State Council and CMC directed the formation of 

a new academy under CASC for development and production 

of navigation, guidance, and control systems. On July 28, 2001, 

CASC announced the formation the China Academy of Space 

Navigation Technology (zhongguo hangtian daohang jishu yanjiuyuan). 

Also known as the 10th Academy (also Space Era Instruments 

Company), the new organization, which consists of 5,200 engineers 

and technicians, absorbed various entities from the First Academy, 

067 Base, and SAST.62 CASC also recently elevated the status of the 

067 Base to research academy. On April 26, 2002, CASC formed the 

Sixth Academy, also known as the Academy of Space Propellant 

Technology (hangtian tuijin jishu yanjiuyuan), based near Xian, 

Shanxi province.63
218

The second half of the space and missile industry, CAMEC, 

assumed responsibility for conventional aerospace weaponry, 

such as cruise missiles, surface-to-air missiles, solid fueled launch 

vehicles, and a portion of the short range ballistic missile portfolio. 

Armed with a doctorate degree from the University of California, Xia 

Guohong was appointed as CAMEC director. 64 CAMEC absorbed 

the Second and Third Academies and the 061 and 066 Bases. On 

September 6, 2001, CAMEC was renamed China Aerospace Science 

and Industry Corporation (CASIC, or zhongguo hangtian kegong jituan). 

Xia Guohong retained the CASIC directorship and Yin Xingliang, a 

noted ASAT and missile defense specialist, was appointed as deputy 

director.65 In July 2002, CASIC also formed four large enterprises 

that integrate existing academies and miscellaneous companies and 

research departments.66

To place greater emphasis on solid motor development, 

CAMEC/CASIC formed a new research academy on August 

21, 1999. The new organization, known as the CAMEC Sixth 

Academy, was established from the old Inner Mongolia Command 

(Neimenggu zhihuibu), also known as the Hexi Chemical Machinery 

Corporation. The Sixth Academy, known as the Academy of Solid 

Motor Technology (guti huojian fadongji jishu yanjiuyuan), develops 

a range of solid motors for strategic and tactical missiles.67 In light 

of the continued existence of the CASC Fourth Academy, the reason 

for the new solid motor academy under CASIC is unclear. Given 

the continued work of the Fourth Academy under CASC, there may 

be an intentional effort to create competition between CASIC and 

CASC solid motor R&D and production entities.68

BALLISTIC AND CRUISE MISSILE DEVELOPMENT

Led by a group of relatively young engineers, China’s space 

and missile industry is developing a range of advanced strategic 

and conventional ballistic and land attack cruise missiles. Building 

upon its experience in solid motor development since the late 

1950s, the First Academy and 066 Base are continuing R&D on 

mobile solid fueled ballistic missiles. The Second Artillery is said 

to be equipped with 350 conventional short-range ballistic missiles 

(SRBMs) distributed among three brigades opposite Taiwan. One 

source indicates that during annual meetings at Beidaihe in August 
219

1999, China’s senior leadership decided to accelerate the production 

and deployment of enough ballistic missiles to outfit four SRBM 

brigades by 2002.69 Western sources believe the PLA may deploy 

as many as 650 SRBMs opposite Taiwan over the next several years, 

while Taiwan Ministry of National Defense statements indicate that 

as many as 800 SRBMs could be deployed by 2006.70 These missiles 

would be distributed into as many as seven brigades in the 2005-

2010 timeframe.71 Aerospace industry journals indicate the PLA has 

established a requirement for ballistic missile accuracy to be less 

than 50 meters circular error of probability (CEP) and a land attack 

cruise missile (LACM) accuracy of less than 16 meters.72 CASC and 

CASIC researchers have conducted extensive feasibility studies of 

the use of conventional ballistic missiles against aircraft carriers.73

The establishment of the 10th Academy is indicative of the 

emphasis China places on precision guidance. Most recently, 

CASC engineers are prioritizing terminally guided ballistic missiles. 

Options include terrain matching terminal guidance, which makes 

use of digitized stored images (electro-optical or radar) and matches 

them against the images acquired in the seeker. The First Academy 

began preliminary research on terrain contour matching (TERCOM) 

terminal guidance as early as 1977.74 Radar matching was used on 

the U.S. Pershing-II and optical matching is currently used on a 

Russian variant of the SCUD-B.75 First Academy engineers believe 

digital scene matching can result in a 5-12 meter accuracy for their 

ballistic missiles.76 There is evidence that China intends to design 

up to six different payloads for its conventional ballistic missiles. 

CASC writings indicate prioritization of submunition payloads, and 

electromagnetic pulse, penetrating, and fuel-air explosive warheads 

for use against air defense sites, radar, airfields, semi-hardened C4I 

centers, and ports. 77

SRBM Development.

China’s current R&D is aimed at extending the range and 

increasing the lethality of its short range ballistic missiles. The PRC 

deployed its first DF-15 short range ballistic missile brigade in 1994 

and allegedly is deploying a growing number of 300 kilometer range 

DF-11 and 600 kilometer range DF-11A missiles opposite Taiwan. 

The DF-15 is a solid-fueled, 600 kilometer SRBM. Manufactured by 
220

the First Academy, the DF-15’s detachable payload reportedly has 

an attitude control mechanism that permits steering corrections from 

separation to impact.78 The First Academy is said to be developing 

a 1000-kilometer range version of the DF-15.79 Some reporting 

indicates the DF-15 currently has a 100-meter CEP.80 However, there 

are indications that the DF-15 has been flight tested to an accuracy of 

better than 50 meters.81 The 066 Base’s 600-kilometer range DF-11A 

program began in 1995 and reached design finalization (dingxing) 

in 1999.82 Taiwan sources indicate that the first DF-11A brigade is 

being formed in the Yong’an/ Nanping area.83

MRBM Development.

A longer range version of the DF-21, the 2,500 kilometer range 

DF-21 Mod 2, is reportedly under development. Both the DF-21 

Mod 1 and Mod 2 likely have missile defense countermeasures, 

including endo-atmospheric decoys that were tested in 1995 and 

1996.84 In addition to continuation of its nuclear DF-21 program, 

CASIC is focusing its efforts on a conventional version of the DF-21. 

To support its warfighting mission, the PRC has been developing a 

conventional variant of the DF-21 since the early 1990s. This system, 

known as the DF-21C, may adopt a terminal guidance package that 

uses on board computers to correlate stored images with landmarks 

that theoretically could achieve a CEP of 50 meters or better.85 Such 

a capability naturally would require a maneuverable reentry vehicle. 

The reentry speed of the DF-21C is likely to be fast enough to 

preclude engagement by lower-tier missile defense systems, such as 

the PAC-3. Equipped with a conventional warhead as large as 1,500 

kilograms, the DF-21C could force defenders on Taiwan to move 

toward mid-course or upper terminal phase missile defenses, such 

as the Theater High Altitude Area Defense (THAAD) system and 

sea-based mid-course interceptors. As many as two conventional 

DF-21 brigades could be in operation before 2010.86

ICBM Development.

Today, CASC is focused on fielding a new generation of mobile, 

solid-fueled ICBMs. Slated for deployment before 2005, the DF-31 

eventually will replace the DF-4 long intermediate range ballistic 
221

missile. The DF-31 is estimated to carry a single warhead and could 

incorporate penetration aids, including decoys and chaff. At least 

10-20 DF-31 missiles can be expected to enter the Second Artillery 

over the next 5 years, sufficient to outfit one brigade with a notional 

structure of 9-16 launchers assigned to three or four battalions.87

Two variants of the DF-31 also are under development. First 

is an extended range version of the DF-31 with a range of at least 

12,000 kilometers. This longer range missile, known as the DF-31A, 

likely will be tested within the next several years and will be targeted 

primarily against the United States. Japanese observers note that 

the DF-31A is in some respects more advanced than some Russian 

systems, such as the Topol-M. As many as 10 DF-31A ICBMs could 

be fielded by 2010. Another variant of the DF-31 — the JL-2 — will be 

launched from submarines. The JL-2 missile was successfully tested 

in early 2001. A modified Type 94 submarine will carry the JL-2. 

Projected for deployment by 2005, the 8,000-kilometer range missile 

would be able to strike targets in Alaska, Hawaii, and the western 

part of the United States when operating in Chinese coastal waters.88

Indications exist that the timeline to field the DF-31, its longer range 

variant, and the JL-2 was accelerated in May 1999.89

MIRVs.

CASC has had the capability to develop and deploy a multiple 

reentry vehicle system for many years. As of January 1996, the First 

Academy was in midst of developing multiple warhead payloads, 

each with its own guidance system and maneuvering capability.90

Research and development on multiple independent reentry vehicles 

(MIRVs) was initiated as early as 1970. Technical difficulties, 

however, stalled the program. The First Academy renewed research 

and development shortly after the SDI announcement in March 

1983. The DF-5A, able to strike targets throughout the United States, 

was the designated recipient of the MIRVs, although there is no 

evidence to date that they have been deployed. The U.S. intelligence 

community assesses that China could develop a multiple RV system 

for the DF-5 ICBM in a few years. Chinese pursuit of a multiple 

RV capability for its mobile ICBMs and SLBMs would encounter 

significant technical hurdles and would be costly.91
222

Missile Defense Countermeasures.

Beijing is concerned about projected deployment of U.S. missile 

defenses that threaten to reduce the viability of its strategic and 

tactical ballistic missile forces. China’s interest in missile defense 

countermeasures dates back to the 1960s, when Qian Xuesen 

proposed in 1966 the development of on-board jammers and 

light exoatmospheric decoys. With further studies and research 

conducted in the 1980s providing the foundation, Beijing has 

embarked upon a far-reaching and multi-faceted program to 

develop missile defense countermeasures. These programs include 

technical countermeasures and an expansion of its missile force, as 

well as asymmetrical measures, such as anti-satellite operations. 

The PRC is investing significant resources into countering missile 

defense through the development of technical penetration aids. 

Contemporary Chinese literature on technical countermeasures is 

focused on “two categories and eight major penetration technologies” 

(liang dalei, ba datufang jishu): These include countersurveillance 

(electronic countermeasures, stealth, decoys, and fast burn motors) 

and counterintercept (multiple warheads, maneuvering reentry 

vehicles, hardening, and saturation).92

Land Attack Cruise Missile Development.

In addition to ballistic missile development, the PRC has placed a 

high priority on the research, development, and production of land 

attack cruise missiles (LACMs). CASIC’s Third Academy could field 

China’s first generation land attack cruise missile for the PLA Air 

Force within the next 2 years Western sources and publications from 

Taiwan indicate Beijing’s first air launched land attack cruise missile, 

a Silkworm variant dubbed the Yingji-63 (YJ-63), will be launched 

from Hong-6 (H-6) bombers. As of June 2000, six ALCM-capable 

H-6 bombers had been produced and a total of 25 are to be expected 

to be in service by 2005. Each H-6 will be able to carry between two 

and four YJ-63s. The YJ-63 will feature a TV-guidance package and 

will have a 500-kilometer range, and at least 200 are expected to be 

in service by 2005.93 Taiwan sources note Chinese efforts to develop 

a generation-after-next cruise missile modeled after the Tomahawk 

cruise missile, which is expected to be in service in the 2005-2010 
223

timeframe. The LACM will be capable of carrying conventional 

or nuclear payloads and could have a range of between 500-1,500 

kilometers.94

SATELLITE AND LAUNCH VEHICLE DEVELOPMENT

As it conducts more advanced R&D on ballistic missiles, CASC 

is investing in more sophisticated satellites and launch vehicles. 

The CASC’s Fifth Academy (China Academy of Space Technology) 

is developing a range of systems, including high capacity 

telecommunications satellites and high resolution electro-optical 

imaging systems. At the same time, the space and missile industry 

is continuing to diversify its family of launch vehicles.

Communication Satellites.

In the area of communications satellites, there have been three 

significant developments. First, China launched its first secondgeneration communications satellites, the DFH-3 in 1993. A key 

follow-on to the DFH-3 is the Feng Huo-1 (FH-1), China’s first 

satellite to provide military units with both C-band and Ku-Band 

communications. Xinhua news agency reported that the satellite, 

also known as the 2,300 kilogram Zhongxing-22, was launched on 

a LM-3A on January 25, 2000. Western reporting suggests that the 

Fenghuo is the first of several military communications satellites 

for the “Qu Dian” integrated command, control, communications, 

computer, and intelligence (C4I) system, China's first such system. 

CAST began formal R&D on its third generation communications 

satellite, the DFH-4, in late 2001. The DFH-4 will be a direct 

broadcast satellite with 50 transponders and a life of 15 years. The 

system is expected to be launched in 2005.95

Reconnaissance Satellites.

China plans to field an integrated dual use space reconnaissance 

architecture by the end of the decade. In the 10th Five-Year Plan, 

CASC plans on deploying a limited reconnaissance architecture, 

euphemistically referred to as an “environment and disaster 
224

monitoring system,” that consists of two electro-optical (EO) and one 

synthetic aperture radar satellite. This “2+1” satellite constellation 

will be expanded in the 11th Five-Year Plan to four electro-optical 

and four synthetic aperture radar satellites (called the “4+4”).96

CASC and China’s electronics industries have made notable 

progress in charged couple devices (CCD), a technology that is 

essential to the development of real-time EO imaging systems.97 An 

EO satellite enables Beijing to beam images back to ground stations 

directly from space. The Ziyuan-1 (ZY-1), developed jointly between 

the PRC and Brazil, is China’s first EO satellite. R&D on the ZY-1 

satellite began in 1988, entering initial R&D (chuyang yanzhi) phase 

in 1989. Launched in October 1999 on an LM-4, the ZY-1 has a 2-year 

lifespan and incorporates a data transmission system to beam images 

back to earth. The ZY-1, operating at an altitude of 778 kilometers, 

was limited to a 20-meter resolution, but adds to China's experience 

base in EO imaging systems.98 The ZY-2, launched in September 

2000, has a significantly improved resolution that will provide better 

services for PLA intelligence analysts. Like the ZY-1, the ZY-2 has 

a 2-year lifespan and can transmit images back to ground stations 

within line of sight of the satellite.99 This sytem, equipped with an 

improved CCD camera, has a resolution of five meters or better.100

In addition to the ZY series, China also is developing micro 

satellites weighing approximately 150 kilograms. The satellites, 

developed jointly by the Fifth Academy, China Academy of Sciences, 

Harbin Institute of Technology, and Qinghua University, include a 

remote sensing package with a spatial resolution of 10 meters or 

better. With initial funding under the 863 Program, the satellites, 

known as Chuangxin-1 and Tansuo-1, will have an orbit of 600 

kilometers and will carry out mapping missions and monitor natural 

disasters. A constellation of microsatellites is planned.101 Also under 

development is a solar telescope (taiyang wangyuanjing) that could 

have some military applications. This system, scheduled for launch 

in 2005, will be equipped with both EO and X-Band sensors and is 

advertised as one of China’s most sophisticated satellites to date. 

R&D began in 1992 and systems integration in July 2000.102

Shortly after the Gulf War, China’s senior leadership approved 

a program for development of a synthetic aperture radar satellite. 

Initial research that began in 1991 was funded under the 863 

program.103 In addition to imaging systems, there are indications 
225

that CASC is investing in space-based electronic reconnaissance. 

Chinese technical writings indicate that the Shanghai Academy of 

Space Technology (CASC Eighth Academy) is evaluating options for 

a space-based electronic intelligence (ELINT) system. At least one 

potential design is a constellation of small ELINT satellites, which 

can ensure precise location data and survivability. 104 In addition, 

some credible observers believe that the Shenzhou-3 had an ELINT 

mission, specifically targeting frequencies from around 300-1,000 

MHz. The Federation of American Scientists also believe that many 

of China’s scientific research satellites bear characteristics of ELINT 

missions.105

In other developments, China integrated global positioning 

system (GPS) receivers on its satellites in the mid-1990s for georeference purposes. After initiating preliminary research in 1991 and 

model R&D in 1994, the 503rd Research Institute tested its first GPS 

system on board China’s 17th remote sensing satellite launched in 

October 1996.106 In a final development, China’s planned deployment 

of a data relay satellite (DRS) system will provide an extended range 

near-real-time targeting capability.107 A Chinese DRS architecture 

under development is expected to include at least two geostationary 

satellites that could provide 85 percent coverage of the earth and 

support 5-10 satellites at the same time.108

Navigation Satellites.

China’s first generation navigation satellite, the Beidou 1, 

was launched in 2000. The concept for navigation was initially 

developed in the 1980s by one of China’s pre-eminent engineers, 

Chen Fangyun. The concept, known as Shuangxing (Twin Star), 

was to involve two satellites in geosynchronous orbit. After initial 

tests using DFH-2 communications satellites, the program moved 

from its preliminary R&D into applied research phase in 1993. The 

Beidou project uses the DFH-3 bus and will eventually consist of as 

many as four satellites that will serve as back-ups.109 There has been 

discussion between Chinese and Russian space officials regarding 

Chinese funding of replacement Global Navigation Satellite System 

(GLONASS) satellites. In exchange, the PRC would obtain access to 

their services. The issue was allegedly a topic of discussion between 
226

Chi Haotian and Russian Deputy Prime Minister Ilya Klebanov 

during Chi’s 16-18 January 2000 visit to Moscow.110

Launch Vehicle Developments.

Over the last 10 years, China has focused on diversifying its 

space launch capability, to include development of launch-ondemand, solid fuel launch vehicles for small satellites. To support 

fielding of small satellite constellations, China’s senior leadership 

have authorized CASIC to develop solid fueled launch vehicles. 

Under the leadership of CASIC’s Fourth Design Department, small 

solid fueled launch vehicles, most likely a derivative of the DF-21, 

will be able to place small payloads in orbit at a time and place of 

the PLA’s choosing. China intends to field these mobile, solid fueled 

launch vehicles by 2005. Reduced size and complexity allows for 

faster manufacturing time and production in significant numbers. 111

In addition to the solid rocket launcher, there is some consideration 

of resurrecting the LM-1 design, redesignated as the LM-1D, for 

launching of small satellites.112 As CASIC develops a solid fueled 

launch vehicle (LV) for small satellites, China also is working on a 

three stage heavy lift LV that uses kerosene/liquid oxygen (LOX) 

and LH2/LOX. The new vehicle, expected to be fielded by 2007, is 

designed to lift a 25 ton payload to low earth orbit and up to 13 tons 

to geosynchronous transfer orbit (GTO).113

Satellite Tracking and Control.

Over the last 10 years, the PLA has modernized and expanded 

its space tracking network. This network, operated by the PLA 

China Launch and Tracking Control (CLTC), is needed for tracking 

and control of a projected increase in China’s domestic satellites, its 

international satellite launch business, and manned space program. 

The PLA has added overseas links in Chile and the South Pacific 

island of Kiribati, and has contracted with France for access to 

data from its space tracking network.114 CLTC and Swedish Space 

Corporation (SSC) signed an agreement for Chinese access to 

Sweden’s space tracking network in early 2001.115

China Academy of Sciences’ astronomical observatories in 

Nanjing and Kunming feed into the CLTC network, providing 
227

orbital prediction data for CLTC. CAS and CLTC are upgrading 

their network of high resolution telescopes, augmented by laser 

tracking devices. China’s space community claims an ability to 

detect objects in space down to 10 inches.116 While the network is 

designed for cooperative targets, it does provide the framework 

for improvements against noncooperative targets. The CLTC space 

tracking network likely supports the Second Artillery through 

alert messages indicating that foreign reconnaissance satellites are 

passing overhead.117

International Cooperation.

Since 1991, China has become heavily reliant upon the former 

Soviet Union for its space and missile program. Space cooperation 

began in May 1990, and a formal agreement was signed 2 years later.118

The relationship was solidified on December 18, 1992, when China’s 

space and missile industry and the Russian Space Agency signed an 

official protocol for the sharing of space technology. A subsequent 

agreement was signed in 1994 that covered at least ten areas of 

space cooperation, including satellite navigation, space surveillance, 

propulsion, satellite communications, joint design efforts, materials, 

intelligence sharing, scientific personnel exchanges, and space 

systems testing.119 The two sides meet yearly to review the status 

of programs.120 Cooperation has centered on cryogenic technology 

for use in upper stages for launch vehicles. Russia sold China three 

RD-120 cryogenic upper stage engines in 1995.121 Russia also is 

assisting China in its manned space program.122 Space cooperation 

agreements have also been concluded with Ukraine, Belarus, and 

Kazakhstan. Areas of cooperation with Ukraine include remote 

sensing, satellite communications, and aerospace material research 

and development.123 

CASC and CASIC have not limited their international cooperation 

to the former Soviet Union. China’s space and missile industry has 

developed close working relationship with France, Germany, and 

Italy. Based on a June 1994 agreement, CASC and France’s National 

Center for Space Studies (CNES) are cooperating in the areas of 

small launch vehicle, navigation satellites, satellite attitude control 

systems, communication satellites, and meteorological satellite 

technology.124 China will work with France in developing the Proteus 
228

small satellite bus.125 Areas of cooperation with Germany include 

satellite communications (SATCOM) transponder technology, solar 

panels, and orbital control systems.126 China is also working with 

Germany on a two-ton solar telescope that will orbit around the 

moon around 2005.127

MANNED SPACE FLIGHT

Since publication of Qian Xuesen’s Interplanetary Flight, China 

has dreamed of manned space flight. In April 1968, Qian established 

a manned space flight research center, known as the Beijing Institute 

of Space Medical Engineering (507th Research Institute) to study 

how humans would respond to space flight. The decision to proceed 

in R&D into manned space platforms and reusable space vehicles 

was reflected in the 1986 Mid-to-Long Term S&T Development 

Program.128 A new astronaut training facility, the Beijing Space 

Technology Experiment Center, was opened in 1995 in northwestern 

Beijing. All astronauts in training are experienced PLA Air Force 

pilots with at least 1,000 hours of flying time.129 Under a 1995 contract 

with CAST, Russia’s Yuri Gagarin Center near Moscow is providing 

training for 70-80 Chinese astronauts, engineers, and managers in 

1997-98. Russia’s Krunichev Space Center and Energia Company, 

and Ukrainian space agency are assisting in the development of the 

capsule and booster capable of lifting 20 tons.130

China is conducting an extended test program (Project 921-1) 

before launching a man in space. Under the leadership of chief 

designers Qi Faren and Wang Yongzhi, the first unmanned test 

(Shenzhou I) took place on November 19-20, 1999 and lasted 14 

orbits. Launched by the LM-2F, the module returned and landed 

in Inner Mongolia. Shenzhou 2 flew in January 2001 on a more 

aggressive mission. This unmanned flight was a modification of 

Shenzhou 1 flown to test the life support systems. The multi-module 

space vehicle performed a 7-day, 108-orbit mission and ejected a 

return capsule carrying biological specimens that touched down 

in Inner Mongolia. An orbital module that ground controllers put 

through an extensive set of maneuvers was left behind in space.

The Shenzhou 3 module was launched on a LM-2F in March 2002. 

Following a week of flight, the vehicle's return module equipped 

with test dummies returned to Earth on April 1. Once again, the 
229

spacecraft's orbital module remained in orbit. There is speculation 

this still-in-orbit hardware might become a rendezvous target for the 

follow-on Shenzhou 4 mission in a few months time. There is some 

speculation that the Shenzhou 5 may carry a two or three-person 

Chinese crew, perhaps by year's end.131

The Shenzhou project is intended to lay the foundation for 

subsequent space shuttle (hangtian feiji) and an aerospace plane 

(kongtian feiji) programs (Project 921-3). Since 1989, China has 

embarked upon a serious effort to deploy a space shuttle. Space 

shuttle designs are somewhat alarming. According to one U.S. 

analysis, a 1991 design was meant to optimize transfer between 

coplanar orbits, essential for military related space activities to 

include ASAT operations. Other Chinese studies confirm interest 

in coplanar transfers.132 The project ostensibly is valued at RMB 11 

billion (approximately U.S. $1.35 billion), weighs 22 tons, carries a 

payload of up to 3.5 tons, and is operated by a crew of three. The 

shuttle will have a service life of 30 missions, with a typical mission 

length being 3-5 days.133

Taking space shuttle concepts a step further, COSTIND is 

directing an effort to master technologies associated with a 

hypersonic single-stage-to-orbit (SSTO, or danji rugui) aerospace 

plane. GED’s Beijing Institute of Systems Engineering (BISE), with 

technical assistance from the launch vehicle/ballistic missile and 

cruise missile industries (CASC’s First and Third Academies), is 

responsible for the aerospace plane’s systems design, which will 

incorporate scramjet engine (chaoran chongya fadongji) technology.134

In 1996, First Academy President Li Jianzhong indicated that one 

design concept weighs 2,000 tons and will have manned and 

unmanned versions.135 China is also laying the groundwork for a 

space station around the year 2020.136

CONCLUSION

China’s progress today in space and missiles can be traced to 

Qian Xuesen, Ren Xinmin, and other early pioneers involved in 

the liangdan yixing program. This generation of relatively young 

engineers was motivated by a revolutionary zeal to raise China’s 

international status and prestige. In the course of a few years, 

this group was able to pull off a miracle by developing an ability 
230

to launch ballistic missiles and satellites during a time when the 

country could barely build a decent car or bicycle. They worked 

in primitive conditions: there were no metal workshops, aerospace 

institutions of higher learning, or infrastructure for jet propulsion.

Despite rapid progress in the late 1950s and the first half of 

the 1960s, the Cultural Revolution from 1966 to 1976 reduced 

progress to a sclerotic pace and soured a generation of space and 

missile engineers. Faced with a U.S. Strategic Defense Initiative 

that threatened to widen the gap between China and the rest of 

the world, Beijing launched an effort to hasten development of its 

technological base and maintain its nuclear deterrent. At the same 

time, with its economic opening to the world, China’s leadership 

opened its rudimentary space launch business to foreign customers. 

However, it was not until the 1990s that a series of events, including 

the Gulf War, Taiwan’s drift toward greater autonomy, and the 

NATO campaign in Yugoslavia, provided the perception of an 

increasingly threatening environment and the shock necessary for 

China to rekindle the liangdan yixing spirit.

China’s past achievements have established the foundation for 

significant advancements in the future. A sufficient body of evidence 

suggests that China has a number of goals associated with its space 

and missile development. As noted in the July 2002 DoD Report to 

Congress on PRC Military Capabilities, Beijing’s force modernization 

is driven largely by the desire to stem Taiwan moves toward 

greater autonomy and to deter or complicate U.S. intervention. The 

availability of Russian technical expertise, on a scale similar to that of 

the late 1950s, could enable Beijing to achieve its goals at a hastened 

pace and at reduced cost.

This vision requires a viable C4ISR architecture with a significant 

space-based component; a responsive and diverse space launch 

infrastructure; long range precision strike capability; and a 

survivable nuclear deterrent. China’s space-based reconnaissance 

and communications capability is proceeding at a relatively 

advanced pace. The PLA should have an EO, radar, electronic, and 

weather monitoring architecture before 2010; portions of this system 

are available today. Beijing should have the ability to rapidly launch 

small reconnaissance satellites that can monitor events around its 

periphery and in the Western Pacific Ocean within the next 3-5 

years.
231

Beijing is making significant advancements in its long range 

precision strike capability based upon an arsenal of increasingly 

accurate and lethal conventional ballistic and land attack cruise 

missiles. The space and missile industry is striving to achieve 

ballistic missile accuracies of less than 50 meters. China also is 

developing a diverse range of payloads, including runway cratering 

submunitions and penetration and radio-frequency warheads. To 

maintain the viability of its nuclear arsenal, the PRC is conducting 

R&D on a range of technical countermeasures to U.S. missile 

defense programs and fielding a new generation of solid fueled 

intercontinental ballistic missiles.

China’s space and missile ambitions come with a price tag. How 

this multi-billion dollar modernization program is funded remains 

shrouded in obfuscation and mystery. A large portion likely comes 

from extra-budgetary sources, such as the space launch business, 

CASC and CASIC civilian enterprises, the 863 program, or the central 

government space budget. Funding for many satellite programs may 

be derived in large part from other government entities responsible 

for weather, civil telecommunications, cartography, earthquake 

monitoring, and remote sensing. Regardless, as the July 2002 DoD 

Report to Congress on PRC Military Capabilities notes, annual defense 

spending is expected to increase in real terms over threefold to 

fourfold between now and 2020.137

China’s space and missile industry and the PLA have been 

able to absorb lessons from the past that will guide its future 

development. China understands that it can not rely solely 

on indigenous development in order to achieve significant 

technological breakthroughs. After years of isolation, Beijing has 

opened up to the West and states of the former Soviet Union in the 

hope of attaining access to critical technologies. Organizationally, 

the PRC understands that reliance upon a sole source for R&D 

and production does not produce significant incentives for quality 

control and advancement in technology. For the PLA, the Gulf War 

and Operation ALLIED FORCE provided valuable lessons on the 

utility of space for command and control, reconnaissance, weather, 

navigation, and other combat support functions.

For those interested in China’s space and missile program, 

the next 5-10 years promise to be exciting. The PLA-watching 

community can expect a significant expansion of the Second 
232

Artillery as new conventional SRBM and MRBM brigades are 

formed. One also should anticipate one or two new DF-31 brigades 

to be formed within this decade. One should watch how new space 

launch vehicles are organized and subordinated. With the foregoing 

in mind, observers should project expansion of DF-21 production 

facilities as new conventional ballistic missiles and DF-21 derived 

launch vehicles are fielded. New and mysterious satellites will be 

launched, presenting challenges as to their real utility.

In short, inspired by the liangdan yixing spirit, nationalism, 

an increasingly sophisticated technology base, and assisted by a 

willing cadre of foreign advisors, a young, educated, and energetic 

generation of engineers is likely to pave the way for the significant 

advances in PRC military capabilities. As a result of developments 

within its aerospace sector, the PLA is adjusting its warfighting 

doctrine to accommodate anticipated advances in C4ISR, long range 

precision strike, and other strategic dimensions of warfare.

ENDNOTES - CHAPTER 6

1. The term liangdan means literally, two bombs or projectiles: ballistic missile 

(daodan) and nuclear weapon (yuanzidan). See “Liangdan yixing yuanxun,” 

Commemorating “Two Bombs and One Satellite” Heroes, Zhongguo hangtian bao, 

China Space News, September 18, 1999, p. 1.

2. Iris Chang, Thread of the Silkworm, New York: BasicBooks, 1995, pp. 40-144.

3. The ten research sections and leading engineers are: 1) general design, Ren 

Xinmin; 2) aerodynamics, Zhuang Fenggan; 3) missile structure, Tu Shou’e; 4) 

engines, Liang Shoupan; 5) propellants, Li Naiji; 6) control systems, Liang Sili; 

7) components, Zhu Jingren; 8) telemetry, Feng Shizhang; 9) computation, Zhu 

Zheng; 10) technical physics, Wu Deyu.

4. John Wilson Lewis and Hua Di, “China’s Ballistic Missile Programs: 

Technologies, Strategies, and Goals,” International Security, Fall 1992, Vol. 17, No. 2, 

pp. 130-131. The Fifth Academy was equivalent to an Army; the sub-academy was 

equivalent to a corps. A Third Sub-Academy was established for development of 

cruise missiles. Also see Xie Guang, pp. 34-35.

5. Zhang Jun, ed., Space Industry, Beijing: Astronautic Publishing House, 1992, 

pp. 6-7.
233

6. Zhang Wenzhong, “Qianjinzhong de Shanghai hangtian jidi” ("Advancements 

of the Shanghai Aerospace Base"), Zhongguo hangtian (China Aerospace"), September 

1996.

7. Li Wei, “Hangtian xiangyang zhi ge: zhongguo hangtian siyuan jianyuan 40 

zhounian lizan,” ("Song of Space: Commemoration of China’s Aerospace Fourth 

Academy’s 40th Anniversary"), Zhongguo hangtian (China Aerospace), June 2002, 

internet version.

8. "Zhongguo kongjian jishu yanjiuyuan zhuqing jianyuan 30 zhounian,” Zhongguo 

hangtian, March 1998. Also see Zhang Jun, p. 26. Vice Ministers included Liu 

Youguang, Qian Xuesen, Liu Bingyan, Gu Guangshan, Zhang Fan, and Cao 

Guanglin.

9. Zhang Jun, pp. 35-37. The third line bases under the Seventh Ministry were 

numbered from 61-68; defense industry test bases were numbered 20-27. For 

example, the 066 Base, developer of the DF-11 SRBM, was established in 1969.

10. A contemporary example of this approach would be the DF-31 that is in 

the testing phase; DF-31A that is in the model R&D stage, and the DF-41 that is in 

preliminary R&D.

11. Lewis and Xue, pp. 146-147; Iris Chang, pp. 247-252; and personal 

discussions with Yao Tongbin’s widow, Ms. Penny Peng. Yao Tongbin was a 

British-educated materials specialist who returned to China in the mid-1950s. 

Qian Xuesen appointed Yao as director of the First Sub-Academy’s Materials 

Institute, 703rd Research Institute. An account of Yao Tongbin’s travails will 

be published in the United States within the next year or so. Wang Bingzhang, 

former Deputy Commander of the PLA Air Force in the 1950s, eventually was 

reinstated, but jailed in 1971 for being part of the “Lin Biao Clique.”

12. Xie Guang, ed., China Today: Defense Science and Technology, Beijing: National 

Defense Industry Press, 1993, pp. 113-132. Tu Shou’e, born in Wuxing, Zhejiang 

province, graduated from Qinghua University in 1940 and from the Massachusetts 

Institute of Technology in 1943. Later in his career, he played a significant role in 

development of satellite launch vehicles. Huang Weilu was an automated control 

specialist who was born in Wuhu, Anhui Province. He received his masters 

degree from the Imperial College, University of London, UK, in 1947. 

13. Jia Junming and Dong Xuebin, Yitian: Gongheguo daodan hewuqi fazhan 

jishi (Rely on the Sky: Record of PRC Nuclear Missile Development), Beijing: Xiyuan 

Chubanshe, 1999, pp. 113-118. The authors are from the Second Artillery; Xie 

Guang, ed., China Today; pp. 256-259. Liang Shoupan, born in Fujian province 

was a 1939 graduate of MIT. After the 1059 program, he directed his efforts at 

advanced liquid rocket engines and then anti-ship cruise missiles. He is known 
234

today as the father of China’s cruise missile program. After the first two R-2s, 12 

more were delivered over the next year.

14. Xie Guang, pp. 256-261. Of interest is that the U.S. intelligence community 

detected little activity related to this system from the fall of 1966 through early 1969. 

Next to Qian Xuesen, Ren Xinmin had the most significant influence on China’s 

space and missile development. Born in Ningguo, Anhui Province, he undertook 

his undergraduate study in Nanjing Central University in 1934, and graduated 

from the National Institute of Technology, Ministry of Military Administration) in 

Chongqing in 1940. He earned his Ph.D. in 1949 from the University of Michigan. 

Ren was responsible for long-term planning and technology development 

programs of liquid rocket engines. In addition to work on China’s first generation 

of ballistic missiles, he also oversaw development of the Long March-1 launch 

vehicle that was used for the successful launch of China's first satellite, DFH-1. 

He was chief designer of the DFH-2 communication satellite project, and led the 

development of the Long March-3 launch vehicle. He also oversaw the Fengyun 

meteorological satellite project.

15. Lewis and Hua, pp. 5-40.

16. Xie Guang, pp. 259-261. Design work on Base 25 began in 1966 and 

construction was completed in October 1968. The facility was developed for testing 

on the DF-3, but also became a primary test facility for solid fueled missiles. It also 

constructed a test silo for the DF-5. The DF-3 designation was originally used by 

Qian Xuesen in 1961 for a program to develop a 10,000 kilometer range missile 

fueled by liquid oxygen and kerosene, similar to the U.S. Atlas system. Qian 

quickly realized that this program was overly ambitious and it was cancelled. 

17. Xie Guang, pp. xx.

18. Lewis and Xue, p. 21.

19. Lewis and Hua.

20. Ruan Chongzhi, “Woguo guti tuijin jishu fazhan de huigu yu zhanwang,” 

("Recollections and Prospects for China’s Solid Propellant Technology"), Zhongguo 

hangtian (China Aerospace), October 1999, internet version. Also see Lewis and Xue, 

pp. 136-145; and Xie Guang, pp. 272-275.

21. The Fourth Design Department, initially subordinate to the Fourth 

Academy, moved to the Second Academy in 1979.

22. Xie Guang, pp. 311-313; and Lewis and Hua, p. 26-28.

23. Jia Junming and Dong Xuebin, Yitian pp. xx-xx; and Zhang Jiajun and 
235

Sun Jinhan: "Casting the Shield of Peace — Second Artillery Commander Yang 

Guoliang and Political Commissar Sui Yongju Talk About Building of Strategic 

Missile Force," Liaowang, July 21, 1997, pp 4-7, in Foreign Broadcast Information 

Service (hereafter FBIS)-CHI-0561, 08/28/1997.

24. Ibid. Also see Will Young, “Shenmi zhongguo de zhanlue daodan budui”

(“China’s Mysterious Strategic Missile Unit”), Chinese Military Chronicles, June 

2000.

25. Some sources of unknown reliability claim that a DF-5 unit, possibly for 

training purposes, is located just north of Beijing in the vicinity of Xuanhua. U.S. 

intelligence estimate in 1972 noted that the existence of two operational Second 

Artillery units “near Kunming.” See Peoples Republic of China Nuclear Weapons 

Employment Policy and Strategy, March 1972, Defense Intelligence Agency, on FAS 

web site.

26. Zhang Jun, p. 19.

27. Ibid., pp. 19-23.

28. A good reconnaissance satellite summary chart is in Zhong Jian, “Tianyan: 

Zhonggong hangtian jihua dui woguojia anquan zhi yiangxiang” (“Eyes in the Sky: 

Influence of China’s Space Plans on Taiwan Security”) 7, Jianduan keji, Advanced 

Technology, August 2002, pp. 76-81.

29. Liu Jiyuan, China Today: Space Industry, Beijing: Astronautics Publishing 

House, 1992, pp. 280-302. Wang Xiji is the chief designer of China's sounding 

rockets, first space launch vehicle, and first recoverable satellites. Wang Xiji was 

of Pai nationality, and born in 1921 in Kunming into a merchant family. In 1948 

Wang went to America to obtain a Master's Degree at the Virginia Polytechnic 

Institute. He decided to return to home after the Communist victory without 

completing his doctorate. Wang Xiji most recently chaired a space policy 

committee that produced a report in January 2002 outlining future steps for 

China’s space and missile program.

30. Zhang Xueping, “Woguo hangtian guangxue yaoganqi yanzhi qude chengguo”

(“Results of China’s Aerospace Optical Remote Sensing Devices”), Zhongguo 

hangtian (China Aerospace), January 1998, p. 17; and Xie Guang, China Today, p. 

364. CAST’s 509th Research Institute, Huayin Machinery Factory in Shanghai) 

had the lead design role for the initial tests. The Jianbing series are also known as 

“Fanshihui” (FSW), or “recoverable” satellites.

31. The satellites operated in an inclination of 69-70 degrees, a perigee of 186 

kilometers, an apogee of 464 kilometers, and a period of 90 minutes. The apogee 

on the last technical experiment satellite in August 1976 was raised to 2,145 
236

kilometers. The August 1976 satellite decayed from orbit on November 25, 1978. 

China’s technical experiment satellite of the 1970s is the only space platform not 

discussed in detail in official histories. ELINT satellite development is likely one 

of the most sensitive programs within the defense industry and PLA. See China 

Today: Space Industry, Beijing: Astronautic Publishing House, 1992, pp. 162-170. 

“Summary of Launches in China,” Zhongguo hangtian, September 1996, p. 29; 

“Capabilities of The GSD Third Department in Technical Intelligence," p. 6.

32. “Zhongguo changzheng huojian yanzhi lishi huigu yu sikao” ("Recollections 

and Considerations of China’s Long March Rocket R&D”), Zhongguo hangtian 

(China Aerospace), March 1998, p. 23. Also see Zhang Jun, pp. 126-142.

33. Zhang Jun, pp. 144-161.

34. Ibid., pp. 162-173.

35. Ibid., pp. 174-198. Preliminary research on the cryogenic engine was begun 

as early as March 1965 with the first test conducted in 1971. Responsibility for the 

first and second stages was given to the Shanghai space industry, likely as a token 

gesture to the Shanghai-based Gang of Four.

36. Ibid., pp. 199-210.

37. Ibid., pp. 366-368. The 138 Launch Complex also is equipped to conduct 

captive firing tests.

38. Ibid., pp. 368-370.

39. Xie Guang, pp. 395-396.

40. Zhang Jun, 384-397. According to undated brochures, CLTC headquarters 

occupies a large facility on Beijing’s North Third Ring Road and is made up of a 

planning department, development department, tracking and control department, 

logistics department, and liaison department. Two research institutes under CLTC 

include the Luoyang Institute of Tracking, Telecommunications, Technology 

(LITTT) and the Beijing Special Engineering and Design Research Institute 

(BSEDI). The COSTIND (now General Equipment Department) entity responsible 

for constructing launch and tracking sites and testing facilities is the BSEDI.

41. Bonnie S. Glaser and Banning N. Garrett, “Chinese Perspectives on the 

Strategic Defense Initiative, Problems of Communism, March-April 1986, pp. 28-44.

42. Xie Guang, pp. 149-150.

43. Ibid., pp. 152-153; also see Richard P. Suttmeier, “China’s High Technology: 
237

Programs, Problems, and Prospects” in China’s Economic Dilemma, pp. 546-564. All 

of the engineers pushing the new initiative were involved in strategic programs-

-Wang Daheng, a preeminent optics expert who played a role in China’s space 

tracking network; Wang Ganchang, one of the founding fathers of China’s nuclear 

program; Yang Jiachi, a satellite attitude control expert; and Chen Fangyun, an 

electronics engineer and leader of program to develop China’s space tracking 

network.

44. Zhang Jun, 60-63. The space leading group is composed of senior 

representatives from COSTIND, GED Ministry of Science, Ministry of Foreign 

Affairs (MFA), State Planning Commission, CASIC, and CASC.

45. Lewis and Hua, p. 28.

46. Ibid. Preliminary R&D had begun as early as September 1974.

47. Ibid., pp. 34-36.

48. Ibid, p. 36. Also see the summary of 066 Base (Sanjiang Space Group) in 

Zhongguo hangtian bao (China Space News), July 2, 1999, p. 12.

49. Qu Yiguang, “Zhongguo Changzheng huojian yanzhi lishi huigu yu 

zhanwang” (“Recollections and Prospects for China’s Long March Rockets”), 

Zhongguo hangtian (China Aerospace), March 1998, pp. 23-26.

50. Zhang Guofu and Zheng Shangmin, “Zhongguo weixing jishu sanshinian” 

(“30 Years of Chinese Satellite Techology”), Zhongguo hangtian (China Aerospace), 

September 1996, pp. 20-28.

51. Jeffery Richelson, “Navy Says China Poised to Close Space-Intel Gap,” in 

Defense Week, February 24, 1997, p. 9. Also see Zhong Jian, p. 77.

52. Richelson, p. 9.

53. "Woguo chenggong fashe yike weixing” (“China Successfully Launches A 

Satellite”), Zhongguo hangtian (China Aerospace), November 1996, p. 10.

54. Bill Gertz, “Crowding In On the High Ground,” Air Force, April 1997, pp. 

18-22; and Covalt, pp. 22-23.

55. Wang Chunyuan, China’s Space Industry and Its Strategy of International 

Cooperation, Stanford University Center for International Security and Arms 

Control, 1996, p. 5.

56. Nan Shih-yin, “Inside Story of Enlarged Central Committee Meeting,” 
238

Hong Kong Kuang Chiao Ching, January 16, 1996, in FBIS-CHI-96-027; also see Jen 

Hui-wen, “Latest Trends in China’s Military Revolution,” in Hong Kong Hsin Pao

(Hong Kong Economic Journal), February 9, 1996, in FBIS-CHI-96-047. For other 

comments on lessons from the Gulf War, see Ho Po-shih, “The Chinese Military Is 

Worried About Lagging Behind in Armament,” Tangdai, March 9, 1991, pp. 17-18.

57. Among various sources, see Wang Hsing-chou, “"Beijing Builds Up Military 

Strength To Avoid Being Vulnerable to Attack," Tai Yang Pao, May 17, 1999, p. A18, 

in FBIS-CHI-0340, May 18, 1999; and “PLA Armament Head Addresses Weaponry 

Meeting,” Xinhua, June 30, 1999, in FBIS-CHI-0339, July 7, 1999.

58. Hong Kong press reports in late May 1999 indicate that the State Council 

and Central Committee released a special allocation of $10 billion (RMB 80 

million) for R&D and procurement in late May 1999. In September 1999, the State 

Planning and Development Commission instructed local government banks to 

provide loans to selected industries for key projects. A bond issue valued at RMB 

60 billion was intended to support defense industry R&D and production. 

59. Attending the meeting were retired aerospace advisors, Xia Guohong, 

CAMEC Director; Zheng Quanbao, First Academy Deputy Party Chairman; Yin 

Xingliang, Second Academy Deputy Director, then CAMEC Deputy Director, and 

now director, Second Academy; Huang Ruisong, Third Academy Deputy Director; 

Ye Peijian, Fifth Academy Chief Engineer; and Hua Linsen, 066 Base Director, now 

CAMEC Deputy Director. Xia Guohong confirmed that the decision to accelerate 

R&D was confirmed at the first CAMEC work. 

60. Li Shouwei, “Applying Technology to National Defense,” Zhongguo 

Hangtian Bao (China Space News), May 26, 1999, p.1.

61. Zhang Qingwei was born in Jilin in November 1961 and spent his first few 

years in the Aviation Industry, 603 Institute. He transferred to the space and missile 

industry’s First Department in 1988 where he played a prominent role in China’s 

921 program, specifically as assistant designer for the LM-2F launch vehicle in 

1992. He was promoted to serve as Deputy Director of the First Academy in 1998 

and Deputy Director of CASC in 1999. Jin Zhuanglong was born in Zhoushan, 

Zhejiang province in March 1964. A missile design specialist, he rose through the 

ranks from the Shanghai’s Eighth Design Department to become Director of the 

Eighth Department in January 1998. Xu Dazhe was born in Nanchang in 1956. 

After completing graduate work at the Harbin Institute of Technology, he was 

assigned to the 15th Research Institute, First Academy, where he was responsible 

for launch support equipment, i.e., launchers. He rose to become Deputy Director 

of the First Academy and concurrently director of the 211 Factory, responsible for 

ballistic missile and launch vehicle integration. He became president of the First 

Academy in January 2000.
239

62. “Hangtian shidai yiqi gongsi (shiyuan) zujian chengli” ("Space Era Instruments 

Company {10th Academy} Established”), Zhongguo Hangtian Bao (China Space 

News), August 1, 2001. Specifically, the 10th Academy consists of the First 

Academy’s 13th Research Institute and 230 Factory; the 067 Base’s 7107 and 7171 

Factories; and SAST’s 803 Research Institute.

63. “Hangtian tuijin jishu yanjiuyuan guapai” (“The Academy of Space 

Propellant Technology Hangs Its Sign”), Zhongguo hangtian (China Aerospace), May 

2002, internet version. The CASC Sixth Academy is directed by Lei Fanpei and is 

manned with 8000 people divided into 11 different entities.

64. Xia Guohong was born in October 1939 in Jintan, Jiangsu Province. 

He graduated with a Ph.D. from the University of California as a specialist in 

automated control systems. He was formerly CASC deputy director and member 

of the CASC Party Member, and dual-hatted as CAMEC Party Secretary.

65. Zhongguo hangtian bao, September 7, 2001. Born in June 1953 in Wuxi, 

Jiangsu Province, Yin Xingliang is a specialist in guidance and simulation. Yin was 

formerly in the First Academy’s 12 Research Institute and subsequently served as 

Vice-Director of the CASC Second Academy. He rapidly became a leader in R&D 

on space intercept (ASAT/TMD) control systems. Other senior CASIC officials 

include Vice Director Xue Li, Gao Hongwen, Cheng Wen, and Fang Xiangming. 

Xue Li was born in Inner Mongolia in 1956, is a graduate of National University of 

Defense Technology in Changsha, and spent several years working in the China 

Academy of Space Technology, Fifth Academy. Gao Hongwei was born in 1956, a 

graduate or Qinghua University, and spent more than 20 years at the 066 Base in 

Hubei, where he worked his way to being director in 1999. Fang was previously 

director of the Xinguang Power Machinery Factory in Shenyang, an organization 

that makes solid motor casings for ballistic missiles.

66. The First Enterprise Department (diyi shiyebu), directed by Zhang Wei, 

integrates the Space Qinghua Satellite Company, 719 Factory, 068 Base, and the 

Yunnan Space Group. It is known to the outside as the China Academy of ElectroMechanical Information Technology. The Second Enterprise Department (dier 

shiyebu), directed by Yin Xingliang, integrates all of the Second Academy, the 061 

Base, and the 801 Factory. It is known to the outside as the China Academy of Space 

Electro-Mechanical Defense Technology. The Third Enterprise Department (disan 

shiyebu), directed by Gao Hongwei, integrates all Third Academy organizations, 

the Shenyang Xinguang Group, and the 111 Factory. It is known to the outside as 

the China Academy of Space Electro-Mechanical Cruise Missile Technology. The 

Fourth Enterprise Department (disi shiyebu), directed by Li Yue, consists of the 

Fourth Department, 066 Base, 307 Factory, the 17th Research Institute, 824 Factory, 

the Solid Motor LV Corp, and the Henan Space Group.

67. “Neimenggu zhihuibu geng ming diliu yanjiuyuan” (“Inner Mongolia 
240

Command Changes Name to Sixth Academy”), Zhongguo hangtian, October 1999. 

Another article with the same name was published in Zhongguo hangtian bao on 

August 28, 1999. 

68. Fourth Academy likely is based in Xiangyang, near Xian. As of 2002, 

the Fourth Academy director is Zhou Weimin. Sixth Academy Director is Gao 

Chongwu.

69. See Mark A. Stokes, “China’s Space and Conventional Theater Missile 

Development: Implications for Security in the Taiwan Strait,” in Susan Puska, 

ed., People’s Liberation Army After Next, Carlisle: U.S. Army War College, Strategic 

Studies Institute, pp. 107-189.

70. See Tony Walker and Stephen Fidler, “China Builds Up Missile Threat,” 

Financial Times, February 10, 1999, p. 1; and “Taiwan Boosts Defenses With Live 

Fire Test of Patriot System,” AFP, June 20, 2001.

71. Lianhe zhanyi di erpaobing zuozhan (PLA Second Artillery Joint Campaign 

Operations), unpublished manuscript, 1996, p. 10.

72. Zhu Bao, “Di-di dandaoshi zhanshi daodan de fazhan qushi,” pp. 9-19. The 

CEP is the radius of a circle within which 50 percent of missile fired will impact.

73. Xu Minfei, Zhu Zili, and Li Yong, “Feasibility of Technologies for Use of 

Ballistic Missiles to Counter Aircraft Carriers,” Guofang Keji Cankao, Vol. 18, No. 

4, 1997, pp. 126-130, summarized in Chinese Astronautics and Missilry Abstracts 

(CAMA). Also see Feng Jianbao, “Feasibility Study of Conventional Ballistic 

Missiles Attacking Aircraft Carriers,” paper presented at the Annual China 

Astronautics Society UAV Specialists Conference, April 1998, summarized in 

CAMA, Vol. 6. No. 1, 1999. Also see Wang Guobao, “Initial Discussion on Tactical 

Ballistic Missile Electronic Warfare,” Hangtian dianzi duikang, April 97, pp. 1-7, 

summarized in CAMA.

74. Lewis and Hua, p. 29. Chinese engineers note that critical technologies 

for terrain matching terminal guidance include large scale and very large-scale 

integrated circuits (LSIC/VLSIC).

75. Zhu Bao, pp. 9-19. Development of VLSIC and LSIC technology is one 

of Beijing’s highest priorities. CASC’s Ninth Academy would likely actually 

produce the application-specific integrated circuits. The SCUD-B payload known 

as the AEROFON uses an optical sensor during the latter stages of flight to detect 

and home in on a target. 

76. It is not clear how far engineers have gone in their preliminary research 

in this type of ballistic missile terminal guidance. See Gan and Liu, pp. 68-69. 
241

TERCOM is only effective over land where landmarks are used as reference 

points.

77. Zhu Bao, “Di-Di Dandaoshi Zhanshi Daodan de Fazhan Qushi” 

(“Developmental Prospects of Surface-to-Surface Tactical Ballistic Missiles”), pp. 

9-19; and Lianhe Zhanyi Di Erpaobing Zuozhan (PLA Second Artillery Joint Campaign 

Operations), unpublished manuscript, 1996, p. 11. As of 1996, CALT was testing a 

guided submunition (jiandan zimudan) package for blast and fragmentation effects; 

and penetrating submunitions (qinche zimudan) for cratering runways. More 

advanced packages under development include terminally guided sensor fused 

submunition warheads. There are also indications of CBU-78 GATOR-like mine 

laying submunition development.

78. Duncan Lennox, ed., Jane’s Strategic Weapon Systems, Issue 24, May 97, 

Surrey, England: Jane’s Information Group.

79. Zhao Yunshan, Zhongguo daodan jiqi zhanlue, jiefangjun de hexin wuqi (China’s 

Missiles and Strategy: The PLA’s Central Weapon), Hong Kong: Mirror Books, p. 232. 

Informed sources assert the Mirror (Mingjing) series of books have a mixed record 

of reliability. However, development of a longer range version of the DF-15 is also 

alluded to in Bill Gertz, “China Adds To Missiles Near Taiwan,” Washington Times, 

August 28, 2001, p. 1. Zhao states that the expanded range DF-15 incorporates a 

more advanced propellant. There is often confusing reporting on an unidentified 

1000 kilometer system--the M-18--that may, in fact, be the rumored extended 

range DF-15.

80. Zhao Yunshan, p. 232. Other sources credit the DF-15 with only as good as 

a 150-meter CEP. See “Missiles! China Has Them Too!” Wen wei po, June 1, 1999, 

p. A5, in FBIS-CHI-00169, June 22, 1999.

81. Brian Hsu, “M-Class Missiles’ Bark Worse Than Bite: Military,” Taipei 

Times, August 16, 2000.

82. See the summary of 066 Base, Sanjiang Space Group, in Zhongguo hangtian 

bao, July 2, 1999, p. 12.

83. “Military Officials Discuss PRC’s Fujian Missile Positions,” Chung-Yang 

Jih-Pao, December 1, 1999, p. 10, in FBIS-CHI-0322, 12/01/1999. Bill Gertz from 

the Washington Times reported that the second Second Artillery brigade is being 

formed near the city of Yong’an, Jiangxi province. A third brigade consisting of 

the DF-11/CSS-7 is under construction in Fujian province.

84. The 700-meter CEP is extracted from Janes Strategic Weapons Systems, 1998. 

Also see “Dongfeng-21 zhongcheng daodan (“DF-21 MRBM”), Shijie junshi luntan

(World Military Forum), January 2000, in Chinese.
242

85. The conversion of the DF-21 from a strictly nuclear mission to a 

conventional role was reported as early as 1994 in the Chinese journal, Guoji 

Hangkong (International Aviation). Further indications of a terminally guided DF-21 

are from discussions between Richard Fisher and an engineer from CALT’s Beijing 

Research Institute of Telemetry, 704th Research Institute, at the 1996 Zhuhai Air 

Show. Extensive CASC technical writings on terminally guided theater ballistic 

missiles tend to substantiate the engineer’s comments. Other sources indicate 

that the conventional DF-21C program, referred to as the DF-21 Mod 3 by some 

sources, is influenced in large part by the Pershing-2, entered the applied R&D 

(xinghao yanzhi) phase in 1995 and that the primary payload will be a penetrator 

warhead, zuandi dantou) for use against semi-hardened facilities such as command 

centers. See “China Replacing Nuclear Warheads on Some Missiles,” Jane’s 

Defense Weekly, January 27, 1994; and Will Young, “Shenmi de zhongguo daodan 

budui” (“The Development of the Chinese Second Artillery”), Shijie junshi luntan

(World Military Forum), internet edition, http//:www.wforum.com, January 2000, in 

Chinese. It is not clear how far engineers have gone in their preliminary research 

in this type of ballistic missile terminal guidance. For a discussion of terminally 

guided ballistic missiles, see Gan Chuxiong and Liu Jixiang, Daodan yu yunzai 

huojian zongti sheji (General Design of Missiles and Launch Vehicles), Beijing: Defense 

Industry Press, January 1996, pp. 68-69. Also see Wang Honglei, Second Artillery 

Corps, “Optical Image Guidance Technology,” in Zhidao yu Yinxin, January 1995, 

pp. 34-37, in CAMA, Vol. 2, No. 3, 1995.

86. “Kongjun yu haihang zhuangbei fazhan” (“Air Force and Naval 

Modernization”), in Zhonggong junshi xiandaihua (PRC Military Modernization), 

Taipei: Ziyou Publishing, June 2000. One should note, however, that the PAC-3 

could engage an incoming MRBM if the missile was targeted directly against the 

fire unit itself.

87. See Bill Gertz, “Chinese Missile To Threaten U.S. By 2000,” Washington 

Times, May 23, 1997, on Federation of American Scientists webpage, 

http://www.fas.org.

88. Department of Defense, “Proliferation and Response,” January 2001, 

China Section; “China: Long Range ICBM Could Reach U.S. Mainland,” Flight 

International, August 14, 2001; “Kongjun yu haihang zhuangbei fazhan” (“Air 

Force and Naval Modernization”), in Zhonggong junshi xiandaihua (PRC Military 

Modernization), Taipei: Ziyou Publishing, June 2000; and Shintaro Ishihara, “An 

Urgent Threat,” The Shield, Vol. XVIII, No. 2, March/April 2001. The relationship 

between the DF-31A and the DF-41 is unknown.

89. A series of meetings were held in the aftermath of the accidental bombing 

of the Chinese Embassy in Belgrade. A total of 15 programs were designated for 

acceleration. A CASC committee was formed to plan for the accelerated timeline. 
243

See “Beiyue zhaxing: wuqi yanzhi jiasu” (“NATO Bombing: Accelerate Weapons 

R&D”), Zhongguo Hangtian Bao, May 12, 1999, p.1. Attending the meeting were 

retired aerospace advisors, Xia Guohong, CAMEC Director, Zheng Quanbao, 

First Academy Deputy Party Chairman, Yin Xingliang, Second Academy Deputy 

Director, Huang Ruisong, Third Academy Deputy Director, Ye Peijian, Fifth 

Academy Chief Engineer, and Hua Linsen, 066 Base Director.

90. Gan Chuxiong and Liu Jixiang, Daodan Yu Yunzai Huojian Zongti Sheji

(General Design of Missiles and Launch Vehicles), Beijing: Defense Industry Press, 

January 1996. p. 42.

91. Foreign Missile Developments and the Ballistic Missile Threat Through 2015, 

Unclassified Summary of a National Intelligence Estimate, Director of Central 

Intelligence, January 2002.

92. Lu Hongquan and Yang Liandong, “Zhanlue he zhanshu dandao daodan de 

tufang” ("Penetration of Strategic and Tactical Ballistic Missiles"), published in an 

unknown journal in March 1999. Lu and Yang are from the China Academy of 

Engineering Physics, CAEP; also see Bai Hande, “Ganraodan de zhonglei he zuozhan 

fangshi” (“Types and Operational Styles Associated with Jamming Warheads”), 

Xiandai bingqi (Modern Weaponry), 1995, pp. 152-153.

93. “Kongjun yu haihang wuqi zhuangbei fazhan” (“Development of the Air 

Force and Naval Aviation Equipment”), in Zhonggong junshi xiandaihua (PRC 

Military Modernization), Taipei: Ziyou Publishing, June 2000. The YJ-63 designator 

indicates the system is a variant of the YJ-6, C-601. Also see “China’s New Cruise 

Missile Nears Service,” Flight International, August 22-28 2000, p. 26.

94. “Kongjun yu haihang wuqi zhuangbei fazhan,” June 2000. The YJ-63 can be 

traced back to China’s first generation cruise missile, the Shangyou-1, an improved 

copy of the Soviet Styx anti-ship missile and the prototype for the Haiying family 

of cruise missiles. The inspiration for cruise missile development is from Qian 

Xuesen, who devoted himself to this cause from 1965 to 1968. The first Haiying 

missile test was conducted in December 1966, but problems were identified with 

the missile’s radar systems. The first successful test was conducted in October 

1970.

95. Sun Hongjin, “Woguo disandai tongxin weixing yanzhi qidong” (“China 

Begins R&D on Its Third Generation Telecommunications Satellite”), Zhongguo 

hangtian bao (China Space News), December 26, 2001, internet version.

96. Xu Jing, “Woguo huanjing yu zaihai jiance yubao xiaoweixing xitong gaikuang”

(“Situation of China’s Environmental and Disaster Monitoring and Reporting 

Small Satellite System”), Zhongguo hangtian, July 2002, internet version. In an 

alternative proposal, Second Artillery requirements are that the constellation 
244

would include seven small satellites, three EO, two SAR, and one IR, with a 

launch weight of 300 kilograms or less. The Second Artillery is proposing the use 

of mobile, solid fueled launchers that could launch satellites to a 300-kilometer sun 

synchronous orbit from anywhere in China. Wu Chongshan, “Diguidao weixing 

zhencha xitong shexiang” (“Concept for Low Earth Orbit Satellite Reconnaissance 

System”), Xiandai junshi tongxin (Modern Military Communication), March 1999, pp. 

31-34. The author is principal designer of the Second Artillery’s space support 

requirements.

97. The United States and the Soviet Union attained a near-real-time capability 

in 1976 and 1982, respectively.

98. Jean Etienne, “Les Nouveaux Projets de L’Asie Spatiale,” ("The New Projects 

in Asian Aerospace") in Space News, No. 110, November 4, 1996, at http://www.satnet.com/space-news. Also see Chou Kuan-wu, “China’s Reconnaissance Satellites,” 

Kuang chiao ching, March 16, 1998, pp. 36-40, in FBIS-CHI-98-098. China’s 

successfully launched the CBERS/ZY-1 on August 7, 1999 on board a LM-4A 

launch vehicle.

99. “Zhongguo ziyuan erhao weixing shengkong,” Zhongguo hangtian bao, internet 

version, September 6, 2000. The chief designer of the ZY-2 is Ye Peijian from the 

China Academy of Space Technology. GED Director Cao Gangchuan was one of 

the first to congratulate Ye Peijian, stressing his contributions to national defense.

100. “China and Brazil To Develop CBERS 3 and 4,” SpaceDaily, internet 

version, September 30, 2000.

101. Wei Long, “China To Launch Micro Imaging Birds,” SpaceDaily, internet 

version, November 20, 2000.

102. Sun Hongjin, “Zhongguo kongjian taiyang wangyuanjing 2005 shenglong”

(“China To Launch Space Solar Telescope in 2005”), Zhongguo hangtian, May 2002, 

internet version.

103. “Woguo xingzai hecheng kongjing leida yingyong yanjiu qude zongda jinzhan,”

Zhongguo hangtian, February 1996, p. 16.

104. Among numerous references, see Liao Yuanshou, “Development of 

Satellite-borne Precision Direction Finding Antenna Array,” Dianzi Duikang Jishu

(Electronic Countermeasure Technology), March 1995, pp. 19-26, in CAMA, Vol. 2, 

No. 5, 1995. Liao is from the Southwest Institute of Electronic Equipment (SWIEE), 

also known as the 29th Research Institute, China’s premier entity engaged in radar 

electronic support measures and ECM equipment; also see Li Yudong, “SatelliteBorne Radar Reconnaissance,” in Dianzizhan Xinjishu Yu Qingbao Gaige Wenzhai, 

October 95, pp. 126-133, in CAMA, Vol. 3, No. 6, 1996. 
245

105. The source of this information is Sven Grahn, who closely monitors 

China’s space program. He was chief engineer for the Swedish-PRC Freja project, 

which was launched from Jiuquan Space Launch Center in October 1992. His 

comments and assessment are based on photos of the Shenzhou-3 that revealed 

three log-periodic antenna arrays that would be consistent with a space-based 

electronic reconnaissance system. The announced missions of the three SJ-2 [Shi 

Jian — Practice] spacecraft launched on a single booster on September 20, 1981, 

included ionospheric and atmospheric studies. This cover story was frequently 

used by early American electronic intelligence satellites launched by the U.S. 

Navy and the mass and orbital parameters (200 by 1600 kilometer orbits at 59.4 

degree inclination) of the SJ-2 spacecraft are consistent both with the announced 

missions as well as with ELINT applications. See http://www.fas.org/spp/guide/

china/military/sigint.

106. The implication is that a reconnaissance satellite can image a location 

and establish geocoordinates for the imaged target. See Liu Zhen, “Gaodongtai 

GPS jieshouji zai weixingshang tazai chenggong” (“GPS Receiver Carried on Satellite 

Successful”), Zhongguo Hangtian Bao, November 16, 1996, p. 1. 

107. Seeking to transmit imagery directly to theater and field commanders, 

China’s remote sensing community has also begun to explore development of 

mobile remote sensing ground stations. On China’s data relay satellite program, 

see Zhang Wanbin, “Spaceflight Development Strategy: Mid-Long Term 

Development Strategy, "Zhongguo keji luntan (Forum on Science and Technology), 

November 1992, pp. 9-12, in JPRS-CST-93-002; and Cheng Yuejin, “Information 

Transmission System of Data Relay Satellites,” Space Technology Information 

Research, 1993, in CAMA, Vol. 1, No. 6, 1994. On mobile ground station acquisition, 

see Wang Mingyuan, “Mobile Remote Sensing Ground Stations,” Kongjian dianzi 

jishu, Space Electronic Technology, 1997, Vol. 2, pp. 32-37 in CAMA, Vol. 4, No. 

6, 1997. One of the first U.S. mobile imagery ground stations, EAGLE VISION, 

entered the inventory in 1995. China has expressed interest in acquiring a foreign 

EAGLE VISION-like system from either U.S. or French vendors. 

108. Dragon in Space, July 24, 1999. Its data rate is about 150-300Mbps. SWIET 

is the major tracking and telemetry systems provider for the Chinese space 

program.

109. See “Second Beidou Placed in Orbit,” Xinhua, December 21, 2000. Also 

see “Beidou: From Concept to Reality,” Dragon in Space, December 14, 2000.

110. Simon Saradzhyan, “Russia Replenishing Glonass Satellite Navigation 

System,” Defense News, October 2, 2000, p. 12.

111. “Hangtian guti yunzai huojian youxian gongsi chengli” (“Aerospace Solid 
246

Launch Vehicle Corporation Established”), Zhongguo Hangtian, June 2000, internet 

version. The corporation will be jointly administered by at least four key entities 

involved in the development of the DF-21 and its sea-launched sister, the JL-1: 

Beijing Electromechanical Engineering Design Department (4th Department); 

Academy of Space Solid Rocket Engine Technology (4th Academy); Beijing 

Institute of Control and Electronic Engineering (17th Research Institute); Nanjing 

Chenguang Factory (307 Factory); and the China Aerospace Electromechanical 

Corporation. Also see See Zhang Dexiong, “Guowai xiaoxing weixing de guti 

huojian tuijin xitong” (“Solid Rocket Propulsion Systems for Foreign Small 

Satellites”), in Hangtian qingbao yanjiu (HQ-93011), pp. 139-155; Wang Zheng, 

“Screening Studies and Technology for All-Solid Space Launch Vehicles,” Guti 

huojian fadongji sheji yu yanjiu (Solid Rocket Engine Design and Research), April 

1996, pp. 63-73, in CAMA, Vol. 3, No. 6, 1996; and Zhang Song, “Design and 

Optimization of Solid Launch Vehicle Trajectory,” Guti huojian jishu, 1997, Vol. 20, 

No. 1, pp. 1-5; and Zhang Dexiong, “China’s Development Concept for Small Solid 

Launch Vehicles,” CASC Fourth Academy Information Research Reports, the Fourth 

Edition, October 1995, pp. 1-11, in CAMA, Vol. 5, No. 2, 1998.

112. “Zhongguo changzheng huojian yanzhi lishi huigu yu sikao” (“Recollections 

and Considerations of China’s Long March Rocket R&D”), Zhongguo hangtian 

(China Aerospace), March 1998, p. 23.

113. Aerospace China, February 2001.

114 Wang Chunyuan, China’s Space Industry and Its Strategy of International 

Cooperation, Stanford University: Center for International Security and Arms 

Control, July 1996, p. 4; “China Building Satellite Tracking Station on Tarawa,” 

Asian Defense Journal, March 1997, p. 66; and “Satellite Command Station 

Operational in Kiribati,” Zhongguo Xinwenshe, October 14, 1997, in FBIS-CHI-97-

287.

115. SpaceDaily, internet version, January 26, 2001.

116. Trip report, NASA visit to China, June 12-22, 1991. For example, China 

plans to develop a 500-meter aperture radio space telescope for deep space 

exploration. With a price of approximately 25 million dollars, the system, based 

in Guizhou Province, will primarily support civilian academic research, but could 

also be used to supplement China’s space surveillance network. CAST and the 

China Academy of Sciences are involved. See “Beijing Plans to Develop 500 Meter 

Radio Telescope,” Xinhua, April 9, 1998, in FBIS-CHI-98-099. 

117. A 1993 edition of the Second Artillery journal, Flying Eagle, discussed 

a “comprehensive satellite early warning information management system” 

(erpaobing weixing linkong yubao zonghe xiaoxi chuli xitong) that began operations as 

early as 1991. 
247

118. Wang Chunyuan, China’s Space Industry and Its Strategy of International 

Cooperation, Stanford University Center for International Security and Arms 

Control, July 1996, p. 4; Marat Abulkhatin, “Official on Prospects for Space 

Cooperation,” Itar-Tass, October 10, 1996, in FBIS-SOV-96-198.

119. ”Wang Liheng Fujuzhang Lutuan Fangwen E’Wu Liangguo” (“CASC Deputy 

Director Wang Liheng Leads Delegation to Russian and Ukraine”), Zhongguo 

Hangtian Bao (China Space News), April 11, 1994, p.1.

120. Chen Chang, “Ukrainian Deputy Prime Minister Says There Are Broad 

Prospects for Ukrainian-Chinese Cooperation,” Xinhua, September 17, 1996, in 

FBIS-CHI-96-182.

121. “Russia Sells Launch Vehicle Technology,” Military Space, August 21, 

1995.

122. Andrey Kirillov, “China to Buy Russian Equipment for Manned Space 

Missions,” Itar-Tass, March 14, 1995, in FBIS-SOV-95-049. A formal agreement for 

Russian assistance in the manned space program was signed in 1995. Items of 

special interest include emergency rescue, thermal control, and space docking.

123. ”Zhong, E, Wu, Disanjie Yuhang Keji Dahui Zai Xigongda Zhaokai” (“China, 

Russia, Ukraine, Open the Third Space Science Meeting at Northwest Polytechnical 

University”), Zhongguo hangtian bao (China Space News), October 3, 1994, p. 1. The 

1994 meeting was held from September 17-20. Sun Jiadong chaired the Chinese 

team.

124. Christian Lardier, “Chinese Space Industry Ambitions,” in Air & 

Cosmos/Aviation International, October 25, 1996, in FBIS-CST-96-020; and author’s 

unpublished report, “The Role of China’s Space and Missile Industry in Strategic 

Modernization, May 1995.

125. ”Paris, Beijing Discuss Strategic Space Partnership,” Les Echos, January 29, 

1997, p. 11, in FBIS-CHI-97-020.

126. ”Zhongguo hangtian kaizhan quanfangwei guoji hezuo” (“China Space Opens 

Comprehensive International Cooperation Meeting”), Zhongguo Hangtian Bao

(China Space News), October 3, 1994, p. 1.

127. “Ambitious Space Program Gears Up for Competitive Edge.”

128. Si Liang, “Only the East Wind is Lacking,” Zhongguo tongxun she, August 

11, 1994, in FBIS-CHI-94-158.
248

129. China Today: Defense Science and Technology, Beijing: National Defense 

Industry Press, 1993, pp. 386-390; and “Astronauts Trained for Chinese Manned 

Spacecraft,” Zhongguo Tongxun She, March 29, 1995, in FBIS-CHI-95-062.

130. Craig Covalt, “Chinese Manned Flight Set for 1999 Liftoff,” Aviation Week 

and Space Technology Review, October 21, 1996, pp. 22-23; and “Chinese Cosmonauts 

To Train at Gagarin Space Center,” Interfax, December 27, 1996, in FBIS-SOV-96-

250. For indications of Jiuquan serving as the base for China’s manned launch 

program, see Xu Kejun, “Safety Support of Space Launching For Astronauts,” 

Daodan shiyan jishu, 1997, Vol. 1, pp. 1-9, in CAMA, Vol. 4, No. 5, 1997.

131. Leonard David, “China's Space Ambitions Keep Western Experts 

Guessing,” Spaceflight, July 8, 2002, internet http://www.space.com. Liu Zhusheng is 

chief designer of the LM-2F.

132. For a technical analysis of one of China’s space shuttle concepts, see Philip 

A. Smith, “The Chinese Space Shuttle: A Great Leap Forward,” unpublished 

Naval War College paper, June 1996; and Wang Xiaojun, “Study on Minimum-fuel 

Low Thrust Multiple Burn Transfer Between Coplanar Circular Orbits,” Yuhang 

Xuebao, 1996, Vol. 17, No. 3, in CAMA, Vol. 3, No. 6, 1996.

133. Viacheslav A. Frolov, “China’s Armed Forces Prepare for High Tech 

Warfare,” Defense and Foreign Affairs: Strategic Policy, January 1998, pp. 12-13. The 

2005 timeframe appears overly ambitious. 

134. See Liu Xingzhou, “Chongya fadongji de fazhan he yingyong” (“Development 

and Applications of Pulsed Engines”), Zhongguo hangtian, Vol. 3, 1993, pp. 34-

37; Huang Zhicheng, “Real Gas Effects for the Aerospace Plane,” Aerodynamic 

Experiment and Measurement Control,” Vol. 8, No. 2, 1994, pp. 1-9; also see Huang 

Zhicheng, “Aerodynamic Design of Nozzles for the Aerospace Plane, “Aerodynamic 

Experiment and Measurement Control,” Vol. 7, No. 4, 1994, pp. 1-7; Qiu Qianghua 

and Huang Zhicheng, “Aerodynamic Design Of Single Stage to Orbit Winged 

Rocket,” Liuti lixue shiyan yu celiang, 1997, Vol. 11, No. 2, pp. 19-25, in CAMA, Vol. 

4, No. 6, 1997; Wang Yali, “Hybrid Propulsion System for a Single-Stage-To-Orbit 

Engine,” in Huojin tuijin, 1997, Vol. 3, pp. 39-49, in CAMA, Vol. 4, No. 6, 1997; and 

Yue Jialing, “Preliminary Design of a Hydrocarbon-Fueled Dual Mode Scramjet 

Engine for a Hypersonic Vehicle,” Liuti lixue shiyan yu celiang, 1997, Vol. 11, No. 2, 

pp. 1-13, in CAMA, Vol. 4, No. 6, 1997. China’s interest in an aerospace plane is 

not unusual. Almost all the major powers, including the United States, Europe, 

Japan, and India, have active hypersonic vehicle programs.

135. Presentation delivered at 47th International Astronautical Federation, 

March 1996, Beijing, China. 

136. ”China Preparing for Manned Space Program,” Neimenggu Ribao, July 28, 
249

1995, p. 2, in FBIS-CST-95-015.

137. One should note that, as they become more sophisticated, the cost of 

satellites has risen. In 1994, the average cost of a Chinese produced satellite was 

between U.S. $3-12 million. However, the HY-1 cost U.S. $24 million.

PART III:

THE CAMPAIGNS

253

CHAPTER 7

HOW BEIJING EVALUATES MILITARY CAMPAIGNS:

AN INITIAL ASSESSMENT

Ron Christman

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

China’s known criteria for measuring the effectiveness of military 

campaigns prioritize evaluating success in terms of the impact on the 

Chinese Communist Party’s ability to control the “overall situation.” 

Direct military, strategic, and political results are secondary in 

nature when compared to the leadership’s subjective assessment 

of its control of the overall situation. In theory, this assessment 

is derived by calculating a campaign’s impact on the leadership’s 

ability to ensure central authority; preserve leadership solidarity 

and national unity; maintain momentum behind the nation’s central 

task; and balance the need to deter or defeat primary adversaries 

while simultaneously containing domestic instability and securing 

secondary fronts. 

The priority Beijing places on controlling the overall situation 

is different from the tendency of Western leaders to weigh military 

success in terms of dominant quantitative indicators, to include 

weapons and equipment destroyed, personnel killed in action, and 

public approval ratings. This difference is driven, in part, by direct 

lessons political and military leaders have learned regarding the 

importance of controlling the overall situation. Key sources of these 

lessons include battles in ancient China, Marxist-Leninist thought, 

Maoist military thinking, the War with Japan, the Chinese Civil War, 

and China’s own domestic and geopolitical circumstances.

The assessment criteria identified thus far provide insights into 

how China’s leadership intends to exercise strategic leadership in 

wartime. However, there are a number of human, organizational, 

and procedural variables that might erode the leadership’s ability 

to apply these criteria in future war. Indeed, the emphasis placed 

on controlling the overall situation is designed, in part, to prevent 

these variables from degrading Beijing’s ability to base decisions on 
254

national, vice subnational, interests.

The key to gaining a deeper understanding of how China’s 

leaders would evaluate military campaigns is to gain greater access 

to China’s assessment criteria. Critical areas for future research 

include how Beijing intends to organize strategic leadership in 

wartime, establish a culminating point for victory, determine an exit 

strategy, and set a ceiling for acceptable costs.

INTRODUCTION

The purpose of this chapter is to assess what criteria, if any, 

China’s leadership is likely to use in measuring the effectiveness of 

military campaigns. In so doing, this chapter will address what we 

know about China’s measures of effectiveness (MOE) criteria; how 

these criteria compare to what we know about Western MOE criteria; 

where these criteria derive from, especially in terms of lessons the 

leadership has learned; and the potential for what we know about 

Chinese criteria to be based on deceptive or confusing information. 

I have only begun to “scratch the surface” of this vexing question. 

Hence, the findings in this chapter are inherently an “initial 

assessment.” In this context, this chapter will identify those factors 

that might erode the leadership’s ability to apply these assessment 

criteria in a future war. Finally, the chapter will identify information 

acquisition strategies and key topics and issues for future research. 

In examining this question, it is important to explicitly define 

what it is we are examining and the level of analysis at which we will 

operate. First, our focus will be on how the national-level leadership 

in China, defined as the senior-most Chinese Communist Party 

(CCP) and Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA) leaders, is likely 

to measure or evaluate the progression and outcome of operational 

military campaigns conducted by the PLA. This chapter does not 

examine how the PLA’s General Staff Department (GSD) or lowerlevel command headquarters are likely to measure the military 

effectiveness of campaigns.1

Second, we will be employing a relatively loose definition 

of the concept of a military campaign. We want to gain a better 

understanding of how China’s national-level leadership would 

evaluate the effectiveness of “major military actions” conducted 
255

at what the United States would consider to be the “operational 

level” of warfare. This definition is consistent, in my view, with 

China’s own definition of a military campaign representing “the 

principal means to achieve objectives in a war.”2 In so doing, I 

fully recognize that the execution of an “operational plan” by the 

Chinese may involve the conduct of several military campaigns 

(combat operations) simultaneously. However, I believe it would be 

more useful to focus on the general question of how Beijing3 would 

measure major military actions conducted at the operational level 

of war than to seek to examine how senior leaders would evaluate 

individual campaigns that derive from one operational plan. Put 

simply, we want to know how Beijing evaluates PLA operations 

that are progressing in the field and how it would assess whether 

the end-result of these operations is likely to constitute success or 

failure. 

METHODOLOGY

We face a number of fundamental challenges in seeking to identify 

and characterize the criteria China is likely to use in evaluating the 

effectiveness of operational military campaigns. These challenges 

are driven by:

• The lack of extensive research on the specific subject of how 

Beijing evaluates military campaigns;4

• The high likelihood that China, like other countries, seeks to 

conceal its assessment criteria from foreign view; 5

• Inherent limitations associated with various research 

strategies, to include case studies, in examining the four 

hundred or more campaigns the PLA has conducted since 

1927;6 and,

• The potential for study of this topic, which can be considered 

a subset of decisionmaking, to become subject to the 

same problems that have bedeviled the development of 

decisionmaking theory.7 
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SOURCE MATERIAL AND WORKING HYPOTHESIS

Given these issues, I have sought to “bound” research for this 

chapter by examining source material since the last major war for 

China (1979) that might shed light on how Beijing conceives of 

assessment criteria in the aftermath of the major and minor wars the 

CCP and PLA have fought since 1927. The primary sources examined 

include various Chinese language source documents providing 

potential indications of how the Chinese leadership conceives of 

the art of “strategic leadership.” In particular, I examined several 

doctrinal PLA publications developed by the PLA’s National Defense 

University (NDU) and its Academy of Military Science (AMS). Since 

China’s senior leadership is likely to be composed of both military 

and civilian leaders, I also examined information that derived from 

CCP organs. In so doing, I consulted several Chinese language 

publications or reports that emanate from the CCP’s Central Party 

School (CPS), various administrative organs of the CCP, as well as 

the CCP Constitution itself. In particular, I examined source material 

that outlined how the CCP currently conceives of the correct “stand, 

viewpoint, and method” for problem solving.8

The basic working hypothesis is that “framing effects” are likely 

to play a substantial role in shaping how the Chinese leadership 

defines a situation, calculates the merits of alternate courses of 

action, and ultimately measures the success or failure of the course it 

has chosen.9 The primary reason I chose this approach is my belief 

that there are several potential conditions in the Chinese leadership 

milieu conducive to the emergence of a common “framework” 

amongst Chinese leaders for how to assess military operations or 

other actions. These conditions include the role of history in shaping 

Chinese perceptions, the likely role of strategic culture in China’s 

national security realm, the existence of concepts of statecraft in 

China with ancient origins, the existence of “military science” in 

China’s military-strategic community, and the apparent efforts of 

the CCP historically to develop a “doctrine” for problem solving.10

WHAT WE KNOW AND WHY

The central question remains: what criteria are China’s leaders 

likely to use in evaluating military campaigns? The answer is that 
257

it is possible to identify and characterize how China’s leadership is 

likely to conceptualize and aspire to evaluate military campaigns in 

wartime. The Chinese rarely assert what their assessment criteria 

are in military writings on strategy, campaigns, strategic leadership, 

and various doctrinal party documents or statements, etc. The 

source material tapped thus far is certainly not exhaustive; however, 

it represents some of the more authoritative Chinese documents on 

strategic leadership, the study of campaigns or strategy, and military 

or party “doctrines” for problem solving methods. In reviewing 

these and other documents, there is little information that provides 

direct clues as to the Chinese leadership’s likely campaign-level 

MOE criteria. Two lone exceptions are a 1990 PLA NDU book on 

the fundamental art of operations and various public statements 

and articles by CCP CPS Vice President Zheng Bijian regarding the 

current “stand, viewpoint, and method” that Chinese leaders should 

employ in problem solving.

One reason we have so few indications of China’s assessment 

criteria may be that these criteria are purposely “hidden” from 

foreign, nonparty, or non-PLA observers. These criteria may 

exist in writing somewhere in an internal CCP or PLA document 

related to deliberate planning for military operations or wartime 

management by national-level leaders. Conceivably, the reason 

we have so few indications may also be that the current postMao and post-Deng Chinese leadership itself has never actually 

explicitly established what its criteria would be for measuring 

military campaigns in wartime. China has not been engaged in a 

war since 1979, and military affairs in China have been secondary to 

economic development for 2 decades. The focus of civilian leaders 

on military affairs, including potential wartime assessment and 

decisionmaking issues, is undoubtedly secondary or tertiary in 

nature. For example, an article in 1999 by Maj Gen Lu Haozhong, 

President of the PLA’s Second Artillery Command Institute, implied 

that the senior leadership has yet to establish what its criteria would 

be for approving the use of nuclear weapons.11 

It is therefore difficult for me to say with high confidence that we 

really “know” what China’s assessment criteria are for evaluating 

campaigns at this juncture. We face practical limitations in gaining 

access to internal information on Chinese assessment criteria or to 

information that Chinese leaders themselves have yet to consolidate. 
258

Nonetheless, I was able to uncover some information that sheds 

light on what China’s pre-planned assessment criteria might be or 

on the criteria that China’s leaders are likely to ultimately settle 

on when evaluating campaigns in wartime. In particular, there is 

one primary Chinese language source that provides unique insight 

regarding the specific criteria China’s leadership would use in 

measuring the effectiveness of operational military campaigns in 

wartime. Moreover, the main criterion identified in this military 

document is corroborated in the CCP’s own doctrine for problem 

solving, as outlined below. 

The Military Approach.

According to a 1990 PLA NDU text on the “Fundamental Art 

of Operations,” the art of command necessitates a “full appraisal” 

of the “values” of a campaign by the leadership when making 

campaign decisions, weighing alternate campaign plans, or gauging 

the success or failure of an operational campaign.12 The “true value” 

of the potential outcome of a campaign as well as its progress cannot 

be discerned by simply measuring its direct results. Instead, the 

value of a campaign is demonstrated by the following four “factors:”

• The direct military results of the campaign, defined in terms of 

the ability to annihilate the enemy’s effective combat strength, 

to include enemy personnel and weapons/equipment, or the 

capture or defense of a certain place;

• The impact of the campaign in question on China’s next 

strategic move, including follow-on PLA campaign 

operations;

• The impact of the campaign on the psychology, politics, 

economy, and internal personal relations of the enemy; and,

• The role of the campaign in enhancing, maintaining, or 

degrading the national leadership’s ability to grasp and 

control the “overall strategic situation.”13
259

This NDU textbook emphasizes that, as a matter of principle, a 

commanding officer should seize every opportunity to annihilate 

the enemy’s effective combat strength and to fight every battle that 

can lead to the enemy’s annihilation. Indeed “annihilation of the 

enemy means victory.” In addition, commanding officers, especially 

high-ranking ones, should also possess a “strategic consciousness.” 

This quality is of particular importance since the “real values” of a 

campaign are reflected in “its status and role in the overall situation 

of a war.”

These four criteria, despite their limited base of sourcing, provide 

the clearest evidence available to the author of China’s likely criteria 

for measuring the effectiveness of military campaigns. They provide 

a potentially useful tool for understanding how China’s leaders 

would evaluate the progression or outcome of a campaign. I will 

deliberately limit our assessment in this chapter to the last one of 

these four criteria. The first three are relatively easier to understand 

and explain. I am confident one could document their use in Chinese 

language material, based on references I have seen to these concepts 

in reading PLA doctrinal articles and other information.14 Moreover, 

this framework strongly points to the overall situation as being the 

most important MOE, and, therefore, the most important subject of 

analysis.

The Party Approach.

The credibility of the NDU textbook’s emphasis on the “overall 

strategic situation” as being the most important criterion is enhanced 

by the fact that the importance of this criterion is evident in the 

party’s own doctrine for solving problems in general. Article 34 of 

the CCP Constitution stipulates that “leading party cadres” at all 

levels must “strive to use the Marxist stand, viewpoint, and method 

to solve practical problems.”15 According to CCP CPS Vice President 

Zheng Bijian, the incorporation of Deng Xiaoping Theory into the 

CCP Constitution in 1997 has direct implications for the “stand, 

viewpoint, and method” and “world outlook” that CCP leaders 

should employ in solving contemporary problems.16 

Based on Deng Xiaoping Theory, the specific “stand, viewpoint, 

and method” for problem solving outlined by Zheng is captured by 

the following eight Chinese characters: Overall Situation (Daju), Test 
260

(Kaoyan), Opportunity (Jiyu), and Confidence (Xinxin).17 Without 

examining this formula at length in this chapter, the concept of “test” 

in essence involves how Beijing assesses a situation; “opportunity” 

is a short-hand term for how Beijing would weigh the subjective 

strategic advantages or disadvantages and the objective material 

gains or losses associated with a course of action; and “confidence” 

is a short-hand explanation for the “calculations in the temple” that 

Beijing would conduct before a major action to “assure victory” 

beforehand. This process of assessment and calculation would 

include assessing the strategic configuration of power Beijing 

is operating in, assuming the appropriate posture (disposition), 

establishing a feasible war aim, and adopting the appropriate 

resolve.18 According to Zheng Bijian and other CCP officials, 

the party’s ability to “grasp” and “control” the overall situation 

is the most important criterion. As Zheng explained it once, the 

implication of China’s current international and domestic situation 

is that “every issue of major or principled importance is in the final 

analysis, related to our view of the overall situation in contemporary 

China and the world.”19

In this context, a key question to answer is what does China’s 

leadership really mean when they refer to the importance of the party 

“grasping” and “controlling” the “overall strategic situation” in both 

military and nonmilitary contexts. The answer is that a simple key 

word search on the terms “overall situation” or the “overall strategic 

situation” reveals that the Chinese have a relatively well-thought 

out definition of what is required to maintain control of the overall 

situation.20 Essentially, China’s party and military establishments 

emphasize the importance of controlling the overall situation as the 

most fundamental way of coping with an immediate challenge or 

“test” within the context of China’s complex domestic situation and 

vast geopolitical circumstances.21 These conditions create several 

local, regional, departmental, factional, and personal interests that, if 

not properly managed, work to erode the senior leadership’s ability 

to base decisions and strategy on a comprehensive understanding of 

China’s “national interest.” 

Hence, one of the challenges for Chinese leaders in making 

decisions and measuring the success of a strategy is the need to take 

steps to “checkmate” these subnational interests, thereby ensuring 
261

that China’s “national interests” prevail.22 As Deng Xiaoping once 

described it, whether or not the CCP controls the overall strategic 

situation cannot be assessed from the perspective of a small number 

of people or from the perspective of these “local” or subnational 

interests. Deng advocated using the concept of the “overall strategic 

situation” and the “interests of the majority of the people” when 

judging if policies are “correct” and in determining the degree to 

which they are correct. Specifically, Deng stated that “we should 

frequently take 90 percent as the standard and see whether or not 

they [a policy] represent 90 percent of the people and whether or not 

they are supported by the people.”23 The author doubts that Deng’s 

call for using “90 percent as the standard” signifies an interest 

in basing CCP decisions on a solid majority of political support 

from the Chinese population. Undoubtedly, the judgment as to 

whether 90 percent of Chinese society supported a policy would 

be made by senior CCP leaders. Nonetheless, Deng’s comments 

underscore the extent to which the Chinese leadership’s approach 

to problem solving involves an active effort to “check-mate” various 

subnational interests that could influence China’s policies in ways 

that may not accord with China’s national interests or the interests of 

senior CCP leaders. These subnational interests include the desires 

of individual leaders, “factions” in the party or military, the interests 

of various “xitongs” in China (to include the foreign affairs, PLA, 

and economic establishments), regional interests in China (inland or 

coastal provinces), or county-level or lower “local” groups. The risk 

of these interests pursuing “subnational” interests at the expense of 

the national interest is compounded by the pervasive influence of 

corruption in Chinese society, especially elite circles.

Research on China’s concept of grasping and controlling the 

overall situation reveals that China’s leaders are likely to use four 

specific sub-criteria when evaluating whether a military campaign is 

enhancing, eroding, or maintaining Beijing’s control of the “overall 

situation.” 

• The extent to which the senior leadership maintains “strong 

central authority” to include absolute control of the PLA.24

• The extent to which a “common understanding” exists 
262

between CCP leaders, between the party and the PLA, and 

between the party and the Chinese population; and the extent 

to which national unity is maintained in a large society with 

multiple ethnic groups (56 total groups);25

• The extent to which the party and nation is able to maintain 

“momentum” behind the country’s top priority task — 

which is generally defined as either continued development 

of comprehensive national power or the maintenance 

or enhancement of a favorable position in the strategic 

configuration of power, depending on the degree of foreign 

or internal threat to China’s interests;26

• Finally, the extent to which the leadership is able to 

simultaneously maintain an appropriate “center of gravity” 

between several objectives in its military-strategic calculus.27

With this formula as a baseline, further research reveals 

that Chinese leaders are likely to define the sub-criteria they 

would evaluate in assessing whether the progression or 

results of a military campaign enable Beijing to maintain a 

“center of gravity” in its China’s military-strategic calculus. 

This calculus can be broadly defined as comprising four 

distinct elements:

• The defeat of any specific challenge to China’s sovereignty 

and territorial integrity;28

• The deterrence or limitation of foreign military 

intervention in any war between China and a third 

party;

• The containment and repression of any internal sources 

of domestic instability or civil unrest; and,

• The ability to defend Chinese interests, territory, and 

sovereignty against challenge on secondary fronts along 

China’s periphery.
263

From the Chinese perspective, a central task in China’s 

military-strategic calculus is the need to meet these four objectives 

simultaneously. An illustrative example of this calculus in Chinese 

thinking is the following quote from an AMS doctrinal chapter on 

Strategic Command and Support. In describing the importance 

of stipulating the basic attack orientation when making a strategic 

decision, this chapter emphasized the following:

The basic orientation is the focus of the struggle between the 

enemy and us and the center of gravity for the use of force, and it 

determines the combat situation and the development of the war. 

Whether or not we can check a war of aggression launched against 

us by an enemy, with simultaneous threats from two or multiple 

enemies, or whether or not when we find ourselves in a combat 

environment with two or multiple fronts we can deal forcefully 

with the primary enemy, or whether or not in a defensive war we 

can break through the enemy’s offensive, or whether or not in a 

offensive war or strategic offensive we can defeat the enemy fairly 

smoothly, are all closely related to the determination of the basis 

attack orientation, and strategic commanders must pay particular 

attention to doing a good job of resolving this issue, which is of 

decisive significance.”29

COMPARISON TO WESTERN CRITERIA

It is important to understand where this Chinese approach to 

assessment criteria fits in relationship to what we know about the 

approach of other nation’s elites to measuring military effectiveness.30

In particular, this initial understanding of China’s MOEs enables us 

to gauge how China’s assessment criteria might be different from 

Western or U.S. approaches to measuring operational success. Is 

China’s focus on the leadership’s subjective assessment of the 

impact of a military campaign on the party’s ability to control the 

overall strategic situation similar to or different from the approach 

of Western leaders to evaluating the success of military operations?

 The basic answer to this question is that China’s campaign-level 

assessment criteria are markedly different from the approach that 

Western leaders tend to take to evaluating military campaigns. As 

with the case of China, much work needs to be done in developing 

a more in-depth understanding of Western assessment criteria. 

Based on a preliminary review of some of the work that has been 
264

completed, China’s approach to evaluating military campaigns 

contrasts with the tendency of Western leaders to weigh military 

success in terms of dominant quantitative indicators, to include 

weapons and equipment destroyed, personnel killed in action, and 

public approval ratings. 

Scott Gartner’s recent study of strategic assessment in war (see 

endnote 5) examined four case studies: British decisionmaking on 

anti-submarine operations in World War I and World War II; U.S. 

decisionmaking regarding the ground strategy in the Vietnam War; 

how the U.S. Army and Marines evaluated success in the Vietnam 

War; and U.S. decisionmaking in the Iranian hostage rescue attempt 

in 1979. In all cases, national-level leaders relied primarily on socalled “dominant quantitative indicators” when deciding how a 

war or campaign was going and whether a change in strategy was 

necessary. In some cases, these dominant quantitative indicators 

were “battlefield indicators” (tonnage of Allied shipping lost, number 

of U-Boats sunk, destruction and construction of Allied merchant 

shipping, enemy or allied personnel killed in action, enemy weapons 

captured, or the impact of an operation on quantitative indicators of 

social stability in Vietnam). In one case (the Iranian hostage crisis), 

the dominant quantitative indicator was public approval ratings 

for the U.S. President. In all of these cases, changes in strategy 

were prompted by sudden, accelerating changes in the dominant 

indicators used as assessment criteria.31 Essentially, national-level 

leaders changed their strategy if the dominant indicators suggested 

that the war or strategy was “going bad” and the rate of performance 

was decreasing at an increasingly rapid rate.

The main difference between China’s approach to evaluating 

campaigns and the approach of U.S. and British leaders is the clearcut tendency in the Chinese approach for using subjective measures 

vice quantitative indicators of performance. It is conceivable that 

the Chinese may rely on specific quantitative indicators (public 

opinion polls, force exchanges, and economic performance figures, 

etc.) when making conclusions about the desired level of central 

authority, party solidarity, national unity, strategic momentum, and 

balance in China’s military posture. For example, China’s criteria 

for measuring the direct results of a campaign include gauging 

the extent to which PLA actions are annihilating or paralyzing the 

enemy’s effective combat strength. These measures clearly can, and 
265

probably are gauged by using quantitative indicators, to include 

weapons and equipment destroyed or personnel killed in action. 

However, I judge that the Chinese are likely to rely primarily 

on qualitative, subjective assessments when making conclusions 

about military performance in war. The use of specific quantitative 

indicators is likely to be secondary in nature, given the traditional 

emphasis in Chinese strategic culture on the battle of “wits, wisdom, 

and strategy” being more decisive in determining war outcomes 

than actual engagements between opposing military forces. Indeed, 

senior leaders in China’s military operations research community 

frequently lament the limited use of their various analytic tools and 

research results by national-level leaders.32

LESSONS LEARNED

One of the primary reasons that China’s leaders use different 

assessment criteria is that the Chinese have a number of powerful 

internal sources of strategic culture and approach to warfare.33 To be 

sure, the Chinese readily admit that they study how other nation’s 

approach international security affairs, to include grand strategy, 

in an effort to enhance their own approach to issues of strategy, 

security, and national development.34 However, I have been able to 

identify and characterize seven distinct sources of strategic thought 

that can be traced to China’s emphasis on the “overall situation” 

as the key measure of success in evaluating military campaigns. 

Only one of these sources, Marxist-Leninist Thought, can be traced 

to foreign roots. Lacking an extensive role for foreign sources and 

outlets in shaping how China’s leadership intends to evaluate 

military campaigns in wartime, it should not be surprising that 

China’s assessment criteria are different from those employed by the 

West. The role of these seven sources in shaping China’s assessment 

criteria is outlined below.35 Each of these sources has taught China’s 

leadership key “lessons” regarding the important of the overall 

situation as the main criterion.

Ancient Battles.

According to an official, authoritative PLA source on wartime 

strategies, one known “law of war” currently taught to PLA officers 
266

is the concept that “in dealing with strategy and campaigns, and the 

relationship of battles over time, the important thing is to execute 

campaigns and battles on the basis of the overall strategic situation,

thereby having campaigns and battles become part of the overall 

strategic situation.”36 The example that this PLA document cites 

as the first instance when the Chinese learned the importance of 

the overall strategic situation was the struggle between Liu Bang 

(founder of the Han Dynasty) and Xiang Yu (Liu’s chief rival) during 

the formative period of the Han Dynasty (202 BC) after the fall of the 

Qin Dynasty.37 

The reason the Chinese believe this struggle is such an important 

event in military history is that it reveals how it is possible to emerge 

victorious in war when operating from a position of inferiority and 

despite having lost multiple battles prior to the last one. Essentially, 

this struggle teaches that the inferior can defeat the superior provided 

the inferior side has a “comparatively more strategic mindset.” 

Based on NDU’s account in 2000, Xiang Yu was defeated because he 

lacked long-range overall strategic planning for the entire war. He 

pursued lots of “big battles” with “definite blindness” even when 

he won these battles. Xiang failed in “taking these battle victories 

with the overall strategic situation and tying them together.” From 

the perspective of the overall strategic situation, Xiang “again and 

again took unwise actions.” In contrast, Liu Bang was “proficient at 

inferior strength,” had a tendency to “plan the overall arrangement, 

and thus form a “strategically decisive strong approach, finally 

going through a decisive campaign operation to being victorious 

in the war.” In the end, Liu maneuvered Xiang into a “death trap,” 

and, when finally cornered, Xiang slit his own throat.38

Marxist-Leninist Thought.

The Chinese Communist Party subscribes to the viewpoint 

that Marxist-Leninist philosophy provides a scientific worldview 

and method for understanding the relationship between things.39

In particular, materialist dialectics holds that regardless of which 

thing one is trying to understand, it should be viewed as comprising 

a “whole,” that is, a sum total of all aspects, relationships, and 

elements within the thing, which should be viewed as the “parts” 

of the “whole.” In this context, the parts and whole constitute 
267

an important pair of philosophical categories that have universal 

applicability in understanding the “complex links” between things 

and the process of developing things. According to this line of 

reasoning, it is impossible to understand and grasp specific aspects, 

relationships, or elements of a thing without proceeding from the 

links of the whole “entirety” of a thing. 

The Chinese believe that Marxist-Leninist dialectics, including 

the relationship between the parts and whole has applicability in 

understanding warfare.40 Specifically, Chairman Mao Zedong has 

pointed out that “any war situation which acquires a comprehensive 

consideration of its various aspects and stages forms a war situation 

as a whole.”41 More recently, then-PLA GSD Chief General Fu 

Quanyou stated that “in order to direct a future high technology 

local war, the army guidance for war should adhere [in part] to both 

historical materialism and dialectical materialism and uphold the 

Marxist view on wars and the Marxist military dialectics.”42 

The practical implication of this emphasis on dialectics and 

understanding the relationship between the “part” and the “whole” 

in wartime is that it places a premium on the national leadership 

“reducing blindness” and “short-term actions” in decisionmaking 

by basing those decisions “on the overall situation” and on “seeing 

the interests of the whole as higher than everything else.” At the 

same time, this emphasis on the whole should lead to a solid 

understanding of the role and importance of each “part” of the 

overall war situation. The analogy used is to equate warfare with 

chess in the sense that one wrong move can lead to the entire game 

being lost. According to this analogy, that one wrong move was a 

“part” that had “decisive significance for the whole situation.”43

The effect of these concepts on how Beijing is likely to evaluate 

military campaigns in wartime is that they have led the Chinese to 

define military campaigns as actions that are best gauged in terms of 

their impact on the overall strategic situation. As the AMS describes 

it,“strategy is a whole, and campaigns and combat actions are 

parts.”44 According to the dialectic logic of the whole and the part, if 

a local operation (campaign) is feasible, based on an understanding 

of the local situation, but not feasible in the overall situation, “the 

partial must be subordinated to the overall.” Conversely, if the local 

command does not believe a campaign is feasible, but the central 

leadership believes it should be conducted in the interest of the 
268

“overall situation,” then the interests of the “partial” (i.e., the local 

commander) must subordinate itself to the “overall situation” by 

implementing the campaign as directed from higher authorities.45 

This logic manifests itself in recent PLA commentary on 

the relationship between campaigns and the overall situation. 

According to the PLA NDU’s 1999 textbook, On Military Campaigns, 

one characteristic of a campaign is that it “carries out the task given in 

consideration with the overall situation of a war.”46 The PLA NDU’s 

2000 book, Science of Strategy, also stipulates that campaigns must be 

carried out, “according to the requirements of the overall wartime 

situation.”47 In future, high-tech local wars, this close linkage between 

a campaign and the overall situation of a war will become even more 

pronounced. “It may just take one or a few campaigns to end a war.” 

In this context, it is possible for a campaign to be aimed at achieving 

local “and even the overall objectives of a war.”48 From retired AMS 

Vice Commandant Lieutenant General Mi Zhenyu’s perspective, 

“in a local war, every campaign, and even every battle, may have 

a direct bearing on the overall situation. Therefore, there will be 

more occasions in which the strategic commander finds himself 

directly involved in guiding a campaign or even an important 

battle.”49 While some of this thinking reflects Chinese perceptions 

of the nature of high-technology local war in the modern period, to 

include improvements in modern telecommunications capabilities 

that support the command and control of military operations, this 

thinking has its roots in Marxist-Leninist thought, which the Chinese 

have incorporated in developing their own notions of “military 

dialectics.”50

Maoist Military Thinking.

A third source of China’s emphasis on the “overall strategic 

situation,” would be Chairman Mao Zedong and his thinking on 

military-strategic matters. The AMS’s recent publication, Science of 

Strategy, defines the concept of strategy itself as being “the planning 

and guidance for the overall situation of war.”51 This definition is 

based on an earlier definition of strategy that Mao articulated in 

his 1936 article, “The Strategic Issues in the Chinese Revolutionary 

War.” From Mao’s perspective, “as far as there is war, there is 

the overall situation of war. The whole world can be the overall 
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situation of war; a country can be the overall situation of a war; a 

dependent guerilla district and a major and independent operational 

front can also be the overall situation of a war. All the things that 

have the nature of taking care of all aspects and all phases are the 

overall situation of war.”

Mao also articulated the concept of a “campaign” existing 

in-between strategy and tactics. He pointed out that there were 

“internal objective rules” within strategy, that were not the product 

of subjective will, which led strategy to focus on the overall 

situation instead of any concrete answer to any local issue.52 Mao 

believed it was essential for both the top commander and the “battle 

commanders” and “tactical commanders” to possess a certain degree 

of understanding of the “overall situation in a war.”53 From Mao’s 

perspective, “knowing the entire situation would facilitate the use of 

its parts. Because the parts constitute the whole.”54

Chinese military strategists point to Mao’s emphasis on the 

overall situation as being one of the primary factors driving Mao to 

adopt a strategy of conducting a protracted war against the Japanese 

that would pass through three phases: strategic defense, stalemate, 

and strategic counteroffensive.55 From this perspective, Mao selected 

this strategy based on his assessment that China was operating from 

a position of inferiority (as far as “numbers” were concerned) in the 

overall situation, especially in the balance of power with Japan. Mao 

also assessed that in every local area, and in every specific operation, 

China possessed conditions in which it could establish “absolute 

superiority.” In this context, Mao advocated avoiding a “battle of 

attrition” in favor of a protracted war strategy of mobile warfare 

supplemented by guerilla and positional warfare. Mao calculated 

that “as time goes on” we will gradually “gain superiority in the 

overall situation” until we reach a point where we can conduct a 

strategic counteroffensive and eventually defeat the enemy’s war 

aim.56

For practical purposes, we will limit our examination of Mao’s 

command practices to this one example. Nonetheless, a fuller 

examination of Mao’s military writings and behavior probably 

would find more instances in which Mao explicitly used the concept 

of the “overall strategic situation.” The bottom line is that Mao 

clearly emphasized the critical importance of the senior leadership 

understanding and seeking to control the “overall war situation. 
270

According to the new AMS Science of Strategy book, Mao firmly 

believed that “The commander should know the entire war effort. 

The success or failure of the war could be determined by whether 

attention was paid to the entire front.”57 In this context, it seems 

a logical conclusion that Mao was a strong advocate of measuring 

military campaigns in the context of their impact on the overall 

situation.

Lessons from the War with Japan.

Chinese military strategists point to at least three examples in 

the War of Resistance Against Japan (1937-45) in which they learned 

direct lessons regarding the importance of the “overall situation” as 

the main criterion for judging the effectiveness of war strategies or 

campaign operations. The first lesson concerned the fact that the 

CCP and the Kuomintang (KMT) pursued different war strategies 

towards Japan resulting in two diametrically different results. 

According to the PLA’s own interpretation of the war, the CCP 

followed a “policy of conducting guerilla warfare but not letting up 

efforts to conduct mobile warfare under favorable conditions, and 

led the people’s armed forces in conducting guerilla warfare behind 

enemy lines, opening large liberated area battlefields” and achieving 

favorable results in war. In contrast, “the KMT followed a policy of 

passive defense, and was not only unable to effectively strike at the 

enemy, but also forced to stay in a passive position, thus suffering 

repeated serious setbacks on frontal battlefields.” From the PLA’s 

perspective, the clear lesson of this situation is that “whether the 

strategic policy is correct or not will have a fundamental impact on 

the overall situation in a war.”58

The second example they cite is the so-called Long March in 

which the Central Workers and Peasants Red Army initially decided 

to go to western Hunan to join up forces with the 2nd and 6th Field 

Armies. Based on various military moves by Chiang Kai-shek’s 

main force and other forces, Mao Zedong analyzed the situation and 

proposed abandoning or changing original plans on four separate 

occasions. Given that the Long March was ultimately successful, 

Chinese strategists point to Mao’s assessment and changed plans as 

an example where “timely and ongoing accurate assessment of the 

war situation, looking at the overall situation and knowing when to 
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change and being adept at doing so, enable our forces to continue 

to extricate themselves from dangerous situations and gaining the 

initiative in the strategic transition” of the war.59 China’s strategists 

are also known to cite the Long March as an example in which the 

massive objective material costs of a major military action (the PLA 

lost more than 90 percent of its personnel and much of its equipment 

during this strategic retreat), were ultimately worth it. In their view, 

the end result of the Long March was strategically advantageous in 

the sense that the CCP and PLA avoided military defeat in central 

China and were better positioned to fight both the Japanese and the 

KMT afterwards. Although I do not have a reference to the “overall 

situation” logic handy, this situation is another example of where 

the Chinese could argue that the “part” (i.e., the 90 percent who 

died) had to subjugate its interests to the “whole.”60

The third lesson the Chinese draw from the War of Resistance 

Against Japan regarding the “overall situation” is the critical 

importance of the senior leader assessing the situation and basing 

his or her judgments on an understanding of the overall situation. 

During this war, there were 19 different liberated areas created. 

From the Chinese perspective, it was not necessarily inevitable that 

the war would be won, especially because, due to communication 

and transportation problems, the leaders in each liberated area did 

not have a “sense of the overall situation.” Hence, they turned for 

guidance to the CCP Central Committee, and victory can be directly 

attributed to Mao Zedong’s wise leadership and guidance to each 

liberated area, according to the Chinese.61

Lessons from the Chinese Civil War.

Given the rich history of the Chinese Civil War, there undoubtedly 

are multiple situations in which Chinese strategists have learned 

lessons regarding the importance of measuring success or failure in 

terms of the overall situation. For practical purposes, however, I will 

limit our analysis to one specific campaign that the Chinese point 

to as a “textbook” example of the importance of weighing military 

campaigns in the context of the “overall strategic situation.”

The specific campaign the Chinese cite as an example of the 

importance of weighing the consequences of a local action in terms 

of the overall situation, in both military and civilian circles, is the 
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Dabieshan campaign of the summer of 1947 and early 1948.62 In CCP 

and PLA history, this campaign is considered a critical victory in the 

civil war because the Liu-Deng Army made a strategic advance that 

enabled the PLA to hold an important location, despite significant 

costs and losses, a move that played a crucial role in enabling the 

PLA to “gain strategic momentum and obtain overall victory” in the 

war.63

Under Mao’s guidance, the Liu-Deng (Liu Bocheng-Deng 

Xiaoping) Army deployed in June 1947 on a 1,000 li march 

(approximately 335 miles) with the goal of occupying and holding 

the Dabieshan mountain area in central China.64 Both Mao and 

Deng calculated there would be serious costs associated with this 

move, but Mao believed that “paying the price and holding the 

position” would constitute victory. After the Liu-Deng Army 

reached Dabieshan, they essentially drew a massive encirclement 

and suppression campaign by KMT forces, in which more than 50 

percent of Chiang Kai-shek’s forces along the southern route were 

located in the Central Plains area. 

In order to defeat this campaign, Deng divided his force into 

two commands, and dispatched one force, led by Liu Bocheng to 

the Huabei area while operating behind enemy lines. The Central 

Military Commission dispatched the Chen-Xie Army to exert 

pressure on Wuhan, thereby relieving some of the pressure on the 

Deng-led Army in Dabieshan. However, Deng advised the central 

leadership that his Army could hold out longer, despite having 

already suffered several months of intense enemy pressure. Deng 

argued that doing so would draw the enemy force around it so that 

other PLA units could launch a counter-attack against KMT forces. 

In the end, Deng’s advice was adopted, and his Army was able to 

hold out, despite being a solitary force behind enemy lines with no 

support force nearby and no way to receive additional supplies. The 

successful defense of the Dabieshan area enabled the Liu Bocheng 

forces at Huaibei and the Chen-Su and Chen-Xie Armies to score 

major victories in attacking KMT forces in the Central Plains area.

The direct implication of this example for our subject is that both 

Deng and other CCP leaders, including Mao Zedong, consider it a 

textbook case of a partial local interest (i.e., the Dabieshan campaign 

force led by Deng Xiaoping) successfully subordinating itself to 

the interest of the CCP and the PLA as a whole in a way that had a 
273

fundamental strategic impact on the overall situation in the war. In 

an important speech after the campaign, Deng Xiaoping outlined how 

“many comrades” mistakenly viewed the situation from the “partial 

situation at Dabieshan” and concluded, based on a “pessimistic 

mood,” that the situation was extremely serious.65 In contrast, 

Deng outlined how he used dialectics to proceed from the overall 

situation, to conclude that whether the Dabieshan counteroffensive 

was a success or failure “can only be fully understood by properly 

calculating the accounts.” This calculation involved comparing 

the number of troops eliminated on both sides and assessing the 

state of the war in several different national areas. According to 

Chinese accounts, Deng’s use of the method of “doing the accounts” 

directly, clearly, and powerfully showed the importance of looking 

at questions from the overall situation.66

China’s Geopolitical Situation.

China’s geopolitical situation also shapes the emphasis placed by 

the Chinese on the need to grasp and control the so-called “overall 

strategic situation.” China has 22,143 kilometers of land boundary 

and 14,500 kilometers of coastline and claims 3 million square 

kilometers of ocean territory. The security of China’s land borders, 

coastline, and offshore islands historically has been difficult to 

maintain because of the vast size of its periphery and the traditional 

inadequacies in Chinese military power. The implication of this 

geopolitical situation historically, according to the PLA AMS, has 

been that China’s leaders have faced a “hard issue” in “choosing 

the direction of strategic defense.” In particular, there has been a 

traditional debate in China over the primary importance of “sea 

defense” or “fort defense” in determining the strategic deployment 

of armed forces.67 

This hard choice regarding strategic deployment has created 

tension between two competing “principles of strategic action” in 

Chinese military-strategic thought: “correctly setting a primary 

strategic direction” or “looking after the whole situation and 

grasping the center of strategy.”68 Chinese strategic thought clearly 

emphasizes that correctly setting a primary strategic direction is 

the “foremost problem that strategic planning and guidance must 

solve.”69 The Chinese define the primary strategic direction as the 
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“key point of the overall situation” and the “standardized direction 

for centralized employment of strategic forces.” Failure to set a 

primary strategic direction that goals, forces, and means can be 

organized around in time and space results in military forces and 

strategic means becoming “loose sands.” In contrast, setting a 

primary strategic direction enables your side to concentrate forces 

for deployment and form a favorable strategic posture in important 

combat directions, either offensive or defensive. 

According to the AMS, in China’s “complicated international 

strategic setup and peripheral security environment,” it is imperative 

for the strategic commander to “grasp the major contradiction 

affecting our national security and determine the main opponent 

and principal threat to security.” In particular, “when there are two 

or more directions under deterrence, he should separate the good 

one from the bad one and make a distinction between the primary 

and secondary strategic direction.” Doing so will enable the strategic 

commander to “raise the actions in this direction to the height of the 

overall situation,” thereby creating opportunities to “smoothly push 

forward the whole war situation.”70

In this context, while Chinese strategic thought defines correctly 

setting a primary strategic direction as the “foremost problem that 

strategic planning and guidance must solve,” it also asserts that 

the “most essential issue related to success or failure of the war” is 

whether the strategic commander can “control the whole situation 

and look after all parts therein to generate strategic value for the 

actions of all parts in the whole situation.”71 A key challenge for the 

strategic commander in looking after “all parts” is the need to grasp 

what the Chinese define as the “center of strategy (schwerpunkt).” 

This center of strategy is a changeable, unfixed part of the whole 

whose success or failure will affect the fundamental interests of the 

whole situation. It is essentially the “focal point of confrontation and 

struggle between the two belligerent sides,” and there is only one 

strategic center in a given time and space. Given that the Chinese 

assume each period, war, and strategic stage has its own situation, 

the “strategic center” of a war can change. The strategic commander 

must therefore be good at adjusting to this change. From the Chinese 

perspective, a “change in the ratio of forces between two belligerent 

sides is the fundamental base to transform the strategic center.”72

Based on the logic in footnote 30 above, China’s geopolitical 
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situation has probably been a primary factor shaping the emphasis 

of Chinese strategic thought on setting a primary strategic direction, 

grasping the relationship between the parts (i.e., campaigns 

and stages) of the war effort and the “overall situation,” and on 

understanding and adapting to changes in the estimated strategic 

center of the war. Essentially, the Chinese are likely to measure the 

extent to which a military campaign is achieving China’s objectives 

in a primary or secondary strategic direction, the impact of this 

campaign on the leadership’s estimate of the “strategic center” in 

the war, and whether the progression or outcome of a campaign 

conducted along one strategic direction necessitates a reevaluation 

of Beijing’s judgment regarding what strategic directions should be 

primary or secondary in nature. 

One gets the sense that before, during, and after a campaign, the 

strategic leadership or its subordinates would view it as necessary 

to constantly assess the “strategic center” in the war to determine if 

Beijing has struck the right balance in apportioning resources to the 

war effort along various strategic directions. Given that every war 

that China has been engaged in since 1949 has involved two-front 

war situations for the leadership to consider, it would be interesting 

to see if case studies of leadership decisionmaking during these wars 

uncovered evidence of Chinese calculations regarding the “strategic 

center,” determining the primary and secondary strategic directions 

in the war, and the degree of leadership confidence in its ability to be 

engaged on two fronts simultaneously.73

China’s Domestic Context.

China’s domestic context undoubtedly shapes how Beijing is 

likely to evaluate a military campaign’s impact on the leadership’s 

ability to control the overall strategic situation. According to CCP 

CPS Vice President Zheng Bijian, the CCP draws a fundamental 

distinction between the “fundamental importance” of the “overall 

domestic situation” in comparison to the “overall international 

situation,” which is mainly viewed in terms of its influence on the 

domestic situation. From Zheng’s perspective, China has never in 

its history embarked on a modernization drive as extensive as the 

current one. Its ability to withstand and resist risks is limited because 

it has many weaknesses, to include the existence of “competing 
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schools of thought” regarding the appropriate “world outlook” for 

China.74

This emphasis on the fundamental importance of the overall 

domestic situation is reflected in the subcriteria that the CCP 

apparently use in defining its ability to “grasp” and “control” the 

overall strategic situation. Of these four subcriteria, three address 

issues that are primarily internal in nature, whereas the fourth 

addresses China’s military-strategic calculus. The first and second 

subcriteria deal with the issues of CCP central authority, party 

solidarity among CCP leaders, and national unity inside China. The 

third subcriterion — momentum in China’s central task — deals, in 

part, with China’s economic development program, which is crucial 

to China’s effort to maintain internal stability. Moreover, China’s 

military-strategic calculus places a premium on the leadership’s 

ability to simultaneously balance a number of objectives, to include 

containing domestic instability and civil unrest. Finally, when 

describing the characteristics that a leadership should possess in 

order to control the overall strategic situation, the Chinese emphasize 

the need for a “political outlook” and a need to “maintain political 

sensitivity,” since “public feelings affect the overall situation.”75

The implication of this domestic factor for how Beijing is likely to 

evaluate military campaigns is two-fold. First, prior to the initiation 

of any campaign, it appears that the leadership would probably 

make assessments regarding the impact of a military campaign 

on the CCP’s ability to uphold central authority, party solidarity, 

national unity, and momentum in the nation’s central task and to 

contain domestic instability and civil unrest. In theory, fundamental 

concerns regarding the extent to which a military campaign would 

erode the leadership’s ability to maintain any of these conditions 

would be a factor prompting the leadership towards foregoing or 

delaying a military campaign.

Once a war is underway, the leadership is likely to also assess 

whether a campaign’s progression or outcome has maintained or 

eroded its ability to maintain any of these domestic conditions. 

Should the campaign be viewed by leaders as working to erode its 

ability to maintain these conditions, this would, in theory, increase 

pressures on the leadership to end a campaign, scale-back original 

war aims, or find some nonmilitary solution to the war. Moreover, 

the extent to which the end result of a campaign has eroded the 
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leadership’s ability to maintain these conditions is likely to shape 

leadership perceptions of whether a campaign should be viewed as 

a success, even if the campaign achieved clear-cut favorable results 

on the battlefield, strategically, or in impacting the internal political 

situation for the enemy.

Finally, the domestic political impact of a military campaign could 

also be one factor pushing the Chinese leadership towards initiating 

a war, or a military campaign, or otherwise continuing a military 

campaign despite poor results on the battlefield. The prospects for 

such a situation would be greatest if the leadership calculates that a 

military campaign or its progression is likely to enhance the party’s 

ability to maintain central authority, party solidarity, national unity, 

and momentum in the nation’s central task or to contain domestic 

sources of instability and civil unrest. For example, a recent study 

of eight historical cases in which the Chinese used armed force since 

1949 has concluded that Beijing’s use of force always served the 

purpose of domestic mobilization. Both Mao and post-Mao leaders 

“fully understood that the tension created by an international crisis 

provided them with the best means to call the whole nation to act 

in accordance with the CCP’s terms and will.”76 Moreover, in their 

evaluation of the effect of China’s use of force, Beijing’s leaders “put 

more emphasis on whether or not the military action promoted the 

Communist regime’s legitimacy [internally] than on the material 

losses China suffered on the battlefield (such as heavy casualties 

on the battlefield, and the emphasis on using resources for military 

purposes at the expense of economic reconstruction).” 

POTENTIAL DECEPTION OR CONFUSION?77

It is prudent and necessary to ask the question of whether our 

understanding of China’s assessment criteria is based on deceptive 

or confusing information. The criteria and subcriteria identified 

and characterized seem rational in nature. Perhaps these are the 

assessment criteria that China wants us to believe, given that, as Sun 

Tzu asserts, “all warfare is based on deception.”78 Closely related to 

this question, we also need to ask ourselves whether these assessment 

criteria actually yield insight on China’s likely thinking or whether 

we are simply “confusing ourselves” in using this information.79 

At this juncture, I believe there are two areas where we would risk 
278

deceiving or confusing ourselves if we are not careful in relying on 

these assessment criteria in seeking to understand China’s calculus. 

The first would be the potential for the term “overall situation” to 

mislead many Western readers regarding China’s relative priorities 

in wartime. In various public statements, the Chinese often define the 

overall situation as “peace and development” or “regional peace and 

development,” which are the terms they use to define their current 

assessment of the international strategic environment (i.e., peace is 

the “trend of the times,” and development is the primary focus of 

most powers).80 In many of these same statements, they also use this 

term to describe an emphasis by Chinese leaders on “looking ahead” 

and placing immediate problems or issues within the broader context 

of China’s long-term interests as well as its self-described interest in 

global or regional stability. Moreover, the Chinese have developed 

an almost ritualistic emphasis on encouraging U.S. policymakers to 

“take the overall situation into account” when conducting bilateral 

relations. In so doing, this theme usually is accompanied by other 

themes that involve pressures on the United States to overlook 

or downplay various contentious issues in U.S.-China bilateral 

relations, especially related to controversial Chinese behavior in the 

human rights, proliferation, trade, and security arenas.81

In this context, there is a risk that emphasizing a Chinese 

propensity to evaluate military campaigns in the context of the 

overall strategic situation will convey unintentionally to readers 

that China is likely to weigh campaigns broadly, by only gauging 

the impact on China’s long-term interest, self-professed stake in 

international stability, and stable bilateral relationships with many 

other powers, especially the United States. In reality, China’s 

emphasis on weighing the direction and outcome of military affairs 

in the context of the “overall strategic situation” is primarily geared 

towards criteria that are largely internal in nature or focused squarely 

on China’s own position in a regional military balance. The relative 

importance of global or regional stability or on specific bilateral 

relations with foreign powers is clearly secondary or tertiary in 

importance. Hence, there is no inherently inevitable likelihood that 

China will forego, curtail, or limit military campaigns if it believes 

the progression or outcome of a campaign would erode regional 

stability or China’s relationship with a foreign power.

Second, the critical importance of “maintaining momentum in the 
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nation’s central task” in peace or war can be easily misunderstood 

if one “straight-line” projects China’s current approach to the 

“central task” in a wartime scenario. Since 1978, China’s leadership 

has clearly prioritized economic development as the central task 

of the party and nation in developing comprehensive national 

power, based on an assumption that China is likely to face a 

generally peaceful security environment for the foreseeable future. 

Hence, many foreign observers of China are likely to assume that 

economics would be China’s top priority, even in wartime. The 

practical implication of such an assumption is that it would suggest 

that economics would work as a “restraining factor” in the Chinese 

leadership’s risk and cost calculus in wartime.

However, such an assumption is potentially deceptive in 

nature and could lead a foreign observer to underestimate China’s 

willingness to incur costs and risks in wartime. The evidence 

available thus far suggests that China’s definition of its “central task” 

in wartime is likely to be a function of China’s threat assessment and 

the scale of the scenario that Beijing was involved in. Deng Xiaoping 

and CCP General Secretary Jiang Zemin have indicated, on separate 

occasions, that China’s fundamental peacetime stake in maintaining 

momentum in the central task of economic development is based 

on an assumption that China faces a generally benign security 

environment. However, both leaders have indicated that China 

would change its central task to ensuring safety and national security” 

if a “world war” erupted, China faced the credible prospect of a 

“military invasion” of the mainland, or the nation was involved in a 

“large-scale war.” In making these assertions, however, both leaders 

indicated that one of China’s war aims in these circumstances would 

be to end the war on favorable terms “as soon as possible,” so Beijing 

could refocus on the central task of national development.82

In this context, one should not necessarily assume that China’s 

leaders would always evaluate military campaigns in circumstances 

where economic construction is the nation’s central task, to include a 

Taiwan Strait war. Indeed, if China executes a major attack against 

the island of Taiwan itself, above and beyond a naval blockade or 

other limited actions, there is a very strong likelihood, at that point 

in time, that China’s “central task” would have been reordered 

by the leadership to place safety and national security ahead of 

economic development. This would be especially true if the United 
280

States intervened. Chinese media sources indicate China is likely 

to declare national, vice partial, defense mobilization if the United 

States intervenes on Taiwan’s behalf.83 Conversely, if China is 

conducting limited military actions against Taiwan — to include a 

show of force, the seizure of an offshore island, or the imposition of a 

naval blockade — this is probably a sign that the leadership intends 

to win a “local war” against Taiwan while simultaneously retaining 

its emphasis on economic development as the nation’s “central task.” 

Put simply, a Chinese leadership that prioritizes national security as 

its “central task” is more likely to tolerate risks and cost in wartime 

than a leadership that prioritizes “economic development” as the 

central task.

OUTLOOK AND TOPICS FOR ADDITIONAL RESEARCH

The key findings in this chapter should be viewed as an initial 

assessment of a very elusive subject matter rather than a finished 

assessment of how China will evaluate military campaigns in a future 

war. The assessment criteria that I have identified and characterized 

provide, at best, an initial understanding of how China’s leadership 

intends to exercise “strategic leadership in wartime.” As stated 

earlier, whether China’s leadership has ever actually employed these 

criteria in evaluating the approximately 400 campaigns the PLA has 

conducted since 1927 remains to be tested and examined. Towards 

this end, a case study approach to prior campaigns or a series of 

campaigns has the potential to yield insights on whether and how 

the leadership uses these criteria or other ones in practice. 

Moreover, there are a host of various human, organizational, 

and procedural variables that would need to be studied prior to 

gaining a more complete understanding of China’s assessment 

propensities in wartime. As the Chinese themselves admit when 

conceptualizing the importance of the overall situation as the main 

criterion, these other variables could potentially complicate or erode 

the leadership’s ability to exercise strategic leadership in wartime. 

In the end, the author judges that current and emerging leaders are 

likely to ultimately settle in wartime on assessment criteria that stress 

the importance of the concept of controlling the overall situation as 

the main criterion, since this concept seems to address many of the 

problems that current, past, and future Chinese leaders are likely to 
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have to cope with in wartime. However, there is likely to be some 

delay and internal friction as emerging leaders reach agreement 

on how to go about maintaining control in a society that has not 

experienced a major war in 20 years or more. Nonetheless, much 

remains to be learned regarding how China’s fourth generation 

of leaders, who lack extensive wartime experience, would go 

about exercising strategic leadership in war, to include their likely 

assessment criteria for evaluating campaigns.

The key to gaining a deeper understanding of how China’s 

leaders would evaluate military campaigns is to gain greater access 

to China’s assessment criteria. The information that I used in 

completing this chapter, while relatively authoritative, nonetheless 

represents a limited body of material from which to draw insights. 

Continued translation of Chinese language material would be 

essential to carrying this research effort forward. Such material 

should be drawn from both military and civilian sources, given 

the likelihood that China’s senior leadership group would be led 

primarily by party leaders in wartime. In general, these leaders 

have had limited exposure to Chinese military-strategic thinking. 

Moreover, our understanding of this subject would be enhanced 

if we examined any information available on how senior Chinese 

civilians involved in directing national development programs and 

overseeing economic affairs would evaluate military operations 

in wartime. Finally, critical examination of the following research 

topics could yield additional insights on the factors shaping the 

Chinese leadership’s approach to strategic leadership in wartime.84

• Organizing Strategic Leadership in Wartime. The CCP Central 

Committee’s Central Military Commission is frequently referenced 

by Chinese and foreign observers as China’s “national command 

authority” in wartime. However, it is populated predominately by 

military officials and, hence, may not be well suited to integrate civil 

and military interests and perspectives in wartime. Moreover, the 

CCP reportedly organized a “Supreme Command” (Tong Shuai Bu) 

in the war with Japan and the Chinese Civil War. Although it has 

been difficult to identify this command operating in Chinese wars 

fought since 1949, Chinese officials frequently reference it when 

describing wars fought since then and in describing China’s future 

national command and control arrangements. Examination of this 
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enigma might shed light into how China would go about assessing 

campaigns in wartime. It would seem the formation of a “Supreme 

Command” would better position China’s leadership to base 

decisions on an integration of military and civilian interests than 

the CMC. The emergence of the State Council’s National Defense 

Mobilization Office as a key wartime leadership organization would 

also facilitate the integration of political, military, and economic 

interests.

• Establishing a Culminating Point for Victory. China’s 

emphasis on the need to maintain or enhance CCP control of the 

overall situation raises fundamental questions regarding Chinese 

concepts of what constitutes victory. If accurate, this concept 

implies that China’s leadership could define victory in terms that are 

not a function of direct military, strategic, or political effects attained 

during the progression or outcome of military campaigns. In effect, 

this criterion implies that the Chinese could define any situation that 

does not degrade or destroy the CCP’s ability to control the “overall 

strategic situation” as constituting “victory.” This logic may explain 

China’s termination of wars against India in 1962 and Vietnam in 

1979 on terms that did not result in clear-cut military, strategic, or 

political success. Moreover, this logic implies that China’s leadership 

might be willing to incur substantial military or strategic losses 

before it concludes that its ability to control the overall situation has 

been degraded or destroyed.

• Determining an Exit Strategy. China’s current doctrine for 

conducting military campaigns is based on a hedging relationship 

between military campaigns of “fast resolve” and “protracted war.” 

This doctrine asserts that the PLA should conduct a campaign of 

“fast resolve” to defeat the enemy and realize the campaign intention 

“in the shortest period of time possible.”85 If this short-war strategy 

does not work, China should shift to a “protracted war” strategy. 

However, this doctrine raises fundamental questions regarding 

how China would determine an exit strategy in a protracted war 

scenario in which continuation of a protracted strategy is degrading 

or destroying the CCP’s ability to grasp and control the overall 

strategic situation? There appears to be a potential disconnect 
283

between China’s doctrine for conducting military campaigns and 

its likely criteria for measuring success. This disconnect could serve 

as a “blind spot” in China’s strategic calculus that has its roots in 

the tension between China’s tradition of protracted warfare and its 

transition into an increasingly modernized and developed society 

that generally lacks extensive wartime experience.

• Setting a Ceiling for Acceptable Costs.

86 China’s approach to 

evaluating military campaigns implies the objective material costs of 

a campaign would weigh less in Beijing’s calculus than its subjective 

assessment of the impact of a campaign on several political, 

strategic, and military sub-criteria that comprise its ability to control 

the overall situation. This logic suggests that Beijing may be willing 

to incur substantial economic losses and dislocations in pursuing a 

campaign before it concludes the campaign is degrading or eroding 

its ability to control the overall strategic situation. However, it 

remains to be seen whether Beijing would be willing to stick by these 

measures of effectiveness in wartime, especially a Taiwan Strait 

war. Approximately 60 percent of China’s gross national product is 

consolidated in provinces along China’s eastern seaboard, which has 

been referenced as an “economic center of gravity” by PLA strategists. 

Most of the facilities and infrastructure that support and sustain this 

product is located in fixed, unhardened, above-ground facilities or 

installations that would be vulnerable to conventional strikes by an 

adversary, including stand-off attacks. In this context, the author 

suspects there is tension between the CCP’s traditional criterion 

for measuring military success and these economic realities. This 

tension probably manifests itself in a renewed emphasis by China 

on civil air defense (People’s Air Defense) in recent years in tandem 

with periodic concerns expressed by PLA strategists regarding the 

military implications of China’s coastal development strategy and 

the vulnerability of major infrastructure in developing China (the 

Three Gorges Dam, for example).

ENDNOTES - CHAPTER 7

1. This question is certainly a valid subject of inquiry. For an assessment 

that focuses on this level of analysis in the U.S. context see, Richard Darilek, 

Walter Perry, Jerome Bracken, John Gordon, and Brian Nichiporuk, Measures 
284

of Effectiveness for the Information-Age Army, Santa Monica, CA: RAND Arroyo 

Center, MR-1155-A, 2001.

2. See Wang Houqing, et al., On Military Campaigns, Beijing: PLA National 

Defense University (NDU) Press, May 2000, Chapter One, p. 6. The Chinese also 

define military campaigns as “combat operations consisting of a series of battles 

conducted by army corps under a unified command to achieve a local or an overall 

objective in a war,” ibid., p. 6.

3. The term “Beijing” as used in this chapter should be viewed as synonymous 

with the term “national-level leadership.”

4. For a solid assessment of the more general topic of China’s decisionmaking 

process in wartime since 1949, see Dr. Michael D. Swaine, “China and the Use of 

Force: National Security Decisionmaking,” 2000, Unclassified contracted research 

for DIA’s China and the Use of Force Project. Also, there have been several 

excellent books published on China’s war behavior since 1949, see especially 

works by Thomas Christensen, Chen Jian, Allen Whiting, Zhai Qiang, and Zhang 

Shuguang, and Liu Xiaobing. 

5. See Scott Sigmund Gartner, Strategic Assessment in War, New Haven: Yale 

University Press, 1997. Deception, camouflage, and concealment techniques are 

ingrained in Chinese strategic culture and approach to warfare, so the tendency 

that Gartner detected in his study of U.S. and British leaders “hiding” their 

assessment criteria is likely to be evident in any study of Chinese assessment 

criteria. 

6. According to Wang Houqing, et al., On Military Campaigns, p. 17, the PLA 

by its own account has completed “some 400 operations of various scales.” The 

author does not reject the utility and value of such cases studies. However, this 

approach was simply not chosen at this juncture for resource reasons.

7. See Nehemia Geva and Alex Mintz, Decisionmaking on War and Peace: The 

Cognitive-Rational Debate, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc., 1997.

8. I am indebted to Franz Schurmann for providing very useful background 

information on the evolution of the CCP’s doctrine for problem solving. See Franz 

Schurmann, Ideology and Organization in Communist China, Berkeley: University of 

California Press, 1966/68, especially chapter One. 

9. The term “framing effects” is an oversimplification of a number of concepts 

related to perceptions that can be “unpackaged” into distinct sub-concepts, like 

the role of metaphors and historical analysis in shaping leadership perceptions. 

For path breaking work in this area, see Keith Shimko, “Metaphor and Foreign 

Policy Decisionmaking,” Political Psychology, 1994.
285

10. For a groundbreaking assessment of the role of strategic culture in China, 

see Alastair Iain Johnston, Cultural Realism: Strategic Culture and Grand Strategy 

in Chinese History, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995. For a more recent 

Chinese assessment of the role of strategic culture in China, see Zhang Tiejun, 

“Chinese Strategic Culture: Traditional and Present Features,” Comparative 

Strategy, Vol. 21, 2002, pp. 73-90. Zhang is associated with Zhejiang University, 

Hangzhou, China.

11. Major General Lu Haozhong, President of the Second Artillery Command 

Institue, and Senior Colonel Zhang Jinxi, Professor at the Second Artillery 

Command Institute, “Sun Tzu, Contemporary Strategy of Nuclear Deterrence,” 

Zhongguo Junshi Kexue, March 20, 1999.

12. Authors unknown or unidentified, Fundamentals of the Art of Operations, 

(Zhan Yi Xue Ji Chu), PLA NDU Press, September 1990, Chapter Nine, “The Art of 

Command: Theory and Practice.” 

13. The Chinese term “Da Ju” is frequently translated as either “the overall 

strategic situation” or “overall situation” in English language translations of 

Chinese characters. I will use these two terms interchangeably in the rest of this 

chapter. In the NDU textbook, the translated term was “the overall strategic 

situation.”

14. Chinese criteria for measuring the direct military effects of campaign 

actions are likely to be undergoing change, with the Chinese probably developing 

new measures to gauge the use of more precise military force via “paralysis” 

vice “annihilation” campaigns. In general, China’s operational art appears to 

be transitioning from an “encircle first, annihilate later” method of attacking the 

enemy to one that focuses on “paralyze first, annihilate later” methods of attack. 

Nonetheless, the notion of “direct military results” as an MOE in evaluating 

campaigns is likely to endure.

15. The Constitution of the Communist Party of China (amended by the 15th 

CCP National Congress and adopted on September 18, 1997), Xinhua Domestic 

Service in Chinese, September 22, 1997.

16. “Stand, viewpoint, and method” is translated from the Chinese characters 

“lich’ang.”

17. See Zheng Bijian, “Keeping Abreast With the Overall Situation, Being 

Armed with Theories--Reflections on Deepening the Study of Deng Xiaoping 

Theory and the Spirit of the 15th Party Congress,” Qiushi, No 13, in Chinese, 

July 1, 1998. Also see Zheng Bijian, “Historic Tests and Contemporary Chinese 

Marxism,” Jingji Ribao in Chinese, December 28, 1998.
286

18. For a deeper explanation of this method of “aligning subjective command 

with objective reality,” see PLA NDU, The Fundamental Art of Operations, chapter 

IX, “The Art of Command: Theory and Practice.”

19. Zheng Bijian, “Grasping the Opportunity and Arming One’s Mind With 

Theories,” Qiushi, in Chinese, April 1, 1998.

20. Based on the author’s research, approximately two-thirds of the references 

to the concept of the “overall situation” in open-source Chinese language source 

material are made in relation to civilian issues. The other one-third are made in 

reference to military issues.

21. The immediate situation could also involve an opportunity vice challenge 

for Beijing. The bulk of Chinese commentary on this problem solving method 

emphasizes “challenges” vice “opportunities.”

22. Private unpublished chapter by the author, “China’s Criteria for Measuring 

the Effectiveness of Operational Campaigns,” 11 March 2002. 

23. See Yu Ning, “Seriously Studying the Third Volume of the ‘Selected Works 

of Deng Xiaoping’”; “Studying Command Deng Xiaoping’s View on the Overall 

Situation,” Renmin Ribao in Chinese, September 26, 1994.

24. For a Chinese assessment of the importance of maintaining central 

authority, see Chen Shun-wu, “On Guaranteeing Authority of the Central Leading 

Body,” Renmin Ribao in Chinese, September 23, 1994. Also Ni Lexiong, “Confucian 

Thinking on War,” Cihai Xinzhi, Shanghai, in Chinese, March 1, 2000, pp. 15-20; 

also Yang Linglong, “Firmly Uphold the Authority of the Central Committee,” 

Jiefang Ribao, in Chinese, 31 October 1994. 

25. See Chen Fujin, Party Secretary and Vice President of the National 

Institute of Administrative Studies, “Maintaining Unity of the State and Party,” 

Quishi in Chinese, 16 December 2001, No 24; Zhao Chenggen, Beijing University, 

“The Center and the Localities During the Period of the Switch,” Strategy and 

Management (Zhanlue yu Guanli), in Chinese, June 1, 2000, pp. 44-51; “Li Peng 

Stresses Need to Strengthen National Unity,” Renmin Ribao in Chinese, March 8, 

2000. 

26. See Department of Defense, Report of Congress Pursuant to the FY 2000 

National Defense Authorization Act, “Annual Report on the Military Power of the 

People’s Republic of China,” Section II, Goals and Trends in Chinese Strategy, p. 

5-7.

27. Gao Rui, Science of Strategy (Zhanlue Xue), Beijing: PLA AMS, 1987, Chapter 
287

10, Strategic Command and Support. The term “center of gravity” does not 

correspond exactly with the traditional Western notion of a center of gravity. In 

this context, it appears the Chinese are describing a posture or disposition that 

effectively “balances” a number of objectives simultaneously.

28. In defining this objective as the defeat of a challenge to China’s territorial 

sovereignty or integrity, the author does not discount the possibility that Chinese 

objectives, in certain circumstances, could be more ambitious and offensive 

than simply “defending” China against a challenge to territory or sovereignty. 

However, this issue is not the primary focus of this chapter.

29. Gao Rui, Chapter ten, Section II, Making Strategic Decisions, 1987. Similar 

logic is evident in the updated AMS version of Science of Strategy, 2001.

30. The risk of mirror imaging our own views of measures of effectiveness was 

an issue in the study of the Soviet Union. See Andrew W. Marshall, “A Program to 

Improve Analytic Methods Related to Strategic Forces,” Policy Sciences, November 

1982, p. 48.

31. See Gartner, “Conclusion,” pp. 163-177.

32. See Zhang Zuiliang, et al., Military Operations Research, Beijing: PLA AMS, 

1993.

33. For a current assessment of the role of ancient statecraft in Chinese strategic 

culture, see Dr. Michael Pillsbury, Ancient Influences on Chinese Strategy, sponsored 

by the Office of Net Assessment, Office of the Secretary of Defense, forthcoming.

34. See DOD Report to Congress, FY 2000, p. 7.

35. For a different interpretation of various sources of strategic thought that 

have shaped the formation of CCP foreign policy, see Michael H. Hunt, The Genesis 

of Chinese Communist Foreign Policy, New York: Columbia University Press, 1996, 

especially chapter one.

36. See Wang Wenrong, Science of Strategy (Zhanlue Xue), Beijing: PLA NDU, 

2000, ibid., Chapter 10, Wartime Strategies. 

37. While the Chinese cite this struggle as the first instance they were taught 

the importance of “daju,” the author suspects this concept has even more ancient 

roots in China. The sections of The Book of Lord Shang on “the method of warfare” 

develop concepts that are very consistent with the concept of controlling the 

overall strategic situation. The Lord of Shang held high office in the state of Qin 

between 359 and 338 BC, before the struggle between Xiang Yu and Liu Bang took 

place. See Dr. J.J.L. Dyuvendak, The Book of Lord Shang: A Classic of the Chinese 
288

School of Law, Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1963 (originally published 

in 1928).

38. For additional information on this battle, see Charles O. Hucker, China’s 

Imperial Past: An Introduction to Chinese History and Culture, Stanford, CA: Stanford 

University Press, 1975, pp. 122-123. Also see Hucker, pp. 225-26, for a lengthy 

excerpt from Ssu-ma Ch’ien’s (Sima Qian’s) writings about the final stage of Xiang 

Yu’s struggle with Liu Bang.

39. Wang Zhaoyao, “Correctly Understand, Handle Relationship Between 

Parts and Whole,” Qiushi in Chinese, No. 16, August 16, 1991.

40. I am using the term “Marxist-Leninist” as a source of strategic thought 

since the Chinese trace the origins of materialist dialectics to certain documents 

produced in the early stages of socialism and communism in the West, specifically, 

Karl Marx’s Das Kapital, and Freidrich Engels’s Anti-Dühring. The Chinese also 

view dialectical material concepts as being rooted in Vladimir Lenin’s definition 

of matter. See Chen Zhishang, “The Bedrock of the Dialectical Materialist World 

View — Correctly Understanding Lenin’s Definition of Matter,” Qiushi, in Chinese, 

No. 15, August 1, 1990.

41. Selected Works of Mao Zedong, Vol. 1, Beijing: People’s Publishing House, 

June 1991, p. 175.

42. Qiu Jingping, “Fu Quanyou at Military Theory Report Meeting Held by 

GSD,” Jiefangjun Bao, in Chinese, February 27, 1999.

43. Wang Zhaoyao. Also see Qiushi, August 16, 1991; and Renmin Ribao, 

October 30, 1995. Also, for more on the chess analogy, see PLA AMS, Science of 

Strategy, Chapter 1, “Principles of Strategic Action,” Section Five, “Looking After 

the Whole Situation and Grasping the Center of Strategy.”

44. Gao Rui, Science of Strategy, Chapter Ten, Principles of Strategic Action, p. 

13.

45. This second dynamic was evident in a number of cases that Allen Whiting 

has studied in completing research for DIA on China’s crisis action strategies. 

Specifically, individual PLA campaigns during the Korean war and in Mao’s 

decisionmaking during the Taiwan Strait crises in the 1950s. See Allen Whiting, 

“China’s Use of Force, 1950-1996, and Taiwan,” contracted research chapter for 

DIA’s China and the Use of Force Project. 

46. Wang Houqing, et al., On Military Campaigns, chapter one, p. 9.

47. Wang Wenrong, Science of Strategy, chapter 10, Wartime Strategies.
289

48. Wang Houqing, et al., On Military Campaigns, p. 9.

49. Retired Lieutenant General Mi Zhenyu is presently a CCP Consultative 

Conference member and a member of the State Council’s Military Studies Review 

Committee.

50. The PLA reportedly has a National Institute of Military Dialectics and a 

Society of Military Dialectics that are chaired by the current President of the PLA 

AMS. See Xinhua, November 16, 1989; and People’s Daily, December 15, 1990. In 

1996, the PLA Air Force reportedly began using a new textbook, The Application 

of Mao Zedong’s Military Dialectics in Modern Air Force Combat Operations, in basic 

coursework for Air Force officers.

51. Gao Rui, Science of Strategy. Chapter 1, p. 7. The project group director for 

this book was Major General Yao Youzhi, Director, Strategic Research Department, 

AMS. Major General Yao is also a tutor of doctoral candidates at AMS. See also 

The Military Terminologies of the PLA, 1997.

52. See Gao Rui, Science of Strategy, 2001, ibid., p. 7.

53. Ibid., Chapter, 3, The Development and Principles of the Strategic Theories, 

p. 17.

54. “Mao Zedong’s Military Literary Works,” Science of Strategy, Volume One, 

p. 695.

55. “The Three Stages of Protracted War,” Selected Military Writings of Mao 

Zedong, Foreign Language Press, 1967, pp. 210-219.

56. See PLA NDU, Fundamentals of the Art of Operations, chapter five, 

Development of the PLA’s Operational Practices and Theory, p. 20.

57. PLA AMS, Science of Strategy, Chapter 3, p. 17.

58. See Gao Rui, Science of Strategy, Chapter Four, Strategic Policy and Strategic 

Operational Principles, Section One, Strategic Policy. 

59. Ibid., chapter 10, Strategic Command and Support, p. 5.

60. Harrison Salisbury, The Long March, 1984.

61. See Gao Rui, Science of Strategy, Chapter Four.

62. For a citation in which the lesson of Dabieshan has current civilian 
290

implications, see staff commentator, “Take the Interests of the Whole into Account, 

Strictly Observe Discipline,” Liaowang in Chinese, No 27, July 5, 1993.

63. See Leng Rong, “Keeping the Overall Situation in Mind and Daring to 

Seek Victory--Studying Deng Xiaoping’s Article on the Triumphant Situation of 

Moving Into the Central Plains and Future Policies and Strategies,” Renmin Ribao, 

November 3, 1989.

64. For additional accounts of this campaign, see “Earthshaking Changes,” 

part six of Song of the Sun, PLA General Political Department, ten part TV series, 

Beijing Central Television, in Mandarin, July 3, 1992; “An Abrupt Turn,” film 

featuring Deng Xiaoping shown in Hong Kong, Xinhua, September 19, 1997; Ding 

Guangyang, “Retired General Recalls Years Under Deng,” Xinhua, March 1, 1997; 

“Li Desheng and Wang Chenghan on You Taizhong, “Renmin Ribao, August 7, 

1999; “Liu Huaqing and Zheng Zhen recall Su Yu, “Renmin Ribao, December 

25, 1994; Wang Zhen, “Historical Events Concerning the Campaign of Breaking 

Out of Encirclement in the Central Plains: Li Xiannian and the Campaign of 

Breaking Out of Encirclement in the Central Plains,” Xinhua, July 25 1992; and You 

Taizhong, “Carry Forward and Develop Mao Zedong’s Military Thinking: Build 

a Modern, Regular, and Revolutionary Army,” Guangzhou, Yangcheng Wanbao, 

July 29, 1987.

65. For the entire speech, see Deng Xiaoping, “The Situation Following Our 

Triumphant Advance to the Central Plains and Our Future Policies and Strategy,” 

Report delivered at a joint meeting of the Henan-Shaanxi-Hubei Front and Rear 

Committees held in Lushan, Henan Province, April 25, 1948, in Selected Works of 

Deng Xiaoping, Vol. I, 1938-65, Beijing: Foreign Language Presses, July 1994. 

66. Leng Rong. 

67. See Gao Rui, Science of Strategy. Chapter 2, 2001, p. 27.

68. Ibid., Chapter 10, Principles of Strategic Action. The other three strategic 

principles include “striving to accomplish the goals of strategic actions while 

paying a small price,” “never fighting a battle unprepared or one that you cannot 

assure victory beforehand,” and “seizing and keeping the strategic initiative.” 

69. Ibid., Chapter 10, Section One.

70. The quotations in these two paragraphs are from ibid.

71. See Gao Rui, Science of Strategy, Chapter 10, Section Five, “Looking after the 

Whole Situation, and Grasping the Center of Strategy.” 

72. Several of the last few quotations are from ibid.
291

73. For a path-breaking case study of China’s calculus in the Sino-Indian War 

of 1962 and in the earlier stages of the Second Vietnam War, see Allen Whiting, 

The Chinese Calculus of Deterrence: India and Indochina, Michigan Studies on China, 

University of Michigan Press, 1975.

74. Zheng makes an analogy between these different schools of thought and 

the Spring and Autumn period prior to the rise of the Qin Dynasty in 221 BC. See 

Zheng Bijian, Qiushi, No. 1, 1998.

75. See Yan Zheng, “National People’s Congress Standing Committee Research 

Department Office,” Qiushi, in Chinese, No. 23, December 1, 1989. 

76. See Chen Jian, “The Essence of the Chinese Regime and China’s Behavior 

of Crisis/Conflict Management,” unclassified research, 2000. The eight cases 

studied were the Korean War, participation in the First Indochina War (1953-54), 

The First Taiwan Strait Crisis (1954-55), the Second Taiwan Strait Crisis (1958), 

Chinese-Indian Border War (1962), Involvement in the Second Vietnam War 

(1964-73), Chinese-Soviet border clashes (1969), Chinese-Vietnamese Border War 

(1979). Thomas Christensen’s excellent book, Useful Adversaries: Grand Strategy, 

Domestic Mobilization, and Sino-American Conflict, 1947-58, Princeton, NJ: Princeton 

University Press, 1996, also examined domestic mobilization issues in the Maoist 

period.

77. The author is raising this question because it should be raised in doing 

analysis of the behavior and perceptions of another country or culture and because 

denial, concealment, and deception remain a central part of China’s approach 

to military, foreign, and national security affairs. One of Deng Xiaoping’s key 

directives to China’s security and development establishment was the so-called 

“24-character strategy: “keep cool-headed to observe, be composed to make 

reactions, stand firmly, hide our capabilities and bide our time, never try to take 

the lead, and be able to accomplish something.” The post-Deng leadership (third 

and fourth generation) is abiding by these principles when managing national 

security affairs. Indeed, CCP General Secretary Jiang Zemin and his putative 

successor, Hu Yaobang, have referenced this 24-character strategy on numerous 

occasions in various public speeches and statements.

78. For more on China’s approach to deception, see the chapter presented at 

this conference by Michael Pillsbury, “China’s Deception Doctrine,” September 

2002.

79. Andrew W. Marshall, J.J. Martin, Henry, S. Rowen, On Not Confusing 

Ourselves: Essays on National Security in Honor of Albert and Roberta Wohlstetter, 

Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1991.
292

80. See Yuan Zongze, “Pursue Extensive Peripheral Diplomacy in New 

Century,” Liaowang, No. 38, September 17, 2001.

81. See Gu Ping, ‘How to View China’s Development--An Important Issue 

of Understanding in Sino-US Relations,” Renmin Ribao, August 31, 2001; “Qian 

Qichen Visits US to Implement Consensus Between Chinese and US Heads of 

State,” Wen Wei Po, March 19, 2001; Sung Ch’eng, “US China Policy is Harmful 

to Others, Disadvantageous to Self,” Wen Wei Po, May 26, 2001, for illustrative 

examples.

82. See U.S. Defense Department, Report to Congress Pursuant to the FY2000 

National Defense Authorization Act, Annual Report on the Military Power of the 

People’s Republic of China, pp. 6-7.

83. Wang Xiaohua and Li Mingliang, “On Improving Logistics Support 

Capability for Joint Campaigns,” Conmilit in Chinese, February 11, 2000, pp. 44-

46. 

84. This list of key questions is drawn in part from the excellent recent essay on 

the subject of strategy in wartime by Richard K. Betts, “The Trouble With Strategy: 

Bridging Policy and Operations,” Joint Forces Quarterly, Autumn/Winter, 2001-

02.

85. See Wang Houqing, On Military Campaigns, Chapter Two, “Objective 

Factors in a Campaign,” p. 36.

86. For solid analysis of cost issues, see Andrew Scobell, ed., The Costs of 

Conflict: The Impact on China of a Future War, Carlisle Barracks, PA: Army War 

College, Strategic Studies Institute, October 2001.
293

CHAPTER 8

FROM SURPRISE TO STALEMATE:

WHAT THE PEOPLE’S LIBERATION ARMY LEARNED 

FROM THE KOREAN WAR — A HALF-CENTURY LATER

John J. Tkacik, Jr.

INTRODUCTION

It is a paradox that the Korean War — the People’s Liberation 

Army’s (PLA) first real taste of “positional warfare” — is held out 

by the PLA’s historians and tactical instructors as proof of Mao 

Zedong’s theories on “mobile warfare.” While it is true that Chinese 

“mobile war” tactics and operations yielded tremendous successes 

in the early months of the Korean War against an enemy with 

superior firepower, total air supremacy, and an advanced armor, 

mechanized transport, and supply infrastructure, victories were 

purchased at terrifying costs. United Nations (U.N.) forces were 

vastly outnumbered and their technical advantages served as “force 

multipliers” that prevented them from being completely annihilated 

by human waves of marauding Chinese interlopers. But Chinese 

troopers died by the tens of thousands--killed by their two greatest 

enemies of the war, the overwhelming mass of enemy weaponry 

and lack of adequate logistical preparation and supply. 

The Chinese People’s Volunteers’ (CPV) wins came with tactical 

surprise and good mobility off-road and away from heavily patrolled 

highways, but after 7 months of vicious combat in five separate 

campaigns, the battlefront finally stabilized at roughly the mid-line 

of the Korean Peninsula on the 38th Parallel. From then on, the CPV 

and their North Korean People’s Army (NKPA) comrades found 

themselves locked in “positional” battle. Their bitterest lessons 

from the Korean War came in the trenches and deep tunnels of the 

front line and under the incessant storm of American bombing, 

strafing, and cannonade which deprived them of adequate food, 

ammunition, sleep, sanity, and — in the case of “several hundred 

thousand troops” — their lives.1 Nonetheless, in the end the Chinese 

wrestled American-led U.N. forces with superior weaponry and 

total command of air and sea to an utter deadlock. 
294

The lesson? It is simplistic to say the PLA took away from the 

Korean Conflict the lesson “never fight positional war.” Indeed, after 

the summer of 1951, Beijing’s political aims could also be achieved 

by simply avoiding defeat on the battlefield. It seems likely that 

after the initial failure to destroy the U.N.-South Korean forces in the 

first surprise campaigns, the Chinese resigned themselves to a war 

of attrition because any effort to expand the bounds of that particular 

war could result in the war spreading to China’s homeland. By the 

end of the war, Chinese commanders had basically learned to cope 

with their Sisyphean existence. Sheer endurance, it seems, was a 

valuable lesson in how to succeed against a superior enemy.

The PLA also learned some broader strategic lessons from the 

Conflict that will not be addressed in this chapter. They learned, for 

instance, never to take for granted their military allies — especially 

the Soviet Union — whose ulterior war aims were opaque to them. 

Moscow’s political behavior rarely made sense, and Comrade Josef 

Stalin’s promises of military support were rarely translated into 

prompt action.2

How might the PLA practice the lessons of the Korean War in 

future campaigns — particularly in a Taiwan scenario? Consider 

that the two key lessons are, first, that complete and utter tactical 

surprise are essential to early victories; and second, that without 

adequate logistical preparations or the means to defend supply 

lines, patient endurance of years of punishment in a limited war 

may be necessary to avoid defeat against a technologically superior 

foe. One final thought might be that that a well-timed coup or some 

other “regime change” in a key enemy government can bring about 

an ultimate political victory when a military one is denied on the 

battlefield.

THE IMPERATIVE OF MOBILE WAR

The Korean War really was the exception that proved Mao 

Zedong’s rule — mobile warfare is preferable to positional battle. 

In Korea, Chinese forces were effective at both mobile fighting so 

long as they had surprise and initiative on their side and positional 

battle after being beaten to a standstill. Mao’s generals were acutely 

aware of Mao’s own teachings “on protracted war.” Mao’s “Selected 

Military Writings” were standard issue in the PLA.3 Mao had little 
295

use for positional warfare and preferred to concentrate forces 

against enemy armies rather than stand and hold territory. As such, 

Mao had inculcated in his generals an appreciation for “deliberately 

creating misconceptions for the enemy and then springing surprise 

attacks on him.”4

As the commander of the “Chinese People’s Volunteers” (CPV) 

Marshal Peng Dehuai5 prepared to move his armies into North 

Korea, Chairman Mao telegraphed him instructions. First, Mao 

cautioned, the battle will turn on whether or not Chinese troops 

can use “total surprise” to swiftly destroy “two, three, or even four 

puppet divisions.” If the initial attacks fail to throw the enemy into 

a “passive position,” then the enemy will quickly regroup and gain 

the upper hand. Second, enemy air power has the potential to inflict 

massive losses on Chinese troops and paralyze unit movements. 

Mao asked if Peng’s troops had practiced night movements 

sufficiently to carry out operations under the threat of massive U.S. 

air power. Finally, Mao asked if the Americans could increase their 

troop presence by five-to-ten divisions, “or if, before the Americans 

were able to bring up reserves, the Chinese troops could destroy 

another few U.S. or South Korean divisions in a mobile campaign 

against their isolated positions.”6

Whether Chairman Mao indeed sent such prescient instructions 

is debatable. Certainly it has become the stuff of legend, and many 

Chinese memoirs of the Korean War are filled with page after page 

of Mao’s cables, instructions, and general musings among officers 

of “what would Mao do?”7 Even General Hong Xuezhi who 

commanded the CPV logistical effort, recalls that in the very first 

days of the Chinese entry, Marshal Peng received a cable from Mao 

advising that 

at present there are two key objectives to the campaign, first to 

isolate the Puppet [i.e., Republic of Korea or “ROK”] Seventh 

Division at [Guchang Chu], to not let them escape, and this 

will force the Puppet 1st, 6th, and 8th Divisions to bring up 

reinforcements — there you can fight them! Second, the full 

force of three armies should be moved to [Qikai]8 to complete the 

launch the campaign, and this will give us maximum momentum 

at the time of attack and guarantee annihilation of the enemy.9 

While it is hard to believe that Marshal Peng appreciated this kind 
296

of micromanagement from Zhongnanhai, he kept his grumbling to 

himself. Nonetheless, it is clear that the Chinese PLA cherishes to 

this day these brilliant insights of Mao Zedong as the apotheosis of 

“Lessons Learned” in the Korean War.

HEALTHY RESPECT FOR AIR POWER

In any event, it is doubtful that Marshal Peng, General Hong, 

or anyone else needed the gifted eye of Mao to see that the key to a 

victory in Korea was avoiding American airpower to fullest extent. 

In fact, General Hong’s memoirs open by recounting a crisp 

autumn evening in the Chinese border city of Andong on October 7, 

1950. He and General Deng Hua had just finished dinner — it was 

the day they learned that U.S. forces had crossed the 38th Parallel. 

Suddenly, Hong recalled, there came a “whump-whump-whump” 

sound from the south, getting louder, and presently there appeared 

a large black spot in the southern sky. General Deng shouted 

“aircraft, American aircraft!” It was a flight of dozens of huge B29 bombers accompanied by smaller P-51 Mustang fighters tightly 

arranged in layers. 

Within moments, the phantom bombing fleet droned over the 

North Korean city of Sinuiju just opposite Andong on the Korean 

side of the Yalu River. “With my own eyes,” said General Hong, 

“I saw Sinuiju become a vast sea of fire in the space of just a few 

minutes. The fires soon turned into a “towering pillar of thick, 

smoky cloud and soon the entire city was shrouded in the pall.” 

The next morning, Sinuiju was a plain of rubble. The emotion of his 

prose reflects how profoundly the incident colored his assessment of 

America’s air supremacy in Korea. 

At the time, General Hong noted that the U.S. bombers failed 

to hit the bridges crossing the Yalu from North Korea, and it was 

only years later that he understood the U.S. Government had issued 

orders that the bridges were not to be touched because “it would 

mean war with China, and a war without limits.”10 Nonetheless, the 

Chinese high command understood throughout the war that their 

supply lines and their own aircraft would have sanctuary north of 

the Yalu — but no mercy south of it. Unfortunately, Beijing didn’t. 

On the afternoon of October 17, 1950, even as Chinese troops had 

already crossed into Korea, General Hong and General Deng Hua 
297

phoned Marshal Peng (then in Shenyang) to report 

we concluded the river-crossing deployment conference 

yesterday, and after quite a bit of discussion the comrades feel that 

the air-defense artillery is insufficient and we have no air cover, 

the enemy can concentrate major air strikes, artillery barrages 

and tank forces without any fear that we can counterattack in 

strength. Moreover, the Korean mountains, lowlands and paddy 

fields are frozen solid and impossible to dig in for shelter. If the 

enemy launches a massive attack, our positions would be very 

difficult to support.11

Then General Hong advised that was “everyone’s recommendation” that because the forces had not been sufficiently 

indoctrinated, “it would be suitable to wait out the winter and move 

next spring.”12 Unfortunately, Marshal Peng had just received orders 

from Mao Zedong to return to Beijing to consult with Premier Zhou 

Enlai. Zhou had just returned from Moscow, and the date was set. 

Marshal Peng showed General Hong’s telegram to Mao, but the die 

had been cast. The CPV would continue deployments into Korea in 

force. Peng relayed the order back to CPV headquarters in Andong 

— under Mao’s name.13 

THE ELEMENT OF SURPRISE

Surely, no one in PLA headquarters was under any illusion that 

the CPV mission would be a straightforward task. Secrecy and 

deception were essential to frustrating American air power. In 

hindsight, there can be little gainsaying the conventional Chinese 

wisdom that American “arrogance” — or at least complaisance 

— was the source of the surprise. 

In the first month of the CPV entry into Korean War — from 

October 16 to mid November — the U.N. command had little idea of 

the scale of the Chinese intervention. From August to early October, 

in utter silence and tremendous discipline, endless trainloads of 

240,000 CPV personnel in nine armies comprising thirty infantry 

divisions and four artillery divisions from Southern and Central 

China had converged on the Chinese side of the Yalu River.14 There 

they joined more than 160,000 Chinese troops already in Manchuria. 

After months of careful observation of American reconnaissance 
298

aircraft hovering over northern Korea, Chinese commanders timed 

the infiltration of their divisions to avoid aerial observation. Under 

cover of night 18 Chinese CPV divisions, about 200,000 men,15 slipped 

across the Yalu “all at once” and proceeded by secondary roads 

and trails to wooded staging areas to await their initial offensive.16

Surprisingly, Chinese sources do not describe the CPV tactics for 

infiltrating into northern Korea. American historians credit Chinese 

fighter aircraft with keeping U.S. RB-29 aircraft away from the Yalu 

River and “excellent camouflage discipline” for concealing the CPVs 

once they penetrated the Korean mountains.17

What was left of Kim Il-sung’s NKPA probably had ample 

intelligence on the disposition of the increasingly diffused 

American and South Korean forces. But how intelligence sources 

communicated with operations staffs at headquarters is a mystery. 

When Marshal Peng Dehuai had his first conference inside Korea 

with North Korean President Kim Il-sung on October 22, 1950, 

General Hong Xuezhi was dismayed to learn from a female cadre in 

Kim’s entourage that “we here don’t have a telephone, nor a radio 

set, nor a car, so we can only send people on foot with messages.”18

Chinese reticence to analyze the success of their deception may also 

signal that they did not, in fact, get intelligence from Korean sources, 

but rather through separate channels. The lack of discussion in 

Chinese sources may, therefore, be a continued effort to protect halfcentury-old intelligence sources and methods. 

Both Chinese and American historians agree on what happened 

next. Over the coming weeks, small American and ROK units, some 

as small as battalion strength, found themselves isolated along a thin 

front line, or simply clumped in forward area outposts, surrounded 

by superior numbers of Chinese troops — and though they did not 

know it at the time, the Chinese were often at division strength or more 

of 10,000 combat fighters. Following Mao’s dicta on mobile warfare 

and surprise attack, the Chinese would deploy their formations in 

strength around unsuspecting U.N. positions and on high ground 

along escape routes hoping to “lure reinforcements into pockets.”19

Battle maps drawn by both Chinese and American historians agree 

— these battles often involved at least one, sometimes two and three 

Chinese armies ranged against battalions or regiments of American, 

ROK, or U.N. forces. 

But even for Marshal Peng, the First Campaign was a “battle 
299

of chance encounters.”20 On October 21, a division of the Chinese 

40th Army (some 30,000 men) ran into ROK soldiers near Bukjin 

and wiped out the unit. On October 29, 1950, the CPV 39th Army 

tightened the noose on the ROK First Infantry Division at Unsan from 

the northeast, the northwest and the southwest, while the CPV 66th 

Army, again over 30,000 men, moved toward Kusong and prepared 

to interdict elements of the U.S. 24th division, which it anticipated 

would advance to relieve its Korean allies. General Hong describes 

several other encounters with ROK forces between October 25 and 

November 1, including some that were hampered by the backrush of 

retreating NKPA troops and North Korean civilians trying to avoid 

the shooting. The 112th Division of the 38th Army was struck by a 

sudden attack near [Miaoxiang Shan] hill and were slowed in getting 

to their rendezvous point.21 

Marshal Peng’s writings say the “First Campaign ended in 

victory” on October 25, 1950, but noted that “because of their high 

level of mechanization, the U.S. British and Puppet troops were able 

to withdraw speedily” to the Chongchon River where they dug in. 

Peng explained “it would have been unfavorable for our Volunteers 

to engage the enemy in positional warfare with the equipment they 

had at the time. They might have suffered defeat.”22 

Even as late as November 6, it was still quite apparent that the 

Americans had no idea of the magnitude of Chinese strength against 

them. U.N. Commander General Douglas MacArthur’s intelligence 

identified elements of five Chinese divisions, the largest element 

being a regiment.23 When mauled by a full Chinese army, neither 

the Americans nor their ROK allies knew what hit them. U.S. Eighth 

Army commander General Walton Walker attributed the collapse 

of the ROK divisions, not to overwhelming enemy numbers and 

firepower, but to “psychological fear of Chinese intervention, and 

previous complacency and overconfidence in all ROK ranks.”24

Of course, the Chinese were keeping out of sight on purpose. 

“Although the enemy had regrouped, they were still dispersed and 

unclear about our armies’ situation,” General Hong notes with pride. 

The Chinese, on the other hand, were quite clear about the locations 

and strengths of all the U.N. units: “north of the Chongchon River, 

the enemy only had a bit more than 50,000 combat personnel, while 

we could concentrate 10 to 12 divisions, 120,000-150,000 men, two or 

three times the size of the enemy.”25 
300

Given his vast numerical superiority, plus the fact that the ROK 

troops were completely clueless about the Chinese dispositions, 

Marshal Peng proposed to swiftly outflank the ROK 8th, 7th, and 1st 

infantry divisions, come in behind them, annihilate them, and then 

move on to strike the American and British forces further west. 

Peng then cleared the plan with Mao in Beijing, who approved it, 

and wrote back helpfully 

for this battle, you want the full force of the 38th Army and one 

division of the 42nd Army to guarantee cutting off the enemy 

retreat line from the Chongchon River, the other armies and 

divisions should boldly interdict escape routes from the enemy 

flanks and rear, and then carry out a piecemeal destruction of 

their forces, thus will victory be achieved.26 

It was, no doubt, a comfort to Marshal Peng to have Mao’s 

personal attention and expert guidance. In any event, there is 

always the unexpected. Peng’s 39th Army was ready to hit the 

ROK 1st Infantry Division at Unsan at 1930 hours the evening of 

November 1. But at 1350 that afternoon, CPV spotters saw signs 

the ROK division was withdrawing from its position. (In fact, the 

ROK division was changing places with the 8th Regimental Combat 

Team (RCT) of the U.S. 1st Cavalry division, which took up the ROK 

positions in Unsan.) 

Unaware that the well-equipped American armor-supported 

regimental combat team had changed places with the ROK, the 

Chinese enveloped the position with eight infantry regiments, two 

regiments, and an independent battalion of artillery, and at 1700 

hrs launched the attack. The battle raged until the early hours of 

November 2, by which time “a large portion of the American and 

Puppet troops were annihilated and over 70 U.S. tanks and trucks 

destroyed.”

The 3rd Battalion of the 8th RCT was retreating along the road 

south from Unsan when it was surrounded and badly treated. Only 

with fierce and persistent air and armor support were the Americans 

able to survive until November 3, but attempts to break out of the 

encirclement were fruitless. By evening November 3, the CPV 39th 

Army finally overran the American positions.27

The action was the first time in the war that Chinese forces had 

inflicted such punishment on the well-armed U.N. forces, and General 
301

Hong believed it to be one of the most significant actions of the war. 

Nonetheless, Chairman Mao, ever looking over the shoulders of his 

commanders, cabled the front at 1900 hrs on November 2: 

pay attention how you use the 38th Army to control ground 

in the Anju, [Junyu li] and [Qiuchang] sectors, construct strong 

fortifications, focus on [Junyu Li] as the strong point, focus on 

cutting the enemy’s north-south lines at [Qingzhou], destroy 

the American 2nd Division moving north (from Pyongyang) 

to relieve the remnants of the ROK 6th, 7th and 8th Divisions, 

then it is highly likely that you can extend lines southward to 

Pyongyang. If this is successful, it will be a strategic victory.28

The purpose of this chapter is not to recount verbatim the 

Chinese version of each of these battles, but simply to underscore 

that the Chinese were most in their element in mobile fighting. 

Marshal Peng convened his first headquarters staff meeting of the 

war on November 13 to review the lessons of the first campaign. In 

general, Peng may have been pleased with progress, but his face did 

not reflect it. General Liang Xingchu’s 38th Army had been unable 

to keep pace, fought poorly, let the enemy slip away, and Marshal 

Peng berated him in front of his colleagues.29 

While the old Marshal may have been crotchety, he rarely turned 

on his subordinates. But winter was locking in, and Peng no doubt 

was feeling the pressure of lost initiative, regrouping U.N. forces, 

increasingly powerful U.S. air strikes, freezing temperatures, and 

ill-clothed and fed CPV. Along the western sector, the CPV 4th 

Group Army failed to make headway “primarily because the enemy 

artillery was highly concentrated, it was impossible to divide forces 

and simultaneously confront the enemy.”30

But the CPV also appreciated the U.N. forces’ ability to organize 

a coordinated retreat supported by overwhelming air and artillery 

cover. In both the east and west sectors of the battlefront, the story 

was the same. “Because the enemy forces were entirely motorized, 

the attackers had no way to keep up, and had to satisfy themselves 

by wiping out a small number of covering forces.”31 

Moreover, as the element of surprise wore off, the U.N. forces 

quickly comprehended the CPV tactic: “to launch large-scale night 

time point attacks and penetrate to the rear of the enemy positions to 

control the entire battle area.”32
302

But Marshal Peng knew his surprise offensive had not run 

out of steam purely because of “a hundred aircraft above and a 

hundred tanks ahead,” but because his own units were running out 

of ammunition. In two separate fights, the 3rd Brigade of the 337th 

division at [Longyuan Li] and the 3rd brigade of the 335 division at 

[Songgu Feng], “used up their ammo, and used rocks, fists and teeth 

in their fight to the death with the enemy.”33 By December 27, food 

and supplies shipped from China could only supply one-quarter of 

the minimum requirements of six CPV armies (the 38th, 39th, 40th, 

42nd, 50th, and 66th), and the Chinese had to rely on requisitions 

of 30,000 tons of grain from Korean peasants to keep the armies 

moving.34 

LOGISTICS, THE CPV’S FATAL FLAW

Marshal Peng, therefore, was acutely sensitive to the slapdash 

nature of the PLA’s logistical network. In PLA doctrine up to the 

Korean War, logistics was mostly a matter of relying upon the 

goodwill of the local population for food and relying upon the 

cowardice of the defeated Kuomintang (KMT) troops for captured 

weapons and ammunition. It is interesting to note General Hong’s 

recollection that the first time his CPV happened across a retreating 

column of NKPA, the Koreans were puzzled. The Chinese CPV 

were wearing Korean-style uniforms, but were carrying American 

weapons. “You’re Chinese, aren’t you?” a Korean officer asked. The 

NKPA soldiers were all carrying Soviet arms.35

Marshal Nie Rongzhen36 who oversaw PLA logistics at the 

Central Military Commission headquarters in Beijing describes how 

the PLA prepositioned stockpiles at the Korean border in the months 

before China entered the war.37 

. . . For example, during the Second Campaign, we had originally 

planned that two armies plus two divisions could handle 

campaign responsibilities in the western sector of the advance. 

But because we couldn’t transport the required amounts of 

rations up to the front, we were forced to cancel the two extra 

divisions and this had an impact on our failure to achieve greater 

results from the operation. In the East sector, the troops which 

entered Korea had not made sufficient preparations and faced 

even greater difficulties. Not only did these troops not have 
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enough to eat, their winter uniforms were too thin and could not 

protect their bodies from the cold. As a result, there occurred a 

large number of non-combat casualties. If we hadn’t had these 

logistical problems as well as certain other problems, the soldiers 

would have wiped out the U.S. First Marine Division at Chongjin 

Reservoir. In fact, the Americans announced the loss of that 

division on their radio broadcasts, but they subsequently were 

able to evacuate them by sea.38

Marshal Nie’s prose fails to convey the full horror of that 

campaign, however. According to prisoner of war debriefs by 

U.S. Army intelligence, in the 2 weeks between November 27 

and December 12, General Song Shilun’s 9th Group Army lost an 

estimated 45,000 soldiers and coolies to “death by freezing.”39

General Song’s 9th Group Army was a case in point. Surprise 

is best when it is preceded by adequate planning. The 9th Group 

Army suffered from “inexperience” and “lacked both doctrinal and 

material preparations.” The Army only received orders from the 

Central Military Commission (CMC) to deploy to Korea when it 

was entrained for Manchuria from Central China, and was given its 

winter uniforms as it changed trains in Shenyang--but “a portion” 

of the troops failed to be given their winter kit and went into Korea 

without adequate clothing. They were left to make do by wrapping 

cotton scarves around their heads and covering themselves with 

“carpets” they had managed to pick up on the way. The 9th Group 

Army’s artillery units remained in Manchuria to be reoutfitted with 

Soviet cannon, and the Group Army’s divisions entered Korea with 

only ten “old American 75mm mountain guns.” According to a 

non-PLA history, “these troops braced temperatures of 30-below, as 

they snuck their way through the high mountains, dense forests, and 

narrow paths of eastern Korea.”40 Needless to say, that history failed 

to recount the fate of the ill-clad CPV soldiers.

As the battle lines moved southward, the CPV supply lines 

stretched out and the logistical problems multiplied.41 By the 

time of the Fourth Campaign in early 1951, food and ammunition 

stocks dwindled, and attacking CPV infantry could never get 

adequate artillery cover. It was quite common for CPVs to run out 

of ammunition completely, Marshal Nie recalled. Often, the CPV 

offensives finished up with bayonets, adrenalin, and a din of trumpets 

and screams. During the Fifth Campaign (April 22 to June 10), “our 
304

troops were able to break through enemy lines in the [Xianli] Sector, 

but because they didn‘t have food or bullets, they stopped the attack 

for three days and lost the initiative.” Nie explained:

Our troops also surrounded brigade and battalion-sized 

formations of enemy forces, but because we lacked the firepower, 

we were unable to complete their destruction. Other units, 

because they were insufficiently supplied, were obliged to retreat, 

and this seriously affected their combat morale. In sum, during 

the actual operational battle stages of the Korean War, there were 

a fair number of examples of the CPV’s having to cease an attack 

in the midst of battle or of incurring heavy casualties because of 

insufficient rations and ammunition.42

General Hong Xuezhi recalls that on April 8, 1951, a massive 

American napalm bombing run set 84 rail cars afire, destroying 

1,500 tons of grain, 408,000 uniforms, and 190,000 pairs of boots. 

General Hong reports that as much as 40 percent of all supplies were 

destroyed by U.N. aircraft while being transported to the front line 

by truck and rail. “The U.S. airmen were experienced World War 

II veterans,” Hong explains, “with over 1,000 hours of flight time 

each.” During the day, “they’d prowl the mountains and ravines, at 

night they search for lights.” One day, said Hong, “I saw with my 

own eyes a P-51 Mustang fly underneath an electric high-voltage 

cable.”43 These fliers, Hong complained, destroyed over 3,000 

Chinese trucks in the first 7 months of the war, “over 400 trucks a 

month.”44 To hide from the American fliers, Hong said, trains and 

truck convoys would drive deep into train and road tunnels, but the 

Americans “steering with one hand, aiming with the other,” would 

loose missiles into the tunnel mouth, and “the bombs would streak 

70 meters inside the tunnel” destroying all inside.45 Marshal Nie was 

more pointed. Loss of over 70 percent of a transport column or train 

set was not a rare event, and air strikes often destroyed 80 percent of 

the materiel at staging depots.46

That Marshal Nie had a high regard for U.S. air power was 

apparent in his description of its effects. Because of enemy air 

strikes, Korean rail lines and highways were in a chronic state of 

impassability. Equipment in need of repair on the front could not 

be returned to the rear areas for service, and after transport trucks 

reached the front lines, it was equally difficult for them to get back 
305

in a timely manner to the rear areas for reloads. By the autumn of 

1951, the number of rail cars needed to supply the Korean War was 

fully 20 percent of the entire domestic rolling stock in China. For 

example, from late September to mid-October 1951, Chinese troops 

needed about 12,000 railcars of food, cooking oil, ammunition, and 

other supplies, but they were only able to get about 6,000 rail cars 

through.47 

The effects of this constriction of supplies on Chinese foot soldiers 

was profound.

For instance, the rations problem was like this. Because of enemy 

bomb and rocket strikes, we couldn’t get enough food up to the 

front, and when we could get it up there, the troops didn’t dare 

cook it because the campfire smoke would draw enemy strafing 

runs. There was just no way. In the heat of battle, for instance, 

quite a few soldiers could only rely on the ‘handful of fried 

noodles, and a handful of snow’ to keep body and soul together. 

One ought to say that fried noodles had their use during the 

active combat part of the war. However, when fried noodles were 

mixed with snow-water, they readily caused diarrhea.48

 

One visitor from Beijing who went to the front lines during the 

beginning of the Truce Talks recalled that the CPV troopers 

referred to the U.S. Aviators as the “iron and steel magnates” 

because they profligately dumped their iron and steel on the 

Korean market.49 

However, July 20, 1951, brought an enemy even more devastating 

than the American aircraft. A flood which raised river levels three 

to four meters, sometimes as high as 11 meters above normal, with 

flows four, six, and even seven meters per second, hit the frontlines 

hard. It washed out campgrounds, supply depots, ruined hand guns 

and rifles, flooded medic tents, and even destroyed heavy weapons. 

In the rear areas, electric power lines collapsed, hundreds of miles of 

roadbeds eroded, 205 highway bridges were washed away, and all 

transportation was halted for over 20 days. In fact, bridges that were 

rebuilt were flooded away again in short order as torrents continued 

to stream off mountain sides. An anti-aircraft battalion at Samtong 

was decimated when a high-voltage line crashed into the flooded 

artillery revetments. The personnel had no experience in dealing 

with power lines, and 167 men were killed by electrocution. The 
306

cannons and tractors were washed away as well.50 

U.S. Air Force and Navy bombers and fighters took advantage 

of the disaster to plaster the CPVs in their chaos. Their bombing, 

napalming, and strafing continued mercilessly in a 6-month 

air campaign that both the Americans and the Chinese termed 

“Operation STRANGLE.”51 At this point, resupply to the front line 

became desperate. Road and rail repairs were solely the work of 

the rear-echelon logistics department, which had assigned “a few 

regiments of construction troops” to the job. CPV logistics chief 

General Hong approached CPV deputy commander General Chen 

Geng to put every available CPV trooper not already at the front line 

to work rebuilding road and rail lines. 

He also wanted North Korean civilians dragooned into labor 

corvees. Whether it took General Hong 6 weeks to get his act 

together or whether the proposal was just slow working its way 

up to Marshal Peng and Korean leader Kim Il-sung is not known. 

But on September 8, 1951, the order for all hands — and Korean 

peasants, too — to join the road gangs was finally issued from 

CPV headquarters. Second line troops from eleven armies, nine 

construction brigades and three engineering brigades, over 100,000 

workers in total, managed to repair their rear area transport lines in 

25 days — presumably by October 3. There was one big problem, 

however, with the trains. The inexpertly repaired bridges couldn’t 

bear the weight of the locomotive engines, so locomotives simply 

pushed long strings of lighter train cars across the rickety bridges, 

where engines on the other side would hitch up and pull them 

down the track to the next bridge.52 Still, in the strategic Sinanju-

[Xipu]-[Jiechuan] “rail triangle” trains could run only 7 days a month 

from September to December 1951. With the rail lines all but out of 

commission, the CPVs resorted to trucks, donkey-carts, and human 

backs to get supplies from the Yalu River down back roads and 

footpaths through mountains and forests to the front lines.53

But for nearly 3 months the entire mass of the CPV forces were 

on half-and third-rations. Marshal Peng demanded that General 

Hong find at least a 5-day supply for the troops on the east flank of 

the front line. Hong was reduced to salvaging 300,000 waterlogged 

ration units by raking them into the sun, drying them out and rebagging them. Hong had to report twice daily to the Marshal on 
307

the food situation: how much was en route from China, how much 

didn’t make it, and how much actually got to the frontline fighters.

On September 18, 1951, Marshal Peng asked Kim Il-sung for 

permission to “raise funds” for Korean food, using a term (choucuo) 

which makes it sound like the CPVs would hold yard-sales to finance 

their purchases, but was probably closer to outright uncompensated 

requisitioning of grain from North Korean peasants. Kim replied 

that life was just as rough for Koreans as for the CPVs, but promised 

to help. By November, Kim had begun food and grain disbursals 

to the CPV, which totalled at least 58,000 tons by the end of the 

war. Evidently Kim was also worried about the inflationary impact 

of simply confiscating grain from the peasants and paying with 

increasingly worthless North Korean paper money. Kim demanded 

the CPVs set up commercial canteens in which Korean peasants 

might be able to buy commodities with their stacks of North Korean 

currency notes. In the end, the CPV logistics department had set 

up civilian supply centers in Pyongyang, [Shali Yuan], [Yangde], 

[Chengchuan], [Qiuchang], Anju, [Dingzhou], [Xuzhou],[ Dezhou] and 

[Yichuan].54

But with most of the countryside pockmarked with bomb 

craters, farming was useless. Korean peasants near the front lines 

were without food and had to be evacuated to the rear or starve. 

On October 22, Kim Il-sung reached an agreement with the CPV 

to transport Korean farming families and their goods from the 

battlefronts back to the rear in the empty resupply trucks returning 

to China.55 

The Korean peasants, it seems, were also well sensitized to the 

American air attacks. In late October, as General Hong Xuezhi 

returned to the front lines from business in Pyongyang, his jeep 

was waved off the road by a young Korean boy with a knife. The 

boy kept pointing his dagger to the sky and beckoned the General’s 

old American Jeep to follow him along the streambed into a wood. 

Within minutes, a flight of 20 P-51 Mustangs zoomed overhead, 

and soon disappeared following the highway into the distance. As 

the road of aircraft engines silenced, the general’s driver whistled, 

“you’ve got some real good luck, boss.”56
308

CHINESE TROOPS COPE WITH U.N. AIR POWER

All along the battle lines and well into the rear areas, the 

countryside was a moonscape, especially so along roadbeds. U.N. 

aircraft dropped 500-1,000 kilogram bombs that left craters eight 

meters deep and rubble middens ten meters high for miles on end. 

In heavy rain, these would fill with water, making them look like 

shallow potholes — deadly at night. At this point, Chinese lorrydrivers only drove at night, but all too often their heavily laden 

trucks barreling along in the dark without lights would drive into 

a bomb crater, wrecking the vehicle, injuring personnel and, if the 

crater was filled with water, soaking the cargo. General Hong 

Xuezhi complained that “even with a hundred men it took forever to 

fill in a crater,” and even before it was refilled, it would be replaced 

quickly with yet another crater nearby.57 

Because the Americans controlled the air, there was “basically 

no movement in daytime.” Another Chinese general, Wu Xiuquan, 

described what it was like in November 1951 to drive in the darkness 

with headlights off, feeling the way at a snail’s pace under the 

enemy’s night patrols overhead. 

. . . suddenly a rifle shot. It was an air raid warning shot. Several 

vehicles raced across to a fortified area; others scattered to hiding 

places. All one could hear was the enemy aircraft flying across 

overhead. The air was filled with parachute-flares dropped by 

the planes. Hills, forests, rivers and roads hidden in the darkness 

just moments earlier were in a burst illuminated in bright light. 

The light of drifting flares then flickered uncertainly, and as 

one died out another flashed into brilliance . . . The enemy had 

discovered some target or another and a squadron of night patrol 

planes was circling the area not far from us, dropping bombs and 

firing repeated bursts. The scorched earth was already a mass of 

smoke and flame.58 

 

Days later, General Wu moved nearer to the front. 

There were considerable numbers of vehicles coming and going. 

What’s more, their drivers went at speeds that terrified us. One 

night, we had a rare adventure. As we drove ahead nervously 

without lights, a huge dark shape suddenly appeared in front of 

us, gradually getting bigger and bigger. As our eyes focused, we 
309

realized it was a big truck! Right before our vehicles collided, our 

driver veered sharply to the right. We felt only a smooth rumble 

of our jeep as it soared up rapidly lightening its load — then 

expelling all of us with a slamming jolt before we knew what had 

happened. Had we collided on rocks or against tree trunks we 

would have been smashed to bits, or at least have been very badly 

injured. As it was, we crashed into a puddle. Feeling chilly, we 

found our woolen overcoats soaked through.59

General Wu and his men righted their overturned American Jeep, 

and the driver found that it started-up without a problem. Several 

miles down the road, they managed to find a CPV camp where they 

dried out their clothes. But the incident clearly left its mark on the 

general. Almost all the towns and cities Wu had driven through in 

North Korea had been leveled by “indiscriminate bombing,” and 

only rarely did he ever even see a countryside building intact. Wu 

was to be the Chinese negotiator at the 1951 peace talks in Kaesong 

— which was the only place on the front line relatively untouched. 

To identify it as the site for negotiations, the area was surrounded by 

large barrage balloons, and at night searchlights swept the sky. 

Throughout 1951, General Hong was constantly tormented 

by the CPV’s feeble resupply infrastructure and its vulnerability 

to U.N. air power. So much so that he claims to have personally 

warned Premier Zhou Enlai that “our soldiers now have three 

worries: first that they have no food to eat; second that they have no 

bullets to shoot; and third, nobody to take care of them after they are 

wounded.”60 Indeed, the Chinese commanders had to adopt severe 

measures to increase the efficiency of their supply lines. As the Fifth 

Campaign battle lines stabilized along the 38th Parallel, logistics and 

supply continued to be Hong’s biggest headache. So much so that 

Chairman Mao himself ordered 300,000 troops be withdrawn from 

the battle areas and returned to Manchuria. This, said Marshal Nie, 

made clear improvements in the CPV’s logistical situation.61

POSITIONAL WAR: IN THE TRENCHES

No doubt there was considerable bickering among the CPV 

troopers to see who would be rotated back to sunny Manchuria for 

rest and recuperation. Those who remained at the front line would 

surely be pounded relentlessly day and night by air and cannon, 
310

so much so that they dug deep underground to shelter themselves. 

General Yang Dezhi, 19th Group Army commander, says a random 

sample of one square foot of earth he dug at the Chinese front lines 

contained 287 bomb and cannon fragments of different sizes. His 

Group Army’s positions, he said, had been hit by an estimated 

7,784,000 shells, and he marveled that the Chinese would need 

at least 51,000 trucks or 4,400 rail cars just to transport such an 

inventory.62

The devastating onslaught, of course, had the effect of driving 

the CPVs deep into their trenches and tunnels — mostly the latter. 

The CPVs adopted a practice of digging “J” shaped “cat ear caves” 

well into hillsides as protection against bombardment. General 

Yang proposed “under the principle of protracted warfare” the 

integration of defense breastworks, trenches, and tunnels from 

“mountaintops, slopes and bases, coordinate those on plain and hill 

areas, and construct open shelters and tunnel embrasures.” He also 

designed a “fish-scale” pattern of “cat-ear” tunnels and trenches 

in triangle patterns to deny the enemy the ability to outflank the 

Chinese positions.63 Within these patterns two “cat-ear” caves 

together formed a “U” shaped tunnel with two exits — in which the 

CPVs could withstand heavy artillery shelling, and when the enemy 

overran their positions, the CPVs could “burst out and kill them.”64

At least that was the theory. At any rate, the cave-dwelling proved 

one way to equalize the survivability of the CPVs with the U.N. and 

ROK forces which didn’t get quite the same type of pummeling from 

Chinese guns.65

With the Chinese literally dug in to stay, there was little 

substantial movement at the front lines for the balance of the war. 

Each Chinese soldier “had a rifle in one hand and a shovel in the 

other,” says General Hong. There was so much steel on the ground 

that the 12th Army alone set up 40 blacksmith forges and made tools 

from the scrap, 16,000 new tools, and repaired 75,000 other tools 

to boot. After a time, the CPVs settled in, expanded their tunnels, 

dug more exits, raised headroom, excavated bigger galleries. The 

Americans, for their part, developed heavier bombs and used 

deeper, more penetrating artillery shells.

This was positional warfare in its purest form. In May 1952, the 

CPV Command ordered a “third defensive belt” of trench and tunnel 

fortifications be dug from [Zhonghe] to [Shali Yuan], [Yichuan] and on 
311

to [Huiyang], in which an additional CPV armies could be deployed. 

By the end of August 1952, the CPVs had dug almost 200 kilometers 

of tunnels and an additional 650 km of defensive trenches and dry 

transportation canals big enough for motorized vehicles.

By this time, tunnel and trench fortifications were the backbone 

of China’s strategy to endure the Korean Conflict, and indeed they 

had “marked a new phase in the war.”66 They protected the men 

against the onslaught of bombs and artillery and occasionally served 

as a springboard for the CPV’s frequent but short-lived offensives. 

Although the CPV counterattacks from tunnel fortifications were 

often effective, by mid-1952 U.N. Command forces had developed 

countermeasures. Once a tunneled acre of real estate was taken by 

UNC troops, UNC soldiers would immediately seal tunnel entrances. 

After a period of time the tunnels were opened and any surviving 

CPV soldiers would readily give up. According to prisoner of war 

interrogations, Chinese officers in the tunnels shot soldiers who 

tried to dig out and surrender.67

As Americans routinely used napalm and machine-gun strafing 

against the CPV supply depots small and large, by the first half of 

1952 virtually all CPV warehousing was underground, either in 

thick rammed-earth revetments or, more desirable, in rock-face 

tunnels. In open country, the covered revetments could withstand 

napalm but flooded easily in rain, and it took the Chinese engineers 

some time to design standardized drainage systems for them. In 

mountainous areas, abandoned mines were ideal supply depots. 

One refurbished mine near Namtang-Ri held 600 truckloads of 

ammunition. On May 8, 1951, it was struck in a raid by 368 sorties 

of U.N. aircraft, but suffered no losses. On August 4, 1952, almost 

2 years after China decided to enter the war, Mao Zedong reported 

joyfully to the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Congress that 

“food problems, in fact problems with our entire military supply, 

were unsolvable for a very long time. Then, we didn’t know to dig 

tunnels, to store our food in tunnels, but now we know. Now every 

division has three months provisions, the all have storehouses . . .”

SURVIVAL IN THE TUNNELS

This is not to say that the tunnels were ideal living. Under a 

steady rain of U.N. bombs and artillery shells, CPV troopers spent 
312

weeks on end deep inside their bunkers, “with the biggest problem 

being not seeing daylight for days and days.” Again, the biggest 

CPV victories seemed to be in little things, like how to cope with 

the darkness of the caves. Infantrymen fashioned oil lamps out of 

anything they could lay their hands on; old crockery, tea caddies, tin 

cans, shell casings. Fix a cotton wick, fill it with some kind of oil, and 

fiat lux. In a 60 meter length of tunnel, there would be at least eight 

lamps, 30 lamps would light an entire subterranean channel. For 

an entire battalion in 16 trench-tunnels, however, keeping the fires 

lit continuously would use 200 kg of cooking oil a month. An army 

would burn 50 tons of valuable vegetable oils each month.

Of course, that meant there wasn’t enough oil for cooking, let 

alone lighting. But the real problem with the lamps was the fact that 

there was still too little light and too much smoke. General Hong 

spends a page of his memoirs describing the ingenious hand crafted 

lamps his men fashioned. Still, he had to admit life in the tunnels 

was “difficult.” 

One of the biggest trials of the tunnels was the lack of water 

during dry summers and autumns. All water had to be brought in 

from outside, and at the 38th Parallel most springs were far from 

the tunnels and close to enemy lines where artillery bombardment 

was heavy. Water was not only necessary to survive but, more 

importantly, without it men in the caves began to develop mouth 

and throat lesions and chronic nosebleeds. Resolving water supply 

problems became a top priority for General Hong’s logistical troops 

and by the war’s end, most tunnels had concrete wells and water 

troughs. In the winter of 1951-52, troops feverishly sliced large 

ice blocks from rivers and lakes and stored them in underground 

icehouses. This alleviated the problem somewhat and was repeated 

the following winter.

Tunnel fighting confounded another bit of conventional 

wisdom that the CPVs cherished from their early “mobile war” 

campaigns: that “the sunshine belongs to the American Devils, and 

the moonlight belongs to the CPVs.” Because the CPV had no air 

cover, all operations were at night. Daytime was spent in cavernous 

darkness. But without sunlight, the Chinese troopers developed 

serious vitamin deficiencies.68 With a diet almost exclusively of 

“fried noodles” and not getting out in the day time, lack of biotin 

caused chronic night-blindness for CPV troopers, making them 
313

useless for any offensive maneuvers in the dark. 

Needless to say, this caused serious alarm among CPV logistics 

planners, who made frantic orders for massive shipments of 

peanuts, yellow beans, egg powder, and liver. But “because the 

shipments were small in quantity, the troops vast in numbers, 

these shipments were a drop in the bucket, and the problem was 

not solved easily.” Then, mirable dictu, Korean peasants revealed 

an herbal medicine treatment for night-blindness in the form of a 

complicated distillation of “pine needle tea.” The decoction was 

extremely bitter without sugar, but sure enough, after a week of 

drinking the stuff, night-sight returned. Of course, this also meant 

one had to find the proper evergreens on the denuded slopes of the 

Korean landscape. Nonetheless, the logistical department gathered 

as much as possible from the rear areas and shipped all they could 

to the fighters at the front.

The helpful Korean country folk also noted that tadpole embryos 

just sprouting limbs were also a rich source of dietary vitamins. 

Just scoop a handful of the little black wrigglers out of a waterfilled crater, “pop them into a tea pot with some water — best with 

some sugar, but okay without — and gulp, gulp them down alive, 

three times a day, and in two days you begin to see results.” There 

were rivers and streams, not to mention bomb craters, all across 

the countryside which provided a constant and abundant source of 

tadpoles in the summer. “We got every unit mobilized to play with 

this clever beverage.” Says General Hong, “once again, the night 

returned to us.”

MORE THAN SURPRISE IS NEEDED

This chapter is not meant to be a recitation of all the tactical, 

operational and strategic lessons the PLA learned from the Korean 

War — only the important ones. First, operational surprise is 

essential if the PLA is to make use of its massive numerical superiority 

against an enemy massively superior in advanced weaponry. 

Second, when the surprise wears off, the PLA must be prepared to 

suffer horrendous pain for extended periods in a “protracted” war 

— unless, of course, one side or the other abandons constraints of 

limited war and escalates to total war. 

The surprise achieved as China entered the Korean War may 
314

have been serendipitous. Chinese Premier Zhou Enlai had, after all, 

told the Indian Ambassador in Beijing, K. M. Panikkar, twice, once in 

August and again on October 1, 1950, that China would enter Korea 

if U.S. troops crossed the 38th Parallel. Surely Zhou’s warning 

should have alerted U.N. Command forces that China was prepared 

to enter the war — hardly a recipe for surprise.69 Moreover, the 

question of China’s possible entry into the Korean War was a regular 

feature of political debate in Washington, as well as in most capitals 

allied in the United Nations Command. To be sure, Beijing did not 

go out of its way to announce troop movements to Manchuria, and 

the infiltration of several hundred thousand CPVs into Korea was 

done in the utmost secrecy.

The lesson for future PLA strategists, therefore, must be to strike 

decisively and hard without operational warning. With this lesson 

in mind, a 21st century attack on Taiwan, for example, will be in 

a context of an extended period of political warnings — such as 

Zhou’s to Panikkar — which establish the casus belli over time but 

do not alert the enemy to observe any mobilization along China’s 

East Coast. 

Moreover, every effort should be taken to prevent the enemy 

from knowing he’s been hit decisively — possibly for several days 

after the attack has begun — as in the Korean War. Again, a future 

operation against Taiwan would involve military strikes masked 

somehow. 

SCENARIO FOR A SURPRISE?

One wins no prizes for pointing out the PLA’s reverence for the 

power of tactical surprise. It is amply documented and is a central 

feature of the Pentagon’s 2002 Report on the Military Power of the 

People’s Republic of China.

70 But do the lessons of the Korean War 

help understand how the PLA would operationalize the “role of 

surprise and preemption in local conflicts”? The Pentagon Report 

stresses:

PLA operational theory reflects the transition undertaken during 

the 1990s to shift from predominately annihilative to coercive 

war-fighting strategies. Shock and surprise are considered by 

PLA strategists as crucial to successful coercion. Accordingly, 
315

PLA operational theory emphasizes achieving surprise and 

accruing “shock power” during the opening phase of a campaign. 

The pre-eminent role that surprise and pre-emption have in 

potential conflicts is best illustrated in the fundamental principles 

of “Actively Taking the Initiative” and “Catching the Enemy 

Unprepared” in PLA operational doctrine.

• “Actively Taking the Initiative” stresses the necessity of attack at 

the optimal point and time to catch the enemy unprepared.

• “Catching the Enemy Unprepared” emphasizes the role of 

concealment of intentions and capabilities through camouflage, 

deception, feints, and the use of stratagem to allow a relatively 

small amount of force to dominate the enemy through 

surprise.71

In a Taiwan invasion scenario, how would the PLA mask such an 

attack for such an extended period in an age of satellite reconnaissance, 

internet communications and a very densely populated battle area? 

Over the past 4 years, there have been several incidents highlighting 

Taiwan’s infrastructure vulnerabilities that offer clues.

Identifying Taiwan’s Achilles Heels. 

The first one occurred suspiciously in July 1999, 3 weeks after 

Taiwan President Lee Teng-hui articulated a “special state-to-state 

relationship” with China which Beijing saw as setting Taiwan on a 

road to independence. At 11:31:18 pm — exactly — on Thursday 

night, July 29, 1999, a 34.5 kilovolt cable tower at Tso-chen township 

near Tainan collapsed in a landslide, breaking circuits at all North 

Taiwan power transformers and sinking nine million households 

into Taiwan’s biggest blackout in 50 years.72 Although Kaohsiung, 

Pingtung, Taitung, and Hualien were spared, 34 trains on the northsouth rail line, businesses, hospitals, television and radio stations, 

in fact, everything hooked into Taiwan Power Company’s North 

Taiwan grid, came to a halt. With tensions across the Taiwan Strait 

already strained, rumors spread that the Chinese had caused the 

blackout in preparation for an invasion.

A more spectacular incident several weeks later was not so 

suspicious — it was seen on seismographs across the globe and 
316

was immediately identified as a natural phenomenon. At 1:47 

am Tuesday morning, September 21, 1999, a massive earthquake 

blasted whole city blocks off their foundations throughout central 

Taiwan, killing thousands and destroying transportation, power, 

and sanitation infrastructures. It wasn’t until 32 hours later at 

8:00 am Wednesday morning, September 22, that power was 

restored to three-quarters of the 6,497,800 households blacked-out 

during the quake. Taiwan’s six nuclear power units, which shut off 

automatically during the quake, were not back on-line until 7:00 pm 

Friday evening, September 24. Power lines and broken ultra-high 

voltage transformers destroyed by the quake in isolated locations 

were more difficult to repair quickly, and little electricity from 

down-Island power plants was able get onto the north-Island grid.73

Other incidents, however, appear to have been man-made — by 

PRC actors. Twice in 2001, on February 9 and March 9, undersea 

cable problems cut off Taiwan web surfers from North Americanbased internet sites. The first incident was reportedly caused by an 

“electrical malfunction” in the cable. A fishing trawler severed the 

cable in the second instance. Both incidents occurred off the coast 

of China near Chongmingdao, an island near Shanghai. Although 

internet service for Taiwan was rerouted within 24 hours through an 

older cable to Japan and the United States, service was spotty for 10 

days thereafter.74

Exploiting Infrastructure Vulnerabilities. 

An obvious scenario, therefore, would incorporate a massive, 

early evening shock attack on Taiwan’s electric power grids, its 

communications infrastructure, and its airports, harbors, and rail 

and highway lines. The Pentagon Report is explicit that the PLA 

is studying “lightning attacks and powerful first strikes” against 

“radar, radio stations, communications facilities, and command ships 

as priority targets vulnerable to smart weapons, electronic attack, 

and electromagnetic pulse (EMP) weapons.” Radiofrequency attacks 

could jam wireless transmissions not already debilitated by strikes 

on central mobile-phone exchanges. At the same time, Taiwan’s 

international telecommunications would be blocked, and substitute 

data transmissions would mask the attack to the outside world. 

Initially, a spectrum of counterfeit news reporting would indicate 
317

that another earthquake had hit Taipei causing massive damage. 

After several hours, or as day broke, additional reports would note 

that key figures in the central government were missing.

Without electric power, or domestic telecommunications, and 

with rumors spreading of seismic activity, Taiwan’s own military 

command and control systems would be challenged beyond their 

limits.

In November 1950, the appearance of MiG-15 fighters and heavy 

anti-aircraft fire from the Chinese side of the Yalu River discouraged 

UNC RB-29s from peering too closely at the Yalu bridges while 

Chinese troops were crossing. The U.S. Air Force’s limited 

reconnaissance assets also degraded the quality of intelligence 

the U.N. Command received on the magnitude of the Chinese 

intervention. 

An integrated PLA strike on Taiwan in the 21st century, 

therefore, would also focus on disguising a missile attack on the 

island. Whether that would require direct blinding of U.S. space 

surveillance platforms, and/or striking only on days where severe 

weather would complicate satellite optics, or simply waiting until 

there is a long lag time between satellite overflights, are doubtless 

tactics the PLA is seriously studying. At any event, the lesson of the 

Korean War must be that optimal results demand that neither the 

Taiwan nor the American command authorities are even aware that 

an attack has struck until several hours, or indeed days, afterwards.

DECAPITATING POLITICAL LEADERSHIP

The June 2002 Pentagon Report notes that “the PLA also could 

adopt a decapitation strategy, seeking to neutralize Taiwan’s political 

and military leadership on the assumption that their successors 

would adopt policies more favorable to Beijing.”

This, too, is a lesson from the Korean War. There is documentation 

that the Chinese leadership suspected Stalin started the Korean War 

in order to prevent the PLA from liberating Taiwan.75 Looking back 

on the War several decades later with the benefit of documents 

from both the Soviet and American (and perhaps even their own) 

archives, it may well seem to the leaders of the PLA that they were 

closer to reclaiming Taiwan in the summer of 1950 than they ever 

imagined at the time.
318

The outbreak of the Korean conflict aborted an incipient 

military coup against the Nationalist Chinese leader on Taiwan, 

Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, by one of Chiang’s most respected 

soldiers, General Sun Li-jen (Sun Liren).76 General Sun, it seems, 

was one of the very few Nationalist Chinese leaders on Taiwan with 

whom the Chinese Communist leadership believed they could deal. 

A military coup and the installation of a friendly regime in Taipei in 

1950 would have saved the PLA the massive bloodshed and treasure 

they had prepared for a Taiwan invasion, which was to take place 

sometime after August 1950.

Indeed, documents from U.S. Department of State Archives report 

that credible intermediaries of Marshal Chen Yi, then chairman 

of the PRC’s “East China Bureau” headquartered in Shanghai, 

had approached the still-resident U.S. Consul General in the city, 

Walter P. McConaughy, in January and February 1950 to propose 

that strained relations between the Chinese Communists and 

Washington would ease once there was a regime in Taipei that the 

Communists “could deal with.”77 One name mentioned by Marshal 

Chen’s intermediary was General Sun. Chen’s cutout explained that 

the Marshal feared a “pro-Soviet” faction in Beijing would emerge 

preeminent in the Chinese Communist Party leadership, and Chen 

hoped to counteract their influence by a warming in ties with the 

United States. Chen’s overture came several months after a similar 

approach by Zhou Enlai (June 1949) to the U.S. Consul General in 

Peiping, O. Edmund Clubb.78 By early June 1950, the groundwork 

had been laid in Taipei for a coup, and the State Department had 

prepared plans for General Sun’s imminent takeover.79

It was, however, not imminent enough. The outbreak of the 

Korean War on June 25 put plans on hold, and eventually they were 

abandoned altogether. Some scholars, Chinese and American, saw 

this as the real reason Stalin was persuaded to unleash Kim Il-sung: 

to strangle prospects either for a U.S.-China rapprochement or for a 

successful PLA invasion of Taiwan later in the summer of 1950.80 It 

seems clear that PLA historians are well versed in the circumstances 

of General Sun’s abortive coup.

A final lesson of the Korean War, then, is that a friendly politicalmilitary leadership must be installed in Taiwan simultaneously with 

a PLA “shock attack.” Somehow, the existing political leadership on 

Taiwan must be liquidated and replaced with a local politician with 
319

some reasonable color of legitimacy. Some praetorian guard must 

be emplaced as a bulwark while the new Taiwan leaders contact the 

United States to ensure them that all is well and there is no need to 

get involved. It would also help if Taiwan’s military leadership is 

sufficiently ambivalent to dither about a reaction.

The Pentagon Report notes that PLA special operations units “are 

expected to play an important role in achieving objectives in which 

limited goals, scale of force and time would be crucial to victory.” 

SOF missions likely include conducting denial and deception and 

information operations — and no doubt political “decapitation” 

operations.

CONCLUSION: SURPRISE TO STALEMATE

It takes no inordinate leaps of imagination to see that with the 

lessons of the Korean War in mind the PLA could manage to invest 

Taiwan in a sudden shock attack. Surprise could indeed afford the 

PLA an ample bridgehead in Taiwan along the lines of the Argentine 

investment of the Falklands in 1982 or the Iraqi occupation of Kuwait 

in 1990. 

The test of the PLA would then come in the subsequent stalemate 

of a “protracted war” with the United States — and, hopefully, 

with the rest of the civilized world — that would follow. How the 

international community would react in the months and years after 

an attack, and how Beijing’s occupation would sustain itself in a 

prolonged stalemate faced with an unruly populace in Taiwan and 

an indignant, possibly hostile, international world would determine 

who wins the ultimate victory.

At what point would the Chinese leadership capitulate under 

global economic sanctions if not military blockade; at what point 

would the Taiwanese populace simply give up and accept Beijing 

suzerainty; at what point would the international community 

support a Thatcherite reclamation of the illegally seized Island or a 

Bushesque coalition to liberate the benighted Taiwanese people? 

The PLA’s lessons from the Korean War promise that a swift 

surprise attack would yield initial success in occupying the Island 

and enduring the protracted pain of the invasion’s aftermath 

would eventually yield a grudging, East Timor-like international 

acquiescence in their occupation and eventual acceptance of the new 
320

status quo. Of course, Indonesia was eventually obliged to give up 

East Timor--but that is not a lesson the Chinese are likely to take 

away from the Korean War.

ENDNOTES - CHAPTER 8

1. Hong Xuezhi, Recollection of the War to Resist U.S. Aggression and Aid Korea

(Kang Mei Yuanxhao Zhanzheng Huiyi); Beijing: People’s Liberation Army Cultural 

Press, 1990, p. 275.

2. See Zhang Ling, et al., The Biography of Xu Xiangqian (Xu Xianqian Zhuan); 

Beijing: Contemporary China Publishers, 1991. Pp. 510-519 deal with Marshal 

Xu’s negotiations in Moscow for Korean War materiel.

3. Mao Zedong, Selected Military Writings of Mao Tsetung (in English); Peking: 

Foreign Languages Press, 1972. “On Protracted War” was an essay written in May 

1938. See pp. 187-267. 

4. Ibid., p.239.

5. Peng was promoted to the rank of Marshal of the PLA on September 

23,1955, but for clarity of identification, he is referred to as “Marshal.” See Jurgen 

Domes, Peng Te-huai, The Man and the Image; Palo Alto: Stanford University Press, 

1985, p. 67.

6. Wang Xingye ed, History of the Development of Campaign Thought (Zhanyi 

Sixiang Fazhan Shi); Beijing: National Defense University Publishers, 1997, pp. 314-

315.

7. Wang Bo’s Peng Dehuai-Record of Entering Korea to do Battle (Peng Dehuai 

Ru Chao Zuo Zhan Jishi); Shijiazhuang: Huashan Cultural Publishers, 1992, pp. 

146-153, is particularly egregious in this regard, citing long verbatim exchanges 

among Peng’s general staff on Chairman Mao’s detailed instructions for the 

Second Campaign. 

8. Chinese Pinyin romanizations of Korean place names are in [brackets] 

where the standard rendition of the Korean name is unavailable. 

9. Hong Xuezhi, p.54. 

10. Ibid., p. 13.

11. Zhang Xi, “Peng Dehuai Receives Command, the Context of the antiAmerica, Support Korea War Peng” (Dehuai Shou Ming Shuai Shi, Kang Mei 
321

Yuan Chao Qianqian Houhou) in Historical Materials of the Chinese Communist 

Party (Zhonggong Dangshi Ziliao) Vol. 31, Beijing: CCP Historical Materials Press, 

October 1989, p. 157.

12. Ibid.

13. Ibid.

14. For a full order of battle of the CPV forces from October to December 1950, 

including names of field commanders down to division level, see Shen Zonghong 

and Meng Zhaohui, eds., The Chinese People’s Volunteer Army History of the War 

Against American and Aid to Korea (Zhongguo Renmin Zhiyuan Jun Kang Mei Yuan 

Chao Zhanshi), Beijing: Military Sciences Publishing House, 1990, Appendix A 

following p. 243. See also William W. Whitson, The Chinese High Command; New 

York: Praeger Publishers, 1973, p. 96. Marshal Nie Rongzhen notes that the alert 

order went to General Deng Hua’s 42nd Army “Strategic Reserve Force” located 

in Henan province and to the Fourth Field Army in Southern China on August 

5. Memoirs of Nie Rongzhen (Nie Rongzhen Huiyi Lu); Beijing: People’s Liberation 

Army Press, 1986, p. 739.

15. Hong Xuezhi, p. 44. Earlier U.S. estimates put the Chinese force at about 

180,000. See Alan S. Whiting, China Crosses the Yalu, RAND Corporation Research 

Study R-356, New York: Macmillan, November 1960, p. 118. By November 24, 

there were “a total of 450,000 Chinese troops in Korea, including 380,000 combat 

fighters” — also see Li Jian, ed., A True Account of New China’s Six Wars Against 

Aggression (Xin Zhongguo Liuci Fan Qinlue Zhanzheng Shilu), Beijing: China 

Broadcast Television Publishers, 1992.

16. Marshal Nie Rongzhen notes that China’s original plan was to send in only 

six divisions to face the widely scattered U.S.-U.N.-ROK forces. See Nie, p. 741. 

Hong Xuezhi says there were “twelve infantry divisions, three artillery divisions,” 

with an additional 24 divisions concentrating on the border. Hong, p. 44. Also see 

Billy C. Mossman, U.S. Army in the Korean War: Ebb and Flow November 1950-July 

1951; Washington DC: Center for Military History, 1990, p.55.

17. Robert Frank Futrell, The United States Air Force in Korea 1950-1953, 

Washington, DC: Center for Air Force History, 1983, pp. 228-229.

18. Hong Xuezhi, p. 38.

19. Ibid., p. 54. See also Volunteer Army History, appendix map 3.

20. Peng Dehuai, Peng Dehuai’s Testament (Peng Dehuai Zishu), Beijing: People’s 

Publishing House, 1981, p. 259. A servicable English translation was published in 

1984 by the Foreign Languages Press in Beijing under the title Memoirs of a Chinese 
322

Marshal, p.475.

21. Hong Xuezhi, p. 55.

22. Ibid. The official Chinese dates for the First Campaign are October 25 

to November 5, 1950 — See The Great Chinese Encyclopedia, “Military,” Vol. 1 

(Zhongguo Dabaike Quanshu: Junshi, 1), Beijing: Encyclopedia Press 1989, p. 631.

23. James F. Schnabel, Policy and Direction, the First Year; Washington DC: 

Center for Military History, 1972, p. 234. As late as November 9, the Joint Chiefs 

were still considering the possibility that the Chinese merely wanted to gain time 

for the defeated, disorganized NKPA to pull itself together. Schnabel, p. 252.

24. Ibid., p. 235.

25. Hong Xuezhi, p. 56.

26. Ibid.

27. Hong Xuezhi, p. 57. MG Charles L. Bolte, then Assistant Chief of Staff of 

the Army, had arrived in Korea, as he described it, “just after the Chinese had 

destroyed the 8th Cavalry Regimental Combat Team.” A memo by Bolte on 

November 14 indicated that the Americans still had no idea what they were up 

against. See Schnabel, p. 257.

28. Ibid.

29. Ibid., p. 67.

30. Li Jian, p. 48. 

31. Ibid., p. 52.

32. Ibid., p. 49. Li Jian cites a study prepared by the US Army Command and 

General Staff College for this assessment. 

33. Ibid., p. 50.

34. Ibid., p. 51.

35. Hong Xuezhi, p. 36.

36. Like Peng Dehuai, Nie was named a Marshal in 1955, but he is identified 

here as “Marshal” for ease of identification.
323

37. Nie Rongzhen, p. 741.

38. Ibid., p. 754.

39. Whitson, p. 96. The CPV History lists Gen. Song’s 9th Group Army as 

comprising twelve infantry divisions of the 20th, 26th, and 27th Armies. 

40. Li Jian, p.47.

41. Toward the end of the “Third Campaign” on December 31, the 2nd and 

5th Group Armies had crossed below the 38th Parallel in the eastern sector, but 

only had 100 heavy guns with 100 rounds each. The CPV howitzers had limited 

mobility and were vulnerable to air attack. When the ammunition ran out, the 

CPV offensive relied entirely on small arms to break through ROK lines. See Li 

Jian, p. 51.

42 Nie Rongzhen, p. 754.

43. Hong Xuezhi, p.215. Hong noted that another pilot who did the same 

thing tore off his vertical stabilizer and crashed some miles away.

44. Ibid.

45. Ibid., p. 218.

46. Nie Rongzhen, p. 759.

47. Ibid. 

48. Nie Rongzhen, p. 757.

49. Wu Xiuquan, Eight Years in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (Zai Waijiaobu 

Baniande Jingli), Beijing: World Knowledge Publishing House, 1983, p. 74.

50. Hong Xuezhi, p. 196.

51. See Futrell, pp. 441-448.

52. Hong Xuezhi, pp. 198-199.

53. Ibid., pp. 221-222.

54. Ibid., pp. 204-205.

55. Ibid., p. 209.
324

56. Ibid., p. 210.

57. Ibid., p. 228.

58. Wu Xiuquan, pp. 73-74.

59. Ibid., pp. 75-76.

60. Cited in English Translation in Xiaobing Li, Allan R. Millet, and Bin Yu, 

Mao’s Generals Remember Korea, Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 2002, p. 

126.

61. Nie Rongzhen, p. 755.

62. General Yang did not give the time-frame within which 7 million pieces 

of ordnance landed on his troops’ positions. See Mao’s Generals Remember Korea, 

p. 148.

63. Mao’s Generals Remember Korea, p. 152.

64. Hong Xuezhi, p. 234.

65. Unless otherwise noted, information on Chinese trench and tunnel warfare 

is from Ibid., pp. 234 -241.

66. see also Qi Zhengjun, ed., An Outline of the Art of War (Zhanshuxue Gailun), 

Beijing: People’s Liberation Army Publishers, 1986, p. 34-45. 

67. Walter G. Hermes, Truce Tent and Fighting Front; Washington, DC: Center 

for Military History, 1966, p. 289.

68. General Hong describes this as a “biotin” deficiency (weishengshu ‘H 

quefanbing); it also seems likely that lack of sunlight would cause a Vitamin D 

deficiency. 

69. But Alan Whiting’s analysis puts that warning in the context of other 

warnings regarding Taiwan which were not acted upon. Zhou’s warnings, he 

speculates, were meant to justify the Chinese action after the fact, not signal the 

UNC before it. Whiting, pp. 107-109.

70. Annual Report on the Military Power of the People’s Republic of China, a Report 

to Congress prepared by the Department of Defense Pursuant to the FY2000 

National Defense Authorization Act. Text is available at http://www.defenselink.mil/

news/Jul2002/d20020712china.pdf.
325

71. Ibid., p. 13.

72. See the Taiwan Weekly Business Bulletin (TWBB) for the week ending 

August 4, 1999, published by China Online. The TWBB cites the United Daily 

News, Saturday, July 31, 1999, as the source of the information. Text available at 

http://www.chinaonline.com/features/taiwan_wrpt/open/c9080521taiwan811.pdf.

73. TWBB for September 22, 1999, at http://www.chinaonline.com/features/

taiwan_wrpt/open/c9092320taiwanA4.PDF.

74. Dan Nystedt, “Undersea cable troubles bode well for new companies,” 

Taipei Times, Internet edition, March 24, 2001, available at http://www.taipeitimes.com/

news/2001/03/24. 

75. See Li, et al., Mao’s Generals Remember Korea, pp. 246-247, citing Chinese 

historian Shen Zhihua. See also Shen Zhihua, footnote 78 below.

76. Thomas J. Schoenbaum, Waging Peace and War: Dean Rusk in the Truman, 

Kennedy, and Johnson Years, New York: Simon and Schuster, 1988, p. 209.

77. See Foreign Relations of the United States (FRUS), Vol. VI, 1950, pp. 291, 

304. Although the names of Nationalist Chinese civilian and military figures on 

Taiwan who the Chinese believed would cooperate with the PRC are excised in 

the published version, copies of the documents later released include General 

Sun’s name.

78. Clubb’s communications in June-July 1949, reported in FRUS, Vol. VIII, 

1949, pp. 357-410, were sent via the British Legation code facilities. Soviet spy Guy 

Burgess was in the British Foreign Office China division at the time. Soviet spy 

Kim Philby arrived in Washington as the MI-6 liaison to the CIA and FBI at the 

British Embassy in the fall of 1949, according to Chapman Pincher, Too Secret, Too 

Long, New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1984, pp. 171-185.

79. See “Hypothetical Development of the Formosan Situation,” a six page 

memorandum classified “Top Secret” (control number 793.00/5350) dated May 

3, 1950. It is unsigned, but handwritten initials at the bottom of the last page read 

“PHN,” possibly Paul H. Nitze, then Director of Policy Planning for the Secretary 

of State.

80.. See Shen Zhihua, Mao Zedong, Stalin and the Korean War: Chinese and 

Soviet Top Secret Documents (Mao Zedong, Sidalin yu Hanzhan: Zhong Su Zuigao 

Jimi Dangan), Hong Kong: Cosmos Books, 1998, pp. 199, 209-210, 220-221. See 

also Bruce Cumings, The Origins of the Korean War, Volume II: The Roaring Cataract 

1947-1950, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1990, pp. 509-544. Cumings 
326

makes a point of noting that Soviet agents, particularly Guy Burgess, had access to 

a great deal of U.S. intelligence and foreign policy information on China, probably 

including the planned Sun Li-jen coup. The circumstantial evidence would 

have persuaded the Chinese at the time. The precise timing of the North Korean 

invasion of the South apparently was determined by Stalin. Prisoner of war 

interrogations of a number of senior NKPA officers including the chiefs of staff of 

two separate divisions indicated they were given no specific orders to launch until 

about one week before the invasion actually took place. They uniformly reported 

that KNPA logistics were completely controlled by Soviet military advisors, and 

that “they did not supply the trucks required to make the army mobile or the 

tanks and heavy guns calculated to give it an edge over south Korea in firepower 

until April and May 1950. Finally the USSR was able to keep close check over 

the movement of the north Korean Army by allocating gasoline to the army on 

a monthly basis.” See U.S. Department of State, North Korea: A Case Study in the 

Techniques of Takeover; Department of State publication 7118, Far Eastern Series 

103, released January 1961, pp. 113-114. 
327

CHAPTER 9

CONCENTRATING FORCES AND AUDACIOUS ACTION:

PLA LESSONS FROM THE SINO-INDIAN WAR

Larry M. Wortzel

The Sino-Indian War of 1962 is a source of great pride for 

China’s Peoples Liberation Army (PLA). It followed on the heels 

of an embarrassing Korean War campaign where China sustained 

heavy losses and suffered a strategic geopolitical defeat. During the 

Sino-Indian War, however, the PLA inflicted more damage than it 

suffered. According to PLA records, more than 8,000 Indian soldiers 

were killed, wounded, or captured, while Chinese casualties barely 

exceeded 2,000. More importantly, China’s aggressive defense of its 

borders established the paramount importance of sovereignty to its 

national identity. 

The recipe for war was familiar: a territorial dispute aggravated 

by excess nationalism. The partition of Kashmir, which followed the 

Indo-Pakistan War of 1947, resulted in a vaguely defined border 

between China and India. While India recognized the so-called 

“McMahon line,” China never formally accepted it, opting instead 

for the “borders of habit” that had existed between adjoining 

peoples for decades previous. India eventually amassed its troops 

along its border and orchestrated several gradual incursions that 

followed a “forward policy” that China characterized as a policy 

of “nibbling.” After failed diplomatic overtures, China pursued 

“audacious action,” engaging in a war of two phases. It first repelled 

Indian forces from the border and then penetrated deep into Indian 

territory to destroy India’s fighting capacity.

China’s overwhelming victory can be attributed to strong political 

leadership and proper use of military strategy, or campaign art 

(zhanyi zhudong quan). PLA records show that some 160 small 

unit leaders were cited for heroism while the much-maligned 

commissar system did not seem to adversely affect leadership 

hierarchy or overall morale. Furthermore, in what it characterizes 

as the “Counterattack in Self Defense on the China-India Border,” 

the PLA exhibited brilliant strategic and tactical decision-making. 

The PLA deployed a strong force decisively, concentrating strength 
328

at critical points with the ultimate objective of encirclement. They 

also utilized the element of surprise whenever possible and took 

better advantage of the weather and terrain, establishing better 

lines of transport and communication.

The maintenance and defense of definable borders is one of the 

most important missions of the PLA.1 Indeed, the sovereignty of 

borders is a matter of the utmost national importance to China. And 

to demonstrate just how important sovereignty is to China, in the 

Sino-Indian War in 1962, Beijing used the PLA and “border defense 

troops” to demonstrate to the Indian Army that China insisted on 

observing the borders defined in 1959,2 and further, did not want 

to see military exercises, military patrolling, or the firing of rifles or 

artillery in close proximity to the border.3

The PLA took a number of important lessons from its experience 

in the war against India in 1962. In what it characterizes for itself as 

the “Counterattack in Self Defense on the China-India Border,”4 the 

PLA destroyed the fighting strength and captured personnel of three 

brigades of the Indian Army. The Indian 7th Brigade, including its 

commander Brigadier Dalvi, the 62nd Brigade, and the 4th Artillery 

Brigade were all rendered ineffective. In addition, the PLA seriously 

mauled five other Indian brigades (the 11th, 48th, 65th, 67th, and 

114th).5 

The PLA is quite proud of its record in the war, especially since 

it suffered such heavy losses in combat in the Korean War. China’s 

military historians have attributed this success to a combination 

of audacious action on the battlefield, good leadership, taking 

advantage of the terrain, good logistics, and strong ideological 

preparation.6 By “audacious action” PLA leaders mean the use of 

initiative and a vigorous offense. On the whole, China’s victory was 

characterized as an example of good strategy and strong initiative in 

campaign art (zhanyi zhudong quan).

7

 PLA theorists and historians 

point to Mao Zedong’s discussion of the need to “create local 

superiority in the campaign” by concentrating strength at decisive 

points as the inspiration for the conduct of the campaign against 

India.8
329

THE BACKGROUND OF THE SINO-INDIAN WAR9

After India gained independence from Britain, it was split with 

the formation of a Muslim-majority Pakistan in 1947. A dispute 

between the two new nations broke out almost immediately over the 

states of Jammu and Kashmir (hereafter, Kashmir), located along the 

northernmost part of the border with China.10 Although Kashmir 

was predominantly Muslim, at the time of the partition of India and 

Pakistan the region was ruled by a Hindu who opted to join India 

when offered the choice to align with either of the two new nations.11

The first India-Pakistan War of 1947 gave India control of about twothirds of Kashmir, resulting in a shared border with China of about 

600 kilometers within an already disputed piece of terrain in the 

western sector of the Sino-Indian border. 

The Sino-Indian boundary, although not continuous, is about 

2,000 kilometers long, and may be subdivided into three sectors: the 

east, middle, and west. The eastern sector, about 650 kilometers long, 

runs from the juncture of the borders of China, India, and Bhutan to 

the juncture of the borders of China, India, and Burma (Myanmar), 

with southeastern Tibet on the Chinese side and Arunachal Pradesh 

province on the Indian side. The middle sector extends about 450 

kilometers, with the Ali administrative area of western Tibet on the 

Chinese side and Himachal Pradesh and Uttar Pradesh provinces 

on the Indian side. The 600-kilometer western sector overlaps areas 

of Xinjiang and western Tibet on the Chinese side, and the Ladakh 

Range region of Kashmir on the Indian side. 

Although these three sectors of the Sino-Indian boundary have 

never been formally stipulated in treaty, the traditional borders took 

shape and were accepted by the peoples of the adjoining countries 

who maintained generally friendly trade relations across the borders 

for a long time. The eastern sector of the traditional “borders of habit” 

(i.e., the traditionally accepted border) was disrupted by Britain 

and India from time to time during the 19th century. After India’s 

establishment as a sovereign state in 1947, the Indian Government 

declared that its boundary with China, as delineated by New Delhi, 

had been fixed according to international treaty law, but the Chinese 

government disputed this. 
330

THE SECTORS OF THE BORDER

Beginning in about 1950, the Indian Government maintained that 

the eastern sector of the Sino-Indian boundary was along a partially 

surveyed feature, “the McMahon Line.” British Foreign Secretary 

Henry McMahon had drawn this line during the Simla Conference 

held in northern India from October 13, 1913, through July 3, 1914. 

Representatives from British India, the new but weak Republic of 

China, and Tibet attended the Simla conference, which, among 

other goals, sought a “common understanding of the political and 

geographical meaning of the term Tibet.”12 The government of 

the People’s Republic of China (PRC) has never recognized either 

the resulting treaty or the McMahon Line. Beijing maintains that 

the Nationalist (Republic of China) plenipotentiary at Simla, Chen 

Yifan, did not sign the treaty.13 One British goal in 1914, the time of 

the Simla Conference, was to undermine both Chinese sovereignty 

over Tibet and the authority of its officials within Tibet. 

Notwithstanding Chen Yifan’s refusal to sign the Simla Treaty, 

representatives of the pre-1911 Qing dynasty government and the 

successor Republic of China (Nationalist) government had signed 

a series of trade agreements and treaties concerning Tibet and the 

Sino-Indian border area during the period between 1865 (the AngloBhutanese Treaty of Sinchula, November 11, 1865) and the 1914 

Simla Conference.14

From the time of the establishment of the PRC in October 

1949 and throughout the 1950s, India adhered to a policy that 

emphasized friendly relations with the PRC. Moreover, until 1950, 

the middle sector of the Sino-Indian boundary had been marked as 

“not stipulated” on official maps of India. Indeed, as late as March 

1959 Indian Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru admitted in a letter to 

Chinese Premier Zhou Enlai that no treaty had stipulated that sector 

of the boundary.15 With respect to the western sector of the border, 

the Indian government likewise admitted in 1959 that the specifics 

of the boundary had not been stipulated in an exchange of notes 

between local Tibetan and Kashmir authorities in 1842.16 

Nonetheless, despite maintaining generally friendly relations 

and the Indian admissions regarding the ambiguity of the border, 

India maintained its inherited territorial claims along the disputed 

border, maintained military border outposts, and involved 
331

itself in the continuing problems China had in reestablishing its 

traditional control over Tibet.17 From early 1951 on, Indian troops 

took advantage of the fact that the PLA had not yet reached and 

consolidated all parts of its borders, and advanced north, occupying 

the Tawang Tract in the eastern sector of the border, but not crossing 

the McMahon Line. Authorities in Tibet vigorously protested but 

the Indian government ignored them.18 Then in 1953, Indian troops 

pushed forward from their positions, which then were called the 

“line of actual control,” to the McMahon Line. In doing so, they 

occupied about 90,000 square kilometers of territory that, although 

south of the McMahon Line, was claimed by Tibet. 

THE OUTBREAK OF CONFLICT

On August 25, 1959 a squad of Indian troops crossed into the 

Longju area north of the McMahon Line and opened fire on a team of 

Chinese frontier guards in a village called Migyitun.19 The Chinese 

forces responded to the small arms fire, fighting back in self-defense, 

in the first armed clash between the two countries. The village of 

Migyitun was important as a place along a pilgrimage route for 

Tibetans. According to Neville Maxwell, McMahon had drawn his 

line in 1914 for the area of Migyitun in a way that did not follow the 

high points of topography on the map. To facilitate the pilgrimage 

of Tibetan Buddhists from India and maintain good relations with 

the Tibetans, McMahon left Migyitun inside Tibet.20 

In the western sector of the border, on October 21, 1959, a team 

of Indian troops crossed the traditional border at Kongka Pass, 

entering Chinese territory. Another firefight developed, during 

which the Indians again reportedly opened fire first, at least 

according to Chinese sources, wounding a Chinese frontier soldier. 

Although Maxwell is unsure of which side actually fired first in 

these incidents, he notes that the Indian Army suffered one soldier 

killed and one wounded at Longju.21 

It is also important to note that the Indian forces in these two 

incidents were most probably in conflict with Chinese frontier forces 

(or border defense units), not the PLA main force infantry divisions 

that were thrown against the Indian Army in 1962. This fact becomes 

obscured in many of the statements from China, which consistently 

refer to China’s frontier or border forces.22 The PLA at that time 
332

(as it does today) maintained border defense units with military 

and public security functions that were more or less permanently 

assigned to patrol and outpost duties along frontiers. These were 

light infantry units often supported by artillery or mortars, but they 

did not have the same training in combat, fire support, maneuver, 

and communications as the main force divisions of the Chinese 

combat armies. 

After these two clashes, the Chinese government sought a means 

to relax the tension and resolve the border disputes through dialogue. 

To prevent the armed conflict from extending or escalating into war, 

the Chinese government in November 1959 proposed an immediate 

mutual withdrawal of troops to 20 kilometers from the McMahon 

Line in the eastern sector of the border, and mutual withdrawal of 

20 kilometers from the line of actual control in the western sector. 

However, Nehru and the Indian government did not respond, and 

Indian troops remained deployed in their forward positions. The 

Chinese response was a unilateral decision to withdraw its forces 

twenty kilometers from the line of actual control between the two 

countries.23 In his book India’s China War, Neville Maxwell says of 

the incidents: 

After the Longju and Kongka Pass incidents of late 1959, with 

the realization that an intractable dispute might develop over 

the boundary question, the expansion of the (Indian) Army 

became more purposeful, and faster. In November-December 

1959, 4 Division was hurriedly transferred from the Punjab to 

the northeast, and a new division, the 17th created.... 4 Division’s 

responsibility was the McMahon Line, from Bhutan to Burma, 

about 360 miles.24 

 The Indian government subsequently ordered its own forces to 

suspend temporarily patrols along the line of actual control. The 

armed forces of the two sides therefore disengaged, but the calm 

along the border was sustained for less than 2 years as India initiated 

its “forward policy” in response to domestic political pressure. 

THE “FORWARD POLICY” OF INDIA CHANGES THE 

SITUATION

During early 1960 India formulated its “forward policy.” 
333

Indian forces were to keep continuous pressure along the border, 

advancing its forces slowly forward to what India sought to define 

as the delineation, in order to change the status quo of the ChinaIndia border. In the spring of 1961, the Nehru administration, under 

severe pressure from the Parliament to act against China, considered 

conditions mature enough to implement the policy. International 

matters, aside from internal politics, also forced Nehru to act on the 

border. Part of this pressure was a result of the successful Indian 

military seizure of the territory of Goa from Portugal. 

Neville Maxwell makes the point that the Indian Parliament 

did not tell Nehru to invade Goa, the last colony left on the Indian 

subcontinent, but that public pressure, particularly pressure from 

the press, led Nehru to that decision.25 After the successful invasion 

of Goa in December 1961, Nehru, Defense Minister Krishna Menon, 

and the Indian press and Parliament all turned their attention to the 

Aksai Chin and China.

Once attempts at a negotiated settlement to the border dispute 

had broken down after the 1959 Longju and Kongka pass incidents, 

the Indian government decided that its claims would have to be 

reinforced by continuous patrolling along the border, including 

active patrolling into disputed areas. Maxwell quotes this from an 

October 1959 editorial in the Times of India:

New Delhi must assert its rights by dispatching properly equipped 

patrols into the areas currently occupied by the Chinese, since 

any prolonged failure to do so will imply a tacit acceptance of 

Chinese occupation, and a surrender to Peking’s threat to cross 

the McMahon Line in force should Indian patrols penetrate into 

the disputed areas of Ladakh.26 

Nehru’s other goal was to establish an Indian presence in the 

Aksai Chin area, where it was clear that China had been building 

roads approaching to within three miles of the border in addition to 

the strategic highway that served as the main line of communication 

for the PLA, linking far western Xinjiang with Tibet.27 Maxwell 

believes that the forward policy foreshadowed by the Times of India

editorial began almost without discussion (he terms it a “virgin 

birth”) in response to the failure of talks between Nehru and Premier 

Zhou Enlai in April 1960. Various political actors in India, including 
334

Prime Minister Nehru, Defense Minister Menon, and chief of the 

General Staff of India, Lieutenant General B.M. Kaul, have all taken 

early credit and later disavowed responsibility for the policy.28 

Whatever its origins, the forward policy of India rankled Beijing. 

China’s press referred to it as a policy of can shi, that is, roughly 

translated as a policy of “nibbling” at another country’s territory. 

And this is the term used by China’s negotiators in talks with India. 

(The ideograph for silkworm, can, is used for this image of “nibbling 

away;” the literal translation of can shi is food or forage for the silk 

worm, which would destroy a leaf or whole plant by gradually 

consuming it.29) 

The Chinese government position was still to seek resolution 

of the border disputes through peaceful means, but sovereignty 

increasingly became a critical issue for Beijing. During the 1960s, the 

American Cold War containment strategy against Communism was 

in full swing. China had fought the United States in Korea and faced 

the U.S. Navy in the Taiwan Strait crises of 1954-55 and 1958. By the 

early 1960s, China was faced with what was seen as a “crescent” or 

half-moon encirclement by the United States based on its military 

alliances stretching from South Korea and Japan through Okinawa 

and the Ryukyus to Taiwan and the Philippines. China’s strategic 

focus, therefore, was to the east and the Western Pacific, and China 

could ill-afford to make an enemy of India. 

Serious concerns remained for Beijing, however. The United 

States had modified its South Asia policy, attaching more importance 

to India in the Cold War. The 1959 border incidents enabled the 

Nehru government to approach the United States for more aid, and 

economic assistance grew substantially between 1959 and 1963. 

India also received about $60 million worth of military assistance 

from the United States, including aircraft and radar.30 

THE GUERILLA WAR BY THE UNITED STATES AND INDIA’S 

SUPPORT

If the border dispute between India and China was not enough 

to create conditions leading to war, a continuing clandestine effort 

to insert guerillas into Tibet by the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency 
335

(CIA) added to the pressures on China. The CIA had worked to 

develop a guerilla effort in Tibet from the time of the Korean War, 

and India tacitly, and later between 1959 and 1962 more actively, 

supported this effort.31 

The CIA not only sought to have guerillas attack Chinese supply 

lines through Tibet, but as soon as it became clear that a military 

confrontation on the border between India and China was likely, 

guerilla forces were directed to attack Chinese supply lines. Many 

of the guerillas were inserted by parachute from Nepal, Eastern 

Pakistan, or Thailand, and few missions were successful.32 Many of 

the guerillas were quickly captured or killed, but certainly Beijing 

had increasing evidence of U.S.-Indian cooperation in the war. 

A FALSE WAR OF “NIBBLING” AWAY AT CHINESECLAIMED TERRITORY: APRIL 1961 TO SEPTEMBER 1962

From April 1961 onward, as they implemented the “forward 

policy,” Indian troops regularly dispatched patrols into what China 

viewed as its territory and established a number of fortified points 

along the border. After February 1962, Indian patrolling intensified, 

and intrusions into areas claimed by China became more frequent. 

On the western sector of the boundary, Indian troops established 

positions on and forward of some of the strategic border passes, 

further penetrating into Chinese-claimed territory. 

It looked to Beijing like New Delhi had embarked upon a slow 

process of occupation of the entire Aksai Chin. This was a region 

where China could least afford any compromise. As early as 1956, 

China had begun to build the road from Xinjiang to Tibet through 

the Aksai Chin, improving the existing Xinjiang-Tibet link. The 

road was all within Chinese territory on Chinese maps, but some 

112 miles of the 750 mile-long road cut through territory claimed 

by India.33 India had been aware of this activity throughout the 

1950s, and it was a factor prompting the forward policy. For Beijing, 

however, this was a vital strategic link consolidating PRC control 

over both Xinjiang and Tibet. The road was the main, indeed the 

only, developed road link along China’s western border between the 

two provinces. 

India’s forward policy, creeping in to the proximity of the road 

as it did, seriously threatened the security of China’s highway and 
336

flanked PLA border outposts, aggravating the tension on the ChinaIndia border. China’s political leaders sought to exercise restraint. 

Orders from the PLA’s General Staff Department to Chinese forces 

were that they should not open fire first and should try to avert any 

armed conflict with Indian troops.34 At the same time, the Chinese 

government repeated its appeals to the Indian government to resolve 

the border dispute through negotiations. In April 1960, Zhou Enlai 

made a week-long visit to India and concentrated considerable 

effort on resolution of the territorial disputes. The proposals put 

forward by the Chinese side included settling the boundary question 

between the two countries through discussion, while both sides 

refrained from patrolling along all sectors of the boundary. More 

meetings were held between June and December 1960, without 

results. From December 1961 to April 1962, the Chinese government 

again appealed several times to the Indian government for peaceful 

resolution of the border disputes, but the Indian government 

refused. After the diplomatic efforts failed, Chinese troops resumed 

the patrols within 20 kilometers inside China’s side of the line of 

actual control that had been suspended in November 1959.35

BEIJING’S “ANTI-NIBBLING” OPERATIONS: CHINA ISSUES 

RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

In July 1962 Chairman Mao Zedong instructed the PLA on the 

guiding principles to counter India’s can shi zheng ce, or “nibbling 

policy.” Briefly stated, China’s “anti-nibbling” rules told PLA 

troops: “Never make a concession, but try your best to avert 

bleeding; form a jagged, interlocking pattern to secure the border; 

and prepare for long-time armed co-existence.”36 The PLA General 

Staff Department headquarters told Chinese troops to implement the 

rules of engagement strictly, and explained the guiding principles in 

greater detail:

• If Indian troops do not open fire, Chinese frontier guards 

should not open fire.

• If Indian troops press on toward a Chinese sentry post from 

one direction, Chinese frontier guards should press on towards 
337

the Indian stronghold from another direction.

• If Indian troops encircle Chinese frontier guards, another 

Chinese force should encircle the Indian troops.

• If Indian troops cut off a retreat route for Chinese forces, 

Chinese frontier guards should cut off the Indian troops’ 

retreat.

• Chinese forces should keep a distance away from Indian 

troops, leaving them some leeway, and withdraw if Indian 

forces permit withdrawal.37

On the western sector of the border, Chinese frontier sentry 

posts formed the jagged, interlocking defense pattern designed to 

neutralize Indian strongholds that was suggested by Mao Zedong. 

On several occasions, Indian troops opened fire at Chinese forces, 

but the Chinese frontier guards maintained restraint. Meanwhile, 

the PLA implemented its own “anti-nibbling measures and special 

tactics.” The PLA increased both its forces and its security positions 

on the border, increased the size and frequency of its patrols, and 

established control of forward strategic positions. When PLA forces 

encountered Indian forces, they first fired warning shots if they 

believed that Indian troops were guilty of intentional provocations. 

Finally, they returned fire or attacked in self-defense if fighting 

broke out.38 During this “anti-nibbling” phase of hostilities, the PLA 

focused on the western sector of the China-India border, because 

the Indian forward policy was primarily intended to secure Indian 

claims to the Aksai Chin area. 

On the eastern sector of the border, on September 9, 1962, the 

Indian Army gave an urgent order to some of its best troops, the 

Seventh Brigade of the Fourth Division, to cross the McMahon 

Line. The brigade occupied Kejielang (Khinzemane is the Indian 

name for the position), north of the McMahon Line. The Indian 

action was taken despite the fact that the area was marked on many 

Indian Army maps of the time as China’s territory. This helped lead 

China’s leaders to a final decision to launch a counterattack. 
338

THE COURSE OF THE BORDER WAR

The course of what Beijing defined as a “self-defensive counterattack” 

can be divided into two phases. The initial reaction by China’s 

Central Military Commission (CMC) in September 1962 was to react 

rather passively to Indian incursions and any Indian presence on 

the Chinese side of what Beijing saw as the line of control and the 

disputed border. Beijing first sought only to drive invading troops 

back across the border. Then, later in this phase, when faced with a 

strong Indian military reaction, it sought to wipe them out. In the 

second phase, beginning in late October, Beijing sought to penetrate 

deeply into Indian territory to punish the Indian Army and to 

destroy its fighting capacity.

The First Phase.

By September 8, 1962, the headquarters of Indian Army had 

ordered the Seventh Brigade of its Fourth Division, commanded 

by Brigadier John S. Dalvi, to cross the Thag La Ridge and establish 

forward posts. The brigade was stationed in Kejielang, and on 

that day a Chinese patrol advanced toward and surrounded an 

Indian outpost at Dhola, which was inside Chinese territory.39 The 

Chinese force in this affair was about 60 soldiers, but the Indian post 

commander reported to his headquarters that he was facing a force 

of 600 from the PLA.40 The Indian Army reacted by sending more 

troops into the Thag La Ridge area to relieve the Dhola outpost and 

push back what it mistakenly believed to be a battalion-sized force 

of PLA. By September 14, the inaccurate report of the size of the 

Chinese force had been corrected, but New Delhi still went forward 

with its plan to evict the Chinese, since the Indian Army had already 

dispatched a strong reaction force and it felt assured of success. 

Meanwhile, Beijing launched a diplomatic protest against 

the Indian advances on September 16, seeking to avoid combat. 

For some time, both sides engaged in a tense dance, building up 

their forces, occupying better positions, storing ammunition, and 

preparing for combat, while letters of protest and demarche were 

exchanged between the two capitals.

On October 10, 1962, the Indian Brigade moved against PLA 
339

troops garrisoned about one kilometer east of Che Dong, on the 

Thag La Ridge. In a particularly well-coordinated and effective 

attack, Indian forces killed five Chinese soldiers and injured five 

others.41 Then, on October 12, Indian Prime Minister Nehru issued 

the order to launch an all-out attack against Chinese frontier guards 

on the border. 

At this juncture, having been stung, China seems to have 

reached a decision that the provocations were no longer tolerable, 

especially given New Delhi’s arrogance and imperviousness to 

Chinese diplomatic protests. On October 16, 1962, the Chinese CMC 

decided on a counterattack designed to destroy Indian forces that 

had crossed the McMahon Line. In the western sector, according 

to the same order, Chinese troops were to play a supporting and 

coordinating role. On October 17, the CMC issued its operations 

order, and the General Staff Department of the PLA sought in its 

plans to muster and concentrate its forces for a quick, decisive battle 

against the Indian Army, seeking first to encircle the invading Indian 

troops, and then to wipe them out.42 

The major operational orientation of the Chinese offensive was 

on the eastern sector of the border, along India’s North-East Frontier 

Agency (NEFA) and the McMahon Line. The PLA chose to focus on 

the eastern sector since this was where Indian troops had launched 

their own large-scale attacks starting in September 1962. Another 

decisive factor drove tactical orientation in the campaign toward the 

eastern sector: the terrain and geographical features there were more 

advantageous for the PLA, permitting it to attack and defeat major 

units of the Indian Army.

By October India had deployed the Fourth Division, three other 

brigades under the command of the Fourth Army, and some garrison 

forces on the eastern sector of the boundary—a total of about 16,000 

troops. Among them, the Seventh Brigade commanded by Brigadier 

Dalvi had about 3,000 troops, including four infantry battalions and 

some supporting artillery units. Dalvi’s Seventh Brigade contained 

the decisive combat strength of the Fourth Division and had 

compiled a solid combat record in North Africa and the Middle East 

during the Second World War. 

The Chinese assembled a smaller force of about 10,000 troops on 

the eastern sector, under the command of the Tibetan Military Region 
340

and consisting of five infantry regiments and some artillery units. In 

contrast to the Indian forces, however, PLA troops were acclimated 

to the terrain and had better roads and supply lines approaching 

the border. On October 20 the PLA began its counterattack against 

the Indian troops, focusing on Kejielang north of the McMahon 

Line. At 7:30 am, Chinese artillery began 15 minutes of preparatory 

shelling, destroying Indian artillery positions and parts of Indian 

fortifications. Chinese infantry then broke through the Indian 

fortifications. Within 1 day, the PLA wiped out the Indian Seventh 

Brigade and captured its commander Brigadier Dalvi. One day later, 

the PLA forces again crossed the McMahon Line, recovering the area 

around Zimithang.43

Chinese troops counterattacked simultaneously on the western 

sector of the border, where by October the Indian Army had 

deployed about 6,000 troops, including the 114th Brigade with six 

battalions. Of these forces, about 1,300 Indian troops had been 

stationed in some 40 strongholds or outposts placed in what China 

viewed as its own territory. In response, China had deployed about 

6,300 troops, including two infantry regiments, some independent 

battalions, and supporting artillery units, forces that operated 

under the command of the Kangxiwa Headquarters of the Xinjiang 

Military Region. At 8:25 a.m. on October 20, Chinese troops initiated 

a general artillery barrage assault and followed with an infantry 

assault on the Indian positions. The first Indian stronghold was 

captured in only eighty minutes, according to Chinese archives.44

The PLA then followed up with a series of actions against each of the 

Indian garrisons, surrounding them and eliminating them one after 

another. By October 29, Chinese troops had mopped up all of the 

Indian strongholds around the banks of Pangong Lake, eliminated 

parts of the four Indian battalions that made up the 114th Brigade, 

and recovered 1,900 square kilometers of Chinese territory. The 

Indian Army was beaten by a force that left itself free to maneuver, 

even in that difficult terrain, while the Indians had tied themselves 

down to fixed, dispersed outposts, much as the Nationalist Army 

had done in the Chinese Civil War.45

The Second Phase.

While Chinese forces were engaged in combat in both the eastern 
341

and western sectors of the border, Beijing still sought a negotiated 

solution. On October 24 the Chinese Foreign Ministry proposed 

three measures to resolve the border dispute and end the combat.46

The Nehru administration, however, prodded to war by the Indian 

press and encouraged by American and Russian support, refused 

the proposals. The result was that by November 6, 1962, despite 

a vigorous counteroffensive called Operation LEGHORN, the PLA 

prevailed over the Indian Army.47

In mid-November 1962, the Indian government declared a state 

of national emergency throughout the country.48 After intensive 

activity involving the movement of major Indian military forces, 

about 50,000 Indian troops had been sent as reinforcements to the 

China-Indian border, including a corps headquarters for command 

and control, the headquarters of three divisions, and 14 maneuver 

brigades subordinate to the respective division headquarters. The 

focus was still on the eastern sector where the Indian Army deployed 

about 22,000 troops, commanded by the corps headquarters; they 

made up three divisions, with a total of eight brigades. In all, India 

deployed 28 battalions to the border. Among them, the Fourth 

Division with its five brigades (including 15 battalions), which had a 

total strength of about 15,000 soldiers, was deployed in the area from 

the southern bank of Tawang River to Tezpur.49

To counter the Indian deployments, the PLA General Staff 

Department (GSD) sent two more divisions into Tibet. According 

to the noted historian of the PLA, William Whitson, both of these 

divisions came from the 46th Corps (or Army, since a PLA army at 

that time was equivalent to an Indian corps).50 The GSD-directed 

deployment increased Chinese troop strength on the eastern sector 

of the border to five somewhat understrength divisions — in total, 

about 25,000 soldiers. With these deployments complete, the CMC 

on November 12, 1962, ratified the PLA second phase plan of 

operation. Chinese troops were to begin an offensive designed to 

wipe out three to four Indian brigades, including the brigades in the 

Tawang Tract and the single brigade in Walong, also in the eastern 

sector near Burma. In the western sector, the operations plan called 

for the PLA to eliminate the invading Indian troops in strongholds 

in the area of Pangong Lake.51

On the morning of November 16, 1962, Chinese troops began a 

general counterattack against eastern sector Indian troops, starting 
342

in Walong. By that evening, Chinese troops had seized Walong and 

wiped out more than 1,200 Indian troops. Then on November 18 the 

PLA launched a second successful eastern sector counteroffensive 

in the Se La-Bomdi La area. This effectively eliminated the strength 

and combat capability of most of three Indian brigades and 

recovered a great deal of Chinese territory south of the McMahon 

Line. Chinese troops reached a point about 30 kilometers from 

Tezpur, an important town in the eastern sector, and were faced by 

only an Indian battalion deployed north of Tezpur.

India had increased its troop strength to 15,000 on its western 

sector after its losses in the first phase of the war. The PLA launched 

its second phase western sector offensive on the morning of 

November 18, and by the morning of November 20, Chinese troops 

had wiped out all six Indian strongholds west of Spangur Lake.52

 

CHINA ANNOUNCES A UNILATERAL CEASE-FIRE

Under the circumstances, China had full capacity to realize 

the boundary it claimed, but Beijing exercised restraint. Zhou 

Enlai called the Indian charge d’affaires in Beijing to his residence 

on November 19 and informed him that, effective November 21, 

Chinese forces would cease fire; on December 1, Zhou said, Chinese 

forces would withdraw 20 kilometers from the line of actual control 

all along the disputed border.53 For some reason, as reported by 

Maxwell based on his review of Indian archives, the charge d’affaires

seems to have delayed a full day reporting this matter to New Delhi. 

As a consequence, India first learned of the Chinese cease-fire from an 

announcement made in Beijing before midnight on November 20.54

Chinese troops ended the hostilities on November 21 and began an 

orderly withdrawal as promised along the entire border to positions 

20 kilometers behind the line of actual control as determined in 

November 1959. These actions, in the Chinese view, reflected efforts 

to resolve the dispute peacefully and restore friendly relations. 

The disengagement of the armed forces of the two sides and the 

formation of a de facto 20 kilometer-wide demilitarized zone proved 

a positive step that has helped to maintain a peaceful border to this 

day. Moreover, Beijing’s actions laid a foundation for the eventual 

improvement of relations during the late 1980s to mid 1990s.
343

LESSONS OF COMBAT LEADERSHIP AND COMMUNIST 

PARTY ACTIVITIES 

Senior Chinese leaders argue that a major lesson of the Sino-Indian 

War is that the strong political leadership of the Communist Party 

contributed significantly to China’s victory. In Western military 

literature, one of the main critiques of the PLA’s political commissar 

system, and the function of the political commissar in a PLA unit, 

is that the political commissar system interferes with or usurps the 

duties of the commander. If this is true, the political commissar 

system, and the General Political Department (GPD) of the PLA that 

runs it, can be a hindrance in combat, preventing decisive action and 

costing lives. Senior PLA leaders deny that this is the case. Instead, 

they argue that the GPD and the political commissar system is a 

source of inspiration and esprit d’corps that helps the commander 

under the most difficult combat conditions. 

One way to understand leadership style in the PLA and to gain 

some understanding of the role of the party member or political 

commissar is to look at the results of combat. Are PLA commanders 

leading? Are political commissars out doing the job of the 

commander leading troops in combat? Casualty rates and awards 

for heroism give some hint of the answer to these questions. An 

examination of one case study from the Sino-Indian War provides 

empirical evidence that supports the claims of senior PLA officers.55

The PLA showed great acumen in carefully executing the 

campaign according to the guidelines formulated by Chinese 

Communist Party (CCP) Central Military Commission: 1) “to 

beat Indian troops soundly,” and 2) “to wipe out the invading 

Indian forces totally and rapidly.”56 According to PLA records 

from archives, Indian casualties during the war were 4,897 killed 

or wounded and 3,968 captured.57 The Indian Defense Ministry, 

in 1965, showed 1,383 Indian soldiers killed, 1,696 missing in 

action, 3,968 soldiers captured, and 1,047 soldiers wounded.58 In 

comparison, PLA casualties in the war were quite small, with 722 

Chinese soldiers killed and 1,697 wounded.59 In addition, no soldier 

of the PLA was captured during the war, a rarity in the history of 

warfare.60 The PLA did all of this damage to the Indian Army with 

the equivalent of a reinforced corps (army), deployed and massed at 

the critical points along the border.61
344

In that war, according to an appendix of the PLA history of the 

“self-defensive counterattack,” some 327 soldiers and officers of the 

Chinese force were given awards for heroism. Over half of these 

awards were given to members of the Chinese Communist Party or, 

in the case of younger soldiers, the Communist Youth League. This 

is a small case from which to extrapolate the data, but it seems clear 

that, unless party affiliation was a criterion for being considered 

a hero, the PLA’s claims that CCP membership and the existence 

of the political commissar system may help build esprit d’corps. 

Moreover, it is clear that Chinese military leaders lead from the front 

and Communist Party members seem to follow them and emerge as 

leaders. That is, a substantial number of small unit leaders, whether 

squad leaders or platoon and company grade-officers, were given 

awards for heroism in combat. In fact, some 160 small unit leaders 

were cited for heroism, of which 114 were CCP members. Among 

basic soldiers, 158 “fighters” and medics were given awards, of 

which 54 were party members. Only three political commissars or 

political directors got awards. 

These data are limited, and it is generally not a good idea to 

generalize from one case. But this may be the best case from which 

to work, since the PLA has not published all of its combat records 

and records of decorations for bravery in the public domain. That 

said, the examination of the combat decorations given for bravery in 

the Sino-Indian War suggests that PLA leaders lead from the front. 

Party membership seems to result in leadership behaviors in other 

situations, and the responsibility that seems to flow from being 

part of an elite organization like the communist party appears to 

make soldiers and leaders take greater risk. The work of the GPD in 

promoting unit lineage and history probably also contributes to the 

willingness of ordinary soldiers and leaders to take extraordinary 

risks. The award data seem to imply that political commissars, 

directors and instructors, if one can extrapolate from this single case, 

stay out of the way of the commander in combat. They may not 

have been a hindrance, but the data don’t decisively prove they help. 

The GPD is changing its role, however. It is studying the ways that 

Western militaries build morale and esprit as well as the personnel, 

retirement, and legal systems of other armed forces.
345

 LESSONS FROM COMBAT

One of the fundamental precepts in PLA literature on the 

Sino-Indian War is that troops should execute sudden attacks or 

counterattacks to catch the enemy unprepared (Turan faqi fanji shi 

Yinjun cuo shou bu ji).

62 That is, the PLA values surprise. Second, 

PLA tactics emphasized the rapid concentration of force at decisive 

points to surround enemy forces and defeat them in detail (Jizhong 

youshi bingli).63 

PLA histories also emphasize that the superior knowledge of 

the terrain and the region by Chinese border troops and reinforcing 

main forces gave them the ability to take advantage of difficult 

terrain. For example, the PLA was able to operate more effectively 

in deep valleys and densely forested areas, in darkness, or when 

cloud or mist obscured visibility. PLA histories also take note of the 

need to be flexible in applying traditional warfighting and altering 

tactics and doctrine because of the complexity of the terrain and the 

weather.64 One way that the PLA adapted quickly to the challenges 

posed by the terrain was to advance on parallel routes to one point 

of attack. This was a tactic in the Sino-Japanese War, such as in the 

Hundred Regiments Campaign.65

The establishment and decisive use of a relatively strong reserve 

by battalion and regimental-sized units was also a significant lesson 

the PLA took from the war.66 The use of reserves at the proper 

time contributed to the ability to mass combat power quickly and 

decisively at important points on the battlefield. As a general rule, 

“PLA border forces were able to mass three and one-half to four times 

the combat power of Indian forces at the decisive point of combat.”67

Massing fire effectively was also a critical factor in combat. At one 

point cited in the PLA history, an Indian platoon surrendered to a 

seven-man squad that concentrated its fire at the decisive place and 

time. At another point, five platoons of the PLA concentrated at the 

right point forced the surrender of an Indian infantry battalion.68

Throughout the first phase of the war the PLA believed that 

Indian forces generally enjoyed the advantage of better lines of 

transport and better communications in the rear area. They believed 

that this was because during the period of executing the “forward 

policy” the Indian Army had developed an effective infrastructure 
346

along the border. The lesson the PLA took to the second phase of 

the war was to work harder at coordinating more carefully among 

its own arms and support services.69

The PLA adjusted the military force employed in a particular 

situation to the terrain and the Lines of Communication available. 

This was especially critical in the west, which was harder to resupply. Thus the classic formula of METT (mission, enemy, terrain, 

and troops) is one that the PLA values as a consideration in combat 

as much as any western army.70 In the east, mobility in difficult 

terrain was the most important factor. Indian forces in this area 

feared most the ability of the PLA to flank them, surround them, and 

take away Indian lines of communication and re-supply.71 The 11th 

Infantry Division of the PLA, especially, was able to run effective 

combat operations against the Indian Army through aggressive 

combat reconnaissance that ultimately isolated Indian positions, 

surrounded Indian forces, and caused them to collapse in such 

situations,

The PLA was able to exploit the difficult terrain and the large 

gaps between Indian forces through the maneuver of small units 

that eventually surrounded Indian outposts and combat positions. 

The PLA thus planned to divide the Indian positions into segments 

and take them one at a time.72

The PLA focused on attacking both flanks of an isolated unit, 

rolling it up from the flanks in a double envelopment, while pinning 

down the center with automatic weapons and mortar fire. Units 

then collapsed if taken by surprise in such an attack.

CONCLUSIONS

The lessons the PLA takes from the Sino-Indian War reinforce 

the most enduring principles of war: surprise, mass, maneuver, 

and use of terrain and weather. For the PLA, the terrain and the 

weather conditions made it extremely important that its forces focus 

on tactical movement, careful campaign planning, coordinated 

logistics, and effective command and control.73 

The political leadership of the Central Military Commission was 

cited as extremely important in ensuring that the use of military 

initiative created the political conditions conducive to resolving the 
347

conflict on Beijing’s terms in the “diplomatic struggle.”74

ENDNOTES - CHAPTER 9

1. Mao Zhenfa, Bianfang Lun (On border defense), Beijing: Junshi Kexue 

Chubanshe, 1996, p. 1.

2. The Chinese government complained to India that on August 25, 1959, 

Indian troops opened fire on Chinese border patrols troops. This period also began 

the start of New Delhi’s “Forward Policy,” which pushed Indian forces toward 

borders recognized by India and increasingly pressured Chinese border forces 

to move away from contested areas. This incident led to a series of exchanged 

between Chinese Premier Shout Inlay and Indian Prime Minister Nehru on the 

mutual border, patrolling, and demarcation. Deng Lifeng, Zhong-Yin Bianzheng

(The Sino-Indian Border War), Department of History, Academy of Military Science, 

China, on http://argo.virtualave.net/_private/wars/zhiyin.htm. 

3. Specifically, the Chinese position was that there should be no shooting or 

patrolling within 30 kilometers of the border and no military exercises within 20 

kilometers. Ma Zhenfa, Bianfang Lun, p. 119.

4. Zhong-Yin Bianjing Ziwei Fanji Zhan. See Tong Bai, et al., eds, Junren Shouce

(Soldier’s Manual), Beijing: Changzheng Chubanshe, 1987, p. 59. 

5. Xu Yan, Zhong-Yin Bianjie Zhizhan Lishi Zhenxiang (The historic truth of the 

Sino-Indian border war), Hong Kong: Tian Di Publishing Co., 1993, p. 184. Cited 

hereafter as Zhong-Yin Bianjie. 

6. Jiang Siyi and Li Hui, et al., eds., Zhong-Yin Bianjing Ziwei Fanji Zuozhan Shi 

(The history of China’s counterattack in self-defense on the Sino-Indian border), Beijing: 

Junshi Kexue Chubanshe, 1994, pp. 391-424. Cited hereafter as Zhong-Yin Bianjing 

Ziwei. 

7. The relationship between effective strategy and initiative in conducting a 

campaign in PLA doctrine is explained in Li Jijun, Junshi Zhanlue Siwei (Thinking 

about military strategy), Beijing: Junshi Kexue Chubanshe, 1996, pp. 115-117. 

Lieutenant General Li bases his discussion on Mao’s essay “On Protracted War.” 

See Mao Zedong, “On Protracted War,” in Selected Works of Mao Zedong, Vol II, 

Peking: Foreign Languages Press, 1965, pp. 113-184. 

8. Mao Zedong, “On Protracted War,” pp. 165-166. 

9. This section of the chapter draws on a paper prepared by Zheng Feng and 

Larry M. Wortzel for a conference hosted by the Center for Naval Analysis on PLA 

warfighting. That chapter is scheduled for publication as chapter 8 of a book on 
348

PLA warfighting to be published by M. E. Sharpe. The discussion also draws on 

Larry M. Wortzel, Dictionary of Contemporary Chinese Military History, Westport, 

CT: Greenwood Press, 1999, pp. 224-225.

10. Edgar O’Balance, “The Strength of India,” Military Review, January 1962, 

pp. 25-35.

11. Of note, several key leaders of India at the time of the Sino-Indian border 

war in 1962 were from Kashmir, including the Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru; 

Defense Minister Krishna Menon; and the commander of Indian forces in the 

North-East Frontier Agency (NEFA), Lieutenant General B. M. Kaul. 

12. In the view of China, which, after the 1911 revolution, had yet to regain 

traditional Chinese influence in Tibet, the Tibetan representative accepted the 

McMahon Line only secretly and under pressure from Mr. McMahon. McMahon 

put the map with the Line on it in the appendix of the Simla Treaty and the 

Chinese view is that the Chinese representative did not accept the McMahon Line 

and did not sign the Treaty formally during the Simla Conference. No Chinese 

government has ever recognized the McMahon Line and the Simla Treaty. An 

excellent description of the history of the McMahon Line and the process of the 

Simla Conference may be found in Neville Maxwell, India’s China War, New York: 

Pantheon Books, 1970; Bombay: JAICO House, 1971, pp. 39-64. The quote is from 

Alistair Lamb, The McMahon Line: A Study in Relations Between India, China and 

Tibet, 1904-1914, two volumes, Vol. 1, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1966, p. 

3. 

13. Chen Yifan had initialed an earlier draft of the treaty, on April 27, 1914. 

Chen, however, would neither initial nor sign later versions, particularly the text 

of July 3, 1914. Chen’s refusal was over changes to the text, which referred to maps 

of the border. Alistair Lamb, The McMahon Line: A Study in Relations between India, 

China and Tibet, 1914, Vol. I, London: Rutledge and Kegan Paul, 1966, pp. 638-639. 

14. Lamb, The McMahon Line, pp. 3-9. In the late years of a weakened Qing 

dynasty, the British-sponsored Sikkim Convention of 1890-1893 had defined 

Tibetan boundaries and established commercial relations with British India, and 

in 1904 Tibet and Great Britain signed an Anglo-Tibetan Convention.

15. Xu Yan, Zhong-Yin Bian Jie, p. 45.

16. Exchange of notes between Prime Minister Nehru of India and Prime 

Minister Zhou of China, August 28, 1959. Cited in Xu Yan, Zhong-Yin Bian Jie, p. 

45.

17. Statement of Foreign Minister Chen Yi, Survey of the Mainland China Press, 

December 12, 1961, p. 27; Chou Chun-li, “Sino-Indian Border Situation Worsens,” 
349

Peking Review, Vol. V, No. 29, July 29, 1962, pp. 14-16. On Indian involvement in 

Tibet, see Lowell Thomas, Jr., The Silent War in Tibet, New York: Doubleday and 

Co., 1959; Michel Piessel, The Secret War in Tibet, Boston: Little Brown and Co., 

1972; George N. Patterson, Tibet in Revolt, London: Faber and Faber, 1960; Allen 

S. Whiting, The Chinese Calculus of Deterrence: India and Indochina, Ann Arbor: 

University of Michigan Press, 1975; Sam Marcy, Facts Behind the China-India Border 

Dispute, October 26, 1962, http://www.workers.org/marcy/china/2_5.html. Marcy is an 

American Communist who analyzes the border issue from a Marxist perspective. 

18. Neville Maxwell, India’s China War, p. 73.

19. Deng Lifeng, Zhong-Yin Bianzheng, p. 3.

20. Maxwell, India’s China War, p. 107.

21. Ibid., pp. 110-111.starthere

22. Zhongguo Dabaike Quanshu: Junshi (A complete encyclopedia of China: Military)

Vol II, Beijing: Zhongguo Dabaike Quanshu Chubanshe, 1989, pp. 1371-72.

23. Ibid., 174-176.

24. Ibid., pp. 183-183.

25. Ibid., pp. 226-227.

26. Ibid., p. 174. The editorial was published on October 11, 1959. 

27. Whiting, The Chinese Calculus of Deterrence, p. 107.

28. Lieutenant General B.M. Kaul, The Untold Story, New Delhi: Allied 

Publishers, 1967, p. 280; Maxwell, India’s China War, p. 174. See also V.B. Karnik, 

China Invades India, New Delhi: Allied Publishers, 1963.

29. Xu Yan, Zhong-Yin Bian Jie, p. 87

30. Sarvepalli Gopal, Jawaharlal Nehru: A Biography, Volume III: 1956-1964,

Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984, p. 252; Rowland, A History of 

Sino-Indian Relations, pp. 97-99.

31. Kenneth Conboy and James Morrison, The CIA’s Secret War in Tibet,

Lawrence, KA: University of Kansas Press, 2002. See especially pages 120-145. 

32. Ibid., pp. 69-92. 
350

33. Maxwell, India’s China War, pp. 86-89, 181, 205, 254.

34. Deng, Zhong-Yin Bianzheng, pp. 4-5.

35. Maxwell, India’s China War, pp. 205, 254.

36. Xu Yan, Zhong-Yin Bian Jie, p. 87.

37. Jiang and Li, Zhong Yin Bian Jing Zi Wei, p. 143.

38. Xu Yan, Zhong-Yin Bian Jie, pp. 88-91.

39. Ibid. 

40. Maxwell, India’s China War, pp. 296-297, 306-308.

41. Allen Whiting, The Chinese Calculus of Deterrence, Ann Arbor: University of 

Michigan Press, 1975, p. 107. Whiting was a U.S. government official at the time, 

and had good access to information on the situation.

42. Xu Yan, Zhong-Yin Bian Jie, pp. 103-105.

43. Ibid., pp. 121-134.

44. Ibid., pp. 134-139.

45. Ibid., p. 139; Maxwell, India’s China War, pp. 356-359.

46. Maxwell, pp. 360-362; Collection of Documents on the Foreign Affairs of the 

People’s Republic of China: 1962, Beijing: World Affairs Press, 1964, p. 109.

47. Maxwell, pp. 366-373.

48. John Rowland, A History of Sino-Indian Relations: Hostile Coexistence,

Princeton, NJ: D. Van Nostrand Co., 1967, p.169. 

49. Xu Yan, Zhong-Yin Bian Jie, p. 145.

50. William W. Whitson with Chen-Hsia Huang, The Chinese High Command: 

A History of Communist Military Politics, New York: Praeger Publishers, 1973, pp. 

488-489.

51. Xu Yan, Zhong-Yin Bian Jie, pp. 148-188.
351

52. Ibid., p. 180-185.

53. Maxwell, India’s China War, pp. 417-418.

54. Ibid., p. 417.

55. Jiang Siyi, Li Hui, et.al., eds., Zhongyin Bianjing Ziwei Fanji Zuozhan Shi

Zhong Yin Bian Jing Zi Wei Fan Ji Zuo Zhan Shi (The history of China’s counterattack in 

self-defense on the Sino-Indian border), Beijing: Tian Di Publishing Co., 1994.

56. Xu Yan, Zhong-Yin Bian Jie, P. 184.

57. Ibid., p. 185.

58. Ibid.

59. Deng Lifeng, Zhong-Yin Bianzheng, p. 10. Deng puts total Chinese casualties 

at approximately 2400.

60. Xu Yan, Zhong-Yin Bian Jie Zhi Zhan Li Shi Zhen Xiang (The historic truth of 

the Sino-Indian border war), Hong Kong: Tian Di Publishing Co., 1993 cited hereafter 

as Zhong-Yin Bian Jie. The other major work to come out is Jiang Siyi and Li Hui, 

et al., eds. Zhong Yin Bian Jing Zi Wei Fan Ji Zuo Zhan Shi (The history of China’s 

counterattack in self-defense on the Sino-Indian border), Beijing: Tian Di Publishing 

Co., 1994.

61. Cheng Feng and Larry M. Wortzel, “PLA Operational Principles and 

Limited War: The Sino-Indian War of 1962,” a paper prepared for the Center for 

Naval Analyses, 1999.

62. Jiang and Li, Zhong-Yin Bianjing Ziwei, p. 398.

63. Ibid.

64. Ibid., pp. 398-400.

65. Wortzel, Dictionary of Contemporary Chinese Military History, pp. 116-17.

66. Jiang and Li, Zhong-Yin Bianjing Ziwei, p. 399.

67. Ibid. 

68. Ibid., 399-400.

69. Ibid., p. 400.
352

70. Ibid.

71. Ibid., p. 401.

72. Ibid., p. 402.

73. Ibid., pp. 403-404.

74. Ibid., p. 400.
353

CHAPTER 10

THE 1979 CHINESE CAMPAIGN IN VIETNAM:

LESSONS LEARNED

Edward C. O’Dowd

and

John F. Corbett, Jr.

Overview of the Campaign.

At 5 a.m. on the morning of February 17, 1979, Chinese troops 

from at least 30 divisions raced across the Sino-Vietnamese border 

and into the fire of entrenched and experienced Vietnamese soldiers. 

The Chinese launched their attack as a response to a decade of 

deteriorating relations with Vietnam.1 The mission of the Chinese 

soldiers was to teach the Vietnamese that Vietnam could not 

attack Chinese client states, in this case Cambodia, with impunity. 

The operational objectives of the Chinese attack were to seize 

three provincial capitals: Lao Cai, Cao Bang, and Lang Son. The 

Chinese also raided or feinted at about 25 smaller towns along the 

border. Although the Chinese ultimately seized the three cities, the 

Vietnamese defenders, a small force of five divisions and some local 

force units and militia, extracted a high price in men and materiel for 

the attack. On March 5, the day after their forces finally took Lang 

Son, the Chinese announced their withdrawal. After another 10 days 

of fighting, the Chinese completed their withdrawal on March 16. 

The Chinese probably lost about 63,000 dead and wounded soldiers 

in the attack.2

What lessons did the Chinese learn from the short, bitter campaign 

against the Vietnamese in 1979?3 This chapter will examine the lessons 

the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) learned from its incursion into 

Vietnam and look for evidence that the lessons of the 1979 Campaign 

shaped the PLA modernization program. To accomplish this task, 

we will explore, first, the lessons the Guangzhou Military Region 

Infantry School reported in 1979;4 and, second, the lessons derived 

from an Academy of Military Sciences (AMS) study conducted in 
354

SOCIALIST REPUBLIC OF VIETNAM

LAOS

PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC

OF CHINA

SINO-VIETNAMESE CONFLICT

FEBRUARY 1979

Ha Giang

Cao Bang Lao Cai

Lang Son

Ha Noi

Red River

Black River

Gulf of Tonkin

Map 1.

1997.5 Since the lessons the PLA published in 1997 vary in some 

significant ways from the lessons that were reported in 1979, it is 

likely that the Chinese continue to analyze the historical record and 

the lessons are having an impact on their current modernization 

program. It is interesting to note that there are problems the PLA did 

not highlight in their studies. These problems may be as important 

as the lessons they did. Therefore, we will examine areas we 

anticipated would have been deemed important by the PLA but were 

not highlighted in their analysis. We will seek to determine why the 

PLA did not bring these areas out in their lessons-learned analysis. If 

there were, in fact, significant lessons, we will try to determine what 

the PLA has done about them. Finally, we point out that there have 

been important changes in military affairs since the 1990s, and these 

changes are a significant intervening variable in our understanding 

of the lessons the Chinese learned from the 1979 Campaign.
355

Lessons Learned: The 1979 Assessment.

The faculty and students of the Guangzhou Military Region 

Infantry School (Guangzhou Junqu Bubing Xuexiao) had a unique 

perspective on the events of the 1979 Campaign.6 At the direction 

of the Military Region headquarters, the school assigned its faculty 

and students to the Chinese armies that deployed to Vietnam from 

Guangxi province. Cadre and troops from the school served with 

the 41st Army and the 42nd Army during the attack on Cao Bang, 

and they served with the 43rd and 55th Armies during the attacks 

on Lang Son. The temporarily assigned schoolmen knew the way 

the PLA was trained to fight, and they saw the way the PLA actually 

fought. Therefore, the record of their observations is extremely 

helpful in developing an understanding of the lessons the PLA 

drew from their experience in Vietnam. The problems the cadre and 

students from the infantry school found in the four armies were very 

basic. In fact, the skills needed to solve these problems are frequently 

taught in basic training in other armies. 

The faculty and students of the Infantry School thought that the 

Chinese troops used very poor basic infantry tactics. Although the 

Chinese infantry were fit and capable of making enormous sacrifices, 

the massed infantry attacks, favored by the Chinese, frequently 

failed.7 Student Han Changyuan, who replaced a platoon leader 

during attacks on a Hill 480 (unlocated), observed the problem and 

experimented with a new tactical scheme to solve it. After failing 

to take the hill, Han broke his platoon down into small groups and 

returned to the attack. This time, however, Han ordered one small 

group to advance while the other groups fired on the enemy. As a 

result, Han’s troops managed to get very close to the Vietnamese 

defenses without suffering a large number of losses. When it was 

time to destroy the defenders, the Chinese had a greater number 

of attackers in the right place to do the job. Switching from massed 

attacks to small fire and maneuver attacks changed the equation at 

the decisive point of the infantry attack.8

Chinese artillery was ineffective. Chinese gunners did not 

understand how to measure distances and calculate firing data. As 

a result, the Chinese artillery could not provide effective indirect 
356

fire. The Chinese artillery was limited to large-scale barrage firings 

on prominent terrain features or inaccurate fire on smaller targets. 

The Chinese apparently did not have a “call for fire” procedure. 

Therefore, the Chinese artillery was no more effective than the 

artillery of the Napoleonic era or the early American Civil War. This 

situation appalled a pair of artillery instructors from the Infantry 

School. Zhang Shulin and Shi Ling held classes for the artillerymen 

and taught them how to improve the accuracy of their fire.9

Chinese combat engineering was crude. Although the Vietnamese 

were heavily outnumbered, they made up for their disadvantage, at 

least in part, by constructing strong bunker systems and surrounding 

the bunkers with mines. During the Campaign, the students from the 

Infantry School discovered that the PLA soldiers, at least those from 

the 43rd Army, could not detect and clear mine fields. While the 

43rd Army was attempting to seize Hill 627, about five kilometers 

west of Lang Son, students Zhang Qingwu and Chen Dongsheng 

discovered that the soldiers they were accompanying did not know 

how to detect and clear the Vietnamese mines that blocked the route 

to the Vietnamese positions. Zhang and Chen solved the problem. 

After removing 23 Vietnamese mines, the Chinese resumed their 

successful advance on the hill.10 In another part of the battlefield, the 

instructors and students had to help the attacking units build hasty 

bridges to ford rivers.11

Land navigation was another problem for the PLA. According to 

the report of the Infantry School, an instructor, Niu Chengju, from 

the school found that a regiment was unable to perform its mission 

because its leaders had a poor understanding of topography and map 

reading. The report does not say how Niu remedied this situation. 

Did he teach the leaders or simply do the navigation himself? Either 

way, it is very difficult to understand how a PLA unit that could 

not navigate its way to the objective could be considered ready for 

combat.12

The Chinese logistics system failed. The instructors and students 

of the Infantry School discovered that the hardships of war included 

wearing one pair of shoes and one set of clothes for over 10 days. 

Although this may not sound like a sacrifice too far beyond the call 

of duty for most soldiers with field experience, it struck the men of 
357

the Infantry School as worth noting. 13 The men of the Infantry School 

do not record, either because they were spared the discomfort or 

because they chose to ignore it, the lack of food and water that some 

Chinese units reported. The Vietnamese had unexpected help in 

their defense against the Chinese attacks. Less that a week into the 

campaign when the fighting was most fierce, Chinese units began 

to report shortages of food and water. Unit 53514, a 55th Army unit 

engaged in the attack on a vital hill near Lang Son, reported that its 

higher unit had not sent food for several days, and the troops had 

not eaten in 2 days.14 Unit 53515, another 55th Army unit, reported 

a food and water shortage.15 Cadres acted “heroically” to insure that 

the troops and the wounded got the last scraps of food and the few 

drops of water that remained. The Chinese logistics system, although 

its lines of support extended a mere four or five kilometers into 

Vietnam and less than 30 kilometers from its railhead at Pingxiang 

(VN: Bang Tuong), apparently failed. These incidents happened near 

Lang Son, but the PLA’s weak logistics created similar incidents in 

the other theaters of the war (e.g., Lao Cai, Cao Bang).

The Infantry School had a long list of “lessons learned” but it 

also had a list of prescriptive advice on the things the PLA needed 

to do to become an effective fighting force. The PLA, according to 

the Infantry School, needed to conduct practical and realistic tactical 

training. The PLA needed to emphasize technical and military 

subjects because these subjects were the basis of military tactics. 

Additionally, training had to be demanding and strenuous and 

suited to the geographical conditions in which the PLA had to be 

prepared to fight. The PLA needed to use “live fire” in its training. In 

summary, the Infantry School’s response was to jettison the heavily 

politicized military program of the Maoists. The Infantry School 

recommended a return to “military basics”; tough training on basic 

skills was the key to success.16

The Guangzhou Military Region Infantry School identified 

problems in the PLA’s performance that, at least in part, shaped 

important areas of the Chinese military modernization program that 

expanded after the 1979 Campaign and Deng Xiaoping’s return to 

supreme power in 1981. The following portions of this chapter will 

provide an overview of the reforms that can be traced to the “muddy 
358

boots” analysis of the Infantry School.17 Many articles and books that 

shaped this field during the last 20 years have covered this material. 

The works of Ellis Joffe, Harlan Jencks, Lonnie Henley, June Dreyer, 

and Dennis Blasko are familiar to all students of Chinese military 

affairs. Therefore, there is no need to reiterate all the developments 

that occurred in the PLA in the years immediately after the 1979 

Campaign. Instead, we will take a quick look at the areas the 

Guangzhou Military Region Infantry School criticized.

The Infantry School identified tactics, artillery skills, combat 

engineering (e.g., mine clearance and hasty river crossings), land 

navigation, logistics, and “live fire” field training as the flaws in the 

PLA’s performance. What did the PLA do to correct these flaws?

After the 1979 Campaign, the PLA renewed its program for the 

tactical training of its infantrymen. The PLA did this by emphasizing 

“infantry technical training” (bubing jishu xunlian). In a fashion 

similar to other armies, the PLA broke down the key battlefield tasks 

of the infantryman and trained the skills that led to the successful 

accomplishment of these tasks. To be successful on the battlefield the 

PLA infantryman had to be able to accomplish five tasks. The soldier 

had to be able to shoot, throw a hand grenade, employ demolitions, 

construct earthworks, and use the bayonet.18 Each of these tasks was 

further broken down. To shoot effectively the infantryman had to 

know about infantry weapons, the theory of shooting, the observation 

and surveying of the battlefield and the effects of weather conditions, 

terrain, and time of day on marksmanship.19 These simple skills were 

a return to the soldier skills of the older PLA. They were a refutation 

of the “politics is everything” model of soldiering that dominated 

the PLA during the Lin Biao years, particularly during the height of 

the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, and had hampered the 

PLA in the 1979 Campaign.20

By the end of the 1980s, however, the PLA may not have 

completed a tactical renaissance. In Harlan Jencks’ early 1980s study 

of the PLA, From Muskets to Missiles, he correctly criticizes the PLA 

for its tactic of pushing its infantrymen into close massed combat 

with their opponents.21 Jencks terms this tactic “hugging” the 

enemy positions, and he criticizes the PLA because this tactic limits 

the ability of the PLA to use modern combined arms attacks with 
359

artillery and aircraft. The same passion for close combat (jinzhan) 

appears in Song Shilun’s “Basic Tactical Principles” at a time when 

the chief of the PLA’s Academy of Military Sciences should have 

been advocating more modern tactical procedures.22 The tactical 

reformers still had some work to do. 

The performance of Chinese artillery did not meet the standards 

of the writers from the Infantry School. Chinese artillerymen did 

not provide flexible, “on call” artillery support for the maneuver 

forces. Artillerymen lacked the ability to perform accurate surveys, 

make firing calculations, and communicate with the maneuver 

forces. The PLA approached these problems in a way that was 

similar to the way it corrected the infantry’s problems. The PLA 

broke down the artilleryman’s mission into the essential battlefield 

tasks and prescribed training in each task. Among other areas to 

be studied, the Chinese artilleryman was to develop a mastery of 

artillery equipment, firing procedures, reconnaissance, artillery 

emplacements, and communications. If the Chinese gunners 

mastered all these areas, then the PLA had accomplished a major 

improvement in the combat effectiveness of its ground forces.23

It is impossible to determine the degree to which the PLA 

improved its effectiveness in combat engineering and land 

navigation and the extent to which it adopted “live fire” training to 

reinforce its’ new training programs. The PLA infantrymen studied 

mines and the PLA artillerymen studied reconnaissance and survey. 

But did they know enough to improve the PLA’s performance on 

the battlefield? There were endless conferences and numerous news 

articles like the following one:

Comrades attending the [Guangzhou Political Work] Conference 

conscientiously studied such problems as how to improve military 

training on the basis of actual combat and how to most effectively 

raise the level of tactical skills. Everyone said we must compare 

ourselves with the actual combat of the war. . . . study each and 

every military training subject and train effectively . . .

24

If the PLA did raise the level of its “tactical skills” as the comrades 

in the Work Conference set out to do, they took another major step in 

the development of effective ground forces.25
360

The PLA’s logistics problems were, at first glance, a matter of 

numbers. The Chinese force of 30 divisions required 500 tons of 

supplies every day for each division (15,000 tons).26 To move the 

15,000 tons of supplies, the force needed trucks. The largest Chinese 

trucks (Zil-151, Zil-157, Ca-30) carried 9,900 lbs. (4,500 kg.) or 4.95 

tons. Therefore, the PLA invasion force needed 3,030 trucks to carry 

the supplies necessary to keep operating for 1 day. The Chinese 

divisions had trucks, but the trucks were the prime movers for 

artillery and other heavy equipment. They were not supply trucks; 

further, the tactical formations did not have organic transportation 

regiments or battalions. An army that used prime mover trucks to 

move food, fuel, supplies and ammunition had no way to move its 

artillery, engineering materiel, or bridging equipment. 

The PLA logistics troops had access to a few independent 

transportation regiments (702 transportation trucks each27), 

commune trucks, packhorses, and coolies to make up the difference 

between the requirement and the transportation capacity of their 

units, essentially zero. But managing four modes of transportation 

had to be a nightmare. As a result, food, water, and ammunition 

frequently failed to get to the right place at the right time. These 

management problems were symptomatic of a failed logistics 

system. It is curious that the faculty and students did not raise 

the issue in a more powerful way than to simply comment on the 

shortage of replacement clothing.

One of the less glamorous yet significant reforms that took place 

in the 1980s and 1990s was the comprehensive upgrade of organic 

transportation assets for PLA combat units. Most infantry units are 

now “motorized,” meaning they have sufficient trucks assigned to 

the units to provide their own transportation. Motor transport units, 

usually regiments, with logistics responsibilities have also had their 

assigned trucks upgraded and the numbers of vehicles increased.28

The PLA reforms of its logistics system were slow and halting 

during the decade of the 1980s. The reforms started with the 

reopening of several logistics schools in the years right after the 1979 

Campaign. The PLA Logistics Academy opened its doors on July 9, 

1979, and the Logistics Engineering College, Transportation School, 

and Transportation Technical School opened their doors in 1980 and 

1981.29 The remainder of the Chinese attempt to reform the logistics 
361

system appeared to be equal parts high level spin and low-level 

vagueness. For example, in 1982 Defense Minister Zhang Aiping 

said, “The mobilization of the armed forces in the event of war is 

not only a matter of mobilization of personnel. A more important 

and complicated job is the mobilization of logistics support.30 In 

January of 1983, the Liberation Army Daily stated that since the 1979 

Campaign the PLA had made significant progress in “regularization 

and logistics support.”31 But training lagged behind the press 

releases. By 1985, only about 50 percent of the PLA’s logistics officers 

were graduates of specialized logistics courses.32

While these changes made the PLA logistics system slightly more 

responsive to the requirements of the soldiers, the single change 

that had the greatest impact on the logistics situation after the 

1979 Campaign was the advent of the combined arms group army 

(jituanjun). In 1985 and 1986 the PLA changed the organization of the 

“army/corps” (jun). As noted above, the old army/corps had little or 

no organic logistic and transportation capability. The unit required 

support from independent transportation regiments, commune 

trucks, packhorses, and coolies. Support from these elements 

presented a management nightmare for the combat commander.33

The new group armies solved some of the problems when they were 

established as the first PLA units with organic logistical units.34

Lessons Learned: The 1997 Assessment.

In recent years PLA analysts and historians have continued to 

think about the problems of the 1979 Campaign.35 In some cases, 

however, they have come to different conclusions than the Chinese 

writers of the late 1970s. In 1997 the Military History Section of 

the Chinese Academy of Military Sciences published a thoughtful 

analysis of the problems of the 1979 Campaign as part of a volume 

commemorating the 70-year history of the PLA (1927-97).36 Of course 

the PLA historians treated the war as an enormous success. The 

national policy that shaped the campaign was “strong” or correct 

(xingqiang). The PLA penetrated deeply into Vietnam, as far as 20-40 

kilometers in some places. They captured the provincial capitals of 

Lang Son, Cao Bang, and Lao Cai. The PLA succeeded in attacking 
362

and occupying 21 counties or towns in four Vietnamese provinces 

(Lai Chau, Lao Cai, Cao Bang, and Lang Son).37 According to the 

AMS historians, everything went according to plan.

After deposing the “politically correct” facts, the historians turned 

to the problems of the campaign. The historians noted that few 

soldiers in the PLA had recent combat experience and, therefore, the 

PLA’s preparations for the campaign were inadequate. Furthermore, 

the PLA had done very little field training and the small unit leaders 

did not have adequate military skills. The quality of troops was 

judged to be very low, Chinese tactics were not effective, and the 

level of coordination was inadequate.38

On a slightly higher level of military analysis the AMS historians 

noted that the PLA’s “establishment (tables of organization) was 

not rational” (bianzhi bu heli) and that the PLA needed weapons 

and equipment suitable for modern warfare. Although the Chinese 

weapons were essentially the same as the weapons used by the 

Vietnamese, the AMS claimed the weapons the Chinese used in 

the campaign were not “up to the job” (wuqi zhuangbei bu peitao). 

Without elaborating, the historians noted that the PLA also learned 

lessons in the areas of security and militia.39

The source of all these problems was obvious. According to 

the AMS historians, the Cultural Revolution, Lin Biao, and the 

Gang of Four had undermined the PLA’s fine traditions, and, as a 

result, the PLA was not an effective fighting force during the 1979 

Campaign.40

The PLA took the first halting steps toward correcting the 

problems of the 1979 Campaign during the 1980s, but it was in the 

1990s that the PLA really turned to solving its problems as an army. In 

the 1990s the PLA made important changes in every one of the areas 

the AMS historians identified as problematic, including reforms of 

its personnel, training, tactical, organizational, and logistics systems. 

This portion of the chapter will explore some of the changes that 

originated in the lessons learned from the 1979 Campaign. 

Before going on to trace the evolution of these changes, however, 

it is important to note that the Chinese faced a dramatically different 

strategic and military situation in the 1990s. The Soviet Union had 

dissolved at the end of the 1980s and the long-term “local war” with 

Vietnam ended in November 1991. China perceived new threats, 
363

the most important of which was the United States. Furthermore, 

the PLA began to realize the enormity of the shift from the era of 

attrition and maneuver warfare to one of “effects based warfare.”41

After the Gulf War of 1991, the tectonic plates of warfare shifted 

and the Chinese, like everyone else, reevaluated their priorities and 

capabilities. 

It is difficult to say if the PLA of the 1990s had better troops in 

its ranks than did the PLA of 1979. In 1979 the PLA was a route of 

social mobility for peasants to escape the poverty of the countryside 

or, at least, to improve their situation if they returned to their 

home commune after demobilization. Most of the Chinese people 

respected the PLA in 1979, and they were happy to send their sons 

off to service. There were few economic alternatives for peasant men 

in the Maoist economy and men with PLA service frequently had 

leadership opportunities, which led to higher living standards when 

they returned to the commune. Additionally, many had the chance 

to join the Communist Party, the real door to upward social mobility 

at the time.

The new economic policies of Deng Xiaoping and Jiang Zemin 

changed the situation during the 1980s and 1990s. And, at roughly 

the same time, the 1989 Tiananmen Square Incident dealt a severe 

blow to the PLA’s prestige. In the China of Jiang Zemin, there was 

very little incentive to join the army. For those with the levels of 

education that the PLA wanted to recruit, better jobs were available 

in the civilian sector of the economy, and service in the ranks of a 

tarnished institution did not improve a young man’s prestige at 

home. 

As a result of these factors, the PLA has not always achieved 

its goals of recruiting youngsters with middle school educations. 

Therefore, it will be difficult for the PLA to enter the world of 

high technology warfare with a corps of soldiers with very limited 

academic skills. Additionally, since service in the ranks is not 

attractive, it is reasonable to assume that it will be more difficult to 

motivate soldiers for whom service is an unattractive alternative.42

If it is not clear that the quality of the troops is any better 

today than it was in 1979, then what about the quality of the PLA 

officer corps? James C. Mulvenon, a political scientist at the Rand 

Corporation, examined the characteristics of the rising PLA officer 
364

corps in very important study on Professionalization of the Senior 

Chinese Officer Corps: Trends and Implications.43 By carefully tracking 

the careers of over 400 senior officers, Mulvenon concluded that the 

PLA officer corps that emerged in the late 1980s and 1990s was better 

educated, more specialized, and younger than the PLA leaders at the 

time of the 1979 Campaign. Mulvenon also found that very few of the 

rising Chinese generals had combat experience. Table 1 depicts the 

national-level PLA leadership44 and the front commanders during 

the 1979 Campaign;45 they did have extensive combat experience 

during the Liberation War, the Civil War, and, in some cases, the 

Korean War. Table 2 lists officers who were at the regimental and 

division level during the Campaign and later rose to senior ranks 

and, thus, were in a position to influence reforms during the 1990’s 

and today.46 Those now at the Military Commission level generally 

had prior combat experience in the Korean War; officers below that 

level likely experienced their first combat in 1979, and subsequent 

Vietnam border operations.

Hua Guofeng, Chairman of the Military Commission (MC)

Ye Jianying, Vice Chairman, and MC Standing Committee Executive

Xu Xiangqian, Minister of National Defense and MC Standing Committee Member

Deng Xiaoping, Chief of the General Staff Department and Vice Chairman of the MC

Wei Guoqing, Director of the General Political Department

Zhang Zhen, Director of the General Logistics Department

Xu Shiyou, Commander, Guangzhou Military Region; Front Commander

Yang Dezhi, Commander, Kunming Military Region, Deputy Front Commander

Zhang Tingfa, Commander, PLA Air Force, Front Chief of Staff

Table 1. Key National-level Chinese Leaders

during the 1979 Campaign.

According to Mulvenon’s study, 79 percent of the PLA leaders of 

1994 had some form of advanced education.47 In contrast, the officers 

of 1979, who entered the PLA in the 1950s and 1960s, rarely had educational levels beyond junior-high school.48

PLA officers followed more specialized career patterns in the 

1990s than during earlier years, and the younger officers were more 

specialized than the older officers.49

As a result of an improved retirement system, the average age 
365

of officers at every level of the PLA has declined. Mulvenon found 

that the average age of members of the Central Military Commission 

(CMC) declined by 13 years between the end of the 1980s and the 

middle of the 1990s. By 1994, according to Mulvenon’s study, the 

holders of the senior positions in the PLA were at least 6 years 

younger than the maximum age for individuals eligible to hold these 

jobs.50

Table 2. Officers from 1979 Campaign Who Later Rose to Senior 

Ranks (1979 position in parenthesis).

Fewer PLA officers have combat experience in today’s PLA. 

According to the Professionalization study, only 46 percent of the PLA 

(division chief of staff)
366

officer corps in the study had combat experience. 

If the AMS Historians were looking for a modern PLA with 

high quality troops, competent officers, and a cadre of combat 

experienced leaders, then the result is mixed. There is no evidence 

that today’s PLA soldier is any better than his father was in 1979. 

There is very compelling evidence that the officer corps is better at 

least by the standards of education, age, and training. There still is 

no cadre of combat veterans to prod the PLA into preparations for 

“the real thing.”

The AMS analysts identified the PLA’s training program as 

one of the weaknesses of the force that invaded Vietnam in 1979. 

In the decade of the 1990s training reform was a high priority for 

the PLA. In contrast, the PLA of the late 1970s did very little real 

training. A writer in the Liberation Army Daily noted in 1978 that, 

”military training was not strict, or at times . . . no training at all 

was given. Some soldiers had been in the armed forces for several 

years without ever touching a rifle and some cadres could not lead 

troops. The combat capabilities of the whole armed forces declined 

markedly.”51

To reverse the evidence of decline that they saw on the battlefields 

of Lang Son, Cao Bang, and Lao Cai, the leaders of the PLA began a 

series of new training programs for the PLA. These programs grew 

from a modest size in the 1980s to much greater size in the 1990s. In 

the 1980s, analysts as perceptive as Ellis Joffe were discussing single 

exercises and, perhaps, one significant exercise in 2 or 3 years. By 

the mid-1990s analysts identified ten to twenty exercises per year 

in the years from 1991 to 1995.52 At the same time, the complexity 

of the training exercises grew. The PLA abandoned the single 

service, relatively static exercise for the large-scale multi-service 

and combined arms exercise. To make the training of these exercises 

even more challenging, the PLA frequently conducted the exercises 

in the area that the PLA expected to contest in the event of war. 

The training within the exercises also changed. The PLA renewed 

its training in tactics, small unit leadership, and military skills. If 

the PLA had a better corps of officers in the 1990s, the revitalized 

training program was the perfect way to stretch them to the degree 

that the errors of the 1979 Campaign would never be repeated. 
367

The 1979 PLA did not have the noncommissioned officers that 

are the critical catalyst of small unit tactics. Noncommissioned 

officers are the leaders that motivate and direct the troops during 

the critical time when the unit is within a few meters of the enemy. 

Therefore, any real tactical change had to begin with the creation of 

a noncommissioned officer corps. In recent years there is evidence 

of soldiers staying in the enlisted ranks after their mandatory 

enlistment years have ended. Although we do not know the level of 

competency of these soldiers or the level of authority they exercise, 

the recognition of their existence is probably a step forward in the 

tactical area.

The basic tactical lesson of the 1979 Campaign was that PLA 

tactics more closely resembled the massed infantry attacks of the past 

than the fire and movement/fire and maneuver tactics of a modern 

army. Did the AMS researchers recognize this problem? Did the PLA 

solve the problem? Very little is known about the PLA’s tactics in the 

1990s. Some scholars have attempted to update our understanding 

of Chinese tactics but such explanations usually are little more than 

discussion about the latest terms the Chinese are using to describe 

an action that could easily fit at the tactical or operational level of 

war.53 Therefore, it is not clear whether the Chinese have corrected 

the problems and learned the lessons of the 1979 Campaign or not.

The “establishment was not rational” is a simple statement by 

the AMS researchers that conveys a big idea. Military organizations 

are not for parades. They must make sense on the battlefield because 

the organization of a military unit, when combined with other 

factors, makes a unit an effective fighting force or a “circular firing 

squad.” The PLA did not have a rational establishment for the 1979 

Campaign because it was saddled with an establishment that grew 

up during the long, almost unbroken, lack of foreign hostilities from 

1953 to 1979.54

The PLA took several steps to rationalize its establishment in 

the years after the 1979 Campaign. In 1985-86 the PLA transformed 

its 36 “army/corps” (jun) organizations into 24 “group armies” 

(jituanjun).55 This change forced the diverse maneuver, fire support, 

combat support, and combat service support elements to coordinate 

closely. Because group armies had one commander and one staff 
368

and their units could train and deploy together, the advent of the 

group army was a significant step towards rationalizing the PLA’s 

establishment and solving some of the coordination problems that 

had plagued the PLA in 1979. 

The next step the PLA took to rationalize its establishment was 

to reorganize several divisions as brigades.56 Although there are 

obvious cost-cutting benefits available to the PLA from reducing the 

size of these units from divisions (about 13,000 men)57 to brigades 

(about 5,000 men), there is a more important tactical reason for this 

transformation. A brigade is a compact and maneuverable fighting 

force. It can be deployed with a minimum of transportation support, 

and, since it is a combined arms organization, it brings a lot of power 

to the fight very quickly. The brigade structure also reduces the span 

of control of the unit commander and his staff and that change 

should translate into increased efficiency.

Finally, the PLA rationalized its establishment by introducing 

new arms to support the traditional combat arms: infantry, armor, 

and artillery. For example, during the late 1990s, the PLA began to 

deploy helicopter and special operations regiments and brigades. 

These units, which were key parts of the PLA’s rapid reaction forces, 

deployed to provide a strong complement to the group armies and 

brigades. These new units gave the PLA a centralized set of assets 

that enhanced the regular combat arms forces. After the deployment 

of these types of forces,58 the PLA had the building blocks needed to 

create tailored response forces for future contingencies.

The AMS analysts did not express strong criticisms of the PLA 

logistics system during the 1979 Campaign; nonetheless, in the 

late 1990s the PLA began to make a series of significant changes in 

the way it handled logistics at every level.59 In 1979, five of the ten 

armies that invaded Vietnam were not assigned to the two military 

regions that bordered Vietnam (Kunming and Guangzhou), and, 

since the PLA supports its units from a system of fixed-depots, it 

was a significant problem to supply large units that were fighting a 

long distance from their home bases. The recent reforms that relate 

directly to the problems of the 1979 Campaign deal with mobile 

logistics, the standardization of supply procedures, skip echelon 

logistics, and transportation improvements. All these reforms, if 
369

executed with thoroughness and imagination, will significantly 

change the problems the PLA encountered in “retail logistics,” the 

supply system on the battlefield. 

In 1979 the PLA needed a mobile logistics system to support large 

units operating as much as a thousand kilometers from their regular 

depot system. Recent experiments by the PLA have attempted to 

create a mobile logistics structure based on fixed depots, “emergency 

depots,” and “emergency support brigades.” This new system will 

allow the PLA to repair equipment at forward positions and to 

meet the supply requirements of deployed units. Although the new 

system is designed for the new Chinese rapid reaction units, the 

“fist” units, it also could be the solution to the problem the deployed 

units faced in 1979.60

The PLA is standardizing its equipment parts, supply procedures, 

and requisition system. The PLA of 1979 had a hodgepodge of 

equipment and procedures because, under Maoist military theory, 

every unit and every region had to be as self-sufficient as possible. 

As a result, small, local factories made a great deal of the PLA’s 

equipment. Local manufacturers meant local standards, procedures 

and tolerances. A mortar tripod from Wuhan Military Region 

did not necessarily fit a Kunming Military Region mortar tube. A 

standardized system will rectify this situation.61

In addition to mobile or emergency logistics plans and 

standardization, the PLA of 1979 needed a faster system for delivering 

supplies to combat units. To solve this problem, if it should appear 

during the deployment of the “fist” units, the PLA is experimenting 

with “skip-echelon logistics” and faster throughput of shipped 

supplies. Skip-echelon logistics allows the logistics managers at 

the military region to maintain direct links to the lower level units 

operating at the front. This means a unit can request and receive 

supplies or equipment without channeling its requests through the 

various command layers of the organization. The military region 

depot sends the mortar tripod or the radio batteries directly to the 

brigade in contact that made the request.62 Faster throughput means 

the PLA is trying to eliminate the long lags that plague supplies 

when they are sent to depots that dole them out to units and depots 

at lower levels. Like skip echelon logistics, improved throughput 
370

rates increase the chances of getting materiel to the requestor in the 

shortest possible time.63

The key measure of effectiveness of any logistics system is: Does 

it get the right “stuff” to the right soldier at the right time? Measured 

by this standard, the PLA had a flawed logistics system in 1979. The 

millennium PLA has attempted to fix many of the problems because 

the types of logistics problems the “fist” units face today are very 

similar to the ones that the deployed units faced in 1979. Only time 

will tell if they have been successful.

Lessons Not Assessed.

Any effort to understand the lessons the PLA learned from the 

1979 Campaign cannot avoid the feeling that the PLA is not being 

fully honest with itself. All the problems the various authors discuss 

were problems in areas that the PLA has attempted to reform in the 

last 2 decades. But, there were many other problems in the 1979 

Campaign that the PLA has not discussed. These problems need 

correction. For example: 

• The PLA authors do not mention air superiority or close air 

support. Even though the Vietnamese conducted several 

dozen-parachute resupply missions to support their forces 

in their defense against the Chinese forces, the Chinese do 

not comment on the desirability of an aerial supply line or air 

superiority to deny such supply line to the enemy.64

• Although the Chinese forces were drained by Vietnamese 

sapper attacks, the Chinese never mention their own lack 

of a similar capability. If there had been a Chinese sapper 

command, similar to the Vietnamese Sapper Command (Binh 

Chung Dac Cong), would the Chinese have been able to cut 

off the Vietnamese forces in Lang Son and bring that battle to 

a more favorable conclusion? 

• In 1979, the PLA did not have ranks and insignia. This simple 

fact led to confusion on the battlefield. It was not until 1988 
371

that this problem was rectified with the reinstitution of 

ranks. 

The PLA has made so many changes in the years since the 1979 

Campaign that it is hard to link specific reforms to specific problems. 

The impetus to reform the PLA’s organizations almost certainly 

came from its experience in 1979. But during the intervening years, 

there have been other wars, and the Chinese have studied them 

all, including the British experience in the Falklands and the U.S. 

experiences in the Gulf War, Kosovo, Bosnia, and today in Iraq. As 

a result, it is difficult to distinguish the extent to which the PLA 

learned lessons from the 1979 Campaign or more recent campaigns. 

After looking at the problems and reforms it may be the case that 

while the 1979 Campaign was the impetus to reform, the reforms, as 

a whole, were the result of the PLA seeking solutions from a wide 

variety of sources.

ENDNOTES – CHAPTER 10

1. Anne Gilks, The Breakdown of the Sino-Vietnamese Alliance, 1970-1979, 

Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, 1992, passim. For 

brief summaries of the situation leading up to the “self-defense counterattack” and 

stages of the operation, see Jiang Xiyi, ed., Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjun Dashidian 

(Chinese PLA Major Events), Tianjin: People’s Publishers, 1992, pp. 1722-1724; and 

Deng Lixiang and Hong Wujie, eds., Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjun, shang (Chinese 

People’s Liberation Army, first volume), Beijing: Modern China Publishers, 1984, pp. 

329-333.

2. King C. Chen, China’s War With Vietnam, 1979: Issues, Decisions and 

Implications, Stanford CA: Hoover Institution Press, 1987 p. 114. Chen says the 

Chinese lost 26,000 killed in action (KIA) and 37,000 wounded in action (WIA). He 

believes the Vietnamese had 30,000 KIA and 32,000 WIA. The Chinese exchanged 

1,638 Vietnamese POWs for 260 Chinese POWs. Nayan Chanda reported the 

Chinese captured “some 2,000 Vietnamese” while Vietnam captured “fewer than 

1,000 Chinese.” See “A Breather Between Rounds” in Far Eastern Economic Review

(hereafter FEER), April 20, 1979, p. 17. A PRC-linked publication in Hong Kong 

reported 800 Vietnamese prisoners along the Guangxi front and another 700 along 

the Yunnan front. See “Sino-Vietnamese Leakout” in Xiandai Junshi, CONMILIT, 

May 1979, p. 32. Beijing Review provided partial POW figures when reporting the 

May 21, 1979, exchange of 120 Vietnamese and 43 Chinese prisoners. See “China 

Releases First Group of Captured Vietnamese Armed Personnel” in Beijing Review, 
372

No. 21, May 25, 1979, p. 6; for the May 28 release of 118 Vietnamese and the June 5 

release of 487 Vietnamese prisoners, see “China Releases Third Group of Captured 

Vietnamese” in Beijing Review, No 24, June 15, 1979, pp. 26-27.

3. The focus of this chapter is on lessons learned during the brief February to 

March 1979 campaign. Leadership experience, also, is addressed only in terms 

of this specific period. We acknowledge regimental and divisional sized clashes 

occurred in the subsequent stages of the Sino-Vietnamese conflict that continued 

until 1991, but analysis of that period is deferred for a future paper. 

4. The primary source for the perspective of the students at the Guangzhou 

Military Region Infantry School is an internal document prepared by the 

Guangzhou Military Region Forward Political Department Cadre Section, ZhongYue Bianjing Ziwei Haunji Zuozhan Ganbu Gongzuo Ziliao Huibian (Compilation of 

Materials on Cadre Work in the Counterattack in Self-defense on the Sino-Vietnamese 

Border), No location: Published by the complier, May 1979, p. 222. Hereafter 

referred to as GGZH.

5. The Military History Section of the Academy of Military Sciences, The 

Seventy Years of the Chinese Peoples’s Liberation Army (Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjunde 

Qishi Nian), Beijing: Academy of Military Sciences Publishers, 1997. Hereafter 

cited as QN.

6. After 1981 the “infantry schools” became “army schools.” Analysts 

recognize this school as the Guilin Army School. To reduce confusion,we have 

used the term “infantry school” throughout the chapter to be consistent with the 

unit’s identification in our sources. 

7. The criticism of Chinese tactics was not confined to internal assessments. 

Two years after the 1979 operations, a 190-page photo analysis of the war 

sympathetic to and apparently prepared with materials provided by the PLA 

reported: 

The Chinese soldiers were fine fighters. However, in the SinoVietnamese War, they had revealed defects—failure to adapt to 

modern warfare, to particular weakness in communications and 

transport. Moreover, large-formation warfare, using human wave 

tactics, was not suitable for operations in mountainous country. 

Owing to poor communications, some Chinese companies and 

platoons lost contact with the main forces and suffered heavy 

losses. 

Li Man Kin, Sino-Vietnamese War, Hong Kong: Kingsway International 

Publications, Ltd., 1981, p. 189.
373

8. GGZH, p. 222. 

9. GGZH, p. 222.

10. GGZH, p. 222-223. David Bonavia offers one solution in his report that 

attacking PLA troops were puzzled to see water buffalo hides hanging outside 

of Vietnamese homes in villages near the border. Then the troops “realized 

that their own advance units had driven the cattle across minefields laid by the 

Vietnamese army, in order to explode the mines before the troops followed.” 

Bonavia attributed the original source of this report to Zheng Ming, a then pro-PRC 

monthly published in Hong Kong. See: “Lessons of the 16-Day Battle,” in FEER, 

May 4, 1979, p. 11.

11. GGZH, p. 222-223.

12. GGZH, p. 223.

13. GGZH, p. 220.

14. Chinese People’s Liberation Army General Political Department, Zhong-Yue 

Bianjing Ziwei Huanji Zuozhan Zhengzhi Jingyan Xuanbian (Selection of Experiences of 

Political Work in the Counterattack in Self-defense on the Sino-Vietnamese Border), Vol. 

1, Beijing: Chinese People’s Liberation Army Military Publishers, 1980, p. 161.

15. Ibid., Vol. 2, p. 195. 

16. GGZH, p. 224.

17. There almost certainly were other “muddy boots” analyses of the campaign 

by other units. Regrettably, the analysis by the Guangzhou Military Region 

Infantry School is the only one that was available at the time of this writing. 

18. Song Shilun, Editor of Military Volumes, Zhongguo Da Baike Quanshu 

(Chinese Great Encyclopedia), Military Vols. I-II, Beijing: Chinese Encyclopedia 

Publishers, 1989; Vol. 1, p. 64. Hereafter referred to as ZDBQ.

19. ZDBQ, p. 64.

20. Deng Xiaoping, who was Chief of the General Staff Department during 

the 1979 War, cited the war experiences as part of the justification for major PLA 

structural and training reforms that were implemented in the 1980s following 

his March 12, 1980, speech at an enlarged meeting of the Military Commission. 

“Streamline the Army and Raise Its Combat Effectiveness,” Selected Works of Deng 

Xiaoping, 1975-1982, Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1984, pp. 269-275. 
374

21. Harlan W. Jencks, From Muskets to Missiles: Politics and Professionalism in the 

Chinese Army, 1945-1981 , Boulder CO: Westview Press 1982, p.151. 

22. ZDBQ, pp. 1232-1233. A more extensive explanation of the same tactical 

principles appears in Li Chengxiang, et al., Zhanyixue Jiqu (The Basis for Tactical 

Studies), Beijing: National Defense University Press, 1986, pp. 98-121. 

23. ZDBQ, Vol. 2, pp. 809-810. 

24. Nanfang Ribao, August 10, 1979; JPRS, No. 14, September 7, 1979, p. 13. 

I am indebted to Paul C. Marks, “The Sino-Vietnamese War of 1979 and China’s 

Military Modernization,” Unpublished M.A. Dissertation, School of Oriental and 

African Studies, University of London, 1988. p. 39. 

25. The PLA has reviewed and drastically revamped its training program 

periodically over the years since the 1979 War. The most recent revision was 

announced in early 2002 in a Xinhua press report that stated: 

The Chinese military and armed police will carry out military 

training this year under a new general outline which was just 

issued by the Headquarters of the General Staff of the Chinese 

People’s Liberation Army, PLA. The general outline sums up the 

experiences the PLA gained from its intensive military training 

programs in the past three years, and is a revolutionary leap 

forward compared with traditional theories on military training. 

Beijing: Xinhua News Agency, in English, January 9, 2002, in Foreign Broadcast 

Information Service (hereafter FBIS), CPP20020109000126. 

26. Defense Intelligence Agency, Handbook of the Chinese People’s Liberation 

Army, Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1984, p. 51. 

27. Defense Intelligence Agency, Handbook on the Chinese Armed Forces, 

Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1975, p. A-17.

28. This assessment is based on personal observation and interviews in China 

and Hong Kong. 

29. Lonnie D. Henley “Officer Education in the Chinese PLA, Problems of 

Communism, May-June 1987, pp. 64-65. 

30. Jiefangjun Bao (Liberation Army Daily), December 9, 1982. Quoted in Marks, 

p. 33. 

31. Ibid., January 15, 1983. Quoted in Marks, p. 34. 
375

32. Tai Ming Chueng, “Reforming the Dragon’s Tail” in James R. Lilley and 

David Shambaugh, China’s Military Faces the Future, Armonk NY: M. E. Sharpe, 

1999, p. 240. 

33. In 1985 one of the authors escorted a PLA logistics delegation to the 

United States. In the course of several discussions, a PLA officer, a junior logistics 

staff officer in the 1979 Campaign, told the author that transportation, supply, 

and availability of parts were so bad, he was forced to send men from his unit 

to factories where some of his equipment was built to insure that he got the 

correct replacement parts. Obviously, this is the epitome of an inefficient logistics 

system. 

34. Nan Li, “The PLA’s Evolving Warfighting Doctrine, Strategy and Tactics, 

1985-1995: A Chinese Perspective” in David Shambaugh and Richard H. Yang, 

China’s Military in Transition, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997, p. 191. 

35. The normalization with Vietnam reduced the possibility that the Chinese 

would be involved in a “second lesson” and the Gulf War gave the PLA a new, 

and very different, standard of military operations to match. If the Gulf War was 

the first “post-modern” war or “effects-based” war, then the urgency of analyzing 

the “modern” warfare of 1979 grew less and less by the day. See You Ji, The 

Armed Forces of China, London and New York: I. B. Tauris, 1999, for a preliminary 

assessment of the Gulf War on Chinese military modernization. 

36. The Military History Section of the Academy of Military Sciences, Zhongguo 

Renmin Jiefangjunde Qishi Nian (The Seventy Years of the Chinese People’s Liberation 

Army), Beijing: Academy of Military Sciences Publishers, 1997.

37. QN, p. 612. There were about 80-90 counties and towns in the four 

provinces in 1979. Today there are 93 counties and towns in the same area. 

38. QN, p. 613.

39. QN, p. 613.

40. QN, p. 613. 

41. Effects–based warfare operations are actions that produce outcomeoriented activity focused on altering enemy behavior. These operations focus 

on the enemy’s decisionmaking process and ability to take action in a coherent 

manner. The real payoff in conducting effects-based warfare is that it shortens 

combat by causing the enemy to yield long before his means to resist have been 

exhausted. Adapted from Edward A. Smith, “Network-centric Warfare: What’s 

the Point” in Naval War College Review, Winter 1997, Vol. LIV, No. 1, p. 64.
376

42. This discussion of staffing draws on June Teufel Dreyer’s chapter, “Recent 

Developments in the Chinese Military,” in David A. Graff and Robin Higham, 

eds., A Military History of China, Boulder: CO: Westview Press, 2002, pp. 294-295. 

43. James C. Mulvenon, Professionalization of the Senior Chinese Officer Corps: 

Trends and Implications, Santa Monica, CA: Rand, 1997.

44. Xiang Xu, ed., Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjun Junguan Shouce, Lujun Fence 

(Chinese People’s Liberation Army Officer’s Handbook, Army Vol.), Qingdao: Qingdao 

Publishers, 1991, pp. 797-805. 

45. Harlan W. Jencks, “China’s ‘Punitive’ War on Vietnam: A Military 

Assessment,” in Asian Survey, Vol. XIX, No. 8, August 1979, pp. 805-806.

46. Source for Zhang Wannian is “Zhang Wannian Takes Command of 

Military Exercises” in FBIS HK1303050996, Hong Kong, Sing Tao Jih Pao, in Chinese, 

March 13, 1996, p. A3. Source for Cao Gangchuan is personal interview in Beijing. 

Source for Liang Guanglie is “New Shenyang, Lanzhou Commanders Profiled,” 

in FBIS OW2104021098, Kuang Chiao Ching, Wide Angle, in Chinese, No 306, March 

16, 1998, pp. 78-79; See also “Liang Guanglie—Member of CPC Central Military 

Commission,” Xinhua News Agency, in FBIS CPP20021115000165, November 15, 

2002. Source for Liao Xilong is “Liao Xilong Named Chengdu Region Commander” 

in FBIS HK2911043295, Lien Ho Pao, in Chinese, November 29, 1995, p. 8; see also 

Lin Chieh, “Liao Xilong’s Accession to the Central Military Commission Will 

Help Hu Assume the Reins of Military Power,” in FBIS, CPP20021121000017,

Hong Kong Hsin Pao (Hong Kong Economic Journal), in Chinese, November 21, 2002, 

p. 9. Source for Xing Shizhong is “Profiles of 10 Newly Promoted Generals,” in 

FBIS OW0805092998, Kuang Chiao Ching, in Chinese, No 307, April 16, 1998, pp. 

50-53. Source for Liu Zhenwu and Xiong Ziren is “Hong Kong Garrison Generals 

Profiled” in FBIS HK0107081797, Renmin Ribao, in Chinese, June 23, 1997, p. 7. 

For Xiong Ziren, also see “Political Commissar for HK Troops Profiled,” in FBIS

HK0708080596, Wen Wei Po, in Chinese, August 1, 1996. Source for Su Rongsheng 

is personal interview with PLA staff officers in Beijing. Source for Zhu Qi is “HK 

Magazine Views Reorganization of PLA Leadership, Rise of ‘Princelings’,” in 

FBIS CPP20020605000089, Cheng Ming, in Chinese, June 1, 2002, No. 296, pp. 47-

48. Source for Liu Yuejun is “PLA Macao SAR Garrison Leaders Said Educated, 

Capable,” in FBIS OW1211111799, Xinhua News Agency, in English, November 12, 

1999.

47. Mulvenon, p. 18.

48. Henley, p. 70.

49. Mulvenon, p. 31.

50. Mulvenon, p. 42.
377

51. Jiefangjun Bao (Liberation Army Daily), February 24, 1978, in Ellis Joffe, The 

Chinese Army after Mao, p. 144. 

52. Joffe, p. 144; and Dennis J. Blasko, Philip T. Klapakis, and John F. Corbett, 

Jr., “Training Tomorrow’s PLA: A Mixed Bag of Tricks” in David Shambaugh and 

Richard H. Yang, China’s Military in Transition, p. 252. 

53. For an example, see Nan Li, “The PLA’s Warfighting Doctrine, Strategy 

and Tactics, 1985-1995: A Chinese Perspective” in David Shambaugh and Richard 

H. Yang, China’s Military in Transition, pp. 190-191. 

54. For the purposes of this discussion, the establishment of an army or a unit 

within an army is the numbers, assignments and levels of soldiers and weapons 

that are assigned to the army or unit. In the United States the closest equivalent is 

the table of organization and equipment, TO&E. 

55. Nan Li, p.191. The number has since been reduced to 21. 

56. Dennis J. Blasko, “PLA Force Structure: A 20-Year Retrospective” in 

James C. Mulvenon and Andrew N.D. Yang, eds. Seeking Truth from Facts: A 

Retrospective on Chinese Military Studies in the Post- Mao Era, Santa Monica: Rand, 

2001, p. 57. In the latest round of streamlining and restructuring during the later 

half of the 1990’s, the PLA has reduced the number of divisions from over 100 to 

approximately 50. Many of the divisions reduced were restructured into brigades. 

See U.S. Department of Defense “Annual Report on the Military Power of the 

People’s Republic of China,” released on July 12, 2002, p. 16. During this same 

period, 14 PLA divisions also converted to People’s Armed Police divisions; 

see Dennis Blasko and John F. Corbett, Jr. “No More Tiananmen’s: The People’s 

Armed Police and Stability in China, 1997,” The China Strategic Review, Vol. III, 

Issue I, Spring 1998, pp. 80-103.

57. Handbook on the Chinese Armed Forces, p. A-3. Brigade strength is authors’ 

estimate. 

58. Of course, helicopter and special operations forces were not the only 

“complementary” units deployed. The PLA deployed signal, transportation, air 

defense, and units of other arms at the same time. 

59. Lonnie Henley, “PLA Logistics and Doctrine Reform, 1999-2009” in Susan 

M. Puska, ed., The People’s Liberation Army After Next, Carlisle, PA: The Strategic 

Studies Institute, 2000, pp. 55-77. We are indebted to Mr. Henley for making this 

article available to us. We have drawn heavily on his research. 

60. Ibid., pp. 62-63.
378

61. Ibid., p. 64.

62. Ibid., p. 66.

63. Ibid., p. 67.

64. Chau Minh Vung, Lich Su Su Doan Khong Quan 371 , History of the 371st 

Air Force Division, Hanoi: People’s Army Publishing House, 1997, Merle L. 

Pribbenow, trans., p. 271.
379

CHAPTER 11

THE LESSONS OF THE 1995-1996 MILITARY TAIWAN STRAIT 

CRISIS: DEVELOPING A NEW STRATEGY TOWARD 

THE UNITED STATES AND TAIWAN1

Arthur S. Ding

China’s independence, security, integration, and being a world 

class power are of the utmost importance, while the Taiwan issue 

is not the top and overwhelming priority.2

Facing the wave of globalization in the world, China must put 

priority on, and handle the Taiwan issue well.3

In July 1995/March 1996, China launched a series of large scale 

of military exercises in the Taiwan Strait. China’s military exercises 

were made as responses to former Taiwan President Lee Teng-hui’s 

private visit to the United States in 1995 and the perceived U.S. 

attempt to heighten the U.S.-Taiwan relationship as well as the 

perceived trend of seeking independence in Taiwan. In addition 

to mobilizing conventional forces, China fired several surface-tosurface missiles to the water area close to Taiwan.4

The U.S. response had been low profile before January 1996.5

However, when the decision was made to launch another round of 

military exercises by China in late 1995,6 and Chinese force was being 

mobilized, the United States started to make a firm response. The 

United States eventually demonstrated its firmness in maintaining 

stability and peace in the west Pacific region by deploying two 

aircraft carrier battle groups to the vicinity of the Taiwan Strait to 

stabilize the situation. The scale of the deployment was said to be the 

largest one in East Asia since the United States had withdrawn from 

the Vietnamese War in the mid-1970s.

After China’s military exercises had been concluded, the United 

States and China started negotiations to resume relations. The 

Clinton administration adopted an “engagement policy” toward, 

and established “constructive strategic partnership relations” with 

China. Presidents Clinton and Jiang Zemin made mutual visits to 
380

each other in 1997 and 1998. Both sides also accomplished several 

cooperation programs in some areas. It seemed that the looming 

Sino-U.S. crisis had been largely reversed.

What lessons has China learned from the crisis? Did China think 

the military exercises accomplished the goals it had set? If this type 

of coercive diplomacy worked in 1995-96, what show of force might 

the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA) think it would take to 

be successful next time? Has China learned that the United States 

will intervene again in case of another crisis? This chapter tries to 

address these questions.

There is a caveat at the beginning: a single event may not be 

enough to draw sufficient lessons. The other side of the coin is that 

people tend to learn more lessons after experiencing similar events. 

In other words, people learn lessons incrementally in the course 

of experiencing similar events. In that case, China did not learn 

sufficient lessons until 2000.

Goals of the Military Exercises.

There is a wide consensus on China’s goals in launching largescale military exercises, and the goals were two-fold.7

 The first one 

was to deter former Taiwan President Lee Teng-hui from pursuing a 

course of perceived further independence. 

China’s skepticism about Lee Teng-hui’s policy direction toward 

reunification with mainland China began very early. China suspected 

that the National Re-Unification Guideline, proposed by Lee Tenghui in early 1991, and relevant remarks were but a camouflage for 

the real intention of pursuing independence. Nevertheless, Beijing 

had been restrained from making the accusation. The skepticism 

later developed into distrust when he called the Republic of China 

(ROC) the “Republic of China on Taiwan,” severely denounced 

China’s mishandling of the “Thousand Lake” incident, and showing 

more signs of identifying himself with Japan when interviewed by a 

Japanese journalist in 1994.

After Lee Teng-hui’s 1995 visit to the United States, China 

formally started to make the accusation. 

. . . Lee Teng-hui, who insists on Taiwan independence, ignores 

the strong desire of the people on both sides of the Taiwan Strait 
381

for re-unification and continues to take every opportunity to 

challenge the one-China principle. He says that he is the only 

person with courage to confront China. Lee Teng-hui’s statements 

have severely poisoned the atmosphere for both sides. His action 

on Taiwan independence is the biggest danger, and is the source 

for the tension of both sides.8

China also pointed out potential problems brought by Lee 

Teng-hui’s visit to the United States. 

Lee Teng-hui’s remarks and actions not only have damaged 

cross-strait relations, they have also bolstered the influence of 

those advocating Taiwan independence on the island. This has 

created a turbulent political situation, low morale, and a massive 

outflow of immigration in Taiwan . . . As long as the separation 

actions are not stopped, we will not stop our struggle against the 

separation actions. If Taiwan continues to follow the course taken 

by Lee Teng-hui’s dangerous road, Taiwan’s economy will have 

no future as a result of small market size and lack of raw materials 

and the Taiwan people will suffer.”9

China’s emotion exploded after Lee Teng-hui’s visit to his alma 

mater, Cornell University. China’s accusation was made after 

carefully examining Lee’s speech at Cornell, which contained no 

word on China’s expected reunification. Chinese leaders judged that 

Lee intentionally did it that way. Hence, China also judged that Lee 

Teng-hui was pursuing independence.10

It could be conceived that China might have anticipated a 

“decapitation effect.”11 China might wish that, through the military 

exercise, a psychological paranoia would be created in Taiwan, 

along with a declining stock market, depreciation of Taiwan 

money, outflow of capital, and fighting among political elites.12

Chinese leaders might expect that the decapitation effect would 

bring pressure toward the Lee Teng-hui government, forcing Lee to 

change his policy of pursuing independence.

Another target was the United States. There was a widespread 

conspiracy theory among many Chinese analysts13 called 

“containment” or “soft containment” theory: the United States 

intended to contain China.14 The theory started from the end of the 

Cold War when many U.S. strategic analysts started to downgrade 

the importance of China, arguing that China did not have value any 
382

more because the Soviet Union’s empire had collapsed.15 If China 

was not important any more, then there was no need for the United 

States to care about China.

On the other hand, it was argued by the containment advocates, 

there was also a need for the United States to reorient its strategic 

focus.16 With this reorientation, relations with some former friends, 

allies, and adversaries might be switched and turned upside down. 

In the early 1990s, China had survived the sanctions imposed by 

western countries for the June 4, 1989 Tiananmen suppression and 

kept its comprehensive national power growing. It was natural that 

China had become the next target for a reoriented U.S. policy.

China also felt a hostile attitude from U.S. society. Some 

religious groups accused China of violating religious freedom; 

labor organizations charged China with exporting slave labor-made 

products and undertaking unfair competition; human rights groups 

denounced the Chinese government’s forced abortion policy; 

the media reported the “China threat” theory. The U.S. Olympic 

Committee, under the perceived influence of the United States 

Government, opposed China’s bid to host the 2000 Olympic Games 

and voted against China’s bid for the world game sponsorship.17

Against these circumstances, U.S. issuance of a visa to Lee 

Teng-hui was perceived by many Chinese analysts as a test against 

China by the United States. They, particularly those with a military 

background, argued that the United States had attempted to 

challenge established U.S.-China agreements since the early 1990s, 

including the sale of F-16 fighters to Taiwan and the upgrading of 

the Taiwan representative’s office’s status in Washington DC, in 

1994. They perceived that Lee’s visit was a coordinated plot between 

Taipei and Washington.18 The United States, they believed, had 

attempted to drift away from its established one China policy, and 

took Lee Teng-hui’s visit as a test.

Beijing was particularly concerned with the ramifications of 

Lee Teng-hui’s visit to the United States. If Lee Teng-hui made a 

successful visit to his alma mater in the United States, Japan might 

follow suit and issue Lee Teng-hui a visa, allowing Lee Teng-hui to 

visit his alma mater in Japan, Kyoto University. Taiwan’s attempt 

to reenter the international community would be materialized, it 

would be more difficult for China to isolate Taiwan internationally, 
383

and the sacred task of reunification would be remote.

In brief, the second goal for China in launching the military 

exercises was to deter the United States from the perceived 

modification of its established one China policy. Through the 

forceful posture of the military exercises, China also wanted to show 

the United States that it would pay a heavy cost if the United States 

altered its China policy.19

Gains and Losses of the Military Exercises.

The evaluation of the crisis engineered by China has to be made 

against the two goals stated above. China has accomplished its goals, 

although the crisis created serious backlashes, and, on balance, the 

end results were mixed.

Chinese analysts argued that the military exercises cast a blow 

for those advocating Taiwan independence in Taiwan and helped 

deter Lee Teng-hui from seeking independence.20 First, as Xue 

Litai pointed out, after the presidential election, the Democratic 

Progressive Party (DPP) split. Some radical Taiwan independence 

subgroups who denounced the DPP, claiming it had not placed 

Taiwan independence as its top priority, left the party and organized 

a Taiwan Independence Party, thus further making Taiwan 

independence a minority group in Taiwan. This was a serious 

blow for those radical elements. The consequence was that the DPP 

changed its tone over the Taiwan independence issue.

Other Chinese analysts echo Xue’s observation. Dr. Wang 

Shaoguang, a U.S. trained political scientist, argued that China’s 

missile test aimed at containing the further proliferation of the 

force of Taiwan independence by increasing the cost of Taiwan 

independence. “If China occasionally announces the information 

about missile tests, Taiwan’s strength will be gradually exhausted 

because an outflow of capital and manpower will be caused.” Wang 

made an analog between this strategy, and China’s bombardment of 

Kinmen and Matsu every other day.21

As a corollary effect, a debate later emerged within the DPP 

in 1997-98. The debate, centering on policy toward China, was 

conducted between two schools. One, represented by former party 

chairman Xu Xin-liang (the head of the Formosa faction), argued 
384

that the DPP has to adopt a “Dadan xijin” [bold move of western 

bound]. The other, represented by Qiu Yiren of the “New Trend” 

faction, advocated a “Jieji yongren” [more cautious measure]. In 

the end, a compromise was reached, and a slogan was proposed, 

“strengthening self and west bound” [qiangben xijin]. Although no 

specific definition was given, this reflected the serious thoughts of 

the DPP regarding its policy toward China.22

Secondly, the military exercises have accomplished the goal of 

reducing DPP’s votes on the presidential election. Xue’s argument 

was that, if China did nothing before the voting day, Peng Mingmin, the DPP candidate, would have more votes than expected, 

while Lee Teng-hui still could win the election. This was unfavorable 

to China, demonstrating that DPP support went higher and higher. 

The military exercise forced most Taiwanese to vote for Lee Tenghui, who, at that time, superficially did not rule out the possibility of 

reunification, forcing the DPP to obtain only 21 percent of the total 

vote.23

Other Chinese analysts made a similar point. Li Jiaquan, a senior 

research staffer at the Institute for Taiwan Research of the Chinese 

Academy of Social Science, pointed out that the DPP’s presidential 

candidate obtained many fewer votes than previous elections of 

around 30 percent. This implied that a total of one million votes 

switched from the DPP candidate to the Kuomintang (KMT) 

candidate, although the possibility of a backlash to protest China’s 

military exercises could not be ruled out.24

Li Jiaquan pointed out two other signs of declining support 

for candidate’s advocating independence. He says that it should 

be noted that two other independent presidential candidates, Lin 

Yangkang and Chen Lian, obtained 24 percent of the total vote, 

slightly higher than the DPP candidate’s support of 21 percent. 

Another candidate, Lee Teng-hui, promised to stabilize cross-strait 

relations after the election.25

Secondly, the United States was aware of China’s position on the 

Taiwan issue. Xue Litai pointed out that the United States should 

have received a clear signal of China’s bottom line through the 

military exercises. That is, if the United States were to breach the one 

China policy, supporting Taiwan independence, or two Chinas, and 

offering Taiwan the opportunity to expand Taiwan’s international 
385

status, China definitely would not sit idly by and would definitely 

take action against the United States. Therefore, the United States 

would not commit the same mistake after the strong and intense 

military exercises26.

Thirdly, the military exercise opened the door for establishing 

dialogue between the two sides of the Taiwan Strait. Xue pointed 

out that, when China was escalating the intensity of the military 

exercises, the United States started to pressure Taipei, requesting 

Taiwan to resume dialogue with Beijing in order to defuse the crisis 

and avoid direct conflict between the United States and China. This 

indicated that the exercises had accomplished the goal of forcing 

the United States to oppose Taiwan independence, and opening a 

window of opportunity for dialogue between Taiwan and China.27

In fact, Beijing’s strategy was to gain a favorable position to 

pave the way for later cross-strait dialogue. China’s calculation was 

that, after the relationship between China and the United States 

had improved, Taiwan would feel strong pressure from the United 

States to stabilize the cross-strait relations and would be forced 

to undertake dialogue with China. If the United States endorsed 

China’s position on the Taiwan issue, it would strengthen Beijing’s 

position and impact Taiwan’s morale.28

Chinese analysts also observed negative impacts brought by the 

military exercises, although they reportedly had been in China’s 

calculation. The first was the Taiwan people’s further negative 

sentiment against reunification. Li Jiaquan vividly points out this 

problem. He says that the significance of anti-independence of the 

military exercises was seriously distorted, a new sentiment against 

reunification emerged accordingly, and it would become a new 

problem.29

Secondly, the military exercises heightened regional countries’ 

security concerns. On the one hand, the “China threat,” demonstrated 

by China’s use of military force to address political issues, has 

become a concern for neighboring countries and the United States. 

On the other hand, China’s military exercises encouraged the United 

States and Japan to conclude an agreement on security cooperation, 

concluding negotiations that had taken place since early the 1990s, 

and it is possible that the security cooperation included the Taiwan 

issue in their considerations. Further, China’s test launch of surface-
386

to-surface missiles might open the door for U.S.-Japan cooperation 

on the joint collaborative development of the theater missile defense 

(TMD) system. Xue’s observation points to this negative impact, 

arguing that the military balance in East Asia would be changed 

accordingly.30

Thirdly, the U.S.-Taiwan military-to-military relationship was 

upgraded across-the-board after the military exercises. Strategically, 

the United States and Taiwan started to undertake regular strategic 

dialogue to review how each will react in case of military conflict 

in the Taiwan Strait, the participants being composed of ranking 

civilian and military staff. In terms of personnel exchange, Taiwan’s 

defense minister and other high level defense officials visited the 

United States more frequently. In terms of defense modernization, 

Washington has sent uniformed people to help Taiwan make an 

assessment of Taiwan’s defense needs. Arms transfer was also 

strengthened: the United States approved more arms sales items to 

Taiwan, some items having offensive capabilities, the best instance 

being the approval of submarine sales. Taiwan was assisted in its 

efforts to integrate command, control, communications, computers 

and intelligence (C4I) systems among different services. Doctrinal 

development was also on the agenda for U.S. assistance: to have the 

United States send military experts to observe Taiwan’s military 

exercises and provide expertise to assist Taiwan in this regard, 

particularly in the field of joint operations.

U.S. Factors.

What has Beijing learned? Several questions should be asked to 

provide a basis for drawing conclusions as to what lessons China has 

learned. The first one has to do with U.S. factors. Has China learned 

that the United States will intervene in the next crisis? 

The answer is positive. The U.S. decision to intervene by sending 

two aircraft carrier battle groups has sent strong signals to Beijing, 

showing U.S. resolve in upholding the established principle that the 

Taiwan issue has to be handled in a peaceful way.

Some observers argue that Beijing might attempt to test the U.S. 

bottom line, or misperceive the meaning of peaceful settlement of 

the cross-strait issue.31 China might have perceived that coercive 
387

action does not transgress peaceful settlement, the principle set by 

the United States. However, Beijing’s perception was proven wrong, 

and the United States responded firmly by sending the two battle 

groups, and a possible gray area perceived by China was sealed off 

quickly, decisively, and completely.

Further, the U.S. decision to intervene by sending the two aircraft 

carrier battle groups was a surprise to China.32 As John W. Garver’s 

research indicates, most Chinese had been misled by the low-profile 

action adopted earlier by the United States,33 the U.S. decision to 

intervene was a shock, and the two battle groups could demonstrate 

enough U.S. resolve for the position of peaceful settlement of the 

Taiwan issue.34

In addition to the erroneous impression given by the low 

profile action taken by the United States earlier, Beijing might have 

miscalculated U.S. interest toward Taiwan. Some Chinese analysts, 

including Xue Litai, who have lived in the United States for a period 

of time, emphatically pointed out the unbalanced value of Taiwan 

for the United States and China. They argued that, for the United 

States, Taiwan was not a core interest although the United States is 

a global power. China, although only a regional power, had a core 

interest in the Taiwan issue. This perceived unbalanced value led 

them to conclude that the United States would seek a compromise 

with China, or even accommodate China’s need in the end.35

The Chinese analysts’ calculation was not correct. To some 

extent, they were correct to point out that Taiwan was not a core 

interest for the United States. However, their calculation isolated 

consideration for Taiwan from the issue of U.S. overall credibility 

as the prominent leader in this region. Ross’s analysis points out 

the mistake that China made: “the United States used force not to 

defend its Taiwan policy, but to defend its strategic reputation by 

influencing perceptions of U.S. resolve.”36

If the U.S. action adopted in March 1996 was not enough to 

show U.S. resolve to uphold the established principle of peaceful 

settlement of the Taiwan issue, what happened in the summer of 

1999 should serve as another strong signal to Beijing.

In July 1999, Taiwan president Lee Teng-hui was interviewed and 

said that the China-Taiwan status should be defined as special stateto-state relations. China made a coercive action again by sending 
388

sorties of jet fighters flying over the virtual middle line of the Taiwan 

Strait. The United States, aware of the serious consequence, sent 

strong words directly to China.

 The 7th Fleet Commander warned China to ponder any 

action taken. He was interviewed and said that China had to think 

very carefully about any intimidation action taken beforehand. He 

further pointed out that the U.S. capability was stronger than that of 

the PLA. U.S. forces were well-trained, the United States had better 

readiness, and China should know it. If China launched another 

missile test like that of 1996, the United States would take resolute 

action.37

 China’s military program adopted in the aftermath of the 

1996 crisis also reflected that they have learned of U.S. resolve. 

Chinese military has started to make various scenario assessments 

that the United States may intervene militarily and has worked out 

responding contingency plans for those scenarios.

 One PLA magazine article revealed their preparation in this 

direction. The PLA Navy published Dangdai Haijun [Contemporary 

Navy] which analyzed possible modes of U.S. navy involvement in 

conflict in the Taiwan Strait in the future. The article takes the view 

that once a conflict breaks out in the strait, the U.S. Navy is likely to 

get involved. The modes of involvement range from the monitoring 

of PLA forces, the dispatching of U.S. forces to Taiwan to deter 

China from escalating the crisis, adopting limited military action 

to prevent China’s military action against Taiwan, and undertaking 

confrontation actions such as launching forces against China’s 

invading units and logistics units. In their mind, the last scenario 

is less likely, because an all-out war would subsequently break out 

between the United States and China. However, the possibility 

cannot be ruled out.38

Backlash in Taiwan.

To some extent, the military exercises did cast a blow at the 

Taiwan independence movement. The DPP was split, while the 

remaining DPP started to seriously rethink their China policy. 

Further, the DPP’s decision to amend its Taiwan independence 

platform in 1999 to appeal to the moderate voters to prepare for the 
389

presidential election in the year 2000 reflected the impact brought by 

the 1996 Taiwan Strait crisis.39

However, the military exercises also created a serious backlash 

in Taiwan. To be more specific, the stronger Beijing’s intimidating 

actions and words, the stronger the backfire would be. This could 

be exemplified by the end result that those advocating a stronger 

position against China during the election won power, while those 

advocating better relations with China lost. In other words, Beijing 

did not comprehend the complex linkage between its intimidation 

and Taiwan’s domestic politics.

The end result of the 1996 presidential election vividly testified 

to the above observation. Lee Teng-hui, who claimed that he was 

the only person daring to confront China, won a landslide victory: 

54 percent of the total votes. Next to him was Peng Ming-min, 

obtaining 21 percent. The other two candidates, Chen Lian and 

Lin Yangkang, who denounced Lee Teng-hui’s provocative action, 

only obtained 10 percent and 15 percent respectively. Despite the 

reiterated clarification by Chinese analysts that Lee’s re-election had 

been in their expectation and the missile test was not aimed at Lee 

Teng-hui, Lee Teng-hui’s landslide victory was still a little surprise 

to them. Li Jiaquan admitted that Lee’s 54 percent of support was 

higher than he had expected.40

Two contrasting instances could explain the outcome. One 

Taiwanese military official said that he was forced by China to switch 

his vote to Lee Teng-hui, although such a decision contravened his 

own choice. The reason given was that, if Lee Teng-hui lost the 

election, Beijing would be justified in having conducted the exercise, 

and Taiwan would suffer more pressure in the future.41 The military 

official decision conforms to the theory that incumbent leaders tend 

to win sympathy, and voters tend to rally behind them in the wake 

of an externally caused crisis. In fact, the Lin Yangkang camp had 

a similar complaint; one of his aides complained afterward that if 

there was no intimidation from Beijing, Lin would have gotten more 

votes.42

However, China did not comprehend the complexity at that 

time until the year 2000 presidential election. There were three 

candidates—KMT’s Lian Chan, DPP’s Chen Shui-bian, and 

independent James Soong. Lian Chan was regarded as Lee Tenghui’s protégé. James Soong earlier had had serious odds with Lee 
390

Teng-hui and left the KMT.

In July 9, 1999, Lee Teng-hui, when interviewed by German 

media, described the cross-strait relations as “at least special stateto-state relations.” One week later, candidate Chen Shui-bian 

praised Lee Teng-hui’s statement, and suggested Lee Teng-hui take 

further action by dropping the National Reunification Guideline and 

amending the constitution in accordance with the special state-tostate theory.

However, James Soong criticized Lee Teng-hui’s remark. He said 

that the special state-to-state theory was an irresponsible statement, 

and Taiwan would be labeled as troublemaker internationally, 

although he emphasized that Taiwan is not a province of China.

James Soong paid for criticizing the special state-to-state 

statement. According to an opinion poll made by the DPP on July 

15 and 16, 1999, his popularity declined by 5 percent. Another poll 

made by Chinatimes on August 3-5, 1999, similarly concluded that 

James Soong’s popularity fell by 4 percent from July 7-9 of the same 

year.43

China finally comprehended the complex linkage in March 2000. 

Three days before voting day, China’s Premier Zhu Rongji, at a 

press conference of the annual National People Congress, warned 

that whoever pushes for Taiwan independence in Taiwan will go 

to hell. Zhu also warned that the growing support for Taiwan’s 

independence will provoke war in the Taiwan Strait “. . . Chinese 

people will sacrifice blood and life to defend the reunification with 

the motherland, and dignity . . . Taiwan compatriots, you have to be 

aware of this.”44

In the end, Chen Shui-bian won 39.3 percent of total votes, while 

Lian Chan obtained 23 percent and James Soong, 37 percent. Some 

said that Zhu Rongji’s remark might have helped candidate Chen 

Shui-bian win the election with a margin of 2.4 percent in total votes.45

The Chen Shui-bian camp had estimated that he had expected to win 

only 36 percent before the voting day. There might be some relation 

between Zhu’s threatening words and Chen Shui-bian’e victory. In 

fact, after the election, China’s response has been described by CIA 

Director George Tenet and DoD spokesman Kenneth Bacon as selfrestrained.46

China finally learned something in the past several years. China 
391

started to realize that it had better be careful when meddling in 

Taiwan’s domestic politics. Beijing now knows that to make any 

comment, positive or negative, on Taiwan’s domestic politics only 

generates an opposite effect that they do not want to see. That was 

why Beijing was relatively quiet when Taiwan had parliamentary 

elections in late 2001, even after President Chen Shui-bian made the 

remark on August 3, 2002 of “one country on each side of the Taiwan 

Strait” at a telecommunication speech to a Taiwanese group living 

in Japan.47

Related to the above is the realization that, the more Beijing 

employs pressure and coercive action, the stronger Taiwan will 

resist and the more remote reunification will be as a viable option 

will be in Taiwan. In other words, Beijing at least has to alter its 

tactics and methods for dealing with Taiwan, switching to the 

incentive-oriented approach and seeking ways to establish closer 

ties with Taiwan.

Internal Debate.

China faced a critical choice on the political use of military 

exercises in the future. If the theory advocating coercive action to 

deter Taiwan from seeking independence works, as many Chinese 

analysts believe, China should launch frequent and large scale 

military exercises. Moreover, the stronger military exercises are, the 

more likely Taiwan would be to bow to China’s pressure.

However, this approach has not been proved successful. On the 

one hand, Lee Teng-hui continued to advocate his ideas. On the 

other hand, any military exercise to deter Lee Teng-hui from airing 

“independence” ideas would invite the United States to intervene in 

the Taiwan Strait and internationalize the cross-strait issue.48

Moreover, small scale and occasional military exercises will not 

achieve the goal of conveying strong warning messages against 

Taiwan. For one, small scale exercises will not shock the Taiwanese, 

forcing them to think over their future. Secondly, small scale 

exercises will not only enable the Taiwanese to get used gradually to 

the intimidation, but will force the Taiwanese to be sympathetic to 

and supportive of the Taiwan government in the long term.49
392

This catch-22 situation, in fact, reflected a dilemma, that is, 

Beijing felt that they were somewhat constrained. On the one hand, 

they were constrained by the realization of the complex linkage, and 

no alternative had been found. On the other hand, this constraint 

would give further opportunity to, at least, the independence 

fundamentalists to advocate whatever type of Taiwan independence 

they wished, while Beijing was left with no solution for immediate 

countermeasures.50

An internal debate arose in this context. In general, two schools 

can be discerned. The focus of the debate was what should China do 

in this context? How should China calculate its costs and benefits? 

It seemed that those moderates advocating modernization as the top 

priority prevailed.

There are several rationales behind the priority of modernization.51

The first one is the possible U.S. involvement and the aftermath of 

large-scale confrontation between the United States and China. 

Moderate analysts have confidence that in an all out war with 

Taiwan, the United States can neither send large numbers of troops 

to the Taiwan Strait, nor bear high casualties if choosing to fighting 

with China. Meanwhile, the format for U.S. involvement may vary, 

depending upon conditions, but the United States may lack sustained 

will and determination comparable to those of China.

However, moderates argue that China should watch how the 

United States will react after the military confrontation. They are 

concerned that, if China reunifies Taiwan by force, a strong antiChina atmosphere will emerge in the United States, forcing it to 

launch a long-term cold war against China. This is particularly the 

case if China launches an attack without the prior provocation of 

Taiwan’s announcing its independence. 

What will happen for China in that case? Moderates argue that 

that will be the worst scenario for China, because China, which is still 

a developing country, will be forced to divert most of its resources 

to military buildup and political confrontation, and opportunity 

for further economic and political development will be lost. The 

consequence would be that China definitely will not become the 

most powerful country in the world, although a basic level of 

security can be maintained.52

The Taiwan Strait may further complicate China’s military 
393

calculation.53 The average 90-mile distance of the strait makes offense 

difficult, and 50 years of separation has witnessed this difficulty. The 

other side of the coin is that the strait has easily enabled Taiwan to 

defend against China’s potential attack with relative low cost.

Also, China is not well-prepared for launching an attack. 

Constrained by technological, economic, and political factors in 

the past decades, China has not built up a force able to carry out 

three dimensional offensive operations under high tech conditions. 

In contrast to China’s lack of preparation, Taiwan, assisted by the 

United States, has been better prepared to defend an against attack 

from China.54

Secondly, closer military ties between the United States and 

Taiwan will make it difficult for China to launch low intensity war 

to deter Taiwan from separation and to force Taiwan to undertake 

reunification negotiations. Under this situation, Taiwan, assisted 

by the United States, is being prepared militarily for this kind of 

politically-oriented coercive action. China is not confident that it 

can achieve the original goal without creating the opposite result of 

making Taiwan announce independence.55

Further, China is not sure if the scale of the military conflict can be 

confined to low intensity war. There are many unforeseeable factors 

during the whole course of war, and these unexpected factors will 

inevitably escalate the scale of war. The escalation will make the war 

lose political direction, and consequences will be very serious.

For this school, the best alternative is to place priority on 

modernization. They argue that the solution of the Taiwan issue 

should be placed in a broader scope: China’s overall development 

will influence the final solution of Taiwan. If China can persist in 

reforming the economic system and the political institutions, as well 

as developing military capabilities, this will project a good image 

of China to the Taiwanese, hence helping facilitate the eventual 

reunification.

In this sense, final accomplishment of reunification is a side 

product of China’s overall modernization. China’s independence, 

security, integration, and being a world-class power is of utmost 

importance, while the Taiwan issue is not the top and overwhelming 

priority. The overall modernization, if accomplished, should bring 

wealth and strength to China. By doing so, China can avoid the trap 
394

of paying an extremely high cost for reunification.

For the modernization school, there is an implicit assumption. 

That is, both mainland Chinese and Taiwanese are of Han Chinese 

descent. Taiwan’s reluctance to accept reunification has to do with 

China’s lack of democracy and less-developed economic system. 

If China can accomplish modernization in both fields, it will be 

attractive enough for the Taiwanese, and the Taiwanese will drop 

separation, either keeping the status quo or changing the name of 

the government, and opt for reunification.

The opposite end from the moderates was the hawkish school.56

The hawkish school argues that Lee Teng-hui’s formula defining 

the cross-strait relations as special state-to state relations was not 

merely a passive strategy aiming at maintaining the status quo of 

two divided entities. The current temporary division, advocated 

by the former ruling KMT party, does not rule out the recognition 

that people on both sides of the Taiwan Strait are Chinese, and the 

possibility of eventual reunification is not ruled out by both sides.

Instead, these hawkish critics saw Lee Teng-hui’s formula as 

an offensive strategy. They saw a conspiracy behind the strategy 

with the final goal of transforming and dismembering China and 

eventually ruining Chinese nationalism completely. It was a grand 

strategy based on a horrible conspiracy.

They reached this conclusion based on many of Lee Tenghui’s remarks. Lee said in his book, Taiwan de zhuzhang [Taiwan’s 

Position], published in May 1999, that China should be divided into 

seven parts, including Taiwan, Tibet, Xinjiang, Inner Mongolia, 

and Manchuria. In their mind, Lee Teng-hui’s real intention was to 

negate China and Chinese nationalism to pave the way for Taiwan 

independence, dismember China so as to solve the geopolitical 

obstacle for Taiwan’s survival and development, as well as to 

dismember Chinese nationalism to reduce the political barrier for 

Taiwan’s survival and development.

They pointed out that Lee Teng-hui attempted to market his idea 

to the United States and Japan. Lee advocated, they accused, that 

dividing China into seven parts was in the interest of the world, 

because once China is divided, there will be no Chinese hegemon 

and pax-Chinese nationalism, and the threat posed to this region 

will be reduced accordingly.
395

They particularly resent that Lee Teng-hui attempted to prop up 

Japan’s militarism. They charged that Japan’s wei xin lun [idealism], 

advocated by Lee Teng-hui in his book, is tantamount to Japan’s 

Bushido idea, which was the source for Japan’s pre-war militarism. 

Therefore, in their mind, Lee Teng-hui was promoting Japan’s 

militarism.

In this context, the Taiwan issue was not an isolated one. The 

source of this issue could be dated back to the end of the Cold War. 

After the Soviet Union had collapsed, the United States and its 

allied states launched a containment policy toward China which 

has reached its pre-final stage. It heralded that the strategic security 

of China’s coastal area would further worsen and a political storm 

would approach soon.

The hawkish school emphasized that, if timing is ripe, the 

United States and its allied states will not forgo any opportunity to 

dismember China. The new U.S.-Japan security guideline and the 

signing of the Visiting Force agreement between the United States 

and the Philippines could serve as a witness for the conspiracy of the 

United States and its allied states. Hence, the security environment 

of China’s coastal area has approached a level next to war in this 

context.

Facing the above stated situation, this school proposed to take 

forceful measures. First, they voted to change the perception and 

modify the proposition of net assessment toward the world. They 

argued that peace and development, a conclusion reached earlier to 

describe the future trend, was an illusive vision that has not existed 

and China should wake up from it. If China did not wake up, it 

would encounter a dangerous future.

Secondly, they proposed to take military action. They emphasized 

that a military force should be mobilized to solve the Taiwan issue 

to assure that the objective of national development could be 

accomplished, because the Taiwan issue is the key to the objective, 

and, if the Taiwan issue can be solved, China will be able to break 

U.S. hegemonism and containment.

Judging from the most recent developments in cross-strait and 

U.S.-China relations, it seems that the moderate school prevailed. 

That partially can explain why Beijing’s response has been mild 

toward President Chen Shui-bian’s August 3, 2002, remark. There 
396

is no doubt that Beijing did not like this statement and regarded 

it as consistent with Lee Teng-hui’s special state-to-state theory of 

1999. Vice Premier Qian Qichen, when hosting overseas Chinese 

from Africa, said that President Chen’s remark was consistent with 

Lee Teng-hui’s 1999 remark, setting up new obstacles to cross-strait 

relations, bringing new problems for Taiwan society, and acting as a 

troublemaker for international society.57

However, interestingly enough, Beijing did not make threatening 

words in their comments. Qian Qichen only said that Chinese in the 

world and international media should condemn President Chen’s 

statement. China’s Taiwan Affairs Office Director, Chen Yun-lin, 

had a similar response. Chen said that the three links continued to 

be China’s policy.58 Also, there was no PLA jet fighter flying over 

the virtual center line of the Taiwan Strait as that in August 1999 

in response to Lee Teng-hui’s remark, let alone the mobilization of 

military exercise targeting Taiwan.59

Conclusion: Lessons Learned.

What lessons has China learned? The foremost and core lesson 

is that the United States is the No. 1 obstacle for China’s goal of 

reunifying Taiwan. Normalization of relations with the United 

States has not precluded it from giving up its concern for Taiwan at 

all, because its credibility is at stake.

As a consequence, the 1996 Taiwan Strait crisis and subsequent 

events enabled China to learn that the United States will not sit 

idly by in any future crisis in the Taiwan Strait. The United States 

will intervene in one way or another. China has also realized its 

existing capability gap with the United States. China has modified 

its strategy, placing priority on developing its economy and defense 

modernization.

However, the switched strategy and priority does not rule out 

the possibility of taking coercive action in the future. Many analysts 

pointed out that interaction between domestic and external factors 

led China to launch coercive diplomacy in the 1995-96 Taiwan Strait 

crisis.60 This implies that, if a similar condition happens, China may 

take risks to launch coercive action in the future, while measures of 

risk management will be employed.
397

China has to find ways to handle possible U.S. intervention. 

Militarily, it has to build up its capability in order to reunify Taiwan 

and simultaneously deter the United States from intervening in the 

Taiwan Strait. In Chinese leaders’ minds, an ideal military capability 

is able to paralyze Taiwan’s military capability in a very short time, 

leaving the United States no time to response, and, at the same time, 

the PLA can, at least, hold U.S. forces. However, before that capability 

is achieved, China probably has to be jieji yongren, be patient.

CHAPTER 11 - ENDNOTES

1. This author would like to thank Andrew Scobell, Thomas Christensen, 

Harlan Jencks, and others at the conference for their comments, suggestions, and 

critiques.

2. Shi Yin-hong, “Guanyu Taiwan de jixiang bixu zhengshi de dazhanlue wenti”

(“Some grand strategic issues with regard to Taiwan”), Zhanlue yu guanli, Strategy 

and Management), Vol. 39, No. 2, 2000, p. 32.

3. Xin Qi in http://news.fm365.com/xinwen/guonei/20000713/98269.htm.

4. For a comprehensive analysis of the crisis, see John W. Garver, Face Off—

China: the United States, and Taiwan’s Democratization, Seattle/London: University 

of Seattle Press, 1997.

5. For a comprehensive analysis of the process of U.S. involvement, see Robert 

S. Ross, “The 1995-96 Taiwan Strait Confrontation: Coercion, Credibility, and the 

Use of Force,” International Security, Vol. 25, No. 2, Fall 2000, pp. 87-123.

6. Andrew Scobell’s analysis indicates that China made up its mind on the 

1996 military exercise in December 1995. Scobell argues that the July exercise was 

more of an instant response to the U.S. decision to issue a visa to Lee Teng-hui, 

while the March 1996 exercise was exclusively aimed at Taiwan after a longer time 

of consideration. Andrew Scobell, “Show of Force: Chinese Soldiers, Statemen, 

and the 1995-1996 Taiwan Strait Crisis,” Political Science Quarterly, Vol. 115, No. 2, 

Summer 2000, pp. 227-246.

7. For a comprehensive analysis, see Garver, Face Off, pp. 118-126. Chinese 

analysts have different observations in this regard. Xin Qi indicated on July 12, 

2002, that the March 1996 military exercise was not aimed at Lee Teng-hui, but 

was targeted at the United States only, because, he said, China already predicted 

that Lee Teng-hui would be elected president. However, You Ji’s observation was 

more vague by arguing that the military exercise was targeted at Taiwanese in 
398

general, attempting to warn the Taiwanese not to elect a president who was a 

Taiwan independence advocator. YouJi, “Changing Leadership Consensus: The 

Domestic Context of War Games,” in Suisheng Zhao, ed., Across the Taiwan Strait: 

Mainland China, Taiwan, and the 1995-1996 Crisis, New York/London: Routledge, 

1999, pp. 77-98.

8. “Lee Teng-hui’s action on Taiwan independence is the biggest danger for 

Taiwan,” Jiefangjunbao (Liberation Army Daily), LAD, March 9, 1996, p. 1. People’s 

Daily carried an editorial comment completely identical with that of the LAD at 

the same day.

9. Ibid.

10. Times magazine’s interview with Singapore’s senior minister, Lee Kuanyew, United Daily News, February 28, 1996, p. 2.

11. Robert Pape identifies three types of coercion--by punishment, by 

decapitation, and by denial. The 1996 crisis is of coercion by decapitation. See 

Pape, “Why a Chinese Preemptive Strike Would Fail?” paper presented at the 

Institute for Taiwan Defense and Strategic Studies sponsored Conference on 

Taiwan Security and Air Power, January 9, 2003 in Taipei, Taiwan.

12. Some oppositional leaders called for Lee Teng-hui to step down at that 

time. See United Daily News, March 6, 1996, p. 4.

13. This kind of conspiracy theory has been widely spread in China. To 

some extent, the Chinese government tacitly encouraged this view because it 

might rally support around the Chinese Communist Party, which had suffered a 

legitimacy crisis since the 1980s. It should be remembered that not all were in this 

school, nevertheless, it seems that this school prevailed along the course of rising 

nationalism.

14. Xin Qi, “Guoji zhanlue huanjing de bianhua yu taiwan wenti,” (“Change 

of International Strategic Environment and Taiwan Issue”), Zhanlue yu guanli

(Strategy and Management), Vol. 17, No 4, 1996, pp. 18-27.

15. Xin Qi, ibid. Another theory, cited frequently, was that the militaryindustrial complex has suffered substantially after the end of the cold war. There 

was a strong need for them to find an outlet, and they lobbied the U.S. Government 

to alter the policy for promoting their products.

16. Xin Qi, ibid.

17. Harry Harding argues that Clinton administration had no China 

policy in the first 4-year term, and the consequence was that China policy was 
399

completely dominated by the U.S. Congress, media, and many issue-oriented 

social organizations. That also contributed to disastrous consequence of U.S.-

China relations in mid-1990s. Harding, ”Asia Policy to the Brink” Foreign Policy, 

No. 96, Fall 1994, pp. 57-74.

18. Ross’s article indicates that China’s America experts were aware of 

pressure incurred from domestic politics in the United States, but they insisted that 

the U.S. Government exercise its power and influence to honor the international 

commitments that it has made. Ross, p. 93.

19. Other than this deterrence effect, people have different speculations on 

China’s goal of the coercive diplomacy toward the United States. Garver argues 

that China attempted to pressure the United States to recognize that Taiwan is 

part of the PRC. Garver, p. 119. Ross maintains that China’s goal was to press the 

United States to affirm its opposition to Taiwan independence and to reassure 

China that there would be no further erosion of U.S. policy toward Taiwan. Ross, 

pp. 90-91. 

20. Xue Litai, “Taihai weiji zhi wojian” ("My View of the Taiwan Strait Crisis"), 

Zhongguo yu shijie (China and the World), No. 3, June 1996, pp. 63-64. It is interesting 

to see that many Chinese analysts regarded the military exercise as a successful 

one, while “minor problems” were created. Xue Litai’s observation reflected this 

view. He concluded that, in general, positive effects far outweighed negative ones, 

and positive effects were long term while negative ones were short term.

21. United Daily News, January 11, 1996, p. 5.

22. For a comprehensive analysis of the various positions of DPP’s different 

political factions on China, see Liu Jincai, Dadan xijin? Jieji yongren? Minjindang 

dalu zhengce pouxi (West Bound Boldly? Going West Slowly? An Analysis of DPP’s 

China Policy), Taipei: Shiying Publisher, 1998.

23. Xue.

24. United Daily News, March 25, 1996, p. 4.

25. Ibid.

26. Xue.

27. Ibid.

28. United Daily News, March 26, 1996, p. 3.

29. Ibid., March 25, 1996, p. 4.
400

30. Xue. However, Xue tries to downgrade the significance of this impact. He 

said that the negative image in the East Asian region as a result of the military 

exercises was in China’s expectation. Xue argues that with the amelioration of the 

tension in the Taiwan Strait, the negative image would subside, and it would not 

be an issue anymore.

31. Scobell.

32. Some Chinese analysts might have predicted that the United States might 

send one battle group as a gesture of protest to China’s coercive action. But they 

never anticipated that two groups would be sent. Xue Litai’s accusation that the 

United States over-reacted because it should have known from the beginning that 

China had no intention to invade Taiwan and implied that the U.S. decision was 

not expected. Xue. 

33. Garver, pp. 111-117.

34. For an explanation of this possible misperception, see Ross. 

35. Xue.

36. Ross, p. 88.

37. United Daily News, August 12, 1999, p. 2.

38. Ibid., August 8, 2002, p. 13.

39. The DPP’s former party platform advocated that Taiwan, through 

referendum, should establish a new state based on the current divided sovereign 

reality (separation from China) and to work out a new constitution with a goal 

of establishing an independent and sovereign Republic of Taiwan. The platform 

said that this platform conforms to the world trend of self-determination, and no 

political party and administration has the right to decide the future of Taiwan. 

According to the DPP, the former party platform had been widely misperceived as 

the “Taiwan independence platform” despite the fact that the DPP had emphasized 

the referendum was the actual focus of the whole issue, and people on Taiwan could 

opt for reunification through referendum. Domestically, the former ruling party, 

KMT, took advantage of this misperception, charging that the DPP candidate, if 

elected president, would lead Taiwan into disaster. The party platform did scare 

the Taiwan people and drove votes to the KMT. It was apparent that the DPP’s 

amendment of the former position toward China policy had to do with domestic 

concerns. The DPP had suffered failure in the 1996 presidential election, and they 

tried to avoid the same mistake for the 2000 presidential election. This necessity 

pushed the DPP to amend the party platform so as to win the Taiwan people’s 
401

confidence and trust. Tung Cheng-yuan, “Chaoyue taidu danggang de wujie yu 

youlu” (To Avoid Misunderstanding and Worry about the Taiwan Independence 

Platform), from http://www.asiademo.org/1999/01/19990106a.htm.

40. United Daily News, March 25, 1996, p. 4.

41. Personal interview, March 20, 1996.

42. Cited from John Copper, As Taiwan Approaches the New Millennium, 

Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1999, pp. 64, 95-96.

43. Chinatimes, July 17 and August 7, 1999.

44. International Herald Tribune, March 16. p. 1

45. Chong-pin Lin, “Goodwill and Proactive Exchange Policy: How Taipei 

Manages the Cross-Strait Relations,” in http://taiwansecurity.org/TS/2001/CPLin011201.htm.

46. United Daily News, March 23, 2000, p. 14.

47. Zhang Nian-ci, reportedly an advisor for Wang Daohan, wrote that Beijing 

would fall into the trap set by Chen Shui-bian by launching coercive action. 

Instead, Zhang reportedly said that China should continue its policy of attracting 

Taiwanese businessmen and promoting closer economic tie between the two 

sides. Chinatimes, August 2002. For a formal analysis of Beijing’s responses to 

President Chen’s statement, see Bonnie Glaser, “Harbor no illusion, Pressure the 

US, and Accelerate Military Modernization: Beijing New Taiwan Policy,” http:

//www.csis.org/pacfor/pac0235.htm.

48. Shi Yin-hong, “Kunnan yu xuanze: dui Taiwan wenti de shikao” ("Difficulties 

and Choices: Some Thoughts on Taiwan Issue"), Zhanlue yu guanli (Strategy and 

Management), Vol. 36, 1No. 5, 1999, p. 4.

49. Ibid.

50. Interview with a Chinese analyst, August 19, 2002, in Taipei. Recently, 

Beijing instructed local governments to recruit Taiwanese businessmen into 

local people’s political consultation councils and to pay more heed to Taiwanese 

businessmen’s needs. The purpose was reportedly to form coalitions (or political 

united fronts) with Taiwanese businessmen who, in turn, will pressure the Taiwan 

government not to seek independence. It was reported that some Taiwanese 

businessmen have joined county- or prefecture-level political consultative 

councils. See Chinatimes, August 24, 2002, p. 11.
402

51. This portion is drawn from Shi Yin-hong, “Guanyu Taiwan de jixiang bixu 

zhengshi de dazhanlue wenti” ("Some grand strategic issues with regard to Taiwan"), 

Zhanlue yu guanli, (Strategy and Management), Vol. 39, No 2, 2000, pp. 27-32. Shi’s 

view reflects a major portion of opinion pursuing long-term solution for Taiwan 

as long as there is no imminent need to launch military action.

52. Shi Yin-hong was quoted to say that China should adopt a “strategic 

patience” in China’s policy toward Taiwan and the United States. Shi even 

pointed out that China’s political reform and democratic construction are too 

slow, and this slow pace has brought a negative image toward U.S. and Taiwan 

public opinion. Chinatimes, September 4, 2002, p. 11.

53. Shi Yin-hong, “Kunnan yu xuanze: dui Taiwan wenti de shikao” ("Difficulties 

and Choices: Some Thoughts on Taiwan Issue"), Zhanlue yu guanli, Vol. 36, No. 5, 

1999, pp. 1-4.

54. Ibid.

55. Ibid., note 26.

56. See Zhang Wenmu, “Taiwan wenti yu zhongguo qiantu,” ("Taiwan Issue and 

China’s Future"), Zhanlue yu guanli, Vol. 36, No. 5, 1999, pp. 5-15.

57. Chinatimes, August 22, 2002, p. 11.

58. United Daily News, August 23, 2002, p. 13.

59. The United Daily News reported that there were debates internally in China 

after Chen Shui-bian had made the statement, and there were two schools: those 

advocating “modernization first” versus those arguing for “war now.” The final 

consensus adopted by the decisionmakers was modernization over immediate 

reunification unless Taiwan went independent. Ibid.

60. Garver, and Allen S. Whiting, “China’s Use of Force, 1950-96; Taiwan,” 

International Security, Vol. 26, No. 2, Fall 2001, pp. 103-131; You Ji.
PART IV:

DOMESTIC DEPLOYMENTS AND CIVIL-MILITARY RELATIONS

405

CHAPTER 12

LESSONS LEARNED FROM THE CULTURAL REVOLUTION 

AND THE TIANANMEN MASSACRE

June Teufel Dreyer

Epistomological Questions.

The experiences of the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) during 

the Cultural Revolution of 1966-76 and its part in quelling the 

demonstrations in Tiananmen Square in 1989 were undoubtedly 

searing and left a deep impression on both those who witnessed 

them and on future generations. Before coming to a judgment on 

the lessons learned from these painful experiences, however, a few 

broader questions should be contemplated.

• Were any lessons learned?

• If so, were they the correct lessons?

• Even if the lessons learned were correct, are they appropriate as a guide 

for the PLA under current circumstances?

• Is there consensus on what these lessons were, or have different groups 

assessed the experiences differently?

It is possible for a society to learn nothing from past experience, 

as George Santayana lamented in his famous observation that those 

who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. In this 

scenario, a compressed version of traditional China’s dynastic cycle, 

the same mistakes will be made over and over again. It is also 

possible to learn the wrong lessons, as the French did after their 

defeat at the Battle of Crecy in 1346. French knights on horseback 

were defeated by British knights who fought on foot, supported by 

commoners armed with longbows. The French reasoned that their 

knights, like those of the British forces, should not ride into battle. 

Hence, at a rematch in Agincourt in 1417, French knights also fought 

on foot. The French were defeated again. It took a second battle 

for the correct lesson to be learned--that longbows will penetrate 

most armor, whether or not the wearer of the armor is mounted. 
406

The vulnerability of knights rather than that of their horses was the 

problem.

In the case of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA), 

public writings tend toward views that are, first, established by 

fiat at the highest levels rather than emerging from open debate, 

and second, ignore or give short shrift to factors that may not suit 

the heroic imagery that the leadership wants to inspire the troops 

with. Both may lead to simplistic explanations that mislead rather 

than provide guides for success in the future. Political correctness 

precludes probing analysis that could provide better explanations 

for what happened. Even assuming that the lessons learned were 

correct--for example, that luring the enemy deep into one’s territory 

until his troops can be cut off from behind was responsible for major 

Chinese Communist victories against the party’s adversaries--what 

worked in the 1940s might not be workable in 2010. And, of course, 

it is possible--outside China, at least--to challenge the lessons learned 

from that period. Perhaps, for example, what enabled the Chinese 

Communist Party (CCP) to win the war was not the brilliance of 

Mao Zedong’s theory of People’s War. The party’s victory can also 

be attributed to a combination of two other factors: first, that the 

Japanese occupation fatally weakened the opposition Kuomintang 

by forcing it from the urban areas that constituted its power base 

and, second, that Kuomintang (KMT) leader Chiang Kai-shek 

employed a foolish military strategy.

The Cultural Revolution.

During the prelude to the Cultural Revolution,1 the PLA was 

lionized. It had not always been such. An “officers to the ranks” 

program carried out at the time of the Great Leap Forward indicates 

the leadership’s concern that the military was becoming dangerously 

elitist. The abolition of ranks in mid-1965, a decade after they had 

been instituted, also spoke to this concern. The official media 

explained that the rank system introduced in 1955 had proved 

not in conformity with “our army’s glorious tradition, with the 

close relations between officers and men, between the higher and 

lower levels, and between the army and the people.” Eliminating 

ranks would remove factors conducive to concern with wealth and 

fame; help officers to put themselves in the position of rank-and-file 
407

soldiers, workers, and peasants; enable them to remold themselves 

ideologically; and solidify the ideal of whole-hearted service to party 

and people. A re-education effort was prescribed for the military. 

The press began to praise “five good” soldiers,2 of whom there were 

a great many, and Lei Feng, the model soldier so good and true 

to Chairman Mao and his ideals that he was unique. Evidently, 

the leadership had chosen the PLA as a test case for techniques 

of ideological indoctrination before attempting to apply them to 

society as a whole.

If so, they must have deemed these techniques to be successful. 

By the mid-1960s, the PLA was being held up as the model for the 

rest of society to emulate. A “Learn From The PLA” campaign was 

launched, and the military was praised as a “great red school” 

in learning and implementing the thoughts of Mao Zedong. 

Additionally, Defense Minister and, until ranks were abolished, 

Marshal, Lin Biao compiled the little red book of selected quotations 

from Chairman Mao that became practically the only reading matter 

during the Cultural Revolution. These indicated to the population 

at large that the military’s influence had been enhanced. When the 

Cultural Revolution was formally launched in 1966, however, it was 

not the military but a new force, the Red Guards, that Chairman Mao 

anointed as the vanguard of change. Speaking from the rostrum of 

Tiananmen, the chairman called upon these young people, many of 

them barely teenagers, to destroy the “bourgeois headquarters,” by 

which he appeared to mean any organization with a hierarchy.

At least in theory, the PLA remained a respected institution and 

was called upon to assist the young guards. But this did not prevent 

its command structure from being purged repeatedly. Factionalism 

existed within the Red Guards, with each group describing itself as 

the true defenders of Mao and Marxism. Peasants and workers also 

organized, sometimes to protect themselves and their workplaces 

from the radicals’ depredations. Stories of battles among factions 

became daily fare in the media. Since all sides claimed to be the real 

revolutionaries, it was difficult for PLA leaders to decide whom 

to assist, how, and to what degree. PLA units were themselves 

attacked, as the attackers acted on radical exhortations to “drag out 

the small handful [of counterrevolutionaries] in the military.” Army 

weapons fell into civilian hands, sometimes because they had been 
408

stolen or looted. Sometimes those who guarded the weapons feared 

that those who wanted them might, if refused, accuse the guards of 

counterrevolutionary sentiments and launch a struggle against them. 

Moreover, the PLA received conflicting signals: told to support the 

left, it was also at one point ordered not to intervene.3 An October 

1966 joint directive from the party’s Central Military Commission 

(CMC) and the PLA’s General Political Department called for more 

radical methods of “blooming and contending” within the PLA, but 

also instructed military schools and their students to stay out of 

local Cultural Revolution activities and confine their “exchange of 

revolutionary experiences” to visits to other military schools.4 By late 

February 1967, fearing that widespread chaos might cause a sharp 

drop in the spring harvest, Mao ordered the PLA to stabilize the 

situation. Radicals bitterly opposed what they called “the February 

Adverse Current”; Mao as well became convinced that local military 

units were backing not revolutionaries but local leaders with whom 

they had been associated. Additional restraints on the military were 

issued.

The PLA was not itself immune from factionalism, with 

commissars somewhat more likely to be sympathetic to radicals 

than commanders. Although the rhetoric of the disputes focused on 

ideology, the reality was more likely to reflect personality differences 

and the quest for power of those involved. As a case in point, Unit 

8341, the Party Central Committee’s (PCC) Regiment of the Guards 

under the command of the Beijing garrison, was controlled by 

Wang Dongxing. Wang was known for his close relationship with 

Chairman Mao and was sympathetic to the radicals. However, 

he was also an opponent of Lin Biao,5 who had taken the lead in 

publicizing the Cultural Revolution and whom the media typically 

referred to as “Chairman Mao’s closest comrade-in-arms.” 

These personal relationships and loyalty networks played 

important parts in factionalism within the PLA. Through “special 

arrangements” (teshu guanxi), the children of top leaders could enter 

the military--considered far preferable than being sent “down to the 

countryside” to become one with the peasants--where they received 

special treatment. Lin Biao’s son, for example, was a high-ranking 

officer in the air force; Mao’s nephew was an officer in a missile unit 

in the northeast. Ambitious but less well-connected officers were 
409

eager to associate with them and thereby promote their careers 

because of the opportunities that this could open up for them as 

confreres of the favored few.6 Lin and others appeared to be using 

the Cultural Revolution as a way to diminish and even destroy their 

rivals within the military. These personal relationships and loyalty 

networks played into and magnified the rivalries among them. 

In general, however, the PLA tended to intervene on the side 

of order and stability, meaning against the radicals. With icons 

of the revolution such as Marshal He Long being purged on such 

charges as “conspiracy,” it must have seemed that no one was safe. 

It is known that after Deng Xiaoping was publicly humiliated and 

purged, he was sheltered by military officers;7 it is likely that others 

were as well. Even in the Cultural Revolution’s atmosphere of 

feverish suspension of disbelief, charges that old soldiers who had 

made huge personal sacrifices on behalf of the party were secret 

traitors must have rung hollow.

Another charge that brought down many officers was that 

of having a “narrowly military” point of view. Chairman Mao’s 

actual words were that men equipped with correct political ideas 

were more important in war than weapons; this theme had been 

expounded on by Lin Biao as well.8 However, in the grotesquely 

cartoon-like simplification of the era, one’s enemies could construe 

any support for modern weapons or training as evidence of a 

narrowly military point of view. Hence, officers opted to have their 

troops engage in massive and repeated political study sessions. 

Another of Santayana’s observations comes to mind: fanaticism 

consists in redoubling one’s efforts after one has forgotten his aim.

A particularly bitter experience occurred in July 1967, when 

Chen Caidao, commander of the Wuhan Military Region, arrested 

central government radicals who had come to the city to arrange 

a truce between two factions. The central government quickly 

reasserted control, arresting Chen and his subordinates. But with 

the threat of anarchy increasing, Mao appears to have decided that 

order had to be restored, and in September 1967, gave the order to 

do so. Andrew Scobell’s research indicates that even Mao’s wife 

and leading radical Jiang Qing supported the directive.9 During the 

next year, revolutionary committees were established to administer 

the provinces. Their composition was dominated by military men. 
410

Troops also moved into university campuses to restore order. When 

the CCP’s Ninth Party Congress was held in 1969, the Central 

Committee elected thereat also showed heavy military influence: 44 

percent of those elected were members of the PLA. A revised party 

constitution adopted at the congress designated Lin Biao, by name, 

as Mao’s chosen successor. PLA members associated with him, as 

compared with PLA members in general, were especially favored 

with high positions. 

While the military, and particularly Lin’s faction thereof, 

emerged well from the Cultural Revolution, the cost had been high. 

The command structure was destroyed. A number of officers had 

died; many more had had their reputations ruined. The PLA’s prime 

reason for being, the defense of China’s territory, was adversely 

affected by the depredations visited on the military. Border security 

in sensitive areas such as Xinjiang, bordering a then-hostile Soviet 

Union, and Tibet had badly deteriorated. In 1968, Tibet’s leader, 

Ren Rong, a Han Chinese thought to be more sympathetic to the left 

than to conservatives, warned that factional infighting had reduced 

attention to national defense and cautioned against border incidents. 

Indian, Soviet, and American reconnaissance patrols had, he said, 

been detected along the border and “traitors and bandits” within 

Tibet were “itching for action” there.10

Lessons Learned.

Different entities must have learned different lessons from the 

Cultural Revolution. Mao Zedong presumably learned that the 

PLA played a critical role in maintaining the stability of the People’s 

Republic, and that, once having unleashed the Red Guards in the 

name of social reform, neither he nor the society he had created 

could function without it. He also learned that a military called 

in to restore order might be reluctant to abandon the positions of 

authority its commanding officers had assumed. Radicals learned 

that they could not trust the military, since it proved fundamentally 

opposed to the kind of reform they were trying to bring about. They 

concluded that they would have to create a force that could serve as 

a counterweight to it. 

Military leaders, though they did not publicly say so, surely felt 
411

betrayed and embittered. It must have been difficult to descend from 

the favored position of “great red school” role model for society to 

being humiliated and attacked by radical factions. While continuing 

to profess unswerving loyalty to Chairman Mao, military men must 

have harbored profound private doubts. Rather than giving clear 

directions, the Chairman appeared to have been playing factions 

against one another, to the detriment of both the corporate interests 

of the military and to social welfare as a whole. PLA leaders may 

also have questioned the wisdom of intervention on the side of one 

faction or another to further Mao’s schemes. Memoirs written years 

later profess joy at receiving Mao’s command to intervene. But 

these were written after Mao’s death and a time when it was safe 

to criticize the Cultural Revolution. They do not necessarily reflect 

what the parties involved thought at the time the action took place. 

As a case in point, Marshal Xu Shiyou, over a decade later, expressed 

relief at receiving the September 1967 order to intervene.11 But he 

could not have known when he received the order that it would 

not prove ephemeral, as had the February 1967 order, and that the 

military’s actions would not again be castigated as an “adverse 

current” at some later date. This should have taught the military 

that intervention should occur only on clear and unequivocal 

orders from the party. At this point in time, few doubted that the 

Chairman spoke for the party and, in the mystic aura created by 

the cult of Mao, that he embodied the party. But, particularly after 

the disastrous experience of the Great Leap Forward, many officers 

must have known that the Chairman was not infallible, and that he 

could be persuaded to change his policies on the basis of advice from 

different people around him.

A second, and less equivocal, lesson that both the PLA and Mao 

learned is that it is dangerous to allow the military’s role in society 

to overwhelm its functional role of defending the nation against 

external enemies.

Lessons, Loyalties, and Policy Choices.

The policy choices conditioned by the different lessons learned 

by these major actors played themselves out over the next decade. 

It seems clear that the lesson Mao had learned about the pivotal 
412

role of the military convinced him that the PLA’s recently enhanced 

powers would have to be diminished. Fittingly, his first target was 

the PLA figure to have most profited by the Cultural Revolution, Lin 

Biao. In the normal course of events, the 1969 Party congress should 

have been followed by a National People’s Congress, which would 

adopt a new state constitution that, like the 1969 Party constitution, 

would name Lin as Mao’s chosen successor. No congress, and no 

constitution, appeared. At a conference held in Lushan in 1970, Mao 

criticized Lin and his faction; in the following year he accused them 

of plotting an “unaccomplished coup.”12 Mao’s drastic reassessment 

of Lin was almost certainly influenced by another faction of radicals, 

the Gang of Four, that included his wife, Jiang Qing.

Extensive archival research and interviews conducted by Jin 

Qiu, the daughter of a member of Lin’s faction indicate that Lin was 

loath to challenge Mao, even on this matter. Like other revolutionary 

veterans, he felt that to oppose Mao was to oppose the party, and to 

oppose the party was to negate the cause for which he and they had 

spent most of their lives fighting. Also, knowing that Mao cared 

intensely about the legacy of the Cultural Revolution, Lin doubted 

that Mao would wish to discredit him, as the chief cheerleader for 

the Revolution, too sharply. Lin’s son, however, had learned a 

different lesson from the Cultural Revolution: that personal survival 

was more important than any cause, and that Mao was not a benign, 

god-like figure. Hence, he reasoned, he should remove his family 

to safety before Mao could destroy all of their careers, including his 

own.13 Feeling that this would be a mistake, Lin’s daughter made a 

mistake of her own: informing Unit 8341 of the planned escape. This 

enabled the 8341 commander, Wang Dongxing, to use the escape 

attempt as proof that a coup was being plotted and hence that 

his long-term rival, Lin Biao, was a traitor to his country.14 While 

the broad outlines of this analysis can be corroborated by other 

materials, there are doubts as to the accuracy of some details. As 

the daughter of a central figure in the intrigue, Jin Qiu’s ability to 

objectively analyze her sources can be questioned. Moreover, the 

people she interviewed had legitimate concerns for their own safety 

and may not have been completely truthful. Finally, the official CCP 

archives on the matter remain closed. Hence, it is not certain whether 

Lin was ignorant of his son’s plans to protect him, as Jin Qiu argues, 
413

or whether he himself was party to the scheme.15 More importantly, 

however, there is no doubt that Mao Zedong turned against his loyal 

commander when it seemed that Lin and the PLA might be powerful 

enough to become a potential rival to his own authority.

Mao’s efforts to reduce Lin Biao’s power while reducing the 

power of the military in general was also evident in the fact that 

there was no Chief of the General Staff from 1971 until early 1975. 

This coincided with the efforts of the radical left to keep the central 

PLA leadership from being a significant political force. Probably 

inadvertently, considerable military power devolved to regional 

military commanders such as Chen Xilian, Li Desheng, and Xu 

Shiyou, who controlled revolutionary committees as well as holding 

membership in the Politburo. At the same time, however, the Cultural 

Revolution had shown that problems could arise from allowing 

the PLA’s combat strength to deteriorate while it concentrated on 

domestic political missions. The Chinese leadership interpreted 

the Soviet Union’s incursion into Czechoslovakia in August 1968 

as a warning that the People’s Republic of China (PRC) was next. 

Rebuilding the PLA’s combat capabilities became a high priority. 

Building up the PLA’s military capabilities while simultaneously 

reducing its political clout is more easily accomplished in theory than 

in real life. The need to strengthen defense against an external attack 

reinforced already extant pressures to rehabilitate those experienced 

professional military leaders who had suffered during the Cultural 

Revolution. This process began in 1973, with Deng Xiaoping being 

one of the first to be restored to a position of honor. Men such as 

Luo Ruiqing, Wang Enmao, Yang Chengwu, and Xiao Hua were 

brought back and given positions in the regional and/or central 

military hierarchies, sometimes the same posts from which they had 

been purged a few years before. Doing so, however, simultaneously 

disadvantaged the inexperienced “helicopter people” who had 

risen rapidly during the Cultural Revolution. Not surprisingly, 

the return of the veterans was resented by the newcomers, and 

the veterans in turn were contemptuous of the newcomers. The 

interaction between the men who were recently rehabilitated and 

those who had persecuted them did little to enhance military 

efficiency. In the judgment of a U.S. Government analyst, when 

this uneasy combination was added to the factional tensions among 
414

senior military leaders that had been exacerbated by the Cultural 

Revolution, the result was a serious problem of polarization within 

the military leadership.16

Initially, however, Mao Zedong felt that the preeminence of the 

military in the power structure that had resulted from the Cultural 

Revolution needed to be dealt with, as opposed to factions within 

the PLA. In December 1973, he announced the rotation of eight of the 

eleven commanders of the PRC’s military regions. The chairman’s 

statement that he “wanted to mix in some sand,” accompanied by 

warnings against the creation of “independent kingdoms” and 

“warlord mentalities” indicates that he felt the commanders had 

become too entrenched in regional power structures--indeed, several 

held not only military command but top positions in the party and 

government as well.17 

Radicals, having learned from the Cultural Revolution that 

they could not trust the military, sought to build a counterforce 

of their own: the urban militia. Efforts to do so began in 1973; 2 

years later a change in the state constitution elevated the militia to 

parity with the PLA and reaffirmed the authority of the party over 

both.18 At basic levels of society, the militia was used to support 

radical ideological goals: suspects were apprehended without 

warrants, detained without indictments, and convicted on the basis 

of forced “confessions.” The militia was also used to support radical 

goals at the highest levels of power. It suppressed the Tiananmen 

demonstrations of April 1976 that led to Deng Xiaoping’s redismissal 

from power. Radicals also planned to use the militia to ensure that 

their views would prevail after the death of the ailing Mao Zedong. 

Factories in Shanghai manufactured not only large quantities of 

rifles for militia use, but also heavy-duty weapons such as rockets, 

howitzers, and tank-like vehicles not normally used by militia 

units.

Wang Dongxing of the aforementioned 8341 guards unit, 

although regarded as a leftist, nonetheless arrested the Gang of 

Four soon after Mao’s death, and military units took over media 

outlets and other areas where the Gang’s influence was considered 

strong. Only in Shanghai, the bastion of the Gang of Four’s power, 

was strong resistance encountered. Although Nanjing Military 

Region units obeyed CMC leader Ye Jianying’s orders to surround 
415

the city, commander Ding Sheng did not execute orders to disarm 

the militia. Xu Shiyou, who had been Nanjing Military Region 

commander before Mao’s troop rotation of 1973 and who had been 

well connected with the power structure there--perhaps too well 

connected from Mao’s point of view--was sent in to replace Ding 

and accomplished the task with little difficulty.19 A salient lesson 

from this episode is that, although one might learn from the Cultural 

Revolution that a military too entrenched in the power structure was 

bad, such military people could be useful in specific situations such 

as putting down the militia revolt in Shanghai.

With the help of military leaders, Deng Xiaoping was rerehabilitated. Although it might have seemed that Deng would 

rule China through, or perhaps on the sufferance of, this group, he 

was soon to move against most of those who had helped him. The 

8341 unit was either disbanded or incorporated into the units of the 

Beijing Garrison and Beijing Military Region by the end of 1978,20

and Wang Dongxing lost his position on the Politburo Standing 

Committee in 1980. Within months after his restoration to power, 

Deng differed with Ye Jianying on the issue of professionalism,21

and with another of his erstwhile supporters, head of the PLA’s 

General Political Department Wei Guoqing, on the liberalization of 

censorship over literature and art. Xu Shiyou was removed from his 

position in 1980, and Wei Guoqing in 1982. The lesson high-ranking 

PLA leaders should have learned from this is the same one that Lin 

Biao might have reflected upon had he lived to do so: loyalty to the 

paramount leader will not necessarily be reciprocated.

As chair of the party’s CMC, Deng continued the process of 

removing military leaders from provincial Party committees, and in 

1982 initiated a plan to separate and more clearly differentiate the 

functions of party, government, and military. While advantageous 

to efficiency, the plan had disadvantages as well. One can argue 

that at the time of the Cultural Revolution, the fusion of party, 

government, and military personnel at the highest levels made 

a military coup definitionally impossible, since the same people 

headed all three. Conversely, to separate those functions would 

create the preconditions under which a coup could occur. The 

process was resisted by some who felt that revolutionary traditions 

were being betrayed. A state military commission, created in 1982, 
416

never gained a genuinely separate existence, much less absorbing 

the functions of the party CMC. The leadership personnel of the two 

commissions, for example, are identical. Deng had another setback 

when the military refused to agree that his chosen successor, Hu 

Yaobang, should become CMC chair in addition to head of the party. 

When Hu was ousted from his position as party head after student 

demonstrations in 1987, the military was believed to have played an 

important part in his political demise. The military also reportedly 

refused to accept the man who succeeded Hu as party head, Zhao 

Ziyang, as CMC chair. 

But some progress was made in other areas. Military 

representation on the PCC declined, for example, and more officers 

were being trained in military academies, giving them a sense of 

rapport with each other as well as some distance from the civilian 

system. Military salons appeared in which questions of strategy were 

debated, apparently quite freely. Some questioned the wisdom of 

the battle plans of revolutionary war heroes, and even the question 

of whether the army should be a party army (dangjun) or a state 

army (guojun) was considered an acceptable topic. Whether this 

kind of discussion was acceptable to Deng at the time is unknown; it 

certainly became taboo later. 

Tiananmen and the Lessons of the Cultural Revolution.

In the spring of 1989, accumulated grievances burst into student 

demonstrations in Beijing and scores of other Chinese cities.22 They 

gained momentum after the death of Hu Yaobang, who was said to 

have been arguing in favor of a larger education budget when he 

succumbed to a fatal heart attack, and student demonstrators were 

soon joined by other segments of society. The leadership showed 

that it had learned several lessons from the Cultural Revolution. 

One was to avoid having the army become involved with the 

demonstrators. As a case in point, an April 28 directive from the 

Shenyang Military District stated that

Any person sent out on business or a mission must be educated 

well and strictly instructed not to become a looker-on, not to join 

any debates, and not to participate in any trouble. No officers or 

soldiers are permitted to go among the students to network, and 
417

still less should they ever allow students to come among them to 

network.23

Three weeks later, CMC vice-chair Yang Shangkun promised 

Deng Xiaoping that “These protests are not going to spread to 

officers or soldiers in the military.”24 In late May, the country’s 

organizational machinery was mobilized to ensure that military 

officials, their staffs, and their families refrained from supporting 

the demonstrations.25 

A second lesson of the Cultural Revolution that the leadership 

tried to apply to the demonstrations was to avoid factionalism. The 

need for officers to be “unified in their thinking” and to observe 

discipline was a constant theme. Military regions were expected to 

announce their support for the martial law order. Units from many 

parts of the country were brought in to quell the demonstrations 

in the capital city, presumably as a sign that the PLA was indeed 

unified and to avoid placing the responsibility for the suppression 

on any one army or commander. 

A third lesson from the Cultural Revolution that the leadership 

tried to apply was to ensure support for the PLA among the 

population. Troops were mobilized to do good deeds for local 

people, and their activities in doing so were well-publicized.26 Again 

and again, top leaders assured the population that the army would 

not use force.27

As previously mentioned, learning lessons from the past does 

not necessarily mean that the lessons can be successfully applied in 

new situations. And so it was in the spring of 1989. The attempt to 

create an appearance of unity within the PLA was far from perfect: 

there, as elsewhere in Chinese society, the declaration of martial law 

was controversial. Different military regions cabled their support for 

martial law at different times during the following weeks, leading to 

speculation that there was considerable disagreement within them 

on the wisdom of the leadership’s decision. To the horror of senior 

leaders, one general, the commander of the 38th Army, refused to 

enforce the order and checked into a hospital.28 Eight others signed 

a letter requesting that troops not enter Beijing and that martial law 

not be enforced there.29 The PLA’s General Political Department 

detailed four different kinds of “wrong thinking” that had gained 

some influence in the military:
418

• some officer and troops did not take seriously the student movement’s 

threat to stability;

• some thought the movement might help to combat the rampant corruption 

in Chinese society;

• some were afraid that, if the troops got too actively involved in resolving 

civil disorders, they might be drawn into factional disputes among the 

masses, as had happened in the Cultural Revolution [emphasis added];

• some felt that stemming domestic social disorder was the job of civilian 

leaders, not the military.30

A report from the PLA navy revealed that doubts existed within 

its ranks as well. Some naval personnel continued to esteem Zhao 

Ziyang and did not wish to condemn him. Others worried about 

instability in the Party’s leadership group, which had expelled Hu 

Yaobang only 2 years before Zhao. There was also reluctance to 

believe that a tiny minority of conspirators could have aroused 

such widespread popular support. Many navy men argued that 

the party leadership should examine why the turmoil had occurred 

and learn from it: they should take a strong stand against bourgeois 

liberalization, corruption, rising disparities in income levels, and the 

worsening crime rate.31

If the commander of the 38th had been sympathetic to the 

demonstrators, the commander of the 27th was perceived as 

much more hostile, thereby undercutting the leadership’s aim of 

demonstrating that the PLA was united in support of the declaration 

of martial law. The 27th was commanded by a nephew of Chinese 

president and principal CMC vice-chair Yang Shangkun. As is clear 

from the Tiananmen Papers, Yang, with Premier Li Peng and Deng 

Xiaoping himself, were instrumental in decisionmaking regarding 

the demonstrations. A recently declassified June 6, 1989, cable from 

the American Embassy describes the 27th as guarding an overpass 

as if poised for attack by other PLA units.32 The Secretary of State’s 

briefing for the morning of the same day reported clashes between 

military units with more considered possible, especially if troops 

were ordered into other cities. It added that soldiers had been heard 

telling students that had they not been issued ammunition they 
419

would have fired on other army units. In addition to confirming 

dissension among military units, this reinforces a large number 

of eyewitness accounts of fraternization between soldiers and 

demonstrators. The briefing goes on to mention that “the large 

number of armored vehicles and military trucks destroyed by 

protesters suggest collusion by troops in at least some cases.”33

The briefing for June 7 reports “widespread rumors and leaks to 

Hong Kong media suggest[ing] that at least some leaders may have 

envisioned an outcome that would blame most atrocities on the 

27th Army, relieve its top commanders, and remove senior officials 

who ordered armed action against civilians.”34 A note of skepticism 

must be introduced here: American military and other government 

analysts who were in Beijing at the time have questioned the validity 

of several State Department cables, feeling that they exaggerate the 

degree of dissension among PLA units.35 Clearly, the leadership had 

difficulty in applying its Cultural Revolution lesson that factionalism 

must be avoided.

 Observers, noting the types of heavy weaponry present in the 

Tiananmen Square, opined that these were far in excess of what 

was needed to quell unarmed civilian demonstrators and surmised 

that a power struggle must be in progress. If so, the outcome had 

one clear loser: Deng’s second chosen successor, Zhao Ziyang. 

Like his predecessor, Hu Yaobang, Zhao lacked support from the 

military. A heavily-excised Central Intelligence Agency document 

dated February 9, 1989--i.e., well before the demonstrations began--

predicted

. . . we suspect that Zhao could become increasingly vulnerable 

and even fall within the next twelve to eighteen months if China’s 

economic and social problems persist or worsen . . . were some of 

Zhao’s more powerful critics among party elders . . . join forces 

with senior military and security officials against Zhao in a crisis, 

as they did against Hu Yaobang, we doubt that Deng would be 

able or even willing to save him.36

This, of course, is precisely what happened. A new successor, 

Jiang Zemin, was promptly named. Although he had no military 

experience, the military, somewhat surprisingly, agreed to accept 

him as CMC chair, freeing Deng Xiaoping to resign that position 
420

in November 1989. Speculations that Yang Shangkun and his halfbrother, Yang Baibing, would actually be in charge of the day-to-day 

running of the military were initially reinforced when Jiang candidly 

admitted the obvious: he had no military experience, and his abilities 

fell far short of the demands of the position.37 He asked for the help 

of seasoned veterans on the CMC. Yang Baibing did, in fact, do 

many troop inspections and “the Yang family village” remained 

powerful in the military--until 1992, when Deng Xiaoping removed 

them from office, presumably to clear the way for Jiang to establish 

his authority over the PLA and to reduce factionalism. Once again, 

PLA leaders should have reflected on the lack of rewards for loyalty. 

Thereafter, Jiang moved quickly to bolster his military support. He 

spent considerable time on well-publicized visits to military units, 

even those stationed in distant areas, and created new billets for full 

generals. Pay raises were enacted. Military region commanders and 

commissars were reshuffled and retirement ages lowered, allowing 

Jiang to more easily create an officer cadre that would be likely to 

back him. It is clear that Jiang had learned the lesson that the top 

leader of the party must have the support of the PLA.

The army emerged from the confrontation with its popular 

image badly scarred. In using force against mostly unarmed 

demonstrators, particularly after top leaders had repeatedly assured 

the population that this would not happen, it had ceased to become 

the People’s Liberation Army--precisely as a number of commanders 

had argued would happen at the time the declaration of martial law 

was issued. The people’s army had moved against the people. The 

leadership praised the PLA for its heroic efforts in smashing the 

subversive plots of a small number of “black hand” conspirators, 

though most civilians appeared to view these efforts to praise the 

military with great disdain. Despite the public manifestations of 

praise, the leadership was plainly worried about dissension within 

the military: troops and officers endured lengthy study sessions 

designed to internalize the idea that the army owed its allegiance 

exclusively to the party, whose orders it must obey unswervingly 

and unquestioningly. Officers and enlistees took loyalty oaths. 

Those who had refused to enforce martial law were punished, 

though with minimal publicity. This contrasted sharply with the 

leadership’s willingness to vilify student leaders and put them on 
421

trial.38 The leaders may have been concerned that overt chastisement 

of military figures would draw unwanted attention to factional rifts 

within the PLA that it had taken considerable pains to deny. They 

may also have reasoned that, the more quietly conducted the purges, 

the less likely they were to elicit a defensive backlash from officers 

who feared that they might become the next target.

Predictions that PLA recruitment would suffer as a result of the 

military’s actions at Tiananmen were not borne out: the economic 

contraction that occurred the next year encouraged many young 

men who might otherwise have sought to avoid military service to 

sign up. The military may have learned lessons from this as well: 

first, that the state of the economy has a more important effect on 

recruitment than the PLA’s image. And second, that in China as 

elsewhere, memories tend to be short-term.

Conclusions.

The experiences of the Cultural Revolution and the Tiananmen 

Square demonstrations show that, in time of crisis, the leadership 

must rely on the military. Unfortunately, they also show that the 

leadership should not rely too heavily on the military, lest the 

rewards that the military demands be too high. In theory, a balance 

must be struck between reliance and over-reliance. A leader must 

have the support of the military, but must never allow the military, 

or any faction thereof, to become too dominant. In time of crisis, 

however, it is likely to be very difficult for the leader to decide 

precisely where this delicate balancing point lies. When his survival 

depends on immediate action, the leader’s bargaining power may be 

severely constricted.

From the PLA’s vantage point, the lessons must be that loyalty 

to the commander-in-chief has too often not resulted in reciprocal 

loyalty to the military, or to the factions within the military that 

supported him. Some commanders at both the time of the Cultural 

Revolution and Tiananmen were acutely aware of the pitfalls of 

intervention; those who spoke out suffered for doing so, even as the 

PLA as a whole suffered for obeying orders.

Some lessons do not need to be learned, since party leaders have 

always known them. But they are very difficult to operationalize 
422

because they stem from fundamental contradictions in ideology. 

These relate, first, to the concept of a “people’s” army and, second, 

to a people’s army which is commanded by “the party.” With regard 

to the first, if the army is the people’s army but the military is told 

to suppress the expressed desires of the people, how will it react? 

During the Cultural Revolution, the PLA was unable to determine 

which factions were the true Maoists, and confusion resulted. 

During the Tiananmen demonstrations, it was told that, although 

the students’ demands had some merit, a few “black hands” were 

manipulating the demonstrations. Yet in the end the PLA was 

ordered to move indiscriminately against all the demonstrators 

rather than a few black hands. Evidence presented above indicates 

that significant numbers of military men questioned the validity of 

such orders.

As for the second, a dilemma that emerges from the experiences 

of both the Cultural Revolution and the Tiananmen demonstrations 

is, if the PLA owes loyalty to the party, who speaks for the party? 

During the Cultural Revolution, it was unequivocally Mao Zedong 

--but even then, there were conflicting factional pressures on Mao 

that resulted in conflicting policies, causing confusion within the 

PLA. Deng Xiaoping, though not quite the commanding figure 

that Mao had been, could still claim to speak for the party, and was 

able to bring most reluctant commanders into line. In the Cultural 

Revolution, the party did not split to any meaningful degree 

between Mao and, for example, Liu Shaoqi. During the Tiananmen 

demonstrations, the Party in the person of Deng was able to give 

clear orders dismissing Zhao Ziyang--even though Zhao held the 

highest formal position in the party and Deng did not--and have the 

PLA back those orders. But no subsequent leader appears likely to 

possess the authority of Mao or Deng. Jiang Zemin has attempted 

to forestall any confusion on this issue by popularizing a mantra 

wherein everyone must pledge loyalty to the party leadership with 

himself as “the core.” But should a future crisis arise with different 

leaders expressing different opinions on how to solve it, the PLA 

may not so readily fall into line. It could choose which leader to 

support, or split, with different segments of the PLA choosing to 

support different claimants to power. And an army ordered to 

suppress the popular will might, on the basis of experiences derived 
423

from the Cultural Revolution and Tiananmen, opt not to do so.

To return to the questions posed at the beginning of this 

chapter, lessons were learned from both the Cultural Revolution and 

Tiananmen experiences, and in general they were: first, the correct 

lessons, and second, had application beyond the specific scenarios 

that brought them forth. Party and government learned somewhat 

different lessons than the PLA. Important lessons for future Chinese 

leaderships are, then, not to put the PLA in the position of having 

to decide who speaks for the party and not to put it in a position of 

having to challenge the popular will. Reciprocally, the military has 

learned that it should act only on the basis of unequivocally phrased 

and legally issued orders. It has also learned that loyalty in doing 

so does not necessarily guarantee the survival of individual PLA 

leaders, and that the higher the profile of the loyal military leader, 

the more likely he is to be removed. Whether these are lessons that, 

once learned, can actually be applied in future scenarios remains to 

be seen. 

ENDNOTES - CHAPTER 12

1. For further reading about the Cultural Revolution, in addition to the 

works cited below, see Frederick Teiwes and Warren Sun, The Tragedy of the 

Lin Biao: Riding the Tiger During the Cultural Revolution, 1966-1971, Honolulu: 

University of Hawaii Press, 1996; Barbara Barnouin and Yu Changgen, Ten Years 

of Turbulence: The Chinese Cultural Revolution, London, 1993: Kegal Paul; Eberhard 

Sandschneider, Militär und Politik in der Volksrepublik China, 1969-1985, Hamburg: 

Institut für Asienkunde, 1987; J. Petras, “The Chinese Cultural Revolution in 

Historical Perspective,” Journal of Contemporary Asia, Vol. 27, No. 4, 1997; Roderick 

MacFarquhar, The Origins of the Cultural Revolution, Vols. 1-2, New York: Columbia 

University Press, 1984. 

2. Good in political thinking, military training, work style, task fulfillment, 

and physical training. In a process known as “remembering past bitterness 

and appreciation of present sweetness,” soldiers interviewed veterans about 

the hardships they endured, visited exhibitions that recreated revolutionary 

experiences, read the memoirs of heroes of the era, and sang revolutionary songs.

3. Whitson, p. 380.

4. Trans. in U.S. Consulate-General, Hong Kong, Current Background, No. 852, 

May 6, 1968, p. 19.
424

5. Jin Qiu, The Culture of Power: The Lin Biao Incident In The Cultural Revolution, 

Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1999, p. 173.

6. According to Jin Qiu, air force commander Wu Faxian, who was her father, 

had no problem with promoting Lin’s children “as long as they did not outrank 

Li Na and Mao Yuanxin,” who were Mao’s daughter and niece, respectively. Jin, 

p. 157.

7. See, for example, Yasuaki Ishikawa, “Delayed Rehabilitation For Deng,” 

Sankei Shimbun, Tokyo, April 4, 1977, p. 3; AFP, March 29, 1977, in Foreign Broadcast 

Information Service (hereafter FBIS)-CHI, March 30, 1977, p. E1.

8. Lin Biao, “March Ahead Under The Red Flag,” September 29, 1959, Beijing, 

Foreign Languages Press, 1959, pp. 21-22.

Some comrades take the view that modern warfare differs from 

warfare in the past, that since the weapons and equipment 

available to our army in the past were inferior, we had to 

emphasize dependence on man, on his bravery and wisdom, 

in order to win victories. They say that modern warfare is a 

war of technique, of steel and machinery, and that in the face 

of these things, man’s role has to be relegated to a secondary 

place. They attach importance only to machinery and want to 

turn revolutionary soldiers into robots devoid of revolutionary 

initiative. Contrary to these people, we believe that while equipment 

and technique are important, the human factor is even more so.

Technique also has to be mastered by man. Men and material 

must form a unity with men as the leading factor.

9. Andrew Scobell, China’s Use Of Military Force: Beyond the Great Wall and 

the Long March, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003, Chap. 5, citing 

“Important Talk Given By Comrade Chiang Ch’ing on September 5,” in U.S. 

Consulate-General Hong Kong, Survey of the China Mainland Press, No. 4026, 

September 23, 1967, p. 5.

10. “Important Instructions of Premier Zhou Enlai, Chen Boda, Kang Sheng, 

and Other Leaders On the Question of Tibet,” June 6, 1968, in U.S. ConsulateGeneral, Hong Kong, Survey of China Mainland Magazines, No. 622, 1968, p. 2.

11. “Hsu Shih-you’s Talk At A Group Discussion At The Third Plenum Of 

The Eleventh Central Committee,” Issues And Studies, Vol. 16, May 1980, p. 78, in 

Scobell, p. 217.

12. Jin Qiu, p. 127.
13. Ibid., p. 197.

14. Ibid., pp. 173-180.

15. See, e.g., Larry Wortzel’s review of Jin’s book in Journal of Asian Studies, 

Vol. 59, No. 4, November 2000, pp. 998-999.

16. Robert Suettinger, “Deng Xiaoping And The Reform Of the People’s 

Liberation Army,” unpublished paper, 1985, p. 4, details these events.

17. Called revolutionary committees at this time. 

18. “The Chinese PLA and the militia are the workers’ and peasants’ own 

armed forces led by the Communist Party of China”; text of constitution in Beijing 

Review, August 8, 1975, p. 15.

19. Suettinger, p. 7.

20. Ibid., p. 10.

21. At a PLA work conference held in mid-1978, Deng emphasized the 

need for reorganization, better discipline, military management, and attention 

to logistics work. Ye’s follow-up speech, by contrast, argued that revolutionary 

political work was “the lifeblood of our army” and that “whole-hearted service to 

the people is the sole purpose of our army.” Ye pointedly absented himself from 

several other meetings at which Deng and his supporters were well represented, 

and was conspicuously missing from the group of leaders who reviewed the PRC’s 

first large-scale combined military operations exercise in September 1981. Deng’s 

speech, Xinhua June 5 1978, is translated in FBIS-CHI, June 6, 1978, pp. E/1-E/10; 

Yeh’s, released by Xinhua, June 4, 1978, is in ibid., June 5, 1978, pp. E/12-E/21, 

quotes are from p. E/13. Name list for attendees at September 1981 exercises is in 

FBIS-CHI, September 26, 1981, p. K/1.

22. For further reading about the demonstrations of spring 1989, in addition 

to the works cited below, see Timothy Brook, Quelling the People: The Military 

Suppression of the Beijing Democracy Movement, Stanford, CA: Stanford University 

Press, 1998 and 1992; “Was There a Tiananmen Massacre: the Visit of General 

Chi Haotian,” Hearings Before the Subcommittee on International Operations 

and Human Rights of the Committee on International Relations, House of 

Representatives, 104th Congress, second session, December 18, 1996; Andrew 

Scobell, “Why the People’s Army Fired On the People,” in Roger Des Forges, et 

al., Chinese Democracy and the Crisis of 1989, New York: SUNY Press, 1993; SCPS 

Yearbook on PLA Affairs, 1989/90, Kaohsiung, Taiwan: Sun Yat-sen Institute for 

Policy Studies, 1990; June Teufel Dreyer, “The People’s Liberation Army and the 

Power Struggle of 1989,” Problems of Communism, September-October 1989, pp. 

41-48.

23. Excerpts from Shenyang Military District, “Situation Report On Study of 

425
the April 26th Editorial,” April 28, 1989, in Andrew Nathan and Perry Link, eds., 

The Tiananmen Papers, New York: Public Affairs Books, 2002, p. 80.

24. Excerpt from memoranda of conversations among Deng Xiaoping, Zhao 

Ziyang, and Yang Shangkun, supplied by unidentified friend of Yang Shangkun, 

in ibid., p. 149.

25. Editorial summary in ibid., p. 297.

26. “Minutes From the [May] 20 Enlarged Meeting of the Central Military 

Commission,” in ibid., p. 241.

27. For example, on May 26, former Beijing mayor Peng Zhen reassured 

members of the National People’s Congress that the PLA would not use force 

against the students. He expressed respect for the demonstrators’ motives, adding 

that it was the Party’s duty to help them avoid manipulation by a tiny minority of 

conspirators. Ibid., p. 298.

28. Xu Qinxian, commander of the 38th Army. His father, Xu Haidong, had 

been a prominent commander in the War of Liberation, which seemed to add to 

the leadership’s sense of shock over the apostasy. See, e.g., Nathan and Link, p. 

219.

29. Ibid., p. 265; a similar letter signed by seven generals appears in Suzanne 

Ogden, Kathleen Hartford, Lawrence Sullivan, and David Zweig, eds., China’s 

Search For Democracy: The Student and Mass Movement of 1989, Armonk, NY: M. E. 

Sharpe, 1992, p. 292.

30. Cited in Nathan and Link, p. 220.

31. Ibid., p. 321.

32. At www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/NSAEBB16/documents/18-01.htm.

33. At www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/NSAEBB16/documents/19-09.htm. 

34. At www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/NSAEBB16/documents/21-02.htm.

35. Author’s conversations, September 15, 2002. According to these informants, 

it is highly unlikely that the relevant cables will be declassified.

36. CIA Directorate of Intelligence, China: Potential for Political Crisis. February 

9, 1989, p. 2, at www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/NSAEBB47. 

37. Quoted in Xinhua, November 21, 1989, in FBIS-CHI November 21, 1989, p. 

17.

38. See, for example, George Black and Robin Munro, Black Hands of Beijing: 

Lives of Defiance In China’s Democracy Movement, New York: John Wiley and Sons, 

1993, chs. 16-20.

426
427

CHAPTER 13

SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS OF CIVIL-MILITARY RELATIONS:

 LESSONS LEARNED

Andrew Scobell

The People’s Liberation Army (PLA) officially celebrated its 75th 

anniversary in 2002. The date of the Nanchang Uprising--August 

1, 1927--is taken as the birth date of the PLA. This anniversary also 

marked the passing of 75 years of civil-military relations in the 

Chinese communist era. This chapter examines the lessons the PLA 

and the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) have learned over the 

past 75 years, with a focus on the critical episodes in civil-military 

relations.

Of course, it is not just the PLA but also the CCP that survived 

these trials. The two entities have had been intimately linked over 

the past three-quarters of a century, and it sometimes has been hard 

to identify where one ended and the other one began. But this 

does not mean that the lessons of the history of communist civilmilitary relations in China are simply synonymous with party-army 

relations.1 Certainly, the relationship between the CCP and the PLA 

has been the most important one in civil-military relations. Also 

important, however, are two other relationships: those between 

the armed forces and Chinese society and between the armed 

forces and the Chinese state. The former relationship tends to be 

under-appreciated, while the latter relationship is often ignored. 

Although these links obviously have not supplanted the PLA-CCP 

tie, I contend that these two relationships are becoming increasingly 

important. Moreover, soldiers are drawing lessons from the armysociety and army-state relationships.

This chapter examines five critical episodes to consider what 

lessons the PLA and CCP have gleaned from each: the Long March 

(1934-35), the PLA intervention in the Cultural Revolution (1967), 

the Lin Biao incident (1971), the Tiananmen incident (1989), and 

what I call “creeping Guojiahua” (1980s to present). I contend that 

these are the five episodes that have had (and continue to have) the 

most significant impact on civil-military relations during the past 
428

three-quarters of a century. I focus in particular on the fifth episode 

because it not only continues to unfold but also because it holds the 

most important ramifications for the future of civil-military relations 

in 21st century China. In each of the five cases, I present what I judge 

to be the official and unofficial lessons learned by the CCP and the 

PLA. Lastly, I assess what overall lesson(s) have been gleaned from 

these five episodes combined.

EPISODE ONE: THE LONG MARCH (1934-35)

The Long March is the most celebrated episode in Chinese 

Communist history and is legitimately considered to be a watershed 

event in 20th century China. While arguably marking the lowest 

point in the fortunes of the fledgling movement, it was certainly 

a turning point. The Long March was a strategic retreat begun 

in October 1934 by tens of thousands of communist fighters and 

supporters from the communist base area in Jiangxi Province in 

south central China to escape destruction at the hands of the military 

forces of the Kuomintang (KMT) government of Chiang Kai-shek. 

The trek ended a year and some 6,000 miles later in Shaanxi Province 

in northwest China when a ragtag band of survivors arrived and 

established a new base area. This move allowed the communist 

movement to survive, regroup, and launch its ultimately successful 

bid to seize power in Beijing.

Recent research suggests that some of the conventional 

assumptions about the Long March are questionable. For example, 

it now seems evident that Mao did not assume full control of the 

party and army until after the Long March.2 Nevertheless, the 

Long March constitutes a seminal event in Mao’s ascendancy to 

paramount leader of the Chinese communist movement.

 

Lessons of the Long March for the Party. 

According to the official Party version of events, the primary 

lesson of the Long March was that Mao Zedong’s accession to top 

leader of the Chinese Communist movement saved the day. Party 

history dates Mao’s assumption of leadership of the CCP and PLA 

from the Zunyi Conference reportedly held in January 1935. The 
429

“Resolution on Certain Questions in the History of Our Party Since 

the Founding of the People’s Republic of China” proclaims:

This [Mao taking the reins of power] saved the Red Army and the 

Central Committee of the Party which were then in critical danger 

and subsequently made it possible to defeat Zhang Guotao’s 

splittism, bring the Long March to a triumphant conclusion and 

open up new vistas for the Chinese revolution.3

Lessons of the Long March for Army. 

According to the official PLA interpretation, the Long March 

is today seen as the model of successful civil-military relations for 

decades in post-1949 China in at least two respects: (1) the close 

interrelationships between the Army and the Party, and between the 

Army the people; (2) and the Party commanding the gun. 

The communist movement only survived the Long March 

because of the close cooperation between party and military leaders. 

In fact there was considerable leadership overlap between the 

Party and Army leaders. Dubbed “dual role elites,” these people 

essentially doubled as both civilian and military leaders, were 

typified by individuals like Mao Zedong and Zhou Enlai.4 “Under 

the leadership of the Party Center with Mao Zedong as the core, the 

entire Party, entire Army, and entire people together achieved great 

revolutionary unity on the Long March.”5 Overlapping party-army 

elites tended to translate into close civil-military coordination.6 The 

second lesson was the necessity of the Army’s subordination to Party 

control. According to the official 70-year anniversary history of the 

PLA produced by the Academy of Military Sciences: “The People’s 

Army is loyal to the Party; the gun always listens to the orders of the 

Party--this is the most important historical lesson [zui zhongyao de 

lishi jingyan] of the Long March.”7

The trek also highlighted the importance of cultivating popular 

support. The lesson for the PLA (and CCP) is that it would have 

to rely on close ties to the masses and strong popular support to 

survive. While people in most locales were friendly or at least not 

actively hostile to the Chinese communist forces, there were many 

groups who literally did battle with the Long Marchers. In the saga 

recounted by Edgar Snow in Red Star Over China, even though his 
430

informants claimed the Reds were “welcomed everywhere by the 

mass of the peasantry,” official statistics reveal that the Marchers 

fought “an average of almost a skirmish a day.”8 If the communist 

movement was going to wage a successful “People’s War,” then 

very careful attention would have to be paid to public relations, and 

particularly to the reputation of the movement’s soldiers. The “three 

rules and eight points for attention” first formulated in 1928, were 

reemphasized in the aftermath of the Long March. 

To sum up, the Long March was quite literally a near-death 

experience for the Party and the Army--one from which some 

sobering lessons were drawn.

 

EPISODE TWO: PLA INTERVENTION IN THE CULTURAL 

REVOLUTION (1967)

According to some interpretations, the Cultural Revolution has 

its origins in civil-military tensions. Certainly PLA propaganda 

and cultural entities were “center stage” in the preliminary phases.9

Mao Zedong appeared to interpret the historical play “Hai Rui 

Dismissed from Office” as an allegorical attack on Mao’s 1959 purge 

of Marshal Peng Dehuai. The most prominent critique of the play by 

Yao Wenyuan first appeared in the PLA’s newspaper, the Liberation 

Army Daily, in November 1965--one day before it was published in 

the CCP’s mouthpiece, the People’s Daily. Then, in early 1966, Mao’s 

wife Jiang Qing, used the “Seminar on Military Arts and Literature 

Work” for what turned out to be the prelude to the Cultural 

Revolution.

Nevertheless, the PLA proper remained on the periphery of 

the Cultural Revolution--with the notable exception of turmoil in 

military educational institutions--until early 1967 when Mao ordered 

the military to “support the left.” Until quite recently, the PLA’s 

intervention in the Cultural Revolution tended to be overlooked by 

both Chinese and overseas analysts. In China the most authoritative 

book about the Cultural Revolution, published in the mid-1980s by 

Yan Jiaqi and Gao Gao, had virtually nothing to say on the subject.10

This changed with the publication of Liberation Army in the Cultural 

Revolution published in 1989 by the Chinese Communist Party 

Affairs Materials Publishing House.11 The majority of the torrent 
431

of military memoirs published in the Post-Mao era tends to gloss 

over the period although some, such as those by Chen Zaidao and 

Zhang Yunsheng, do address the experiences of soldiers during the 

Cultural Revolution in some detail.12 Studies published outside 

China focusing on this as a case study then emerged in the 1990s, 

building on the work of earlier analyses of the Cultural Revolution 

and providing a richer, more nuanced understanding of this 

tumultuous event.13

In early January 1967 Mao and the Central Cultural Revolutionary 

Group (CCRG) ordered radicals to make “seizures of power” but the 

effort enjoyed little success. As a result, on January 23, 1967, the PLA 

was instructed to “support the masses of the revolutionary left.” 

This, too, did not have the desired effect, so on March 19, the CMC 

ordered the PLA to intervene and restore public order. Officially 

the armed forces were directed to “support the Left, the workers, 

the peasants, and institute military control and military training.”14

In effect this meant that the PLA was ordered to intervene with one 

arm tied behind its back. Most units were not armed and had severe 

restrictions placed on the conditions in which they were permitted 

to use force.15 It was not until early autumn that the military was 

permitted to take the kid gloves off. Finally, on September 5, 1967, 

the Central Committee, State Council, CMC and the CCRG, reflecting 

a remarkable degree of unity, jointly gave the PLA sweeping latitude 

to use any means necessary to reestablish law and order in the 

country.16 By October 1968, every province and autonomous region 

in China was under military control (jun guan), formally governed 

by a “Revolutionary Committee” that was dominated by the PLA.17

Lessons of the Cultural Revolution for Party. 

The Army was both the most energetic agent of the paramount 

party leader and his critical last line of defense. When the Cultural 

Revolution seemed to be faltering, Mao directed the PLA to “support 

the left.” And when the Cultural Revolution was careening out of 

control and threatening to throw China into total chaos, Mao again 

turned to the PLA for rescue. Just as the critical role of the military 

in restoring order is officially recognized, so, too, is the destructive 

impact this effort had on the PLA. According to the “Resolution 
432

on Certain Questions of Party History”: “The chaos [of the Cultural 

Revolution] was such that it was necessary to send in the People’s 

Liberation Army . . . [and] it played a positive role in stabilizing the 

situation but it also produced some negative consequences.”18

Lessons of the Cultural Revolution for Army. 

Mao declared that, for the “Three Supports and Two Militaries” 

policy to be successful, “[t]here must be no chaos in the army.”19 In 

other words, the PLA must avoid getting infected by the elite strife 

in the party-state and mass conflict rampant in Chinese society 

and every other institution. The overriding unofficial lesson of the 

Cultural Revolution was not to let political upheaval in the Party spill 

over into the Army. Because of the PLA’s intimate relationship with 

the CCP, the military almost inevitably got embroiled in intense party 

elite power struggles. Senior generals were adamant that radicals 

should not be allowed to attack and destroy the PLA. This was the 

essence of views emotionally expressed by senior military leaders 

in verbal skirmishes with party radicals at a series of high level 

meetings in February 1967. These confrontations were collectively 

dubbed the “February Adverse Current” by Cultural Revolution 

radicals who sought to depict the military response as a negative 

reactionary effort aimed at sabotaging the Cultural Revolution.20 At 

a February 13, 1967 meeting in Zhongnanhai, Marshal Xu Xiangqian 

stated emotionally: “We’ve devoted our whole lives to this army. Do 

you think the soldiers of the People’s Army will simply let a few of 

you [radicals] destroy it?”21 At a meeting of the CMC, also in early 

February 1967, Marshal Ye Jianying erupted in anger: “You [radicals] 

have made a mess of the party, government, and industry. But even 

that doesn’t satisfy you, so now you want to wreck the army!”22 

The PLA’s relationship with the people also suffered as soldiers 

were forced to intervene in internal disturbances and attempt the 

virtually impossible task of distinguishing the good elements from 

the bad. There was tremendous frustration by soldiers at their 

inability to determine who were the good guys and who were 

the bad guys. Lin Biao’s secretary, Zhang Yunsheng, recounts a 

telephone call his office received in early 1967 from a staff officer of 

the Jilin Military Region Commander: 
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Chairman Mao advocates supporting the broad revolutionary 

masses of the left. We will follow this firmly. But, who are 

the rightists? In the Changchun area there are many mass 

organizations with different viewpoints. Who should we support? 

Because of this issue the provincial military commander has asked 

me to telephone you and ask for your instructions . . . .

Zhang recalls: “This telephone call troubled me. They didn’t 

know ‘who the leftists were,’ and I didn’t know either . . . .”23

To conclude, the PLA’s wholesale intervention in the Cultural 

Revolution in the late 1960s and years of defacto military rule that 

followed at the provincial and local levels had a profound impact on 

civil-military relations in China. The negative consequences of this 

extensive and prolonged military involvement were only reinforced 

by the so-called “Lin Biao incident.” 

EPISODE THREE: LIN BIAO INCIDENT (1971)

In the official account of the incident, Lin Biao was guilty of 

launching a coup d’etat. After the alleged coup--code named “Project 

571”--was discovered, Lin and his immediate entourage, including 

his wife and son, all conveniently perished in a mysterious airplane 

crash while trying to escape from China. According to the Resolution 

on Party history of 1981: “In 1970-71 the counter-revolutionary Lin 

Biao Clique plotted to capture supreme power and attempted an 

armed counter-revolutionary coup d’etat.”24

The official account has been significantly called into question 

in recent years. Indeed the party line version seems implausible for 

a variety of reasons.25 Carefully documented studies suggest that 

Lin Biao played little, if any, role in a coup effort. Indeed, Lin Biao 

seems to be an unjustly maligned figure.26 In these accounts Lin Biao 

“comes across as reclusive, shy, eccentric, with a host of ailments 

both real and imagined.”27 This evidence makes it implausible to 

view Lin as much more than a virtual bystander to a coup d’etat

attempt. It seems more likely that Lin Biao’s son, Lin Liguo, and 

perhaps Lin Biao’s wife, Ye Qun, were the prime instigators of an 

ill-conceived plot to engineer a family power seizure without the full 

knowledge of Lin.28
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Lessons of the Lin Biao Incident for the Party. 

The official Party lesson of the Lin Biao Affair is that it is essential 

to keep the Army loyal to the Party. Unofficially, the lesson of this 

episode was that a military revolt or coup d’etat cannot be completely 

ruled out.29 Therefore it is critical to ensure that the paramount leader 

commands the gun because in reality it is he who controls the Army on 

behalf of the party via the CMC.30

Lessons of the Lin Biao Incident for the Army: 

Keeping the Army outside of intra-party conflict is important 

(but Party conflict inevitably drags in the PLA). While it is difficult 

for the PLA to avoid getting drawn into elite conflict, this should 

be avoided if at all possible. Strengthening the party-army link, 

of course, is the official solution. But decades later for many in 

the Army, the answer is to loosen significantly the intimate links 

between the Party and the Army (see below).

EPISODE FOUR: TIANANMEN (1989)

The June 4 Incident, or “liu si shijian” (literally “six-four incident”) 

as it is referred to in China, has probably attracted more international 

attention than any other event in post-1949 history.31 While it is 

certainly recognized as a seminal event by security analysts within 

China, it has not been the focus of such study inside the country as 

it has outside. This, however, does not mean it has been ignored 

or that lessons for the PLA have not been drawn. Indeed, it is the 

subject of considerable attention. The official 70th year history of the 

PLA calls the episode a “serious trial” (yansu de kaoyan).32

While the PLA was reluctant to intervene in 1989, it eventually 

did so when given clear-cut orders that came from paramount leader 

Deng Xiaoping. The exchange between a Western journalist and a 

PLA officer shortly after martial law had been declared in Beijing is 

instructive. A reporter for the German news magazine Der Spiegel

asked the soldier why the troops did not force their way through the 

human barrier of Beijing citizens blocking the column’s way forward 
435

to Tiananmen Square. The officer answered: “We have not received 

an order [to do so] yet.”33 By the time they did receive orders to use 

all means necessary to march to the Square, the crowds had turned 

ugly, and China’s leaders appeared united in their desire to end the 

unrest. The soldiers became convinced that Beijing (and hence all 

of China) was hovering on the brink of chaos, and the PLA had no 

choice but to suppress the uprising in the capital.34 Nevertheless, 

what is perhaps most striking to this writer after reading The 

Tiananmen Papers is “how marginalized or acquiescent almost all 

uniformed and retired military leaders appear to have been during 

the deliberations on how to respond to the demonstrations of 

1989.”35

 

Lessons of June 4 for Party. 

The PLA is the critical last line of defense for the CCP. Therefore 

the Party must do everything it can to ensure the PLA remains 

loyal and capable. As Deng Xiaoping observed a few days after 

the massacre, the PLA is the Party’s “great wall of steel.” The late 

paramount leader also said on June 9 that the event was “a trial and 

that the Army had successfully passed the test [yi ge kaoyan, kaoshi shi 

hegede].”36 The related lesson that the Party took from this experience 

was that the PLA continues to have a “dual mission”: in addition 

to external defense, the Army bears ultimate responsibility for 

internal security. This lesson is very evident in the way the Army’s 

dual mission has been stressed since 1989.37 At the same time an 

unofficial lesson is that the Party must try to avoid putting the PLA 

is a similar situation. The development of an effective nonlethal 

internal security force capable of dealing decisively with domestic 

unrest is the answer, and, as a result, the paramilitary People’s Army 

Police (PAP) has been expanded and beefed up.

The ultimate unofficial lesson of June 4 for the CCP is that the 

Army is all that stands between communism and post-communism 

in China. While officially the Army is lauded as the staunch defender 

of the CCP, the pause that gives cause for concern is PLA hesitation 

in the spring of 1989. Certainly this is far different from disobedience 

or revolt: while there were some instances of insubordination, they 

were few and scattered.38 Of course, the prime reason for the 
436

military’s hesitation in 1989 was a very public split within the CCP 

leadership at the time. Deng Xiaoping’s remarks days after the 

crackdown about the pivotal role of “veteran comrades” of the Long 

March generation in suppressing the “turmoil” serves to underscore 

what is left unsaid: what would have been outcome without these 

staunch Long Marchers?39 When the events of 1989 in China--

including the unrest in Tibet--are viewed as part of the turbulence of 

a larger “international macroclimate [guoji daqihou]” which swept the 

communist world, Beijing rode out the storm remarkably well.40 In 

another sense though, the collapse of communist regimes in Eastern 

Europe and the Soviet Union only underscores for Beijing the frailty 

of party-army relations.41

Lessons of June 4 for Army. 

The first official lesson of June 4 for the military was that the PLA 

must avoid getting dragged into confronting mass unrest, and the 

Party must try harder in future to ensure this by beefing up PAP, 

for example. In the Academy of Military Sciences’ official 70-year 

anniversary history of the PLA ,the establishment of the PAP gets 

due attention.42 The second official lesson of June 4 is that the PLA 

must continue to work hard at Army-Society relations. In the Army’s 

official account of the June 4 incident, firsthand accounts of soldiers 

involved in the operation abound, and in many cases a sense of 

anger and outrage at the violence and indignities inflicted on them 

by the people of Beijing. As one soldier said, “Later, some people 

said those people surrounding military vehicles were relatively 

‘friendly.’ Their symbols of friendship were bricks, stones, liquor 

bottles, and even things that couldn’t be thrown.43

In the years since 1989, there has been a noticeable trend in 

official propaganda pronouncements to stress the PLA’s loyalty 

to “the people.” In the same breath that the Army’s loyalty to the 

Party is mentioned, loyalty to the people, country, and socialism is 

included.44 Moreover, it is no accident that Deng Xiaoping in postJune 4 pep talk to Army brass called the CCP’s soldiers: “the most 

beloved people [zui ke’ai de ren].”45 This harks back to the reportage 

literature [baogao wenxue] of the Chinese People’s Volunteers in 

Korea that originally appeared in the People’s Daily on April 11, 
437

1951.46 This is one of the most well-known and reprinted pieces 

of writing in post-1949 China--it has been read by generations of 

middle school students.

In the aftermath of June 4, there was a clear need to rebuild the 

PLA’s reputation in the eyes of the masses. Many soldiers seem to 

believe that the people’s army must maintain contact with people-

-and be seen to make contributions to economic construction and 

flood relief, for example. The contribution of the PLA to combating 

the serious floods of the late 1990s received widespread media 

attention. According to the October 2000 Chinese Defense White 

Paper, “more than 300,000 officers and men participated” in flood 

relief efforts around the country in 1998 alone.47 The PLA takes 

seriously a commitment to continue its legacy of dedicated service 

to the Chinese people. The soldiers who marched in the military 

parade commemorating the 50th anniversary of the PRC in October 

1999 chanted “serve the people.”48

Implicitly there is a sense in the PLA that Party incompetence 

is to blame in permitting the protests of 1989 to get out of control. 

As a result, the Army was caught in the middle and forced to 

confront the people. The June 4 incident not only resulted in death 

and destruction in the PLA, but also severely damaged the PLA’s 

prestige in the eyes of Beijing residents and many other Chinese.49

EPISODE FIVE: GUOJIAHUA: AN IDEA THAT WON’T DIE 

(1980s)

Since even before the incapacitation and death of Deng Xiaoping 

in the mid-1990s, civil-military relations in China have been in a 

state of flux. The party-army dual role elite configuration--also 

known as “interlocking directorates”--has gone the way of the 

dinosaurs.50 The official mantra remains that the Army must obey 

the Party, especially the core of the so-called third generation of 

party leaders, and most in the Army do not vehemently oppose a 

continued link. Nevertheless, discussion of guojiahua (“statification” 

or “nationalization” and sometimes dubbed “feizhengzhihua”

[depoliticization]) continues unabated.51 What guojiahua refers to is 

the process of transforming the PLA from a purely party army into 
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more of a state military. Ideally, this would mean an armed forces 

bound to uphold a law-based state grounded in constitutionalism.52

As Shiping Zheng underscores, there has been a natural ongoing 

tension between the party and the state in post-1949 China.53

Moreover, the PLA officially is supposed to owe its loyalty to 

the Party, State, Chinese people, and socialism. While the most 

important of these allegiances is clearly to the CCP, the others 

are also viewed as important, at least for propaganda purposes. 

However, there is no acknowledgement that there might be tensions 

or conflict between these loyalties.54

Of course the most important relationship for the PLA after that 

with the Party, is its link to the people; after all, it is the “People’s 

Army.” At least one U.S. analyst argues that the Army’s links to 

society are becoming increasingly significant.55 Indeed, the PLA 

claims to have a sacred bond with the people of China. According to 

the late Marshal He Long, the PLA was “the first army in history that 

. . . really belongs to the people.”56 It is supposed to serve the people, 

and work on their behalf for the betterment of the country. What 

distinguishes the PLA from other so-called “professional” militaries 

is that it is not merely a fighting force but a productive force that 

contributes to national construction.57 This bond with the people 

requires the PLA to be out living and working among the civilian 

populace.58 It also requires reaffirmation through regular wellpublicized actions on the part of Chinese soldiers, such as the efforts 

of PLA personnel to combat floods in the late 1990s noted earlier.

The official Party line is that the PLA is NOT a professional 

army. Indeed, it is foreign-based analysts of Chinese civil-military 

relations (this author included!) who continually seek to impose this 

conceptual framework on the PLA.59 In many cases--including the 

Army’s performance in the spring of 1989--analysts might need to 

acknowledge that “professionalism” may have little or even nothing 

“to do with it.”60 The PLA prefers to evaluate itself in terms of 

modernization, revolutionization, and regularization, and this is 

the metric that at least one U.S. scholar of civil-military relations has 

used.61

What advocates of guojiahua hope is that the PLA is becoming 

more of a national or state army and less of a party one. It is hard 

to say with a high degree of certainty whether this is primarily a 
439

military or civilian idea. What is clear is the topic has considerable 

appeal both among the officer corps and civilian elites.62 Many 

soldiers find the idea appealing because they hope it will keep the 

PLA out of political turmoil while ensuring adequate funding and 

support. This will make the Chinese armed forces operate in a more 

stable and predictable environment more like the situation they 

believe their counterparts have in Western countries.63 Younger 

civilian leaders probably find it appealing because without strong 

military ties or experience, they are concerned about how to ensure 

Army loyalty and maintain Party control. Guojiahua offers the 

promise of an effective institutionalized mechanism and model of 

civilian control which has been lacking in modern China.64

In fact, the PLA has been undergoing an evolution from a 

strictly party army to a party-state army for at least 20 years now. 

At least legally the state bureaucracy has strengthened its power 

of appointment and power of the purse over the military, although 

there are ambiguities and potential tensions evident.65

 

The Power of Appointment. 

The key organ for controlling the PLA is the CCP’s Central 

Military Commission (CMC), and the top position in this body 

is that of chairman. It is the Party CMC that makes all senior 

PLA personnel promotion and appointment decisions. But who 

decides the membership of this body? According to article 22 of 

the CCP constitution, “Members of the CMC are decided by the 

Central Committee.”66 Nevertheless, according to the current 

PRC constitution (adopted in 1982), the executive and legislative 

branches of the state have jurisdiction over the selection and then 

overall supervision of senior military leaders. This constitution also 

provides for a State CMC in addition to the Party one (of course, these 

two CMCs are in reality one and the same).67 Hence, in September 

1989, when Deng Xiaoping submitted his formal letter of resignation 

as chair of the Party CMC, he also had to submit a separate letter of 

resignation because he would also officially be stepping down from 

his post as chair of the State CMC.68 According to article 62 of the 

PRC Constitution, the National People’s Congress (NPC) “elects the 

Chairman of the CMC and, upon nomination by the Chairman, [the 
440

power] to decide the choice of all other members of the CMC.” In 

addition, technically (according to PRC Constitution article 94) the 

Chairman of the CMC is “responsible to” the NPC and its Standing 

Committee. Moreover, the Standing Committee is charged with 

“supervising the work of the CMC” (article 67). Finally, it is China’s 

State Council that is constitutionally charged with “direct[ing] and 

administer[ing] the building of national defense” (article 89). 

The Power of the Purse. 

The defense budget must be approved by the NPC that is 

officially, according to the PRC Constitution (article 57), the “highest 

organ of state power.” And constitutionally, it is the NPC that has 

the power of the purse over national defense. According to Article 

62, the NPC has the power “to examine and approve the state budget 

and report on its implementation.”

Moreover, the PLA is becoming more dependent on state 

funding as extra-budgetary sources of income become fewer and 

fewer. The PLA tradition of self-sufficiency, while still important 

rhetorically, reflects reality less and less. By the 1980s this comprised 

two dimensions: internal efforts either PLA-wide or by specific units 

to supply food and equipment to soldiers, and business operations 

for profit sanctioned by the CCP leadership to allow the military 

to supplement its modest defense budget. Military operation of 

its own farms, factories, etc., has a long history in China, and this 

tradition of producing significant amounts of its own food and 

supplies continues.69 But by 1998, the business interests of the PLA 

were no longer considered desirable and the military was directed to 

divest its commercial concerns.

The ultimate goal of divestiture (yet to be realized) is to make 

the PLA totally dependent on state funds and as such this promotes 

guojiahua. According to article 35 of the 1997 National Defense 

Law: “The state shall ensure the necessary spending for national 

defense.” Divestiture then is best conceived of not as the outcome 

of a civil-military struggle but rather as simply another chapter in 

a larger drama witnessing the evolution of the PLA from a strictly 

party army to a party-state army. The decision to divest the PLA of 

its commercial operations appears to have been a consensus party-
441

army decision--each agreed it was detrimental to its interests.70

For the Party, the lesson of the PLA’s commercial activities was 

that the corruption it fostered undermined party supremacy. The 

corruption threatened to weaken the military’s loyalty/ obedience 

to the CCP. Ironically, one result of divestiture was to make the PLA 

more a national army--to make it more dependent on state coffers. 

The lesson of the PLA’s commercial ventures for the military itself 

was that it bred corruption that undermined morale, lessened 

combat readiness, and soiled the PLA’s public reputation.71

Lessons of Guojiahua for the Party. 

Officially, there is no contradiction or conflict between the PLA’s 

loyalty to Party, its loyalty to the state, its loyalty to the people, and 

its loyalty to socialism. Nevertheless, unofficially some tensions are 

recognized to exist at least between the PLA’s loyalty to the Party 

and its allegiance to the state. Because of this, it is important to hold 

the line on the primacy of the Army’s link to the Party. Evidence 

of this lesson is the regular and vocal condemnations of guojiahua 

and continued political indoctrination in the PLA. Current political 

work is instrumentalist--stressing obedience to the CCP rather 

than inculcating the substance of Marxism-Leninism-Mao Zedong 

Thought.72

Lessons of Guojiahua for the Army. 

The central official lesson for the Army is that the Party remains 

key but a quasi-official lesson for the PLA is that the state and 

people are of growing importance. Moreover, inherent tensions 

exist between the Army’s multiple allegiances to Party and State, 

and Party and people. However, for the time being these are not 

considered to be contradictory in the eyes of Chinese soldiers.73

All this growing attention to codification and constitutionalism 

results in an evolving and complex set of relationships between 

the Army, the Party, and the state. And one of the unintended 

consequences of this process is to highlight the state as an alternate 

focal point for the PLA’s allegiance.
442

CONCLUSION

The larger lessons drawn from these five episodes in civil-military 

relations are not terribly surprising for they tend to be consistent 

with the lessons drawn from specific critical episodes. The Party’s 

lessons from 75 years of civil-military relations focus on ensuring 

continued Army loyalty, while PLA lessons focus on protecting the 

military’s corporate interests, that are seen as increasingly distinct—

but certainly not divorced—from those of the CCP. Significantly, 

the tensions are not between the official and unofficial lessons of the 

Party but between the official and unofficial lessons of the Army.

Lessons for the Party. 

The official lesson for the CCP is that it must ensure the PLA’s 

unquestioned loyalty. To this end, it is essential to justify continuously 

the logic of CCP control of the gun. Moreover, unofficially there is a 

recognition that the Party takes the Army for granted at its own risk. 

Ellis Joffe’s concept of “conditional [PLA] compliance,” co-opted 

by James Mulvenon, seems most appropriate here: the Party must 

buy or otherwise continually win the Army’s loyalty. The results 

are increases (or at least no decreases) in defense spending and top 

Party leaders cultivating senior PLA officials. Another important 

unofficial lesson is that the intra-Party conflict becomes intra-army 

conflict. In late 1989, Deng Xiaoping reportedly remarked: “Turmoil 

in China will be unlike that in Eastern Europe or the Soviet Union. If 

it happens in China, one faction will control part of the army and the 

other another part. A civil war could then erupt.”74

Lessons for the Army. 

The official arguments made by Chinese military propagandists 

are that one cannot take the Army out of politics or the Party, or 

take the people out of the Army. A recent extremely authoritative 

articulation of the first tenet was published in the flagship academic 

journal of the PLA’s premier research institute for strategic and 

military affairs. The Academy of Military Sciences’ (AMS) journal, 

Chinese Military Science, published an article titled “Consistently 
443

uphold the Party’s absolute leadership over the Army and faithfully 

carry out the brilliant concept of the ‘three represents’.” While 

the title suggests nothing new, the article did contain at least one 

surprise. Wang Zongren, the Political Commissar of the AMS, in 

support of his point that there can be no such thing as a military 

without politics, went so far as to cite American military sociologist 

Morris Janowitz!75 Party leadership of the Army is essential. Further, 

close, positive, ties to the people are extremely important. Moreover, 

soldiers are like fish and the People are like the water—one cannot 

survive without the other.76

However, the official lessons for the PLA tend to contradict 

directly the unofficial lessons. One unofficial admonition is to keep 

the PLA out of Party infighting and above societal conflict. Yet, 

as Cheng Hsiao-shih observes under the party control model: “... 

conflicts between civilian and military elites are intra-Party elite 

conflicts first and civilian-military conflicts second.”77 Meanwhile, 

layoffs from state owned enterprises and disgruntled unemployed 

or underemployed workers in urban and rural areas threaten to put 

the PLA squarely in the midst of social upheaval again. Since the 

1980s, a possible solution has emerged--what promises to be a “final 

solution” to these seemingly unresolvable problems: guojiahua. It 

is up to the Party to determine what the PLA does, but if the CCP 

botches it in the eyes of soldiers, then the Army may bolt. The shift 

from dual role elites to functional differentiated elites means this is 

possible even if it is not highly likely. It is not necessary for PartyArmy ties to be severed, but it is certainly one extreme option.

So, why does the PLA stay a party army? The answer is 

because the PLA pretty much gets what it wants out of the existing 

relationship and the Party so far has skillfully conflated the party, 

state, and people. Thus, as Jeremy Paltiel notes: “The elaborate 

ambiguity of China’s legal and political institutions has shielded the 

Chinese armed forces from a choice between loyalty to the Party and 

obedience to the state.”78 Moreover, the people have only emerged 

as an obvious object of Army allegiance separate and distinct from 

the Party once in the past 75 years: for a few chaotic weeks in the 

spring of 1989.

The civil-military lessons of the Long March fade into the 

PLA’s institutional historical memory, and younger generations of 
444

Chinese soldiers recall the more recent and vivid firsthand lessons 

of the Cultural Revolution (including the Lin Biao incident), June 

4, and/or creeping guojiahua. The result may be a Party leadership 

that is becoming more paranoid about Army loyalty, and a military 

leadership that increasingly views the PLA’s relationship to the CCP 

as sacrosanct no longer. 

ENDNOTES - CHAPTER 13

1. Here I concur with David Shambaugh’s assertion that “civil-military 

relations” is the best term to use when examining military politics in contemporary 

China. I disagree with James Mulvenon’s contention that “party-military 

relations” is more apropos. See David Shambaugh, Modernizing China’s Military, 

Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, forthcoming, chapter 2; 

and James Mulvenon, “China: Conditional Compliance,” in Muthiah Alagappa, 

ed., Coercion and Governance: The Declining Political Role of the Military in Asia, 

Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2001, p. 317.

2. See, for example, Thomas Kampen, Mao Zedong, Zhou Enlai, and the Evolution 

of Chinese Communist Leadership, Copenhagen, Denmark: Nordic Institute for Asian 

Studies, 2000; and Benjamin Yang, From Revolution to Politics: Chinese Communists 

on the Long March, Boulder, CO: Westview, 1990. For some journalistic narrative 

studies of the Long March published in English, see Dick Wilson, The Long March, 

1935: The Epic of Chinese Communism’s Survival, New York: Viking, 1971; and 

Harrison Salisbury, The Long March: The Untold Story, London: Macmillan, 1985.

3. “Resolution on Certain Questions in the History of Our Party Since the 

Founding of the People’s Republic of China” adopted at the Sixth Plenum of the 

Eleventh Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party on June 27, 1981, 

translated in Foreign Broadcast Information Service (hereafter FBIS)-CHI, July 1, 

1981, p. K2.

4. Amos Perlmutter and William M. LeoGrande, “The Party in Uniform: 

Toward a Theory of Civil-Military Relations in Communist Political Systems,” 

American Political Science Review, Vol. 76, No. 4, December 1982.

5. Junshi Kexueyuan Junshi Lishi Yanjiubu, compiler, Zhongguo Renmin 

Jiefangjun de qishinian (Seventy years of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army), Beijing: 

Junshi Kexueyuan Chubanshe, 1997, p. 141. 

6. See, for example, Perlmutter and LeoGrande, “The Party in Uniform.”

7. Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjun de qishinian, p. 141.
445

8. Edgar Snow, Red Star Over China, New York: Random House, 1938, quotes 

on pp. 191, 194. Personnel also reportedly did carry out significant propaganda 

activities. Ibid., pp. 195-196. 

9. Fang Zhu, Gun Barrel Politics: Party-Army Relations in Mao’s China, Boulder, 

CO: Westview Press, 1998, pp. 111-114.

10. Yan Jiaqi and Gao Gao, Zhongguo ‘wenge’ shinian shi [a history of China’s ten 

year ‘cultural revolution’] n.p.: Zhongguo Wenti Yanjiu Chubanshe, n.d.

11. Li Ke and Chi Shengzhang, ‘Wenhua dageming’ zhong de Jiefangjun, (The 

Liberation Army in the Great Cultural Revolution) Beijing: Zhonggong Dangshi Ziliao 

Chubanshe, 1989.

12. Chen Zaidao, Chen Zaidao Huiyilu [Memoirs of Chen Zaidao] 2 vols, Beijing: 

Jiefangjun Chubanshe, 1988-1991; Zhang Yunsheng, Maojiawan jishi: Lin Biao mishu 

huiyilu [Maojiawan account: the memoirs of Lin Biao’s secretary], Beijing: Chunqiu 

Chubanshe, 1988. 

13. Fang Zhu, Gun Barrel Politics; Andrew Charles Scobell, Civil-Military 

Relations in the People’s Republic of China in Comparative Perspective, Doctoral 

dissertation, Columbia University, 1995, chapters 3 and 6. See also the earlier 

studies, including Ellis Joffe, “The Chinese Army After the Cultural Revolution: 

The Effects of Intervention,” China Quarterly, No. 55, July-September 1971, pp. 450-

77; and Harvey W. Nelson, The Chinese Military System: An Organizational Study of 

the Chinese People’s Liberation Army, Boulder: Westview Press, 1977, chaps. 2 and 

4.

14. Zhengzhi Xueyuan Zhonggong Dangshi Jiaoyanshi, ed., Zhongguo 

Gongchandang liushinian dashi jianjie [a survey of major events in sixty years of Chinese 

Communist Party history], Beijing: Guofang Daxue Chubanshe, 1986, p. 550. 

15. “Order of the Military Commission of the CCP Central Committee (April 

6, 1967) cited in Current Background [U.S. Consulate General Hong Kong] No. 852, 

May 6, 1968, pp. 1115-116.

16. Zhongfa, No. 288, cited in Survey of China Mainland Press [U.S. Consulate 

General Hong Kong] No. 4026, September 22, 1967, pp. 1-2; and Andrew Scobell, 

China’s Use of Military Force: Beyond the Great Wall and the Long March, New York: 

Cambridge University Press, 2003, chap. 5.

17. On the establishment of these committees, see Jurgen Domes, “The Role 

of the Military in the Formation of Revolutionary Committees, 1967-68,” China 

Quarterly, No. 44, October/December 1970, pp. 112-45.
446

18. “Resolution on Certain Questions in the History of Our Party,” p. K17.

19. Nelson, The Chinese Military System, p. 37.

20. Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force, chap. 5.

21. Gongchandang liushinian dashi jianjie, p. 552.

22. Ibid., p. 551.

23. Zhang Yunsheng, Maojiawan jishi, pp. 84-85.

24. “Resolution on Certain Questions in the History of Our Party,” p. K17.

25. For the official line, see Michael Y.M. Kau, The Lin Piao Affair: Power Politics 

and Military Coup, White Plains, New York: International Arts and Sciences Press, 

Inc., 1975; Yan Jiaqi and Gao Gao, Zhongguo ‘wenge’ shinian shi.

26. Frederick Teiwes and Warren Sun, The Tragedy of Lin Biao: Riding the Tiger 

During the Cultural Revolution, 1966-1971, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 

1996; Jin Qiu, The Culture of Power: The Lin Biao Incident in the Cultural Revolution, 

Stanford, CA: Stanford University, 1999.

27. Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force, chap. 5

28. Andrew Scobell, “Military Coups in the People’s Republic of China: 

Failure, Fabrication, or Fancy?” Journal of Northeast Asian Studies, Vol. XIV, No. 1, 

Spring 1995; and Fang Zhu, Gun Barrel Politics, chapter 7.

29. Fang Zhu, Gun Barrel Politics, p. 194.

30. Shiping Zheng, Party vs. State in Post-1949 China: The Institutional Dilemma, 

New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997, p. 115.

31. For some studies of the Tiananmen incident that focus on the PLA, 

see Timothy Brooks, Quelling the People: The Military Suppression of the Beijing 

Democracy Movement, New York: Oxford University Press, 1992; Michael T. 

Byrnes, “The Death of a People’s Army,” in George Hicks, ed., The Broken Mirror: 

China After Tiananmen, Harlow, Essex, United Kingdom: Longman Group, 1990; 

June Teufel Dreyer, “The People’s Liberation Army and the Power Struggle of 

1989,” Problems of Communism, Vol. 38, No. 5, September-October 1989; Harlan 

Jencks, “The Losses at Tiananmen Square,” Air Force Magazine, Vol. 72, November 

1989; Andrew Scobell, “The Chinese Military and Tiananmen: Why the People’s 

Army Fired on the People,” Armed Forces and Society, Vol. 18, No. 2, Spring 2002; 
447

Andrew Scobell, “Why the People’s Army Fired on the People,” in Roger V. Des 

Forges, et al., eds., Chinese Democracy and the Crisis of 1989: Chinese and American 

Reflections, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993. See also Zhang 

Liang (pseud.), ed., Zhongguo ‘liu si’ zhen xiang [The true story of China’s ‘June 4’] 2 

vols., n.p.: Mingjing Chubanshe, 2001, and the translation: Zhang Liang, compiler, 

The Tiananmen Papers, edited by Andrew J. Nathan and Perry Link, New York: 

Public Affairs, 2001.

32. Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjun de qishinian, p. 657.

33. Der Spiegel (in German), June 5, 1989, in FBIS-CHI, June 7, 1989, p. 30.

34. Jieyan yi ri(jingxuan ben) [One day under martial law--selections], Beijing: 

Jiefangjun Wenyi Chubanshe, 1990; and Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force, chap. 

7.

35. Review of The Tiananmen Papers in Parameters, Vol. XXXI, No. 3, Autumn 

2001, p. 166. 

36. Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjun de qishinian, p. 660. For the full official text 

translated into English, see “Address to Officers at the Rank of General and Above 

in Command of the Troops Enforcing Martial Law in Beijing, June 9, 1989,” in 

Selected Works of Deng Xiaoping, Vol. III (1982-1992), Beijing: Foreign Languages 

Press, 1994, pp. 294-299.

37. Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force, chap. 3.

38. Ibid., chap. 7.

39. “Address to Officers . . .,” pp. 294, 295

40. Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjun de qishinian, p. 657.

41. Scobell, “Why the People’s Army Fired on the People.”

42. Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjun de qishinian, p. 660.

43. Jieyan yi ri, p. 223.

44. For one of the first such statements, see “Speech to Comrades Who Attended 

an Enlarged Meeting of the Military Commission of the Central Committee of the 

Communist Party of China,” November 12, 1989, in Selected Works of Deng Xiaoping 

(1982-1992), Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1994, p. 323.

45. Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjun de qishinian, p. 660; “Address to Officers . . .,” 
448

p. 296.

46. See Wei Wei, “Who are the Most Beloved People? [shiu shi zui ke’ai de ren?]” 

Renmin Ribao, April 11, 1951. For analysis of the significance of this story, see 

Philip West, “The Korean War and the Criteria of Significance in Chinese Popular 

Culture,” The Journal of American-East Asian Relations, Vol. 1, No. 4, Winter 1992, 

pp. 383-408. 

47. 200 nian: Zhongguo de guofang [Year 2000: China’s national defense], Beijing: 

Zhongguo Renmin Gongheguo Guowuyuan Xinwen Bangongshi, October 2000, 

p. 42. There was, however, some disapproval expressed by top soldiers that this 

duty was inappropriate for PLA members.

48. John Pomfret, “A Long March to Respect; Chinese Military Uses 

Anniversary to Polish Its Image,” Washington Post, October 2, 1999.

49. Scobell, “Why the People’s Army Fired on the People.” See also Jeremy 

T. Paltiel, “PLA Allegiance on Parade: Civil-Military Relations in Transition,” The 

China Quarterly, No. 143, September 1995, p. 787.

50. Perlmutter and LeoGrande, “The Party in Uniform,”; Monte R. Bullard, 

China’s Political-Military Evolution: The Party and the Military in the PRC, Boulder, 

CO: Westview Press, 1985.

51. The best evidence of this is the regular condemnation that appears in 

the official media. For a recent scholarly rebuttal, see Lieutenant General Wen 

Zongren, “Shizhong jianchi dangdui jundui de juedui lingdao zhong shi luxing 

‘sange daibiao’ de guanghui sixiang [Consistently uphold the Party’s absolute 

leadership over the army and faithfully carry out the brilliant concept of the ‘three 

represents’], Zhongguo junshi kexue, October 1, 2001, pp. 8-10.

52. Of course this outcome would not be “ideal” in the minds of many CCP 

leaders! For an illuminating discussion of civil-military relations in contemporary 

China within the context of constitutionalism, see Jeremy T. Paltiel, “Civil-Military 

Relations in China: Obstacle to Constitutionalism?” Journal of Chinese Law, Vol. 9, 

No. 1, Spring 1995, pp. 35-65.

53. Shiping Zheng, Party vs. State in Post-1949 China.

54. Scobell, China’s Use of Military Force, chap. 3.

55. Major Nicholas R. Reisdorff, “The People’s Army?: Evolving Civil-Military 

Relations in China” unpublished manuscript, January 1999, pp. 69-70. The author 

would like to thank Colonel Susan Puska for bringing this paper to his attention.
449

56. Wen Zongren, “Shizhong jianchi dangdui jundui de juedui lingdao,” p. 4.

57. Ibid., p. 7. 

58. Author’s interviews with analysts at PLA affiliated research institutes in 

Beijing, May 2002.

59. The prime adherents to this approach are Ellis Joffe and Harlan W. Jencks. 

See, respectively, The Chinese Army After Mao, Cambridge: Harvard University 

Press, 1987; and From Muskets to Missiles: Politics and Professionalism in the Chinese 

Army, 1945-1981, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1982. Other scholars have tried to 

frame professionalism in a more Chinese and/or communist context. June Dreyer 

suggests the term “professionalist” is more suitable. See “Civil-Military Relations 

in the People’s Republic of China,” Comparative Strategy, Vol. 5, No. 1, 1985.

60. Shiping Zheng, Party vs. State in Post-1949 China, p 234. To quote Zheng 

exactly: “What has military professionalism got to do with it [explaining the PLA’s 

actions in the spring of 1989]?”

61. June Teufel Dreyer, “The Modernization of China’s Military,” Problems of 

Communism, Vol. XXXIX, No. 3, May-June 1990, pp. 104-108.

62. Author’s interviews with analysts at civilian and military research institutes 

in Beijing, May 1998 and May 2002. Of course, it is impossible to gauge accurately 

the proportion of PLA officers who hold this view. For more analysis of the beliefs 

of PLA members, see Michael D. Swaine, The Military and Political Succession in 

China: Leadership, Institutions, Beliefs, Santa Monica, RAND, 1992, Part IV. 

63. “After Deng, What?: Reconsidering the Prospects for a Democratic 

Transition in China,” Problems of Post-Communism, Vol. 44, No. 5, September/

October 1997, pp. 26-27.

64. Andrew Scobell, Chinese Army Building in the Era of Jiang Zemin, Carlisle 

Barracks, PA: U.S. Army War College, August 2000, pp. 16-18. As Cheng Hsiaoshih noted in 1990: “party control of the military has never been institutionalized 

in the PRC.” See his Party-Army Relations in the PRC and Taiwan: The Paradoxes of 

Control, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1990, p. 51.

65. Shambaugh, Modernizing China’s Military, chap. 2. Paltiel remarks on the 

legal ambiguities, too. See Civil Military Relations in China,” and “PLA Allegiance 

on Parade,” p. 787.

66. See the discussion in Shiping Zheng, Party vs. State in Post-Mao China, p. 

248.
450

67. Cheng Hsiao-shih, Party-Army Relations in the PRC and Taiwan, p 46. For 

the logic of this, see a commentary on the constitutionalism published in 1993 

quoted in Paltiel, “Civil-Military Relations in China,” pp. 48-49. Paltiel calls the 

State CMC “legal fiction” (p. 49).

68. “A Letter to the Politburo of the Central Committee of the Communist 

Party of China,” in Selected Works of Deng Xiaoping, Vol. III, pp. 312-313.

69. Edward L. Dreyer, “Military Continuities: the PLA and Imperial China,” 

in William W. Whitson, ed., The Military and Political Power in China in the 1970s, 

New York: Praeger, 1972.

70. Mulvenon, “China: Conditional Compliance,” pp. 328-331.

71. Andrew Scobell, Going Out of Business: Divesting the Commercial Interests 

of Asia’s Socialist Soldiers, Occasional Paper No. 3 Politics and Security Series, 

Honolulu: East-West Center, January 2000. 

72. James C. Mulvenon, Professionalization of the Senior Chinese Officer Corps: 

Trends and Implications, Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1997, p. 73.

73. This seems evident from May 2002 Interviews, and the comments of PLA 

officers quoted in Shambaugh, Modernizing China’s Military, chap. 2.

74. Willy Wo-Lap Lam, China After Deng Xiaoping: The Power Struggle in Beijing 

Since Tiananmen, Hong Kong: P.A. Professional Consultants, Ltd., 1995, p. 220.

75. Wen Zongren, “Shizhong jianchi dangdui jundui de juedui lingdao 

zhong,” p. 9.

76. Ibid., p. 7.

77. Cheng Hsiao-shih, The Paradoxes of Control, p. 5. 

78. Paltiel, “Civil-Military Relations in China,” p. 64. 
451

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

KENNETH W. ALLEN is a Senior Analyst at the Center for 

Naval Analyses Corporation, a nonprofit research and analysis 

organization. He was previously a Senior Associate at the Henry L. 

Stimson Center and the Executive Vice-President of the U.S.-Taiwan 

Business Council. During his 21-year career in the U.S. Air Force, he 

was an Assistant Air Force Attaché in China and also worked for the 

Defense Intelligence Agency. He has written extensively on China’s 

air force and China’s foreign military relations. 

DENNIS J. BLASKO served 23 years in the U.S. Army as a Military 

Intelligence Officer and Foreign Area Officer specializing in China. 

Prior to duty as an Army Attache in China and Hong Kong from 

1992-96, he served in infantry units in Germany, Italy, and Korea. 

Mr. Blasko is a graduate of the U.S. Military Academy and the Naval 

Postgraduate School. He is an Adjunct Professor at the University of 

North Florida and research consultant.

LAURIE BURKITT is a Research Aide for the editorial board at the 

Washington Post. She has served as a research assistant in Asian 

studies at the American Enterprise Institute. In order to improve mine 

safety regulations in China, Ms. Burkitt reviewed grant proposals for 

the U.S. Department of Labor in the fall of 2002. Her experience in 

China ranges from teaching English to working at the U.S. Consulate 

in Chengdu. She received her B.A. from the University of Michigan 

and her M.A. from Columbia University. 

RON CHRISTMAN is a Senior Intelligence Analyst in the Studies 

Support Division, Defense Warning Office (DWO), Defense 

Intelligence Agency (DIA). In that position he provides direct 

analytic support to OSD defense planning on Asian security issues. 

He received the Arthur S. Flemming Award for innovation in 

government service during 1999, and was DIA’s Intelligence Officer 

of the Year in 1996. Mr. Christman served in 1995 as an Assistant 

to the Director for China Affairs in the Office of the Secretary of 

Defense for International Security Affairs. He received an M.A. in 

International Affairs and East Asian Studies from the American 
University’s School of International Service in 1989, and B.A. in 

Political Science and Organizational Behavior and Management 

from Brown University in 1983.

BERNARD D. COLE is Professor of International History at the 

National War College in Washington, DC, where he has served 

on the faculty since 1993. His areas of expertise are Sino-American 

relations and maritime strategy. Dr. Cole’s first book, Gunboats and 

Marines: The U.S. Navy in China, was published by the University 

of Delaware Press and his latest book, The Great Wall at Sea: China’s 

Navy Enters the 21st Century, was published in October 2001 by the 

Naval Institute Press. He has also published many articles, book 

reviews, and essays, including “The Chinese People’s Liberation 

Army and Twenty-First Century Warfare” and “The PLAN at 50: 

Lessons Learned About Naval Warfare in Beijing.” He has recently 

completely a monograph on China’s energy sector. Dr. Cole served 

30 years as a surface warfare officer in the Navy.

JOHN F. CORBETT, JR., is a Senior Analyst with CENTRA 

Technology, Inc., specializing in China, Taiwan, and Asian security 

issues. He retired as a colonel after serving 29 years as a U.S. Army 

Military Intelligence/China Foreign Area Officer. Colonel Corbett’s 

last Army position was as Senior Country Director for China and 

Taiwan in the Office of the Secretary of Defense for International 

Security Affairs. During his military career, he served in a variety of 

operational, intelligence, and policy positions in the 82d Airborne 

Division, U.S. Army Pacific, and Defense Intelligence Agency. 

Colonel Corbett also served as an Army Attaché in Beijing from 

1986-88 and in Hong Kong from 1992-98. He has published articles 

in The China Quarterly and The China Strategic Review. Colonel Corbett 

is a graduate of the U.S. Military Academy, the Armed Forces Staff 

College, and the U.S. Army War College, and holds M.A. degrees in 

Political Science and Asian Studies from the University of Hawaii.

ARTHUR S. DING is a Research Fellow at the Institute of Interna–

tional Relations of National Chengchi University in Taipei, Taiwan. 

Dr. Ding’s published works include China’s Changing Military Theory, 

452
1979-1991(Taipei: Tangshan Publishing House, 1996), Mainland 

China’s Defense Industry Conversion (Taipei: Mainland China Affairs 

Council, 1996), Challenges in the Hu Jintao Era (Taipei: Xin xin wen 

publisher, 2002), and articles in numerous journals. Dr. Ding 

received his B.A. at the National Taiwan University and his Ph.D. in 

Political Science at the University of Notre Dame.

JUNE TEUFEL DREYER is Professor and Chair of the Department 

of Political Science at the University of Miami, Coral Gables, Florida. 

She is a Senior Fellow of the Foreign Policy Research Institute 

and was appointed by Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert as 

Commissioner of the United States-China Economic and Security 

Review Commission. Dr. Dreyer formerly served as Senior Far East 

Specialist at the Library of Congress and Asia advisor to the Chief of 

Naval Operations. Her research work centers on ethnic minorities; 

the Chinese military; Asian-Pacific regional relations; and crossstrait relations. A frequent visitor to the Far East, Dr. Dreyer is the 

author of China’s Forty Millions: Minority Nationalities and National 

Integration in the People’s Republic of China, published by Harvard 

University Press, and China’s Political System: Modernization and 

Tradition, published by Longman and now in its fourth edition. Her 

articles have appeared in numerous scholarly journals. Dr. Dreyer 

received her Ph.D. from Harvard University.

PAUL H. B. GODWIN retired as Professor of International Affairs at 

the National War College, Washington, DC, in the summer of 1998. 

He is currently a consultant and serves as a non-resident scholar in 

the Atlantic Council’s Asia-Pacific Program. Professor Godwin was 

previously Professor of Asian Studies at the Air University, Maxwell 

Air Force Base, Alabama, and has served as an analyst with the 

Central Intelligence Agency. In the fall of 1987, he was a visiting 

professor at the Chinese National Defense University. His teaching 

and research specialties focus on Chinese defense and security 

policies. Professor Godwin’s most recent publications are: “PartyMilitary Relations,” in Merle Goldman and Roderick MacFarquhar 

(eds.), The Paradox of China’s Post-Mao Reforms (Cambridge: Harvard 

University Press, 1999); “The PLA Faces the Twenty-First Century: 

453
454

Reflections on Technology, Doctrine, Strategy and Operations,” in 

James R. Lilley and David Shambaugh (eds.), China’s Military Faces 

the Future (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 1999); “China’s Nuclear Forces: 

An Assessment,” Current History, September 1999; and “China’s 

Defense Modernization: Aspirations and Capabilities,” Washington 

Journal of Modern China, Spring 2000; and “China, America and 

Missile Defense: Conflicting National Interests,” Current History, 

September 2000. He graduated from Dartmouth College with a 

degree in International Relations, and received his Ph.D. in Political 

Science from the University of Minnesota. 

JAMES R. LILLEY is a Resident Fellow in Asian studies at the 

American Enterprise Institute. Mr. Lilley was the U.S. Ambassador 

to the People’s Republic of China from 1989 to 1991 and to the 

Republic of Korea from 1986 to 1989. He served as Assistant Secretary 

of Defense for International Security Affairs from 1991 to 1993. Mr. 

Lilley wrote the forewords for the AEI publications Chinese Military 

Modernization, Over the Line, and China’s Military Faces the Future. He 

is also the coeditor of Beyond MFN: Trade with China and American 

Interests and Crisis in the Taiwan Strait.

EDWARD C. O’DOWD is a retired military officer. He has extensive 

experience in Asia.

ANDREW SCOBELL was born and raised in Hong Kong. He joined 

the Strategic Studies Institute (SSI) in August 1999 and is SSI’s expert 

on Asia. He taught at the University of Louisville, Kentucky, and 

Rutgers University, New Jersey. He is the author of China’s Use 

of Military Force: Beyond the Great Wall and the Long March, being 

published by Cambridge University Press. Dr. Scobell holds a Ph.D. 

in Political Science from Columbia University.

MARK A. STOKES is Country Director for the People’s Republic 

of China and Taiwan within the Office of the Secretary of Defense, 

International Security Affairs. He is the author of China’s Strategic 

Modernization: Implications for the United States published by the U.S. 

Army War College, Strategic Studies Institute, in 1999. Lieutenant 
455

Colonel Stokes has served as a Signal Intelligence and Electronic 

Combat Support Officer in the Philippines and West Berlin; as an 

Assistant Air Attaché at the U.S. Defense Attaché Office in Beijing; 

and as the Asia-Pacific Regional Planner within the Headquarters 

U.S. Air Force Operations and Plans Directorate. He holds graduate 

degrees in International Relations and Asian Studies from Boston 

University and the Naval Postgraduate School. He received his 

formal Chinese Mandarin language training from the Defense 

Language Institute and the Diplomatic Language Services.

JOHN J. TKACIK, JR., has been Research Fellow in Asian Studies at 

The Heritage Foundation specializing in China since 2001. Of his 24-

year career in the U.S. State Department, 15 were spent in China- and 

Taiwan-related assignments, including tours in Taipei, Peking (now 

Beijing), Hong Kong and Guangzhou, and in the Department as 

Chief of China Analysis in the Bureau of Intelligence and Research. 

He left the State Department in 1994 and was Vice-President of 

RJR-Nabisco China based in Hong Kong. In 1998, he returned to 

Washington where he formed a small consulting operation called 

“China Business Intelligence” which published the “Taiwan Weekly 

Business Bulletin” for China Online. He has a BSFS in International 

Relations from Georgetown University and a Master’s in Public 

Administration from Harvard University.

LARRY M. WORTZEL is Vice-President for Foreign Policy and 

Defense Studies for the Heritage Foundation and a member of the 

U.S.-China Security Review Commission. He retired in November 

1999 as a colonel in the U.S. Army after 32 years of military service. 

During his military career, he served in infantry and intelligence 

positions in Morocco, Korea, Thailand, Singapore, and China. Dr. 

Wortzel also served in the Office of the Secretary of Defense, the U.S. 

Pacific Command, and on the Department of the Army Staff. His 

last position before retiring was as Director of the Strategic Studies 

Institute at the U.S. Army War College. Dr. Wortzel is the author of 

two books on China and has edited and contributed to two other 

books, as well as many journal articles and monographs. Dr. Wortzel 

earned a B.A. from Columbus College, Georgia, and an M.A. and 
456

Ph.D. in Political Science at the University of Hawaii.
U.S. ARMY WAR COLLEGE

Major General Robert R. Ivany

Commandant

*****

STRATEGIC STUDIES INSTITUTE

Director

Professor Douglas C. Lovelace, Jr.

Director of Research

Dr. Steven Metz

Editors

Ms. Laurie Burkitt

Dr. Andrew Scobell

Dr. Larry M. Wortzel

Director of Publications

Ms. Marianne P. Cowling

Publications Assistant

Ms. Rita A. Rummel

*****

Composition

Ms. Gretchen S. Smith