Chungking is a rocky, corrugated tongue of land sticking out at the junction of the swift-flowing Kialing and Yangtze rivers. One evening last week, as the moon painted the rivers silver to guide the invading Japanese planes once more to their mark, the tongue squirmed and writhed in pain as never before.
Under the silent city, waiting for the bombers in the half-light of the world's largest dugout (estimated capacity: 30,000), hundreds of Chinese died. They died not of bombs but of suffocation, in mad frenzy, as they clawed and tore at each other to fight their way to fresh...
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