This is a legend about a father, a war about a father.
His life was like a tank, always charging forward, always fighting. In the end, that tank could go no farther, and came to a stop. His life was a condensed version of the Republic, its history of development. He was an ordinary soldier. I don't know how to define the theme of this book about my father, but through this work, I will think seriously about these questions: the three-year civil war, the Korean War, and the development of the Great Northern Wilderness. My father's generation witnessed and built the Republic. They quietly devoted their lives to its founding and growth. Some have passed away, while others are about to go.
These witnesses and builders of the Republic were captivated by countless revolutionary slogans and lofty ideals, like “a house upstairs and downstairs, electric lights and telephones.” In battle after battle, countless ordinary soldiers fought other ordinary sons of farming families. Then, on land stained red with their comrades' blood, they built their own beautiful home, the Great Northern Wilderness, from scratch with their own hands. Later came the Anti-Rightist Campaign, □, □, and one movement after another. These idealistic soldiers ultimately became targets of revolution and victims of persecution. Yet they bore it all without resentment or complaint, right up until they died.
What kind of spirit is that?
