TYPHOON EXPECTED

A Red China Foreign Office spokesman last week charged French air and ground forces in Indo-China with "provocative attacks on Chinese territory." Warned the Reds: "Our border troops have been instructed to hold the frontier firmly and to deliver counterblows to the provocateurs." In Moncay, the only remaining French-held outpost on China's border, TIME Correspondent Eric Gibbs reported an ominous quiet:

The dawn air is heavy and still; a typhoon is expected. From the citadel high over Moncay, the reveil sounds. Men of the French Foreign Legion tumble out of bed muttering in French, German, all the languages of Europe. Down in the dark valley across the shallow, gravelly Song Kalong River, dividing line between Indo-China and Red China, there is also a stirring. Guards in new olive-green uniforms are running up a red flag with one big white star in the corner and four small stars. They are Chinese Communist soldiers, three battalions of them in the little town of Tonghing.

On their side of the border the French run up their flag. Then a Legionnaire unlocks an iron-barred gate which at night closes one end of the narrow steel bridge over the Song Kalong. The bridge is Indo-China's last link with China. Northward the whole frontier lies wide open.

Commuting Comfort. Across the bridge barefoot people in tall conical hats come pat-patting with heavy bundles and baskets slung from bamboo poles. They are on their way to work. Each Chinese commuter carries a special pass issued by the French Surete. One side is printed in French, signed by a French official; the other side is printed in Chinese for the convenience of Tonghing's Communist police.

The Communist control point is at the end of the bridge, but on the French side the check point is set just far enough back to leave the local gambling house in no man's land. When a new game of fantan or mah-jongg is about to begin, gamblers from the Chinese side quickly pad over the bridge without having to pass the French check point. Every afternoon at 3 o'clock Tonghing's postman comes across to collect the mail. China's postal service there is so bad that many Tonghingers, and even people as far away as Canton, have their mail addressed to them care of Moncay.

Furniture for the Communists. A visitor to Moncay from the Chinese side is Father Herman, who was born in France but looks like a Chinese in his black silk robes and white beard cut Mandarin-fashion. A Roman Catholic missionary, he runs a school, orphanage, convent and dispensary in a little village about 2 1/2 miles from Tonghing. The local Communist authorities recently requisitioned Father Herman's chairs, tables and beds for troops arriving from the north. When

Father Herman asked permission to visit Moncay. the Communists objected, but the local population is strong for him, and the Communists yielded.

The Communists also obstruct Chinese who want treatment in Moncay's French hospital, but here, too, popular pressure has so far prevented, them from adopting rigid measures.

Social Customs. In the evening, a German Legionnaire stands at attention saluting the French tricolor as it flutters from a tall flagstaff. Another German Legionnaire hauls it down. It might be for the last time. But in the Cercle Sportif, the club by the river bank, the French continue to act as they have always done. The Chinese servant is still fairly polite, calls people Honorable or Venerable One as he shuffles around with bottles of cognac and Perrier water.

In the gathering darkness a French officer's voice rings out sharply: "From Saigon I have a letter inviting me to join a Vietnamo-French society. Just imagine it--not a Franco-Vietnamese society, but a Vietnamo-French society. Really, that's too much. Of course, I refused."

It is almost dark in the gambling house by the bridge, but a fantan game is going on. Chinese and Nungs (residents of Moncay region, born in Indo-China but of Chinese origin and speaking the Cantonese dialect) are putting their piasters on what they think is the winning number. Little shops are open, too. Come what may, these people are not going to Haiphong. If the French pull out and the Communists move in, they expect to keep on doing business.

Night Attack. Up in the citadel the distant sound of mortar fire awakes the garrison commander. He snaps on a flashlight, hurriedly cranks the field telephone. But the duty officer can only guess from the direction of the noise that the attack is at Tanmai, a small fort west of Moncay manned by about 40 Vietnamese soldiers. Tanmai has no radio or telephone.

The mortar explosions come faster. Should Moncay garrison send out a relief column? Impossible! With one company away on an island-clearing operation, there's only one company of Legionnaires left to hold Moncay citadel, as the Viet Minh doubtless know. Towards morning the explosions stop. The air is warm and heavy and very still. The meteorological report forecasts a typhoon.

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