War Trash

On the early morning of June 12, about forty tanks and armored perso

Inside the compound the prisoners got into the trenches to defend our position.

At eight sharp a gunshot shattered the silence. At once two columns of perso

rifles and machine guns burst out crackling; grenades and gas bombs went off here and there. The explosions thundered while greenish gas was billowing all over the place.

As Chinese, the four of us were not allowed to take part in the combat; ten men had been assigned to protect us. While I was wondering how the Koreans could possibly fight such an unequal battle, the members of the assault brigade sprang out of their trenches, wielding their spears and cudgels, and charged the enemy. They shouted "Mansai! Mansai!," which means "long live" in Korean, an exclamation somewhat like "hurray." As they were attacking, machine guns began raking them. A few men got close enough to stab at the GIs, but most were shot down before they could reach them. Several of their gasoline bombs hit the perso

Some Koreans sang their army's fighting song while confronting the GIs, who charged at them with bayonets and even fired at them point-blank. Many of the prisoners shouted in English, "Death to GIs!" and "Down with Truman!" Within live minutes all the men of the assault brigade had fallen, lost in the dark smoke and the greenish gas. Crazed by the sight, Wu Gaochen was about to leap out to join the battle, but two Koreans pulled him down, saying if he got killed they would be punished.

About twenty minutes later the gunfire subsided. The GIs began rounding us up. They came into our tent, pulled us out of the trench by the collars, and forced us to go to the front yard. When we got there, I saw that most of the tents had burned down; two were still standing but in flames. There were numerous scorched spots on the ground, and everywhere were cartridge cases, shrapnel, bamboo poles, shards of glass, and dead and wounded bodies, from which blood was still flowing. The air was so heavy with nauseous gas, smoke, and diesel fuel that we couldn't breathe without coughing. A few of us stepped aside to help our wounded comrades, but the GIs stopped us. The assault brigade had consisted of about four hundred men, the best among the Koreans; they were all lying on the ground, scattered like bales of rags, some still smoldering. At least half of them had been killed. A few were screaming for help like small boys crying for mama. One of them managed to sit up; he seemed to have suffered a concussion – his eyes, ears, and nose were bleeding. Wordlessly he was flailing his arms in every direction as though blind.

Meantime, a group of medics wearing Red Cross armbands were busy treating the wounded GIs, carrying them away on stretchers or bandaging them on the spot. None of the medical perso

With the aid of a Korean prisoner, the Americans singled out us Chinese and took us to a corner where about thirty Korean representatives and officers were sitting on their haunches. They made us squat down in the same ma

"The top jail" confining us was a standard prison house surrounded by a high stone wall capped with rolls of barbed wire. Inside the jail it was dark, cold, and damp; the cells were guarded by GIs around the clock. All the new arrivals were shut in solitary confinement here. We were not allowed to stand up or lie down in the daytime. All day long each of us had to sit on a reed mat, four by seven feet, that almost covered his entire cell floor. I was given a tattered blanket, which I wrapped around my legs during the day. Having nothing else to do, I often rubbed the wounded area in my thigh to help the blood circulate.

I was afraid I might develop arthritis in such a damp, cold place, so I often sat on my heels. Some guards would snarl at me when they found me in this posture, and would order me to sit down fully on the mat. Sometimes when they were not around, I would do a few squats.

Although we were "high-ranking prisoners" now, our food was the same – two barley balls a day, with a ladle of soy sauce soup in which sometimes floated a few bits of cabbage leaves or mustard greens. In a corner of my cell sat a toilet pail with a lid on it; the pail was collected every morning by a Korean man. There was no lamp in my one-windowed room, so as soon as dusk fell, I had to go to bed with my head on my shoes stacked together as a pillow. The cell was teeming with fleas, which would torment me viciously until around midnight, after which they'd subside. I guessed they must have become sluggish after they were engorged. But little by little I grew accustomed to them and could go to sleep soon after I lay down.

My enthusiasm about the collective struggle had begun to wane. At heart I was starting to doubt the wisdom of abducting General Bell. True, we had created a piece of international news and provided ammunition for the Korean and the Chinese governments, but at what cost? Our living conditions had definitely deteriorated, and hundreds of men in Compound 76 had been killed or wounded. Why hadn't we thought about the consequences beforehand? Was any news story worth so many lives? Who would get credit for the "victory"? Of course the Communist leaders here, not those men buried underground. The enemy was brutal, yet we could have avoided being hurt by them. The real task for the leaders here should have been to make sure that all the POWs survived unharmed. Any effort other than that must have had ulterior motives. Lonesome and miserable, I felt I had been used too, though compared with the dead and the wounded, I was lucky.

In this special jail corporal punishment was commonplace. I often heard prisoners scream while GIs hit them with sticks and belts. I was not often beaten or kicked like others, because I didn't talk back. One morning I was taken out for interrogation. I wouldn't tell the Americans how we communicated with the Koreans, so they led me into a windowless room. In came two strapping GIs, one toting a rifle while the other hauled a fire hose. "We're going to do some cleaning today," said the one holding the nozzle, smirking. He then turned it on. A column of water hit my stomach and hurled me backward. My head banged into the wall so hard that I blacked out instantly.