The Graybeards - Korean War Veterans Association

WHITE ROBES
Refugees or Reds
Traumatic pangs of conscience for the attacking pilots
August, 1950
By early August, 1950, the momentum
of the North Korean’s threepronged
drive into the south had
proved immensely successful. They had
completed their end-around on the west and
south coasts, their east coast drive had progressed
far enough to force evacuation of
USAF fighter squadrons from Pohang air
base, and their central thrust was threatening
to cross the Naktong River to knock on
our last bastion of defense ... our home base
at Taegu.
Their objective, to surround Taegu, then
march on Pusan and have control of the
entire peninsula, seemed just a few days
short of accomplishment. We were in deep
trouble!
Despite our intensive firepower from
dawn to dark every day, we just didn’t seem
to have enough airplanes or pilots to properly
stem the Red tide.
As our defensive perimeter continued to
shrink around Taegu, we became suddenly
aware of the massed exodus of Korean
refugees ahead of the battles. But the full
impact of their presence did not strike home
to me until the first few days of August,
1950, when the stream of white-clothed
humanity began to collect on the west bank
of the Naktong River.
Only then, as I sat in the narrow confines
of my F-51’s cockpit in relative ‘comfort’,
patrolling the river to prevent their crossing,
did I begin to feel the weight of the decisions
which were suddenly forced upon me
.... decisions for which my years of Air
Unsung Heroes of the Korean Air War
by
Duane E. ‘Bud’ Biteman,
Lt Col, USAF, Ret
Force training had neglected to prepare me
... and which violently contradicted my
Christian upbringing.
Could I bring myself to fire my machine
guns at those refugees in order to keep them
from crossing the Naktong River?
We knew that the Red army troops had
dressed many of their soldiers as refugees,
who then infiltrated behind our lines to
attack from the rear at opportune times. But
we knew, too, that these thousands upon
thousands of old people and young children
had been forced from their homes in Seoul,
or Suwon, then from Taejon, and Nonsan
and Kumsan, and all of the villages in
between ... carrying all that was left of their
life-long possessions.
Many were Christians, for Korea had
responded to missionary zeal for scores of
years ...I couldn’t know how many could be
praying to my Jesus for deliverance ... at the
exact instant that I was asking the very same
Jesus for divine guidance, when the time
came, that I might have to pull the trigger on
them ....!!
The Naktong River near H’amchang was
extremely shallow in August, shallow
enough to wade in many places. We knew
that these crossings must be closely
watched, because these were the areas the
North Koreans would attempt to cross.
There was no question in our minds concerning
our response to soldiers trying to
cross the river ...we would stop them at all
costs. But the subject of refugees was something
else ... we had no orders, nor even firm
‘guidance’ from higher headquarters on the
subject; ‘just a sort of a general unspoken
consensus that our position at Taegu would
be very seriously jeopardized if and when
the mass of refugees crossed the Naktong
River... because there was no doubt in any
of our minds that the exodus would be heavily
infiltrated by armed North Korean
troops, against whom we could have little
defense once they crossed the protective
Naktong river.
No one would take the responsibility to
issue a specific instruction on just how the
refugees were to be stopped!
What I saw on that one bright August,
early morning mission caused me to pull up
into a wide, sweeping left turn, to place my
flight in a parallel line with the river, where
I immediately dropped down until I was
barely ten feet above the sand ... and a scant
yard over the heads of hundreds upon hundreds
of white-robed men, women and children
standing in the middle of the river.
They stopped where they were, and
ducked as we roared over, then those nearest
the east bank scrambled forward, while
most of the others stayed where they were
while we circled low for another pass.
This time, though, I fired a long burst of
machine gun fire into the open water ahead
of those who had stopped in mid-stream.
They immediately jumped up and
returned to the west bank; but as soon as I
would pull up to a higher altitude for a
wider, more comfortable circle, a few
would start down the bank, intent upon
crossing while they thought we were not
looking. Their bright white clothing stood
out vividly against the reddish, sandy river
bed, and we could observe their movements
quite easily. So I would quickly roll over
into another low pass, firing into the water
ahead of them as I went by, and they would
turn back and run to the river bank.
I prayed that none would call my hand,
and try to cross after seeing my warning
bursts of gunfire, because at that point in
time I honestly did not know if I could fire
directly at them to stop their crossing.
We patrolled that shallow portion of the
river for a couple of hours, circling the shallowest
areas at 500 to 800 feet altitude, then
dropping down to fire a short burst into the
river whenever a few foolhardy souls would
start to move across. I knew that sooner or
later some would defy my warnings,
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The Graybeards