Sep/Oct 2005 - Korean War Veterans Association

66
had been, that we had been given the pass,
and told to go to an American hospital, and
we would like to have something to eat and
spend the day with them. We were well
received and taken to a very fine house on
the side of a hill, under a very large tree.
There were a number of Chinese soldiers
around the house, preparing to eat. We were
given food (rice) and ate with them. After
eating we were taken to a room in the house
and told this was our room. The room was
about 10 feet by 12 feet, and had a hard
wood floor, which was heated. There were
regular windows in the room with frames
that would open. We lay down and went to
sleep. We were awakened about noon by a
tapping on the window at the back of the
house. I went to the window and saw a
Chinese soldier outside who had a small
package, wrapped in newspaper, in his
hands. He was smiling and making motions
for me to open the window, which I did.
He handed me the package, placed his
forefinger, vertically, over his lips in the
universal motion that says, “Be quiet.” He
then departed around the comer of the
house and I quietly closed the window.
When I took the package from the
Chinese soldier, it was very warm. This
was a very strange occurrence, and Captain
Harrod and I commented on the situation.
We had no idea what was in the package,
but decided we should open it and find out.
If it blew up, so be it.
I unwrapped the package and found a
large piece of hot meat, possibly 2 pounds.
We took it to be beef, but will never know
for sure what species of animal it came
from. This was the first real meat we had
seen in about a month. I tasted it and pronounced
it to be delicious. We disposed of
it in short order. Later in the day I saw the
Chinese soldier who had given us the meat.
He was looking directly at me and smiling.
I looked directly at him, surreptitiously patted
my stomach, and smiled back. He got
the message and we were very grateful for
the meat.
During the course of the afternoon, in
talking with the Chinese soldiers, we
learned they were a Psychological Warfare
unit. They started telling us of their dislike
for President Truman, General Marshal,
and other members of President Truman’s
staff. They emphasized their friendship for
the American people, but not the political
leaders of the United States.
During the course of the afternoon they
produced U.S. Army backpacks that were
filled with leaflets of all types. They asked
if we would take some of the leaflets and
distribute them to the American soldiers as
we passed through the front line. We told
them we would be delighted to do that.
What we didn’t tell them was the American
soldiers would be in intelligence and very
interested in that type of literature. We
“loaded up” on several copies of each type
of literature they had, until our pockets
were full.
The evening meal turned out to be our
last meal with the Chinese army and it also
is very memorable. Instead of rice, they
took the cooked rice, pounded it flat into a
dough and fried it like a pancake. It was
very different, had a good .taste and, of
course, much appreciated.
Shortly before dark we said goodbye to
the group of Chinese and departed. As we
were leaving, they gave us three or four of
the “ricejacks” to carry with us. The house
was a short distance from the road, with a
trail leading along a small stream. As we
were walking down the trail, the Chinese
soldiers were calling their “good~byes” to
us. We would turn and answer them, wave,
and continue walking. This continued until
we could no longer see each other.
The night of March 11 turned out to be
the most nerve-wracking night of the whole
trip. The first 5 or 6 hours were a repeat of
the preceding three nights-~walk 50 minutes,
rest 10 minutes, visit with Chinese
soldiers who were also taking a break,
being stopped, showing our pass and
answering, then allowed to proceed.
Shortly before reaching Hongchon, the last
of the Chinese forces, who were moving
north, passed us. We found ourselves alone
on the road. We took this to be an indication
we were very close to the front lines. Our
concern then was, how do we keep from
being shot by our own troops when we
reach the front lines?
When we reached Hongchon we found
it “graveyard quiet.” We passed through
Hongchon, but took the wrong road. We
intended to take the road from Hongchon to
Hoengsong, but mistakenly took the road
leading to the southwest towards Seoul.
Shortly after passing the edge of town, at
approximately 1 a.m., we heard a voice,
speaking English, saying, “Halt, you are
surrounded. Put up your hands”. We
stopped and very shortly we were indeed
surrounded. We were again ordered to put
up our hands, which we did. When the
English speaking Chinese made himself
known, we told him of our Safe Conduct
Pass, where we had been, and the instructions
we had to go to an American hospital.
I asked him to let me show him the pass,
which he allowed. He read it through, gave
it back to me, and said we would go with
them. We objected, but found ourselves
facing rifles and we then started back north,
two very dismayed individuals. We were
taken into Hongchon, where there was a
large, open area with a large building on
one side. We were told to sit against the
building, which we did. We were separated
from the Chinese by 40 or 50 feet and could
talk in whispers. We decided this was the
rear guard of the units we had seen moving
north the previous three nights. We were
much concerned as to what would happen
to us.
WHERE HAVE ALL THE HEROES GONE
See that veteran sitting next to you
He is a hero and so are you
See the Airforce streaking
Across the sky those are heroes
Some will fall and some will die
See the Navy in waters deep and blue
They have heroes for a crew
See the Infantry charging up that hill
Many heroes lie their still
See that medic fighting to save a GI
Both are heroes both will die
See the Marines invading that beach
Heroism is within their reach
See those white crosses standing at
Attention all in a row
Those are heroes lying below
And when God calls on you
for a white cross to bear
you will be a hero resting there
Where have all the heroes gone
By Herb Verrill
September - October 2005
The Graybeards