War Trash (22 page)

"How can we assist you in carrying out this bold plan?" asked Chaolin.

They said we should ease the general's vigilance by inviting him to our compound and talking with him without arousing his suspicion; after that, they would ask him to visit their barracks too. Chaolin suggested that we seize General Bell ourselves if he came to our compound, but Lee, the feminine man, said they had already made arrangements and had more "armed force" than we did. He explained, "We shouldn't let you bear the brunt again if the Americans retaliate. You've already sacrificed enough." He must have been referring to the fact that we had come all the way to Korea to fight our common enemy. Chaolin didn't insist and promised to participate in their plan.

Before we left, they took us into a side room in the cottage, where we were introduced to Mr. Park, who was the top leader of the Korean POWs. Sitting on the glossy floor, Mr. Park was a short but muscular man in a tweed coat. His face was pale and his eyes piercingly bright. Around him sat several officers. He shook hands with Chaolin and me and gave us each a cigarette, which we lit and smoked ravenously. I was amazed that he had Lucky Strikes, the American brand. He spoke to us while Lee was interpreting for him. He thanked us for letting them have the pistol I had stolen. Then he said, "From the bottom of our hearts we are grateful to the Chinese Communist Party and the Peoples Volunteers. You're our closest comrades-in-arms. You have made great sacrifice and suffered for us. We salute you."

Chaolin replied that we shared the same enemy, the U.S. imperialists, and that by coming to Korea we actually fought to protect our country as well. I was impressed by his ease in adopting an aggrandized role, as if he were equal to our host in rank. Then Mr. Park talked about the significance of capturing General Bell – this event would shock the world. He said that Marshal Kim Il Sung had ordered them to open "a second front" in the prison camp and that we must embarrass our captors and expose their lie that we were all treated humanely. Also, the success of this operation would help our negotiators at Panmunjom as well. Chaolin promised that he would brief our headquarters about their plan and that we would help them in any way we could. When we were leaving, Mr. Park embraced us and said we would definitely meet again, very soon.

Seeing us off, Colonel Choi told me in English that Mr. Park had studied in Moscow and had been the governor of the North Yellow Sea Province in Korea. Here in the camp he was their commander. We asked Choi how Mr. Park had been taken prisoner if he was such an important official. Choi wouldn't explain, just smiling mysteriously. I had the impression that Mr. Park still lived and functioned like a provincial governor here, well preserved and thoroughly protected. He had an air of serene confidence, as if he were the boss in this camp, not the Americans.

That evening our headquarters held a meeting, over which Commissar Pei presided. He sat at a "table" built of eight upturned cardboard cases covered with a blanket. Now and again he tapped the tip of his cigarette over a rusty enamel bowl. The veins on the back of his hand stood out; a healed scar marked the end of his thumb. He didn't seem enthusiastic about the Korean comrades' plan and looked thoughtful, his face a little wrinkled. Whenever his brown eyes gazed at me, I felt as if he could see through me. He didn't express his opinion, though before the meeting he had said about the Koreans to Chaolin and me, "They're so bold. I hope they know how to deal with the consequences." I was puzzled but dared not ask him what he meant exactly.

People got excited about our report on the Koreans' plan. The commissar instructed us to demonstrate the next day and then go on a hunger strike. Meanwhile, the Secretariat must gather evidence for the crimes committed by our captors so that we could charge General Bell when he fell into the Koreans' hands. After the meeting, Ming went about writing two letters, one addressed to our delegates at the Panmunjom talks and the other to the International Red Cross, exposing the maltreatment the POWs had suffered and demanding that the Americans return all the bodies of our comrades killed on the battleground, that they stop backing the pro-Nationalist force in the prison camp, and that they take measures to stamp out violence and bring the murderers to justice. The first of the demands surprised me, because I remembered the dead our former division had buried along our way to the front in the spring of 1951. Hundreds of men had been killed in air raids and left in the wilderness, and I was sure none of their bodies would ever be shipped back to our homeland.

Ming and I both worked as translators in the compound. I spoke English better, so I was present most of the time when we met with the Americans. He was a Party member and attended their secret meetings, for which I wasn't qualified. We two got along well and often compared notes, so I knew quite a bit about the happenings within the Party.

16. MEETING WITH GENERAL BELL

The next afternoon we presented to Lieutenant East, the officer in charge of guarding our compound, a formal letter that demanded the improvement of our living conditions and also a face-to-face talk with General Bell. I had spent a whole morning putting the letter into English. Ming, who seemed to have infinite connections, had bartered an American army overcoat with a South Korean officer for an English-Japanese dictionary. Since in many cases we could guess the meanings of Japanese words without knowing the language, this dictionary was quite handy. Without it I couldn't have rendered any document accurately into English.

Having gotten no response to our letter, we demonstrated in the compound the following day. Three groups of men, each six hundred strong, by turns went to the area close to the southern fence, shouted slogans, and raised pieces of hardboard that carried words in both English and Chinese, such as "Uphold the Geneva Convention!," "Treat Us Like Human Beings!," "Stop Violence in the Prison!," "Punish the Murderers!" The guards were nervous, but some of them mocked us and gave us the finger. One shouted, "Okay, if you want us to treat you better, tell Chairman Mao to sign the Geneva Convention first."

I didn't translate those words for my comrades. I had read in Stars and Stripes some time ago that neither China nor North Korea had signed the convention, and that the United States had signed it, but its Congress hadn't ratified it yet. On Capitol Hill there had been a debate over whether the U.S. Army should actually abide by the convention. Few of the Chinese prisoners knew the truth, which would be hard to explain to them, and which our leaders, believing ignorance was strength that could enable their men to fight bravely, wouldn't want us to know.

Toward three p.m. a short officer showed up, accompanied by the gangly Lieutenant East. The small man introduced himself as Major Leach and said to us, "I represent General Bell and you can talk to me. He's busy at the moment." Somehow his narrow face reminded me of a possum.

"We will speak only to General Bell in person," said Danwei, the head of the third group of demonstrators.

I translated his reply. Then to whatever the major said the prisoners wouldn't respond. The six hundred men just stood there, arms folded on their chests. After half an hour's coaxing and blustering to no avail, Major Leach left in a huff.

The next morning a hunger strike started in our compound, but no demonstrators got to the yard, and only two dozen pickets stood near the front entrance. Some mess tins and bowls were hung on the barbed-wire fence to express our determination not to eat. A truckload of barley, spinach, and radishes was delivered at midmoming, but our pickets blocked the vehicle, so everything was unloaded and placed outside the gate. Chaolin and I went to talk with Lieutenant East. We asked him to inform General Bell that only by meeting our representatives personally could this crisis be resolved, and that we trusted nobody but the general because only he could guarantee our safety.

Lieutenant East spat out some tobacco juice and said, "Who gives a fuck if you eat or not? Starve as long as you like. I won't pass him your word."

We were worried about his refusal, but Commissar Pei told us to be patient, saying the lieutenant wouldn't dare suppress our request without reporting it to General Bell. Both Ming and I felt frustrated and talked about this matter in private. Why couldn't the Koreans just execute the kidnapping by themselves? Why did this have to be so elaborate and involve us? They could have just invited the general to their compound and seized him there. Probably they were apprehensive and wanted a broader base of support for their plan. Then why wouldn't they adopt a less risky form of protest? They might get more than they bargained for.

Sure enough, as Commissar Pei predicted, the next morning a jeep appeared at the gate. In it were seated General Bell and Major Leach; behind them followed about twenty GIs in a ten-wheeled truck. I was summoned to our headquarters while Ming set off to inform the Americans that we would like to talk with the general in the tent of our Secretariat. A few minutes later Ming returned with a message from Lieutenant East, who insisted we go to the front entrance and speak with the general there. So Chaolin, I, and six other men approached the gate, behind which we were ordered to remain.

Lieutenant East went up to the jeep to brief General Bell. Bell was a robust man with a ruddy complexion, in his mid-forties, wearing shiny boots and a diamond ring, which made him look rather urbane. Below his cap a bit of gray hair was visible. He seemed to have spruced up for this occasion, and even the insignia on his cap was shiny. Following him was the short major with a briefcase under his arm and a thick book in his hand. All the GIs had jumped down from the truck and stood in a fan shape, holding Ml Garand rifles. Chaolin said to me, "They really believe we're going to hurt him, don't they?" Then we stepped closer to meet the officers.

Through the barbed wire on the gate, Chaolin said, "Welcome, General Bell. Thank you for taking the trouble to come personally."

I translated his words. Bell nodded with a complacent smile and said, "I respect you Chinese. And your compound is a model of discipline and cleanliness. You can let me know your gripes now."

Chaolin smiled and said again, "We'd like to invite you to inspect the malnutrition most of the inmates have suffered here. Many wounded men are bedridden and need medical treatment, but we don't have enough medicines and staff to help them. Most of the prisoners in this compound suffer from night blindness, scurvy, beriberi, skin disorders, and other diseases because we haven't eaten enough vegetables. We hope you will observe the Geneva Convention and treat us decently." Chaolin's description of the inmates' physical condition was true on the whole. Some prisoners could see nothing but a wall of darkness at night, and some still had running wounds.

The general cleared his throat and said, "We have always abided by the Geneva Convention and tried our best to honor all the articles, although I don't have enough staff and materials at my disposal. Let me ask my aide to read some paragraphs from the convention to refresh your memory."

Solemnly Major Leach opened the big green book and began reading in a bass voice. I didn't bother to translate, because Chaolin was familiar with the Chinese version of the relevant articles. Meanwhile, General Bell looked absentminded, shifting his weight from one foot to another. To my amazement, he took nail clippers out of his jacket pocket and picked his nails with the tip of the file. The backs of his hands were bristly with brown hair.

We knew those articles by heart, so none of us listened to the major. To the Americans' credit, I should mention that they had posted the relevant clauses of the international law in every compound, in both Chinese and Korean, and that they also issued to every platoon a booklet containing the text. Before seeing the booklet, we had only heard of the Geneva Convention but hadn't known its contents. Having studied the document thoroughly, our leaders concluded that the Americans had contravened Article 118, which stated: "Prisoners of war shall be released and repatriated without delay after the cessation of hostilities." However, when the regulation had been drafted three years before, the world had been less complicated and none of the participating countries had been able to imagine our situation – in which more than two-thirds of the Chinese POWs wouldn't be going home. Still, whenever possible, we would confront our captors with their violation of Article 118, and most of the time we could get the upper hand.

In addition to the issue of repatriation, our leaders also accused the American side of some other serious violations of the convention. To be fair, I didn't feel that our captors treated us very badly. At least we were sheltered and had food. Most of the wounded prisoners had access to medical treatment, though conditions still had room for improvement. About six thousand people had been crowded into a small compound, with no disease springing up, because sanitation had been adequately maintained. Some inmates had even gained a little healthy color, especially some cooks whose cheeks had grown thicker. We often joked that the latrines in the compound were better equipped than those in our barracks back in China. Seats had been installed in them, and at the centers of the rooms were washing facilities – faucets for running water and metal basins set into round concrete tables. On the whole, I had to admit that the Americans were generous, at least materially. Besides food, each POW was given at least one pack of cigarettes a week, and sometimes two packs. I saw with my own eyes that American medical personnel treated injured civilians at the Pusan prison hospital. Here in every compound the United Nations had set up a program for civilian education that distributed books among the inmates, offered courses in mechanics, science, and Christianity, and often showed movies. Unfortunately our compound, controlled by the Communists, wouldn't have anything to do with such a program. Whenever a prisoner reported that he had lost his blanket or mat, he would be issued another one, since there was always a surplus of these things within the compound. Sometimes this would even apply to uniforms. Such replenishment was unthinkable in our own army, in which you would be disciplined for the loss. Back in China I had never heard of a soldier losing his bedroll.