War Trash (28 page)

One morning a tall American officer passed by my cell, and I recognized him – Lieutenant East, who had commanded the guards at Compound 602 when I was there. I had once relayed to him our demand for negotiating with General Bell in person. He seemed in charge of nothing here. As he returned from the other end of the corridor, I moved to the door of my cell. Dressed rather slovenly – half of his buttons undone and one of his shoes unlaced – he shuffled along the hallway as though deep in thought.

"Lieutenant East," I said.

"Yes." He stopped.

"Do you remember me?"

He shook his head, his gray eyes staring at my face. Then he recognized me. "Yes, you were the Red spokesman at Compound 602."

"No, I was just an interpreter. How come you're here?"

"None of your business. Damn you Reds, why did you help the motherfucking Koreans kidnap General Bell? You got me into trouble too."

"Like I said, I was just an interpreter, not involved in any decision making. As a soldier I didn't have a choice, I just obeyed orders."

"Let me tell you something," he said with sudden anger, jabbing his forefinger at my face. "General Bell is a good man. He played baseball with us. He's a powerful pitcher. Many guys here miss him. He treated you Reds well, didn't he? When you wanted to talk, he came to meet you. After you complained about barley and night blindness, the next day he called around to get more rice and vegetables for you. But what did you do in return? You conspired with the Koreans. You abducted him. You ruined him! That man is a husband and a father and had an honorable career. Now he's totally humiliated, busted to colonel. How come you Reds pulled such a dirty trick on him?"

I hadn't expected this lean-faced man would defend his superior so passionately, and I was a little bewildered by his judging the general on the basis that he was a good baseball player. What did Bell 's character have to do with sports? This fellow in front of me hadn't grown up, like a big boy. Still, somewhat touched by his words, I mumbled, "I'm sorry for him. Also for the hundreds of Koreans killed in Compound 76 and for the villagers whose homes were burned down."

He stared at me, as though amazed. For about half a minute we remained wordless, looking at each other. Then I averted my face and he walked away.

Lieutenant East's remarks upset me. What surprised me most was that he hadn't thought of the incident in the way an officer should. He took it personally, thinking of General Bell as a specific individual. That made East different, though he still regarded me as no more than a Red. His words had jolted me into a sudden realization. Before the conversation with him I had felt misgivings about the wisdom of confronting the vengeful enemy with force, but my thoughts had remained vague in the back of my mind. Now they had crystallized.

To be able to function in a war, an officer was expected to view his men as abstract figures so that he could utilize and sacrifice them without any hesitation or qualms. The same abstraction was supposed to take place among the rank and file too – to us every American serviceman must be a devil, whereas to them, every one of us must be a Red. Without such obliteration of human particularities, how could one fight mercilessly? When a general evaluates the outcome of a battle, he thinks in numbers – how many casualties the enemy has suffered in comparison with the losses of his own army. The larger a victory is, the more people have been turned into numerals. This is the crime of war: it reduces real human beings to abstract numbers. This was why, ever since I'd been treated by Dr. Greene, I had wished I could become a doctor like her, who dealt with individual patients in a war and didn't have to relish any victory other than the success of saving a limb or a life.

A few days later both Wu Gaochen and I were sent back to Compound 602. I felt lucky that we two returned on the same day. Had I left the top jail alone, my comrades might have suspected that I had worked out a deal with the enemy or had confessed to them. We both went back on June 26, and without prior agreement we told Commissar Pei the same story; that is, the enemy had let us out because we were not as important as the other "war criminals." Lieutenant East had said to me that they needed the solitary cells for real officers. After six weeks' separation, I was glad to rejoin my comrades.

19. THE APPREHENSION OF COMMISSAR PEI

The Chinese POWs in Compound 602 had been informed that we were going to move to Cheju Island, which is more than a hundred miles farther south in the Yellow Sea. This news unsettled the inmates, and I could feel the suspicion and fear among them. Rumor had it that some Nationalist troops from Taiwan had already gathered on Cheju Island, getting trained before they joined the U.N. forces on the Korean mainland. (This hearsay proved to be wrong.) So most of the men here were reluctant to leave for Cheju, fearful of falling into the Nationalists' hands.

I went to see Commissar Pei in the evening. He was pleased to have me back and asked about Chaolin and Ming, saying he felt crippled without them around. Then he told me his thoughts on the imminent move to Cheju Island. He believed the enemy's purpose was twofold: first, to separate us from the Korean prisoners, and second, to shake our determination to return to mainland China. "But we haven't planned for any resistance yet," he said. "The enemy just destroyed Compound 76 and they may turn on us at any moment, so we shouldn't give them any excuse for using force." He looked tired, though his rugged face still showed resolve. He had a sprinkling of gray hair now.

Encouraged by his discretion, I reported to him how the GIs had burned and flattened Compound 76. I got so carried away that I even said, "I don't know if it was really worth the sacrifice for the Koreans to kidnap Bell. Their entire shock brigade was wiped out by the Americans, at least four hundred casualties."

"To make revolution means to sacrifice," he said seriously. "Of course for such a victory the price is high, but we reached our goal of embarrassing the enemy internationally and exposing their lie that we were all unwilling to return to our motherland."

I realized I had said too much, but in spite of myself, I kept on: "I just feel sorry for those Koreans, who were all brave men charging at the tanks with bamboo poles."

"The Koreans can be fanatic sometimes." He chuckled, lifted a green enamel mug, and took a gulp of hot water.

Then I told him my impression of Mr. Park and how the Korean Communist force had even infiltrated the jail for "war criminals." I gave him more details of our stay in Compound 76; he seemed amused by the way we had been treated, unconsciously licking his upper lip while listening to me describe the beef dumplings.

Early the next morning a jeep topped with a stout loudspeaker pulled up at the front entrance to the compound. A man shouted in Chinese, "Pei Shan, if you were really fathered by your dad, get out of your hole, or we'll make all you Red Bandits suffer."

I was puzzled why they didn't just come in and take Pei away. Perhaps they were unsure what he looked like now. Even though they had the commissar's photo, they might not be able to identify him, because his features had changed considerably; he was bearded and much thinner than a few months before. I was told that the jeep had come and given the same order every morning for almost a week.

The loudspeaker blared again, this time in English, "Pei Shan, you come out right away, or we'll handle you differently when we come in to nab you."

There was no response from our headquarters, wherein the commissar sat smoking and talking with others. He had held a meeting three days earlier to discuss how to deal with the enemy's demand. He even said he'd follow the decision made by the leaders of the United Communist Association. If they believed he should surrender himself to the enemy, he would do that to save the compound from destruction. Of course nobody wanted him to turn himself in. They decided to ignore the enemy's bluster, which suggested that the GIs might not dare come in to search for the commissar at this moment. The massacre in Compound 76 had just raised an international outcry, and a group of European inspectors had come to visit the burned barracks, shooting photos and even interviewing Korean POWs. So the enemy might have pulled in their horns for the time being. On the other hand, we feared that if Commissar Pei fell into their hands, they would keep him here, probably in the war-criminal jail, so as to paralyze our leadership before we were moved to Cheju Island. In other words, the enemy might be planning to isolate our top leader from us.

Commissar Pei was aware of the possibility that he might be taken away and kept separate from us. He had prepared two sets of leaders among us in case more of them were snatched away or the enemy divided us into groups. He also organized the Party members into small sets that could assume low-level leadership if necessary. As for the position of the top leader, if Pei was gone, the man to replace him was Zhao Teng, a flat-faced warrior with a hot temper. If we lost Zhao, Zhang Wanren, a slow-witted but dependable man, would step in. Now I saw that Pei really needed Chaolin and Ming badly; they would have been more capable leaders.

In another three days it would be July 1 and the Chinese Communist Party's thirty-first anniversary, so the leaders in the compound decided to hold a demonstration, not a large one, just a symbolic act to show the enemy our strength and to remind the prisoners of the Party's presence. Commissar Pei assigned me to write some English words on placards, such as "Long Live Communism!," "We Must Go Back to Build Our Country!," "Down with American Imperialism!," "Follow the Communist Party Forever!"

But on the evening of June 29, as plans for the demonstration were in the works, General Smart arrived. As soon as his jeep pulled up at the front gate, he announced through a bullhorn, "All the prisoners in Compound 602, I order you to leave this place tomorrow morning. Two ships are going to take you to Cheju Island, where you'll live in brand-new barracks. If any of you resist moving, we shall evict you by force." A middle-aged interpreter translated the orders to the inmates, who listened without response.

After Smart left, an emergency meeting was held in our headquarters, for which I served as secretary. Without blank paper I just jotted down a few notes on the margins of the Bible I had once owned, so that we could keep track of who said what. The leaders were deliberating whether to depart for Cheju Island peacefully. Commissar Pei said, "Perhaps we shouldn't resist this time, just to save our strength for future struggle."

Several men disagreed, feeling our country might lose face if we yielded to the enemy without a fight, because the Koreans had just scored a huge victory and were watching us. They argued for collective resistance, or at least for creating some difficulties for the Americans.

"I can see your points," the commissar said. "But we don't know anything about the situation on Cheju Island. Who will guard us there, Americans or South Koreans or the Nationalist troops from Taiwan? Are we going to be the only POWs in the camp? Are there other armies on the island? There're so many unknowns that we should be cautious about any action now, not to waste our energy."

"I'm afraid the enemy has another ax to grind," put in Zhao Teng, the compound's nominal chief, licking his gold teeth.

"That's true," another voice added.

"What if they take away our leaders before they put us on the ships?" asked a third man.

The commissar's eyes brightened. "I've thought of that. That's a possibility. Let's talk about it."

"I believe we must refuse to move," Zhao Teng said. "First, we should show the enemy our determination to fight, so when they come to search for you, they'll understand that even if they find you, they might not be able to take you away without causing lots of trouble for themselves."

"I don't want to get our men into danger," said the commissar, blushing a little. This was the first time I had ever seen his face change color.

"We know that, but this is a part of the struggle we cannot avoid."

A bald man chipped in, "This is also an opportunity to create a scandal for the Americans. If they open fire and burn our tents, they'll be condemned by the whole world."

More men argued for resistance. Commissar Pei seemed in an awkward position because his personal safety was also at stake. He was much less resolute than before. After another hour's discussion, he finally gave way, but he specified some conditions: "Tomorrow morning we won't move unless they come in to take us out. But we must make sure none of our men will be hurt and there'll be no bloodshed. We should exhaust the Americans' patience so that they'll expose themselves to the eyes of the world."

After the meeting I mulled over Pei 's words. He had never been so cautious, so unwilling to risk the lives of his men. I was impressed by the compromise plan he had made. Then the thought occurred to me that he might have argued for peace for personal reasons. A fullblown confrontation would have put him at a disadvantage. If he fell into the Americans' hands, they might punish him more for the resistance he had masterminded. Enraged, they could cripple or even kill him and then blame it on an accident. In other words, he must have been fearful, worried about his personal safety, knowing that without thousands of men around him, he would be at the enemy's mercy. So I had mixed feelings about his attitude. On the one hand, I was totally for a peaceful departure, and on the other, I felt that by nature Pei wasn't a peaceful man – he had only been frightened into supporting a relatively passive resistance.

At eight the next morning, six truckloads of GIs arrived at our compound. Their officer, a craggy-faced man, ordered us to come out with our blanket rolls and line up on the front yard, but none of us moved. The GIs were waiting. A hush enveloped the compound, as if all the men were sleeping. The officer shouted his orders again. Still nobody stirred. The barracks were so quiet that you could hear bursts of static coming from the megaphone and a flock of orioles chirping in the crown of a crooked elm.