Ha Jin - War Trash

The jeep pulled up at the gate. Major Leach stayed behind while Chaolin and I walked into the compound. It was bright in there, lamps and torches everywhere. Over a hundred prisoners in their baggy uniforms stood in two lines to welcome us, clapping or waving a few tiny Chinese and Korean national flags made of paper. As we went farther in, people began shouting slogans in stiff Chinese: " Korea and China!" "Kim Il Sung and Mao Zedong!" "Welcome Chinese Comrades!"

We didn't know Korean, but we were so excited that we shouted: "Salute to our Korean comrades!" "Let us unite like brothers!" "Down with American imperialism!" From behind us came the swearing of the marines, reminding me of all the guns trained at us.

We were taken into a tent that had been prepared for the representatives from different compounds, among whom, to our surprise, were three young women. We shook hands with one another and even hugged some men as though we had known them for a long time. The tent was humming with chattering voices, Korean and Chinese. The noise made me slightly giddy; I was excited to be here, affected by the euphoric ambience. Everybody looked jubilant and friendly. For the next half hour Colonel Choi described to the representatives how they had caught General Bell.

By May 7 the men in Compound 76 had been demonstrating for two days, demanding a face-to-face dialogue with Bell. At 1:30 p.m. the general finally came, escorted by a platoon of GIs. Major Leach accompanied him. Together they went over to the front entrance to talk with the Koreans. As they came toward the gate, the GIs all followed them. The Koreans pointed at the troops and asked Bell, "What's this about? We don't understand why you, an American general, are afraid of us unarmed prisoners." Bell looked at his men for a moment, turned to glance at the inside of the compound, then motioned the GIs to move back and keep some distance from the gate. Only Leach stayed with him.

The Koreans enumerated the prison authorities' violations of the Geneva Convention and then demanded that Bell plead guilty. In the beginning the general was quite serious. He told his aide-decamp to read out some articles of the convention, and then he tried to refute the prisoners' accusations. But as the Koreans continued to rail at him, he grew impatient and tired, so he stood aside and let Major Leach answer questions for him. He lit a cigarette and smoked absently; every once in a while he shook his head in frustration. Gradually the GIs, fifty yards away from the officers, slackened their vigilance, whispering to one another and standing in disorder.

At that point a team of latrine cleaners appeared from within the compound and headed for the front entrance, each man carrying two large buckets of night soil with a shoulder pole. The gate was opened for them. The American officers stepped aside, hands over their noses.

When the last bucket of night soil had come out, suddenly these latrine men, all members of the compounds shock unit in disguise, dropped their loads, grabbed the general and Major Leach, and dragged them back into the prison. Leach shouted to the GIs for help, clutching a brace on the gate with both hands, so the Koreans let him go. But General Bell, not as quick as the younger officer, was pulled into the compound. The prisoners immediately bolted the front gate.

The whole thing had taken place so suddenly that the GIs were too dumbfounded to react. When the idea of a kidnapping had finally sunk in, they rushed to the gate, but it was too late. All they could see was four husky men hauling the general away toward a nearby tent. Bell turned his head and shouted at his troops, "Help me! Goddammit, help me!"

"Halt! Halt!" Major Leach cried at the prisoners. The guards raised their rifles.

Two Koreans ran over, displaying the white scroll with the English words on it. Then a battalion of POWs, over seven hundred strong, poured into the yard, holding self-made weapons and ready to confront the Americans. Major Leach ordered the GIs not to open fire, so all they could do was watch their commander disappear from view. At the entrance to the tent, still blustering and swearing, Bell refused to move, so the four men simply carried him, his legs kicking.

Sirens screamed, one after another. Within half an hour marines in tanks and personnel carriers surrounded the compound while a plane circled overhead, ordering the prisoners to release General Bell without delay. The enemy, too confused to deal with the situation, seemed unsure whether to contact the kidnappers or just stay put and wait.

About an hour later an inmate went to the gate and presented a sheet of paper signed by General Bell to one of the American officers. The letter had apparently been composed by the Koreans. It read:

I order you never shoot POWs, so we can prevent the expansion of this crisis and keep my safety. I agree to hold the conference that includes representatives of prisoners from other compounds. Also agree to discuss the possibilities and search for solutions of the problems. Let our troops leave Compound 76. Stay away, please!

General Matthew Bell

But all the vehicles and GIs remained where they were. Forty minutes later came another slip of paper, a genuine letter bearing Bell 's handwriting. He ordered them to have a phone line connected to the barracks of Compound 76 and to follow his instructions closely from now on. He gave a list of things to be delivered without delay. Among them were blankets, canned meat, rice, pencils, pens, writing pads, brand-name cigarettes, folding tables and chairs, and a few things he needed for his personal accommodations. The acting commanding officer, General Fulton, who had just rushed here to take Bell 's place temporarily, was Bell 's friend, both having graduated from the Virginia Military Institute, so Fulton granted whatever Bell requested. Several jeeps were dispatched to different compounds to fetch POW representatives. Then a truck arrived to deliver the personal items for General Bell – there were even some bottles of spring water and a toilet. Later in the evening a larger truck came, loaded with supplies for the conference.

Behind a row of barracks a special tent had been pitched for the general. In front stood eight self-made red flags rippling in the breeze, each carrying a red star in a white circle. Dozens of pickets were posted around the tent, toting clubs, sharpened bamboo poles, long picks, shovels. One man, obviously a team leader, wore a shiny sickle in his belt. Chaolin and I were allowed to go in and have a look inside. A guard opened the door flaps for us. My goodness! I was struck by the fancy interior, which was thoroughly furnished and partitioned into four or five separate spaces; the entire floor was covered with army blankets. Even the walls were lined with blankets too, since it could still get chilly at night. Toward the back of the tent, a white curtain shielded an area for the bathroom. In the center of the front section stood a glossy desk and four chairs; on the desktop was a beer bottle holding a bunch of wild lilies, white and saffron, so fresh that some of the blossoms were still closed. In a screened corner were a cot and a tiny cabinet, on which perched the general's reading glasses and his cap. The curtain was not drawn. We could see Bell lying on the bed with his eyes closed, his face longer and flabbier than before. He looked old. Chaolin and I didn't disturb him, though I was sure the general knew someone had come in.

In meeting and mixing with the Korean soldiers, I had noticed that they did things more elaborately than we did. For instance, the distinction of rank among their officers was immediately visible, marked by the bars and stars on the shoulder tabs. Even their enlisted men's ranks could be identified by the stripes on their sleeves. Their officers' uniforms were much more formal than ours – peaked caps with cockades, jackets with brass buttons and large epaulets, high patent-leather boots, and green or blue breeches whose legs had red stripes along the seams. They imitated the Russians as much as possible. In contrast, our officers didn't wear any insignia, and there was little sartorial distinction between them and their men. At most our colonels and generals donned woolen jackets and trousers and maybe leather shoes. As for the enlisted men and junior officers, our quilted uniforms, felt hats with tied-up flaps, and canvas-top shoes were so crude that the GIs on the front called us "laundrymen." At least many of us looked less skinny in our winter outfits.