NIGHTS AND DAYS OF HELL

Many miles down that road and feeling all alone, I ran into hundreds of soldiers.  They appeared to be in Chinese uniforms.  It was so cold; they had little squad fires burning everywhere.  No shooting was going on.  I looked at them and even stared at them.  Not one soldier did I see looking at me, not one soldier.  It was as if they didn’t see me.  To this day, I do not know if they were Chinese soldiers, North Koreans soldiers, or South Koreans soldiers.  I could not tell their uniforms apart that late at night.

It seemed so strange that not one soldier looked at the truck barreling down the road.  It appeared that they were totally blinded to my presence.  Believe me, I looked at them.  Even those close to the road—within 20 meters—did not look up at me.  I considered it a miracle.  No one that I could see drew a rifle aim on me.

Barreling down the road, the soldiers were soon a thing of the past.  I was still alive.  I didn’t know where I was, where I was going, or who was in front of me.  I didn’t know if I was still in friendly territory.

After that drive through the soldiers, I saw no more combatants; I kept traveling.  At that time, I don’t remember if I had any feelings about life or living.  There was no one around to help me or to tell me where I was or where to go.

An hour or so later, maybe midnight, I started up a little grade, a small hill.  The higher I rose from the valley, the road became scarier.  Rounding those curves made me think a Chinese could jump into the back of truck, reach through the canvas and cut my throat.  I was lost. I could not see anything even with the lights shining.  I could not think rationally.  I could see nothing.  I had to be in enemy territory.

Out of the flat land with the headlights still shining brightly, the territory yielded no safety zone.  From what I could see through the darkness, nothing comforted my soul.

“Oh God!” I said in dismay.  “What is this?”

Rounding a rather sharp curve, I smacked into a felled tree across the road.  I applied the brakes and stopped at the tree.  No attempt was made to cross it.  I sat there for a minute or so waiting to see if I was free, bond, or dead.  I knew not if I was captured, facing death or in friendly territory.  I was scared to hell and back.  Knowing that my weapon would be of little value in a fight against many, I let the M-l lay in the truck; if captured, no weapon was necessary.  Why I wasn’t shot or even fired on is a mystery to me.

I waited to be captured, then tortured and shot—dead.

A surprise!

Shortly, an American SGT walked out of the woods and talked to me.  Yeah!  I shouted to myself silently.  “I HAVE FOUND THE AMERICANS.”  I was alive.  I was alive.

An incident like this is why we troopers were told, “KNOW your target.  Know whom you shoot.  You may be killing Americans.”

“Have you seen any airborne troops or trucks here?”  I asked as if I hadn’t been scared to hell and back.

“There are some airborne trucks in the area somewhere,” he retorted.  “Now turn off your lights.  Go into town and watch for the second turn off of the dirt road.  There is a ditch there but we have some trucks parked in that field.  You can cross that ditch in four-wheel drive.  Park for the night.”

“OK,” I uttered and drove off.  No truck lights made it ever so dark.

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