Voices from the Korean War - Douglas Rice [89]
After everyone was secured, the plane was cleared for take-off. As I looked around the cabin everyone seemed to be comfortable, except the young Korean soldier. For his pain, I thought about giving him a shot of morphine, when it occurred to me that Kim spoke some English and might be able to translate for me. Kim was a young Korean boy who worked at our base, but I’m not sure why he was on the plane. I asked him to speak to the young man about his pain. As they talked, I noticed the patient rubbed his stomach. Kim said that he hurt there—he was hungry. I was extremely thankful for this information, because I was about to inject him with Demerol—when all he needed was food.
I immediately plugged in the hot cup and heated up a cup of water; then I dropped in a cube of bouillon and broke up some crackers in it. For an empty stomach, this was ideal food. As he ate his second cup his expression gradually brightened, which gave me a warm feeling.
* * * * * *
One night at the base club, I was talking with some of the C-119 pilots as they were reliving some of their cargo drops. I interrupted, asking if one of them would take me on a drop mission, because I wanted to watch men jump from a plane and watch their parachutes open. They looked puzzled at each other, glanced at me, then laughed. Realizing I was serious, one of the pilots with a devilish grin whispered, “Shall I call you in the morning?” Both of us knew what we were planning to do was not “kosher.” I wrote down my name and phone number and handed it to him. He told me that he would call early the next morning—I could hardly wait.
We usually took-off around 6:00 AM, so early to me meant before 6:00 AM. I laid out my clothes so I could get dressed quickly when he called. When I woke the clock read 8:00 AM. I missed the call; I had overslept. My first thought was the C-119 must already be in the air, dropping troops. After drinking a cup of strong, black coffee, I collected enough courage to walk to the Air Evac Quonset hut, located near the flight line.
When I arrived, the news I heard almost knocked me off my feet. Right after their take-off one of the engines went out. The pilot then tried to radio the tower, but his radio was also out; then another engine failed. Finally, the pilot had to make an emergency landing in a field, damaging the plane to the point it was no longer capable of flying. The following day the crew made it back to the base—safe and sound.
* * * * * *
As Sgt. Waters and I flew to Kimpo, this time there was a passenger on the plane. He worked in the motor pool at the airfield. After we arrived we learned it would be several hours before the plane would be ready to transport the wounded. So, I walked over to the motor pool and the guy on the plane was standing next to a jeep—with the hood raised. I explained to him that I would like to see what Seoul looked like now that it had been retaken by the Marines—he honored my request.
It was a pleasant, sunny day as we passed people working in their rice paddies. We slowed as we crossed the Han River on a one-way pontoon bridge. As we crossed I looked down and in the distance saw the bodies of Koreans that had died weeks earlier, lying on the riverbank.
As we drove around the city, I carefully surveyed what was around me. Whole blocks of houses, and stores, that laid in ruins. When the Marines were fighting their way into the city, the North Koreans burned many of the ancient temples, shrines, and buildings that were hundreds of years old.
Gradually the locals were beginning to return, scratching around all the the debris looking to save anything of value.
* * * * * *
It was early October and Pyongyang, the capital of North Korea, was in the hands of the U.N. Forces. When we landed there in a C-47, at least fifty patients were waiting to be evacuated; however, the C-47 only had a capacity of twenty-seven. Most of these men were brought in by ambulances, but some were flown in by helicopters.
By this time General