Voices from the Korean War - Douglas Rice [91]
The thought that we might be flying over enemy controlled territory was very scary. From the air everything appeared quiet; we saw no troop movement on the narrow roads. So, the pilot decided to land.
It was during the return flight that I met the famed Life photographer—David Douglas Duncan. He was in Pyongyang hoping to get a story; the military strategists had predicted the takeover of the capital city of North Korea would be a bloody occasion.
As the plane took-off, David and I were setting next to each other on the canvas jump seats. When the “No Smoking” sign was turned off David removed his Zippo lighter from his pocket, lighting a cigarette. Staring at the planes metal floor, he told me he had missed his story. He said that he had come for the action—people killing each other. And in doing so, he had failed to photograph the bombed out buildings, destroyed homes, the deserted streets, or the displaced people—the true ravages of war.
After landing, and unloading the plane, I never saw Duncan again.
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Several days later, with an empty plane, we flew to Wonson. As we exited the plane, we saw supplies being burned—to prevent the enemy from getting them—all around the airstrip. As we listened to the distant gun and mortar fire, flakes of burned material floated in the air.
Being hungry, we decided it was time to eat the C-rations that were aboard the plane; so, we had ourselves a picnic. We heated the C-rations, which turned out to be pork sausage and gravy. There were some burning coals lying on the ground, and they served as our centerpiece.
As we were enjoying our picnic, wounded soldiers began to arrive. They came by ambulances, trucks, carried by litter bearers, and some were walking; these men were too exhausted to talk. We soon had the plane loaded and off we went.
The heaters began to warm the cabin once we reached cruising altitude, and the men slowly drifted off to sleep. None of us realized that when we left, the Chinese were only a few miles north of the airstrip.
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The 12th of December was the first day I had not flown in three weeks. My days began as early as 4:00 AM and ended as late as 1:00 AM the following morning.
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I had been rotated to Tachikawa for five weeks when Captain Jamie Palm and I flew to Yong Po—near Hungnam. We had some time to kill as we waited our turn for patients; so, we caught a ride in an ambulance to Wonson Harbor—the source of our patients.
Most of the guys we were to evacuate had been treated aboard the Consolation; the hospital ship anchored in the harbor. An LCM (landing craft medium) transported recently wounded soldiers to the ship and brought back those that were to be evacuated by plane. Not only were we amazed at how the Navy men handled the wounded, but the variety of ships anchored offshore—an Army transport, an aircraft carrier, a battleship, and many other smaller craft.
A few days later I made the last flight into Yong Po; the airfield was completely evacuated that day as part of the U.N. withdrawal to South Korea.
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The Armed Forces radio continually aired Christmas programs with Fibber McGee and Molly, along with Amos and Andy; plus, a variety of other Christmas music. Several of the girls thought we should leave our tree up until New Year’s; so, we waited later to put it up so the needles wouldn’t dry out. Loretta and Jamie bought some lights and decorations in Osaka, so we decorated our house and had a tree decorating party on Christmas Eve. Even the Marines who lived next door came over and helped decorate.
During the early morning darkness on Christmas, I ate a bowl of oatmeal while I dressed. I put on a pair of slacks and wool shirt over my pajamas, then my thick, padded flight suit. Next on were the heavy wool socks and my brown, high-topped boots. Then for the finishing touch, I put