Valleys of Death (19 page)

Just after daybreak, we were crossing over some hills when I heard automatic weapons fire. It was coming from the front. Everybody panicked and started to run. I tried to keep the group together, but it was impossible. By some miracle after moving a good distance from the firing, we were able to regroup.

We had just started moving again, when mortar rounds started to land nearby. The Chinese knew where we were now. We broke into two groups and started leapfrogging from one hill to the other. One group would cover while the other moved through. It was obvious to me that we were no longer evading. We were going to have to fight our way back to our lines.

By midday, the fire had slacked off and we were making progress. I could hear the rumble of artillery fire and guessed we were close to the front. My group climbed to the top of a knoll, and I could see the rounds hitting a mountain no more than five miles away. We were close. For the first time, I felt hope. Then the hill erupted with machine gun and mortar fire.

I was knocked flat on my face. I quickly got up and just as quickly got back down in the prone position. The Chinese were shelling the hill. My lower back felt wet, and I could feel what I thought was sweat running down the crack of my ass. It wasn't sweat. It was blood. I was hit, but I didn't feel anything. There was so much smoke, dirt and dust that I could barely see.

I stumbled off the hill followed by three others. We started running. The three men followed me. When we got to the road, I started following it to the east. We were running at a good pace over a little knoll when we ran smack into two Chinese soldiers. They were holding hands and skipping along the same path. One was holding a dead chicken by its neck.

For a split second we stared at one another. I shot the soldier holding the chicken. The other Chinese soldier went for his pistol. One of the guys with me shot him. Some Chinese soldiers nearby had heard the shots and were now chasing us. I looked down the road and saw an American tank sitting in an intersection about three hundred yards away. It was green and had a white star painted on the turret. We ran for it at a full sprint, but as we got closer, we saw that the hatches were open and there was damage on the armor plates. It had been knocked out days ago. I was panicked and needed to get my head straight.

There were about a dozen Chinese soldiers chasing us. I prodded myself to think and move. We started to head for a village on the other side of the road. Behind the village, I could see a massive rice paddy that ran up to a hill. I figured we could escape if we got over the hill first.

The paddy had about three or four inches of water in it. We stayed off the tops of the dikes and got halfway across the paddy before I turned to fire back. The Chinese soldiers dove for cover. When they did, we started running again. As I was running, I saw rounds hitting the water in front of me. When we got to the other side, we got down behind the dike and started firing at the Chinese again. I didn't see anyone behind them. If we could take them out, we had a chance. But the others didn't have any ammunition left and I was down to a few rounds myself.

“Get going,” I said. “I'll hold them off.”

They looked at me for a second.

“Go!” I screamed and turned toward the Chinese soldiers crossing the paddy. I fired a few shots and then dove behind a dike. A few seconds later, I fired two more bursts before I was out of ammunition.

Between bursts, my mind was searching for an escape route. I knew that if I ran straight up the hill, I didn't stand a chance. About thirty yards to my right, there was a house. A woman and a baby were crying and wailing in a dugout near the hill. If I went into the house, I was sure the woman would tell them. But I couldn't stay behind the dike with no ammunition. Jumping up, I ran behind the house and started up the hill. I tried to keep the house at my back hoping to mask my movement. I went as far as I could go without the Chinese seeing me and then dove into a large bush. Rolling onto my stomach with my Chinese burp gun underneath me, I waited. I had no ammo, but I had a death grip on the weapon. It was my security blanket.

I could hear the Chinese soldiers climbing up the hill. They were yelling at one another. I was trying not to move. Not even breathe. A fly hovered around my face, landing on my nose and mouth. I tried to close my mind to everything. I closed my eyes as they passed, and took my first breath as I heard their yelling behind me. In a few minutes, I was sure they were gone.

But every unit has one. A straggler that can't keep up. The Chinese straggler was so slow that when he got close to the bush, he saw me. I never moved and just shut my eyes. He started to holler and drove his bayonet into my butt. I felt the tip hit bone.

When I opened my eyes, I saw boots all around me. My mind went to the burp gun. If I rolled over holding it, they'd shoot me for sure. I shot my arms out along the ground and rolled over, leaving the burp gun in the mud. They reached down and jerked me up.

I wasn't going to be in Tokyo for Thanksgiving.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CAPTURE AND ESCAPE

The barrel of the pistol looked like the business end of a 105mm howitzer.

A Chinese officer with red piping down the sides of his pants had the pistol pressed between my eyes. He was screaming at me in Chinese and pointing up the hill.

I was numb and couldn't speak. I lifted my shoulders and let them drop. I've thought of this moment many times, and I know that if he'd pulled the trigger I would never have known it. That would have been the end.

The officer was puzzled. He jammed his pistol back into the holster, spun me around and kicked me in the ass to get me moving. They ran me back across the rice paddy, but halfway across my legs turned to rubber and I fell into the mud. What was happening finally hit me. I'd been captured and now I had no idea what to do. At least when I was on the run, I knew where I was going. Even fighting for my life was easier than giving up all control. I was now at the mercy of the Chinese.

When we got to the other side of the paddy, they tied my hands behind my back and threw me into the unused kitchen of one of the houses. I squirmed around on the dirt floor trying to get comfortable. The door opened and some Chinese soldiers started throwing corncobs at me. Others came in laughing and spit on me.

It crossed my mind that I had just shot up a number of them, and I wondered if they realized it. After a while they brought a couple more Americans and threw them in with me. Just as it got dark we totaled six. I knew none of them. Before I could ask any questions, the Chinese came and took us out to the road.

There were about ten Chinese guards. They lined up beside us and moved us down the road a couple of hundred yards. Suddenly, the one in the lead started yelling and the whole column stopped. The guards grabbed us and made us kneel down in front of a ditch. I could hear one of the soldiers barking what sounded like orders in Chinese. My mind went on full alert. They were going to execute us. I felt the guy next to me shaking, and another started sobbing.

My God, this is it. This is one of those situations where you expect to see your life flash before your eyes. I was ready to relive scenes from my childhood. Good times in Austria. Anything to take my mind from Korea and this ditch. It didn't happen to me. I just closed my eyes.

Instead of shots, I heard laughing. They motioned for us to get up. The guy next to me was so emotionally drained that he couldn't get up. I tried to help him, but my hands were tied behind my back.

“Get up,” I yelled. “Don't let them laugh at you. Get up.”

As they moved us on the road, we picked up more prisoners. By the middle of the night, we had about thirty-five in our group. I still didn't know anyone. We'd stopped earlier and the guards had loaded us up with captured rifles. When we got to what I assumed was some sort of headquarters, the Chinese marched us into the building and we stacked the rifles in a large room. I was dog-tired and my mind was working very slowly. I doubted that I had any adrenaline left in my body.

When we got done stacking the guns, the Chinese dropped a pile of rice on the ground and motioned for us to eat it. The prisoners rushed in and started fighting over the grains. I staggered back from the melee and angrily watched. We'd been turned into animals. After all we'd been through, why were the others not helping one another? Instead, they pushed and fought. I refused to join in. We needed leadership and control more than ever and I was going to begin leading by example.

I was about to start pulling guys off when a Chinese soldier holding a rifle led me and another soldier into an adjacent building. It was like a warehouse, with a massive open bay and dirt floor. The Chinese had set up two field tables, one close to the front and the other at the rear. A single candle on each table provided a little light, which made the room dark and sinister-looking. I was taken to the first table and the other man was taken to the back table. There were three Chinese soldiers at each table. One was seated behind. The other two were standing at his side.

The one behind the table asked me my name, unit and job.

“William J. Richardson, 13250752, sergeant first class.”

I paused when I got to my rank. I wasn't sure if I had been promoted. The paperwork was in before we'd left for Unsan, but I wasn't sure if it had been approved. At this point, it didn't matter. The guy to my right started asking me questions. He didn't speak English very well, although I could understand him. He pointed to a map and asked me my unit and where I was located.

I laughed to myself. I had no idea where I was. I shrugged my shoulders and acted like I didn't understand. I wondered how long I could keep this up.

He asked me again. I could see he was getting aggravated.

“What unit you in? What you job? You tell me.”

This time he didn't wait long for my shrug. I hadn't noticed a short, round stick lying on the table. In one swift movement, he had the stick in his hand and plunged it straight into my gut. When I bent over from the blow, he struck me along the side of my head, knocking me to the ground. Stepping around the table, he started to kick me. I struggled to breathe.

My mind jumped to when I was fifteen years old and out with my buddy Joe McMahon, who was two years older. We were drinking boilermakers in a seedy part of Philly where the bartender didn't give a damn how old we were as long as we had the money to pay. We got drunk as hell and I stumbled home around one o'clock in the morning. My mother met me at the door. She trapped me in the small entryway of the house and beat the hell out of me. It was classic do as I say, not as I do. I tried to protect myself, but I never raised my hand to her.

I knew I couldn't raise my hand here either. Luckily, one of the other interrogators came around the table and pushed my attacker away. They started shouting at each other in Chinese. Thinking about it years later, I figure he could have been praising the guy for softening me up. I had no idea what anyone was saying. I stayed in the fetal position trying to protect myself until the new interrogator helped me up.

As I got to my feet, I could see a gold crucifix hanging from a gold chain around his neck. He started speaking perfect English.

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “He will not hurt you. That will not happen again.”

My brain kept repeating, Don't be afraid. After a few seconds I realized the guy with the crucifix was talking to me.

“We are peace-loving people. We like the American people. It is your government in Washington that is bad. Where do you live in the States?”

Without waiting for an answer, he continued.

“I went to school in San Francisco. Do you know San Francisco? I have many friends in the States. I had a wonderful experience while going to school there and I hope to go back someday. Someday when your government changes,” he said.

Again without pausing for even a beat, he fired another question at me.

“Where were you born?”

Another beat.

“Are your mother and father living?”

I just stared at the crucifix and kept my mouth shut.

“Where do you live?”

He told me that we should be friends.

“Have you ever been to San Francisco?”

I kept staring. I was hurting and not responding to anything he said.

“I am a Christian,” he said, “are you?”

I damn sure was now. I nodded my head yes.

“The Chinese People's Volunteer Army will not harm you, because we are a peace-loving people,” he said. “We know you were being forced by your corrupt government to help the South Koreans in their invasion of North Korea.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind I was thinking he might get tired of bullshitting me and let me go. But as quickly as he started, he stopped.

“You go,” he said and pointed to the rear door. “We will take care of you and I will see you again.”

A guard took me outside and made me wait by the side of the road. One by one the others joined me. The temperature was dropping by the minute. I had nothing on but a fatigue shirt and pants. Others were lucky enough to have a field jacket. But we were all cold. I tried to focus on other things, but it was impossible. One guy, someone called him O'Keefe, started saying the Lord's Prayer in a thick Boston accent.

Finally, they got us up on the road and we started moving. We marched north in two lines, one on either side of the road. Chinese supplies and equipment moved south down the middle of the road. We were not moving very long when I heard rifle shots in the distance. The shots got closer until one was fired right in our midst. The Chinese started shouting, everything stopped, and the guards got us off the road into the ditches that ran alongside it.