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“We took a stroll toward the square, just taking in the view of this beautiful city.” |
IT was over a hundred degrees on that December day after the armistice. Marines who were left behind listened dejectedly to a lecture on compass skills. We were sitting in a jungle glade that had been the site of a great battle and the training ground for another. We would much rather have gone home with our regiment and marched in the victory parades on our way. But we had earned only thirteen of the required sixty-eight discharge points. Horsefall had left in August with a hand picked platoon for detached duty on Haha Jima in the Bonin Islands, and my only pal left from our original group was Bill Houser. We had been feeling very depressed ever since the Japanese surrender. It had occurred right at the climax and suddenly ended our great adventure,
Most of the guys had been studying and taking courses that were being offered all over the Third Division area, but Houser and I found it a waste. We attended a couple of lectures on auto mechanics, but you couldn't get near the jeep they were tearing down. Besides, we didn't know what we wanted to learn anyway. Houser was going back to his big family farm in Indiana, and I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. All I knew was that I would make a lousy farmer, and I would hate returning to my milling machine in the file plant. We spent most of our time at the big bamboo and grass Red Cross building playing ping pong. To make matters worse, we were told that we would be going to the island of Truk which was a very hot, treeless atoll. We had volunteered for China duty, but had little hope of getting that since it had always been a choice duty assignment before the war, and the "regulars" had first choice.
I was having trouble concentrating on that boring lecture. I had learned all they were teaching while playing "capture the flag" in the Boy Scouts. I had also used this skill recently in this very part of the jungle when I lost my watch while hacking my way through the thick underbrush. The watch had been a gift from my sister, and I felt very bad about losing it. A week later, we were training in the same area, and someone remembered the heading that we had been on. My fire team took the same azimuth and we found my watch under the heavy foliage.
My thoughts and the lecture were interrupted when a six-by drove up loaded with arctic clothing. We knew right then that we weren't going to Truk, and therefore it had to be China! Houser and I knew that Innis would have been in either the Sixth or First Division and both outfits were on occupation duty in China. We were obviously going to the North, which was where the First Division was stationed. Maybe we would even find him! The truck driver threw off bundles of all kinds of woolen clothing and pile-lined boots, gloves, hats, and vests, plus bulky sheepskin coats, and heavy sleeping bags. Bill and I swore that we would never get cold enough to wear that gear, but we were very wrong!
We boarded an old "victory ship", the USS Karnes a few days later and headed north. We sailed through the Philippine Sea to the North China Sea. As we sailed through the Yellow Sea, it began to get cold and stormy. The Karnes was a small freighter that had been converted to a troop transport. As it got colder and colder, the Marines, one by one, broke out their winter gear. Bill and I felt foolish when we finally got ours out and dressed up like Eskimos.. A typhoon descended upon us and the seas got even higher. Our little tub of a ship was rolling and pitching and bobbing like a cork. The huge waves were actually breaking over the bow and flooding the deck. We stayed in our bunks, listening to a radio broadcast from Tsingtao that was being piped into our hold. The music was a strange cacophony of discordant sounds from strange sounding stringed instruments. I decided that Chinese music would take some getting used to.
Eating on the mess deck in the storm was a real challenge. It had stand-up tables so you could sway with the rolling of the ship. Everyone was getting sick. Even old salts that claimed they had never been seasick were succumbing. I barely escaped the sickness when the ship rolled over so far that all the trays slid off the table into a mess of "mess" on the deck. Several guys bolted through the hatchway and headed for the rail. I went out for fresh air, and was barely able to keep the food down.
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We finally rounded the point of the Shantung Peninsula and were headed for a sandbar near the village of Taku, where visitors to Northern China had landed for hundreds of years on their way to Tientsin and Peking. This part of the Yellow Sea, called the Gulf of Shihli, was very shallow and infamous for its huge waves. We dropped anchor among a fleet of American ships and prepared to go over the side into the waiting boats. The captain decided to wait another day, fearing that the LSTs would flounder in waves that big. That night, another ship's anchor broke loose and the ship threatened to crash into ours. They sounded general quarters, which meant for us to go to our abandon ship stations.
"This is not a drill!" squawked the boatswain on the horn, but for the life of me, I couldn't fight my way out of my new mummy sleeping bag, in which I had buried myself in all my coats and blankets. I was reconciled to going down with the ship until a sailor came along and helped me get free.
After our steak and eggs the following morning, which we always enjoyed before going over the side, we climbed down the nets with our eighty pound loads of packs and weapons. I finally reached the bottom of the net and put one foot on the deck of the LST, when suddenly the boat dropped thirty feet into a trough and I had to hang there until she bobbed back up on the next wave. When she did, I scrambled out of the way of the next man. When the boat was full, we plowed over those monstrous waves until the boat grounded on the sand bar. From there, we waded ashore in the surf and sorted out our sea-bags and bedrolls, which had been unloaded by the sailors, and started dragging them to our waiting trucks. Then a hundred or more Chinese people ran down to us and offered to carry them for us. I was amazed at the ease with which a ten- or twelve-year boy carried mine. They wouldn't take any pay until we insisted. They must have been just happy to have the Marines back again and had probably been glad to see thousands of Japanese depart onto LSTs from the sand bar during recent months.
Upon arrival in Tientsin, we were guests of the Seventh Marines, who were occupying that part of China. After a warm meal and a warm room to sleep in, we were eager to see what Christmas would be like in Peking since it was December 22, 1945. We sorted out our sea-bags and bedrolls for the third time. I was getting sick of this and vowed right then to have a colorful design painted on mine before our next move. Others must have had the same idea because by then most of the sea-bags had distinctive designs. On December 24, we boarded a decrepit looking train pulled by an ancient locomotive. The straight-backed seats were uncomfortable. The most comfortable places were the overhead luggage racks, which were soon full of Marines. That cold north wind blew right through the train car and right through us. Our blood was apparently still thin "tropical weight." A Marine dug out his scrub bucket from his sea-bag and built a fire in it using wood from the rickety seats. Soon there were many roaring fires, but few remaining seats. As sunset neared, we began to see more frequent villages, and knew we were nearing Peking. Then we noticed a pungent odor and started casting accusing glances at our fellow unbathed passengers. We were to learn that it was the "smell of the moth-eaten centuries," as one famous traveler had called it. It was caused by the combination of the garlic and sesame oil used extensively in cooking along with a very primitive sewage system, which resulted in the sewage being spread on the fields for fertilizer.
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We arrived in the Tien An-men railroad station in the black of night and the giant terminal looked deserted in its darkened interior. But on second look, it wasn't empty at all, but full of people dressed in black quilted baggy pants and matching jackets. This was the cold weather clothing that most of the people of Peking wore that winter. They were squatting on their haunches and were sound asleep. That is the way they rested and wherever we went, we saw people squatting in that manner to take a rest. That was only one of the many strange sights and customs that would never cease to amaze all of us in this very strange part of the world.
We sorted out our sea-bags again, for the nth time and transferred to yet another line of six-bys. We finally arrived, half-frozen, and were quartered in an unheated and well-ventilated shed. We fell into an exhausted sleep.
"Saddle up!" was our awakening by the Gunny Sergeant, and again we climbed aboard the big familiar trucks and headed west to the airfield that would be our January home. We were assigned to Able Company, Fifth Marines, which was guarding the field. The remaining Marine travelers were divided between the garrisons in the British and American legations.
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There was a new snow to a depth of eight inches when I dumped my gear on an empty cot in a huge unheated airplane hangar and reported for my first watch. My station was the 100-octane gasoline dump that fueled a row of sleek Corsairs and F7F fighter planes. I nearly froze during that first four-hour watch and was afraid that my feet really would freeze during my midnight watch. The cold wind coming in from the Gobi Desert was really getting bitter and nasty.
In desperation I made a foot heater out of a beer can, a wick, and some kerosene. It worked fine, hidden down in the snow, but it is a wonder I didn't blow up that fuel dump, F7Fs and all. Thirty years later my doctor told me to avoid getting my feet too cold because a birth injury had pulled some veins loose and my feet would freeze easily. Now, he tells me!
The morning of the 24th was cold and crisp as we filed outside for the morning roll call formation. When each platoon sergeant reported, "All present and accounted for, sir," the Gunny bellowed, "Like Hell you are!" Then, after all had reported, he bellowed, "Company dismissed!" He was too cold to argue that 188 of the 200 were missing, as the absentees steadfastly refused to leave their sleeping bags until their watch time.
Only two more watches and then Houser and I would have 24 hours off-duty and on Christmas! The Marine Air Wing posted an invitation for all Able Company personnel to share the holiday festivities with them, including a big turkey dinner and entertainment. Houser and I had other plans, however, and managed passes to spend the day in Peking. We got a ride on a weapons carrier that was making a mail run to battalion headquarters at the British legation in the heart of Peking.
After a ten-mile ride, we passed through the outer wall at the South Gate and then after several more miles through heavy traffic, we entered the Tartar Walls through the Chien gate. We proceeded up the boulevard in the only motorized vehicle within sight. All other traffic was rickshaws, pedestrians, bicycles, and oxcarts. We turned down Legation Street at the huge Tien An-men Square until we passed the Russian legation on the left, then the American legation on the right, where we turned left onto another broad street called Chan-an Boulevard. A few more blocks took us to our destination, the British legation. Of course there were no foreign embassies in those legation compounds. The Marines had just kicked out the Japanese and moved in themselves. We pulled up at the guardhouse where the battalion mail clerk was preparing the Christmas mail. The first thing I did was to ask if he had ever heard of Bill Horsefall or Gerald Innis. "I don't know Innis, but Horsefall was just here getting a pass for liberty. You'll find him in the mortar squad quarters in the rear of the compound, a small building in the corner."
We found Horse in that building which was formerly the servants' quarters, then Japanese officers' quarters, and now the Marine mortar men's home. What a reunion we had! I couldn't have had a better Christmas present than getting back with my old buddy, Horse! We sat on the soft straw mats that were wall-to-wall and toasted the holiday while we passed around a bottle of brandy. Horse said, "The four of us were just getting ready to go out to dinner at the Peking Hotel, so how about you guys coming along?"
They carried .45 caliber pistols on duty belts worn over their dress greens. That was a lot more convenient than our M-1 rifles, since all Marines were required to carry their weapons while on liberty. The Peking Hotel was a world class hostelry and was quite famous worldwide for its fine cuisine, especially the roast duck and exotic Chinese dishes which it had served to bon vivant western visitors for a hundred years. The expansive black and white tiled lobby led into a big dining room with ornate crystal chandeliers, rich carpeting, furniture and appointments. The maitre d' showed us to a large round table where six immaculate waiters stood at stiff attention -- one for each of us. We ate a twelve-course dinner. The seafood courses included raw fish, several kinds of shellfish, fried fish fritters, and baked fish. These were followed by various pork and chicken dishes, and of course the specialty, Peking duck. Strange but delicious vegetables accompanied these entrees. Then, after two dessert courses, they served a dish of plain white rice and very small thimble-size glasses of white wine. Horse said, "Scratch the rice and bring another round of wine." This brought the chef running out to see what was wrong with his precious rice, and offered to do the rice over. "Eleven courses are enough," Horse insisted. "Just bring a couple more rounds of wine."
As we sipped the wine, we got Horse to tell us about his Bonn Islands occupation. The hand picked platoon of thirty five, led by Horse's Third Platoon leader, landed on Ha Ha Jima a few days after the Japanese had sued for peace. His platoon marched in wearing starched uniforms and polished helmet liners instead of combat garb. The idea was to bluff the Japanese into surrendering and to disarm them before they realized there was only one platoon opposing their 18,000 man garrison. He said there were destroyers circling the island. Meanwhile the first squad toured the perimeter and dropped a phosphorous grenade down the barrel of each gun. There was no resistance. The Japs were as sick of war as the Americans. Horse spent six weeks there, fishing and sailing around in a Japanese sailboat.
"It sure is nice being with you again," he said. "Hope we can get stationed together again. I wonder what happened to Innis? If he is with the First Division, he could be anywhere in these northern provinces. We are really spread thin, and scattered all over northern China. Did you check on him in Tientsin?" "Yeah," I answered, "but there wasn't time to get over to Division Headquarters. He's apparently not in the Seventh Marines." "Let's hope he's OK," said Horse. "If he went to Okinawa, it could have been pretty rugged."
We decided to take a walk down the boulevard and Horse picked up the check and left 6,000 yuan (Chinese dollars) as a tip for the 36,000 yuan tab. I could see that Chinese money was going to be very confusing. We found a moneychanger on the street and I changed two dollars and received 20,000 yuan in 100 and 1,000-yuan bills. Now, with a roll big enough to choke a horse, all I needed was some merchant to try it out on. We took a stroll toward the square, just taking in the view of this beautiful city. Whenever we would stop for any reason, people would gather around and stare at us as though we were freaks. A Chinese friend later told us that Marines were kind of held in awe because of their famous eight-week stand when thousands of Boxer insurgents stormed the British legation and were repulsed.
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We stopped at a peanut vendor to get some fresh roasted peanuts to take back to our hangar. Then my eye caught the box of coins that was his till. I had a hard time communicating to the vendor that I wanted to buy coins. Some of the crowd of bystanders caught on before he did, and they were all talking at once. Suddenly he understood, and with a big grin, took a double handful of coins and put them in my blouse pocket. I tried to give him my whole 20,000 yuan roll, but he gestured, "No! No!" and removed two yuan bills, and pushed the roll back to me and would not accept any more. I had only given him two cents in American money.
The people were smiling at my attempted generosity. It gave me the impression that we were among friends, and I wondered what would happen to them if the "Red Brigade" of Mao Tse Tung would happen to win the civil war they were fighting in the North. These people must have been happy to be rid of the Japanese that had kept them in poverty and misery through ten long years of war and four years of Japanese occupation.
Our next stop, after a short rickshaw ride, was the Peking bazaar. It was in a tall circular building full of small shops and boutiques. You could buy a wide variety of gifts, novelties, and clothing, but not many necessities, which were scarce at that time. It was a busy place and very noisy since custom required that you haggle for everything that you bought. I bought a fan and some other trinkets to send to my relatives, and probably paid ten times too much, but still just pennies in our money. We had planned to stop back at the hotel and visit the Crystal Room, a famous cocktail lounge, but the last truck would soon be leaving the legation in order to pass through the Chien Gate before it closed and sealed off the Tartar section of the city for the night.
Back at West Airfield, they treated us with beer and bourbon left over from their Christmas dinner party. It seems our hosts had treated them with DC-3 rides over the great wall which was only twenty miles away. They also heard stories about the Flying Tigers who hired American mercenary pilots to fly the famous P-40's with the shark faces painted on their noses. In fact, we were told, two of those planes had somehow survived the Japanese occupation and were still sitting out on the flight line.
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The next morning, right after roll call, House and I went out to find them. What a thrill it was to sit in a cockpit where those famous pilots had fought and won against far superior Japanese fighter planes. This was one of the planes that I had modeled several times in our Lake Park Gang model airplane club and one that was featured in war movies. When I built those models and fantasized about flying, I never dreamed that I would someday get to sit in one.
Actually, the P-40 was my best modeling effort. In fact, I made three. The first was a regular size. Then I made a big twenty-four inch one that turned out beautifully. Steaming the wings was the final touch which was supposed to draw the tissue paper tightly over the balsa wood frame. Unfortunately, I got one of the wings too close to the flame under the teakettle and the plane went down in flames in the kitchen sink. Weeks of work were down the drain.
But I built the third one, and it was my masterpiece. It was too perfect to just hang from my bedroom ceiling, so I decided to give it one good flight from the top of Ebee's log home on top of the high Lake Park Hill to the wide parking lot in the park far below. The model had perfect balance and lots of power from the thick knot of rubber bands strung inside. It was a beautiful sight as that shark-faced beauty sailed down over the trees and Scarr's gas station toward the empty parking lot beyond. Before it got there, a breeze sprang up and gently steered my pride and joy right into the lake! All these memories came rolling into my mind as I sat in that real P-40 fighter.
There was something romantic about air warfare, and nearly every Marine I knew had first tried to get into the Marine Air Wing. One of the F7F night fighter pilots at our airfield was unknown to us then, but Lt. John Glenn would be one of America's most celebrated flyers.
Our month at West Field dragged by as we stood two watches every day. We went to the city a couple of times and met Horse and some of his drinking buddies. One night after making the rounds, we wound up in the Crystal Room in the Peking Hotel. The walls were all mirrored, and there were enormous crystal chandeliers and other rich trappings. There were about twenty Marines just sitting around talking to each other and to several White Russian girls who were mingling with them. I'm sure that at least one was a Communist spy because she tried to find out about our troop movements. She asked me when we were going north, which was the first I had heard about it. She seemed to know more about our assignment than we did.
Out of nowhere a Navy liberty party arrived and started throwing too much money around. As usual, when sailors and Marines get together on liberty, there was a heck of a fight, and that beautiful room was totally destroyed. Horse, Houser and I escaped out the back door just as the SP's came in to arrest everyone. We were staggering down Chien-men Boulevard, not really concerned that we had missed the last scheduled truck to the airfield. We were singing and having a good time when a weapons carrier pulled over and gave us a ride. By chance, he was going to West Field also, and after dropping Horse off at the legation, delivered Houser and me to our hangar. By then, we were passed out like logs and woke up the next morning on the cold floor just inside the door.
For this misdeed, our EPD was the monumental task of moving five tons of coal from the front to the rear of our hangar using shovels and wheelbarrow. At least we were finally going to have heat in our quarters. But I thought that I had sworn off that coal detail when we left Lake Park.
