Inchon 1955-1957

About the Book

INCHON 1955-1957

The little boy peered cautiously out from behind the sagging wooden fence which surrounded the American mess hall. The smell of urine permeated the air. A forty-watt bulb swung violently with each fresh gust of wind, sending eerie shadows to dance across the yard. Beyond the fence, a sentry trudged through the foot-deep snow. It was dark out and very cold, and the boy hoped the sentry would not linger long at his rounds. He tugged at the ragged ends of his jacket and watched. Inside, his stomach churned uneasily trying to digest a piece of frozen potato peel he’d found buried among the tin cans and coffee grounds which filled the open can marked: “Non-Edible Garbage.”

At last the sentry faded into the darkness and the boy was alone. He crouched back and listened. All was quiet. Only the high pitch of the wind disturbed the night. He slipped through the broken slats of the fence and out into the field. High above, the moon’s bright image bathed the field, turning the fresh-fallen snow into myriad’s of luminescent crystals, and overall a blanket of blue pervaded with only the boy’s tiny, creeping figure to mar its elegance. INCHON, KOREA; December 1955.

The American military occupies a war-torn country, ruled by a puppet government and its ruthless ROK C.I. agents. An American soldier strives to preserve his sanity as he witnesses incident after incident of savage barbarism heaped upon a hopelessly oppressed people. Historic events are described: The Causeway Riots; POL raids; the assassination of Shin Ni Ki; the Han River Crash.

The incidences described here are neither fact nor fiction. They are based upon memories, either accurate or otherwise, and told through the eyes of a fictitious character who does not represent the author, but rather a man the author wishes he could have been. Names of American participants have been changed to protect the innocent. Names of the Koreans are accurate to the best of the author’s memory.

China Doll snuggled her kimono tightly around her shoulders and shivered in the doorway of her shack. The mist was settling again as evening fell, and patches of snow still lay here and there wherever they were protected by the shadows of the surrounding buildings. She breathed deeply the frosty air, and though it was still cold she could detect the smells of approaching Spring.

She turned and went back inside. The carpet bag lay on the floor all gleaming and new; a gift of a new boy-friend. The bag had already begun to bulge with her extorted offerings and she felt this Spring might bring better luck for them all. Especially the little boy the American, Steiner, had brought her.

Down near the Causeway gate, the clinking, scraping sounds of rusted wheels rose through the evening mist. The little boy with no legs pushed himself along with two stumps of wood held firmly in his hands. He had been ill and had missed his morning rounds. Most of the people he begged his food from were securely behind their doors for the night, and he knew it would be impolite to disturb them at so late an hour. He doubled over suddenly as a wracking pain shot through his chest. He did not worry about it since he knew it would pass. It had been with him last year also, but when Spring had come it had ceased, and he knew it would again this year.

The growling in his stomach continued to plague him, and he looked about through the fog for the presence of someone from whom he might get a morsel of food. He turned and began working his way along the wharves toward the Wolmi-Do Causeway. Ahead, a faint light shimmered from the gate shack. “Perhaps the Americans will give me some chocolate. One had once,” he remembered.

About the Author

R.J. Cantwell, PhD. Retired adjunct professor of Geology, Biology, Geography, and Anthropology, resides in Dunlap, California.