The Marine Corps, for Mr. Douglas Henry Clement, was a
very important part of his life, as was his involvement in the Korean War.
Living in Newington at the time, he and a few friends all went down to the old post
office in Hartford to enlist, on January 29th, 1951. Filled with
patriotism and intense valor, he never questioned joining the cause. To his
surprise, just six months after his initial infantry training he was already
fighting on the front lines in a heavy machine gun platoon. He wouldn’t
be honorably discharged until 3 years later and would end with the rank of Buck
Sergeant and three stripes. He was also the recipient of a Good Conduct medal
and a medal in sharpshooting. After the war, he eventually moved to where he
currently resides in Canton, Connecticut, and worked as a lineman for 35 years.
Hearing Mr. Clement’s war experiences had a profound impact on me, and
the story that follows is based on just one of the stories he shared with me
about the war.
All Doug Clement could hear was
the sound of his own breathing. All he could see was the morning sun. And all
he could do was stand and wait. Stand and wait. Being on watch on the front lines
had always been a nervous experience. The lack of recent sleep and the few
hours’ intense sunlight would shorten the gap between the front lines
from a few hundred yards to that of a few feet. His mind would occasionally
play tricks on him. He could imagine seeing the North Koreans, waiting in their
trenches, just as he was waiting, wondering what the other side would do.
This
morning in October had fortunately been calm. There was a cool breeze and only
sporadic gunfire. He felt his thoughts drift off, as he recalled the joyous
moments shared with his family, picturing himself talking with old friends, and
eating a warm, home-cooked meal instead of sloppy C-rations. All the while, his
gaze never left the front lines. He had trained himself by now. His thoughts
could wander freely but he was always alert, always ready for a likely attack
on his bunker.
The flies buzzing around his face
were starting to become a nuisance. For few seconds he looked down, long enough
to slap an insect crawling up his dark green pant leg and watch it flop to the
ground. He gazed at the dueling grenades attached to his cartridge belt, hoping
that no conflict would arise today which would be cause for their use.
A
dull rattling noise shot through Doug’s ears, and he immediately
re-gained his focus. First he looked straight ahead seeing nothing but the hazy
vision of the enemy bunkers and trench-line. Looking both to his left and
right, Doug only saw his friend standing next to him in another bunker
fashioned of logs and sandbags in the trench line. His friend was staring back
at him. With his helmet covering most of his face, he told Doug to calm down
with a mere reassuring flash of his eyes. Suddenly
the distinctive sound of a cough plagued Doug’s eardrums. Paranoia began to
set in. Instinct took over as he rotated his body 360 degrees and began to
examine his trench which was tightly backed with empty shells, ammunition,
blankets and other gear, all caked in mud and dirt. His face perspired and his
eyes darted to the unclear wooded area in no-man’s land. Doug’s
eyes remained glued to the dark pine trees, and he gripped his carbine at his
side. A million possibilities and images sped through his mind, faster than he
could possibly process them. The adrenaline pumped endlessly through his body.
A
few more moments of waiting stretched out like an eternity, before a face of a
North Vietnamese man emerged from the dense brush. The man walked straight
towards Doug’s bunker, emerging from his concealing shroud of branches
and limbs. To Doug’s relief, not only did he appear to be alone, but he
wasn’t carrying any visible weapon. The man was shirtless, short, very
tan, and had dark black hair. His rib cage was very visible underneath his thin
flesh, making Doug appreciate the Marine Corps food to a great extent. Hands
over his head and a tattered grey leaflet in his hands, the man was about to
surrender.
As
the man plodded forward, obviously distraught and weak from hunger, Doug guided
the man towards him calling the words “E-De-Wa”, which meant,
“come here” in Chinese or Korean. He slowly rose out of the bunker,
and began feeling more at ease. He couldn’t help but relate to how this
man probably felt at the time. Hadn’t Doug been contemplating his own
intense need for his family? This man, too, probably wanted to return to some
family he had somewhere and be done with the tireless fighting.
Looking
down at his side, Doug noticed the sun reflecting off his carbine, which he had
aimed at the man without even realizing. The man began to slowly lie down on
the ground right outside the trench line. Doug never took his eyes off of him
the entire time. He was captivated by the man's every movement. Perhaps it was
the fact that, as several of his friends had emerged from surrounding bunkers to
assist him, the man had so easily complied with the surrender. No, there was
something else, because he had seen other men surrender just as easily, before
today. It was the fact that the man was smiling.
A
routine search was in order though Doug recognized that it would probably be
futile; this man was wearing only a pair of old and yellowed shorts. A few of
Doug’s fellow Marines proceeded down the trench line to inform the
platoon leader of the capture. A cigarette was offered to the eager man, and Doug
watched the man indulge himself. As the adrenaline flow eased it’s
progression through his veins, Doug felt more at ease, but still steadied his
gaze on the man.
Doug breathed a temporary sigh of relief. It was just so strange to think about: what would become of this man? At least for this moment in time, he appeared to be at peace. This man, whose name Doug would never know, sat sitting and smiling.