DMZ

DMZ

written by: Joseph Amendolare

 

Korea.
It baked in the summer, froze in the winter.

Separated at the midpoint by the Demilitarized Zone, estimated a mile deep at some points, reinforced chain-link fence with spools of razor wire on top, undulating across the waist of the peninsula for 160 miles.

A veritable mine-infested no-man’s land which, over 70+ years, had evolved into a habitat for various species of endangered wildlife.

It was 1982, and I had nothing better to do with my life. I enlisted and completed infantry training. They assigned me to US Forces Korea.

In those years, the US Army still had deployment camps. Camp Hovey, Camp Liberty Bell. I wound up at Camp Howze. Desperate, forlorn place. Barracks, a mess hall, a PX.

Off-duty, we mostly drank our days away.
Outside the gates, camp towns for entertainment.
Mostly in the form of small bars and prostitutes.

The DMZ. I’d only been inside it on patrol. Halfway out, you came across rusted spikes of corrugated steel punched into the ground. Metal plates attached, announcing: MDL. Military Demarcation Line. Step past the sign, you were in North Korea. Here and there, inverted triangles in English and Korean: WARNING-MINES.

This was the place that separated the two sides, North and South.

On patrol, we’d run across ancient ceremonial figures carved out of cement.
In dreams, they haunted me.
Ruins of some long-ago village, a burial plot long forgotten and abandoned.

The various nicknamed rendezvous points.

Scary Finger.
Bucket.
Anderson Hill.

Anderson was named for a soldier that lost a leg to a landmine in heavy fog one year.

We deployed, two platoons at a time, for three days of 12-hour shifts, taking turns walking the wire. Rat-infested timber cabins positioned here and there.
Observation posts, guard posts.

Sleeping in “tent city,” no heat, no AC, on a plywood floor.
With our patrol lockers, uniforms, rations. Then we’d change shift with the crew on duty, and then they bunked. And so on, on and off.

Daytime recon.
Ambush patrol at night.

We’d been humping a low pine-studded hill one night, some 20 meters back from the wire.
Paused and kneeled. You could hear a pin drop. In the distance, well off beyond the wire, flashes of light. It was a known ploy. North Koreans swiveling mirrors in the moonlight. Simulating muzzle flashes.

Trying to draw anyone on our side into firing at them.

“Stand fast,” came the order.

Which we did.
He’d made a slight navigation error.
We were in the right place but facing the wrong direction.

There were gates in the fence. Spaced here and there was a gate. They were all padlocked. As we looked down at the moonlit path next to the wire, a figure suddenly appeared. It stunned us. A ROK Army soldier, in uniform, was running full-tilt along the path next to the fence. He stopped at one of the gates.

“What the hell”, someone whispered, “is he doing out here?”

The answer came soon enough.
He unlocked the gate and went through it. It swiveled on its hinges.
The creaking sound it made was eerie and dark.
Then he disappeared.

We were spooked. In disbelief at what we’d witnessed.

Squad Leader radioed the mortar platoon for support. Fat chance, I said to myself.
It was 1AM on a Saturday morning. Anyone at base camp was either passed out drunk in the dayroom or watching M.A.S.H. on TV. He tried CQ. Nothing but static.

“Shit,” I heard him mumble under his breath.

A Sergeant knelt on one knee next to me. Johnson. Never learned his first name.
We all called him Johnson. He was older, forty or so. Had been awarded a Purple Heart in Vietnam years ago.

We had rules of engagement.

“Boy,” he whispered, “take that rifle off Safe. Anything comes through that wire, you open up and do not hesitate.”

“Stand fast and hold fire,” came the order down the line. Squad Leader apparently had made contact with base camp. They were sending reinforcements. Breach in the wire was not taken lightly.

“Maybe he’s trying to defect. To the other side,” I said to no one in particular.

SGT Johnson, still on one knee, cradled his M-16, supporting it against one of the pine trees. He’d clicked it off Safe. Elbow out, he pointed it downrange.

“Don’t care,” he said, “what he’s doing. Anything comes through that gate, smoke it.”

We carried three clips per soldier. Twenty round clips. Plus two hand grenades. One sniper, one grenade launcher. There were 12 of us in the platoon. I figured we could hold out under cover. Until reinforcements arrived. I threw in with Johnson. I took my rifle off safe and aimed it at the gate.

North Koreans had guard posts on their side, too.
They did their own patrols.

The moon scudded in and out of passing clouds. The gate creaked on its hinges. You couldn’t see 10 feet in any way. No one had any targets to fire at. We just kept an eye on that open gate.

“Maybe one of us should go down and lock it back up,” I said. “I don’t think he took the padlock with him. The key’s probably still in it.”

“You wanna volunteer for that mission, White?” Johnson said, “Go crawl your ass over to Squad Leader and let him know.”

I didn’t have to. A flock of birds suddenly took off from a bush, and somewhere down the line to our left, a soldier panicked and opened fire.

“Son of a bitch!” Squad Leader whispered, “I said stand fast and hold fire!”

Whatever was out there, now knew we were here.

I guessed it was the Medic. Bespectacled, frightened young kid from the Midwest. That was my guess. The Squad Leader was crawling his way towards us.

“Where’d that fire come from?” he asked.

“Down the line to our left,” Johnson told him.

He kept going.

“Cover me,” I told Johnson. “I’m gonna go down and lock that gate.”

“You better clear it with Top first,” he said, but it was too late.
I was already on my way.

I picked my way down the hill. The wire seemed further off than I’d thought. The path itself was deserted. The open gate squealed back and forth. A few of the
soldiers called at me to come back. I heard our Squad Leader.

“White! What the hell are you doing down there!”

I knew how stupid this was. I was near the open gate. It yawned like a cavern. Could not see beyond it. The bush nearby where the birds had flown from. It dawned on me much later that a flock of birds would not just take off at night unless startled by something.

The padlock dangled from the gate. I had to step through to grab it, pull it shut, and lock it back up.

Honestly, I never knew what hit me. There was a motion to my right and the swinging of something heavy, and I heard soldiers yelling from up the hill behind me, and I was knocked cold.

When I came to, I was being dragged, manhandled into a bunker of some kind. They were brutal. I was being kidnapped, captive against my will.

I remembered my father’s voice right before I’d left home. Be careful over there.

Once you cross that line, he’d said, there’s no coming back.