Ear Tugger, spoke to another who then departed. It wasn't long before he returned with a board. They laid me on this and started to carry me down the hill. A wry thought crossed my mind at this point. It had to do with something my father told me once, concerning some of his friends, when he was young. If one had drunk too much on a Saturday night, he might be carried home on a shutter taken from the window of a nearby house. Well, this was Tuesday morning, not Saturday night; and though I hadn't imbibed, I was only slightly more capable than if I had been “stoned.”

I can't be certain about the time, but what was no more than a half hour later, we arrived at a hut. I was carried inside and laid on a “kang,” a bed constructed of brick which has an oven beneath it. Such an arrangement would seem a bit like sleeping on the kitchen stove.

I looked up and saw more faces, but this time they were Occidental, the Oriental faces were in the background. I had not seen various members of the crew often enough to recognize them, but I assumed these to be men I'd been flying with. They were certainly dressed for the part, even carrying sidearms in their holsters. Though there was a mixture of races; and therefore, one would assume, a mixture of the two “sides” of the war, the atmosphere was friendly and completely non-antagonistic. I noticed a rifle on the wall, yet none of the Orientals made a move for it.

There were no soldiers present and, as I lay there, one of the crew members, Captain Lewellyn, the navigator, whom I remembered, asked me who I was. I told him, and he said “My God, I didn't recognize you!” I knew I was in trouble.

Lew and Airman John Thompson, a gunner, examined me and discovered that the object which had penetrated my leg had first struck the edge of my aluminum first-aid kit that had been in my flight suit leg-pocket. The projectile had peeled back the edge of the kit and had driven it into my leg before passing through and out the other side of the leg. Lew extracted this metal and, assuming I must be experiencing considerable pain from this, before I could convince him otherwise, gave me a shot of morphine from someone's kit. He and John did what they could for me and told the farmers to get the soldiers so I could be cared for properly, as a prisoner of war.

We had been chatting for a short time when a minor commotion arose at the door. The military personnel had arrived. At this point, one of the farmers stepped to the wall, got the rifle and held it in a rather relaxed fashion before him. This act was obviously for the benefit of the soldiers who wore the red star of the Chinese Communist Army which was fighting along side the North Koreans.

The other crew members were ordered out and I was carried out where we were placed in an open-bed truck. There was some discussion among the soldiers, then we were returned to the hut. Inside we were searched and relieved of our weapons, identification bracelets, and wallets. They did not take my “escape and evasion” kit, another metal box like the first-aid kit which, with the help of some unidentified flying object had ventilated my leg. It contained fish hooks and line, needle and thread, a map, a compass and various other items selected because they might be of help if one were required to live off the land. We were returned to the truck where Lew, who was also injured, and I were told to lie down. I didn't need any encouragement, in fact they carried me out and laid me where they wanted me. We were covered with a parachute. Colonel Arnold and Airman Thompson were brought back to the truck and told to sit beside us. We were instructed not to talk.

The truck departed, and after some travel over dirt roads and a paved road; we arrived at a town. I was taken from the truck, laid on a stretcher and carried toward a building. The swaying of the stretcher was the added touch. I regurgitated all over myself. One of the guards walking beside me muttered something. I don't know if it was out of pity, which I doubt, or derisive, which is more likely. Either way, I couldn't be concerned.

The stretcher which bore me in my messy condition was carried into the building. I was later told this had been a police station in Antung, China, which is just across the Yalu River from Korea. Subsequent information I was able to accumulate led me to believe this was factual. However, at the time, I assumed we were still in North Korea.

I was laid on the floor and offered some hot water and a roll. I drank some water but couldn't eat the roll.

Shortly, a middle-aged man, wearing a white hospital coat, arrived. He was accompanied by two females dressed similarly, except that they wore masks. I assumed they were a doctor and two nurses. The doctor examined me and, in broken English, asked me how I felt. I told him I didn't feel very well. He and the girls did something to my leg and left.

Before long I was blindfolded, taken to a truck and transported to a building with at least two floors. I was carried upstairs and into a room where I was deposited on the floor, on a blanket. My blindfold was removed. The run-down condition of the bare room, accented by peeling wallpaper, seemed to identify this as an abandoned house. I learned from the other crewmembers, almost two years later, that it was a soldiers' barracks.

There was a broken clay washbasin on the floor. This was transformed into a small fireplace by a soldier who built a fire with some sticks and paper. At first I wasn't too comfortable with this makeshift arrangement but soon adopted a what-the-hell-it's-their-house attitude. Another taller soldier, who spoke English very well and whom I was to see quite frequently over the next few months, told me to hold my hands over the fire and rub them constantly. Both men left.

Propping myself against the wall, I surveyed the room as I rubbed. I noticed an American chewing gum wrapper on the floor but little else. I did hear a cough now and then coming from another part of the house, but I'd noticed that several of the soldiers coughed, so I couldn't be certain that it was a crew member. Also there were shuffling footsteps on the stairs accompanied by more firm treads. A crewman accompanied by a guard? Again, I couldn't be certain.

A small group of soldiers came in. I hadn't seen them before. One spoke English and he asked who I was. Now the game began. I gave him my name, rank, and serial number. He said he needed more information and asked me more questions. I said that I'd given him all I could. He had a questionnaire he wanted me to complete; but realizing I couldn't hold a pencil, he didn't pursue this. They too left.

The first soldier who had spoken to me in English returned after dark with three others. He asked me if I could stand a ride in a Jeep. I told him I could, and this time when they left, they carried me with them.

The Jeep ride was not long, but the windows were frosted and I was told to keep my head down while riding between two soldiers. Therefore, I could't identify the route we traveled. I do know we stopped for a train at a crossing and we drove across a bridge which seemed to have sides of steel or concrete.

When we reached our destination, I was carried into what proved to be a hospital. I was placed on one of two beds in a room. This was to be my home for the next eight months.