Spraying machine gun bullets lit up the hillside as Zhang dodged behind a rock to protect himself. His foe, the American 49th division, was fighting north of what would be later the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). He had been drafted as an interpreter in one of the worst kept secrets of the Koran war, Chinese participation.
M3 howitzer shells started to rain around his troop’s positions, kicking up dust and shards of trees and rocks. Zhang silently repeated the names of his wife and children, in hopes of seeing them again. All around him, wounded comrades moaned.
His Texas counterpart, Beau Alexander, stayed low in his trench, trembling with each close shelling from the Chinese Katyusha rocket launchers. He silently cursed his signing up for this living hell. Beau Alexander wore a clothespin on his nose to keep out the stench of the dead soldiers lying in a pool of mud and blood.
And then it went silent. Calls of ceasefire went up and down both lines, signaling the end of the Korean war. Orders came into both sides to meet in two hours to figure out their exact location and for the opposing infantry to deploy far behind the newly created DMZ. The enemy commanders needed to work out the details.
Zhang had only a few hours to contemplate the lack of interpreter training. He had memorized in a British accent, “Kill the American imperialist dogs,” and phrases such as “Surrender, you dirty pigs. You don’t have a chance.” China, closed off for decades from outsiders, had provided training only with scratchy English recordings. Fear soon consumed him because failure to perform meant you were expendable, certain death. Zhang, who lived in the southern city of Guangzhou, spoke only Cantonese. He could understand only a fraction of what his Mandarin-speaking northern commanders said. Two hours to execute or be executed.
Just two hundred yards away, Beau Alexander struggled to comprehend the sudden shift from possible death with a cacophony of explosive noises to eerie stillness. He surveyed the trench momentarily, but quickly looked away from the multitude of dead bodies littering the fetid trench. Before he could gather his remaining wits, a private rushed up to hand him orders. In two hours, he was to function as an interpreter for the truce meeting between the enemy camps. Finally he would be face-to-face with the Commie yellow devils, but impotent to show his anger at them for killing his friends.
Reality intruded: he had a job to do that he was ill-equipped to perform. Beau Alexander had had trouble mastering the four tones of Mandarin. Rushed through interpreter training school, he thought he would only have to ask prisoners for their names and ranks, not to be a main cog in peace negotiations.
Unbeknownst to him, Beau Alexander would be trying to respond to his counterpart, who only spoke the more difficult seven tonal Cantonese.
***
With Zhang and an attendant, General Li marched to the negotiating table in full regalia. The peace table was set up on the 38th parallel. General Davidson ambled over in his battle fatigues without an escort. General Li ceremoniously sat and planted the Chinese flag on the table. His attendant and Zhang stood at alert, eyes staring straight ahead. General Davidson slouched in his chair next to Beau Alexander. Both Generals, still on alert, cautiously eyed each other before General Li spoke.
“N? d?dé h?nh?o, dàn n? sh?le.” (You fought well, but you lost).
Not understanding these words, Beau translated, “General Li gives his regards to yourself and your troops.”
General Davidson, expecting an insult from the slant-eye, was pleasantly surprised. He responded with a friendly response. “Even though you were the aggressor, I respect your willingness to be honorable in defeat.”
Zhang, nervously waiting his turn, translated confidently in the few Mandarin words he knew, “The American imperialist pig agrees with you.”
General Li smiled as the round-eyed Davidson admitted his loss of face. “W?men ji?ng zài qìngzhù shènglì hòu j?nw?n chètuì.” (We will withdraw tonight after a victory celebration).
Not understanding what General Li had said, Zhang said in Cantonese that he hoped the Americans would have a good meal tonight, a standard Cantonese saying.
Beau Alexander, hoping to end the unintelligible conversation as quickly as possible, told General Davidson, “He smiles at your graciousness after winning the battle. He will honor the treaty.”
General Davidson smiled back broadly. He lit a victory cigar and offered one to his defeated rival. General Li accepted the gift and lit up. General Li marveled at how weak and pathetic the American dog acted. Americans didn’t seem to display shame. All he had heard about the decadent, spineless West must be true.
After finishing their cigars, each retreated to his respective division camp. Zhang sighed deeply, disbelieving he had pulled it off. He might live to see his family. Beau Alexander figured he had pulled off a Texas-style bluff, as big and daring as the Alamo.
The Korean sun set as the two victorious squads celebrated with drinking, yelling, and bonfires. Both generals marveled at how the other side celebrated such a stunning defeat.
Dr. Neil Weiner is a recently retired psychologist with over 40 years’ experience as a private practitioner, professor at two universities, and presenter at national and international workshops and conferences. In addition, he has been a staff development trainer for public schools, social service agencies, and hospitals. Dr. Weiner coauthored the book Shattered Innocence and authored three works of fiction.
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