My Story (10) - Battle of Dachen (2)
My Story (10) - Battle of Dachen (2)
Break at Nanji
On May 29th, 1954, the ship sailed to Nanji (南麂)Island. The island is about 82 nautical
miles south of Dachen (大陳), a journey about seven to eight
hours for our slow moving ship. It was an en route stopover to Matchu (馬祖), one of the islands near the mainland
that was firmly held by the Nationalists, even until now. The excuse to go
there was to re-supply, but the real reason was to take a breather from the
breathless tension of battle field. Water
sources on that small island were very limited, and hardly any
vegetables could be grown in its infertile soil. For agriculture, the arid farm
land could only grow sweet potatoes. For fishing, they could only catch a kind
of very tiny kind called Ding-Xiang Fish, similar to small herring, 1-to-2 inch
long with the thickness of a chopstick. These were dried under the sun and
stored to make the island people's staple food year round. As a political
officer, I also was responsible for officers’ and sailors’ nutrition. Refrigerated
fresh vegetables ran out within one week. Frozen meat stock lasted longer, but
by then we had stayed too long at sea so they were also exhausted. I organized
a purchasing group and went through all the villages, bringing some rice, which
was scarce and was treasured by island residents, to try to exchange for hogs (Taiwan
currency was not accepted there). But at
their pigsties I only saw a few skinny, hungry, and pitiful looking animals begging
to be fed, not ready to be slaughtered for the meat.
The island had a bay surrounded by two rocky hills which
blocked the wind and waves from the ocean. Our ship anchored in the middle of
the bay. The water was crystal clear, hundreds of jellyfish drifting, and with the reflection of
floating white clouds it was breathtakingly beautiful. There were no buildings,
fields, or people in sight. A beach spread out in the middle, extended slowly into the blue water, shiny white
and clean. We lowered a life boat and drove a boatful of people, about 20 of them, to the beach, to swim,
walk around, or just lazily lie down. It was a rare, hard-earned moment that
was comfortable, content, and enjoyable.
The ship clerk had always been prided himself on being a good
swimmer. Attracted by the beauty of the sea and beach or probably wanting to
show off his technique, he slipped into the water in his underwear to swim to
the shore. As an industry officer without military training, he was totally
ignorant of the dangers in the water. Half way to the beach a jelly fish
brushed his underside. From his chest to
abdomen, his skin immediately turned red and swollen. His scream of pain
and for help alarmed people both on board and on the beach. Fortunately, the life
boat had its engine running, ready to take more people to the beach. The driver
immediately sped over and fished him out.
Some people found wild daffodils in the cracks of the rocks.
In the unspoiled environment they looked fresh, luxuriant, and beautiful. We
dug them out and replanted them in whatever container we could find - rice
bowls and tea cups, filled with fresh water from the ship, lined with white
stones collected from the beach. Every room on board had one or two. It added a
peaceful and relaxing atmosphere to soothe our tension and weariness.
News from a supply ship
We returned to Dachen on June 5. The next day, our ship pulled
alongside a supply ship to replenish our ammunitions and fresh water. The supply
ship was originally a tank carrier for amphibious operations, with a flat deck
and bilge plus a huge gate at the bow. There was no likelihood then of fighting an amphibious
battle, so the navy used it as a
makeshift supply ship. The political officer on it was Liu, a close friend
since our military academy days. We had availed of every opportunity to meet,
chat, and spend our leisure time together by watching a movie, going
sightseeing, shopping, or just lazily walking around. In Dachen whenever he saw
my ship entering the port, he would send a message pretending he had official
business wanting me to go over. Then the officer on duty would dispatch a
boat to bring me there, and we always chatted away for the whole period.
This time
he related some shocking news. One of our academy mates, a mutual friend
serving in the army, was shot dead by a soldier in his company who had a grudge
against him. I was stunned. It reminded me of the incident in Kinmen (金門) when the deputy company commander conspired with some soldiers to
try to beat me up. The navy, just like the army, did not like its political
officers, because what we did tended to restrict officers' power and their
corruptive benefit. Once in a meeting I suggested that, in line with regulations,
the public fund under the captain’s control be audited. Hearing this, the
captain became so angry that he threw all the accounting records on the table
and cursed. Everyone on board was already weary from the war and would explode over
any trivial matter. As political officer, I was the one who had to do the
required dirty work while my superior spent time chatting away with officers
and sailors. I had heard some complaints against me and was worried that
similar incident could happen. My friend Liu and I discussed how we might
handle that situation. Liu’s opinion was that our jobs had to be done, but the
way to execute them should be as flexible and the manner was to be as mild as possible. It was easier said than done, I never
figured out a way to do it. Before we could discuss this subject further, he
was killed in an air raid.
Life and war go on
Officers rotated, and eventually even the captain was changed. I
gradually became senior on the ship. I was no longer assigned to the graveyard
watch only, although I still had to do jobs I
was not supposed to be doing at all. Still, I felt so comfortable to be
able to sleep through to morning without having to wake up at midnight .
Everyday life was unendurable even when not in combat. We were
short of fresh water, so no usage for any other purposes was allowed except
drinking and cooking. Vegetables and meat were long gone, and we had to resort
to cans of beans or just rice or flour products. The weather was hot, the cabins
were stuffy. We still had to patrol and sometimes had to shell assigned targets
on land.
War went on. On June 10, when patrolling near Sanmen Bay, a tiny, strange-looking
boat came near with a sickly and weak person in it. We took him with his boat
on board. The boat had neither engine nor oars. Its driving energy was provided
by an improvised sail which turned out to be his clothing. He was an official
in a Communist local government who was disillusioned by the Communists and
risked his life to get away . We sent him to the authorities on land.
When we were not directly participating in any battle, we still
had to be ready to go at any minute. On June 22 it was my turn to do the 0-4
watch duty. I heard on the communications
that a fierce battle had broken out that involved 4 ships on our side. In the
morning I saw them when they returned to port. Two of them were heavily
damaged, one listed 30 degrees with parts of its main deck flooded.
On August
14th, there was a typhoon warning. The Dachen Special Fleet Command let the
ships find their own shelters. Our captain chose to travel along the mainland
coast to Matsu(馬祖) and then
ventured despite the
approaching storm to cross the normally choppy Taiwan Strait to Magong(馬公), a naval base in Penghu(澎湖), a group of small and desolate islands near
Taiwan where I would spend my last years in navy. Although we expected a
stormy sea, there was no wind, only long and big waves caused by the distant
typhoon, slowly rising and falling. Under the sun, the whole sea seemed to have
come to life, breathing. It made me think of the big undulating breasts of the
goddess of the sea, rocking our ship like a mother gently rocks her baby in a
cradle, soothing and comfortable. That was one of the most wonderful experiences
I had in the navy.
On the evening of August 15th, the ship arrived at the naval
base in Magong, where we stayed until August 19th. As we sailed back to Dachen the
sea was still very rough, but sailing downwind, the ship was stable and the
journey smooth. It made me understand why the Chinese version of "bon
voyage" is 「一路順風」.At our arrival in Dachen, we found that all
the ships had crowded into the port to take shelter because the wind was still
strong and waves high. All fronts were quiet because of the weather. There was
no patrol duty or any operations under such conditions. it seemed that the
weather played the role of a super authority that ordered the belligerent parties
to stop their hostilities for the moment.
Back to base
After ten months in the front, our turn for RR (repair and
renewal) finally came, and we were relieved of combat duty to return to the
Base in southern Taiwan. The weather was still bad. But we were so anxious to
leave that we could not wait any longer. Our ship ventured out on August 22nd
amid strong winds and high waves. It was my turn to do the first watch. Under
such a situation I was worried that something would happen that I could not
handle. After leaving the port, I found things were not as bad as I expected.
The wind abated
and the waves pacified as we went further, and I was happy that I had
the situation under control. I felt I had become one of the military trained
officers and even happier that an experienced sergeant on duty praised me for
that.
On August 23rd, we were home again after such a long period
away. It was a general practice that the Navy Branch of the Friends of the
Military, similar to the USO, would organize a series of activities to welcome
those back from the front. Apart from feasts and entertainment, there was a
dancing party. As a youth from the countryside, I had never participated or
even seen such luxury. I envied my
colleagues and sailors who glided, twisted, swung, shook, and turned with their
wives or female volunteers so elegantly on the smooth floor in dimmed, colored
lights with the band music. The Navy Club normally had dancing parties every
Saturday on the base. It fascinated me so much that the next Saturday I bought
a ticket and went there alone just to watch. It was not until I was in Penfu
that I had a chance to learn, but I never exceeded the basic steps of the fox
trot, waltz, and jitterbug, which they called sailors' dances.
Life went back to normal. The
routine included repair and maintenance, training, and escorting supply vessels
to Kinmen or Matsu. Experience made my job getting easier, and I was
gaining respect among officers and sailors. I was regarded as knowledgeable not
only for my work but also for my military knowledge because I studied the navy
officers’ entire set of training materials. I even felt a little authoritative
because I was the one who decided which disciplinary action to take if a sailor
had violated any rules. The violation might be recorded at my discretion in his
personal file, which would affect his position and promotion. I also oversaw
the proper use of the ship's public funds, which were under the control of the
finance officer or even the captain himself.
At that time Taiwan was still under one party rule, and membership in
the ruling Nationalist Party, KMT or Kuomingtang, was a deciding factor in appointments
to some key positions such as captain.
Therefore officers who were not KMT members yet were always friendly to
me in the hope that I might recommend them to join the party.
Since many industry officers regarded their positions as a job and
not a career, and because the economic situation and political environment in
Taiwan had been improving, many industry officers were planning to leave.
Seeing my knowledge in military affairs, my colleagues often advised me to go to the Naval Academy so I could become a military officer in a
couple of years and make the navy my life time career. I was not interested. I looked beyond the
navy to seek better opportunities.
Return to Dachen
At the end of October, our ship returned to Dachen. The
situation had worsened. On our first day back, during our ship’s pre-dawn patrol,
we heard in the communications that a fierce battle had broken out somewhere.
Such sea battles would occur every day and intensified over time, often with
casualties and even sinking of ships. The next morning, we saw enemy planes flying
over to bomb Dachen. Bombardments also happened daily on every island under our
control. The F47s on our side came to
help under the cover of darkness almost every night, bombing targets on enemy
occupied islands. Emergency alarms for which everybody had to be in fighting
position sounded almost every hour for air raids during the day and for torpedo
boats at night. All ships in the fleet were ordered to stay outside patrolling
in case of an enemy assault from the sea and also to avoid becoming an easy
target in the harbor from air raids.
One day we were patrolling with two other ships, circling
near YiJiangsan. As we were making a turn, a shell from the enemy controlled
land fortress artillery suddenly hit the commanding ship – what we called our
flag ship because it flew a special flag showing the commander of the fleet was
on board. The shell hit the mast with deadly accuracy. The mast collapsed;
several people were killed and the commander injured. The flag ship withdrew to
the harbor while we continued the
operation, which lasted for another seven days.
Vegetable run
After returning to port, our ship pulled alongside a supply
ship for replenishment. We learned that the supply ship was about to return to
Keelung, a commercial port and also a naval base in Northern Taiwan. Since our
fresh vegetables were long gone and Dachen, with its barren, arid land, grew
only very limited produce, the captain wanted me to go back to Taiwan with the
supply ship to buy fresh vegetables. She sailed in the evening. On board were
lots of passengers with the same purpose as mine, and hundreds of sick and
wounded, some of them quite serious. We arrived at the navy base of Port
Keelung on October 15th. The next day we heard the shocking news that one of our
major fighting forces at the front, Taiping, an escort destroyer, was sunk by a
Communist torpedo speedboat the night
before. We all realized that our situation in Dachen had deteriorated fast, and
I started to worry that our ship would be hit sooner or later and that I might
become one of the casualties or even get killed. Because of this atmosphere of doom, officers
and sailors alike sought every worldly happiness they could find and spent
every penny they had before they were ordered back to the front.
The mission of
buying fresh vegetables proved to be more difficult than expected. Ships to
Dachen were not scheduled. I had to make the purchase and be ready to board any
outgoing ship at any minute's notice. After a couple of days, if there was no
ship going, some vegetables would rot and have to be thrown out and replaced.
While I was waiting, my best friend Liu’s vessel came back from the front. We
took the rare opportunity to lazily roam the city parks and streets, go to
movies , or just sit at an open air tea house to listen to the singing of pop
songs. Disregarding reality, we spent the time happily together. Liu was
especially excited because his girlfriend from central Taiwan had come to
Taipei to meet him. He recounted every
detail from beginning to end, and his eyes sparkled with joy and anticipation.
Eventually his ship was scheduled to sail, and I moved on board
to share my friend's spacious room. Facing the coming situation, my heart felt
heavy, and I became sentimental. I remember one thing. The next morning while
we were at sea, I came to the deck to find a dragon fly holding for dear life
onto a rope against the strong sea breeze.
In my childhood I would have played with it until it died. But at that
moment a surge of pity came to me. I caught it with care, put it in a
container, and fed it food scraps. I was happy to see it get stronger by the
day. As soon as we reached Dachen, I let it go and wished it would survive and
prosper in that war torn foreign land. Looking back, it is interesting that the
wish seemed to foretell my own life: leaving the place where I was born and
grew up, and moving to settle in a foreign country.
The ship's captain
made a near-fatal mistake. He missed Dachen and the ship sailed into the enemy
infested waters near Yusan. Not until we saw the lighthouse did he realize his
mistake. The supply ship was not armed, and a gun boat would have captured us.
He made a sharp turn and called for an escort. The escort never appeared, yet
by good luck we entered the port safely in the evening without incident.
After a short time
all the other passengers on board were back on their own ships except me. My
ship was out patrolling. After midnight, she came back to port but the officer
on duty refused to send a boat to pick me up.
It happened that the supply ship had a boat ready to send somebody to
the shore. I asked my friend to talk to the person in charge and he reluctantly
agreed to drop off me and my cargo, ten to twenty bamboo crates of vegetables,
on the way. Before I climbed down the rope ladder hanging on the side, I bid
goodbye to my friend. That was the last time I saw him. My ship raised anchor
as soon as I was on board. We had not gone far from the port when, in the twilight
of dawn, tens of enemy bombers flew over to bomb Port Dachen. The whole island
and the port were covered with thick smoke from the explosions and
anti-aircraft guns. I was concerned for
my friend's safety. Afterwards I learned that his supply ship escaped without
damage, and he was OK. However, he was killed a couple of months later in an
another air raid with his ship anchored at the same spot.
Battles on the ship
Cruise and occasional bombardment at the enemy's shore
targets became routine. Fleet drills and shooting practices were also held from
time to time. Air raid alerts and the rush to combat positions occurred almost every
day, sometimes several times a day, and often with less than ten minutes in
between or in the middle of a meal. With the cold winds and heavy sea in
winter, the officers and men were exhausted and many of them became sick. Some
of them were sick enough to be sent to the hospital on shore, and one even
died.
By the strict order of the Regional Fleet Command, no ships
were allowed in port except for replenishment, which had to be done at night. It
was said among the navy and other seafaring hands that, although the crew were accustomed
to living at sea, they must occasionally go on shore to have contact with the
earth and to balance the Yin and Yang elements in the body. I regarded it as a
myth, but the idea was so prevalent that I tried to reconcile it with
scientific ideas, i.e. positive and
negative ions in the human body became unbalanced after a long time at sea, and
the imbalance could be neutralized if a person touched the earth – the same
reason to have a ground wire in addition to the positive and negative wires. For
me, I went to the hospital a few times to see patients from our ship, so I felt
okay. But other people did not
have the opportunity.
On the morning of November 21st, a team of three ships,
including our ship and an escort destroyer, the flag ship, patrolled the waters
near the eastern mouth of Port
Dachen. The western mouth which we used to enter or exit was blocked by enemy
fire from the artillery newly installed on YiJiang San. The weather was fine
and visibility excellent. Suddenly six bombers in three batches, two in each,
appeared. They dived toward us, flying
so low that the red star insignia on their wings and body were clearly
Small speedy torpedo
boats became the major threat. They were cheap to build, so they were many.
Mixed with fishing boats, they were hard to discover, especially in the night.
They also hid behind the rocks and reefs near our entrance to the port or
waited close to shore so they did not show on the radar screen and could
initiate a surprise attack if we came near enough. They were equipped with two
or four torpedoes. Two were launched when approaching and another two were
released as it turned back. This type of speedboat did not have significant
defensive firepower but it was not easy to hit because of its small size. As
long as we were alert enough not to allow a suspicious boat to get too close,
it was not much of a problem. If they launched torpedoes too far away we could
also take evasive action. But we had to keep alert all the time.
Frequently
ships still got hit and sank or were severely damaged. Several times as the damaged ship lost power,
torpedo boats would come back to machine gun the people on the deck waiting to
be rescued. Once or twice, the ship coming to rescue also got hit by other
torpedo boats hiding nearby. At midnight
of December 23 while we were patrolling, the radar showed an object speeding
toward us. As soon as it came within our firing range, the 3 inch gun started
shooting. It did not stop. As it came nearer, all guns were blazing. It quickly
reached the distance that torpedoes could be launched. But they were not.
Instead, the boat turned sharply and sped away.
We were lucky to go through our whole stay in Dachen unscathed.
Stormy ride
We had been in the fighting zone for more than two months
with mostly sleepless nights and on military rations. It was essential for us
to go back to the base in Taiwan to recoup and replenish. On January 2, 1955,
we were finally relieved of combat duty. In spite of the very rough sea under
winter's strong gale, we started the
journey back, first to Matsu. The real problem came while we were crossing the
Taiwan Strait. Plowing through the stormy sea, the whole ship was pitching,
rolling, swaying, heaving, and shaking like a leaf. Nobody could stand on deck
and the staff on the uncovered bridge needed to wear raincoats and held on to
anything to not be washed out to the sea when a big wave swept over. When a
wave hit, the whole boat was buried in the water, with only the bridge exposed.
As the ship rode the waves, it tumbled and the keel of the hull creaked. That
made me fear that the ship would disintegrate at any moment. There were two
other ships with us. When they were hit by the waves, they became submerged,
with only the tops of their masts visible.
The monstrous waves
rushed towards us one after the other like moving mountains of water, bumping
the ship with inexhaustible power and rolling the ship to tilt to thirty to
forty degrees. My hammock-like bed had one end fixed on the hull and the other end
hanging from the ceiling with a chain. I had to hold onto the sides firmly to keep
from being thrown out of my bed every time the boat tilted. Things that were not
fixed on the floor slid from one side to the other. I got up to find the door stuck.
That made me very nervous, for in an accident I wouldn't be able to get out. I
called the mechanic who came and broke the door and tied it to the wall to keep
it open.
I climbed to the bridge and saw that the captain had already
retired to his cabin. The navigation officer was in charge. It meant that
though the storm was violent, it would do no harm. Every time it broke through
the waves, the ship seemed like a sealed barrel. No matter how the waves pushed,
the ship broke through them and plowed on. A feeling of tranquility came over me and I
felt the bumping, shaking, rising, and
falling to be something like sitting on a roller coaster, and I began to
enjoy the ride. As the boat danced under my feet, it made me feel that we were
riding the wind and breaking the waves to an imaginary paradise described by
many Chinese literature legends. That was the first time for me to be in such a
big storm at sea, and the experience was unique.
Arrival at Keelung Harbor
We entered Keelung Harbor at noon on January 5. Once in
safety, we would not venture
out again into the storm to continue our journey through the rocky coastline to
the base in Southern Taiwan. We would stay until the storm was over. Until that
time, I had not have a chance to visit many well-known attractions in Taiwan. I
decided to take a week off to tour all of Taiwan from North to South to fulfill
my wish, then rejoin the ship at the base. Also I wanted to see my relatives
and friends one more time before anything might happen to me in the coming
battle. Looking back, I was
full of apprehension and pessimistic thoughts. I had some savings after
the trip to Japan, and it seemed a good time to spend it.
The company I served in Kinmen had been relieved of combat
duty and transferred back to Taiwan. The barrack they lived in was near Taipei,
so I visited them first. Except for a
couple of newcomers, the other officers and soldiers were the same as when I
left three years ago. When the company commander saw me, he shouted: "How!
You are not dead yet!" This rude greeting was the language of the surviving
veterans from the Sino-Japanese war, in which many men were killed by Japan’s
overwhelmingly superior fire power. This greeting normally was not regarded as malicious,
but it sounded a bad omen to me then and made me sad.
I also toured Sun Moon
Lake, considered the most scenic spot in Taiwan then. I rented a motorboat and
drove around the lake, alone, not
really enjoying it. My next stop was Changhua, where I visited my only
relative in Taiwan, my cousin. I was shocked to learn that he had died of a
sudden illness a month ago, leaving his wife with three young children. Seeing
me, his wife broke into tears, and cried and cried. Though I sympathized with
her, the unfortunate incident made me feel even sadder. After some other stops,
I finished my not-so-enjoyable journey, returned to base, and
reported back to the ship, which was already there. I hadn't read the newspaper
during my tour and was shocked to learn that on January 10, Dachen Port
suffered a fierce bombing. My friend's ship was sunk, and he was killed.
The loss of my best friend
The loss of my best friend was extremely painful. War was
cruel, but I always dreamed that the bad luck would not come to me and my
friend. When the nightmare became reality, it suddenly came to me that there were
thousands of things between us that should have been done but had not yet been
done. There were two things especially. Though we met often, there was no photo
of us together. When we were in Keelung last time, he took some pictures of us.
He promised to give the prints to me the next time we met. The time would never
come.
It was winter then, and he noticed that I had not dressed
warmly enough. Without my knowledge he bought some wool yarn and asked his aunt
in Keelung to knit a sweater for me. After
it was finished he told me that the sweater was ready to be picked up at our
first chance to meet again. We never had that chance.
He had a dream to
be with the girl he dated, and the dream could never be realized.
He was honored
posthumously. A boulevard in the academy where we graduated was named after
him. He also was worshipped in National Martyrs' Shrine. However, I am sure, if
he had the choice, he would give up all of that and would have preferred to
live peacefully in obscurity with his dream girl.
Retreat from Dachen
At the end of January, the ship was ordered to go to Keelung.
Upon arrival we were surprised to see that all the fleet that Navy Headquarters
could assemble were in port. We were told to keep our weapons in their best
condition, to load the ammunition to the fullest, and to cancel all leaves.
Obviously there was to be an imminent large-scale military operation, and we
were all expecting a looming fierce battle. It made us think that it was the
time to survive or die. Many snuck out to indulge in all kinds of fun, and the
entertainment venues such as the billiard stores and night clubs prospered. The
navy base in Keelung was on the main avenue, and it was easy to return to the
ship if we were called. Commanders did not strictly enforce the no-leave order,
and the whole city seemed in a revelrous mood of no tomorrow.
On the morning of February 6, I was watching an acrobatic
performance in the Recreation Center at the Base. Suddenly the show was
interrupted by a broadcast from the loud speakers, commanding all officers and
sailors back to their ships.
At noon all the ships started to sail. Once at sea, we were
told that the authorities had decided to retreat from Dachen Islands, and that our
task was to cover the operation. Most of us, except a few high ranking
officers, were worried. The Communist
forces had prevailed in the area for over a year. They had the sky and most of
the sea under their control, and they surely would not sit and look on. A stiff and violent struggle would occur and
everybody's life was in stake. However as we approached Dachen the next
evening, we saw a bright spot on the horizon. The bright spot gradually became
numerous lights which looked like a big city. As we came nearer, hundreds of silhouettes
of ships emerged with all their lights on. During the last days in Dachen,
lights on the deck were strictly forbidden; even a cigarette light might draw
shelling from enemy ships or land garrisons.
We came to know that the US Seventh Fleet was there to help.
Hundreds of ships, including two cruisers, dotted the waters between Dachen and
the Communist-controlled islands. Several patrolling helicopters flew low over
their garrisoned islands, but they fired no shots. At the time it seemed to me
that the Americans had cowed the Communists with their superior fire power.
Afterwards we learned that there had been an agreement between China and the US
not to interfere with the operation.
Our
ship was assigned to Yusan to oversee the evacuation of civilians, as well as
troops. Yusan was an outpost among
Nationalist controlled islands. For more
than a year, the waters around it had not been safe. Our responsibility was to
make sure the operation proceeded safely and smoothly. We went there alone and
stood on guard overnight. All was quiet and everything was in order. Landing crafts transported people to bigger
ships. Most civilians were fisherman, who just took their families aboard their
own fishing boats and sailed directly to Taiwan. We watched them leave one
after another, and finally the last boat left. Then we started back journey to
Taiwan.
Our ship must have
been the last to leave. As we passed the waters near Dachen, the ocean was
empty; there was not one other ship in view. We saw flashes, which were timed
dynamite explosions destroying military installations. There were so many that it
looked like the whole island was on fire.
The sea was calm.
We arrived at Port of Keelung the next day.
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