Outside the wire were literally thousands of U.S. soldiers—all the men off duty and some who weren't—who had flocked to the uproar as if it were a fire or sideshow. These men were waving fists at the Chinese, and shouting insults at them, like 'Blow it out, ya dirty bums!' and Worse.
Boatner, watching, saw a great mass of people in front of the main gate. He sent his aide, Warrant Officer Robert B. Mills, a man of very great judgment and coolness, over there with this instruction:
'Go over, get the U.S. officer in charge, and bring him back to me, with the head Chinese and an interpreter. Don't let anyone else come—and don't let the mob see you.'
Boatner's first piece of good luck was that the senior U.S. officer was Lieutenant Colonel Robert W. Garrett, C.O. of 3/9 Infantry, whom he was both fond of and respected highly. Woody Garrett—so-called because it had taken him five years to get through the Point—reported to Boatner. A balding, moustached infantryman, he also knew and understood the Bull.
The second piece of luck was that the senior Chinese representative, a CCF lieutenant colonel, about thirty- five, was a Northern Chinese whose dialect Boatner understood and spoke perfectly. As it turned out, the Chinese officer was the son of a Yenan landowner near the town of Fenjo-fu where Boatner had hunted during his service with the 15th Infantry.
An educated man, he had been forced into the Communist Army to save his father's life. He was not a dedicated Communist, but he was a dedicated Chinese.
First, in English, Boatner asked Garrett, 'Goddamit, who's in command here?'
'I am,' Woody Garrett said.
'Then act like it, goddamit!' Boatner snarled. 'Run every goddam American soldier who hasn't any duty around this compound out of here!'
Garrett did so. He and Boatner understood each other, as was evidenced by Garrett's having made, a few days later, a reversible sign for Boatner's parking space, one side of which was painted
Boatner had a similar sign made for Garrett, which said
While the shouting, sight-seeing crowd of Americans was run off, Boatner let the CCF officer speak through the interpreter, though he could understand him clearly. And the Chinese went into a long spiel, about Panmunjom, prisoner repatriation, Geneva Conventions—nothing whatever to do with the riot at hand of why the Chinese were demonstrating.
This was the kind of thing they had been getting away with for months. It was sheer propaganda; as Boatner said, a line of bull.
When the Chinese colonel had completely run down, satisfied that he had done a good job of selling the new American commander a bill of goods, Boatner said, in Chinese,
Literally, this meant 'That is what kind of talk?' To a Chinese, it had the connotation, 'What kind of bull are you handing me?'
Haydon Boatner spoke excellent Mandarin, and the Chinese have always had a high respect for any foreigner who can do so; they think that only an educated Chinese can handle the flowery tongue of the Middle Kingdom.
The Chinese officer's jaw dropped.
Boatner went on: 'You're a soldier; I'm a soldier. You hear my language—I have lived long in China. My son was born in Tientsin; my son is Chinese.' He did not mention that his wife was Occidental. 'I fought with Stilwell'—who was well thought of in China—'and I am a friend of China.' He mentioned the names of several prominent Chinese officers he knew well. 'You do not know what has caused this riot, nor do I know what has happened. Now, you know very well the only thing I can do is to hold an investigation. This I will do, and when I know, I shall tell you.'
Then Boatner looked at the young officer with complete assurance, 'But don't think your soldiers, by their singing and chanting, are impressing me. I will do nothing while they sing, this also I promise you. Go back, tell them that the new commander is an old China hand and that I will report back to you the results of my investigation. But I will do nothing while you try to bluff e—have your men break ranks and return to their huts.'
Crestfallen, the Chinese officer was led back into the compound.
Then, in front of thousands of eyes, Boatner said: 'Woody, my guess is that it'll take an hour to get this group disbanded and back in their huts. Now, don't show any concern whatever—ignore 'em—act as though you know implicitly my orders are going to be obeyed—'
Looking neither left nor right, Boatner finished, 'I'm leaving now, and goddamit, they're watching us for weakness. Now, you salute me, and I'll salute you, and you telephone me when they have dispersed.'
Calmly, in front of the silent eyes, the American satrap walked for his jeep, and he and Warrant Officer Mills drove off.
Twenty-two minutes later, Woody Garrett phoned. It was all over.
But the investigation showed that the riot had been caused by the death of a Chinese; a POW had been killed, and the United States, in this particular case, was not without blame.
During the investigation the Chinese presented a long list of demands—a formal apology, permission for the whole compound to attend the funeral, and so on. This was what they had been getting away with for a long time —but Boatner, remembering what Sung Shih had said, knew what to do.
He wrote the Chinese a letter, telling them they might hold a military funeral—but that only a few representatives might attend.
He furnished the POW's a truck to take them to the cemetery and back, and sent a captain as his own personal representative. And the supply officer of Koje-do puzzled over a requisition for twenty rolls of toilet paper and one quart of mercurochrome.
Chinese make red and white flowers for funerals, and this Boatner understood. And while he was spending millions of dollars for new wire and watchtowers, Bull Boatner bought the peace of one compound, he thought, at quite a bargain.
Phase I had begun. Each day, each hour, General Boatner continued to show his authority. He was reasonable, he was human—but he was boss.
He had to move step by step, not to goad the POW's into angry reaction until he was ready, which would only be when the new compounds, going up night and day, were finished.
Now, statues and images of the Communist saints, national flags, and portraits of Stalin and Kim I1 Sung were displayed in all compounds. Picking on the least dangerous compounds first, Boatner ordered these to come down, without result.
Boatner planned his next step with Woody Garrett. With the men of Garrett's battalion, they rehearsed a raid into a compound in secret, getting the timing down pat. There was no question that Boatner could march armed men into any compound he chose, and tear down the Communist symbology—but the purpose was to accomplish it without bloodshed.
The eyes of the world were watching for the next American fiasco.
Then, when an ultimatum to the Chinese to pull down their flags at 1200 was ignored, at that hour the sergeant of the guard threw open the compound gate, and two tanks roared in, followed by infantry with arms at high port. In five minutes, the flags and portraits were torn down, and all Americans back outside the wire—without incident, and before the Chinese could react.
One by one, Boatner did this to each compound.
Day by day, he drove his Sherman tanks past the roads near the compounds, and he marched his heavily armed infantry by, showing his force. Day by day he beat the POW's down, without laying a finger on them, without killing one of them.
Phase I took ten days, and time was running out.
General Clark flew into Koje-do, accompanied by General Van Fleet. Boatner briefed Clark, while Van Fleet had little to ask or say. When Boatner finished, Wayne Clark said: 'Boatner, you're doing exactly what I told you. You can rest assured you'll never get hurt.'
