Among those who spoke to the AP was Edward Daily, who went to Korea as a 19-year-old corporal. During the war, he received a battlefield commission to the rank of second lieutenant. Daily, now 68, lives in Clarksville, Tenn. Last week he told his story to NEWSWEEK’s Gregory Vistica.
Even before I set foot in Korea in July 1950, I had been hearing piecemeal stories that our troops were suffering dearly on the battlefield. Our mood going over on the transport ship from Japan, where I had been stationed with the occupation forces, was one of optimistic confidence. We were the celebrated Seventh Cavalry, of Gen. George Custer fame, and we were going to knock the hell out of the North Korean Army and be back in Japan in 60 days. It wasn’t long before we realized how wrong we were. We were about to wade into a chaotic mess.
For three days we bobbed around in the harbor, waiting for a typhoon to pass so we could come ashore. The heavy rains had turned the roads, only a few of which were paved, into muddy ruts that were difficult to move troops and equipment on. After unloading on July 21, we boarded a train for Hwanggan, which was a few miles from the front. I remember the quiet solitude on the ride. The bravado and joking of a bunch of 19-year-olds during the past few days was gone. Few of us had ever been in combat. Our military training had been limited, and now, within hours, we were to face an enemy and a culture that we knew little about. Korea seemed odd, as if it was still stuck in the 19th century; its smells and sounds seemed unusually foreign to a kid like me from Kentucky.
We dug in several miles from the train tracks not far from Hwanggan. Then we received orders to move out just past midnight on July 26. The Eighth Cavalry regiment, which was besieged by the enemy, was pulling back and had to be replaced at Yong-Dong. We would never make it. Thousands of refugees were fleeing south. With so many people mixing with the GIs, trucks and equipment, the roads became jammed and impassable. Being surrounded by so many Koreans made us a little jumpy. Reports had filtered down that North Korean Army regulars were masquerading as civilians, donning the traditional white clothing worn by peasants. It was impossible to tell friend from foe. We had been told that the North Koreans might be armed. But with so many people walking everywhere, on the roads and through the rice fields, it was impossible to identify enemy soldiers.
Panic hit us when we got the news that two North Korean tanks were said to be nearby. U.S. Air Force fighters, apparently looking for the tanks, had started to strafe civilians on the side of a road. We were also hearing sporadic rifle fire from the front, on our right and from behind us. There was a lot of confusion and hysteria as people, mostly from a nearby village of No Gun Ri, started running, looking for a place to hide from the attacking U.S. aircraft and advancing enemy troops. About 200 people, mostly women and children, crowded under a concrete railroad bridge. My unit moved back too, not far from the bridge.
We were ordered to set up machine-gun positions on each end of the bridge to keep any enemy soldiers who had mixed in with the civilians from escaping. I set up my Browning, .30-caliber water-cooled, heavy gun about 100 yards from the west opening of the bridge-tunnel. Another machine gun was set up on the east side. Just before dusk, we received sporadic enemy rifle fire. Then the company runner came by with orders to shoot and kill everybody under the bridge. “Who the hell gave you that order,” I shouted to him. He said it came from the executive officer assigned to the Second Battalion of the Seventh Cavalry. I adjusted the dials on my machine gun to fire over the heads of the Koreans and squeezed the metal trigger. At the sound of gunfire, they all fell to the ground, trying to protect their bodies. I knew there were women and children in there, but I also kept thinking there were enemy soldiers in there, too. When ordered to shoot to kill in the army, you do what you are told and don’t disobey.
I again adjusted the dials on my machine gun, lowering the weapon so it would hit the Koreans spread out on the concrete floor and fired for what seemed to be 30 minutes. Even above the noise of the gun, I could hear the frightful screams of women and children, crying out with pain and fear. Their dying voices echoed out of the tunnels. It was horrifying. Some of our soldiers went down to look things over, but I just couldn’t go.
Sometimes, when it is quiet, on a still night, I can hear the women and children still screaming. I’ve made my confession to God and have tried to repent. But the dreams and the memories of that day will not go away. Some of the guys in my unit have talked about this over the years. But we never really wanted it to come out. We didn’t want the people to think we were a bunch of women and baby killers. But war is hell, and in war, it’s the innocent people who suffer most.
