(2 of 4)
"Tuesday—Bingo." We decided to check in at KMAG headquarters for directions. There we found a major giving quiet instructions to a Korean staff officer. "It's bad," he said. "Tanks have broken into the city and we don't know how much longer the lines will hold. The enemy will be here any minute. I have to stay here until the colonel comes but you had better turn left at headquarters road and get across the bridge as soon as1 you can. Then make for Suwon."
We ran down the stairs. As we reached a landing my eyes fell on a bright new poster on the KMAG bulletin board. It read: "Don't forget—Tuesday, June 27—bingo."
Traffic was heavy on the road running south to the big steel Han River bridge. There were no signs of a military rout. Most soldiers, even those in retreat, were singing. Guided by MPs, automobiles kept strictly in line. The only disorder was outside the military line of march, among the thousands of poor refugees, women toting bundles on their heads and men carrying household goods in wooden frames fastened to their backs. The civilian composure noticed en route from Kimpo to Seoul had melted away.
Traffic moved quickly until we reached the bridge. There the pace slowed, then stopped. We found ourselves almost halfway over the bridge, our jeep wedged tightly between a huge six-by-six truck full of soldiers in front and other jeeps behind. The roar of guns from the north grew louder and we wondered how long the lines around Seoul would hold. We got out of the jeep and walked forward to find out what was delaying traffic. The milling crowds of civilians pouring over the bridge made that impossible. We returned to the jeep and sat waiting. Without warning the sky was lighted by a huge sheet of sickly orange flame. There was a tremendous explosion immediately in front of us. Our jeep was picked up and hurled 15 feet by the blast.
My glasses were smashed. Blood began pouring down from my head over my hands and clothing. Crane's face was covered with blood. I heard him say: "I can't see."
Thinking at first the explosion was some kind of air raid, we raced for the gullies leading off from the bridge, Beech leading
Crane, whose wound looked very bad. Crane ripped off his undershirt and had me tie a crude bandage around his head. As it turned out, neither of us was seriously hurt.
"You Take Hospital." All the soldiers in the truck ahead of us had been killed. Bodies of dead and dying were strewn over the bridge. Scores of refugees were running pell mell off the bridge and disappearing into the night beyond. Here we again noticed the pathetic trust the Koreans placed in the Americans. For ten minutes, as we rested on the grass, men with bloody faces would come to us, point to their wounds and say hopefully in English: "Hospital . . . you take hospital." All we could do was point to our own bloody faces and shake our heads.
At the time we thought that the bridge had been mined by saboteurs. We learned later that it had been dynamited by the South Korean army demolition squad on orders of the chief of staff. The Korean army command had panicked and ordered the bridge blown too soon. The demolition squad, instead of roping off the bridge at both ends, had incredibly told only the traffic in the middle what was about to happen.