Remembering our first visit, we suddenly became aware that our airplane was approaching quite differently than in 1958. The pilot seemed to be daring and unconcerned that we were within potshot of the Communists. In 1958 we had flown "the deck", pilot talk for flying just above the waves, and hugged the shadow of Kinmen's highest "mountain", an anthill approximately 900 feet above the sea. The airport had consisted of a gravel-sand makeshift runway. Now we flew around the beach within sight of anyone who cared to look and came down on a new smooth runway paralleling the sea. "Well, things have changed", we said aloud to our seat companion.
Naturally there were changes. A war had been fought and won since our visit in June, 1958. The unwarranted, fierce attack on the islands in the autumn of, 58 had brought the small complex into world headlines; since then nearly a million shells had fallen on Kinmen as the Communists tried to pulverize it into impotency. The Commies had failed and the islands had grown stronger instead of weaker. Indeed from physically small geographical spots on the map, they had become politically, and psychologically immense territories; their importance had stirred political debates from the staid Halls of the British Parliament to the street corners of America. Military men argued about their vulnerability, armchair logicians added and subtracted their defensive and offensive possibilities. Everyone seemed to have an opinion about their worth or their worthlessness. Some would give them to the Peking leaders without asking for a receipt, and be done with the nuisance. Others would protect them to the last man, "the last drop of blood". Among the latter are the people of Kinmen who love their island home and have no intention of becoming robots under communism, of letting their homeland (which of course Kinmen is) become a commune. Only recently China's Defense Minister Yu Ta-wei told the Defense Committee of the Legislative Yuan that the "security of Taiwan and Pengu depends on holding Kinmen". He was fully confident that the Chinese armed forces had the ability to repel any Chinese Communist attempt to invade the offshore islands.
Kinmen has been called many things, among them the doorway to the mainland, an observation post, a window, a pipeline, but as we studied the contours of the islands we thought how it looked like a key hole. This indeed was free China's keyhole through which to peep at the mainland and by which to guard their own front door. As these thoughts raced through our head, the plane taxied to the terminal, a round, stone shelter hewn in the rocky hill side.
A group of officers, wearing bright smiles of welcome, were on hand to greet and meet us. Wars did not change the traditional Chinese hospitality; everything was arranged for us to see as much as possible in the shortest possible time. An itinerary, an escort, a jeep were assigned, arid within minutes we were off on a tour of the island.
The familiar landscape was like returning to any known place, for the changes were more evident for the familiarity. How the casuarina trees had grown! From small five or six-foot saplings they had more than doubled or tripled their height. Along the roadside, here and there trees were only stumps. "A shell from the Communists got that tree," it was explained.
The road was wider, smoother for they had been working to make transportation easier. Here and there beside the road were piles of rocks, "just in case a shell hits the road, we can have it mended in five minutes." The guide pointed out a new approach from an old road, "We are proud of the good roads, and nothing makes a soldier quite as angry as to have the road destroyed. They maintain the road better than most housewives take care of their homes."
Our first stop was at the Commanding General's Headquarters, a big roomy series of rooms, hacked out of the rocks. The cave contained sitting rooms, offices, bedrooms, theaters, dining halls. "General Liu is over at Little Kinmen this morning, but he will be back for lunch," we were told. It sounded as though the general had just gone out for a Sunday morning sail across the bay. There was no concern, no seeming thought that the trip to Little Kinmen was dangerous and he might not be back. We looked around the reception room and remembered the officers' headquarters in, 58. Then it was a very pleasant club-house built on an island in the middle of a reservoir lake. The water aspect made it seem particularly lovely but it had also made it particularly vulnerable. On the night of the first shelling, August 23, 1958 when the Communists trained their artillery on Kinmen the club-house was a first target. Here three generals were killed; the club-house destroyed. Today everything is underground and the great caves, in their way, had been made quite as pleasant as the old club-house. Flowers bloomed at the doorway and the reception room was sweet with the perfume of a special Kinmen orchid. "It only grows here," our escort told us. Someone suggested that it probably owed its beauty and perfume to being watered with Kinmen's special liquor, the pai kan or the Kaoliang.
After a wash and a cup of tea, we were taken to the briefing theater, another great cave well-designed and comfortable. Again we recalled the little country-schoolhouse-like building of '58. At that time we had thought a good wind might blow it away; but now we found that nothing would move this place far.
The briefing was carried on with precision. Statistics concerning the geography, history, vulnerability of the offshore islands were reviewed. The briefing officer, a round-faced, handsome youth with naturally wavy hair, pointed out on several sliding maps Kinmen defense periphery, the areas where previous attacks had been made and had failed. He listed the enemy's gun positions, told us their range and pointed out the areas covered. It was a chilling experience to be told some 1,100 guns were at that moment pointed in our direction. However, no one else seemed affected with the thought, so we too put it aside.
In this respect we were to find that morale on Kinmen had not changed unless possibly for the better. Duty on the offshore islands was still being sought after. Living on the edge of danger seemed to have a particular appeal, especially when it was combined with better living and bonus pay. The job of keeping morally, physically fit for any moment's attack was easier when one heard an occasional bombardment. Defending the island, warding off any landing, and drills to go underground were all part of the daily routine. Every man knew his duties and his alertness was sharpened by the taunts from across the waters.
On a large relief map, delineating the hills and valleys, the approaches, the tunnels, the lookouts, the guide pointed out our planned itinerary. We had only hours to see what we had previously taken days to explore, and we had to hurry off for the journey.
By jeep, we examined the underground tunnels and were overwhelmed with their number, their length and their honeycomb depth. It would not be hard to get lost and we were reminded of the complications of the United States Defense Department's Pentagon. Except here were the supplies for war—guns, tanks, bandages, food, and only the supply officer could tell you what they did not have. Actually the tunnels were well built, just by chipping out the rock and they are good looking as well. One might have believed them designed by an architect. Troops were quartered underground, and here too was a rock shelter for President Chiang Kai-shek at the end of "President's way," one of the loveliest staircases we'd seen in a long time.
Out in the open again we jeeped to the psywar museum and operating headquarters. This department really interested us more than the strictly military. The war today is one of words, and while we are not impressed with logistics of guns find bombs,—we just don't understand them—while the strength and value of words is our business.
Free China's propaganda, sent daily to the mainland by favorable winds and tides, by radio and by fishermen, had taken new tones. The words were kindly, gently urging the people to hold on, to resist however, whenever possible. Toward the Communist leaders, the word "battle" was fierce and disdainful. One had a feeling the writer almost choked on the vituperative adjectives he hurled at the enemy. Always great kite builders, the Chinese had designed some beauties to carry their messages across the straits. Huge, gas-filled plastic balloons which would have delighted any child were also used as message carriers. In order that we might share in the fun of kite flying, the members of our party took part in sending off a big raft of the daily messages. Attached to colorful flags and Chinese characters, the barrage looked more like an advertising scheme for a circus than war propaganda.
We also examined the Communist propaganda, indeed examined it much more closely. Within minutes, the blatant lies, the ridiculous charges made us wonder if there were people who believed this stuff. According to the Chinese Communists, President Eisenhower seemed to be personally directing the captive army of free China and the American people seemed to be waging the war, holding Taiwan as a captured nation when it was really a province of the Reds. Where had they found or how had they made such gruesome photos of American leaders - they all looked a lot of thugs! How kind and decent were the smiles of Mao and Chou! Slogans cried out for the "liberation" of Taiwan from the American imperialists, for pity for the poor Chinese who were being so badly treated by Americans—"We must fight these American intruders," the slogans shouted. Fortunately the whole business was so perverted that even the simpleminded found it more amusing than serious.
After leaving the psywar headquarters we drove across the island to see some of the new buildings, homes and schools, many of which had been destroyed during the bombardments. Our first destination now was to see a big howitzer. Making our way on foot through camouflage nets, acknowledging the salutes of smartly presented soldiers, we suddenly came face to face with the great cannon. After being duly introduced, the potentials of the machine's destructive power was explained, and what her targets might be. We noted the men, assigned to care for her, patted her affectionately and kept her in good shine.
The great upright boulder near Hill 405 bearing President Chiang's words "Wu Wang Tsai Chu" (Don't forget Chu, one of the last bastions for national recovery). (File photo)
The next stop was Hill 405, the best open observation post on Kinmen. We climbed the many steps to study the far shores of the mainland through concealed binoculars. It was difficult to decide what some farmers were doing in the field, but the fishermen were plainly drying their nets. Hill 405 is our own favorite spot on the offshore island for here stands the great upright boulder on which has been carved President Chiang's "Wu Wang Tsai Chü" (Don't forget Chu). We were glad to see that the Communists had not dislodged the boulder and it was evident that no one was forgetting the ancient kingdom of Chü which had been the gateway back to the ancient homeland, just as the Chinese believe Kinmen will be their gateway back to the mainland.
Other gun positions were inspected, and we noted that the Chinese had named these great guns after famous mountains in China. In America (or had Americans named these) they would probably have carried the name of a favorite movie star.
The sun, our watches and stomachs all agreed that it is time for lunch, and we raced back to headquarters to find General Liu, a big strapping man, waiting to greet us. Dressed in battle fatigues, his athletic body belied his 59 years. His hearty laugh and the twinkling dark eyes were those of a man whose life had been easy. However, we were assured, that both Commanding General Liu and his Deputy Commander General Hwa had both known and fought in many battles. The Chinese said, "their lives are great," we would say they were "charmed."
Lunch was a pleasant merry affair. The food, except for the rice, was all locally produced on Kinmen - good vegetables, a bit of pork, wonderful fish and shrimp, and the ever-present, much talked of poi kan. General Liu, whose ordinary living habits and tastes are extremely simple, toasted us all cheerily with pai kan and urged us to enjoy the simple fare. As usual, the simple Chinese meal left us all groaning with its infinity. We particularly remember the Kinmen yellow fish, a gourmet's dream dish.
The luncheon was climaxed with presentation to each member of the party by General Liu of the small "horse-head" beach Kinmen pin, a pin which designated all visitors to Kinmen as members of the small exclusive fraternity of "experts on the offshore islands".
After lunch our destination was Old Kinmen the first city and most ancient settlement on the island. We remembered its narrow streets, crowded with goods and people, not too clean and certainly all a kind of helter-skelter, piggly-wiggly affair. What a surprise to find the city had a new look. Here and there roofs were missing from buildings to explain the reason for the new look, for Old Kinmen had suffered badly from the thousands of shells. Many civilians had lost their lives and more had been injured. But the city was clean and cleared of debris. We could actually drive through it without moving vegetables or fruit stands. The people greeted us with curious smiles and a shy wave of the hand; they were used to being on display to world strangers, and one gathered they liked it. As long as foreigners were visiting their island, Kinmen would not be abandoned.
Our destination was the Middle School. On our previous trip the school visit had been a highlight of the three days. We knew the old school had been destroyed, that many students had moved away, and some were still going to school in Taiwan. In 1958 the enrollment had been approximately 900; now we found only 500 in classes. Still it was good to know they were back in business; the Commun1ist shells did not deter them, for when the shells started, classes were simply dismissed and the pupils went into their air-raid shelters to wait it out. It was not ideal to study under the guns of an enemy but the youngsters seemed to be bright-eyed and eager. We watched as they went through five minutes of gymnastics, a regular exercise drill to help keep them in good physical shape.
Our conference with the teachers disclosed that the schools were woefully short of textooks and all other equipment necessary for good teaching, but their spirit was excellent.
Time was running out, and after a stop to view the Patriot's Shrine, it was almost departure time. We drove across the sand dunes, admiring the green "victory gardens" of the soldiers. "These soldiers grow enough vegetables to take care of their own needs," General Hwa declared. "They really enjoy their gardens and have big competitions on who grows the biggest, the best, the tastiest cabbages, onions, and turnips. Every year they get bigger and better ones. It is another reason for liking duty out here. The soldiers claim their food is much better than on Taiwan."
Noting a row of trees which had been shorn off about two feet from the ground, we were told that they had lost their lives when Eisenhower visited Taiwan. The Communists had pumped 170,000 shells of three to eight-inch caliber onto Kinmen during those 24 hours. "Cost them a lot of money for their trouble in saluting Eisenhower," General Hwa said. "I was told we picked up enough scrap-iron from the Communist burst shells to pay for all the receptions given to President Eisenhower in Taiwan, Korea, and the Philippines."
Goodbyes to our escorts were sincerely grateful; theirs were more gracious as they were accompanied with bottles of the potent pai kan. It was a quick takeoff and a straight flight out over the ocean back toward Taiwan. We tried to sum up what actual changes had impressed us. One thing the changes were all for the better in making the islands stronger than Gibralter. We still had the feeling that we had been prowling around a Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer movie set with a great many "extras" dressed as soldiers. Unless shells are falling, war never seems real. But even with shells falling, a visit to Kinmen convinces one that the place is not apt to collapse—because of bombardment, poor morale, or starvation. It looked a formidable fortress against any military aggression, against any war of words.