CEASE-FIRE: Sunday in Kaesong

(See Cover)

At 8:50 a.m. Sunday, Korea time, two big green U.S. helicopters windmilled up from Munsan, the allied “advance outpost” for truce talks, and vanished to the north in the morning haze. They flew slowly. In ten minutes they were across the Imjin River; in a few more minutes their pilots sighted Kaesong, three miles south of the 38th parallel, the war-battered town the Communists had picked as the place to talk peace.

Kaesong (meaning “open castle”) was the first major South Korean town to fall to the North Korean invaders, in the war that began on another Sunday, 54 weeks earlier; it fell five hours after the aggressors crossed the frontier. Although the 1 Sunday meeting was only a preliminary to set the stage for cease-fire negotiations to begin this week, the West’s hopes, fears and doubts converged, along with the green helicopters, on Kaesong.

Matt’s New Role. The man whose eyes were fixed most intently on Kaesong was General Matthew Bunker Ridgway. Rarely had a military commander found himself in the kind of situation that Ridgway was in this week. It was Matt Ridgway, successor to the late General “Johnnie” Walker, who had rallied the Eighth Army against the overwhelming Chinese onslaught last year, and turned his troops north again. To Ridgway, as to any soldier, the best way to finish the job in Korea could only be to defeat the enemy. Ridgway knew that, with more ground strength in Korea—and perhaps with air blows at Manchuria—he could drive the Chinese back behind the Yalu. Yet, with the Chinese licking the wounds that Ridgway’s punches had inflicted on them, he was trying to negotiate a truce. The job was not designed for the liking of a hardhitting combat leader, but Good Soldier Ridgway did the job as well as he knew how.

Battle for Face. The preliminary messages leading up to the meeting had been exchanged by radio. So far, the Communists had been fairly reasonable, except for constant jockeying and maneuvering to gain face. After the first three messages (TIME, July 9), the Reds had rejected

General Ridgway’s request for a meeting July 5, but suggested July 8, a date two days earlier than the earliest previously mentioned by them.

Ridgway agreed to the date. He said he would send his representatives by helicopter if the weather on Sunday permitted; otherwise they would travel by jeep. At the same time, he requested a pledge of safe-conduct.

The Communists gave the pledge. But they suggested that the U.N. negotiators travel in jeeps whether the weather was fair or foul. The implication was that the helicopters might be fired on by mistake. It was also possible that the Communists, who had no ‘copters, were jealous of such a stylish mode of travel, and that even in this minor matter they wanted to save face. In any case, Matt Ridgway stuck to his decision: it would be helicopters, he told the Reds.

The Early Arrivals. For their own men, the Reds evidently expected a rough, slow trip over the loo-mile road from Pyongyang to Kaesong. The road was muddy, and cratered from innumerable allied air attacks, and it had been bountifully strewn with “tetrahedrons”—devilish little four-pointed gadgets of cast iron which always keep one sharp point up, no matter how they fall, to puncture tires.* Obviously eager to be the first on the scene, the Communists announced that they proposed to leave Pyongyang the day before the Kaesong meeting in a convoy of five jeeps and five trucks bearing white flags. In addition to their three negotiators, they would bring interpreters, “reception personnel and assistants.” They evidently expected to act as hosts in Kaesong, although the town was well in front of their main positions and had been regarded by the Eighth Army as in no man’s land. Ridgway let that pass, but he announced a “neutral zone” of five miles’ radius around Kaesong, which told the Reds clearly that the area was dominated by the Eighth Army.

The Three Colonels. The U.N. mission traveling to Kaesong in its helicopters consisted of three colonels: Andrew Kinney of the U.S. Air Force, James Murray of the U.S. Marine Corps (both from General Ridgway’s joint planning group in Tokyo) and Lee Soo Yong of the South Korean army. There were two pilots and a copilot, a mechanic, two interpreters, an Eighth Army photographer. No allied newsman went to Kaesong. A large throng of U.S. and other U.N. reporters were left behind at Munsan. If the negotiators ran into foul play (which was not seriously expected), allied ground forces around Munsan were ready to smash forward.

The helicopters carried radio equipment, box lunches, and a white flag on a long pole—”in case of emergency.” After circling Kaesong twice, the pilots saw a jeep on the ground moving toward a landing space marked with a large letter W. The eggbeaters settled down. Three uniformed North Koreans stepped forward, one a woman with glasses and long, straight, black hair. They had three jeeps, one Russian-made, the other two U.S. Army jeeps, one with the U.S. markings still visible. While the ‘copter crews stayed with their machines, the U.N. negotiators and their aides got into the vehicles.

Colonel Kinney and his party were driven to a large, tile-roofed Korean mansion —once elegant, now shabby—on the northern outskirts. Kaesong seemed to be brimming with Communist troops; the meeting house was surrounded by armed guards. Inside, the unarmed U.N. representatives were met by an unarmed five-man Communist team.

It was the first time since the war began that members of the opposing armies had met anywhere except in battle, or in prison camps.

Courteous but Stiff. At the Munsan advance outpost, the correspondents waited, hour after hour, for the helicopters’ return. Finally, at 4:40 in the afternoon, the ‘copters came churning into view. Colonel Kinney and his teammates stepped out, poker-faced and silent. Their official communique: the preliminary conference had been successful. The actual cease-fire negotiations would get under way at Kaesong on Tuesday of this week. At this meeting, the U.N. team will be headed by Vice Admiral Charles Turner Joy (see box). The Communist delegation will be composed of three North Koreans, General Nam II, General Chang Pyong San and Major General Lee Sang Cho, and two Chinese, Generals Teng Hua and Hsieh Fang.

At Seoul, Colonel Kinney held a press conference and told what had happened in the mansion at Kaesong. In the conference room, the U.N. men found a table with five chairs on each side. There were no pictures of Stalin, no poster propaganda of any kind. The atmosphere was courteous but unbending and stiff; the Communist delegation was composed of a North Korean colonel named Chang Chun San and two lieutenant colonels, one North Korean, one Chinese (plus two interpreters). Chang, a trim man in a green, Russian-style uniform with red shoulder boards, did all the talking for his side.

There were no handshakes, no salutes. After an awkward pause, Kinney opened the meeting by saying that they might as well get down to business. At lunch time, the Reds proffered vodka, beer and candy, but none of the U.N. men accepted. They ate their own box lunches. The Eighth Army cameraman took motion pictures; so did the Reds.

Although the official communique described the meeting as “harmonious throughout,” Kinney said there were several hitches (which may have been due to misunderstanding rather than disagreement) and much anxious huddling on the Communist side. But, Kinney summed up, “we had to reach a meeting of minds and we reached it.”

The Duelist. All week long, in the somber, paneled office in Tokyo’s DaiIchi Building once occupied by Douglas MacArthur, Supreme Commander Ridgway had directed the moves, as cool and poised as a duelist. Outside his office, the busy buzzers and flashing lights resembled a pinball machine. At every flash or buzz, an aide shot into action.

Although he was operating under broad directives from Washington, and clearing all his messages to the Communists with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Ridgway had the widest latitude in handling ceasefire strategy. In Washington, and particularly with the Joint Chiefs, his stock had never been higher. His diplomatic experience in dealing with Latin American affairs (in the 1920s), in the Philippines, as Caribbean theater commander after World War II and as a member of the U.N.’s Military Staff Committee now stood him in good stead.

Last week he arrived at the DaiIchi every morning at 8, drove his subordinates without mercy. As each draft of each message to the Reds’ came up from his joint planning group, he went over it word by word, referring often to the Webster’s unabridged dictionary which he keeps handy, inserting a new word here, dropping an unnecessary phrase there.

Ridgway starts each morning with a dip in his pool or with calisthenics. (“The general,” says an aide, “is a bend-over-and-rotation man.”) Last week he found time for a few fast badminton games, attended a Fourth of July reception at the GHQ officers’ club, saw New York’s junketing Governor Tom Dewey, an Associated Press executive, a Hollywood restaurateur in Japan to study Army messes.

One day an aide brought him a map outlining the proposed protective zone along the Kaesong road. The general took a quick look, pointed out that at one point the map did not accurately follow the road. “Fix it,” said Matt Ridgway sharply.

The Dangers Ahead. The way to an armistice—not to mention peace—will be rough. The U.S. State Department last week thought that the talks might last up to four weeks. The first big obstacles will probably be 1) the establishment of a cease-fire line and 2) the thorny problem of inspection by international teams behind the enemy and allied lines, to make sure that the truce terms are being carried out. Both the Peking and Pyongyang radios have mentioned the 38th parallel as a cease-fire line; the U.N. will probably insist on a line more closely in accord with the present battle positions, as well as on a buffer zone between the armies (see map). As for inspection, the Communists in the past have always stubbornly resisted outside prying in their domains.

If the Communists insist on injecting political demands for such prizes as Formosa and a U.N. seat for Red China, the truce talks are almost certain to break down. Even if the political questions are postponed and a cease-fire is agreed on, those questions will have to be faced later. The U.S. is not willing to buy peace at any price, will require solid guarantees against further aggression.

In other ways, the price of peace in Korea may come high. If negotiations drag on for months, U.N. forces will have to stand by in South Korea; the Chinese would thus be able to tie down the best part of the U.S.’s fighting force without firing a shot.

And if peace should come in Korea, in spite of all pitfalls, then perhaps the greatest danger for the free world will lie ahead. It will be the danger of relaxation, of unwillingness to maintain the sweaty, nerve-taxing pace of arming against aggression, of a sudden new belief that world Communism is turning soft. Last week Red spokesmen all over the world were uttering soft talk (see NATIONAL AFFAIRS). At a Fourth of July party in Tokyo, a Soviet diplomat asked a U.S. diplomat: “Now that we are going to have an end to fighting in Korea, why can’t we go forward and settle all of the outstanding problems between us? Don’t believe that the Communist and capitalist worlds can’t live together in peace. Americans make the mistake of stressing what Stalin said ten and 15 years ago. The important thing is what he says now.”

It is a favorite Communist tactic to tell the free world that Communist strategy, which never changes, has changed.

Heavy Traffic. As if to demonstrate to the West that to fall for this line would be suicidal, the Chinese last week continued their build-up of attacking strength behind the front as if they had never heard of peace. Traffic from the Yalu to central Korea was heavy, and allied G25 estimated that 350,000 Reds would be able to attack by July 15. U.S. officers spoke of massive concentrations of enemy artillery. Whatever the Reds’ intention, Matt Ridgway was ready for them.

This week, Ridgway flew to Korea. Before he boarded his C-54, a reporter asked him if he had any parting word. “No,” the general grinned. “That’s why I’m going over—to try to get a word in.”

In Seoul, the Supreme Commander’s word was: “This is a very critical period when the question of the success or failure of the objectives … [is] very much at issue. Whether there is to be good faith or not can be judged only by performance.”

*The tetrahedron is an ancient military invention. In the Middle Ages, when it was used to lame hostile cavalry, it went by the name of “calketrappe.”