SS Meredith Victory
The sunrise’s watered-down colors sent little sparkles of grey bouncing off the dock. Gyeong watched in silence as countless hands waved goodbye from the port of Hungnam. He gripped the sides of the US cargo ship, the very last ship to escape from the bloodshed brought to their home by the Chinese army. It was Christmas Eve. He tugged the heavy cloth bag closer to his side, gripping Sunny’s hand worriedly. At the edge of the misty horizon, Gyeong imagined that he could already make out the shapes of the American planes. Surely, they would come soon. He hated to think what would happen if the American troops didn’t make it in time; there were so many refugees left on the dock, unable to cram their bodies onto the already-full merchant ship. A child cried to Gyeong’s left, its little feet were blistered and frostbitten from their escape through miles of snow. Many mothers sobbed over the children that were left behind, clinging to the edge of Hungnam’s dock, believing that their parents would return for them. Sunny pulled Gyeong’s arm against her cheek, watching his eyes fearfully.
“What will happen to them?” She seemed to watch the faces on the dock, as they grew smaller and smaller with the boat’s distance. Gyeong shook his head softly. His throat burned as he watched smoke curl from the mountains behind Hungnam; the Chinese forces were coming. The ship seemed to move inch by inch, as the waves resisted its efforts to flee from North Korea’s edge. Gyeong didn’t realize how much time had passed until his head began to spin from hunger. The heavily crammed ship held no food, water, or warmth; it had come to collect military cargo and was unprepared for so many people. Remembering the pack at his side, Gyeong scrambled to pull out the last few pieces of chicken. The edges crumbled in his hand as he split the pieces in half for Sunny. They ate silently, with their backs pressed against the surrounding bodies. There were screams from a pregnant woman on the floor of the ship; two men struggled to lift her up. Strong waves crashed against the ship’s walls, sending salty rain showering over the passengers, stealing their hopes for warmth.
“Mother, will we drown?” A small girl squeaked next to Gyeong. Her mother stretched a worn blanket between the two of them, “Perhaps, nae sarang, the ocean will turn us to sea spirits.” The girl shuddered in the sea-sprayed wind, staring fixedly at the heaving waves. “I would not mind being a sea spirit,” she whispered in a voice that seared into Gyeong’s memory, despite the other screams and anguished voices that clouded his head, “Then I would be able to swim far away from this war. I would never be afraid.” Gyeong nodded to himself, clutching Sunny closer to keep warm. The harbor had become a blur in the distance, but he could still see the crowds waiting.
A jilting cry rose up from the middle of the ship. Gyeong jerked his head, straining to hear the shouting voices. Suddenly, the floor beneath him rocked uncontrollably and a rumbling noise filled his ears. It all happened so fast, Gyeong could hardly process the moment. A great fiery explosion rose from the harbor, black smoke inked through the sky. The water surrounding the harbor glowed red, as if it had caught fire and would spread across the sea. Instinctively, Gyeong clutched Sunny’s face between his hands, pressing her into his chest. His heart sunk as the port full of refugees was destroyed, replaced by sheets of angry fire. Gyeong knew it must have been done to keep the Chinese from advancing, but he ached for the ones left behind. Sunny struggled against his hands, her body shook in horror. Her eyes filled with tears, sea salt, and smoke. Screams of shock rattled Gyeong’s eardrums, until a strange humming sound overlapped the mourning voices. He searched the smoke clouds in disbelief as silvery shapes emerged, sunlight reflecting off their steadfast wings. The Americans had come. Gyeong’s lungs would have deflated in a sigh of relief, knowing that they were finally there. But instead, he couldn’t breathe at all, knowing that they were much too late.