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Quotation 31: "No one I knew
who had been there long enough missed the winter, regretted the cold.
But this fighting in the heat possessed its own dimension of horror.
You could see the wounds, see what killed people, the explicit manner
of death and injury: a leg severed at the knee, a mangled arm, how
startlingly white a man's ribs looked sticking out from under a flak
jacket, pink at the splintered ends with little bits of meat attached.
I could see what my own legs looked like, and the backs of my hands,
when I came down from Yoke peppered with rock and grit and sharp
nails.
All winter you were so muffled in clothes, layers and layers, swaddled
against the cold, that a man could be all shot to pieces, literally
sieved, but unless you were a corpsman you didn't have to look at
the broken bones and the torn flesh and see blood pulsing from cut
arteries and veins. The bodies were just as hurt, just as broken,
but it happened under a couple of pairs of pants and an oversized
parka. Men died more neatly in winter, modestly covered instead of
naked and obscenely ripped apart. Those heavy clothes gave death a
certain muffled discretion. A man could die in decency."
(Source: James Brady.
The
Coldest War: A Memoir of Korea. New York: Pocket Books, 1990:
258)
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