Grounded in China
In 1954, RCAF Squadron Leader Andy MacKenzie sat down to enjoy a traditional Christmas dinner with his wife and four children in the family’s new home in Strathmore, near Pointe Claire, on the island of Montreal. Andy’s father carved the turkey. The previous two Christmases, he had eaten rice and steamed bread in solitary confinement in Chinese and North Korean prisoner-of-war camps.
Andy was one of 22 Canadian exchange pilots serving with the 51st Wing, U.S. 5th Air Force. He was the only Canadian pilot shot down in Korea and taken prisoner. His Sabre was destroyed by “friendly” cannon fire from a U.S. captain.
“My canopy was blown off. My right aileron [hinged surface in the trailing edge of the wing used to control roll about the longitudinal axis] was hit, and my instrument panel was destroyed. My aircraft was out of control. I was starting to roll to the left. I was barrelling towards the ground. I could see Russian MiG fire chasing me like little hot tennis balls. There was no point staying with the plane, so I punched out.” Floating down, he could see the Yalu River, a power station, part of northeast China, and the mountains of North Korea.
“I was over North Korea, 10 miles [16 km] south of the Yalu River.”
He could also see two trucks full of soldiers heading in his direction. His original plan was to discard his gear, head for the mountains, and “with luck I might hide and wait for nightfall.” There were 30 soldiers, some armed with Tommy guns, hard on his heels. They fired warning shots, and bullets pinged off rocks around him. He had no choice but to stand, face his pursuers, and surrender. They made no attempt to harm him. They motioned him to put his hands up and stripped him of his .45 calibre sidearm, G-suit, Mae West lifejacket, cigarettes, and lighter. Andy recalls that the majority of the soldiers were Chinese, but “I noticed one North Korean officer. The leader of the group was Chinese.” He was blindfolded, thrown into the back of a truck, and driven across the Yalu River into China.
For two years he was a prisoner, spending 18 months in solitary confinement after two failed escape attempts. He got about 90 centimetres from the main gate, where he ran into guards with fixed bayonets in the dark. “For punishment,” he says, “they took away my wooden bed and left me with only a mattress of woven straw and a blanket.”
He subsisted on a diet of rice and steamed bread. At capture, he weighed 195 pounds. By the time he was released, his weight had dropped to 120 pounds.
“I didn’t eat raw vegetables, because farmers fertilized their crops with human excrement and I didn’t want to risk diseases. I had no idea what was going to happen to me. Every time I was handcuffed, blindfolded, and thrown into the back of a vehicle, I thought they were taking me to the killing ground. I believed that no prisoners of war had ever returned from a genuine Chinese prisoner-of-war camp. I believed that the Chinese didn’t take prisoners.”
“One day, another prisoner, a B-29 tail-gunner, peered through the gaps in my log house and saw my blue eyes. I passed him a note saying who I was and asked him to get it to my wife.”
Eighteen months after his capture, his wife, Joyce, had proof Andy was alive. At this point, the Canadian government stepped in. Chester Ronning was the foremost Far East expert in the West. Fluent in Mandarin, he was the senior Canadian diplomat in China when the People’s Republic was declared in 1949. He represented Canada at the conference that negotiated the Korean cease-fire, where he began a friendship with Chinese Premier Chou En-lai.
Ottawa sent Ronning to a 1954 conference in China with instructions to ask Chou En-lai if the Chinese were keeping Andy MacKenzie prisoner. Ronning made his case with the Chinese premier and added: “He has a wife and four children.” Chou En-lai promised MacKenzie’s release and six months later Andy was freed. It was almost 17 months after the July 27, 1953, cease-fire.
Because of Joyce’s persistence, the RCAF didn’t close Andy’s file. His original casualty record read: “Lost while on combat mission over NK. S/L MacKenzie was last seen at XE 4767 (6135-111) near Uji, North Korea.” It was later amended: “POW/Repatriated.” Joyce had convinced them he was alive.
Andy says: “I was shot down at 1 p.m. on December 4, 1952, and released two years later to the minute — 1 p.m., on December 4, 1954. I think I may have been tried in absentia and sentenced to two years, but I was never in a court. Three U.S. pilots, Captain Hal Fisher and Lieutenants Lyle Cameron and Ron Parks were all tried and given two years. Hal Fisher ended up as a colonel and lives in Vegas. Lyle Cameron wound up as a four-star general and lives in Dallas. Ron Parks lives in Omaha. We keep in touch.” Andy MacKenzie had no desire to “keep in touch” with the wingman who shot him down.
Years later, in Torbay, Newfoundland, U.S. Major General Barcus gave him an unofficial apology, saying the U.S. pilot was “remorseful” and had “asked to be taken off operations.” He was assigned to ferrying fighter jets to Japan for maintenance and was killed when he flew into a mountain in a bad-weather approach.
The day of his release, Andy was driven 177 kilometres to Canton from Mukden, near Shenyang. The Chinese would not release him until he signed three pages of foolscap written in “a fine hand in India ink. The language was precise and grammatically perfect. The ‘confession’ was false. I was shot down 10 miles [16 km] inside North Korea — not China. They wanted me to agree I had been shot down over China, that I was spying for the U.S., and that I was taken prisoner in China. I signed the false statement and I have no idea where it ended up.
“They drove me to a bridge and indicated I was free and should cross. They asked me to wave goodbye to a guy who was operating an 8 mm movie camera on a hillside. I took off across that 150-yard [137-m] bridge at 180 miles [290 km] an hour. I was wearing traditional Chinese garb.”
His first meal in Kowloon was a “big thick steak.” Examined by doctors for three or four days, he was then flown to Tokyo. The RCAF flew him to Sea Island, British Columbia, where his wife and children awaited. Andy had 90 days leave coming.
Ottawa rolled out the red carpet. Prime Minister Louis St. Laurent received him, as did External Affairs Minister Lester B. Pearson. St. Laurent, says Andy, “did a very warm thing. He came out from behind his desk, dragged a chair to the front of his desk and we sat knee-to-knee.”
Defence Minister Ralph Campney was less than hospitable. Campney looked at him and said: “Sorry I don’t have a bowl of rice for you, Andy.” Pearson, who had taken Andy under his wing and brought him to see Campney, immediately rebuked the minister for his sick humour.
Andy went back to duty as an instructor at Chatham. Then he was posted to Kansas City, Missouri, to serve with the 29th North American Air Defence Command (NORAD) Region. He finished his career as chief administrative officer at Rockcliffe.
Before the Korean conflict, Andy had been a World War II fighter ace. He was credited with destroying eight-and-a-half Luftwaffe planes — three of them in only 90 seconds. He was shot down twice by anti-aircraft fire, once by U.S. gunners over Utah Beach in Normandy. The second time, he was hit by enemy flak at 18,000 feet and made a dead-stick landing behind his lines. He accumulated 800 hours in fighters and flew 157 missions. His fifth mission in Korea was his last. After serving 26 years in the RCAF, he retired in 1966 to a stone house with 100 acres in Oxford Station, south of Ottawa.
Twenty-four years later, Andy returned to Korea with a Canadian delegation to observe the 25th anniversary of the Korean War.