"Thirty-eight years ago, while on active duty, I served as the S-1 (personnel clerk) for the 1st Infantry Battalion, 676th Brigade, 226th Division (stationed at the Badouzi Coastal Defense Battalion). I made dozens of trips to Division Headquarters for official business, always following the same route: Badouzi to Keelung, then to Taipei Main Station, on to Zhuwei, up the mountain road, and finally to Headquarters. A single phone call meant a day of rushing about, followed—upon my return to base—by the inevitable 1:00–3:00 AM or 2:00–4:00 AM guard shift.
Back then, before leaving the base with a pass for official business, the standard warnings were always the same: don't lose your supply card, and watch out for Military Police (MP) logging infractions. The roar of a "White Wolf" motorcycle engine was inextricably linked to the dread of being confined for a disciplinary violation...
In reality, the hundred-mile journey from Badouzi to Zhuwei—enduring wind, rain, and scorching sun while mentally juggling bus schedules and official paperwork—left no time to tidy one's uniform or polish brass fittings and heavy leather boots. On a packed bus, you could barely lift your legs, let alone bend down to shine your shoes!
When the bus pulled into the Zhuwei stop, a crowd of soldiers would hop off. Though they walked in twos or threes at varying paces, they shared a common goal. They appeared casual, yet the situation was fraught with hidden danger, for this route was the hunting ground of the Division Headquarters MP platoon!
One morning, baked by the sweltering sun, I was sweating as I hurried toward Headquarters from Zhuwei. Suddenly, I heard the rapid clatter of leather boots from another soldier in olive-drab fatigues who had disembarked with me. Being somewhat oblivious, I had already lost the race before it began; a "White Wolf" motorcycle roared loudly and cut me off, and an MP—wearing the signature white helmet—barked sternly: "What are you running for?" With my short legs, I could only come to a sudden halt, snap to attention, and salute. Thinking fast, I claimed, "I don't know; I just ran because I saw them running," while hurriedly handing over my leave pass and ration card. It turned out the Military Police were after the whole flock and had little interest in a lone, foolish sheep; they urgently demanded, "Which way did they go?"—a case of "forced conscripts preying on their own kind." So, I pointed vaguely in the opposite direction of their escape route, and the two "white wolves" gunned their engines and sped off in pursuit. Once I regained my composure, I immediately ducked into a side alley to save my own skin..."