Soldiers and Marines Saga, page 14
This time we cut loose with everything we had. Mortars, artillery, Porks, everything. Even the Shermans firing their machine guns and me and Ira firing M1s in an effort to pick off officers and thrusters. The Chinese division commanders had obviously been told that we were only a company or two of lightly armed infantry and that, if they kept coming, we would go under.
We didn’t.
The Chinese tanks waited until after sunup and came in with what looks to be the fifth and sixth divisions to attack. They used old T-34s with very basic equipment. They had apparently had been told to wait for daylight so they could see where they were going, and what they were shooting at. Even though our flares totally lit the battlefield.
Hammond’s hull down tanks pulled up into their firing positions and began engaging the T-34s as soon as they got in range. But it didn’t work. The Shermans’ 76mm tubes were unable to stop the Korean T-34s at that distance. That changed as the T-34s moved closer and closer so that the Shermans, located at each end of our lines, could hit them on their sides, where they have less armor.
In ten intense minutes our tanks and 105mm recoilless rifles knocked out seventeen T-34s. The rest turned tail and churned away over the Chinese dead and wounded.
Interestingly enough, Hammond reported his Shermans were getting off at least three or four shots for every one the T-34s fire. Wonder why they are so slow. His guys are hull down but, even so, he lost four Shermans and three Porks in ten minutes, all on the East side.
******
Everything changed again about an hour after the sun came up. Three of the Chinese divisions managed to come in together. Roseman’s mortars really pounded them all the way in, and our automatic weapons got most of the rest.
But getting most of the attackers wasn’t enough on the eastern side of our line. Even concentrated fire from our second, third, and fourth line positions was not enough to keep them out of our front line.
Almost simultaneously, Candelaria’s little outpost on the opposite peak, which had previously helped stop the Chinese attacks on the southeast end of our positions, reported it was running out of ammunition and that Chinese troops were climbing the steep north and western sides of 817.
Candelaria had a lot of ammunition. How could his guys be running out so soon?
The tide was beginning to turn against us. The Chinese were in our first line of trenches on the far left side despite all the fire we put on them. There was no alternative. We had to counterattack and throw them out. Even worse, Ira and Scott were starting to take frantic calls about ammunition shortages.
By my count, we’d already been hit by at least ten Chinese division-size attacks, and these three, and maybe more, are still coming. The Chinese dead and wounded were literally piled on top of one another for as far as the eye could see. They were climbing over their dead and wounded and still coming. This is impossible. The noise was beyond belief.
“Ira,” I shouted into his ear, “get hold of Captain Kim and tell him to mobilize all the Chogis to bring belts and vests of ammo forward to all the positions on the south side. Send messengers if you can’t get through. Tell them to start with Major Johnson and the First Battalion, the guys over on the east side; they’re getting really low.”
“But first run next door and tell Major Hart to move into the command position and take over until I get back.”
“Right, boss.”
Down goes the M1 I’ve been sniping with as I grabbed my AK47 and a carbine. I suddenly had a tremendous urge to pee.
Some day I’ve got to find out why I need to pee every time things get a bit shaky.
I rushed eastward in a crouch along our Fourth trench line and then down the diagonal to the eastern end of our second trench line. I had about fifty guys from the Fourth line running along behind me. They were Marines from the last batch we’d gotten off the road under a Lieutenant Smith, or maybe it is Smyth. I never did find out.
The Chinese were through our first line and were just reaching our second line when we arrived. I cut three of them down with one long continuous burst of my AK-47 as they appeared above me, and started to jump into the trench in front of me. Others jumped in behind me, and everyone was shooting in every direction.
I got two more Chinese who were ahead of me in the trench, when a powerful punch in my arm turned me around so that I fell half against the side of the trench and then face down as Smith and his Marines poured over me. One of them stepped on my hand, and I felt a sharp crack as a finger broke.
Then I staggered down the trench and watched as the Marines cleaned up the remaining Chinese all the way out to the one hundred yard wire. It was a close call and we took a lot of casualties, including Lieutenant Smith who sat leaning against the trench wall with his eyes open and unmoving outside the entrance to one of our front line positions.
Then a big Korean Chogi literally picked me up and threw me over his shoulder and carried me all the way to the aid station on the south side.
Chapter Twenty
By the time I got to the aid station I was starting to shake and perspire. The aid station was absolute bedlam with lots of screams, sobs and men pleading for help for themselves and others. The Hollywood scenes of stoic wounded warriors are absolute bullshit. Everyone hurts and goes into shock, and everyone is pleading for help because they are afraid they will die if they don’t get it; there was a lot of noise.
Big Joe saw me coming in on the Chogi’s back. He instantly cut off the left sleeve of my field jacket and long johns, slapped a bandage on the exit and entrance holes, and gave me one of his special shots combining Novacain and Penicillin near each of the holes, and my dangling finger.
Then, at my profane insistence, Joe gave a nod, and the same big Korean Chogi half led and half carried me back to the command post. Hart was there, and he was running the battle. I just sat with my arm and finger throbbing, and watched through one of the firing slots as the last two Chinese divisions charged to their deaths.
I don’t know what Big Joe gave me in those shots, but the next day, when I woke, up Ira told me I sang a few verses of “Roll Out The Barrel” before I passed out and fell asleep.
I didn’t believe him when he told me but I grinned anyhow.
******
Our casualties were significant. Including the Korean Chogis, we suffered 179 KIA and 847 WIA. Our killed to wounded ratio was higher than usual because the men who were hit tended to be hit in the head as they fired out the slot between the sandbags that held the 4x8 metal plates off the ground.
Spinelli’s casualties were even worse. He lost 146 KIA and 472 WIA, more than half his men, including the commander of his ground forces, Bobby Oremus, to a nasty shrapnel wound in his stomach.
Truck after truck came up from Pusan to carry away our dead and wounded. We had so many that the evacuation couldn’t really start until a company of engineers came up from Pusan and built a pontoon bridge, despite the periodic Chinese artillery rounds that continued to land around them.
The Chinese casualties were devastating. They committed fourteen infantry divisions, about 85 thousand men, and lost two thirds of them killed and wounded. And those who survived intact will have to take care of their thousands and thousands of wounded.
We were too busy to help the Chinese wounded. Caring for our own wounded, and preparing for another attack, was our priority.
I was awake with a terribly painful arm and wrapped in a blanket to keep warm when General Talley came in on one of the helicopters that were being used to ferry out our most critically wounded men. I tried to stand up and salute as he came in the CP.
“Hey Guns, how are you? Sit down, Goddamn it. Sit down. How’s the arm?”
And then, without stopping for an answer, he got real serious.
“I heard it was real tight and you got yourself wounded leading a counter attack down a trench. That true?”
“Uh,.. well sort of,.. Yes Sir.”
“Sort of hell,” he said as he looked out of the position’s firing slot. “Jesus Christ” he said as he focused his binoculars. “My God.”
“Well Guns, I’ll tell you what. I really didn’t believe it when intelligence picked up the Chinese radio traffic reporting that all the divisions of the Second Army had been destroyed in a major fight yesterday. But I damn sure believe it now.”
The Chinese were stacked two and three deep as far as the eye can see. Piles of them. Many piles.
“Well Sir, a lot of people went far beyond the call of duty. Major Hart here is one of them, and so is Sergeant Smith,” I said, gesturing towards Ira who is sitting with a phone to his ear.
“It looks like all your men did real good. And I’ve got some good news for you too. That DSC you got retaking the ridge last summer has been upgraded to a Congressional. And you can keep the DSC for your actions when the Korean division tried to take it back. And you can certainly expect another decoration for your actions here.”
“And I brought this for you major,” he says as he hands Hart a DSC for his actions while commanding the rear guard. “You can expect something for this too.”
“And Sergeant,” he said, beaming at Ira, “you are to put up another stripe and a medal will be coming your way too.”
Just then I saw Captain Kim coming along the trench. I was swaying as I stood up to introduce him.
“Here General, I have the honor of presenting Captain Kim of the army of the Republic of Korea. He and his entire Korean contingent performed above and beyond the call of duty.”
Captain Kim’s eyes widen at the sight of the general and he popped to rigid attention.
“Oh no Colonel, this is not Captain Kim, this Major Kim. I am authorized to promote and decorate all officers under my command and Major Kim is herewith promoted and will be decorated as will Majors Hart and Spinelli and Captains Hammond, Oremus, and Roseman. There are obviously many others to be recognized so send me your suggestions as soon as possible. Well done to you all.”
Major Kim was so pleased that I think his buttons might have popped off.
“Finally, Major Hart, Gentlemen. I am sending Colonel Roberts to Tokyo for medical treatment and to be decorated by General MacArthur. While he’s gone you’ve got to restore this position as quickly as possible. “
“Frankly, things are not going as well in Seoul as they are here. If we pull back from Seoul, task force 817 will have to cover a retreat along the Han River roads and then pull back itself.”
The new majors nodded and jumped to attention as he left. Sergeant First Class Ira Smith was grinning as he answered one of the field phones which have been constantly squealing in the background.
Chapter Twenty-One
I spent the flight to Tokyo trying to make a list of the officers and men who should be promoted and decorated. It was lengthy. And I know it’s incomplete. I’m having trouble concentrating. My arm hurts like a sonufabitch.
Tokyo Airport’s military side was incredibly busy. A long line of MATs planes and commercial charters were constantly touching down along with jets and propeller driven fighters landing in groups of three and four. Just as many were queued up and taking off.
The clans are finally gathering was my thought as I watched the bustle and activity through the little window next to my seat.
We were an inbound Medevac flight, a C-119 with wounded, and had landing and unloading priorities. The cargo ramp in the rear started coming down even before the propellers stopped turning, and medics and orderlies poured in and began carrying badly wounded Americans out the back of the plane to waiting ambulances.
I was one of the walking wounded in the two rows of seats behind the pilots, and intended to hang back out of the way until everyone else is carried off. But then a neatly turned out captain in a formal uniform with a staff braid comes up the ramp and edged his way past the last of the stretcher cases and approached.
“Colonel Roberts?” He asked as he walked up. I nodded and notice he’s wearing one of those braided things on his shoulder. I’d never seen one before, but it must mean something.
If I’m still an officer when I get out of here I’ve got to at least learn what they mean.
“Sir, Captain Adams. I’ve come to take you to the Tokyo Army Hospital for a checkup and then to your quarters at the BOQ.”
We attracted a lot of attention as we walk through the crowded MATS terminal to the cars out front. I was wearing my filthy clothes with the cut off sleeve, about 30 days of beard, and carrying both my carbine and an AK47 with the clips in. I smell like a skunk and the bandage on my arm was dripping blood again.
Adams apparently thought I was about to keel over. He was holding my good arm to steady me. People stepped out of the way as we passed.
I enjoyed the attention, and had the crazy idea I should try to walk as if this is nothing unusual. I must be losing my fucking mind.
******
As we got in the waiting staff car, I pulled the ammo clips from the weapons with my good hand, smiled wryly at Adams, and said something really stupid as I handed them to him.
“Never leave home without them.”
Tokyo’s Army Hospital was bustling that late afternoon. There were a lot of servicemen and dependents in the emergency room receiving area. My appearance, and Adams’ whispered comments, got me right in.
From there it was all downhill. A tough looking old nurse shoved me down on a gurney and promptly cut all my clothes off, leaving me naked as a jaybird except for my muddy boots. Then she threw a sheet on me and wheeled me into an examining room. I was still clutching my AK47. Adams followed us in and stacked my carbine in the corner. Then he waved and went off to do whatever staff officers do.
“Be back in a jiff,” he said.
By then the nurse was already starting to cut off one of the bandages and a corpsman was looking at my dog tags and writing something on a clipboard.
“Rank?’ he asks.
“Lieutenant Colonel.”
He and the nurse looked up sharply. I shrugged.
Surprised you didn’t I? Surprises me too.
About then a self-important doctor walks in complete with a regulation stethoscope. He spotted the weapons stacked in the corner.
“What are these?” he demanded.
“Guns?” I said innocently.
“Are you authorized to have them?” I tried to suppress a smile, and failed.
“Well soldier, what are you doing with them?”
Now I was getting a bit pissed at the officious bastard. “I use’em to kill assholes who piss me off,” I snarled.
The nurse was listening to the exchange; she was smiling and trying to hide it as she pulled the bandage off my arm.
“Oh. Oh Fuck. Goddamn. Sonofabitch. Oh shit. That hurt.” It really did.
“Listen soldier, none of that language in here.”
I was not a happy camper at the moment and on the way to getting seriously pissed. I lost my cool and exploded.
“Fuck off, asshole. Just do your fucking job and keep your fucking mouth shut.”
He gave me an absolutely incredulous look, started to say something, and then stormed out.
“Is he always so sensitive?” I inquired sweetly.
The nurse smiled; the orderly giggled.
Just then Captain Adams walks in. “I talked to General MacArthur’s office. They want to know if you’ll be able to come in tomorrow at eleven-thirty. If not, he’ll come here.”
“I can make it to his office but I’ll be naked as a jaybird and smell worse.” The nurse nodded emphatically.
Adams apparently said the magic word “MacArthur” to someone important because things moved quickly after that.
Two or three doctors came in, one after another, to look at my arm and casualty tag, and then, after reading what must have been my medical records that Big Joe handed me to carry, they looked at my leg, my back and the back of my head. Then each of them told the hovering nurse to give me a tetanus shot and some more penicillin, “just in case.”
By the time I left with Adams, about an hour later, I was barefoot in a wheelchair, wearing a hospital bathrobe, been sprayed with DDT, and had a sponge bath from an overly enthusiastic nurse named Maggie—who smiled benignly at the erection she caused by getting too close to me. About twenty feet.
Adams drove me to a nearby BOQ, hospital robe and all, and promised to have a meal delivered this evening and a new uniform and new shoes for me by nine in the morning, right after the Tokyo PX opens.
“Size Eleven C,” I told him. “And don’t forget my weapons.”
Chapter Twenty-two
MacArthur’s headquarters was in an old Japanese insurance company building guarded by MPs with the usual shiny silver helmets that inevitably mean their weapons aren’t loaded, and they aren’t ready to fight. I deliberately didn’t shave off my thirty days of beard—don’t want them to think I’m too young; the uniform did not fit, the jacket was hung over my left shoulder, my shirt sleeve was cut off, my arm was hanging down by my side in a sling, and my shoes were two sizes too large.
Christ, I must look like a sad sack.
The only things on my new and much too large, and baggy, Ike jacket are a combat infantry badge, the silver oak leaves of a lieutenant colonel, and the crossed rifles of an infantry officer.
I was absolutely astonished when I saw General Talley waiting as we stepped off the elevator.
“Hey Guns, how ya doin?”
Good grief, it’s Talley. What’s he doing here?
I popped to rigid attention, and saluted with my left hand.
“Very well, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
I hope it’s okay to salute left-handed if your right doesn’t work.
He promptly answered my unspoken question.
“General Walker sent me to brief General MacArthur on the Seoul situation. I told him a few minutes ago that you and your men saved our us a couple of days ago for the second or third time and might be able to save our asses again, by keeping the Chinese off our back while we try to fight them off in front of Seoul.”
