Soldiers and Marines Saga, page 6
I sent a runner from a couple of holes down from mine, Billy Joe Homar, known to one and all as “little Billy” because he is so big, to tell Symonds to hustle to his radio and report that we were about to get a serious attack from what looks to be about five thousand pissed off North Koreans and could they please spare a few artillery rounds.
When Billy Joe got back, it was as I expected—Symonds is already on the radio and ready to act as our artillery spotter and air controller. I’d sent Billy Joe to be sure. The only problem is that we have no artillery to direct and no air to control.
I zipped down to see Symonds myself a few minutes later and was more than a little relieved when he told me he’d just spoken to General Talley himself. “He said he’ll do what he can to get us some support and told me to give you his best regards.”
His best regards to me?
He also said the General asked him about all the North Korean casualties when we retook the ridge line.
Wonder how he heard about that? Maybe the radio guys or Hurlburt, that officer who came up with the second tank to check things out, told him.
Chapter Eight
About then an idea suddenly took hold in my mind. So I grabbed all the bazooka teams I can find nearby, a grand total of two, and four guys to help carry the recoilless rifle and its tripod. I myself carried an extra recoilless round along with the two Korean weapons slung on my back.
The guys got the gist of my plan as we hustle down behind the ridge line. We’ll go about three hundred yards past the far right end of our line. Then we’ll pop up over the ridge. And that’s what we did. I managed to put two recoilless rounds right out into the middle of where the North Koreans are forming up about two miles out. I fired the second round as fast as possible after the first, I could hardly miss there were so many of them.
The rounds I fired really stirred them up. They could see where they come from because I had both bazooka teams fire at the same time from about thirty yards down in front of the ridge line each time I shouted and fired off the recoilless.
What I did was have the shooters deliberately aim their bazooka rounds a little upward. That, of course, made the rounds they fired totally useless. But the bazooka back blasts, as you might imagine, stirred up a whole bunch of dust and smoke. Then we all zipped back behind the ridge and boogied back to our holes.
By the time we reached our holes there were mortar rounds falling all over the front of the slope where we’d sent up the dust and smoke. It continued hot and heavy for about ten minutes and then tailed off.
The men on my little deception team dispersed to their holes and began laughing and joking when they realized where the mis-aimed mortar rounds were landing. It worked.
The word soon spread along the line how we conned the gooks into using up some of their ammunition firing at the wrong place. Even I had to smile.
This would be fun if it wasn’t so dangerous and exciting.
Symonds was still on the Jeep radio trying to get support when I got back to that part of the line. He’d been confused by all the mortar hits off to our right and got all excited when I told him what we did and why—he suggested, with a question in his voice, that maybe the tailing off of their mortars means the gooks have used up all their mortar rounds.
I doubt it but I sure as hell hope he’s right.
Symonds started to say something when the air-tearing sound of a friendly artillery round whooshed and ripped overhead and landed far beyond where the gooks were forming up.
“Down eight hundred” I heard Symonds shout into the radio mike as I ran back to my hole. Ira and one of the guys from a nearby hole had already got the recoilless back up on its tripod and reloaded. They’d long ago gotten all the rounds out of their cases and ready to be shoved in and fired.
That’s when I jumped into my three man hole and leaned forward into my little firing trench to have a look with the binoculars General Talley gave me.
******
The North Koreans’ finally got their act together and launched a massive infantry attack at exactly twelve thirty. First, for exactly ten minutes, they pounded the shit out of the bazooka launch area to the right of our line with mortars. Then wave after wave of shouting infantry charged, waving flags and blowing bugles.
Christ, they have tanks. They must have just come up.
It was awesome to see: A classic World War II Russian-style huge mass of men and tanks charging up a hill to overwhelm an outnumbered enemy. But its center was aimed at the wrong part of the ridge on my right and it looked like the gooks behind the ones up front can’t fire without hitting their own men.
I suddenly had a tremendous urge to pee. It was so strong that I wiggled back into the hole and let loose a stream while I was sitting down. Ira was amused but he looked the other way and didn’t say a word.
Then I wiggled back into my little trench to look again with my binoculars. I counted five North Korean tanks; at least that was all I saw. They were leading the infantry, who were walking behind them, and blasting away at the ridge just to the right of our line.
The impact area for the tank rounds was the same as that of their mortar rounds—the site of our deception shots. It was covered with smoke and explosions for what seems like hours. Then the Korean mortar round explosions began drifting towards us and falling on the right side of our line.
The North Korean infantry, close behind the tanks, was spread out in a massive line that was about a block wide and fifty feet deep. The Korean troops weren’t running yet but they were moving right along in an effort to keep up with their tanks.
Then the artillery Symonds called in finally arrived and found the range. A 105 mm round hit in and around them every five or six seconds for almost a minute. Then the shelling suddenly stopped.
For a few moments, there was hardly a sound except their damn bugles and cheering. But that one great human wave designed to roll right over us just kept coming and coming despite all the casualties it was leaving behind.
Those guys are crazy as hell. Don’t they know what’s gonna happen.
The good news is that the center of their attacking line seemed to be heading towards where I fired the recoilless rifle and the bazookas kicked up all the dust; the bad news is that their attack is so wide that it is going to overlap a good part of our line. Even if we hold our line they are going to go over the ridge on our right and flank us. Shit.
Both of our Shermans had radios and they each had an extra gunner from Charley Company firing the commander’s machine gun on the turret. Another guy, a loader, was crouching down next to the gunner with a whole bunch of shell belts laid out and ready to be slapped in.
Our new tank commander thought of adding the two additional men; it’s a smart move because it means our Shermans can stay buttoned up and their commanders can concentrate on the Korean tanks—and, of course, it meant the two tank commanders would not have to expose themselves to small arms fire while they direct the tank’s gunner and fire the fifty slaved to its cannon.
Jimmer apparently gave an order over the radio because both tanks fired almost simultaneously and the guys on top and inside the Shermans opened up with their machine guns. Then everyone joined in, including me, as the North Koreans got closer and closer.
The North Korean tanks are still too far away for the recoilless rifle so I used my BAR with Ira as the loader and then, when it jammed, he and I both began using our Korean automatics.
That fucker’s an officer.. got’em… there’s another…
The turret of one of the T-34s immediately blew about 100 feet in the air as soon as the Shermans let loose. Two of the Korean tanks must have spotted the smoke and flames from the Sherman anchoring the right of our line because they turned towards it and they all kept coming. Almost immediately another T-34 stopped and began spewing smoke and then a third suddenly skewed off to the right and it too began belching black smoke.
Then there was a tremendous roar and everything turned to shit—the Sherman closest to the North Korean tanks blew apart in a catastrophic explosion.
Christ, that probably got our flank riflemen too.
The North Koreans had at least two tanks remaining and we still had Jimmer’s Sherman on our left. That means we are in deep shit if their infantry gets over the ridge on our right side and turns right to roll up our line. And that’s exactly what it looked like was happening.
Symonds had seen the Sherman go up and somehow thinks I might not have seen it blow. He slid wild-eyed into my hole and excitedly told me what I already knew: the North Koreans have a couple of tanks left and we’re in real trouble if they start to roll us up from the right flank. I shouted over my shoulder as I was reloading and told him to go back to the radio and try to get some air support. “Put it right in on top of us if necessary, but we’ve got to get those tanks.”
I left Ira firing away as I jumped out of our hole to round up some reinforcements from guys in the holes on the far left of our line near Jimmer’s tank.
The members of my little, damn little, reaction force were clearly anxious about being rousted out of their holes for a second time. But they’re not surprised because I’d told them earlier, in no uncertain terms, that they were going to be my mobile reserve and should be ready to bring their weapons and change positions on a moment’s notice once the attack starts.
We ran the hundred or so yards to the holes that have been dug near the burning Sherman just as the mortar rounds stop and their infantry launches its assault. What I didn’t do, and realize I should have done, is bring the recoilless rifle. So I sent a couple of the guys running back to help Ira bring it up along with all the rounds they can carry.
In the end, it turns out we don’t need it. The North Korean tanks apparently pulled back. I don’t know where they went—only that the next time I look they weren’t there. It was a damn good thing they did. We never did get any air support.
Our situation was bad at this end of the line, but not as bad as I first thought. Earlier I had some extra holes dug on each of the flanks and supplied with water and ammo just in case the gooks got around us at the end of the line. We jumped into the holes with our four BARs and the recoilless rifle and joined the guys anchoring the right side of our line.
Our Sherman was totally destroyed along with its entire crew and the two Easy Company guys manning the turret machine gun, but the squads protecting our flank on the south side of the ridge were mostly still in business. They’d been down in their holes firing when it blew. But the gooks were now sure to flank us so I left the men there under Sergeant Ryall and then, being careful not to show myself above the top of the ridge, I ran like hell back along the line in order to gather up more reinforcements from the guys around Jimmer’s Sherman.
Ira fluttered his hand in acknowledgment as I went zipping by.
******
A nineteenth century general would have been proud of the North Koreans. When they were about 600 yards out they all began charging in a great running mass with shouts, bugle blowing, and flags waving.
The noise and dust and smoke were unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Everyone opened up at the same time when the Gook tanks blew and the North Koreans charged.
The only one who wasn’t firing was old Sergeant Ruskin. And for good reason—he was running along the line making sure everyone else is shooting. I told him what he had to do—give anyone still down in their hole and not firing one chance to get up and start, and then shoot him if he didn’t.
I also told Ruskin that if he ever got asked about shooting our own people he was to lie and say I’m the one who did the shooting.
It’s a terrible way to encourage soldiers to do what must be done, but I don’t know what else I could do.
As it turned out, nothing happened and no one is ever going to get a chance to ask Ruskin what he was doing. He was a good man and doing his duty when he got knocked down and all the way out by a mortar blast that threw a bunch of rocks at him.
I doubt he had to shoot anyone—I could see most of our line from where I am and it appeared to men that everyone was shooting. I even saw a guy who got so excited he was standing up in order to get better shots. Not too smart but greatly appreciated.
Insanely brave is the only way to describe the North Koreans as they kept coming; our BARs and machine guns wreaked havoc and destruction as they bit into the packed Korean ranks.
We couldn’t miss. At least half the Koreans were cut down by the time they got within a couple of hundred yards of the top of our ridge, and most of the rest soon after. And none of them reached our lines, though a few got awfully close. It was like the old news reels of the foolish French and British charges into the German machine guns in World War One.
The bad news was instantly apparent to everyone. Some of the most distant thousand or so North Koreans survived and went right on past our line on the right and over the ridge. We’d been flanked.
Where were the North Korean tanks? I kept shooting with my BAR and looking for them, but they seem to have disappeared.
Where were the goddamn tanks?
But then I come to my senses and realize I had more to worry about than a couple of tanks. I need to know what happened to the North Koreans who swept over the unoccupied part of the ridge to our right. So I left Ira firing into the rapidly dwindling number of Koreans who can still be seen and once again started to run back to our right flank.
Then I felt myself being picked up by one of the men I’d tapped to follow me. And then I sat down again and tried to look around. Finally things cleared up a bit and I can see a couple men standing around looking down at me. Everything was silent.
“What happened?” I croaked. I could see their mouths moving but I couldn’t hear them.
My right leg and shoulder didn’t have any feeling and every time I tried to stand it seemed like someone was pushing me back down. Finally I held out one of my arms and say, “Goddamn it, someone help me up.”
A couple of guys pulled me to my feet and off we went with me jumping and hopping along on one leg with my right arm over the shoulder of one of the Easy Company guys.
I was hopping towards the heavy firing up ahead when Symonds and a bunch of guys came roaring by without hardly giving me a look as they went past. As I got closer I could see that the BARs on the flank and the reinforcements have absolutely shredded the Koreans as they came past the end of our line and then sort of faded off to the right and down into the open farmland on the other side of the ridge. Some of them seem to have taken cover behind the terrace wall.
When I finally peg-legged my way to one of our holes and tumbled in, there looked to be only a few hundred of the Koreans left. And those not on the ground had their hands in the air. We did it. And Symonds was curled up on the ground in a fetal position holding his stomach.
The next thing I remembered was bouncing along in a truck with my pants off and a big bloody bandage on my leg and a plasma bottle line in my arm. I felt sort of dreamy so I went back to sleep.
Two days later I was on a Medevac flight to Tokyo in an old C-119 Flying Boxcar.
Chapter Nine
It was nine o’clock in the morning and General Talley was in the bare concrete school room that serves as the office of the division’s deputy commander. He’s been there for the past twenty-four hours. The school stands on a slight hill above the village. From it, whenever he happens to look out the window, which is rarely, Talley can see the steady stream of planes coming in and out of the Pusan airport.
A loud hum and the smell of the gasoline powered generator running just outside the window filled the room.
He was a worried man. The Americans and the ROKs have been pushed to almost the end of the Korean peninsula and the newly established perimeter around Pusan is barely holding. Talley and his new division commander, Clyde Evans, are desperately engaged in moving troops back and forth to plug the holes.
The best of their men, they both admit, are the Marines. There is something wrong with the army’s basic training and leadership they’d told each other in the middle of last night. They sipped coffee to stay awake while they once again tried to figure out how to plug the growing number of holes and weak spots in the perimeter with a dwindling supply of men and weapons.
We’ve good reason to be worried, Talley knew. Yesterday only the last-minute arrival of a battered and seriously under-strength battalion of Marines, commanded by a major with his arm in a sling and a bloody bandage on the side of his head, prevented a major collapse of the perimeter. What was left of the battalion’s officers had somehow gotten what was left of their Marines ready, and they’d somehow held the line.
God knows what would have happened if the Marines hadn’t gotten there in time and held.
It’s become Talley’s primary job to gather up everyone he can find and feed them into the line outfits as replacements. That means the cooks, clerks, MPs, and everyone else he can scrape up. Last week he’d set up a replacement detachment, a “repo depo” in army-speak, and it is sort of working. A tough looking captain on crutches is sorting out the replacements as they arrive and sending them up to the line units.
The problem is simple, Talley and Evans know—everyone is on the line and working around the clock but we don’t have enough troops. More are supposed to be on the way from Japan and Australia but so far only a trickle, primarily junior officers, have been flying in. That’s good because they’re the ones who are needed most.
Those were Talley's thoughts as he listened to a newly arrived lieutenant colonel from MacArthur’s headquarters staff explain why he needs new officers for the battalion Tokyo has assigned him to command.
“Why one of these men doesn’t even have a college degree” the colonel was saying. “The General clearly prefers educated officers.”
