Soldiers and Marines Saga, page 8
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Sure enough. Here comes Krupa in a big pompous froth.
“What’s going on here? Get that stuff back on those trucks.”
I stepped in front of Krupa and told him in a low voice that I’d ordered the trucks to be unloaded because there had been no orders issued to take the weapons.
“Of course, there are orders,” the Sergeant Major blusters. “Colonel Pettyjohn himself ordered that the battalion should have exactly the weapons and ordinance specified by army regulations. Those are excess.”
I grab Krupa by the sleeve of his fatigue shirt and pull him around so the men can’t hear me.
“What’s going on here, you stupid shit,” I hissed into his ear, “is that I’m trying to save your fucking life.”
Then I quietly and intensely explained to Sergeant Krupa that the men are really upset because he tried to disarm them, and that one of them has already asked me if it’s okay for you to have a grenade accident in your tent tonight.
Krupa’s eyes almost bugged out of his head at the thought of being fragged. He got all excited and started waving his hands around and saying it was the battalion commander’s order, not his.
He’s so upset about getting fragged I think he’s gonna piss in his pants.
So I innocently suggested he show the order around so the men will know he’s not the one who should take the hit for putting their lives at risk by disarming them. There is, of course, no written order.
I lied, of course. But not entirely. Anyhow, with a little luck Krupa will never figure out that the men didn’t have enough time after the trucks arrived to tell me anything.
******
Pettyjohn became apoplectic and summons me forthwith when he hears that I’d countermanded his order. The Third Battalion, he says as he glared at me, is going to be run according to army regulations. And he wants the excess weapons and ordinance gone from Charlie Company immediately in case there is an inspection.
Inspection? He’s worried someone would see us in a combat zone with too many weapons and too much ammo? Is this asshole living in the real world?
What Pettyjohn expected to hear is what I promptly told him—that I am his loyal subordinate and will immediately carry out any lawful order he gives me. What he didn’t expect to hear is that I want it in writing. He stood there for a moment with his hands on his hips, and then angrily shouted that I was damn well going carry out his orders written and unwritten.
I assured him that I will promptly and cheerfully carry out his order to disarm the my men immediately, but I need it in writing so the AG and the Presiding General can confirm it is a lawful order at the court martial, an order I had to obey even though it would appear to be prejudicial to the maintenance of good order and discipline and would give aid and comfort to the enemy.
I had wiled away boredom and induced sleep at the hospital by reading a book about army regulations. I figured an officer needed to know such things. I’d gotten about half way through it.
Then I reminded the Colonel that regulations are for the guidance of commanders and that we as officers could be court-martialed if they are misapplied and result in a situation prejudicial to good order and discipline.
I didn’t really remember all that, of course, but it sounded good.
That’s exactly what’s happening, I explained to the wide-eyed colonel. The men are upset and blaming Sergeant Major Krupa for trying to disarm them so they can’t fight the communists.
I’m sure Pettyjohn already knows all about it because I’d seen the much shaken Sergeant Major rush to the battalion headquarters tent even before the empty trucks drove off.
“Colonel,” I said in a low voice so the clerk at the typewriter couldn’t hear me. “I think it’s likely one of your battalion’s veterans is going to frag the Sergeant Major tonight in order to save himself and his buddies. That’s why I warned the Sergeant Major and he reported the situation to you.”
Then I continue in an even lower voice so that he has to lean forward to hear me.
“If someone gets fragged because the men are ordered to surrender their weapons, which looks likely, someone in the chain of command is gonna be court martialed for giving that order, and it isn’t gonna be me. I want the order in writing and, according to Army Regulations, I am entitled to get it in writing.”
Get the message; it’s gonna be you, asshole.
Pettyjohn jerked back as if I’d hit him, and his eyes almost bugged out of his head. After a long pause, he finally said he needed to think about it and waved me out of the tent. I was elated and trying hard not to show it. So I popped to attention, saluted, and left.
We’re still armed to the teeth and it’s a damned good thing we are.
Chapter Eleven
The meeting of the 22nd division’s senior officers lasted all morning in the conference room in the Korean Command headquarters in Seoul, previously known as the Palace Hotel. At the meeting, General Walker, the in-country commander, informed us of a forthcoming operation being planned by General MacArthur’s headquarters in Tokyo. In about ten days we are going to attack out of the Pusan perimeter in conjunction with a landing further up the coast.
The 22nd division is to lead the advance and we are ordered to commence planning for it immediately.
As deputy division commander, it’s my job to see that operations orders are drawn up for the various units which will be involved in the breakout from our current perimeter. The bottom line is that various enemy positions on the route of our advance will have to be taken so the rest of our units can pass through and flank the North Koreans.
The Republic of Korea’s army, the “ROKs,” are demoralized and disorganized so it will be mostly an American show while the ROKs continue to reorganize inside the perimeter on the south side of the Han River.
******
A couple of days later the commanders of the various units that are to be involved in the attack to break out of the perimeter, including Pettyjohn as the commander of the Third Battalion, were summoned to division headquarters to get their orders. Afterwards Pettyjohn bustled about importantly and even called an officers’ meeting to announce that he is privy to something big—but he can’t tell us what it is because it’s a secret, just that we should “get ready” for something big.
So I went back to my tent and got ready by taking a nap.
It’s a strange thing but soldiers seem to be able to instantly fall sleep at any time of the day or night. It’s true.
Two days later the battalion was sent up to the line one company at a time. Pettyjohn and the battalion staff got up to the line earlier and were apparently waiting there to show us to our new positions.
A little after ten in the morning, eight deuce and a halfs arrive from the Division’s transportation company, enough to carry Charlie Company and our weapons and supplies. But we are taking all the extra BARs and machine guns from the ridge as well as a whole lot of the weapons and ammunition we took off the North Koreans. So instead of riding we stuffed the transportation company trucks full of our extra weapons and ammunition, and we set out to walk all the way carrying only our personal weapons. I was carrying a couple of the Korean assault rifles slung over my shoulder.
******
It was only four miles up to our new position on the line and the new guys were really scared and anxious. That includes a bunch of us old guys, such as me, even if it is tremendously exciting to be moving up. So I marched the company up the road to the line behind a make-shift American flag one of the guys ginned up and a booming Korean drum with dirty gold tassels that came from God knows where.
Most of the old Charlie guys were amused and Murphy and I got a lot of good natured catcalls and ribbing as Charlie Company moved out with its drum booming; but after a bit the old guys really got into it and that brought along the new guys. Maybe we’re all trying to forget what’s in store for us, at least for a few more minutes.
So we’re booming along with Murphy counting cadence and doing jody chants and all that shit when who do we come across coming the other way but General Talley and three Jeeps full of aides and observers.
Talley pulled off the road and waved me over as Charlie went marching past. He seemed to be angry and was chewing out some colonel. I saluted and he promptly demanded to know why we are walking. And without even waiting for my answer he began chewing out the colonel again. Something about not sending enough trucks so the men have to walk.
I interrupted him. “General Sir, they sent enough trucks. It’s me. I decided to march the men up to the line so we could load the trucks with additional weapons and ammo—the really good North Korean stuff we captured up on the ridge.”
General Talley looked at me kind of funny, then beamed a big grin and motioned his driver to drive on. The last I saw of him he had stopped a little way up the road with the other Jeeps stopped around him and was gesturing back towards Charlie Company with a lot of pointing and arm waving.
Talley’s a good guy; seems to care about his men.
******
Our new position is a bunch of dugouts on the side of a hill. It looks out over a little valley to some far off North Korean dugouts on a hill about a mile across the way. The men in the Marine company we replaced warned us that the North Korean patrols are coming over almost every night and will almost certainly try to get close enough to throw grenades into our positions.
According to the Marines, we will know when the North Koreans are here because the empty c-ration cans with stones they’ve attached to the wire in front of the company positions will begin to rattle when the North Koreans try to come through the wire. They also said they’d lost a couple of men to snipers in the last couple of days.
Hmm. Well, we can’t have that shit. I gotta do something about that right away.
The captain of the Marines we’re relieving was a good guy. He told me that he hoped we had a lot of mortar flares because we’d need them. He said he’s all out or he’d leave some for us.
Did we bring any flares? Hell no.
So Charlie Company’s one and only Jeep was sent back to Pusan to get flare rounds for our two mortars and we moved into the dugouts that are to be our temporary new homes. That night I began aggressive patrolling and the setting of night ambushes. My goal was simple—to push the snipers further out so we can continue digging in and moving around with less chance of being shot.
If they’re going to shoot at us, by God, it’s going to come from further out. Even so, we’ll always act as if they are there.
And they still are. Twice they missed.
An immediate housekeeping problem was where to park our extra weapons and ammo. The transportation company trucks took off as soon as we unloaded them. That leaves us with one Jeep, Charlie Company’s two deuce and a halfs, and a three quarter ton weapons carrier that was back at our tents with a flat tire and no spare. Its tire went flat the night before we left and we didn’t have time to steal another one.
Before we moved up I’d keep everybody busy cleaning and organizing our weapons inventory and stuffing the useful stuff into our two company deuce and a halfs and a couple of squad tents. The trucks are supposed to be used for supply runs and troop transport but I figure being used to store weapons and ammo is close enough. Besides if we ever really need a truck we can borrow it from one of the other companies.
As soon as we got up to the line I have as much of the Korean stuff as possible, particularly the ammunition and all the automatic weapons, moved into our dugouts, trenches, and holes. As a result, every man has at least two of the Korean sub-machine guns and 800 or so Korean rounds in addition to his regular weapon, usually an M1 or a carbine for the riflemen. Many of them also have a BAR or light machine gun. Ortiz and his heavy weapons guys helped set them up and ran some practice shit for the riflemen such as how to change barrels and free up blockages, stuff like that.
The rest of the captured stuff got squeezed into our company trucks and the Jeep. It’s amazing how many weapons and rounds of ammunition can be stacked in a deuce and a half when the weapons are not in crates.
Their tires are bulging and we had to take off the canvas covering their beds and stack it really high to get everything in. But, by God, we’ve got it all.
It seems the Korean weapons are called AK-47s and come from Russia. One of the new second lieutenants recognized them from a weapons class he took at Texas A&M. They just started being produced a couple of years ago, and are supposed to be really reliable and hard to jam. I told him that was exactly our experience up on the ridge and the reason why we are using them.
According to Second Lieutenant Lemon, he and the other new officers heading for Korea were told during their departure briefing that the Russians are using their Trans-Siberian Railroad, which runs to Russia’s borders with North Korea and China, to send them their newest and best weapons so they can be used against us.
Russia borders North Korea and China? I didn’t know that. I guess I missed that class in high school.
The two weapons trucks and the Jeep are parked about half a mile behind our positions on the line. So Murphy left one of the newly arrived sergeants to guard them. Murphy said he told him to sleep in the cab and shoot out the tires and begin firing in the air if anyone tries to take them or unload the weapons.
Knowing Murphy, he probably told him to kill any motherfuckers who try to take them and assigned someone he thinks will do it.
What we have in the trucks is pretty good stuff. We’ve already culled through the AK-47s and had thrown out the ones that are bent and bruised, and then we tossed a few more that somehow just didn’t feel right. The bottom line is that we have over eighteen hundred extra AK-47s and at least a thousand rounds for each of them.
Maybe we’ll never need them but, what the hell, there’s nothing to lose by keeping them. And having them reminds everyone that we can win fighting the gooks. It’s a no-lose deal.
Chapter Twelve
Something is in the works and everyone can feel it. General Talley and the division commander have been visiting the various units on the line for several days. They got to the Third Battalion about a week after we moved up on the line. They showed up one morning to look around and meet the officers.
As luck would have it, everyone was there except me.
I wasn’t at the meeting because of the night patrols and ambushes I instituted as soon as Charlie Company came up. Every night either Jim Hart or I go out sniper hunting with one of the new lieutenants and a couple of squads.
Last night was my turn to take out the patrol. Hart slept in, and I took the entire Second Platoon on a roundabout trip to the other side of Hill 642. The North Koreans must have been sleepy, or looking the wrong way, or just plain stupid, because there were no flares and no wire. So we came over the top of the hill and got in among their holes and bunkers before they realized what was happening. As far as they were concerned, we dropped from the sky, and started shooting and throwing grenades.
It was very exciting.
The fight was over in a couple of minutes, and for the North Koreans it turned out to be a case of either run or die. Then I made a snap decision—we’ll hold the hill. Well, not exactly a snap decision, I’d been thinking about it for a couple of days. I also managed to be our only casualty with a long shallow rip down the right side of my back from a grenade fragment.
In any event, the Second Platoon took over the Korean positions, and Ira and I made our way back to Charlie Company to get my back sewed up and bring up some reinforcements and supplies. So the bottom line is that Hart showed up at the staff meeting instead of me and explained I’d just gotten back from last night’s patrol, and was still at company headquarters getting sewed up.
Pettyjohn got all excited.
“What patrol? I didn’t order any patrols?”
He assured the generals he will relieve me and get Charlie under control. It was a mistake.
Hart was outside the tent and overheard the whole thing. General Talley absolutely blew a fuse. He immediately sent everyone out of the tent except General Evans and lit into Pettyjohn.
“Are you fucking crazy, Colonel? Don’t you know we’re in a fucking war, for Chrissake.”
He read Pettyjohn the riot act. Told him if any officer in this battalion is relieved it sure as hell won’t be an officer who leads his men on a patrol against the enemy and gets wounded.
“Colonel, don’t you realize Captain Roberts and his men are making you and your battalion look good. Jesus Christ man, encourage him, support him, listen to him. Smart warriors are really rare. He’s the only reason I included your battalion in this mission. It’s important. Don’t do something to fuck it up.”
“Now let’s go see the boy wonder. I want to know what he thinks the North Koreans are up to.”
It was embarrassing. I had a long shallow slice across the ribs in my back and Big Joe was sewing it up. Every time he stuck the damn sewing needle in it really stung. So I’m swearing and bitching and calling him a ham-handed asshole. And he’s telling me I’m a dumb ass who isn’t smart enough to duck and he’s tired of constantly having to sew me up. What I don’t know is that a couple of generals and Colonel Pettyjohn are standing outside the tent listening to the whole thing along with half the guys in Charlie Company.
When he finished “Big Joe,” our little medic, issued a friendly parting comment of “blow it out your ass, Guns,” and stepped out of the tent and gave a couple of smiley thumbs up to the guys standing around the tent and mouths “he’s okay.”
The result was a couple of pumped fists, and “hey,” and big smiles. Then the crowd broke up to get some chow.
I was still trying to get my shirt on when in walks Pettyjohn and the two generals. Oh Shit.
“Well what happened this time?” asked Talley gesturing at my back.
