Mickey's Wars

by Dave McDonald

  For hours, in passing, we cheered them, and they saluted us.

  I got goose-bumps for the first time since finding out I was going to be a dad.

  Air Force C-47 and C-119 transports were landing and taking off all day, removing the dead and wounded and bringing in supplies and mail.

  A company muster was called that afternoon in the village. And another captain I didn’t recognize stood on a wooden box in front of the at-ease platoons.

  “Men, you have today and tomorrow to rest, eat real chow, hopefully receive some mail, and get some well-deserved shuteye. We’re pulling out of Hagaru-ri day after tomorrow and going to Hungnam on the coast for evacuation.”

  A cheer erupted, and my screaming actually made me warmer in the sub-zero snow-covered remnants of this North Korean village.

  The captain patiently waited for our reaction to subside. “The Seventh Marines will be the vanguard, and the Fifth will cover our rear. And, we, the First Marines, will protect the center of the column. And gentlemen, I want to remind you what Colonel Puller said, ‘We are not retreating, we’re attacking in another direction.’ Get some rest, resupply, and then pack-up. Oh, and there’s a mail call. Dismissed.”

  Another cheer followed. But I didn’t join in, I was too busy relishing the thought that I was actually getting out of these frozen mountains where death or being captured was assured for all of us if we stayed.

  I might actually survive. I may see my child after all.

  My inner joy sought escape. I wanted to go somewhere by myself and release it.

  I wanted to cry.

  But Marines didn’t cry; not in public.And my joy would have to wait until we were actually on a ship leaving this God-forsaken country.

  Anything could happen between here and the evacuation.

  I received one letter; a bulky thick envelope from Sara. Just seeing her hand-writing took the edge off the sub-zero temperature. And though the epistle’s size teased me, I tucked it into my coat pocket and went to the warm mess tent. I wanted to savor whatever Sara sent in private. I got a hot coffee and retreated to a back corner, sat, and opened the letter.

  Dear Mick,

  I love you too.

  I pray both our wars are soon over. I decided to stay in Savannah.

  I really didn’t have much choice; I’m starting to show.

  Please tell me if you’re not absolutely sure about us trying to make it.

  Regarding your parents, if we’re going to have a chance for a life together, you should tell them. The last thing I want is to be a barrier between you and your folks.

  Speaking of your folks, your dad sent me something to give to you. Apparently, he was rummaging through his old footlocker and found something he thought you should have. He sent it through me because he said he wanted me to know about it and trust in it. He said you needed a talisman, a piece of luck; so he sent you his. He said he carried it all through the war.

  My mother always said the little things in life can have such enormous power. And I believe in luck.

  The inscription is from me.

  Come home to me,

  with all my love,

  Sara

  I unwrapped one of Sara’s jasmine scented scarves and found a small oyster shell with an inked “Come Home Safe” inscribed on the inside.

  I had never believed in magical powers or voodoo, but Dad said he’d survived only by being lucky, and this shell represented his good fortune.

  As I held the small shell in the palm of my hand, I felt nothing; and if I had, I would’ve laughed it off. But at least I had something of Dad’s to carry with me and slid it into my pants pocket, along with Sara’s sweet smelling scarf.

  Hagaru-ri, North Korea

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  I’m fine.

  No, I’m better than fine; I’m going to be a daddy.

  I love Sara, and I’m sure you will too, once you get to know her.

  Please, for me, go and visit her. She’s alone and probably would like some company, particularly the kind of warm company I know you both are so capable of giving.

  Me, a dad, the thought makes me tingle all over.

  And Dad, thanks for your lucky piece. I’ll always have it with me. Hopefully, I’ll be able to pass it on to my child. It’s already working, we’re finally getting out of these frigid mountains.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  A day ahead of schedule I was packed and ready to leave Hagaru-ri.

  At mid-day I was sitting on a crate in one of the several warming tents near the kerosene stove by the center pole, writing a letter. This was a luxuriously rare opportunity to be out of the cold and also out of my heavy mid-calf length parka.

  I hadn’t been in the service long, but long enough that I should’ve known this would be the first place Gunny would look for volunteers; and Gunny was always looking.

  As if I had willed it, the tent flap flew open, and Gunny washed in on a wave of cold air, eyes scanning, a man on a mission.

  “Yo, Mackenzie,” he motioned me to his side. “The boys from the Seventh found a bunch of frozen gooks in holes just outside our eastern perimeter. The brass would like the Chinese searched for information.”

  “Sure, Gunny. What exactly are you looking for?’

  “You know, letters, maps, orders, company or battalion insignias; shit like that. Grab your gear and get over there. It won’t take long. Oughta be several others grunts snoopin’ around by the time you get there.”

  I nodded my head as I pulled the heavy coat on. “Okay, Gunny.” The thought of going outside our perimeter on our last day here made me a little weary. Though I’d never tell him straight up, I’d do anything the man asked. Because I knew if push ever came to shove, he would die for me.

  “Take your BAR with you,” Gunny said.

  “No worries, we’re attached at the shoulder,” I said in passing.

  By the time I’d gotten to our eastern perimeter, the sun had broken through the overcast skies, jacking the temperatures to positive numbers; though still single digits.

  I checked in with both a Lieutenant and a Sergeant from the Seventh before I crossed their defenses. They informed me six other Marines were already checking the bodies.

  I spied several grunts just in front of my position pulling frozen bodies out of holes. The Sergeant pointed me toward a series of knobs just north and maybe a quarter mile beyond our lines.

  “There’s ten or twenty dead gooks over there, stiff as boards, in a trench,” he said. “You’ll find entrances on the backside of those knobs to tunnels linking most of those little bumps in the valley floor and deep enough to withstand shelling. How they dug those in that frozen concrete is beyond me. But you should check the dugouts for information as well.”

  “Thanks, Sarg. Make sure you remind your pals that we’re out here. Don’t need any friendly fire.”

  “Don’t worry, they know. Here, you’ll need this.” He handed me his Bright Star flashlight. “Those tunnels are pretty long.”

  Five minutes later, I stood at the end of a trench facing our lines, linking one earthen knob to another. The extended foxhole contained a dozen frozen Chinese soldiers. A few feet from where I stood, the hand-dug ditch intersected the mouth of a hole dug into the backside of a twenty-foot-high mound. It was a man-made cave; a black hole. Thank God that Sergeant had given me his flashlight.

  I had never liked dark confined spaces like closets with the door closed or even basements with the lights out. As a kid, I hated playing ‘hide and seek’. Tight dark places gave me the creeps. Guarding the perimeter at night always put me on edge. My only salvation was all the nights I’d spent in a tree stand with my dad.

  I decided to check the bodies first before going into the cave.

  The dead soldiers were sitting on the ground, their backs against the side of the trench. They looked as if they had fallen asleep and then froze. A cold chill ran through me. I could have been just like them if I’d fallen asleep during one
of the many nights I’d sat shivering in a foxhole.

  My jaws tightened, and I found myself holding my breath as I bent over the man closest to me. God this job repulsed me; invading a dead man’s privacy. I sat my BAR and the flashlight on the ground, took off my backpack, and took a deep breath; easing out a cloud of steam.

  The dead man fronting me was third in line from the cave. I tried to get my glove-covered hands in his uniform pockets, but he was frozen so rigid my hands wouldn’t fit.

  If he would have flinched at all, I would have bolted out of the trench like the devil was after me.

  After a lot of pulling and tearing, I realized I was going to have to use a knife. The only one I had was my KA-Bar. I fished it out and trying to ignore the dead guy’s stare ten inches from my face, I cut through the fabric trying not to cut deeper than I had to. When I felt the resistance and slow give of cold, dead, flesh I had to fight back the bile that climbed up my throat. I yanked at the cut fabric and found some paper money, a few cigarettes in a crumpled pack, and a letter in a folded envelope. As ordered, I put the articles in my backpack.

  I moved to the next man. Having gained disgusting insight, I whittled on his clothing until I had opened his pockets. All I found was a picture of two little girls; real young, one a couple of years older than the other. I paused to study it and was filled with sudden emotion. A father wasn’t coming home, ever.

  The two girls sat on a bench in front of flowering bushes, maybe a park. Both wore white dresses, like something special was going on. Both the girls were smiling, and one was missing a front tooth.

  This situation, me searching a dead soldier, the picture, seemed familiar.

  Then I remembered reading as a kid, ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’. There was a scene in that book when this World War One German soldier ends up in a shell crater trapped in ‘No Man’s Land’ with a Frenchman whom he kills. And in the German’s search for food and cigarettes, he found a picture, like this one, of the dead man’s family.

  For the first time in a while, my hands began shaking again, and I struggled to swallow.

  We’re all the same, just human beings, with families and loved ones praying we’ll return from this hell unharmed. The difference being we are from opposing countries whose leaders have ordered us to kill their enemies.

  I shook my head. I needed to clear my mind and get this task behind me.

  I moved to the man at the end of the line. Not being able to totally erase the picture from my mind, I figured I would search one more soldier and take a break by checking the tunnel.

  Once again getting access to this frozen man’s pockets was more than difficult. I started tugging on one of his arms to get into his coat pocket. His limb wouldn’t budge, so I grabbed his hand and yanked harder. Without any warning, the man’s bones snapped and his frozen flesh separated, causing me to fall backwards into the mouth of the tunnel.

  The entrance to the bomb shelter sloped downward, and I couldn’t stop my fall. I somersaulted backwards landing on my ass at the bottom.

  Sitting in the dark, looking up at the opening, I realized I was holding my KA-BAR in one hand and what was left of the man’s arm in my other.

  Son-of-a-bitch!

  I flung the broken limb into the blackness like it was a poisonous snake.

  I sat there for a moment, swallowing my disgust. Something was different, then it hit me, the ground, the air, were warmer. The Chinese were smart; they had dug down below the frost line. Obviously, the poor bastards left in the trench above were the unlucky ones, the rear guard.

  Reaching a hand upward, I got my feet under me, and slowly rose up until I touched the ceiling. I could stand up. I took a couple of steps into the darkness and reached out for the walls; the damn hole must have been six or seven feet in diameter. My movement into the cave stirred the stagnant air arousing a pungent smell which reminded me of a Monday morning locker room only worse; stale mildew mixed with human waste.

  The flashlight, my knapsack, and most of all, my rifle, everything I needed to search this hole were at ground level in the trench. I turned to leave and heard footsteps deeper in the tunnel.

  I dropped into an attack position, KA-BAR at ready, and quietly swiveled to face the sound.

  The footsteps suddenly scuffed followed by a hard thud.

  “Mother fuck!” a distant voice shouted.

  Then a light came on and shone down the tunnel. The beam searched until it stopped on me, hand up blocking the bright beam. My knife aimed at the light.

  “Hey, Marine, put down the knife before you hurt one of the good guys.” The voice sounded flat in this man-made cave and yet somewhat familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “I’ve got the same shitty job as you. Come here.”

  I eased the KA-BAR into its scabbard on my belt and took a couple of hunched steps toward the approaching light.

  The light stopped, though still centered on me. The ping of an M-1 magazine being ejected, a sound I knew way too well, seemed odd. However, when I heard the insertion of a loaded magazine, with the slid slamming home a thirty caliber round, I was startled. Did this guy know something I didn’t know?

  “Don’t fuckin’ move, Mackenzie. Lose the knife, or I’ll kill you where you squat.”

  Richards!

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  With the exception of my KA-BAR, I was weaponless, hunkered in the beam of a flashlight held by a madman in a tunnel.

  I should’ve recognized Richards’ voice earlier, when I had a chance to run.

  I was trapped.

  Tony’s words blared in my mind about how Richards had killed many Marines who were thought to be victims of ‘friendly fire’. Fear had been my unwanted sidekick since my arrival in this country. But my fear of dying for my country or another marine was nothing compared to dying a useless death at the hands of a crazy man. My stomach churned as the metallic taste spurned by dread invaded my mouth.

  My trembling hand returned to the hilt of my knife.

  “What do you want, Richards?” I asked, trying to keep my voice flat and uncaring.

  “You ain’t so fucking cocky when you don’t have all your bunkmates aiming rifles at me, are you now?” he asked harshly, like he was spitting the words through snarled lips.

  “That’s ancient history, man. Forget about it. I did.” I took a slow step or two on my knees toward the opening and the bodies. “Look, we can get this shit-detail done a lot faster if you start searching at the other end of those dead gooks up there,” I said, motioning to the opening.

  “Fuck’em. I ain’t touchin’em.”

  “Fine. You finish searching down here, and I’ll go topside and finish checking the bodies.” Up where I’d left my BAR.

  “Stay still, asshole. I’m just getting’ started with you.”

  “I haven’t done anything to you, Richards. If you don’t want to help, just get the fuck out of here and leave me alone.”

  The light rapidly closed the distance between us. Then a boot came ripping out of the darkness and slammed into the side of my helmet. Pain stabbed down the side of my face as I fell to the ground. I opened my squeezed shut eyes to see nothing but blackness with flashing lights. I pushed up on an elbow and shook off the starry night until the beam of the flashlight returned. Something warm trickled down my cheek. I swiped at it, and my hand was covered with blood.

  A hand slashed thought the black curtain and took my KA-BAR before I could react.

  Fuck

  There had been so many times I didn’t think I’d survive this war, but I never thought I’d be murdered by an American, let alone a Marine.

  I could die sitting on my ass in this stinking dark tunnel.

  Richards had to be insane. My fate was in his hands. He had my only weapon, my knife, and he had a round-chambered M-1 plus a flashlight. I had nothing.

  A bayonet-tipped rifle poked into my dome of light.

  “I told you that day in your tent you’d made a big fuckin’ mistake. You and
your punk friends should’ve paid me. But no, you had to act like a big man. Let’s see how you act now.”

  The bayonet jabbed forward and a hot, giant needle punctured my arm just below my shoulder.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” I pushed backward on my butt away from the weapon, kicking dirt as my boots sought and found a foothold.

  The light followed me.

  “Hold still, fucker, or I’ll kill you where you sit,” Richards ordered.

  I cupped the wound with my hand as warm blood oozed through my coat, soaking my gloved-fingers. “Are you fuckin’ crazy?” I shouted through clenched teeth.

  “I’ll show you some crazy,” he said, and the bayonet swished the air just missing me as I jerked backwards, rolling and crawling away into the blackness.

  I had to do something, or he was going to slice me up. I braced my hands on the ground to pull my legs under me, and as I did, my hand found the dead Chinaman’s severed arm. I dodged the light as it swung toward me, rolling into a crouch. My fingers surveyed the limb in the darkness. The bone had splintered leaving a sharp spike protruding from the frozen flesh. I gripped the wrist, bile clawing up my throat. The makeshift knife was the only weapon I had.

  The sweeping light and the bloody bayonet moved into thrust range. Slapping the rifle to the side with my free hand, I lunged forward and upward into the darkness slamming into Richards with my helmet. He fell backwards, dropping the light and his rifle. We plunged into darkness, as I rode the maniac to the ground and clamored on top of him.

  His hands found my throat and squeezed, crushing my windpipe. Spots of light returned to dance in my eyes.

  In the darkness, my free hand found his neck, and I stabbed downward with my grisly weapon as hard as I could. The jagged arm bone struck meat. Richards gurgled, and his body bucked again and again under me. Then his hands fell away, and he went limp.