We pulled up to a large, well-kept three-story Victorian house in the middle of town. Inside, the parlor had a bar and a piano player just like the movies. The girls, all nice-looking, were dressed in lacy underwear and silky robes. They were mingling with a few civilians when we arrived. Our uniforms immediately attracted their attention and they moved toward us like bees toward honey.
Two or three of the guys got hooked up with girls and went upstairs. I wasn’t interested from the beginning, but I didn’t want the guys to think that I didn’t like women. I just had a girlfriend waiting in Austria.
I took a seat and got a beer. One of the girls that didn’t get picked came over and sat on the chair. She was nice-looking, but had hard eyes. She rubbed my arm and smiled.
“So, you going to Korea?”
I smiled. “I’m sorry. I’m not interested.”
She laughed and kept stroking my arm. “That’s okay. I just want to talk. Are you worried about dying?”
At this point I didn’t really want to discuss it with a stranger. Before I could answer, I heard a crash upstairs and a lot of yelling. Then one of the mortar men came banging down the stairs. He was mad and kept screaming about how he wanted his money back.
I got up and met King at the stairs. His shirt was open and his hair a mess, but he couldn’t stop laughing.
“Seems he is hung like a donkey and the ladies don’t want none,” King said.
“Get him out of here before he does something stupid,” I said, trying to shepherd donkey boy to the door.
King dragged him out. I rounded up the others, none too pleased to leave before they got the full service. We jumped in the cabs and headed back to camp. I saw King behind the wheel of one and got the cabs to stop. I threw open the door to King’s cab.
“Get your big ass out of there. What the hell do you think you are doing?” I asked.
“Shit, Rich, I’m only having a little fun,” he said.
“Your fun is going to get us all in trouble. Get out now!” I barked.
“Okay, I’m sorry Rich, you don’t have to get mad,” he said as he fell out of the cab.
We arrived outside the camp and slipped through the fence and across the field. It was our last night of fun. A final taste of America.
The next day we boarded a ferry that took us over to where the U.S. troop transport Pope was docked. The Pope had just been taken out of mothballs, and the ventilation system on board was not working. It was a miserably hot day. Everybody was wringing wet with sweat, which got worse the deeper we climbed into the ship.
The troop compartment space was a cavernous room with bunks four high, accommodating forty to eighty men. We stowed our gear and had started to go up to the deck, when the sailors chased us back down. We had to stay belowdecks until everyone was aboard. I began to worry about the men dehydrating and possible heatstroke. This was my third voyage on a troop ship, and I figured we would start getting some air when we got under way.
No such luck.
That night we tried to sleep up on deck. My section carved out a space near the stern. The wind whipped around the deck and felt good after being in the bowels of the ship for so long. When the captain saw all of us on deck, he ordered the crew to chase us back down to our troop compartment. Sleeping on the deck was too dangerous, the captain said. A rogue wave could sweep us overboard or we could get fouled up on the equipment on the deck.
The trip was hot and boring. We got two meals a day, which was normal for a troop ship. Because the ship was so crowded, by the time everybody got breakfast it was almost noontime, so the galley immediately started to work on dinner. The old joke was to hurry up and eat so you could get back in line for the next meal.
Standing on deck one night after chow, I stared out into the dark Pacific. I was leaning on the rail, drifting into my own little world. The girl from Vallejo’s questions had me thinking. Since I’d become section leader, my goal was to make sure my men were ready. But was I? It wouldn’t be long and I would be facing the test of my life. I was staring down at the water thinking about fear. Yes, I was scared, I was really scared that I might not be able to provide my men the leadership they deserved once we got into combat.
My thoughts wandered to my first voyage.
I’d left New Jersey in 1946 heading for Italy. Sailing through the Strait of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean Sea, I could see the Rock of Gibraltar in the distance. It was exciting; however, I was apprehensive not knowing what I had to face. I’d never been this far from home.
We docked in Naples and drove cross-country in a truck. Seeing the devastation of Cassino shocked me. The entire town was nothing but rubble. This was my first real look at war. It’s one thing to see it in photos but shocking to see it in person.
Late in the afternoon we arrived in Foggia on the Adriatic side of Italy. We drove up to a bombed out factory where three hundred German prisoners were being held in winterized tents. Most of them had been captured in North Africa and belonged to one company. We joined an Italian Army company just outside of the factory area. The Italians and the Americans combined to provide security for the area.
That first night I was taken out to one of the warehouses and put on a guard post. Supposedly, there was an Italian guard on the post with me, but I didn’t see him anywhere. I was in the dark, didn’t know where I was, and didn’t know where the Italian was. I began to see something in every shadow and over the chattering of my teeth heard unexplained noises in every direction. All of a sudden I heard the crunching of gravel and someone came out of the darkness. My hand shook from fear as much as the cold.
“Halt,” I shouted.
The shadow said something in Italian and kept coming.
“Fraido? Fraido?” he said.
I figured the son of a bitch was asking me if I was afraid. I shook my head no. He smiled, turned around and walked off back into the darkness. I watched him leave and walk toward some fires. I shifted from foot to foot trying to stay warm. All of a sudden out of the shadows came my Italian partner, walking along as calmly as when he left. He handed me his canteen cup and it was full of coffee. He gestured to me to drink.
The next morning I went to the old factory washroom. When I went to the sink to wash my hands, I noticed that the faucets were labeled caldo and f raido. Caldo was warm and fraido was cold. The guy last night was asking me if I was cold.
I realized that fear comes from the unknown, and the unknown was never as bad as I initially thought. Overcoming fear needed to become second nature.
After eight days onboard the ship, word spread that we were getting close to Japan. We’d do another month of training before landing in Korea. We crowded along the rail looking at the shore lights in the distance. The water made the lights from the city look like stars.
“It’s Yokohama and we’re headed right for it,” I heard a soldier say.
Suddenly the ship started slowly turning to the starboard and running south, parallel to the shore. I didn’t think much of it. But the next morning we were informed that we were going straight to Korea.
CHAPTER FOUR
PUSAN
The smell was unbearable.
The water around the dock at Pusan was black and slick with oil and sewage. Two docks up from where we were was a cattle holding area, and when they cleaned the pens they just hosed everything into the water.
The pungent odor hit us as we approached the pier. Most of the guys stayed below, out of the smell, but I stayed on the deck mesmerized by the port.
Tucked into the southeastern tip of the Korean Peninsula, Pusan was Korea’s largest port. Thousands of U.N. soldiers were moving through this port. Everywhere you looked there were cranes, trucks and trains, all in constant motion. The piers were clogged with green Army trucks and crates of ammunition and food. Cranes lifted the supplies to the dock and forklifts zigzagged around bringing them to waiting trains. It was a complex, modern ballet of engines and men, and we’d arrived right in the middle of it. The
docks and railroads reminded me of Philadelphia.
Before we got off the ship, I pulled my section aside.
“A lot of you men have never seen a harbor. This one is busy and dangerous. Keep your heads up and make sure you stay out of the way of the cranes.”
The men nodded and we marched down the ramp to the dock. My company was quartered in a huge shed right on the dock. Winn told us that we’d be there a few days, until the ship was downloaded. The shed was dark and we were given a small spot to sleep. We used our shelter halves and blankets and slept on the floor. The grumbling started almost immediately.
Walsh took his shelter half and laid it close to me. “What a shit hole,” he said. That about summed up everybody’s attitude. And after two hot meals a day on the ship, we were now stuck eating C rations.
One daily ration had six twelve-ounce cans. Three of either meat and beans, meat and potato hash, or meat and vegetable stew, and three bread and dessert cans with crackers. We used a key, soldered to the bottom of one can, to open the rest of the three-and-a-half-inch-tall tinplate cans. The ration also came with a packet of gum, toilet paper, matches and a nine-pack of cigarettes. Everyone carried an opener on his dog tag chain.
During the first night, Vaillancourt came to me and asked if I could give a couple of thirty-round magazines to an old friend of his. On the trip over, I’d scrounged the magazines from the anti-aircraft unit to replace the fifteen-round magazines we had been issued. I then had my guys tape the bigger magazines together so that all they had to do was flip them to reload.
“Sure,” I said. “If he is a friend.”
“We fought together during the last one,” Vaillancourt said.
As we walked down the dock, I could see similar sheds crammed with men. Some stood outside smoking. Others just stood outside trying to get a little fresh air. After a few hours, the smell didn’t really bother us anymore. Now, it was just the waiting.
The lieutenant was sitting on his cot writing a letter. He smiled when Vaillancourt came in.
“This is Corporal Richardson, sir. He has a few magazines for you.”
The lieutenant smiled and we shook hands. I handed him about a half dozen magazines. “This is all I can spare, sir.”
“Thanks, Corporal.”
“Hey, sir,” I said. “What are you hearing?”
The lieutenant shook his head.
The American Eighth Army had established a perimeter to hold off the Korean People’s Army until enough troops could arrive and organize a counteroffensive. Set up in August, the perimeter’s western boundary was formed mostly by the Naktong River, and the Sea of Japan formed the eastern boundary. The northern boundary followed a jagged line of mountains north of the city.
“The North Koreans crossed the Naktong River today. I’m not sure how that looks on the map, I really haven’t seen one yet.”
I looked at Vaillancourt and then back at the lieutenant.
“I know one thing,” I said. “If you’re defending a river and the enemy is on your side, you’re in trouble.”
“Maybe it won’t be that bad when we get there,” Vaillancourt said.
We got our chance to see a few days later. At first, the men seemed happy to finally be moving, but soon it sank in that in a day or two we’d be in combat. We started breaking down our gear. I was determined to keep everybody busy, including myself.
That evening, after another dinner of C rations, I got the section together.
“I want everybody to check his gear one more time. We’re moving to an assembly area north of Taegu first thing in the morning,” I said. “And take a moment and write home. You never know when you’ll get another chance.”
I dismissed them and hustled off to another meeting. On top of getting my own gear ready, I had to make sure our equipment was ready to move north. I got busy and failed to follow my own advice. I’d gotten as far as finding paper and envelopes, but never put pen to paper. That night, I thought of my dad and his new life. And I thought of my mother and Frank, but most of all I thought of my brothers and sisters. I hoped they weren’t worrying too much.
The next morning, before we loaded on the trains, the word was put out to leave our duffel bags. They’d catch up with us later.
“Get your personal items out of your bags and anything else you want,” I said. “Make sure you have three or four pairs of socks. And if you aren’t sure, leave it. Your whole life is about to become what’s in your combat pack and bedroll.”
I had a tailor-made uniform in my duffel bag and I knew I could kiss it good-bye. I grabbed my socks, some additional pairs of underwear and a small can of foot powder.
Sitting on my now useless duffel bag, I waited for the order to board the train. My thoughts strayed to a bombed out railroad platform in Castle, Germany. As in the rest of the city, there was very little left standing. Wherever there was a partial wall, it was plastered with notes from people trying to find their loved ones.
A train load of German prisoners of war was returning from the Soviet Union. A small knot of civilians waited for the soldiers to get off the train, hoping that one could be their father, husband or brother.
Seeing them in dirty and threadbare uniforms that hung on their bony frames, I couldn’t imagine how much weight they’d lost. Or understand the misery they’d suffered. As they passed me, I saw nothing in their dark, dead eyes. It was as if they’d died already and their bodies were on autopilot. This was not the way to come home from war.
Then, suddenly, a young woman, not more than twenty-one years old, bolted from the group of civilians on the platform. I watched her sundress flap behind her as she weaved through the column of former prisoners.
“Daddy, Daddy.”
She had spotted her father and run to him. He looked down and the faraway gaze melted off his face. His eyes came alive and he reached out and hugged her. They both started sobbing and holding each other. I turned away and saw the rest of the civilians turn away and leave the platform. Only a few stayed to watch. One older woman just stood on the platform and stared, tears running down her worn cheeks.
The trains to Taegu left just after noon. I heard a few cheers as the train picked up momentum. The train lumbered down the track for a while then stopped at a siding. Word came back that we were near the assembly area, but had to make way for a hospital train headed south. The train carrying the wounded stopped for a few moments and we could see the soldiers inside. IV bags hung next to litters. Men with bandaged arms, legs and heads lined the cars. The few walking wounded stared out the windows. Like the German prisoners, the wounded Americans had dark, depressing eyes and a vacant stare. A few of our guys tried to pass them cigarettes and candy from the window, but they didn’t react. They just stared into space.
“God, I wish they’d move us,” I said to Walsh.
“Rich, you think they came from where we’re going?”
Heaggley and some of the others heard us and turned to me.
I was thinking the same thoughts.
“I don’t think so,” I said, turning from the sad scene.
The assembly area was full of soldiers and equipment headed toward the front. We were assigned the mission as regimental reserve. The next morning, we got orders to move forward. The North Koreans had penetrated some defense positions along the main road to Taegu, the South Korean’s temporary capital. We were to move north along the main road and retake the lost ground.
I gathered up my section in a semicircle and started to explain the mission. Everybody seemed edgy. Nervous talk or dead silence. Not much in between. Taking my helmet off, I had knelt down when I heard the crack of a rifle and felt a bullet race past my head. I signaled the section to remain seated, stood up and started looking around.
“Where the hell did that come from?” I said, scanning the faces of the men.
I looked back to see my section staring back at me, stunned. In the back, I saw Heaggley lean over and whisper to Walsh.
“He never f
linched,” he said. “He just went on talking.”
I knelt down again and kept talking. If they saw it that way, better for me.
“Okay, goddamn it. You all couldn’t have a better lesson than what just happened,” I said in a growl. “From now on, weapons will be loaded with safeties on.This must become second nature to everyone. Do you understand?”
After my speech, we got on the trucks and headed toward the front. Someone slammed a Browning automatic rifle butt on the bed of one of the other trucks and three or four rounds went off, arcing high into the sky above us. I flinched this time. My nerves were fried. Despite what my section thought, after that first shot I’d almost shit my pants.
CHAPTER FIVE
BAPTISM OF FIRE
As the trucks rumbled forward, we could see American troops moving south down the road. They looked like ghosts, frail, with torn and dirty uniforms. Their black eyes didn’t even register as we passed. They had the infantryman’s thousand-yard stare. They were lost. Gone.
The trucks pulled off the road and we jumped off the back. There was a sense of urgency as we got organized and started moving toward the village of Tabu-Dong on the horizon. Tabu-Dong sat astride a fork in the road, dubbed the bowling alley because the constant rumble of artillery up and down the valley sounded like pins falling.
We were operating under Lieutenant General Walton H. Walker’s standing order to “stand or die.” Walker, the Eighth Army commander, had issued the order in July, before we’d arrived.
“We are fighting a battle against time. There will be no more retreating, withdrawal or readjustment of the lines or any other term you choose. There is no line behind us to which we can retreat....There will be no Dunkirk, there will be no Bataan. A retreat to Pusan would be one of the greatest butcheries in history. We must fight until the end. . . . We will fight as a team. If some of us must die, we will die fighting together. . . . I want everybody to understand we are going to hold this line. We are going to win.”
Thick black smoke rose in a steady stream on the other side of the horizon. I could see only a few of the squat huts, but the valley and ridges had thick scraggly bushes, which made it very difficult to see any movement.
Valleys of Death Page 4