Combat Ineffective

by William Peter Grasso

  They were closer to the T-intersection than Parker realized. He was climbing out of the turret when, in the distance ahead, a brief glint of dim light caught his attention. Whether it was a struck match, a carelessly handled flashlight, or the flare of an engine backfire, he couldn’t tell. But in that glint he caught the shadowy outlines of blacked-out tanks moving down the intersecting roadway toward Taejon. It was like watching a parade through a nearly opaque filter; the evenly spaced vehicles rolled along as if passing in review. The parade appeared endless.

  He’d taken Sean’s suggestion and put his two still-serviceable Shermans at the front of his column. His Chaffee was third in column behind them.

  It was off the glacis plate of the lead Sherman that the first shot from a KPA tank ricocheted, showering it and the tank behind it with shell fragments when it exploded a millisecond later.

  And then many more Korean tanks were firing at the stalled American column, like warships outgunning their foes in a classic crossing the T. The Americans strung along the base of the T could only return fire with the few guns at the front of their column; the guns farther back were masked by their own vehicles. The Koreans along the top of the T, however, all had unobstructed fields of fire. They only had to traverse their turrets toward the American column to bombard them at will.

  The next round that hit the first Sherman was no ricochet; it penetrated the hull low on the bow and set it ablaze. Methodically, the KPA tank gunners worked their way down the American column. Within thirty seconds, Colonel Parker had lost nine tanks, including his own.

  Taking command of a Chaffee still untouched by the onslaught, he radioed his column to withdraw. Most of his tanks didn’t bother to turn about by pivoting; they threw their vehicles into reverse, hoping to keep their thickest armor toward the KPA guns.

  But they could only make half their top speed while driving in reverse gear. The T-34s chasing them down the highway had little trouble running them down, picking off the American tanks one by one.

  Five miles north of Yongdong, the Koreans broke off the engagement. By that time, Parker had lost eight more tanks. The companies comprising his column, Able and Charlie, had left Yongdong with twenty-eight tanks between them, manned by 112 men.

  When they returned to Yongdong, their serviceable tanks numbered seven.

  On the way out, they’d managed to rescue a number of crewmen, but around sixty of his tankers were missing.

  As near as Colonel Parker could tell, his unit had killed no KPA tanks.

  He wasn’t sure if any of them had even fired their guns.

  *****

  As they rolled into 26th RCT’s perimeter, Sean brought Baker Company’s column of tanks to a halt for a private conference with its commander, Lieutenant Bradshaw. “I’ll make this real quick, Lieutenant,” Sean said. “We need to put the tanks into diamond formations in column now, so we can cover each other’s asses while we engage gook tanks. Once we’re beyond the Twenty-Sixth’s perimeter, diamonds will be the easiest way to do that, plus it'll give us the best all-around firepower.”

  “Okay by me,” Bradshaw replied. “How should we set it up, Sergeant?”

  “We got thirteen vehicles, so each platoon makes a four-tank diamond. My Sherman’s the extra guy, so I’ll ride in the middle of the lead diamond.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Sergeant. Where do you think I should ride?”

  “Put yourself in the second diamond, Lieutenant. Preferably at the ass end.”

  “Got it.”

  Sean continued, “But a coupla questions before we move out. All your vehicles got the frequencies for the Twenty-Sixth, right? They only got a few radios that can actually talk to us, so make damn sure you’re on the right freq.”

  “Yeah, we’re all set on that, Sergeant. Got those freqs written in grease pencil on the turret walls, just like you suggested.”

  “Outstanding, Lieutenant. Now, last but not least…your guys ain’t shy about dusting each other off, are they?”

  “You mean shooting at each other with our machine guns to knock sappers off our tanks?”

  “Exactly right, sir. What I’m asking is if your guys are gonna watch each other’s backs.”

  Bradshaw hesitated before replying, “They’ve never had to do that, Sergeant. But I’m sure that once they’re buttoned up they’ll—”

  “That ain’t good enough, sir. That’s just faith, but we need to be fucking certain. Once they’re buttoned up, they won’t see shit unless they know to look for it. Tell you what… while you get ’em organized into the diamonds, I’ll give ’em the song and dance about dusting procedures.”

  *****

  Once beyond 26th RCT’s perimeter, Sean was surprised to find they weren’t as blind as he’d thought they’d be. The darkness was eased slightly by dozens of fires burning brightly; there’d obviously been quite a fight here already, and the fires were detritus of that fight. The carcasses of several T-34s still smoldered, the victims, no doubt, of audacious anti-tank teams.

  If those tank killers are still out here, let’s just hope that in the dark they know us from the gooks.

  The driver called out, “Hey, I got something in the road right in front of us. Baker One-Two just drove right by it. She almost ran over it.”

  He slowed the Sherman so as not to run over whatever—or whoever—it was. But buttoned up, they still couldn’t identify it.

  “Turn the headlights on for a second,” Sean said.

  “You sure you want to do that, Sarge?”

  “Am I talking English here? I said turn the fucking headlights on, numbnuts.”

  “But isn’t that going to give us away?”

  Sean replied, “Are you shitting me? You think it’s any secret this bellowing beast is here? Especially after that lead foot of yours shoots flames out the exhaust every time it stomps on the gas? Now turn those fucking lights on.”

  A quick flash of the headlights was all it took. What had looked like just a satchel—or perhaps a duffle bag—was two men lying next to each other. They might’ve been dead…

  But maybe not.

  “Straddle ’em,” Sean ordered the driver. “Put the escape hatch right over ’em.”

  “But what if it’s a trap, Sarge?”

  “Might be,” Sean replied, “or it might be two wounded GIs. We’re gonna find out.”

  He told the assistant driver—a PFC named Rapp—to open the emergency hatch in the bottom of the hull below his seat. Then he told Rapp, “Have your pistol ready if they turn out to be gooks. But if they’re GIs, pull ’em in.”

  “What if they’re dead, Sarge?”

  “Then the adjutant don’t have to list them as missing, and their families don’t have to suffer through none of that false hope bullshit.”

  The men were beneath the tank now as it slowed to a crawl.

  “Okay, stop,” Rapp said.

  The first thing he could see was their GI helmets. His pistol in one hand, he reached down through the hatch with the other and gingerly removed the helmets.

  The men were definitely Americans. They were wounded and terrified, but both were conscious. “They’re GIs,” Rapp yelled as he began hauling the first of them up through the hatch and into the tank.

  “Hey,” the driver said, “we’ve got action outside!”

  “Yeah, I see it,” Sean replied. He’d been scanning all around through the commander’s periscope. He could just make out the shapes of men running around the tank to get to its rear end.

  As soon as those shapes got close to the vehicle, they dropped from sight.

  Sean’s first impulse: Get Baker One-Five to dust us off. But wait…they’ll probably shoot the poor bastards we’re trying to rescue. So let’s do something different.

  “They’re trying to get underneath,” Sean said. “Back the fuck up and pivot hard left.”

  “But Rapp’s got one more guy to pull in.”

  “So let him keep pulling. But do what the fuck I told you right
fucking now.”

  With a sudden lurch, the Sherman leapt backward and then spun left. With the second wounded man half in and half out of the tank, Rapp could barely hold on to him through the violent maneuver.

  But somehow, he did. No sooner was the man fully inside the tank than Rapp saw yet another man’s arm in the hatch…

  And this one was holding a grenade.

  Rapp slammed the hatch closed just as the grenade was tossed. It bounced off the hatch cover and fell back under the tank. He managed to lock the hatch just as the grenade exploded.

  “Nice move,” Sean told him.

  Then he told the driver, “Back up a couple yards more. Let’s see how many gooks we just ran over. Flick the headlights back on for a second.”

  It looked like four bodies lying on the ground: two that seemed to have been blown apart by their own grenade and two that got caught under the tracks as the Sherman pivoted.

  “Good job, all of you,” Sean said. Then he asked Rapp, “Those guys we picked up…how bad are they?”

  “Aw, they’re more scared than wounded, Sarge. I’ll patch them up for now. They’ll be okay.”

  “Outstanding,” Sean said. “Now catch up with our diamond. We don’t want to fall too far behind.”

  As they plowed toward The Twins, Sean told himself, Dammit, I hate running over people with a fucking passion. But it’s kill or be killed, right? And it don’t matter how you do the killing part, neither.

  But if I hear that fucking name Crunch again…

  *****

  As they approached The Twins, Sean was delighted to find he’d been right; he’d only seen this area through binoculars from 26th RCT’s CP, but he was sure he’d seen a big fold in the open terrain just to the south of the peaks. That fold would provide Baker Company’s tanks the ability to go hull-down as they formed their blocking position.

  He knew they were almost there when his driver reported, “Okay, Sarge, I’m having to ride the brakes a little. We’re definitely going downhill now. This must be the hull-down spot you were talking about.”

  As his Sherman slowed to a stop, Sean radioed to the company, “Stay in your diamonds, but put ’em on line with mine in the middle. Just remember we’re on our own out here. We got gook tanks and infantry to worry about now.”

  Then he told his crew, “I’m gonna have a look outside my hatch. The rest of you stay buttoned up.”

  His head wasn’t outside the turret but a few seconds when a sniper’s round pinged off the hatch ring. Dropping back inside, he slammed the hatch closed. “We got gook infantry around here,” he radioed the company. “Watch your back…and your buddy’s back, too.”

  The pass between The Twins had looked like a light gray notch between the black mounds when they first arrived. Now, that notch was darkening as if an artist working in charcoal was gently shading it. Sean knew what he was looking at: It’s dust kicked up by vehicles. Gook vehicles…probably T-34s.

  Looks like they’re coming back for another round.

  Baker Company’s gunners couldn’t see individual vehicles, but they didn’t have to; they just needed to fire at the base of the notch between the hills. It was only wide enough to accommodate two or three vehicles abreast. Knock out that number and the pass would be blocked.

  “Let ’em get a little closer,” Sean said.

  Artillery rounds began to impact between the pass and the American tanks.

  “Who the hell’s shooting?” the gunner asked.

  “It ain’t our guys, that’s for damn sure,” Sean replied. “It’s prep for the gooks’ next assault. They’re gonna walk it right over us, I’ll bet.”

  “Ah, shit, Sarge! We’ve got to get out of here!”

  “No, we don’t,” Sean replied. “You’re in a tank, remember? She’s gotta have a direct hit on her to get hurt.”

  “But what if we do take a direct hit?”

  “Then it’s been nice knowing you, pal. But look at the bright side…as long as gook artillery is raining down, there won’t be no gook infantry on our backs.”

  As Sean predicted, the Korean artillery salvo swept over them and continued toward 26th RCT’s perimeter. “Okay,” he said, “everybody’s reporting they’re still up and running. But shit…now we gotta worry about sappers again.”

  Then he told his gunner, “Wait a minute…I got an idea. Our cannon cockers don’t sound like they’re too busy right now. Tell the company to stay buttoned up while I talk to Montana.”

  He proceeded to call in a fire mission on his own position. “Keep it all airbursts,” he told the CP. “Target is infantry in the open. Don’t worry about us. We’re all buttoned up.”

  The gunner asked, “Are you sure there’s a whole mess of gook infantry out there, Sarge, and not just that one sniper?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure as I can be. Now get your fucking sight picture on that notch.”

  “I can’t see shit in the sight, Sarge. It’s too dark out.”

  “Then sight down the damn barrel, for cryin’ out loud. When you think you’ve got it where you need it, crank the tube up another quarter of a turn.”

  “I’ve…I’ve never done it like that before, Sarge.”

  “School’s in session, my boy. Live and learn. Or rather, learn…and live.”

  Twenty-five seconds later, the shell fragments from the American artillery’s airbursts began to clank against their hulls like spasms of hail on a tin roof. A few seconds after that, all thirteen of Baker Company’s tanks began to pour fire into the notch between The Twins. Even though being buttoned-up limited their fields of vision to the little they could see through periscopes and viewing ports, they could still see the brilliant flash when one of their rounds struck steel.

  “We got to keep banging the shit out of ’em,” Sean said, “because one round of ours ain’t gonna go through the front of a T-34. But if we hit that same tank a whole bunch of times, we gotta be fucking something up.”

  It took a few minutes of firing to fuck something up. In that time, the T-34s got off some shots of their own. It was nothing like the volume of fire Baker Company was delivering, but it was enough to knock out three unlucky Chaffees, who took deadly hits to their turrets, the only part of their hull-down tank that was exposed.

  “One of them T-34s is breaking through, dammit,” Sean said. “He don’t know where he’s going, though…stupid bastard’s showing us her side.”

  He told his gunner, “Take her.”

  “I can’t see her, Sarge. Guide me in.”

  “Bring the tube right ten degrees,” Sean said as he stared down the barrel through the open breech. “Slow down now…little more…HOLD IT.”

  The loader slammed in an HE round, slid the breech closed, and then yelled, “UP.”

  “She’s all yours,” Sean told the gunner.

  When the smoke vented from the turret, Sean could see they’d missed. The T-34 was still plowing diagonally across their front, getting closer.

  “Gotta lead her a little more,” he said as the gunner eased the traverse farther right.

  “There,” Sean said, pulling his head away from the breech. “Try that.”

  Before they could load another round, the T-34 fired while on the move.

  Sean and his men could sense the round hurtling just inches past their turret. They couldn’t hear the swoosh as it passed, not over the clatter of the Sherman’s engine, but they felt that momentary bump in air pressure from its shock wave.

  But a miss is a miss. “Fire on the move, you won’t hit shit, you dumb gook bastard,” Sean said.

  Another HE round was in the Sherman’s tube now. “Tweak it a little to the right,” Sean told the gunner. “She’s gotta have moved a little more than we figured by now.”

  It was an excellent guess; the round went right through the side of the T-34. She blew up spectacularly, lighting the battlefield just long enough to get a glimpse of the carnage they’d caused.

  “Holy shit,” Sean said. “There must
be five dead T-34s piled up in the notch. They won’t be coming through there tonight.”

  Calling Montana on the radio, he told the CP, “The Twins are blocked. Shift the artillery into the notch so they can’t unblock it for a while. We’re coming in…and we’ve got wounded.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The dull gray light of a new day brought nothing but bad news. The fog that had settled across 26th RCT’s position in the predawn hours showed no hint of burning off anytime soon.

  And when there’s fog, Jock Miles knew, there’ll be no air support.

  After last night’s clashes, the battalion of armor he’d requested had been whittled down to Sean Moon’s ten tanks. The rest of Colonel Parker’s 10th Tank Battalion—and that rest consisted of only seven tanks after the rout on the Taejon-Taegu highway—was licking its many wounds back at 1st Cavalry’s bivouac in Yongdong.

  Despite Jock’s renewed request for armor, he was advised that 1st Cav would not be sending any more tanks to support his delaying action at Taejon.

  If there was any hint of a silver lining in last night’s decimation of 10th Tank, it was that KPA forces conducting that decimation were diverted from any further attacks on 26th RCT. After their initial probes from both the east and west—the actions that precipitated the splitting of 10th Tank Battalion into two forces—the only follow-up attacks from the Koreans had come from the west. That was the attack Sean’s force had repulsed.

  But last night’s page in the history books had already gone to press. Today’s page was still waiting to be written.

  Patchett had more bad news to deliver: “The artillery just reported in, sir. They just reached your cutoff point for final protective fires.”

  Sean asked, “And that means they gotta stop firing into the notch now, don’t it?”

  “Affirmative, Bubba. And if that ammo convoy don’t show up real soon, we’re up shit’s creek without a paddle.”