Valleys of Death (6 page)

“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 flinched,” 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.

Suddenly artillery shells and mortar rounds crashed down around us. We dove into the ditches that lined the road and waited for the barrage to end. I waved to my section and got them together before we moved out toward the outskirts of the village. A smoky haze with the pungent smell of gunpowder hung over us as we started moving forward. I could feel my heart beating and my breaths came quickly, almost like I was running. But it wasn't nerves. It was adrenaline. My body was on fire, popping with energy.

Back on the road, a North Korean machine gun to our right opened fire. I could see the tracer rounds in almost slow motion slashing into the line of men ahead of me. The soldiers ducked and dove out of the way as the rounds bit into the dirt around them.

Time is a strange thing in combat. Sometimes it moves so fast that you cannot believe it, and other times it is moving so slowly that you could scream. We dove into the dirt and pressed ourselves flat against the ground. McAbee started moving the other platoons toward the guns while my section, part of the weapons platoon, provided supporting fire.

This was real combat. All of my fears seemed so far away now. I didn't have time to worry about how I'd react. I just had to act. Turning back toward Walsh's gun, I yelled for him to get in position and start firing at the machine guns.

Walsh nodded and started calling to his men. Like veterans, they ignored the machine gun fire and got the gun up and ready.

“Put some fire on that hill,” I shouted, pointing toward the North Korean gunners with my hand.

Walsh pointed out the machine gun position, and Gomez, the assistant gunner, loaded a round and Hall sighted in the gun and fired. My section fired its first shot of the war. The round hit near the gun, and it paused before continuing to fire. By then, Gray had his gun up and both Heaggley and Hall pounded away at the North Korean troops dug in on the hill overlooking the village.

In a matter of minutes, we'd knocked out one of the machine guns. There was still one more somewhere. I didn't wait for an order and moved both guns up the hill with the lead platoon.

Winn got Vaillancourt, Roberts and me together and told us K Company and I Company were on our left flank. There was an engineer company fighting as infantry located to our left rear, close to the village of Tabu-Dong. Winn placed the mortar section to the left of our position and fifty yards down the reverse slope. He placed me on the right flank of the company.

“Lieutenant, we can bring fire on the North Koreans as they approach, but we won't be much use at night because we won't see them until they get close,” I said.

The hill dropped away at such a sharp degree that the 57s would shoot harmlessly over their heads.

“At night we'll just be another rifle platoon, so I'm going to need grenades,” I said.

My men didn't have any grenades, but I was happy that I had gotten thirty-round clips from the air defense unit on the ship.

Winn looked at Vaillancourt.

“I got it, Rich,” the platoon sergeant said. After the meeting, he pulled me aside.

“We're only getting one C ration per two men.”

I shook my head. “That means a meal and a half a day. Supplies are that short? You'll at least have grenades.”

“The Army wasn't ready for Korea,” Vaillancourt said. “Send a runner back for the grenades.”

When I got back to my section, the guys were digging in. I told them to set up the guns, but we'd be covering our section with rifles that night. We were all wired after our first firefight, and it was good that we had something to do. I was happy to see that everybody was digging with a sense of urgency.

I was worried about our open right flank. I ordered the section to dig some positions facing to the right in case we had to occupy them.

When we were done, I told my guys to eat and rest while I got with Walsh and Gray.

“Word is the North Koreans are attacking at night. Take the C ration cans and fill them with rocks,” I said. “And tie them at knee height in the bushes in front and to the right of us.”

I dug my hole slightly to the rear and in the center of both squads.

“If you need to get to me, come from the side. No one should get out of his position unless it is absolutely necessary. If they get through, stay in your hole because I'm going to shoot anyone standing up.”

The men nodded.

“The password tonight is ‘north,'” I said. “Response is ‘rebel.' ”

I had two men in each foxhole. Walsh was with me. I told Walsh to gather up some small rocks and put them in the bottom of the foxhole. He looked at me like I was crazy.

“What the hell is this for?” he asked.

“We're going to take turns throwing them at any hole that does not answer when we call them. I'm not taking any chances on anyone falling asleep.”

That night everyone was on edge. Walsh and I tried to make small talk, but this was not a small talk night. None of us could sleep. Mostly, I called out to my men and scanned the now pitch-black valley. Every noise, smell and shadow drew my interest.

The attack started with a guttural scream. The North Koreans came out of the brush in waves. We could see them moving toward us like shadows. Muzzle flashes exploded out of the darkness. There was very little aimed fire. Instead we were firing straight ahead in their assigned zone. Soon, screams from our wounded joined the chorus of battle cries, orders and machine guns.

Illuminating rounds from our mortar section soon lit up the area like a ballpark, making the North Korean soldiers look like silhouettes on a firing range. We dropped several before the flare burned out. Since the rounds were in short supply, the mortars waited several minutes between rounds.