The DMZ Chronicles

Episode I
I got sent to Korea in June 1966 after being tossed out of OCS at Fort Benning for being a punk kid. My Tac Officer, 1LT Grandgeorge said, “You got potential, kid. You’re not stupid. But you need some seasoning. You need to go into the real Army for awhile. I’m gonna give you a good recommendation so you can come back here one day if you want.” And with that, I failed at something I really cared about for only the second time in my life. The first time was in high school when I got cut from the wrestling team. So I sat in a holding company at Benning waiting to get sent to Viet Nam. I mean I was an 11Bravo after all. One afternoon a sergeant came in and asked who wanted to go to jump school? Now I enlisted for just this kind of thing, maybe even to be a Ranger. But I just sat there, numb and dumb. A couple of guys raised their hands and departed immediately. I went back to putting wall lockers together and painting rocks. Then one afternoon another NCO arrived and started reading off a list of names. Mine was on it. Right at the top. He said, “You’re goin to Korea. Get your stuff. You ship tonight.” Korea? Where’s that? I mean, I’d read about it, the Korean War and all that. Maybe seen a movie or two like “Porkchop Hill” with Gregory Peck, or “The Bridges at Toko-Ri” with William Holden. But Korea? I was supposed to go to Viet Nam. I was stunned. I was on a levy for Korea. Why? Just dumb luck. And that’s the Army. So they put me on a plane to Fort Lewis, Washington, and then another to Korea. But I did get a copy of T.R. Fehrenbach’s “This Kind of War” to read on the plane.  

 I arrive at the 177th Repl. Depot in Korea after a near crash landing in Japan during what I came to know as a monsoon and a six hour wait on the tarmac to get airborne again. A crusty old E6 hands me my orders. “You’re goin North, kid. The truck is loadin outside.” So, on I get with my duffel bag and my few other Earthly possessions and head north. At some unnamed compound the Deuce and a half stops. “Okay, everybody out. Last stop.” I present my orders to the gate guard who says, “You’re in the wrong place soldier. You got orders for up north of here.” By now the Deuce has turned and headed back to where it’s come from. The guard won’t let me in. It’s late afternoon and I’m stuck. With no place to go. I ask what am I supposed to do? His reply? “Start tryin to hitch, cause you gotta be there by tomorrow morning.” Great. Now what?

So I stand outside the gate looking stupid. Another Deuce and a half pulls up, and I wave. What looks like an officer of some kind gets out but with an unfamiliar uniform and face. He motions me over, looks at my orders and says, “Okay. No problem.” One of his soldiers throws my duffel in the back and I get in the cab next to him. They’re Turks. The Korean Turkish Brigade. Just my luck. But he does speak English. So off we go.  

We’re rockin and rollin through town after town, throwing a dust plume behind the Deuce when we hit a traffic jam of carts and buses and pedestrians. We grind to a halt and then a slow crawl. Suddenly, there’s a commotion in the back of the Deuce.  I look back through the plastic window and the two Turk soldiers in the back are using the butts of their weapons to eject Koreans from the tail gate. The truck stops. The Lieutenant jumps out and draws his 45. He calmly fires three rounds down the middle of the street. In a millisecond there’s not a soul to be seen. He holsters it and gets back in…and smiles at me. Subsequently, I heard that when “Slicky Boys” broke into the Turkish compound and they caught them, they placed their heads on poles outside the gate as a warning. True? I don’t know. But…given my experience? However that may be, the Turks dumped me at a compound that turned out to be the home of the 1/23 Infantry Regiment, 2nd Infantry Division in what I think someone said was Blue Lancer Valley…but I’m not sure.

Episode II

So…here I am…a stranger in a strange land…at the HHC of the 1-23 Infantry. I’m ushered into the Company Commander’s office for assignment. I salute: “PFC Batty, reporting, SIR!” He smiles. I hand him my entire life in the military…which isn’t much. He peruses it…turning the few pages and stopping at one.
“So I see you’ve been to OCS.”
“Yes sir.” I don’t know where this is leading.
“Hmm. Very good. I would like you to be my driver.”
I sit stunned. His driver? What I didn’t know was that his “driver” was rotating out in a couple of weeks. But I didn’t come here to be someone’s “driver.” I’m an 11B. That’s what I do. And what I want to do. I kind of choke for a moment…and then reply. “Sir…I’d rather not.” And, yes, I know, this would probably be some kind of cushy job, overall.

He sits back in his chair and surveys me. “Soldier, do you know what I’m offering you? Why don’t you want to take this assignment?” There’s no good answer to this one. But I have to come up with something. I think on the fly. “Yes sir. But I don’t like officers. I want to do something real.” As if, of course, driving for him wasn’t “something” real.  He nearly launches from his chair and then leans forward and glares at me. “Okay, soldier. You’re going to RECON!” As if this is the kiss of death. All I can think is: “Recon. Yeah, that sounds interesting.” He says: “Dismissed.” I salute. And to Battalion Recon I go…And into the world of the “Old Duff.”

I report to recon to find a bunch of mental misfits from who knows where. The Platoon Sergeant is a grizzled old vet from some ancient wars that I’ve read about. His name is Carruthers, or something on his right shoulder…Tropic Lightning. And has all kinds of ridiculous ways of doing things. But then, I’m just some punk kid with no respect…or not much…because I know things…I’ve been to OCS. Me and the PSG don’t get along all that great right from the start. My first encounter with the Duff is when I haul my sorry butt and my duffel bag up to the Recon hooch to try and find an open bunk and see on the door: RECON-WETSU. Subsequently, I learn what this means. WE EAT THIS STUFF UP. And that sure was the truth. And inside the door the Duff is posting the duty roster.
I wave to him. “Hi, Sarge. I just got here. PFC Batty.” He looks me up and down. “Batty. Right. Have you got a military driver’s license?” “No Sergeant.” “Well, you gotta have one to be in this platoon. Get down to the motor pool and get one. We’re moving up north in a few days.” I have no idea what all this means, but I say, “Right away, Sergeant.” And down to the motor pool I go.

The Battalion Motor Pool is another conglomeration of misfits and shady characters. No one wants to deal with me because they are all packing up to move North. The only bright light is the current Company Commander’s driver SP4 Vinge. Although he is rotating soon, he takes me under his wing. He is doing a TI on Head 15, the CO’s vehicle. But he asks if I need any help. Obviously, I need tons of help.
“Well, yes. I need to get a driver’s license.” “That shouldn’t be hard. Can you drive stick shift?” That’s a killer. The only cars I’ve ever driven were my Father’s automatics. “Uh, well, no.” He laughs. “Really?” “Yes.” He laughs again. “Okay, I’ll teach you.” And we begin lesson One, Two, and Three.

it turns out I’m not a natural. I bump and start and jerk all over the motor pool, almost clipping a couple of deuce and a halves and a motor pool hooch in the process. When we finally come to a stop, he says, “Well, not great, but I’ll sign off on your license.” And all I can think is, “Yep, it’s the Army. And now I’m a bona fide member of Recon.” And then we move North…into the unknown. The DMZ. Whatever that is…

Episode III

The names in this Chronicle have been changed to protect the innocent…and the guilty.

So now, we have moved North, to somewhere called Camp Young, north of the Imjin Gang. I have no clue as to what’s up or where we really are. All I know is my job is pulling guard duty, filling sand bags, cleaning ditches in anticipation of the monsoon, and saying “Yessir and Yes Sergeant.” I come to realize I’m just another brick in the wall. Until one afternoon one of the squad leaders says: “You better go check the roster the Old Duff posted on the door.” On it, my name, PFC Batty at the bottom. MDL Patrol. It seems MDL stood for Military Demarcation Line or border patrol. Well, okay. I guess this what I enlisted for.

Fall out: 0800 for inspection Recon TO&E hooch; Issue weapons, ammo, hand grenades. Now this might sound a bit strange to some, but at that time in the late spring of ’66 all weapons and other implements of destruction were locked up in the TO&E hooch. The Company armorer would come and check the stuff out. And you had to sign for it. Subsequent events would change all that. But you know, UN rules and regulations and protocol.

A ten-man patrol. Turn your uniform jacket inside out so no rank shows. Do nothing unless ordered to. Today’s mission: Patrol one half the sector from GP Johnson to GP Seiler. So we pile onto the 3/4 and off we go into the Zone. At the end of Johnson’s Road we unass and spread out. The Old Duff forms the patrol and I’m in the center. Onto the Lane we go. I’m astounded. The border wire is only about three feet wide, and in some places doesn’t exist at all. But I’m not the only newbee here. Only a few of my comrades have been out here before with the 3/23 we replaced. We start out, over hill, over dale, through the remnants of rice paddies and the occasional abandoned village, spread way out so the whole patrol is never in the killing zone of an enemy patrol. And then we come to an abrupt halt.

Our Platoon Leader, LT. Reardon, points off to our right at something in our sector. And as we all slowly pass, we see what looks like military equipment just a few meters off the lane. We’re Recon. Our job is to report and move on. We do. No collecting souvenirs. Later we find out it was booby trapped with a couple grenades, just waiting for some idiot American to try and grab it. The 2nd Engineers came out and dealt with it later.

We continue the march. As we snake along the MDL, we come again to an abrupt halt. Everyone goes to ground. As we surface, LT Reardon is coming down the lane waving his right hand over his M14. Even I know what that means: no shooting. And then I see them. Two NKA soldiers about 10 to 20 meters from the MDL on the North side. We approach slowly. They wave and shout things at us. We try not to gawk. It’s them: The Enemy. But it’s the reaction of our two KATUSAS that’s revealing. They’re real upset. And in the end won’t tell us what the North Koreans were yelling at us. Later I learned that if you saw two of them, then there were at least 2-4-6 or eight more where you couldn’t see them. And that as I came to understand it, meant these guys were pros: the NKA 17th Recon Battalion, a bunch kind of like our Rangers and Special Forces. We were just ordinary leg infantry.

Well, we got to Seiler okay and our pick-up point and got back to Camp Young. So much for the first time out. But I would add this: In that patrol and many others, LT Reardon showed himself to be a fine infantry officer. I don’t know if he was West Point or OCS, but I’m sure he wasn’t ROTC, because he actually knew what he was doing out there.

Finally, after the “first patrol,” I check the duty roster and find I’m supposed report to the First Sergeant ASAP. I do. “First Sergeant, PFC Batty reporting.” “Batty? Oh, yeah. You’re on orders for ACTA.” “What First Sergeant?” “The Advanced Combat Training Academy. Get your shit packed and report to the Orderly Room for transport ASAP. Dismissed.”

School? I didn’t want to go to any school at this point. I’d been to enough of them. But orders are orders. (To be continued)

Episode IV

I don’t know if you remember from last time, but Recon had its first MDL patrol and I got assigned to school at ACTA, something I wasn’t much interested in doing. The First Shirt’s only explanation was, “There’s a quota…and you’re it.” This is eerily familiar of how I got to Korea in the first place: A levy…a quota. However, the really perplexing thing at the moment was why did we run into an NKPA patrol first time out? How did they know we would be out there? Well, it turns out our “security” north of the Imjin was as rigorous and tight as a rubber band and porous as a sieve. And why? Think about it. We had all the comforts of home: houseboys, a tailor, KSCs, and many other “service” people all over our compounds doing things like “cleaning” in our hooches and the 3rd Brigade/1st Battalion S2/S3. The extent of this was only brought home when our girlfriends in Shang-pa-ri would say things like: We no see you next week. You be too busy.” And, of course, we laughed. “Yeah, right.” And then the next morning we’re called into formation and delivered the news that we’re on “lockdown” until further notice because of (you pick it) an operation, an alert, an exercise, a visit from some dignitary, or whatever. Once again, this would change. But at the time, the fact the 1-2-3 switched with the 2-2-3 was known to all…especially the enemy. (A note: last time I said we replaced the 3/23, but it was the 2/23. The 3-2-3 was on our far left flank on the delta and the 1/38 was in between)

But what about ACTA, you ask? Well, a good school when I went through. I’d almost say like a junior “Ranger” course given the POI and cadre.

So here I am at Camp Sitman in school…again…for three weeks. But what a surprise, given that I knew stuff, having been to OCS, I now learned more. (However, I didn’t know then that the compounds and OPs/GPs were named after soldiers killed in the Korean War and DMZ from the 50’s on.) The ACTA agenda was similar to OCS---up at o’dark thirty and into the breach…meaning training, whether you liked it or not. Initially, formation, PT, presentation of instructors, rules/regulations, do’s & don’ts, and curriculum-Land Nav, Patrolling, Water-born operations, Rappelling, Demo, Sanitation, Weapons Qual., Camouflage & Concealment, and UN Protocols in relation to DMZ operations. (Next episode: A typical day or two more as a student at the Advanced Training Academy---Imjin Scouts)

Episode V

So the accommodations at “Imjin Scout” school aren’t what you’d call “first rate” or “5-Star.” Basically, we’re in wooden shacks with canvas tops, bunk beds left over from the 50’s, and piss-pots outside…also called drainage ditches. But it’s the Army, right? Right. But when you come from the post WWII middle class, and are a so called “Boomer,” you expect more…but get what is. LOL! Anyway, if memory serves me right, and we all know how accurate and faithful memory is, all of the following is true. To confess, I don’t recall much about the Land Nav Course, but I passed. UN Protocols come down to don’t fire unless fired upon, and if you do shoot, bring back a body. Also, no automatic weapons like M14A2s or other useful armaments like M60s allowed in the DMZ. Slingshots okay. UN Protocols. As to water born operations, well, that’s something else. We’re issued rubber rafts and paddles and injected into the Imjin River. Now it all looks very tame until you’re in the water. The Imjin Gang has real currents. In order to get back to land, we have to paddle like crazy. In fact, I lose my watch to the River. The one my Mother gave me for high school graduation. It’s ripped right off my wrist while we’re frantically paddling back to shore. (But the loss of a watch will come up later in far more dire circumstances.) Having survived the Imjin, it’s into the actual DMZ, somewhere I’ve been already, unlike some of the guys from south of the river. So we spend a day and night on GP Barbara in the 1/38’s sector. Interesting. But the best course of all is Demo, taught by the ACTA XO, ILT Kluger, or as we affectionately called him Herr Kluger, The Mad Nazi. Seems he’s an ex-Wermacht NCO, who came to the US and went to OCS. I think he was a combat engineer by trade, but now was infantry. However, he still loves to blow things up. So we learn about C4, Det Cord, Blasting Caps, and how to knock down trees or hillsides to inconvenience the enemy. And so we do…with interesting results. We troop out to the Demo Range and start the fun. Blocks of C4, place the blasting cap, run the det cord, yell “Fire in the Hole,” and light it off. Very interesting. Much fun. Take down a small dead tree. But now, the real thing. Block a road. We plant our C4 and back off. “Fire in the Hole!” And the whole hillside disappears. Dirt and rocks come raining down on everything and everyone, including the HQ compound. Ooops. Maybe too much Mojo? One rock goes right through the canvas roof of my tent and lands on a bunk. Good thing we weren’t there! And of course you guessed it, there were repercussions, so to speak, but that was the 1LT’s problem. (Next episode, back to Recon…back to work.)

Episode VI

So I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but I ended up carrying the radio on MDL patrols. Why, you ask? Because no one else wanted to do it…and I had something to prove. Maybe more to myself than anyone else. MDL patrol—we always planned it to hopefully confuse our opponents. Never start or end at the same place twice; never start at the same time of day twice; do the whole thing…or half…but never be predictable. East to west, it was Seiler, Johnson, Dessart; or go west to east starting at Dessart. Or start at Johnson in the center and go either east or west? Today we’re doing the whole thing, east to west, Seiler to Dessart…and that’ll take the whole day. We drop off on Seiler Road, just inside the DMZ. A ten-man patrol. I’m carrying the radio, a Prick Ten. Also, to keep a record of things, I’ve got a camera stashed in my left ammo pouch. So I’m only carrying half a combat load—two magazines, forty rounds of M14 ball ammo. We start picking our way carefully toward the MDL, often skirting the division gate with the 25th ROK Division. We’re half way to the MDL and all hell breaks loose. Gunfire, automatic weapons, explosions, grenades…chaos. We go to ground. Rounds are bouncing over and around the hill we’re hugging. What to do? I call it in to Battalion S2. “Malty Lifer 21, this is 76. Contact, over.” “76, this is 21, what is your position?” “21, about 200 meters south of the MDL. Taking fire. Please advise.” “76, do not engage. Continue your mission.” “76, roger, out.” No matter how much we wanted to work our way around the hill and see what was up, we slip out of the area and ultimately conduct an uneventful MDL patrol. But what happened? Who knows? Were the ROKs out hunting and fishing with machine guns and hand grenades? Was it an encounter with the NKA? It certainly wasn’t our imagination. But as far as the ROKS were concerned, we were on a need to know basis…and most of the time, they figured we didn’t need to know. We never found out what happened that day, no matter how many times we asked. So after a day like that, we’re drinkin’ in the NCO/EM club on the top of the hill at Camp Young. Our PSG the “Old Duff” is on leave, probably somewhere in the ‘Ville doing who knows what, and 1st Squad Leader SSG Rivera is in charge. Rivera’s a good guy…he’s buyin’ us drinks and hangin’ out with “The Troops.” We’re all more than “three sheets to the wind” when it happens: The SIREN. An ALERT. And we basically do ”you know what” in our fatigues. This can’t be happening…is it for real? Or just a drill? Who knows? Who cares? We chug our booze and unass the place running down the hll for the RECON TO&E hooch. (Next episode: Is it real…or is it Memorex?)

Episode VII

So to recap from last time: It’s an alert…and no one knows if it’s for real, and we’re runnin’ pell mell from the NCO-EM Club to the weapons hooch…drunk as skunks. Gotta get the weapons…drivers to the motor pool for the machine gun and 106 jeeps. Chaos. We’re jumpin’ the drainage ditch at the bottom of the hill and arriving at the weapons hooch. But…where’s our leader? No where to be seen. He has the keys. We can’t get in. Immediate action drill…find Rivera. We’re Recon. We back track…and there he is. Passed out face down in the drainage ditch. Now what? Get his ass up and get the keys. We pull him from the ditch and haul him to the weapons hooch, go through his pockets, and…bingo…the keys. The jeeps arrive along with our ¾. We throw ammo, rations, and other explosives into our vehicles…and pour SSG Rivera into the front seat of the ¾. Then Lt. Reardon appears from the O Club. “Where’s Rivera?” “In the truck, Sir.” “Alright…let’s roll!” He jumps into HQ 21, and off we go. Now at this point, you need to know what an “alert” meant, right? We were supposed to go North while everyone else went South. So if this’s a real attack, it means within ten minutes the Second Engineers are supposed to blow both Freedom and Libby bridges. So North we go to our defensive positions because, well, our two 106s are the Battalion’s anti-tank deterrent after all…and fast…because our own artillery south of the Imjin will fire their registration rounds on our compounds for us to “adjust” fire on the NKPA. In all this, our crowning realization is we are little more than a “speed bump” in the grand scheme of things. So we get to our alert positions and what’re we gonna do with Rivera? Already the Company Commander wants a meeting with “Staff,” ie., platoon leaders, and PSGs. Now what? We gotta get Rivera out of the line of fire. We pull him from the cab and haul him into the back of the ¾ and make him comfortable, then pile cases of c-rations, ammo, and a couple jerry cans of fuel around him so it looks like the truck is fully packed. Then the fun begins. LT Reardon knows what we’ve done, and every time the Company Commander comes by asking, “Where’s the Platoon Sergeant,” we all say, “Oh, he’s checking the 106 positions, or with the machine gun jeeps, checking our infantry holes, Sir!” And it worked. He was here, he was there, he was everywhere…and nowhere…like the Scarlett Pimpernel. The CO never caught on. And at dawn, SSG Rivera emerges from the back of the ¾ like nothin ever happened…and takes charge. Turns out, it was just an alert and nothing happened. (Sidebar: Subsequently, we took our 106s south for qualification and one wouldn’t fire at all, and the other would only hit something, like a target…or tank…if bore sighted…so much for the .50 cal range finder…and so much for the Battalion’s anti-tank deterrent.) Next episode: Assigned to S2 and November 2nd, 1966)

Episode VIII

So, it’s Autumn 1966. I’ve been in Recon since the start of June…and you know how it is in small units…tensions rise as personalities and egos clash. Recon was no exception. We were always under strength. If we had 20 functional members, it meant we could do two ten man missions a day/night Bintense moments, there was the nightly Pinochle game in the NCO’s end of the hooch…by invitation only. I got invited given I wasn’t stupid…and had money, since at that time I didn’t go to the “Ville,” so I was financially attractive and available. Actually, I got pretty good at it, and rarely lost more than I made. But I had an ego and couldn’t help making it known-so that brings us to this episode. It’s a lazy afternoon with time off, and for some reason I can’t recall, six of us are in the hooch. Everyone has a nickname: I became Brutus, and there was Mabes, Walrus, Cogs, Weasel, Wee Willie, and our two KATUSAs, Rice Paddy Daddy and Joson. PFC Han was Joson because he was “cute.” Lee, M.K. was Rice Paddy Daddy because he’d been a rice farmer before being drafted into the ROK Army. So this particular afternoon, for reasons I don’t remember, I get into an altercation with Han, and we have a bunk overturning fight. In the end, I get the best of him and pin him to the floor. My comrades yell, “Yeah, Brutus!” And from then on that became my nickname. However, this little “altercation” got me sent to S2. The next day Duff grabs me and says, “Get yer shit packed, yer goin to S2.” But as it turns out, that wasn’t necessarily bad. So I report to ILT Bone in the S2/S3 hooch as the new RTO/DRIVER. Now in retrospect, my new assignment wasn’t that strange. I was an RTO and I had a military driver’s license. I wasn’t all that happy with this, but orders are orders. And ironically, I ended up in intelligence as S2 NCOIC in a PSYOP unit much later in my military career…but that’s another story. So what did we do in S2? Actually, a lot. More than I ever imagined: Driver for the S2; RTO on 12 hour shifts monitoring all our DMZ patrol actions; doing radio checks with patrols, GPs, and Ops; on occasion, communicating with the 25th ROK Division HQ next to us; and, when needed, driving the S3 or S4 officers wherever when needed given how short we were in personnel…and there’s a story or two in that. But back to the present: I report to ILT Bone, a thin, wry guy with intense energy and interesting theories about what’s going on in the DMZ. One of the LT’s favorite activities is to go trashing about in and around the DMZ doing “recon” looking for “activity,” just him with his .45 and me with my M14. I have a photo of our M151 with my rifle propped against the vehicle while the two of us are inspecting human remains in the destroyed village of Hydrang Po. He took a photo of me inspecting human bones and one of me standing in the destroyed bank vault in the village. Two idiots on archaeological tour. Because as I’ve said before, if you were out there in daylight, no problem, right? Not really. A fool’s paradise. On another foray, I have a photo of the LT strolling along 9 Delta, a destroyed road in 1/38th’s sector of the Zone, where we weren’t supposed to be, that went from the MDL to the South Tape. And then there’s the S2 inspection of defenses at OP Dessart. We climb the hill in our 151 and turn the corner to the GP only to observe the GP is going to “battle stations.” Bone yells, “Stop! Back up!” I follow orders, and he gets on the radio. Sheepishly, he glances at me. “Sorry. I forgot to let them know we were coming.” So it goes. There are a 101 ways to die in a hostile fire zone... and the enemy is only 1. (Next episode: November 2nd, 1966)

Episode IV

(NOTE: To begin this episode, I would like to dedicate the rest of this series to my comrade in arms Dan Florkowski, RECON PLT, 3/23 IR, ’66-’67, and member Mid-Atlantic Branch, and someone who can attest to the veracity of this chronicle.)

RIDING WITH THE WRATH

Well, it’s late Autumn and things are beginning to get crisp. The chill is in the air. Things have been getting more intense week by week. We know NKPA agents and combat patrols (UIs) are infiltrating our area. Routine patrols and GSR (Ground Surveillance Radar) on Seiler and Johnson tell us so. Their main route is down a valley between GP Seiler and GP Johnson, the shortest, most direct route to the Imjin River. Although we diligently report enemy activity and encounters/firing incidents to 3rd Brigade, nothing ever comes of it. I think they squelched what we sent them because Division, I Corps, and 8th Army didn’t want to know. So I’m sitting in the TOC monitoring radio/land line traffic from Dort, Johnson, Seiler, and Dessart, as well as our patrols out in the Zone that day when the S2 surfaces. “Batty, get down to the motor pool and get the S4 jeep and report to the S4 hooch.” “Yes sir. What’s up?” “Just do it. Report back here when you’re done.” So I do it. I get the S4’s 151, not without the standard amount of crap from the motor pool mechanics over the TI (technical inspection). But I say it’s for a mission. They call the S4, and that seems to work things out. I get my trip ticket. Of course, I have no idea what kind of “mission” this might be. When I arrive at the S4 hooch, I’m greeted by CW4 Wrath, the S4 and sometimes Motor Officer. There’s a Deuce and a Half loading stuff from the hooch’s platform. I wait, sitting in the jeep. When all’s loaded, Wrath jumps in and yells, “Let’s roll.” And we do. Across Libby Bridge and south. I have one destination on my trip ticket, an American compound somewhere just south of Munson-Ni…in Blue Lancer Valley? We’re cruising along the MSR when suddenly Wrath yells, “Turn in HERE!” I obey, and we’re at the gate of a ROK compound. Not on my trip ticket. But Wrath shows something to the gate guard, and in we go. We roll up to what looks like an HQ hut and Wrath jumps out…a ROK officer appears from inside. They have a hushed confab, and Wrath returns. His guys have unassed the Deuce and dropped a case of Coca-Cola on the wooden plankway. Several ROK soldiers emerge and help themselves to several cans each. Wrath points at me, “PFC get yourself a soda and go have a smoke break.” “Yes sir.” I grab a can and pull my Marlboro Reds from my pocket and fade away as the Chief and the ROK officer disappear into the hut. But then…I’m Recon…and nosey…so I start backtracking…and watch as the Deuce backs up to a loading dock out behind the HQ, and a bunch of Koreans jump in and start unloading boxes and crates of stuff. What’s up…right? I know better than to ask. I just fade and smoke another Red. When all is said and done, we depart and arrive at the U.S. compound. The Deuce is loaded to the gills with supplies and we head north. What happened? Your guess is as good as mine. But there’s an after story…and it goes like this: Subsequently, CW4 Wrath and his minions went hunting for boar/pheasants just south of the DMZ and started shooting into one of our daylight hunter-killer patrols along the South Tape. There was no end of commotion about that, but that kind of thing was common then. Shortly thereafter, the CW rotated out and retired. But there’s more. His replacement, a green lLT, inventoried the S4 supplies with Wrath, who showed the LT this crate and that box, but the LT didn’t open all of them, only a selected few. Subsequently, the CID showed up, investigating Wrath. Seems they had been tracking him from Germany. When they went through all the S4 inventory, they found more than 1/3 missing, all of which the LT signed for. They didn’t sack the guy, but he got an official reprimand. So, was there a black market in Korea? Your guess is as good as mine! I report back to S2. It’s the end of October. I pull my 12 hour shift on the radios November 1st and sack out…and then…that night…all hell breaks loose.

Episode V

NOTE: This and the following episode are as accurate as I can remember. However, in the interests of participants living or dead, I have taken the liberty to change certain things (names/incident details) so as not to cause anyone distress or embarrassment. The information from Stars and Stripes, November 1966 is quoted verbatim.

It’s O-Dark Thirty and I jolt awake. Noise. Gunfire? Explosions? What? I lie comatose for a moment, then jump up. Something’s happening. I go into the TOC…in my underwear. “What the hell happened?” I ask my counter-part from S3. Since we shared a hooch, we shared various duties. SP4 Sevaro, S3 clerk/driver, was also impressed into radio duty as we were so shorthanded. “I dunno,” he says. “But but no one knows what’s happened. Time passes…nothing. Then it’s time for the 3 AM radio check from our night ambush patrols. All check in except one. All want to know what’s happening given the shooting. It’s an A Company patrol that’s dropped off the Battalion net. Multiple attempts to contact the patrol are futile. Something’s not right. We rouse the S2. “Sir, we think something just happened in the Zone.” We monitor radio traffic…and find that A Company’s 3/4 has been dispatched to retrieve the patrol, actually according to protocol, since it’s almost dawn. Nothing to do but wait. Then the report comes in: one of our patrols has been ambushed. No word on survivors, but the A Company reaction platoon is on its way to track the perps. As I understand it, they tracked them to the MDL and could see them in firing range going into North Korea. But the LT in charge refused to let his men fire into North Korean territory. True or not? I don’t know. That’s the report we got. But on the other hand, we don’t know how many might still be on our side. LT Bone got one the phone, and then looked at me. I knew now what I wanted. “Sir, I want to go back to Recon.” He smiled. “Just what I thought. They’re going to need you. You’re all going out. Get down to the motor pool.” “Yes SIR!” And I high-tail it out to join my platoon. Now you may ask, “What about his driver?” Well, Sevaro was right there…and…we had just gotten in some transportation /motor pool types as replacements, so there were drivers to be had but not combat MOSs. I arrive at the motor pool and it’s old home week, so to speak. “Hey, Brutus, what’re you doin’ here?” “I’m back!” “Well, get your jeep and go load!” So I jump in Head 21 and rocket off to the TOE hooch. M60s, ammo, grenades, M14s. Assignment? Secure the site and area of the ambush, mounted and on foot. Go. Do it. Make sure no more NKPA are lurking anywhere from 2 Z ulu and Sieler Road up into the DMZ. My job is secure the ambush site. What we find is distressing to put it mildly. The reaction platoon has recovered the bodies of the dead and the one survivor. But the aftermath reminds one of the brutal fact that this is not an “excersise” or “training” event. The ambush site is litered with the detritus of war: pools of blood soaked into the sands of the hill, obvious spent rounds, grenade fragments, and…pieces of what appear to be human flesh and bone. We do our job and are informed that later in the day 2nd Division officials will arrive to tour the site. We remain in place as security. At this point, if anyone, Division, I Corps, 8th Army didn’t think this was real and a hostile fire zone, they were fools, and any of us who might have thought all this DMZ crap was bullshit were disabused of that fantasy. Recon spent the rest of that day until dusk on patrol. And, yes, the 3rd Brigade Commander did arrive and do a celebrity tour. Sorry for the sarcasm. But so it goes. On the other hand, I was back in Recon. (Next episode: The November 2nd after story: What really happened. Or at least as much as can be told.)

Episode VI

The following is both recollection, documentation, and speculation. Again, quoted information is from Stars and Stripes, November, 1966.

“They weren’t supposed to be there; they weren’t supposed to be there! The S2 keeps shouting when we return from our all-day mission securing the ambush site. Well then, where were they supposed to be? “The UNC patrol had taken a ‘stake-out’ position on a narrow knoll just under the hill from which the communists attacked. Pickett (2ID CG) said the group was a combination of two four-man patrols that had been legitimately in the area seeking possible infiltrators from across the MDL.” Yes, two patrols. So how did they become one? And where were they each supposed to be? All along we knew the NKPA were running agents and combat patrols down the valley between GPs Seiler and Johnson to the Imjin River. But what to do about it? Interdict them, of course. That’s what the two patrols from A Company were out there for. One was to be just south of the South Tape watching the length of the valley, and the other was to be along 2 Zulu, the barrier road. It was a classic “hammer and anvil” setup. Neither patrol was to have been in the DMZ. As I understood it, both patrols had an M60 machine gun since they were not in the Zone where automatic weapons were prohibited according to Geneva Conventions. So, what happened. Well, here’s the speculation part, from intel and personal knowledge of participants at the time: The patrol leader was short, meaning he had less than three weeks in country before rotation. He didn’t have to be out there. He was because it was his best friend’s birthday, and the one who should have taken the patrol was in the Village celebrating with his girlfriend, and the patrol leader had volunteered to take his place to give him the night off. And that’s the rub. How did two patrols become one on that hill? Two patrols would have had to have two radios, so at some point the two communicated and decided to combine. It was getting cold, and everyone knew nothing was “really” dangerous outside the Zone, so why not assemble at the pickup point and hang out. So they took the smaller hill overlooking the junction of 2 Zulu and Seiler Road and sacked out. But they set up on the lesser hill with another overlooking. Not good infantry tactics. The patrol leader was short, this was safe, they could sit out the rest of the night and be picked up at dawn. Well, yeah, the best laid plans of men and…. There was a North Korean combat patrol in the area. It may have followed the patrol near the South Tape, or it may have been already in overwatch of the junction. We’ll never know. But the result was at approximately 315 AM the A Company patrol was grenaded and swept with automatic weapons fire. One soldier survived. One did his duty and returned fire and did damage to the NKPA but was killed in the process. “A U.S. Eighth Army spokesman said there was evidence of firing from both American and north Korean sides---indicating the ambushed patrol gave a good account of itself. He said the ambush began with a grenade attack by the Reds.” “’There were two or three-hundred yards of good, copious blood and footprints leading from the area back into the DMZ to the military demarcation line. We also found two bloody bandages,‘ the general said.” And so it goes. But this was the start of the so-called “Second Korean War,” or the “DMZ War.” Or from the point of view of some Vietnam Vets I’ve known, “Nothing at all.” Call it what you like. In the end it was nasty. (Next episode: Winter, night ambush patrol in the right place at the right time.) Finally, a hearty hello to Bob Hair who served in the 1/23rd at Camp Young around the same time I did.