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Freedom Is Not Free - Korean War Veterans Association

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direct fire. No one wanted to stand up and<br />

shoot it out with a machine gun. I had<br />

crawled up to a position to the left and a few<br />

feet to the rear of Hires, about ten yards<br />

away. A large rock about the size of a small<br />

pick-up truck was my main protection.<br />

The machine gunners were doing a firstclass<br />

job of denying us the lower part of the<br />

ridge. For a long time I had been carrying<br />

an anti-tank grenade, already attached to the<br />

rifle grenade launcher in the top of my<br />

entrenching tool (shovel) cover. It annoyed<br />

me because it was always rubbing against<br />

my hip. The bright idea came to me to use it<br />

against the dug-in placement of the enemy.<br />

Unfortunately, I had forgotten about the little<br />

red booster placed on the grenade to give<br />

it additional distance when fired from the<br />

rifle with the stock on the ground.<br />

During past training I had fired the rifle<br />

from my shoulder with the grenade launcher<br />

attached without any ill effects. But that<br />

was without the booster cap, of course. I<br />

rose up onto one knee, peered around the<br />

rock, and pulled the rifle trigger all within a<br />

few seconds. Well, if you ever thought you<br />

had broken your shoulder, then you know<br />

the pain I felt in my right shoulder. The pain<br />

was so bad that I had to sit down for a couple<br />

of seconds to organize my thoughts. I<br />

watched the grenade hit the top of the<br />

machine gun foxhole with such force that it<br />

ricocheted off into the air, falling down well<br />

beyond the intended target into a deep<br />

ravine, detonating with the sound of a mortar<br />

round.<br />

Forgetting about my pain, I crawled over<br />

beside Hires, who was protected by a rock<br />

the size of two bales of hay. I then traded<br />

weapons with him--my M-I rifle for his<br />

Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR). The<br />

enemy gave his attention to the two of us<br />

and was bringing his weapon up to his<br />

shoulder to fire more accurately when I<br />

fired with the BAR. In the blink of an eye it<br />

was all over. My squad quickly moved<br />

down the ridge and began firing at the<br />

retreating enemy.<br />

Petit had secured the high ground above<br />

me, giving the platoon complete control of<br />

the ridge. Jumping into the gun position, I<br />

marveled at what a good position it was,<br />

especially how deep for protection against<br />

high angle mortar and artillery fire. They<br />

had been here for a long time, preparing the<br />

positions and intending to stay longer yet.<br />

There was plenty of food and ammo all carried<br />

in what appeared to be a seamless cloth<br />

tube or stocking slung over the neck and<br />

shoulder. The tubing was about four feet<br />

long and four inches in diameter. The ammo<br />

was loose, not in clips--just like crayons<br />

dumped in a sock.<br />

The Chinese foot soldier was a good<br />

walker—he could go for miles over the<br />

most difficult terrain, carrying a heavy load.<br />

He was also an expert on the use of camouflage<br />

inmost any circumstances. Their<br />

motto could have been “Deep holes with<br />

overhead cover.” The threat of air strikes<br />

coupled with artillery no doubt helped reinforce<br />

that motto. Some holes or bunkers had<br />

overhead cover two or three feet thick with<br />

a firing port in the front. Others built and<br />

dug in on the corner of a hill had firing ports<br />

for two different directions. Most command<br />

posts were distinguished by their size and<br />

the amount of overhead cover.<br />

While sitting on the edge of the foxhole<br />

facing the retreating enemy, for some<br />

unknown reason, I turned toward the other<br />

squad members. One single round, probably<br />

from a sniper, passed through my field<br />

jacket liner, OG shirt, and my fatigue shirt.<br />

I grabbed the BAR and fell down to the bottom<br />

of the foxhole, which was way over my<br />

head when sitting. Then I got a little shaky.<br />

Our squad's flank boundary was the<br />

Chinese position already dug in. I recall that<br />

I got a large blister on one of my fingers<br />

from the hot barrel of the weapon I had been<br />

firing just prior to sitting down in the foxhole.<br />

In the area that my squad had captured<br />

was a large tent full of all kinds of ammo<br />

and grenades in wooden cases. There were<br />

no roads nearby, so that all the ammo had to<br />

be carried by individual personnel cross<br />

country to the tent. Most of the grenades<br />

were the small type with a wooden handle<br />

with the detonating cord stuffed up in the<br />

handle. We did find some of the larger potato<br />

masher type that was about the size of a<br />

3/4 quart fruit can, also with a wooden handle.<br />

Just before dark I carried a whole case of<br />

the smaller grenades to my foxhole. When<br />

checking the squad that night, I met Sgt.<br />

Graham where our squad joined. We talked<br />

about back home. That always was on every<br />

soldier's mind. The high part of our conversation<br />

was what would happen if we would<br />

throw a couple of the grenades in front of<br />

our individual squads.<br />

As soon as I returned to my foxhole, a<br />

repossessed Chinese one that had some<br />

reinforcements from the pine trees, I threw<br />

a couple of the grenades to the front of my<br />

squad. Almost immediately there were a<br />

couple different M-l rifles firing to the front.<br />

Those who had been catching up on their<br />

sleep were now wide awake.<br />

The following morning, I listened to stories<br />

about the enemy probing in front of our<br />

positions. We ate our breakfast of C-rations<br />

and milled around until time to move out on<br />

the offensive that had begun some twentyfour<br />

hours earlier.<br />

There are dark nights and then there are<br />

really dark nights—so dark that you can’t<br />

see your hand in front of your face. One of<br />

those really dark nights I sat in my foxhole<br />

For a long time I had been carrying an anti-tank grenade,<br />

already attached to the rifle grenade launcher... The bright<br />

idea came to me to use it against the dug-in placement of the<br />

enemy. Unfortunately, I had forgotten about the little red<br />

booster placed on the grenade to give it additional distance<br />

when fired from the rifle with the stock on the ground.<br />

listening more than seeing because I could<br />

see absolutely nothing. About fifteen yards<br />

to my left rear was a 75 mm anti-tank gun<br />

well dug in, including some use of sand<br />

bags.<br />

Trying to keep alert, I found myself catnapping<br />

when this 75 mm suddenly fired<br />

one single round. In addition to almost making<br />

me deaf, the noise, to say the least, was<br />

startling. Because only one round was fired<br />

into the pitch black night, I at first mistook<br />

the sound for an incoming artillery round<br />

from the enemy. Why was this weapon fir-<br />

65<br />

The Graybeards<br />

March – April 2007

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