Valleys of Death (13 page)

“Sergeant Richardson. Meet Sergeant Richardson.” We talked for a few seconds and quickly established the fact that we were not kin. The general asked if I would like a beer.

“Yes sir,” I said.

Then Palmer turned to his staff. “Let's let the sergeant eat, and when he's through we can ask him some questions,” Palmer said. “You all need to hear what an infantryman's life is like.”

The meal was some kind of meat, powdered potatoes and green beans. Good fresh-baked bread. The best thing was the cold beer. To tell the truth anything would have been better than the Jell-O diet at the battalion aid station.

When dinner was over, the general turned to me and told me to tell his officers what it was like in the infantry. Every staff officer was looking at me. This was a real chance to tell officers, including a general, what it was like and what we needed. I took a deep breath and then just told the truth.

“Look, I want you to know I'm not bitching, I'm just telling you the way it is with me and my men. My company strength was down to sixty-eight men and until recently we were fighting day and night. We have always been short of ammo. Most of the time we have been on one ration for two men and water has been a serious problem. Recently, we were given a box, which is called a 50-in-1, that contained a lot of razors, shaving cream, toothbrushes and toothpaste. Basically a bunch of stuff we didn't need. We need food and ammo.”

The questions started right after I was done. They seemed genuinely interested.

How was the morale of my men through all of this?

“Since we broke out of the Pusan perimeter, it has been great.”

Besides ammo and food, what else do you need?

“More artillery fire support.”

They all laughed. When I left, they all thanked me and shook my hand. I never forgot the kindness the general showed to me. That night I slept in a building with wooden floors. During the night, I had a nightmare. I was in a hole and artillery fire was coming in on top of me. I dug deeper and deeper in the dirt with my hands. I couldn't get deeper because there were old boards in the way. When they woke me up, I was clawing at the floorboards. I looked around the room and the other ten guys in the room were up and looking at me, their eyes wide and scared.

“You all right?” one of them said. Even in the dark, I could tell I'd spooked all of them.

“I'm fine,” I said. It took a lot of talking to convince them that I was fine. They still didn't believe me when they finally went back to sleep.

The next morning, General Palmer took me to my company. When I arrived, Vaillancourt met me.

“Great timing,” Vaillancourt said. “A couple of men are being put on the promotion list, and if you were not here, we couldn't put you on the list.”

I was being put in for promotion to sergeant first class. Vaillancourt told me that we had orders to cross the 38th parallel and move north.

When I got back to my section, I had three new replacements. Mac was a corporal and I assigned him to Heaggley's squad as a gunner. Allen had traveled with the circus and proved to be a resourceful guy. We were still short food, so he fixed a box to his ammunition backpack and I told him to pick up any discarded C rations. There were always items on the ground that had been thrown away. I told him that whenever we stopped he could make a mulligan stew out of what he picked up.

We were all saddled up ready to move out and two of the Koreans nudged me and pointed to McKee, one of the replacements. He didn't know how to put his gear together. Each step he took something fell on the ground. The Koreans were laughing. I got ahold of him and then I called Heaggley over and told him to take care of the situation.

The next day Heaggley came to me.

“Rich, it is impossible to keep him straight. He's going to get someone killed.”

“Okay, I'll try to get him sent to the rear.”

I went to Vaillancourt and asked that they send McKee to the rear, where maybe he could do something in the trains' area. They both blew me off. I figured as much. Heaggley would just need to keep a close watch on him and we'd hope to hell we did not get into a heavy firefight.

The battalion was attacking along open rice paddies. We were walking in single file on top of the paddy dikes. Heaggley's squad was in the center and Walsh's was on the right and just a little behind.

I was with Heaggley. All of a sudden there was a thunderous roar as an artillery barrage hit us. I was blown straight up in the air. My feet were over my head. I came down on my shoulder and my head. The mud softened the blow. Grabbing my helmet, I yelled for my section to run forward out of the kill zone. Three guys in front of me and two behind me were wounded. I could hear them moaning as they clutched their stomachs and legs. I checked myself; I had escaped without a scratch. Medics hurried to the downed men. I looked back and saw Heaggley standing dazed.

“Get moving,” I yelled.

He looked at me with a funny expression on his face and then looked down at his waist. He had been hit by shrapnel in the stomach. I could see the blood soaking through his fatigues.

“I'm hit, Rich.”

“Get down,” I said. And I hollered, “Medic!”

Heaggley fell to his knees and rolled over on his back. I was torn. I wanted to run to him, but I had to keep the rest of the section moving. It was one of those choices that you never want to make. I saw the medics coming and turned to join the other men.

“Good luck, buddy. See you later,” I screamed over my shoulder.

I couldn't look back, but I knew I'd probably never see Heaggley again. A stomach wound, I thought, Jesus Christ I hope he makes it. I wanted to sit down and cry, but this was not the time or the place for that. I had damn near lost a whole squad.

We had to quickly reorganize. We were three quarters across the open area and took up positions behind a railroad embankment. I called Mac over.

“You're the squad leader and for the time being you're also the gunner.”

Mac's eyes were as big as plates. He'd been with us less than two days.

“Any questions?” I asked, prodding him into action.

“I got it, Sarge.”

I hollered for Allen and told him to get one of the Koreans. When they came back, I sent them to get the ammo we'd dropped in the rice paddies.

“Get there and back as quickly as you can,” I told Allen.

They raced off and I turned my attention to the North Koreans. They'd dug in on the high ground two hundred yards to our front. There was only one way to go at the hill and it was straight forward. I looked across the open space we were going to cross. There was little cover. This was going to be tough. There was no time to dwell on Heaggley or on our dwindling numbers.

The longer we sat behind the railroad embankment, the tougher it would be to get started. Bromser was waiting to get artillery support. The same guys I'd had dinner with. I hoped they remembered what I'd told them and come through. Leaning back against the embankment, I saw Allen and the Korean hustling across the field, each carrying two-pack boards with ammo.

“Get ready,” Bromser said.

I gripped my rifle and closed my eyes. My mind knew going forward was crazy, but I willed my legs to move. Soon, I was running and leading the rest of the section across the paddies. Mortar and artillery fire crashed around me, but I didn't notice. I only saw the flashes of the North Korean machine guns ahead of me. I stayed close to Mac. I could hear him hollering at his squad to move. Looking to my right, I saw that Walsh was right beside us. He had his squad moving. It all seemed almost normal. It was just another day. Another attack.

Soon, we were in holes left by the artillery barrage. I could hear Walsh's 57 firing into the North Korean positions. Mac had his gun zeroed in on a North Korean machine gunner. After a few blasts, we joined our attacking platoons as they closed on the crest of the hill. My section moved up just in time to see the last of the North Koreans running away. For the next several days, each attack ended this way. It seemed the North Koreans were staying long enough to slow us down, only to run away as we got close.

During breaks, Walsh and I pressed Vaillancourt for information on Heaggley. When we got to the outskirts of Pyongyang, we finally got word. Heaggley was still alive when he was evacuated to the field hospital. That was good news.

On October 19, 1950, the First Cavalry Division was the first American unit in the captured city of Pyongyang. We'd been slowed after the North Koreans dropped all the bridges across the Taedong River. We added the North Korean capital to our legacy. First in Manila. First in Tokyo. Now first in Pyongyang.

The First Division of the South Korean Army entered the city simultaneously. They got the civilians under control. Pyongyang was a ghost city when we got there. We didn't face much of a fight as we walked down the wide streets.

We moved into an abandoned hospital. It was a disaster. Bloody bandages in heaps on counters and floors. Stained mattresses were thrown on the floors next to puddles of blood. All the equipment had been removed. The real horror was in the basement, where a hundred bodies were lying in piles.

We weren't there long before Bromser sent my section up to an outpost about five miles north of the city. We set up on a knoll overlooking a road and a railroad. I could see a steady stream of civilians shuffling along. I felt pretty secure since the North Korean Army was decimated. Just in case, I sent Walsh's squad down to the road.

“Make sure none of them have weapons,” I said.

Turning to Allen, I told him to find us something to eat. We had C rations, but we were looking for something different.

“See if you can get us something to cook,” I said. “And take one of the Koreans with you.”

He came back an hour later with a big pot that they'd liberated from a farmer nearby and a bag of rice. The Korean was holding three chickens by their necks.

“How does chicken-and-rice soup sound, Sergeant?” Allen asked through a wide smile.

“Like dinner,” I said and headed down to check on Walsh.

When I got to the road, I saw two of his men looking at a watch.

“What's with the watch?” I asked.

“An old Korean man gave it to me,” one of them said. Since they were so new, I couldn't recall his name.

“What are you, stupid?” I asked. “Don't answer that. You probably scared the old man to death. Get Walsh over here. Damn it, hurry up and get him.”

I looked at his partner. “Do you think this was right?”

He looked at his boots. “No, Sarge.”

Walsh came up. He was shaking his head.

“Did he tell you about the watch?” I asked.

“Yeah, I'll take care of it, Sarge.”

I turned and looked at the road. The Korean refugees had nothing. Everything they owned was on their backs or in their bags. Men carried animals in cages. Women carried children. None of them looked at us. They kept their eyes forward. Scared. Beaten. Happy, like us, just to be alive.

“I hope the poor bastard will come through here again so we can give it back,” I said. “This had better not happen again.”

That night, we gathered around the pot and had the best damn chicken and rice. It was great and everyone had a full belly. Allen, the old roustabout, had cooked up a masterpiece. His time traveling with a circus paid off. We stayed on the knoll for a couple of days, until finally we got a message to pack up and move to Pyongyang. I sent Allen and the Korean to return the cooking pot to the farmer.

By now it was late October 1950. The North Korean Army was virtually destroyed. I'd been fighting since the summer, and for the first time I felt tired. Worn out. Standing in the formation, I looked out over the ranks. My unit was holding a memorial service for the 465 casualties the battalion had lost since August. So many new faces filled our ranks now. Only Sergeant Walsh and I had made it from the original section that had left Fort Devens.

Standing at the head of the formation, Colonel Johnson had a different message than the one at Fort Devens. This time he was somber, the losses having taken a toll. He was also leaving us, to take command of the Fifth Cavalry Regiment. As he spoke, I became lost in my own hurt feelings for the men that I had lost, and I fought back tears. How tragic that these young men had their lives cut so short.

After the formation, I met with Lieutenant Paul Bromser and the other company leaders.

“Does anyone know how to load a ship?” Bromser asked.

We all smiled. That confirmed the rumor. The rumor was we were to be in Tokyo for Thanksgiving. And for me it meant maybe Christmas in Philly with my family. After the meeting, I went back to my section and pulled Walsh aside.

“Well, buddy,” I said, “we made it. It's all over.”

“What do you mean?” Walsh asked. I could tell he knew but wanted me to say it. He wanted to hear it.

“Looks like the rumor about Thanksgiving is not a rumor.”

We stood there holding on to each other smiling and laughing like two kids. The entire section broke out in a cheer. Walsh and I made sure Tony understood the good news. He was the only Korean soldier left out of the original five assigned to the section.

Mac took four guys to the Bob Hope show that night. Walsh and I went to services.

Chaplain Kapaun had set up a makeshift chapel in one of the hospital rooms. He covered a small wooden table with a purple cloth and a chalice sat in the middle. Nearby was his worn Bible, the gold lettering on its black leather cover only specs after being carried from Pusan to Pyongyang. We huddled on rickety benches and bowed our heads.