Scars from the Forgotten Korean War

By Arnold Mountcastle de Wees

The year is 1952 in Korea when there are only three survivors of a 56-man US Marine unit after a nightlong series of Chinese suicide attacks on an outpost. Severe mutilations render one of the Marines into a helpless state and he is a victim of cruel treatment from his parents after returning home. The platoon commander emerges from the battlefield minus both feet and is determined to overcome his handicap and climbs mountains with prosthetic feet. During the time of struggling to become successful in New York City he finds the love of his life and they eventually embark together on an adventurous life in foreign lands. The third member of the ill-fated platoon, after Korea and three tours of Vietnam, returns to the USA and distinguishes himself in a heroic ordeal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arnold Mountcastle de Wees
• Release date: May 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9780990405900

Arnold Mountcastle de Wees

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Book preview

Chapter 1

Dawn illuminated the Korean battlefield to reveal only three survivors after a nightlong series of Chinese assaults on an outpost occupied by a reinforced platoon of fifty five US Marines. Staff Sergeant Radford, Sergeant Petersen and Private First Class Alan Fortenberry stood in adjacent foxholes. Radford said, Get on the radio again, Copperhead, and see if you can get through to the company commander.

Fortenberry was nicknamed Copperhead because of his hair color. He drawled with his West Virginia accent into the mouthpiece. King Six this is King Two. Can you read me? Over. Copperhead repeated his call several times as projectiles from a Marine artillery battery made whooshing sounds overhead and exploded in enemy territory.

Finally Copperhead announced, ‘All channels are still jammed with Chinese talk."

Not a bush or blade of grass remained standing after the all-night enemy bombardment. Incoming artillery and mortars had cut down anything standing on the outpost that the reinforced platoon of US Marines had taken from Chinese defenders twenty-four hours earlier. Dead Chinese soldiers littered the ground. Members of K Company's Second Platoon were dead in foxholes they occupied during several enemy counterattacks. An acrid smell of picric-acid smoke shrouded the hill. This smoke is shitty tastin' stuff, Copperhead drawled. I'll be tastin' it the rest of my life.

Let's go and get ammunition from our dead guys, if they have any left, Radford said, and also pick up some Chinese weapons and ammo. Be careful. There may be some Chinese still alive enough to pull the pin out of a grenade."

Radford started to boost himself out of his foxhole. Petersen pointed toward the reverse slope and exclaimed, Look, Rad!

Radford looked in the direction where Petersen pointed. A column of Marines ran at a spaced-out interval on the trail from the MLR that had become a target for enemy enemy mortar and mountain-gun crewmen.

Hot shit! Copperhead said. "We're bein' relieved.

It's more than a platoon—maybe a whole company, Radford said and headed to meet First Lieutenant Platt, the commander of L Company, who was in the front of the column.

Where to? Platt shouted when he saw Radford running toward him.

In the foxholes across the ridge.

Stonosk! Deploy the platoon in the foxholes on the ridge, Platt yelled to his company gunnery sergeant.

Petersen went with Stonosk.

Gunny, you must remove our dead men from the foxholes and take them down on the reverse slope so they can be picked up tonight, Petersen said as they headed across the ridge.

A seventy-six projectile screeched and exploded on the crest near Platt and Radford. They jumped into foxholes occupied by dead Marines. Three more rounds landed nearby in rapid succession.

We got as close as we dared in the darkness and waited until daybreak to rush up here, Platt said as he climbed out of the foxhole. We were hit by a mortar barrage at dawn that seriously wounded my company executive officer and another round blew up my radioman and his radio.

We’ll leave our SCR-300 with you and hope it doesn’t stay jammed with Chinese garble like it has been with us most of the time

An intense barrage of eighty-twos and seventy-sixes raked the outpost. Platt and Radford leapt toward foxholes.

The barrage ceased and Radford climbed from the foxhole. The adjacent emplacement belonged to an eighteen-year-old named Widmur. His bayonet was buried to the hilt in the solar plexus of a Chinese soldier. The enemy soldier was sideways on the ground. His cloth cap had fallen off his shaven head. Widmur was slumped forward across the parapet. A large hunk of shrapnel had severed his head. Only a strip of neck skin kept it from separating and rolling down the forward slope.

We would have moved up here in the darkness but we had no way of telling you we were coming, the lieutenant said as he emerged from his refuge. We didn't want to risk the chance of your platoon thinking it was under attack from the rear and firing on us.

Radford went ahead to his original foxhole and Platt got into one next to it. There are hardly enough of us left to do much damage. There are only three of us left alive out of my platoon and a machine-gun section. Fifty-five men are dead since we came up here twenty-four-hours ago. We're almost out of ammunition. We were just getting ready to pick up any ammo our dead men have left.

We could see from the MLR that you were getting a hell of a pounding.

We lost Lieutenant Baylor and six men when we attacked and kicked the defenders off this hill. Then we were overrun twice after we took over and started defending our ground. We were holding back a frontal assault at about midnight. A platoon broke through our right flank. We fought them off with bullets and bayonets. A platoon got through our left flank about an hour later. Each continuous assaults was suicidal. They didn't lift their supporting-arms fire when they attacked. They just kept sending in wave after wave while their mortar and artillery projectiles rained down on us and them.

A Marine squadron of Corsairs began to circle overhead. The fighter-bombers got into attack formation and one of the gull-winged giants peeled out of formation to dive toward Chinese territory. Radford said, There were only three of us left after they hit our right flank again and surrounded us. We took cover in that bunker there and closed the doorway and aperture with sandbags. We heard them swarming over the hill and shooting up any of our dead and wounded guys they could see in the moonlight. They jammed all of our radio channels. We finally got through to the company commander and asked him to lay in on our positions with artillery.

We heard you over our radio calling for VT on your position.

It wasn't long until we could hear overhead bursts from our 105s. After a couple of hours we figured there couldn't be anything alive up here above ground and told the skipper he could cease fire. The Chinese jammed our radio again after we came out of the bunker. We wouldn't have been overrun in the first place if we'd had proper artillery support to beat them back from their initial attacks.

Our artillery and mortars were firing a perimeter around the hill, Platt said.

They were firing around our perimeter of defense after the attacks started but it was too late. We knew the first assault was too big to handle. The Chinese have had our radio channels jammed practically all the time we've been up here. Shrapnel cut our phone line. We had it worked out with the company commander that we would fire green parachute flares in the direction of a large attack force. I've had experience with faulty parachute flares so I made sure that that we had plenty of extra flares. Every flare was a dud.

I have the same signal worked out with the skipper, Platt said. Green to signal for artillery overhead bursts over an approaching force. And red for cease fire.

You won't be able to count on them, Lieutenant...or your radio. The illumination hand grenades we threw out in front of us last night were all okay. Did you bring any illumination grenades?

We brought plenty of those. We also unspooled a phone line as we came out.

Three simultaneous rounds of seventy sixes overshot Razorback Ridge and exploded on the reverse slope behind the two commanders.

Your phone line probably won't last long in all the incoming barrages you'll get. My advice is to throw illumination grenades in the direction you need a concentration of artillery and mortar support. A cluster of eighty-twos exploded nearby. Radford and Platt ducked their heads below the parapet while dirt and pebbles showered down upon their helmets. When we get back to the MLR I'll tell the skipper your signal plans.

Good idea, Radford.

You might also get on your phone and tell the skipper your new signal plans before your line is cut, in case we don't get back to tell the captain.

We'll do that.

A barrage of eighty-twos peppered the crest of the hill. One exploded on the forward slope in front of the foxholes occupied by Radford and Platt. Dirt and rocks fell upon them.

Petersen and Stonosk appeared and got into nearby foxholes. Stonosk reported, The company is set up, Lieutenant. One dead and another wounded in the second squad. Tex got a direct hit from a seventy-six. Doc is fixin' up a small shrapnel wound on Smalvar's leg.

Anything special you have to pass on, Rad? Platt asked.

Keep an alert perimeter of defense. They'll surely try to get through your flanks and surround your company like they did with my platoon. One suicide attack after another. You’ll be in better shape to defend this hill. There’s too much ground up here for just a platoon to cover. Radford started to climb out of the foxhole, then paused. Something else, Lieutenant.

What?

Captain Grady will send out troops to take back our dead guys. I suggest taking them around that first bend in the trail down there. Then your company won’t hit litter bearers if they're firing in perimeter. Our guys need to be moved as soon as possible before they start rotting and incoming shells scatter bodies all over the place. I'll suggest to the captain that the litter bearers come at night to avoid sniper fire. These dead Chinese will be stinking soon.

We'll drag them down the reverse slope before the sun gets hot. Those on the forward slope, we'll try to roll them down the hill.

Good idea to collect all the enemy weapons and ammo you can, just in case you start running out like we did. I'll suggest to the skipper that litter bearers drop off ammo at the bend for you.

Thanks, Radford.

We could wait until night to go back to the MLR but with undependable communications to the company CP we won't know if a patrol or ambush has been sent on the trail from the MLR. It will probably be safer to go now in daylight and take a chance from Chinese gunners.. Copperhead, leave your radio here. We'll walk behind the ridge until we get to the bend. Then we'll start running. We'll have to move out fast before they can lay in on us out on that trail back to the MLR. Are you two guys ready to go?

Ready, Petersen said.

I'm good 'n' ready, Copperhead drawled.

The three survivors of the Second Platoon climbed out of their foxholes and kept low profile withdrawing to the reverse slope. Radford took the foremost position to head in the direction of the trail leading to the main line of resistance.

Airplane engines droned overhead. One of the gull-winged Corsairs headed in the direction of friendly territory. It left a wake of black smoke---its engine sputtering and coughing, from a ground-fire hit.

Platt's company had removed Rad's dead men from their foxholes and dragged the lifeless bodies a short distance down the reverse slope. The first one was unidentifiable. A large fragment from an exploding eighty-two had completely removed his face. The second one was even less identifiable because a high-velocity seventy-six had torn his head completely away and scattered bits in the distance.

A fire-team leader named Tomkins had a bloody bullet hole through his neck. One of his fire-team members lay nearby. His flak jacket was bloody and shredded in front from a Russian-made burp-gun blast at close range. Another man from the same fire team had died from a single rifle bullet hole through his left cheek.

Corporal Jaliker, who had been leader of the Second Squad, had crusted blood from a large gash in his back. An enemy approaching from the rear had plunged his bayonet while the corporal was emptying the clip of his M-1 rifle into a hoard of charging Chinese.

Platt's men had begun to drag dead Chinese bodies down the forward slope. It was important to get them away from foxholes on the ridge. They would soon rot in the hot sun and incoming artillery and mortars would sling stinking flesh all over the outpost. Many of the Chinese died from the Second Platoon's bullets, bayonets or grenades. Others died from their own artillery and mortars. Overhead bursts of 105mm proximity-fused shells that Rad had ordered onto his position shredded the remainder.

Rad veered his direction diagonally down the slope toward the bend in the trail. A screeching seventy-six skimmed the outpost ridge and exploded a distance down the reverse slope. Then a barrage raked the ridge. Someone from Platt’s company yelled, Corpsman! Corpsman!

A barrage of 61mm mortar projectiles exploded in almost a perimeter around Rad and his two men. They dived for the ground, where they lay in the shroud of acrid smoke drifting over them. Radford was the first to arise, then Petersen, followed by Copperhead. They walked rapidly. They reached the bend in the trail. Rad yelled, Move out! and started running. They had become exposed to enemy artillery and mortar spotters.

An 82mm mortar projectile exploded fifteen yards in the rice paddy to their left. Then three more came in rapid succession a bit closer.

Move out! Radford yelled and increased his speed.

Two rounds exploded on the path about twenty yards in front of them. Another two landed in the rice paddy on the right side of the trail.

Keep moving! Radford yelled.

The next barrage fell behind them. Chinese mortar crewmen then started dropping salvos on the trail well ahead of them, thinking the Marines had no choice but to run head-on into the exploding shells. Two projectiles exploded in rapid succession just a few paces in front of Radford. Then four rounds hit so close behind that the rice-paddy mud showered him. Only about a hundred yards to go and they'd be safer in friendly trenches. Keep moving! Radford yelled.

A seventy-six started sniping at the three survivors. The first projectile exploded on the trail twenty-five yards behind them. Another one hit ten yards closer. Radford assumed that the gunner would put shots on the trail ahead of him. Radford mustered all of his remaining energy and sprinted with hopes of out-running the menacing mountain gun.

Petersen and Copperhead ran as fast as possible to keep ahead of the eighty-two. Two 61mm mortars started dropping rounds in the space between Petersen and Fortenberry.

They cleared the first target area by some ten yards before a projectile landed. Both Marines sprinted to get across the second drop zone before the next one exploded. It landed about three yards to the left, showering them with rice-paddy mud. The eighty-two dropped a round ten yards behind. A large piece of shrapnel passed so close to Petersen's head that he felt wind from it fan his face.

They entered the MLR trench. Copperhead yelled. It's good to be home where it is safe. Somebody put on the joe pot.

His call was punctuated with an 82mm mortar round exploding in front of him and knocking him backwards to the ground. Rad...! Cop's hit!, Petersen yelled. Corpsman!

Radford reversed his direction and ran back to see Copperhead lying motionless on his back in a pool of blood. Pete, have stretcher bearers take him to the reverse slope for helicopter pickup when Doc finishes with him. I'll head up to the company CP and report to the skipper. Call for a chopper to pick Copperhead up on the reverse slope.

Right, Rad. Tell the captain I volunteer to go out tonight and help carry our dead men back.

Okay, Pete. I'll see you later on the hilltop, Radford said and headed toward a ravine to make his way to the reverse slope.

* * *

The company first sergeant looked up from his desk made from ammunition crates when Radford entered the bunker. Good to see you back, Rad.

I'm in one piece, Top. Is the skipper around?

Wait a sec and I'll see if he's busy. The six-striper disappeared into the rear section. He soon reappeared. He'll see you now, Rad.

Captain Grady and the company executive officer, Lieutenant Kruger, sat at a table. The captain said, Good to see you, Radford.

Sir, have you heard how Lieutenant Platt is doing on Razorback?

His phone line got cut and we can't make radio contact with him. The last we heard from you, there were only three of you left.

Sergeant Petersen and I are the only ones still walking. An eighty-two got Fortenberry as we arrived in the MLR trench. A chopper is being called to pick him up. I doubt that he'll be alive when he gets back to the field hospital.

What happened out there?

Radford repeated what he told Platt on Razorback Ridge. Then he related Platt's plan for signaling with illumination hand grenades. This isn't my first problem with ammunition and pyrotechnics, Radford concluded. I'd have brought back more of my platoon if we could have signaled to you in time for artillery support. We were lucky to get through on the radio when we asked you to call artillery down on us. Those proximity shells exploding overhead kept the Chinese from digging the remaining three of us out of that bunker.

I'll contact S-4 and tell them about all the faulty flares.

It's a shit of a deal if we can't get the gear to fight with. There's no evidence that the Chinese are having ammunition problems like we have. We'd be better off getting our supplies from the Russians. An approaching helicopter sounded. I suggested to Mister Platt that his company take our dead men back on the trail. That way the litter bearers can work at night to avoid sniper fire. They will be around a bend behind the hill so Lieutenant Platt's men won't hit them while firing in perimeter. I told him that you would probably send out extra ammo with the stretcher bearers.

Good thinking, Radford.

Sergeant Petersen and I volunteer our services to help bring our dead guys off Razorback.

Okay. You’ll be in charge of the detail.

Aye, aye, sir.

Rad left the CP and headed in the direction of the helicopter-landing pad. The bubble-domed Bell helicopter had picked up its cargo and risen off the ground. It leveled for a flight through deep valleys to transport the redheaded West Virginian to the closest naval field hospital. Rad met Petersen near the landing pad. Cop was completely unconscious when we strapped him onto the litter frame, Petersen reported. Not much chance he'll make it.

Chapter 2

K Company was in a battalion reserve camp awaiting replacement troops. Radford searched through his squad tents and found Petersen sitting alone with a can of Schlitz in his hand. Want a beer, Rad?

No thanks, Pete. The skipper loaned me his jeep. I thought we might go to Inchon and see if any of our troops are still on the hospital ship.

Petersen stood, drained his beer can and dropped it by into a nearby GI can. And see if ol' Copperhead is still alive.

Not much hope, Pete, but we'll see.

We can load up the captain's jeep with beer if nothing else---maybe some good Japanese suds.

They went to the jeep parked by the company commander's tent, and Radford got behind the steering wheel and turned the ignition key.

We've made a lot of these beer runs together, hunh, Rad.

We've gone back too many times to say goodbye to guys going home with parts of their bodies missing.

You could be sitting on a stateside base right now. You could be with your wife and kid.

I know that no one forced me to volunteer for a second trip over here. The skipper told me this morning that the battalion commander recommended me to go to the Officers Screening Course at Quantico.

Great! Congratulations! When do you go back?

I'm staying over here until my tour of duty finishes---unless I get sent back on a stretcher or in a box.

Maybe I'll get a chance to serve under you when you get brass on your shoulders.

There won't be any brass on my shoulders. I told the skipper that I'm getting out of the Corps when my enlistment ends.

What's this shit...you gettin' out of the Corps!!!?

I've had enough, Pete.

The Marine Corps will be missing out not getting you as an officer. After all them second lieutenants we lost we always felt a lot better off every time you took over.

It's nothing to be proud of losing nearly every man I took up on Razorback. Those men trusted me to get them back alive.

We all trusted you and I still do. Somebody's ass should be in a sling for all the casualties we've seen because of worthless ammo and pyrotechnics they send us. Like the time all our sixties were duds. That shitty bunch of machine-gun ammo that kept all our guns out of action. All the grenades that didn't go off---dud flares...and the times we had our ammo rationed. If the fuckin' civilians back home could come over and see how much the fuckin' Russians have been spendin' to keep the fuckin' Chinese and North Koreans in business. We haven't seen many fuckin' duds coming from their fuckin' side.

I should've come up with secondary signals in case of radio and flare failure.

That's like sayin' that you should have kept the Chinese from outnumbering us. Don't be hard on yourself, Rad. We sent up more than sixty flares and all of 'em duds. We knew there'd probably be some duds. So you ordered us to take extra flares. No one would've ever have guessed that there'd have been that many duds.

You're probably right about something, Pete. Maybe I should be home with my wife and little boy.

I've asked you before, Rad, but I never got a straight answer. Why did you volunteer for a second trip over here?

I wish I knew.

That's what you always say. Now gimme the straight skinny.

Radford contemplated a moment before speaking. It was a challenge, I suppose.

You didn't get enough challenge at the Frozen Chosen?

Radford accepted a Chesterfield from Petersen's extended pack. Petersen lit their cigarettes and Radford puffed pensively a moment before speaking. I'd come over here the first time with a misconception. We all go into battle the first time knowing it is going to be rough and dangerous but don't have any idea what it is really like. I got a good taste of war realities in my first battle. We got caught in a seventy-six barrage. I jumped into a foxhole and a guy jumped in on top of me. When he started to climb out a hunk of shrapnel almost cut him in half. Another strand of shrapnel went through his helmet and pinned it on his head. His brains and blood and stinking guts poured over my head and shoulders. That settled any misconceptions I had about the glory of war.

I found out what a stinkin' business it is the first time I was on the front lines. You remember that time. Our sixties were dropping about twenty-five yards out in front of our lines. They blew up dead North Korean bodies that had been in the sun a few days. A piece of rotten flesh flew through the air and 'pow' it slapped on my face and stuck there. I thought I'd puke my guts out while I pulled it off.

I remember that time. It was up near the North Koreans border.

It was my first time to smell war. You were back into it a second tour after finding out what it was all about.

I've volunteered to come back. Now that I'm here I must finish my tour of duty. We must win battles against a numerically superior enemy with an endless supply of ammunition. What more challenge could we have than to fight them off with our bare hands when we run out of ammunition? What greater challenge can a platoon leader have than to see platoon after platoon get slaughtered.

If it's gettin' to you, Rad, you could ask the skipper for a transfer back to the rear. You're the last person I'd want to lose sight of but you've had more than enough.

I wouldn't want to leave the Second Platoon. I still have an allegiance to my platoon. The two of us have to put another one together and try to get them through it. Also there's a personal challenge pending.

Petersen exhaled a cloud of smoke. I know what it is, Rad. You want to see if you've got it in you to stick it through a second tour.

Radford took a drag from his cigarette and tossed it out. You guessed it, Pete. As crazy as it is, that's the way it is.

Petersen viewed the landscape a moment and commented, A shit-for-nothin' country this place is. I wouldn't give two cents for the whole fuckin' works. Why can't we fight in some place like Paris? Like my brother in the last war. A war would really be worth fightin' with all that French pussy and booze all over the place.

I think Korea is a beautiful place, especially where we were up near the North Korean border. Remember the icicles in the trees?

Yeah. We've got 'em in Wisconsin, too.

I remember looking up at a mountain covered with icicles. It looked like a mountainous chandelier with the sun reflecting off it.

Petersen pulled out his cigarette pack and found it empty, and while opening a new pack declared, I still don't think much of this place.

Radford accepted a cigarette and light. War has ravaged the country. It must have been a peaceful place before the war.

I think it must've been dull.

Remember all those little houses we had to destroy?

We knocked 'em down to keep infiltrators from taking refuge in 'em.

I remember seeing a picture in one of them. A wedding picture. I often wonder what happened to that couple.

Petersen leaned back and braced his foot against the dashboard. Rad, sometimes I think you got a little Asiatic from your China duty. How long were you there, anyway?

Three years. Nineteen forty-six until nineteen forty-nine. Until the communist took over the mainland and we had to leave.

How much did it cost to get laid?

Radford laughed. Booze and women. That's always foremost in your mind, Pete. For a dollar you could stay out all night and get the complete works.

You could get drunk and fucked all night for a dollar?

And maybe a tattoo thrown in for good measure.

Petersen chuckled. Now I know why you liked the place. I wouldn't mind some duty like that.

It was a fantastic place. Peking is the most beautiful city I've ever seen. I was going to go back and enroll in Peking University after the end of my enlistment. I still might someday if China ever opens to us again.

I might see you there if you can still get screwed, blowed and tattooed for a buck.

They eventually crossed into the less-restricted zone where military-vehicle traffic mixed with buffalo carts. Petersen removed his gung-ho cap and scratched his blond head. Wonder how long it'll take these Koreans to catch up with the rest of the world?"

You mean to drive pickup trucks instead of buffalo carts?

Yeah. Somebody should tell 'em that it'll soon be 1953, not a hundred years ago.

Radford steered the jeep around an old man carrying an A frame loaded with hay.

Pete yawned. I'll betcha that old codger would like this jeep better than that 'A' frame.

Perhaps the world would be better off with A frames instead of jeeps and pickups.

You can have all the 'A' frames you want, Rad. I'll take wheels any day---and not them kind of wheels. Petersen pointed toward a buffalo cart in front of them.

Radford downshifted and carefully navigated the jeep around the cart. Well, in a few months you'll be seeing the last of the 'A' frames and water buffalo. You'll be in San Francisco lapping up the Twentieth Century. No more outmoded civilization for ol' Pete.

I didn't say I wouldn't come back. I'll go anywhere the Corps sends me. If I'm going to make a career of the Marine Corps I'll go wherever they want me to go. I don't have to like the places they send me to.

Radford contemplated old men and women and children toiling in a rice paddy before turning his eyes back on the road. Tell me, Pete, would you volunteer for another war like you volunteered to come over here?

Probably. That's what the Corps is all about, ain't it?

Would you volunteer for a second stint here?

Petersen pondered a moment. It depends. It depends, I guess, whether I had anything interestin' goin'. A good hot piece of ass or somethin' like that. If it got dull, I guess I'd be back. That's what being a Marine is all about---fightin' wars. I guess I'll get plenty of chance to do that if I stay in twenty years.

The Corps needs good NCO's like you, Pete.

What else is there to do? I could go back to Milwaukee and drive a beer truck like my old man. My uncle once offered me a job on his dairy farm in upstate Wisconsin. Can you see me hookin' up cows' tits to milkin' machines? Or I could go over to Detroit and work in a car plant screwin' bolts onto Chevvies or Fords. If I'm goin' to get myself involved with tits 'n' screwin' I'm goin' to be on top of some broad suckin' her tit and screwin' the ass off of her.

Stick with the Corps, Pete. It needs you.

Here you're givin' me a shippin'-over spiel and you're gettin' out for your challenge in civilian life. I think you're officer material. Look at all of them second lieutenants comin' out of college and going through Officer Candidate Class. You've got experience. You've got what it takes to lead men. That's what the Corps needs. Officers that men will follow anywhere. Through fire. Anywhere.

British military vehicles billowed dust ahead of them. Radford accelerated to overtake the dusty convoy.

So what are you goin' to do when you get out of the Corps, Rad?

Finish my education.

Then what?

"I don't know.

* * *

They arrived at Inchon in late afternoon. Radford parked. Children immediately surrounded the jeep. Radford and Petersen dismounted and started opening boxes of PX supplementary rations.

Dozens more children appeared as the two Marines tossed handsful of assorted sweets into the excited crowd. Wouldn't surprise me, Petersen said, if they don't start throwin' them Chuckles back at us.

They'll be glad to get anything we can give them. That's what war does to innocent people---little children. It displaces them. Takes them away from their ways of life. Splits up families. Starves them.

The crowd of children multiplied by the time the cardboard boxes emptied. Even the empty boxes disappeared into the crowd. Some of 'em never got nothin', Petersen commented as he climbed back into the front passenger seat.

Yeah. It would take more than a convoy of trucks to pass out enough for pacifying all of those who are without anything. I just hope that those who got left out this time get in the front row when the next jeep arrives.

Radford pressed the horn button and gently nudged the jeep through the throng of babbling dirty and ragged children and headed toward the port. He parked the vehicle by a US Navy warehouse. They got on the next landing craft going to the hospital ship, the USS Repose, anchored offshore.

* * *

Radford asked the duty petty officer for a roster of patients. Radford pointed to Fortenberry, Alan, PFC, USMC, and said, Pete. Look!

Cop's still alive! No shit! Let's find out where the fucker is.

Let's see if anymore of our troops are still on here. I imagine most of them are back in the States by now.

They couldn't find anymore members of the K Company on the lengthy roster. Let's find Copperhead, Radford said and handed the papers back to the duty P. O.

They entered the ward and stopped at the end of it to survey an all-too-familiar scene. Teenage men without arms or legs. Young faces covered by bandages. Young men bandaged from head to toe, looking like mummies. Radford went to the first bunk on the right, occupied by a teenage Marine with his leg in traction. Do you know where a guy named Fortenberry is?

The young man pointed toward the left-side row. Fourth sack down, Sarge.

Copperhead's platoon commander and platoon sergeant went to the foot of the bunk where he lay. He occupied only a portion of it. They looked at his surgically pruned body---arms amputated near the shoulders, only eight-inch stumps remaining for legs. An imposing bandage covered his eyes. Bandages swathed his body. The once-handsome boyish face was a solid red of Mercurochrome that disinfected deep lacerations. Then the stub of a body wriggled and Copperhead spoke. This itchin' is drivin' me crazy and I can't get my hands goin' to scratch myself.

Cop. Copperhead, Petersen spoke.

A southern voice drawled from the next bunk on Petersen's left. It won't do you no good to talk to him, Sarge. He's stone deaf and he's going to be that way the rest of his life. He can't see again neither.

Jeeez-us Christ, Petersen emitted a quavering hiss through clenched teeth.

Radford stepped around the foot of the bunk and stood beside it looking down at the swollen painted face. He couldn't have spoken, even if Copperhead could have heard. Radford's throat felt dry as a dehydrated mushroom. He worked his tongue over his palate to stimulate saliva and dampen his mouth and sank slowly in a daze to take a seat on the bedside. Then he placed a hand on each of Copperhead's shoulders.

Hello, Doc, Copperhead said with a beaming smile on his face. It hurts my face a little to grin but I'm just happy because you're comin' around to fix me up so I can get on my feet again.

An idea broke Radford's spell. He found an unmarred place on Copperhead's upper left arm. He pressed his finger on the flesh and slowly traced three stripes, then the rocker of a staff sergeant, which resulted in a blank expression from Copperhead. Radford, slower next time, repeated the exercise.

Feels like you're drawin' staff sergeant's stripes on my arm. I know that they ain't about to make me a staff sergeant. Not right off the bat, anyway. All I can think of is that you're Sergeant Radford comin' to see me. Ain't that right? Aw, I caint hear after whatever it was that blowed me up. Now we've gotta think of a way to talk to each other. Looks like I'll have to do the thinkin' since I caint hear you. Now lemme see. Copperhead laughed at his unintended pun. Yeah. Lemme see. I want to see. Until I can get them blinders off we've got to come up with another way of talkin' together. If you're Sergeant Radford, slap me on my right shoulder.

Radford extended his left hand and tapped Copperhead's right shoulder."

Rad! It really is you, Rad! Copperhead's beaming face took on a sober look. Maybe it ain't right while not on the battlefield to be informal and call you Rad. In case somebody might be listenin'. Slap me on the right shoulder if it's okay to call you Rad and the left shoulder if I can't. Slap me on top of my head if I ask you a question and you don't know the answer.

Radford tapped Copperhead's right shoulder.

By that time, Petersen had seated himself on the opposite side of the bed. He found an unscathed area on Copperhead's right arm and traced the three stripes of a buck sergeant.

Pete. Fuckin' hell. I know you must be Pete. You're the only buck sergeant I know. The only one I'm buddies with, anyway.

Petersen was excitedly slapping Copperhead's right shoulder.

I know I must be in a hospital because I've felt them nurses touchin' me. I know the difference when a woman lays a finger on me.

Damned right he does, came a voice from the bunk on Radford's side of the bed. Every time a nurse touches him, he gets a rip-roaring hard-on. Whatever it was that hit him didn't knock off his dick and balls.

Another voice sounded a couple of bunks down on the opposite side of the ward. I knew him in Camp Pendleton. He chased after about every waitress within three hundred miles of the base.

Copperhead's mutilated face flashed a joyous youthful grin. I'm glad you two guys are alive. I was afraid that one of them mortars or whatever hit me might have got you two guys, too.

Petersen lit a Chesterfield and poked the butt end between Copperhead's lips. He sucked greedily and inhaled, exhaled and said, Boy that really tastes good. It's the first smoke I've had since gittin' myself put in the hospital.

Petersen extended the cigarette again.

Copperhead exhaled and asked, Got a new platoon yet, Rad?

Rad tapped, No.

Gittin' one?

Yes.

Got a new lieutenant?

No.

Then that means you're still in command. How about holdin' a squad-leader spot open for me? I got kind've use to bein' a squad leader that time everybody in my squad but me got wiped out.

Just then someone said something about it being dinnertime. Might as well go and get some chow, Radford said. Rad slowly extended his hand to Copperhead's right shoulder. Instead of tapping, he gripped the top of his shoulder for at least a minute.

Petersen asked as they stood, How do we say goodbye to him?

Radford didn't speak. He gazed down at Copperhead's grinning face several seconds, then leaned forward to grip the tops of both shoulders. He released his grip and stepped aside to let Petersen repeat his performance. Then they left Copperhead babbling about Razorback, unaware that his visitors had said goodbye.

* * *

Radford and Petersen went through the mess line without speaking, then took seats beside each other. Petersen finally broke their muteness. Rad, do you think Cop really believes what he's sayin' about going back up?

No one could ever accuse Copperhead of being pessimistic.

"Yeah. Always crackin' a joke even in the thick of it. I've seen him crackin' jokes when all hell was breakin' loose. He made the whole squad laugh no matter how rough it got.

Anyway, I'm glad that Cop didn't lose his dick and balls. If he's still able to screw he ain't lost everything. Maybe there's a broad who'll do it to him. He has a steady girlfriend back home. Maybe she'll do it for him. Maybe she'll even marry him.

Let's hope, Radford said.

* * *

Radford announced their reappearance in the ward by clapping both of Copperhead's shoulders.

Copperhead beamed. I wondered where you guys went. All of a sudden y'all didn't seem to be here anymore. I didn't know you was sayin' goodbye. Whadya say we always say hello and goodbye like you just done when you got back? Where'd you fuckers... I mean where'd you two fine sergeants go? Betcha you went out and had a beer. Come here, Pete, and lemme smell your breath.

Petersen blew his breath on Copperhead's painted face.

Fuckin' fried liver. Fuckin' liver 'n' onions. Why didn't you blow some beer fumes in my mouth? Boy, what I wouldn't give for a can of suds. There's nothin' I hate more than liver 'n' onions. My old lady was always cookin' liver 'n' onions. Every time she fried 'em I'd run outta the house so I couldn't smell 'em. Now that you've stunk me up, Pete, the least you can do is gimme a butt to take the shitty smell away.

Petersen lit a Chesterfield and poked it between Copperhead's smiling lips.

Copperhead asked them countless questions---whether he was in a field hospital or on the Repose. If they were going out to git shit-faced drunk and reminding them to bring him some suds when they came back. Never did he ask if he'd ever walk, use his hands, see and hear again.

Radford finally left to arrange a night's berthing aboard the hospital ship. He returned shortly to announce, Looks like all the bunks are full. Even in the crews' compartments in the fo'c's'le.

We'll have to sleep in a whorehouse, Petersen chuckled.

The ward doctor and a nurse came in. Visitors had to leave. Radford and Petersen each clapped goodbye on Copperhead's shoulders and turned to leave.

And don't forget to bring me back a big piece of pussy, Copperhead called in a loud voice.

As Petersen passed the blushing young nurse, he turned and said, Now, ma'am, don't you wash his mouth out with soap. Do it with sick-bay alcohol.

The nurse, still blushing, said, I'll try to remember that, Sergeant.

* * *

They trotted down the gangway and got into a landing craft. They landed and were soon drinking Korean whiskey, with an oily substance floating on top, and black-market American and Japanese beer. American soldiers and sailors filled the small bar. This Korean booze is shit-tastin' stuff, Petersen groaned as he dumped some of the whiskey into his beer.

Radford was silent as he steadily sipped the foul-tasting whiskey and chased it with Japanese beer.

Don't get too drunk on me, Rad. We've still got a whorehouse to go to.

You go to the whorehouse, Pete. I think I'll stick here. I'll meet you back here.

I'm not goin' for a short-time piece. I'm goin' to stay all night.

Radford was drunk in a couple of hours. Tears streamed from his eyes. I don't want to go back to see Copperhead tomorrow. What can I say if he asks me if he'll see again? Or hear? Or walk? God almighty. How many more will be like him? How many more brand-new platoons will we have to take up for a blood bath? Our replacements will arrive in a few days. Young faces will get shot off or splattered with shell fragments. Young men will lose their arms…legs…eyes. How many more will be like Copperhead? Look at Copperhead---nineteen years old. Completely helpless the rest of his life. Copperhead is going to get old in a basket, Pete.

Petersen laid his hand on Radford's shoulder and shook him gently. Come on, buddy, let's go out and get some fresh air.

I want to stay here, Pete. I want another beer.

Petersen stood. C'm'on, Rad. A walk to the next bar will do both of us good. He leaned over and helped Radford get to a wobbly stance.

Petersen struggled with his staggering leader and got him out of the crowded bar. How far is it to the next bar, Pete?

Not far, Rad.

Petersen bypassed the bars and headed for the nearest brothel. Radford was hardly able to stand by the time they arrived. I want a beer, Radford insisted when they entered the building.

They went into a room where prostitutes waited for customers. Which one do you want, Rad? Petersen asked.

I want a beer.

Petersen turned to the madam. "Mamasan. Where is a room I can put him in?"

She didn't know enough English to understand his question. Petersen took the initiative, himself, and guided Radford into a room to deposit him on a sleeping mat. Then he removed Radford's pistol belt and wallet and returned to the viewing salon. He pointed toward a woman with gold teeth. You, with my friend. He pointed in the direction of where he had put his leader. Then he pointed toward another woman. You come with me. He jabbed his chest with his forefinger. Long-time fuck. All night, Petersen told the madam and paid her before his prostitute escorted him off to a room.

* * *

Next morning Petersen found Radford where he had left him on the sleeping mat and still completely dressed. He pushed his foot against Radford's boot to awaken him. Rad! Wake up.

Radford mumbled something and opened his eyes to stare up at Petersen. Where are we?

Don't you know where we are? We're in a cathouse.

Radford got to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. How'd we get here?"

I damned near had to carry you. This ain't the best whorehouse in Inchon but it's the closest one to the ship. I didn't want to drag you all the way across town. It doesn't look like you got your wick dipped, anyway.

Radford got to a standing position and Petersen handed him his holstered forty-five and wallet. Let's make a move and find a cup of joe. He looked at his watch. "We should get to the Repose in time for chow. I need a few strong cups of mud."

* * *

After going through the breakfast queue and finding seats together at a table, Petersen said, "That whore I fucked must've eaten a bushel of kimchi. She must've eaten two bushels of the stuff. There was at least a bushel of garlic in it. Her breath almost knocked me out while I fucked her. Maybe after we see Cop we can go to a really first-class whorehouse almost across town. Hartman and I found it the last time we came down here. We could have a short time before we go back up. They must make 'em be careful about what they eat. I didn't smell any garlic on the breath of the one I banged over there."

They went back to the ward and greeted Copperhead. It sure is good to see you two guys again, Copperhead grinned broadly. I can't really see you but I'm glad you came back. I'll sure be glad to get these blinders off so I can really see you when you visit me again. Are you going back up today?

Radford tapped, Yes, on Copperhead's right shoulder.

Will you come back to see me again?

Radford tapped, I don't know, on top of Copperhead's head.

You will if you can, won't you?

Yes.

Both of you will come back, if you can?

Yes.

Rad. I'd like for you or Pete to do me a big favor. If it ain't too much trouble I'd like for you to write to my folks. Tell 'em I'm laid up but I'll be back on my feet in no time. Maybe it's best that you write to my sister, Joyce. I can give you her address if you've got a pencil and paper handy. Say yes when you're ready.

Radford withdrew a pen and notebook from his dungaree jacket pocket and tapped, Yes.

After dictating to Radford, he added, I've got two sisters but me and Joyce was always a lot closer than I was to Melba. Would you tell Joyce to tell Adele that I'll be okay? Adele's my girlfriend back home. We're supposed to git married when I git back.

Radford tapped, Yes, then made a note of the fiancee's name.

Copperhead rambled on about Razorback, the patrols they'd been on together, the booze-ups he and Petersen had together while back in reserves, about the Japanese brothels he'd been in on the way to Korea, what he wanted to do when he got home.

After a while Radford turned toward Petersen. We better shove off so it won't be too late when we get back.

Radford squeezed goodbye on both of Copperhead's shoulders. Then Petersen took his turn.

You guys ain't leavin' me now, are you?

Petersen tapped, Yes.

You'll be back if you can?

Yes.

Then a somber look came upon Copperhead's marred face. Tell me somethin', Rad. or Pete. I'd like to know the truth. He hesitated a moment and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His face grimaced. Then he forced a smile and blurted, Aw, shit. I forgot what I was goin' to say. Maybe I'll think of it the next time you come to see me.

Petersen said goodbye again, this time with a harder shoulder squeeze. Radford stepped back to Copperhead's bedside and looked sadly down at his splotched youthful face, then bent over and squeezed his shoulders as a final goodbye.

I'll see you guys later. Maybe I really will see you next time you come. I might even be up walkin' around by then. Maybe they'll let me go ashore so we can slurp up a few suds together. Maybe even go out and look for some Korean pussy.

The two NCOs started to leave. The voice of Copperhead's friend across the ward sounded. That's no bullshit what he was saying about Japanese whorehouses. He must have checked out every one of them in Kobe the three days our ship was there.

Petersen turned and answered, I can tell you somethin'. He was a helluva a good combat man.

I'll second that, Radford added and took the lead going out of the ward.

Petersen said going down the gangway, Let's go across town for our short-time.

You can go, Pete. Drop me off at that warehouse where my old China buddy works. I'll see if he can rustle up some Japanese beer for us. I think I'll need something to wet my throat on that dusty road going back. Don't stay too long or we won’t make it back up to battalion before dark.

* * *

Radford was well on his way toward intoxication by the time Petersen returned. They loaded crates of Kirin in the back seat. Radford took a seat on the passenger side with an open liter of beer in his hand. Might as well flush the garlic fumes out of your mouth, he said and passed the Kirin to Petersen.

Petersen took three big drinks before handing the bottle back and turning the ignition key. "They don't eat kimchi at that cathouse. I never got one whiff of garlic in that place."

Radford emptied the bottle, turned around with a tire tool and tore the top off a crate to withdraw another liter and open it. He handed it to Petersen, who sucked out a third of it before returning the bottle. Rad, do you think Cop was about to ask us if he'd ever be okay?

That's exactly what I think he started to ask. I guess he'll never ask the question again. I doubt that he can bear to have his hopes squashed for seeing his girlfriend...for doing what he wants to do. If he never asks, no one can dismantle his hopes.

Wonder if that girlfriend of his will ever have anything to do with him again?

We can only hope, Pete.

Shit! Petersen threw out his half-smoked cigarette. "The poor son of a bitch can't even jerk himself off."

Chapter 3

Copperhead's parents accepted a Veterans Administration stipend to care for their son at home.

Copperhead knew he had returned home because of the too-often smell of liver and onions. Otherwise, his darkened and silent world wasn't at first much different from naval hospitals, then the Bluefield Veterans Hospital.

He choked down his least-favored food three days within a week and finally complained, Momma, don't I ever get nothin' to eat but liver 'n' onions?

His mother returned with the half-finished meal to the kitchen. His father sat dressed in overalls and sleeveless undershirt and was drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon from a can. She put the plate on the table and commented, Well, Clyde, it looks like that boy is gittin to be hisself again. He's done started complainin' about what I'm feedin' him.

I'll tell ye somethin', Elsie, you caint let him git by with any sassy stuff. After bein' in the Marines and gittin' them medals he's liable to git more smart-alecky than he was before. We've gotta lurn him who's boss before he tries to git the best of us. Next time he smarts off, give him a good smack across the jaws. If that don't lurn him, let me know and I'll straighten him out right fast. He'll think he's been through another war by the time I'm through with him.

* * *

Copperhead got liver and onions again next day. He swallowed all he could and said, Momma, I ain't very hungry today. The following meal, he got leftovers from his lunch. Momma, I just can't eat another bite of liver and onions. I can get it down sometime but not always.

Which resulted in a smart slap across his scarred face.

Copperhead lay stunned, not so much from the physical impact of the slap but from the humiliation of being defenseless.

His mother returned to the kitchen with the plate of hardly-touched food. Her husband was chasing whiskey with Pabst. He smarted off again and I give him a good one like ye said.

Clyde said, "If it don't lurn him