CHRISTMAS IN JULY
Dedicated to all Thunderbirds, past, present, and future.

Personal Histories of Christmas Hill, July 1953,
by those who were there:
Richard Anderson, Andrew (Andy) Antippas, Paul Baril, Harold Brown,
O. Doyle Butler, Kenneth Cook, Samuel F. (Sam) Gann, James M.(Jim) Hein,
Harris Hollin, Raymond Kalil, John McLain, Gene McGinnis,
Donald W.(Hank) Nicol, William (Bill) Oelkers, Gunnar (Guns) Osterberg, Wayne Pelkey,
Richard (Dick, or Roadie) Rode, Dr. Robert (Dr. Bob) Schorr, W. Reece Smith, Herbert (Herb) Stern, and others.
All proud of having been Thunderbirds,
members of the 45th Infantry Division.

Edited and partly written by Hank Nicol

Thanks to Professors Delores McBroome and Jason Knirk of the History Department of Humboldt State University and a special thanks to Riley Quarles and Andrea Arbogast of the Courseware Development Center of HSU, without whom this would never have been published.

Please send comments, corrections, and criticisms to <muddog@northcoast.com>

PREFACE

Christmas in July is our tribute to our fallen comrades of the U.S. 45th Infantry Division, the U.S. 5th Regimental Combat Team, and the Philippine 14th Battalion Combat Team who fought at Christmas Hill, Outpost Queen, Outpost Texas and M-1 Ridge during the last month of the Korean War. Their military memories also include how they arrived at Christmas (not by sleigh) and something of life at Camp George after the battle.

Many of us have tried to forget our troubled war time memories for 48 years, then struggled during the last two to remember and compile the details for their families, for other veterans, and for future generations.

Wayne Pelkey

"For years people asked me if I owned any property. The only property I felt
I owned was on Christmas Hill." Reece Smith¹

CHAPTER I
GETTING THERE

I still feel a bit guilty about the Korean War, not because I didn't get into it, but because I took so long. In 1948, during the Berlin Blockade, I dodged the draft by joining the army. Anyone caught by selective service had to serve two years, but an 18-year-old could enlist for only one. After doing my year as a truck driver in the 2d Armored Division, I went back to college and spent one evening a week training with a reserve Transportation Truck Company where I was promoted to corporal. I sewed on two teeny purple-on-yellow stripes because the regular size chevrons had been eliminated along with the three stripe buck-sergeant rank. This was done along with other things tending to destroy any esprit d'corps in the "New Army." I was at summer camp having a blast driving a DUKW, an amphibious truck around the Sacrament River Delta when North Korea invaded South Korea. As an active reservist, I was in no danger of being called up. In the fall I enrolled in San Francisco State to begin my junior year and transferred to a reserve artillery battalion. I served on the crew of a 105 mm howitzer one weekend a month at the Presidio and for two weeks' summer training at Camp Cook.

P. G. Wodehouse wrote of a young lion tamer who, upon entering the cage the first time, was so nervous he forgot everything he had learned in correspondence school. I don't usually bandy this about, but I was commissioned an officer and gentleman through the Series 10 mail order course--OCS by other means. I had become interested in artillery, but the only opening was infantry. Every week or so the army mailed a lesson, and I sent back the completed work sheet. After three or four months I was called before a panel of officers. I made a hash of the interview, but they passed me. Second Lieutenants are supposed to be stupid. I had lost all interest in college, and, looking back at some of my classes, I remember why. The army at its worst was never as boring as Economics 1A, and I volunteered for active duty.

At Camp Roberts, California I learned the advantages of a commission. Being Officer of the Day beats the hell out of walking post, and someone else shined my boots. I learned the disadvantages later. I was assigned to a basic training company but was hospitalized with pneumonia caught while watching trainees crawl through the mud. None of them got sick. I was transferred to Camp Cook to help out with the newly activated 44th Division of the Illinois National Guard. After this third round of basic training I was sent to Fort Benning, known as "Benning's School for Boys," to learn how to be a real second lieutenant. The Associate Infantry Company Officers' Course (AICOC) was basically the same as Officer Candidate School except that the students were already officers and the chicken shit was absent.

At Fort Benning I learned that, in an artillery duel, our artillery shoots at their infantry, and their artillery shoots at our infantry; that ponton bridges are spelled without a double "o;" and that the inside of a tank is a short route to claustrophobia. After second lieutenant school, I hate to admit this, I volunteered for Korea.

Along the way I was pulled out of the pipeline and sent to Alameda Naval Air Station. A captain and I shared a room in the officers' mess. The accommodations were about what one on you expect in a cheap motel, but navy food was for hash house gourmets. The other member of our group was a PFC. I asked how he fared, and he reported getting the same great food but with less choice.

The morning after our arrival I was hooked up to a polygraph machine. Why? Because the army was about to give me top secret information, and had no time to go through the usual FBI check. I also had to swear, for the severalth time, that I had not been a member of any of a whole page of organizations. Since I had never joined anything but the Boy Scouts and the army, I did that with an annoyed, but easy, conscience. This time I was not asked about my other political liability. When I was born my father was not an American citizen. Those Canadians can be subversive! Anyway, I was in, and, with the other two, I reported to class in a cold concrete building with horrible acoustics--for security, I suppose.

This class went a step further than the course in Escape and Evasion given to everyone going through Stoneman. I was to learn a code to communicate with in case I neither escaped nor evaded. The code was dependent on memorizing a passage with a lot of long words, the basis for an unbreakable, ever-changing code. It was a complicated setup with the real message was hidden in innocuous letters to a mythical stateside girlfriend. At the time I took all this stuff seriously, though I sincerely did not want to become a POW. I kept up the letters for a while, but, after a few weeks of getting by on five hours sleep and C-rations, I became confused and could neither code nor decode. And how was I supposed to keep anyone else from learning what I was doing in a bunker much less a POW camp. I was wounded on 4 March 1953 and sent to a hospital in Japan. On my return to Korea I made no attempt to carry on the top secret project. I don't suppose I'll wind up in the Leavenworth Stockade for revealing a top secret matter of 50 years past. I was never debriefed, and everyone involved is probably dead or retired. The whole idea was dumb, but somebody might be able to use it in a B movie.

As the troopship, MSTS (Marine Sea Transport Service) General A. W. Brewster, departed Fort Mason, the band played "So Long, It's Been Good To Know You." Two weeks later I landed at Yokohama where the band played "If I Knew You Were Coming, I'd Have Baked a Cake." At Camp Drake the Quartermaster issued me a duffel bag of STUFF, and Ordnance gave me a carbine. With a disorganized a mob not much resembling an army, I was pushed and prodded toward a train. Since it was undignified for an officer, even a second lieutenant, to carry his own gear. I slung the carbine over my shoulder and handed the heavy bag to a Japanese porter, all five feet of him. Since I had no Japanese money, I was supposed to tip him a pack of cigarettes. After he staggered to the train with that load, I gave him two packs--Lucky Strikes--the brand with the rising sun on the label. Back in Yokohama I boarded another ship for the voyage through the romantically scenic Inland Sea. I saw nothing but mounds of fog.

* * *

Late one afternoon in Seattle, Wayne Pelkey boarded a troopship with one aft stack. That night MSTS Marine Adder sailed for Yokohama.

During the night, the gentle night, the rocking and rolling got many stomachs rolling and a lot of upchucking. The stench was so bad that early in the morning I sneaked up topside to see the big Pacific. Lo and behold we were still tied up to the dock! I then knew that seasickness was mind over matter and it never hit me for the 17 day trip over. I selected a top bunk as I was not a big guy and was pretty agile. The big black guy right beneath me was sick from day one and never ate except for some fruit I took back to him, and he never showered once. His smell got to me around the fifth day to the point that one night while he groaned and slept I sprinkled a half bottle of Old Spice shaving lotion on him. The Old Spice spread a real pungent odor around the area, and guys started hollering and cursing. I sneaked topside and spent the night lying under the anchor winch on the bow where the ride was really rough, but at least there was fresh air. During the night, my friend sprinkled with "holy water" got a forced trip to the shower courtesy of The Maritime Service. From that day to today, I cannot tolerate the smell of Old Spice! Seventeen days later we disembarked at Yokohama and were trucked to Camp Drake a former Japanese Naval officer training facility. I remember sleeping in my "fart sack" (that was among the new issue of fatigues, knapsack etc.) on a stair landing as there were not enough cots to accommodate all of us. The next day we received our issue of "idiot sticks," M-1 Garands, all nicely covered with a thick coating of cosmoline that we had to clean in a tank of carbon tet (now banned for use because of toxic fumes) Mine only had 5 serial numbers which indicated it was a pre 1941 version, and the bayonet looked like someone had charged a tank with it! I thought then, I hope my life never depends on this obsolete weapon not as good as my 30/30 hunting rifle left at home.

The next day we boarded a train and headed for somewhere.

The damn army never gave us any information of what was going on but did warn us not to stick our arms out as there was only a foot or so between outgoing or oncoming cars. Being a curious guy, while walking between cars, I picked up a broom and stuck the handle out half way and POP a passing train broke the stick. Well, at least that was the first correct information we received, and I hollered to guys "Keep your arms in or you will lose them". We unloaded at a wharf, were issued a box of rations and boarded LSTs for a rough, standing up, overnight ride to Korea. A Navy guy told us we had left Sasebo and were enroute to Pusan. We had around 200 on board and if you had to urinate it was on the floor where it would flow to a sump along with the sea water flying in over the bow; with the bouncing ride I'm sure many rear pockets were inadvertent latrines!²

Kenneth Cook remembers pulling KP "for eighteen days straight while aboard the MSTS Marine Serpent s from San Francisco to Japan, and it was not my work of choice."³

As an officer, I was put in charge of a KP detail on the MSTS General Brewster. Being in dread of mal de mer, I took a couple of seasickness pills--maybe more than a couple--because I became a zombie. The one desirable effect--I was relieved of my "command," and I retired to my bunk.

Landing at Pusan was especially welcomed by soldier-passengers who had been seasick. Wayne Pelkey's group was hurried to a waiting train with blacked out windows. Its steam engine puffed impatiently.

We were then told we were being "expedited" to a repo center in Chunchon where we would be assigned to front line duty. "Where the hell is Chunchon?" many asked, but we heard no answers. We soon got an idea of something more than a "Police Action" when we saw the devastated towns and cities with people begging at every stop; especially little kids with missing arms or legs who we gave most of our box lunches to. I kept my little camera busy while I saw yards of wrecked trains and wrecked army vehicles. Of particular note were ambulances with bullet riddled red crosses. The train moved slowly through many tunnels, and the coal smoke caused us all to cough with burning and running eyes and hold scarfs over our face in attempt to filter out the acidic smoke. After 22 hours on this torturous ride, we happily arrived at Chunchon for a night in squad tents and fresh air. The night was interrupted with the sound of artillery in the distance so we knew we would soon become front liners. You know most of us at that point were looking forward to it like going to our kid's western movies back home. Boy, would we soon regret that feeling!⁴

* * *

My first sight of Korea was not encouraging--brown hills with patches of dirty snow behind the scruffy port of Pusan. The sight of sunken ships worried me, but I felt better after someone informed me they were floating dry docks. Who knows? He might have been right. Here again the band played "If I Knew You Were Coming, I'd Have Baked a Cake," Followed by the "Saint Louis Blues March," standard to every army band since Glenn Miller. Orders were passed to debark carrying weapons at sling arms, muzzle down. "Why?" I asked.
"Because we are entering a friendly country."
"Huh?"

The disembarking troops marched, straggled rather, to a railway platform. A flight of jet fighters roaring low overhead made me a little nervous. "Oh," somebody said, "They're just making passes so the antiaircraft gunners can have sighting practice."

Every car was jammed with soldiers, all with excess baggage. The car seats were unpadded wood that even the poverty-ridden inhabitants of Mujikistan would have considered uncomfortable. I knew this trip would take a while so I made a plan. I figured I would crawl under the seat and sleep on the floor--and do it before anyone else got the idea. The kitchen in the rear car was a tub of hot water in which cans of C-rations had been dumped. Dinner was ham and limas where I sat. My scheme for a night's rest went sayonada when someone in the crush spilled a can of corned beef hash on the floor.

The restroom was a slot latrine open to the tracks. Green GIs, unused to squat toilets, turned it into a stinking mess before we reached Taegu. The train rattled and swayed--but not for long. For no obvious reason, it stopped in the midst of dry, frozen rice fields. After an indeterminate wait, it shook out and again crawled north. It stopped again and again, and, while waiting in the dark, I watched large fires burning within a mile of the right-of-way. According to rumor, the fires were set by guerrillas--to what purpose no one could explain. I saw more fires along the way and wondered what would happen if guerrillas attacked the train. Every man aboard carried a weapon, but, as far as I knew, the only ammunition was the box of .45 auto rim for the Smith and Wesson revolver buried in my duffel bag. In the unheated train I wrapped up as best I could and, finally, fell asleep on a bench hard as a first sergeant's heart. I awoke in the blacked-out car with two blocks of wood inside my boots. I stomped around until I once more felt feet, but I slept no more. When cold, winter daylight came, I looked out and saw rows of train wheels beside the track. This was not encouraging, and, when we pulled through the suburbs of Seoul, I looked in vain for an intact roof.
Nineteen hours after leaving Pusan I disembarked in Yongdong-po. There I was assigned to the 45th Division and, with several other second lieutenants, rode in back of a 6 X 6 truck on to Division Rear at Chunchon.

* * *

Kenneth Cook remembers training at Chunchon as "a week of pretending to be an infantry squad wandering around the countryside and seeing a couple of dugouts resembling CCF foxholes.... We were addressed by General Ginder who wished us well and gave us a general order to never fire unless we knew for sure who we were firing at."⁵

This should have been taken to heart. A replacement to Baker Company, 179th Infantry, in his first night on the MLR, fired into a patrol returning to the trench on Heartbreak Ridge. The armor piercing round killed the patrol leader and wounded two men following.

The Chunchon Repo Depot, as Wayne Pelkey remembers it, "was set up with squad tents and a few Quonset huts and ringed with barbed wire fences to separate us from the civilian refugees in the area."⁶

Kenneth Cook could cross an ocean, but he couldn't get away from KP. At Chunchon, he performed his Kitchen Police duties, but, at the end of the day, he was told to stay on while all the other KPs were dismissed by the cook.

I asked him what he wanted, and he replied "I'm going to bake a cake and I want you to clean up after me." I asked the Corporal if the cake would be served to the troops the next day and he said " No, it's for me. I told him if it was for the men I would be glad to do it, but if it was for him he could clean up his own mess and headed for the door. He called me back and ordered me to peel potatoes. He got out a sack of potatoes and handed me a paring knife and told me to get busy. I asked if he was going to stay there with me because when he left I was leaving as well. He uttered a few choice words and told me to go. That was my last time ever to pull KP.⁷

Gunnar Osterberg remembers himself as an unsophisticated bleeding heart liberal from a family of strong Democrats.

I had big time empathy for all mankind and deep feelings for the downtrodden. On my way to the front lines, I was in a replacement depot compound surrounded by a fence with barbed wire on the top. One day after lunch I was standing in line to empty the slop from my mess kit into a garbage can. After dumping food scraps everyone washed his mess kit in the boiling water in another garbage can. This slop can was nearly filled with everyone's food throwaways.

Guards on the inside of the fence walked post. Out of nowhere a little Korean kid slipped under the fence and ran to the slop barrel with a small coffee can in his hand. The guards hollered, but the kid continued on until he reached the slop can. With one swoop, he dipped his coffee can into the slop and was on his way back to the hole in the fence. One of the guards picked up a rock and threw it at the kid hitting him squarely on the head. The kid went ass over tea kettle spewing his slop and himself all over the ground. He crawled through the hole under the fence to freedom with his head bleeding badly. We all screamed at the GI guard who had done this terrible and vicious act to a poor starving, defenseless kid. I personally wanted to kill the guard right there. Next day I was again on my way to the front lines, but I never forgot that experience.

One year later I thought back on that experience, and I believe Korea had changed me to a hard nose who saw things differently and more darkly. I hate to say it, but I may have pulled for the guard under the same circumstances one year later. I have mellowed quite a bit, and I think if that little Korean kid was one of my three grandsons, how horrible I would feel. I thank God that my grandsons have never had to scoop slop out of a garbage can, or been starving, or maimed by some occupying troops. It only took twelve months in Korea for me to go through my metamorphic experience from a bleeding heart to a full fledged ill-willed person. At age seventy, I have lost most of my hateful feelings, but I will never lose the sadness of seeing young children suffer in any way.⁸

Edward R (Dick) Rode also remembers kids trying to get food from slop cans.

They tied the cans to a long stick, reached through the fence, scooped up a can full, and brought it back through the fence. The cans had holes punched in the bottom to let the liquid drain out. I can only imagine what was in a can when it drained: a mix of cold cereal, eggs and soggy bread all soaked in coffee, juice, and milk. The MPs periodically chased them from the fence, but I think they were under orders, and their attempts were halfhearted. What a terrible way to live. Those slop cans were three quarters full of liquid, and there couldn't be much food left after the can drained.⁹

Kenneth Cook remembers kids selling souvenirs outside the fence. They had learned GI English "as anyone who tried to bargain them down learned."¹⁰ But while on a training patrol he came across a small boy on his parents farm. He seemed well fed, and he loved being around GI's. He was wearing a Combat Infantryman Badge on his jacket. "Apparently some GI had given it to him, and he was really thrilled to have his picture taken holding the M1 rifle."¹¹

Dick Rode remembers PFC Vaclav Zengler, medic in Able Company, 179th who had traveled a long, winding road to Korea.

In 1948 Vaclav, a Czech, was working in a field near the German border and walked into the woods to take a leak. When he returned to the field, a Commie patrol thought he was trying to sneak into Czechoslovakia and chased him out. He decided he was better off by listening to them and followed orders. He made his way to France where he joined the Foreign Legion. After fighting in Indo China with paratroopers who, on long patrols, jumped into the jungle and worked back to base camp, he rose to the rank equivalent to first sergeant. He was discharged in 1951, came to America, and joined the US Army to earn citizenship papers. He had not been a medic in the French Army but became one in ours.¹²

Wayne Pelkey tells of the repo depo's quick processing of replacements in three to five days.

Green replacements were assigned to positions where there was a need resulting either from casualties or the rotation system. When I was there, there was a lack of briefing as to what was going on and where the action was taking place despite artillery noise in the distance; not even a description of Korea nor any information on the past, current or future; pure bedlam with names sorted out with assignment by MOS number and filling a need; only one hour on firing range to ensure "the idiot sticks" were free of cosmoline and in firing order. We were issued winter liners for sleeping bags, field jackets and a olive drab (OD) wool Balaclava to wear under our helmet liners. Then a few hot meals prior to a posted roster of names to report to a line of trucks with a sign of division, regiment, battalion and company of which we were to load per our posted roster. Our group was primarily assigned to the 45th Division, with a smaller number to 40th Division and 5th Regimental Combat Team . We were issued a box of K rations and 10 clips of M1 ammo. We were told not to load one in the magazine but keep them in our cartridge belts only (but most of us loaded after hearing the artillery), and I remember loading on truck, and a Korean tried to take my place on the bench and uttered some loud words in Korean and made dirty gestures and to me. Another Korean, with short legs who I had just given a boost to get up the tailgate, went over and kicked the noisy one in the shins and pulled him from the seat gesturing for me to take the seat; from that point on I had a favorite KATUSA and one who I did not like. It is strange that both were killed on Queen; the favorite was in my squad and the other in another platoon.¹³

A KATUSA (Korean Augmentation to United States Army) had a tough time understanding Americans. Wayne Pelkey showed one "an old Saturday Evening Post with pictures of a backyard BBQ and a nice modern bathroom. He said, ‘GI's toksan michingay; (much crazy) eat outdoors, shit in house."¹⁴

Wayne believes the replacement depot was poorly organized and green troops did not have essential briefing before going on line.

Can you imagine a football team never given the plays or going in a huddle? Another big goof of our military planners. The most disgusting part was General P. D. Ginder's pep talk about keeping our rifles clean, conserving ammunition, prepare to fix bayonets if needed. He followed by leading a ‘Song of the Thunderbirds.' He sounded half potted and could not sing worth a tinkers dam so that initially gave me a bad impression of The Thunderbirds; not a good start!¹⁵

We were issued winter field jacket liners, sleeping bags and an extra blanket. The next day we went to a shooting range to try our newly issued M1's but never had the opportunity to sight them in; that was not a confidence builder. We had our names called to report to a line of trucks with a sign on each indicating the company of the 180th regiment of the Thunderbird Division (I never previously had heard of it). The six of us from Barre who had been drafted together, took basic together, and to this point inseparable, were assigned to different battalions and companies. My little buddy, Jim Hood, got Easy 180th and I got Fox 180th so we felt good that we would still be in touch. Little could we foresee that our time at OP QUEEN would be a tragedy with Jim being one of only three to survive in his platoon, and my several trench trips to assist his position were probably foolish but might have saved us both.¹⁶

With five other second lieutenants, three tankers, and one infantryman I was assigned to the 45th Division. After a long ride past Chunchon to division HQ, we were directed to a Quonset hut where Major General Ruffner, himself, greeted us. I never before had been face to face with a general. After the proper salutes and ceremonials, I sat at the far end of the row while he harangued. One tidbit I remember was his cautioning us to stay alert, "or some Chinaman will sneak up and hit you over the head with a sockful of shit!"

He spotted the gleaming World War I "Willie" tank on one lieutenant's collar. "Have you ever seen a clean tank?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where?"
"Fort Knox, sir."
He moved on to the next tanker. "Have you ever seen a clean tank?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where?"
"Fort Knox, sir."

When the general asked the same question and got the same answer from the third tanker I thought he was through. But he asked Lieutenant Herbert Stern, the other infantryman, if he'd ever seen a clean tank. Until I heard his answer, "Yes, Sir," I hadn't known that Stern had also trained at the Armor School. Now old Ruffner really rolled. He continued on to me. "Have you ever seen a clean tank?"

I, who had been a buck private in the 2d Armored Division, looked him right in the eye and said, "Yes, sir."
"Where?"
"Camp Hood Texas, sir."

I know he didn't hear me, for he went on with how, "By God, the 45th Division has clean tanks." I was green as dehydrated eggs and had yet to reach the war, but, somehow, I thought the cleanliness of tanks should not be a big priority. And I don't remember 45th Division tanks being particularly clean.

Herb Stern and I met somewhere on the route to the MLR. He doesn't recall General Ruffner's pep talk, but he remembers a different route to Korea from mine.

I must have been at Fort Lewis, Washington at least seven days waiting overseas orders. I went by train to British Columbia and by air to Japan. I don't remember getting to Korea. What I do remember is the train ride from "X" to "XX." It was night time and it was cold. I don't remember being warm until getting to C Company.

I know I spent one night at Division Rear(?). I was cold in spite of having layered clothing. I remember giving a fifth of C.C. to some officers in the same "barracks" I was in. I didn't drink much then.
I don't remember sighting in my carbine; I don't remember being asked which division I wanted to go to; and I don't remember Generals Ginder or Ruffner giving their "pitches," but, in the back of my mind, I remember worrying, If this is our leadership we will be in deep trouble if something really bad happens.
I remember being picked up by [Lieutenants] Merrill and Teed, and I remember being greeted by Lieutenant Peters, the CO of Company C at the time (before Ochs). The next thing I remember was being on the floor of the Mundung-ni Valley.¹⁷

General Ruffner soon rotated, and his deputy, Brigadier General P. D. Ginder, took command of the 45th Division and was awarded his second star. Luther Yount remembers Ginder's "welcome.

I was assigned to the 45th Division early in 1953 & during an orientation to the Division, there were some remarks made by the then B/G P. D. Ginder. He led us in "Singing a Toast To The Thunderbirds." Then he made the remark that 'we' were going to cut off a portion of a North Korean soldier's anatomy with a rusty C-ration can lid as part of our treatment to them. I thought it was a degrading remark for a General Officer to make, but my rank at the time gave me the wisdom to remain silent. I must admit it was a credit to my judgment to see that there were others who were less than impressed by General Ginder."¹⁸

Ginder was not what I would call sensitive, but this sounds more like his uncouth predecessor Major General David L. Ruffner, but Luther seems sure that Ginder made the remarks.¹⁹

Dick Rode arrived in Chunchon where his training was little more than zeroing his rifle.

I remember leaving the range and thinking it was a waste of time. Other than Bed Check Charlie and solidified grease on my eggs I don't remember much of anything. A fish story was going around that the locals would reach under the crappers with a razor blade on the end of a stick and slice up your genitals. I was fortunate in that Ginder never spoke or sang to us.²⁰

John McLain was assigned to the 179th Infantry Regiment of the 45th Division. He arrived in Chunchon in April, 1953 and remembers young children gathered at the fence begging for food. He also heard Dick's "fish story," which may or may not have had basis in fact.

One GI. was giving them a bad time. Evidently one of the kids watched for him to go to the outhouse and in some way slipped a razor blade under him and sliced one cheek of his butt. Wow!²¹

* * *

For many years Dick Rode has pondered the the army's replacement system.

You train together and then they split you up and feed you piecemeal into a unit where no one knows you. The German Army tried to keep men from the same area together and only fed replacements into a hometown unit when it was in reserve. That way you at least had something in common with your unit and time to get acquainted and train with them. I envy the National Guardsmen who were called up with the 45th. A whole year to train together before being thrown to the wolves. As for marksmanship, I never felt comfortable with the M-1. In 16 weeks of basic we only fired on the ranges a couple of times, and you couldn't trust the pit crews to mark your scores properly. The Army did not seem to care if you could hit anything; just throw out lots of rounds and you are bound to hit something.²²

Wayne Pelkey views the rotation system, as well intended, but

it resulted in a loss of team effort by throwing in third team members into a crucial part of a battle, while pulling the first team out before the second team was warmed up; all this without a huddle. It would not work in football, so why did military strategists believe it would work in war.²³

During the push across France during World War II the US Army shoved replacements to the front as fast as they arrived. Most of these men had little experience beyond basic training. They had no training or bonding with the unit where they were sent, and many were killed in action before the others in their squad knew their names. The British pulled a worn down outfit from the line, rested it, filled it with replacements, and retrained it before sending back into combat as an effective fighting unit, But just as the American high command (yes, Saint Ike) refused to learn from the British disaster at Dieppe before debarking on Omaha Beach (another story), it failed to learn from its ally's replacement policy--not in Europe, not in Korea.

Replacements arrived in Korea by the shipload, but they were sent to their units as individuals. If 20 men reached division together, they would likely serve in 19 different companies. And a man was sent home when his enlistment was up or earned 36 points, whichever came first--unless he were badly wounded or was carried out wrapped in a mattress cover. The point system awarded those who were constantly receiving rounds four points a month: infantry, tankers, front line medics, and artillery forward observers. When a front-line outfit was pulled back to reserve each man received three points per month, making it something of a goal to receive rounds each month for the extra point and the $50.00 combat pay. Anybody just out of enemy reach, Division Headquarters, most artillery, motor pools, or a Mash. was also in the three point zone. The rear echelon in Korea received two points and those in Japan, one. Through simple mathematics, and I am a simple mathematician, you can see that a soldier constantly on the MLR would go home in nine months, an artilleryman in a year. In practice they were closer to parity for the dogface could spend a month or two in reserve while the gunner would back the line constantly, supporting whatever outfit was in front of them.
In my experience, reserve time was used for needed rest. Training was minimal and mostly up to the inclinations of each company commander, Occasionally division or corps would put on a demonstration. The best I ever saw was a ROK demonstration of fire and movement, something we had been told about but never practiced. Some replacements were brought in, but many arrived after the unit was back in line. Entertainment in reserve was up to individuals or a movie in a Quonset mess hall. USO Shows didn't commonly make it past division headquarters.

Dick Rode, like so many others, has thought deeply about the "complicated question" of the rotation system.

I can see where the Government wanted a time limit on battle exposure in order to preserve morale. In a so called limited war it would be hard to draft for the duration as in WW II, and, if there was no rotation, those unfortunate enough to serve in the front line units would feel that they were sacrificing more than others. "Why am I in Korea when my lucky friends are in Germany."

Rotation, at least, gives the appearance of a fairer system. I recently saw or read where a combat soldier's effectiveness declines after 4 months of combat, also making rotation more appealing. On the other hand Wayne is right in that you are constantly replacing experienced troops with the equivalent of third stringers. The 40th and 45th Division, National Guard units activated for 18 months, spent a year training and rotated home en mass after only 5 or 6 months in Korea. Fortunately a large percentage of the 45th were fillers (mostly draftees) who stayed another 6 months, otherwise the entire Div would have been decimated. Even so there was still a complete turnover in a short time. To compound the problem, there was another complete turnover six months after that. Another downside is that as you get closer to rotation you become more afraid of getting hit in the last weeks of your tour. [Bunkeritis was a common disease of short timers.] We had a squad leader on Heartbreak with a month to go who refused to leave his bunker or even go to chow. He had his family send him food packages in order to not expose himself. At one time he must have been a good soldier or he would not have been a squad leader and a sergeant, but he was totally useless near the end of his tour. Sadly, a buddy persuaded him to go to the mess bunker for lunch one day. He was seriously wounded by a mortar round on the way. His friend died of wounds. The wounded sergeant's name was Morely Bickel and Sam treated him. It was my understanding that the 45th's policy was to move short timers to the rear a month before rotation so as to avoid this problem [I never heard of such a policy. Hank]. The man now starts worrying a month before that. If replacements are fed in a few at a time and trained when they join their unit, the rotation system would not be too bad, but that was not the case in the 45th. I arrived in early April ‘53 as an ammo bearer, and within two months I was the squad leader and old timer of the squad. The original guardsmen went home in June of ‘52, so I was a replacement for a replacement; too big a turnover to be effective. I am sure there were a ton of things I did not know about using machine guns in combat. Fortunately I did not have to find out the hard way. Enough, I said it is a complicated question.²⁴

* * *

At Chunchon Gunnar Osterberg was in a squad tent sleeping when he was awakened with severe stomach cramps.

I knew right away that I had the ole "tourista bug". It was all I could do to escape my sleeping bag, slip on my boots and, in my long johns, head out the door for the latrine which, as always, was way at the other end of the tent rows. I only made it to the side of my tent where there was about four inches of snow. I got rid of the cramps and made like a cat and "policed the area" by using the eight inches of snow on the ground.

The next morning as usual we all had to roll up the sides of our tent. I of course, wisely went to the opposite side of the tent that I had visited the night before. In no time at all I heard this guy holler at the top of his lungs, "Some son of a bitch did a big job over here, and I stepped in it! I, with my head down, continued rolling canvas and muttered something to the guy next to me like, "What kind of a sick bastard would do a thing like that?"

This was my start at living like an animal for the next six months.²⁵

Paul Baril spoke only French because he had grown up in Quebec. If he felt himself to be Canadian, his draft board considered him American because he had been born in Barre, Vermont and had returned in 1946. He was inducted into the army at Fort Devens, Massachusetts in December 1952. He was shipped to Fort Riley, Kansas where he took basic training with the 10th Mountain Division. he thought this crazy since he saw no mountains anywhere in Kansas. He had difficulty with written instructions and disliked mortars and machine-guns, but he was rated Expert, the highest grade, with the M-1 rifle. He was also skilled with the BAR.

He was assigned to Far East Command (FECOM) and boarded a troopship at Fort Lawton (the port for Fort Lewis), Washington. Others kindly helped him read the confusing shipping orders. Like most of the rest of us he landed at Yokohama, spent a few days at Camp Drake, sailed for Pusan where he rode a "dirty smoky black smoke train" to Chunchon. He thought he was in Korea. He was right. Watching the hungry, begging kids, he felt sad and threw most of his C-rations over the fence to them. He used French swear words on any of his buddies if they didn't do the same. After a rough, dusty ride in a truck to B Company, 179th Infantry, Paul was assigned to a squad whose sergeant thought he had misassigned and should have been sent to the French Battalion attached to the 2d Division. Straightened out, his squad leader gave him a BAR. He liked the heavy weapon and thought the M-2 carbine was "a peanut gun to kill rats in the chicken house."²⁶

* * *

Herb Stern and I reached Pagan Red in late afternoon. We were stuffed into a BOQ²⁷ bunker with the P & A Platoon leader and a couple of other lieutenants.

In this sandbag hoochie I was introduced to the the bed of commo wire woven in a log frame. In time I would sleep comfortably on one with no other padding than my fart sack.

The battalion officers entertained us with stories about the "Mad Mile," a road under enemy observation and range. Their stories may have been mostly tall tales, because it ended near Luke's Castle, manned by Pagan White (Item Company, I think). Somebody brought in a case of frozen Toddy, an ersatz chocolate drink in small (8 ounce?) cans. To make it drinkable it had to be warmed on the oil burning stove at least to slush, but it was tasteless at any stage. One of the staff lieutenants fished up a can of beer, warm because he had hidden it in his bunk. To cool it off, he took it outside where the temperature was around zero. Back in the bunker he rolled on with war stories and completely forgot the beer. Next morning he found it with frozen ooze protruding from the split can.

Andrew Antippas doesn't remember much about the truck ride from the 45th Division Replacement Depot at Chunchon, but it begin in the morning and ended when he dismounted on a cold, foggy night in late April.

I was led up to a sleeping bunker along the steeply rising ridge line to my assigned squad.... When I awakened next morning, I was astounded to find the half dozen men sitting around were all Orientals. I wondered if I had stumbled into the wrong army. As it turned out of the ten men in the squad, two were Nisei , second generation Japanese Americans from Hawaii, and three were KATUSAs (Korean Augmentation to United States Army.

I was assigned one of the two Browning Automatic Rifles in the squad. The BAR itself weighed almost 19 pounds with attached bipod stand, and the ammunition belt weighed an additional 15 pounds. With all the required field equipment , pack, canteen, and shovel, the weight was excruciating. The only saving grace was the armored vest that protected my boney shoulders. I fell down once, and I could not get back up unassisted, and I was in the best physical condition of my life.

This sector was not an active area and had not been for some time. Most of our activity took place at night. With our superior firepower the enemy did not show himself during daylight. Once a week we could go back to battalion to have a shower, a change of clothes, and buy a couple of beers for a dime a can. They opened the cans so we could not take them back to the front lines.

Because both sides had extensive mine fields in front of their positions, it was inevitable that someone would blunder into one. The North korean outpost of Sugarloaf loomed over us, looking like a moonscape after two years of shelling had destroyed all vegetation on the enemy side. A bit of high ground had been so tilled as to be called the "Cabbage Patch." One night a patrol from B Company got into the enemy minefield in front of the cabbage Patch, and a man carrying a roll of commo wire was killed by a Chinese box mine. I volunteered to go out to pick up the body thinking just one or two of us would be going. I thought a small group wouldn't attract attention, and I would make points as an eager beaver. But I found a group of about 20 had volunteered, and the whole battalion had been alerted, and tanks were firing smoke shells to screen the group. When I got out to the cabbage patch, I caught a glimpse of the body on a stretcher. It had no head, the arms were blown off, and the rib cage was exposed. It scared the hell out of all of us. Fortunately the enemy did not fire, and we all returned without incident.

That night I was startled when a North Korean, complete with burp gun crawled into our bunker. While we were scrambling for our weapons , we learned he was a South Korean line crosser, a soldier who scouted enemy lines. That took great courage because I was told the North Koreans had captured a South Korean Soldier, trussed him up with commo wire, doused him with gasoline, threw him on top of their parapet in view of our lines, and set him on fire.
After only a week, my battalion was relieved by the Philippine 14th Battalion Combat team, nicknamed the "Avengers." We went into a tent city at Inje for rest and refitting, before commencing a training program. We remained at Inje for only about a week in early May 1953 when the battalion was over to Tokko-ri as X Corps reserve. I was appointed squad leader of the Second Squad. I was 21 years old and still a Private E-2.

We spent about five weeks in Tokko-ri. Since our battalion was the Corps on-call reserve unit, we were alerted on several occasions. One was when Korean President Syngman Rhee released all the North Korean prisoners under his control in mid-June in an effort to sabotage the peace talks. This action triggered the last, fierce offensive of the war by the Communists. It cost our side more than 13,000 casualties in the last weeks of the war.

During the last week in June the entire regiment was pulled off line and sent to Inje where our battalion joined it. I recall the night of June 30, 1953 when we were alerted to go back on the line immediately. I was now a squad leader and so went with the company commanders, platoon lieutenants, and squad leaders of all three battalions to scout the new positions. The battalion staff had already flown reconnaissance flights in L-19 spotter aircraft for orientation. We learned we would be relieving the 7th ROK Division which had just been kicked off Hill 938, code named Outpost Texas." The main battle was being fought for a mountain called "Christmas Hill."²⁸

Lieutenant Doyle Butler completed both airborne and jumpmaster training and was assigned as a communications officer at Camp Polk, Louisiana. With only a year of service remaining, he was given orders for FECOM (Far East Command) and was assigned to the 45th Division. As commo officer in Headquarters Company, 1st Battalion, 179th Infantry, his only adventure was "making a run up the Mundung-ni Valley in a Jeep in broad daylight.

This was not recommended as it usually brought incoming mortar fire, but we had lost all communications with a line company. Because of heavy rains it was very muddy and we got stuck. I turned to the sergeant, who had some time in the area and asked, "What do we do now?"

His answer was, "Lieutenant, we get the hell out of here," and he left the Jeep in a dead run. We found security in a ravine while the enemy fired a barrage at the stuck Jeep. After nightfall we radioed for a wrecker and were taken back to Headquarters. After all the shelling the Jeep had one flat tire and a hole in a fender.

After Colonel Cruikshank learned I had no line experience, I was assigned as a platoon leader in Company A. On one patrol we were 200 to 400 yards in front of the MLR when an enemy barrage was aimed at Company A. On the radio, Lieutenant Scheffler, the CO said, "They're shelling the hell out of us."
I asked, "Have they hit the CP?
He said, "No, but they're close."
I told Schef I was closer than he was and could hear the shells sliding down the mortar tubes. I'll ask Joe Chink to adjust his range."

He did not think this was funny.

We moved off Heartbreak to a reserve area, then, three days after, moved on to Outpost Queen.²⁹

Wayne Pelkey left Chunchon by truck, went past Hwachon Reservoir, over Yanggu Pass, and to Sandbag Castle at the right end of Heartbreak Ridge.

A two hour march to the base of the ridge and a long climb had my lungs burning. At a sand bagged bunker at the top of the hill, a Corporal Parker met me and said, ‘Come along after you get your flak vest, 4 grenades and two bandoliers of M1 ammo. Wait a minute, have you been certified with a BAR?' ( I had fired one once at Fort Jackson in basic). I became a BAR man for second platoon and with the flak vest, grenades, and a double bandolier of magazines my 135 pounds was turned into a pack mule. That first night, we had several incoming rounds of North Korean mortar and I saw my first KIA. Was I scared!³⁰


Dick Anderson's route to Korea was longer. After joining the Illinois National Guard, he was activated before Pearl Harbor and served to the end of WW II. Back in Illinois, the Guard was activated again. He arrived in Camp Cook California [now Vandenberg Air Force Base] in February 1952 with Baker Company, 129th Infantry, 44th Division.

We arrived there in February 1952. When we unloaded at our unit location I found I already had about 20 men assigned to me. Some had been rotated back to the states from Korea, 20 or 21 year old staff and tech sergeants who only had about a year service. Some two or three were regular army, but most of them didn't know how to handle men on garrison duty. Their only experience was combat and some leadership. I was appalled how the army handled the men going into
combat as well as coming out of combat.

I left Camp Cook in August for the Infantry School, Fort Benning for a refresher course in the latest weapons and tactics. I also took two weeks Paratroop training and two weeks training in Ranger School. During the last week at Benning, October 1952, I got my FECOM orders. I returned to Camp Cook in October, via one night in Las Vegas. I was put in charge of weapons and tactical training cadre. During Christmas week I got papers for a 30 day furlough and went back home. I enjoyed my family life with two children, I caught a plane to Oakland, and bussed to Camp Stoneman for medical processing--you know shots and everything else necessary prior to going overseas. I took off from Travis Air Force Base at 7:00 P.M.,flew to Hawaii for a breakfast two hour stopover, took off and landed at Wake Island for two hour layover and a late dinner, took off and landed in Tokyo, Japan at 5:00 AM., bussed us to Camp Drake, where I stayed two days, and boarded a ship for Korea.³¹

Most of us entered Korea though Pusan, but Dick Anderson arrived through Inchon early on a foggy morning. The troop ship passed two hospital ships and the carrier USS Enterprise he could barely see through the fog. He heard the roar of jet fighters preparing to take off on combat missions.

We sat in the harbor, and, I suppose, the authorities were notified we had arrived. This was sometime on February 9 or 10, 1953. We each were given a debarking number, and when that was called we boarded LCIs [Landing Craft Infantry] from the gangplank, and on to shore which was like three to four miles from the ship. We formed up by platoons. My platoon consisted of every rank from Private to Light Colonels, all replacements, but I, only a First Lieutenant, was appointed platoon leader. I guess I got the job because I was the only WW II combat veteran. That was one time it paid to wear the C. I. B. We marched about 200 yards from the LCI to a railroad siding with a line of railroad cars. This was about 1800 hours and, mind you, it was 30 degrees below zero, and air was starting to bite. We got aboard these air conditioned cars--no glass windows--and were on our way by 1900 hours. We were freezing in spite of wool uniforms, overcoats, and leather boots. Six hours later, half frozen, we arrived at Inji. We found that 150 or so of us were heading for the 45th Infantry Division Rear. Two hours later we boarded trucks, and, by 3:00 A. M. next morning, we gathered in a warm mess hall where we told to report back at 7:00 A. M. for breakfast and assignment. They issued sleeping bags and four hand warmers and told us to walk over to the so-called barracks and go to bed. From past experience, I stripped to my underwear, put my hand warmers at the bottom of my sleeping bag, laid my wool shirt and pants on the bottom of my sleeping bag so they would be warm when I got up. Everyone else slept with clothes on and were cold and uncomfortable. I was toasty warm and, after sleeping for three hours, got up, dressed, washed, shaved, and got ready for breakfast. One of the CQs on duty during the night started up an oil burning stove, so, when we got up, the chill was gone. We went to a decent army breakfast of eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, cereal, milk, and coffee. While we ate, they sent us all to different buildings to get our unit assignments at 9:00 A. M. At my building they sat us down and proceeded to familiarize us with the 45th Infantry Division's mission

They mentioned that the 45th was occupying a portion of the front line on the eastern front, 35 miles inland from the east coast of Korea. Then they passed out 3 x 5 cards with our name, rank, and serial numbers. We were to give these to the S-1 of the unit we were assigned to. The 180th Infantry Regiment was on my card. Out of about 150 guys in our group, about 40 were assigned to the 180th.

By 10:00 A. M we boarded trucks and were on our way north towards the fighting front, we arrived at the 180th about 11:30 A. M. we had lunch and were greeted by Colonel DeOrsa. He described the 180th's mission, illustrated on a operations map, our front line, and various well known topographical features on the map, Heartbreak Ridge was off on our left flank, we occupied Sandbag Castle, and the Punchbowl was on our right flank. Sugarloaf, in enemy hands, was straight north of our left flank, and Stalin Hill was about ten miles north of our positions. All the foothills in front of our lines were occupied by Chinese Communist Forces and North Koreans. In fact the boundary between Chinese and North Koreans was right in the middle of our front. The closest enemy troops were North Koreans in front of Sandbag Castle. I told one of the officers sitting next to me, "Watch. I'll get Sandbag!"

When the colonel was through they gave out our assignments verbally. " Richard Anderson--You're going to 3rd battalion--and they occupy Sandbag."
They trucked us up, and we arrived about 3:00 P. M. We got out to meet the 3rd Battalion Commander and got our unit assignments. This was about February 12th or 13th. After our briefing by the Lieutenant Colonel, I got my assignment as Commander of the 3rd Battalion's Headquarters Company. That lasted one month, then the Colonel asked if I would be Company Commander of Company L. I accepted that as I figured I was more experienced as an Infantry Officer.³²

Second Lieutenant Rolland Morneault came to Baker Company, 179th shortly before we pulled off Heartbreak Ridge. He was a slightly built, recent college graduate with a degree in child psychology. Lieutenant Alexander Capelli, CO of Dog Company, made him the target of a running practical joke. Capelli welcomed Morneault with a friendly handshake and a pep talk. "You'll get along great, here--swell bunch of guys," etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. A few days later Capelli greeted Morneault with such terms of endearment as, "son-of-a-bitch," "stupid bastard," and "fuckin' idiot." Every time they met, Capelli changed character. Once, when Capelli was in his nice guy mode, Morneault asked, "why are you so nice sometimes and so grumpy at others?"

"Oh," Capelli said, "That grouch isn't me. That's my brother Mario from Heavy Mortar Company."

Two or three weeks later, Morneault figured out the joke. I heard him tell Capelli, "You almost fooled me." Yeah, almost.

* * *

Among the last to arrive, Jim Hein was drafted and inducted into the army a on 12 December, 1952. He took 16 weeks of basic training at Camp Atterbury, Indiana.

The military training I received was excellent and prepared me for what was to follow. Taking basic training during the winter provided a harsh reality of what our environment can dish out; especially the two week long bivouac, where we lived outside learning and doing infantry exercises by day, then sleeping inside our pup tents by night. Our weapons training, with practical exercises did all it could, for the "on the job" experience to put it all into focus. The discipline received has benefited me both in military and civilian life. I was treated with respect by both Officers and Noncommissioned Officers alike, and I returned respect to all those encountered. I especially appreciated our cadre, returning Korean War Combat Veterans who trained us while they were finishing there last months of active duty. These veterans shared with us their actual experiences, and we in turn benefited from their experiences.³³

Jim Hein completed training in mid-April 1953 and was given six days to report to he railway station in Chicago. That allowed him only four days to spend at home with his parents and his fiancee, Barbara Tews.

I took a troop train, with many others, to Fort Lewis, in the State of Washington. After some time processing, we were loaded on a troop ship named the USS Black then left for the Far East.
I can't recall exactly when I arrived at Korea, except it was during early summer, 1953. After a nasty two week long, extremely rough, boat ride, we stopped at Sasebo, Japan, then on to Pusan, Korea. We then boarded a train with very uncomfortable wooden seats and no glass in the windows; coal smoke from the engine blew through the train car. We were told that the train would probably be fired upon, since many enemy soldiers were still on the loose in South Korea. After a short time on the train we figured it would be safer and more comfortable laying on the floor; this worked very well.

Prior to arriving at Chunchon, a train load of ROK soldiers were going South on the adjacent tracks, battered up badly judging from their bloody bandages. Upon arrival at Chunchon, we were loaded on trucks and taken to a 45th Division camp somewhere North. During my short time at this 45th Division Camp, I received all my equipment, consisting of, fatigue clothing, M-1 rifle, helmet, ammo belt with clips, and two full bandoleers. I remember going through bayonet practice, and sighting in my M-1 rifle. We were surrounded by rice paddies and civilian dwellings. I recall small Korean children at the mess tent exit waiting for scraps of food discarded from our mess gear. The children must have been around four to seven years old with big brown eyes, and looked like they were starving. I never saw anything like this before, and I never wasted any food since. Sometimes when my wife and I are eating at restaurants and I see "heaps" of food on plates to be thrown away, visions of small Korean children with their big brown eyes looking up at me appear. I guess that's why I don't like to eat at restaurants!

The last evening at this "preparation camp" I lay on my cot. I was in a squad tent which had a wooden floor and a 2"x 4" wood framework wall built up 3 or 4 ft. from the floor. I heard a gun shot from outside, and a bullet zipping by and lodging in the wood framework about one foot above my head. I quickly got up, went to the entrance of the tent and looked out, there wasn't anyone around! I don't know where the round came from, inside or outside the camp. We were told earlier that day there were enemy infiltrators about, who had taken "pot shots" at GI's before. That night, before to going to sleep, I gazed north out of the tent and I saw the sky lit up. There was a lot of action going on up on the line!

The next morning I loaded all my gear on a 2 1/2 ton truck, and went North. Someone said we were going to an outpost near Christmas Hill. There were about four or five us replacements on the truck who were dropped off at the road's end. This was definitely the end of the line. When the truck stopped we all got off and put on our packs, I recall it was a sunny day. We were at the base of some high hills, and we started walking up the trail. About half way up I noticed some explosions up on the hillside to our right, we never saw anything like it before, up close! We learned later the Chinese were firing mortar rounds at us, there must have been a Chinese FO around somewhere close. Further on, and up, we came to an area where both a tank and a quad 50 were dug in, so they could fire up the slope. As we continued to climb, the trail became narrow, in fact there were some steps dug into the ground too. We reached our destination at the Battalion Commanders Bunker on the reverse slope. He welcomed us and said we were replacements for a Battalion sized outpost of the 180th Infantry Regiment. The Battalion Commander had white hair, and I thought to myself, Why should an old man be up here on this mountain top?

I do not recall the Commanders name, but he addressed us very sternly saying,"Boys you will be assigned a little ground to hold at all cost, I want you to shoot them, and if you can't shoot them, stick them". As I heard those words, I felt something warm on my pants. I looked down and saw that I had "lost" some urine! I always remembered the words this Major told us, like they were seared in my memory, and that I soiled my pants too! I realized that indeed I arrived at a place I would rather not be.

We were all taken to the main trench line a short distance away, which was on the forward slope of the ridge facing Northerly. I was assigned to a rifle squad to the right, approximately beneath the Battalion Commanders Bunker. The other "replacements" went to the left, and assigned to rifle squads further down the trench line. I don't know what happened to these guys, I do not recall seeing them again. The rifle squad I was assigned to had its bunker dug into the back side of the trench wall, a large dug out hole, with a piece of sandbag burlap for a door. My fellow squad members were much smaller than I. My height is 6'2", and since the space inside this dug out was too small for me, I was assigned to a deep hole near the trail that intersected to the trench line. This pit, a very deep fox hole, was used to supply good quality sand to fill the sand bags, used to construct bunkers and trench walls. I did not like being inside this sand pit and was there for sleeping only.³⁴

FOOTNOTES

¹ William "Reece" Smith, personal correspondence to Hank Nicol, 15 March 2002.

² Wayne Pelkey, 16 February 2002.

³ Kenneth Cook, 30 April 2002.

⁴ Wayne Pelkey,16 February 2002.

⁵ Kenneth Cook, 26 April 2002.

⁶ Wayne Pelkey, 26 April 2002.

⁷ Kenneth Cook, 30 April 2002.

⁸ Gunnar Osterberg, 14 April, 2002.

⁹ Edward R. Rode, 14 April 2002.

¹⁰ William Oelkers, 26 April 2002.

¹¹ Kenneth Cook, 13 April 2002.

¹² Vaclav Zengler, phone call to Dick Rode, 19 October 2002; Penn Rabb, p. 301.

¹³ Wayne Pelkey, 26 April 2002.

¹⁴ Wayne Pelkey, 1 May 2002.

¹⁵ Wayne Pelkey, 26 April 2002.

¹⁶ Wayne Pelkey, 16 April 2002.

¹⁷ Herbert Stern, personal letter to Hank Nicol, 2 December 2002.

¹⁸ Luther F. Yount, Jr., Thunderbird News, August 1997.

¹⁹ Bill Oelkers, 11 October 2002.

²⁰ Edward R. Rode, 26 April 2002.

²¹ John McLain, 25 August 2002.

²² Edward R. Rode, 6 April 2002.

²³ Wayne Pelkey, 29 July 2002.

²⁴ Dick Rode, 31 July 2002.

²⁵ Gunnar Osterberg, 5 April, 2002.

²⁶ Paul Baril as narrated to Wayne Pelkey, August 2002.

²⁷ Bachelor Officers Quarters

²⁸ Andrew Antippas, Memoir, 1998, received by e-mail 19 June 2002.

²⁹ O. Doyle Butler, Personal personal letter to Hank Nicol, 7 July 2002.

³⁰ Wayne Pelkey, 16 April 2002.

³¹ Dick Anderson, 11 November 2002.

³² Dick Anderson, 11 November 2002.

³³ Jim Hein, 27 February 2003.

³⁴ Jim Hein, 27 February 2003.