Testimonials: Vignettes from Korean War veterans (A-L)

The following are excerpts from some of the vignettes sent to The Virginian-Pilot to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the start of the Korean War. Authors are listed alphabetically by last name, (A—L):

Saturday, May 15, 2010, was “Family Day” at Bogue Field in Carteret County, N.C., sponsored by the 271 Workhorse Squadron of the U.S. Marine Corps. As the father of the commander of the 271, I got a VIP tour of the men and equipment that day.

As I spent time with these young men and the impressive technology they now use, my mind went back nearly 60 years. It is difficult to believe how everything has changed. Everything, that is, but the heart and will of the defenders.

While on patrol one night in Korea, my squad of seven men took shelter in a bomb crater. Just before daylight, the enemy overran us with mortar and small-arms fire.

We had been trained to play dead until the wave passed. All was still, except my buddy next to me who started to scream. I lay across him to keep him still. Soon it was light enough to see the others were not playing dead at all.

The two of us were the lucky ones, the only ones who made it back.

My buddy had been shot in the foot. I lost hearing in one ear.

After I made my report, the CO told me to pack my gear; he discovered my true age was 16 and that was my last night at the front. Out of 120 men in my squad, only eight of us returned home.

You never know the price of anything until you pay for it.

I was a 20-year-old combat aircrewman with VP-892 in 1950. We were a Naval reserve unit recalled in July of that year in support of the Korean conflict.

Flying PBM 5 Mariners, we deployed to Japan from December 1950 to August 1951 and flew over 100 combat missions in support of Allied troops. While doing mostly ASW and coastal patrol missions, we were also called upon for gunfire support and reconnaissance flights. One such mission involved us in an attempt to rescue Marines from the Chosin Reservoir.

Intelligence did inform us that the reservoir might be frozen and it was. All we could do was circle, wave at the Marines and return to Japan.

A friend of mine who was stationed in Pusan came up to the front lines to visit me. He wanted to go up to the MLR (Main Line of Resistance). Dumb me, I got a jeep and we drove up to the front lines. I got kind of mixed up and we passed the MLR and were in the Chinese/North Korean territory. The Chinese were as surprised as we were. We turned the jeep around and headed south real fast. We got back behind the MLR without any shooting, etc.

My friend never came back to visit.

My Daddy was a U.S. Marine in the Korean War conflict.

He learned how to operate every kind of heavy equipment there was. Bulldozers, cranes, backhoes, etc.

After hitting the beach, his platoon would clean up. That meant digging very deep holes and bulldozing bodies in them for a makeshift grave. Bodies were all over many beaches and had to be treated with some respect no matter what side you were fighting.

I saw first action in Korea in late March 1951, eventually flying 65 combat missions. The most exciting mission was the last one on Oct. 3, 1951. I was in the first strike of the day. We were diverted from our assigned target to attack two railroad engines and several trucks in the rail yard at Hung Nam, discovered by the Night Fighters.

We spotted the first engine right away and I made a good run, dropping a 100-pound bomb that sent smoke and firewood flying, but I couldn’t see what I had actually done. We continued to hit the trucks and buildings without actually seeing the second engine, until a pile of trash in the middle of the yard sent up a jet of steam. I made a strafing run (I had used all my bombs) and realized I was headed toward the first engine I had bombed. I decided (stupidly) to stay low and go have a look.

Suddenly the air in front of me was filled with machine-gun bullets. It looked like a swarm of bumblebees coming at me.

I was too low to nose over and shoot back, so all I could do was twist and turn and hope they’d miss me. The thought flashed through my mind, “you idiot, your last mission and you’re trying to get yourself shot down.”

Fortunately I did escape and returned to the carrier with only one bullet hole in my engine. I never did see how much damage I did to that first engine.

Norman C. Edge, Virginia Beach

The 23rd RCT [Regimental Combat Team] of which I was a member, commanded by Col. Paul Freeman, was assigned to defend a small town named Chipyong-ni . On the night of Feb. 14, 1951, at approximately 2100 hours, mortar rounds began falling like raindrops. Col. Freeman advised units under his command that we were surrounded by four Chinese army divisions. Our defensive position had been so skillfully arranged by Col. Freeman that the attacking Chinese forces were slaughtered like “sitting ducks” and actual battle continued for two nights and three days.

Sometime during the third day, Chinese commanders decided to withdraw, thereby ending the battle and essentially beginning to turn our defeat in North Korea back to the offensive. It was later estimated that 25,000 Chinese troops had been killed or wounded during those three days.

During the nine months that we were on and off the line in the heat of summer and the cold of winter, regardless of how many were killed or wounded, in my opinion morale sagged only during the monsoon season when all of our clothing, boots and battle dressings were soaked.

– Reginald Henry Jr., Norfolk

My father, Joseph C. Jones, served in the United States Navy during the Korean Conflict, which is now recognized as the Korean War. He was assigned to a different kind of hardship post and spent a year away from his wife and two daughters before we were allowed to join him in Adak, Alaska.

Joe was a cryptologist or code breaker. He was in Adak in 1952 and 1953.

Dad worked in a cave-like place high on a mountain. He could not talk about his work so much is unknown to me.

Dad was fortunate not to be in a war zone, but I know he felt the pressure and tension of the Korean War constantly.

One night when a mortar round came in, exploding near our area, this soldier I knew coming to my position was covered in shrapnel wounds with mortar fragments over his body. He begged me to shoot him; I refused and called a medic. He was carried away to a mobile hospital and I assumed he died. Ten years later, I was assigned to Fort Knox, Ky., and ran into him there. What a surprise! He had survived but later committed suicide.

My most frightening and unforgettable memory of this period of the war, when I was serving on Heartbreak Ridge, Pork Chop Hill and Kumhwa in the Iron Triangle, was an incident that involved Bridgewater, a very young fighter recently assigned to our unit.

We were part of a team spreading barbed wire when someone to my left tripped a wire that was attached to an unmarked mine. A piece of the shrapnel hit Bridgewater in the middle of his forehead. I saw a hole the size of a silver dollar above his eyes. We screamed for the medics, who stuffed a T-shirt in the hole to stop the bleeding. By the time the helicopter arrived, it was too late. My friend Bridgewater was dead. It was below zero on the day this happened.

I was stationed at Okinawa, Japan, when the Korean War started and was immediately sent to Korea during the early days of the conflict.

I was wounded for the first time on Aug. 2, 1950, at Chinju pass. I rejoined our company that was whipped out on July 28, 1950, one of the worst battles of the entire war. We lost 300 men at Hadong, Korea, 29th Infantry, 1st and 3rd Battalions . I was later captured during November 1950 when the Chinese entered the conflict. I was wounded again and suffered from frostbite and assorted other disabilities that go with the territory. I spent 34 months as a POW and was released during September 1953 at the age of 23.

– Robert L. Jones, Melbourne, Fla., originally from South Norfolk

We had occupied the hill from the enemy but some fighting was still going on. The enemy spotted us and the bullets could be felt in the wind as they passed by. Sgt. Wright looked up and me and said, “Don’t you think we ought to move?”

My answer was, “Let’s go!”

At first, I did not realize I was wounded, but then the pain and burning came to consciousness. I was hit behind my left ear, under my helmet, and above my right eye. I was lucky; it could have been worse.

My Purple Heart will always remind me of Korea. Looking back at those 13 months, that war seemed very similar to the descriptions of World War I, with most of the fighting done in the trenches, only those Marines saw the enemy they were fighting.

I was drafted into the Army in January 1951, and after going through basic training at Camp Pickett, Va., I was sent overseas. I was finally assigned to the First Base Post Office in Yong Dong Po, Korea.

Sometime in 1952, a young man named Jim Baumgarner was assigned to our outfit. He had been wounded in combat, and after being hospitalized, he was sent to our post office to

finish his tour of duty. On one occasion, Jim and I rode shotgun on the mail truck that carried the outgoing mail to the air base.

I was discharged in January 1953, and I never heard anything else about Jim until one night my wife and I were watching the old television program called “This Is Your Life.” And guess whose life story they were showing – this same young man, Jim Baumgarner. Except by this time, he had become famous in the movies and on television as James Garner.

With so much hand-to-hand fighting going on, I got lost. While I was trying to find my way back to my outfit, I ran head-on into an enemy soldier. I got lucky. About the time a flare went off, I put my M1 rifle in his gut; he raised his arms over his head and yelled, “GI, GI.”

Later on, he put his fingers to his lips; he wanted a cigarette. He and I were shaking so bad we probably smoked a pack while I was trying to find my way back to my unit.

After a few hours, it started to get light. I finally found my way back with the prisoner. Some of my buddies said that I was taking a big chance, he could have killed me, and I should have shot him. The way it turned out, I’m glad I didn’t.