Voices from the Korean War - Douglas Rice [104]
The three other companies of our battalion were there, and our squad was picked to be the connecting link with the company in front of us. Our job was to spread out, about two-to-three-hundred yards apart, on the road and relay any signals back to the company. The signal I saw was a soldier coming down the road with his rifle raised horizontally over his head, which meant “enemy sighted.” As we neared the roadblock, around 4:30 PM, we could hear small arms fire coming from the hills on both sides of the road. We were directed to move along a low ridge line that ran along the left side of the road.
Our squad was either the second or third one up the hill. We were wearing our new white and green reversible parka covers. The white blended in real well with the four inches of snow. There was a ridge about two-hundred yards to our left, from which we were receiving a lot of rifle and machine gun fire. As we deployed to return fire, Sgt. Handcock, our squad leader, attempted to get a better look at the other ridge. He was hit in the neck, and mortally wounded. I had been moved over to assistant BAR man a few days earlier, and I was following Dunbar—the BAR man. As he was setting up to fire on the other ridge, he was hit. Our medic, Vernon (Doc) White, checked him out and he had been creased in the cheek and shoulder. So, I crawled up to take over the BAR, and as I was looking for a target, the next thing I remember I was setting behind the BAR—with my back to it—several feet down a slope. A bullet had hit me in the left shoulder, spinning me around and knocking me backwards. I had no feeling in my arm, but I wasn’t bleeding. Doc was busy with other wounded, so another guy in the squad looked at it and told me to get to the aid station.
While waiting my turn at the aid station, I was hungry so I ate my can of cherries. When my turn came, the medic cut through all seven layers of my clothes; beginning above my left pocket, continuing over my shoulder, and ending a foot or so down the backside. Upon examining my wound, he said the bullet entered the back of my shoulder, near the joint, skidded across the shoulder-blade, and came out; he then applied a dressing. By now the feeling was coming back in my arm.
After we had enough to fill a jeep, we headed to the battalion aid station that was a few miles to the rear. As we headed down the road the part of my clothing that the medic had cut open kept flapping, exposing my bare skin to the cold and snow—I sure wished I had a blanket.
When we arrived, I learned that Bohn and Yarbrow had been killed; they were in a different platoon. Later, I learned that Sgt. Garcia’s leg had been broken by a bullet and he was somewhere in the building. I found him. I stayed and talked with him until the medics ran off all visitors. I spent the night sleeping on a litter.
After going through the regimental clearing station, division collecting station, and a M.A.S.H. unit, I ended up in a Swedish Hospital in Pusan. I had hot chow and showers, a cot with a mattress, a pillow and blankets; the next three months were the best ones I had while in Korea.
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On the night of May 16, 1951, the Chinese launched an attack against the ROK’s 5th and 7th Division’s, which were on the 2nd Division’s right flank.
A common tactic of the Chinese was to break through your lines and swing in behind you, cutting off your supply and escape route. This is the tactic that was used against the 8th Cavalry Regiment, at Unsan, North Korea—in October of 1950—and to the