Voices from the Korean War - Douglas Rice [119]
One night as we were preparing the next mornings breakfast, one of our medics stopped in for a cup of coffee. He unbuckled the belt that was holding his .45 pistol, and laid it on the table. When he left, it was missing. After searching frantically for it, he finally left without finding it. During breakfast our Korean helper was serving coffee, and did he get a surprise. From the bottom of one of our large coffee boilers, he scooped up the missing .45.
Even though we were behind the front lines, we were still surrounded by the war. Behind us, the artillery lobbed their shells over our heads to targets in front of us. I watched on numerous occasions as our planes dropped napalm on neighboring hillsides.
The 1st Cavalry Division was relieved in December 1951 by the 45th Infantry Division. The division went to Camp Crawford, Japan, where I stayed for two months. After returning home, I was stationed for three months at Fort Polk, Louisiana.
I was offered the rank Master Sergeant, but I turned it down. Instead, I went home to be with Helen.
~~Thirty-Seven~~
Delbert Rice
7th Cavalry Regiment
1st Cavalry Division
U.S. Army
On March 26, 1928, I was the second child—and son—born to Forrest and Varnie Rice. Our father was a share cropper, which meant we moved to a different farm every two-and-a-half to three years. On September 8, 1938, mom had twin girls—Dorothy and Doris. Unfortunately, eighteen days later, Doris passed away.
In 1941, my mother’s bachelor uncle died leaving money to his niece’s and nephew’s. With this money our parents bought a house in Fordsville, Kentucky, where dad was able to get a job working for the I.C. Railroad Company—our days of moving were over.
In June of 1950, two years after I had graduated from Fordsville High School, war broke out in Korea. Two months later, on the 17th of August, I reported to Owensboro, Kentucky for a physical along with thirty-three other guys. Included in this group of men was my cousin, Ernest Everett Edge.
On the 20th of October, eleven of us draftees reported to the courthouse in Hartford where we boarded a bus for Owensboro; it was here that we were inducted into the U.S. Army. From there we were taken to Fort Knox, Kentucky and assigned the locations for our basic training. However, before I left home that morning my brother Bob—a veteran of World War II—gave me some advice: do everything the instructors told me for they were trying to save my life in case I ended up in combat.
I was sent to Camp Pickett, Virginia for my basic training.
* * * * * *
The 43rd National Guard from Connecticut, had been at Camp Pickett since September, and we draftees were to bring it up to full strength. I was assigned to Company D, 169th Infantry Regiment.
One day we were on the firing range, firing from the prone position at two-hundred yards. After shooting the target, the person in the pit pulled the target down—like a window—to see where your bullet had hit. He then raised the target and pointed to the bullet hole with a marker, which was a flag attached to a stick.
I had already made several bull’s-eyes when the sergeant kicked me in the foot. He told me the next time I shot a bull’s-eye to see if I could shoot the marker. After they raised the target, I zeroed in and gently squeezed the trigger. When they pulled down the target, I had my weapon ready for the marker. As soon as it came up—indicating another bull’s-eye—I squeezed the trigger, snapping the marker in two. They quickly announced for us not to shoot until the markers were out of the way. The sergeant shook his head, and said, “Damn,” as he walked away.
It’s safe to say the military is made up of all kinds. We were practicing throwing grenades. After you threw one, you were supposed to duck behind a log wall that was built into an earthen berm. One of the guys pulled the pin, threw the grenade, ducked down, then all of the sudden he jumped back up—he wanted to watch it go off. Luckily, the sergeant grabbed him, throwing him to the