Voices from the Korean War - Douglas Rice [29]
We mopped up around the southern part of Inchon and dug in on some high ground just outside the city. The 31st and 32nd Infantry Regiments, of the 7th Infantry Division, moved out toward Seoul.
On the second or third day we began to move almost due east, cutting off the escape routes of the NKPA. There were thousands of POW’s, under American guard, being marched to POW compounds. It was our job to look for stragglers. We set up roadblocks and tried to check everyone. It became very difficult to pick out the refugees from the infiltrators.
After a time, we were sent to guard an interrogation enclosure for those suspected of aiding the North Koreans. It was a barbed wire area, so we had a clear view of all that was going on. My guard post was situated at the end of a bridge about fifty yards from the compound; across from me was an ROK soldier. Having to relieve himself, he went a short distance down a slope beside the bridge. While he was gone, an ROK officer (rank unknown) came looking for him. Finding him absent from his post, the officer unholstered his pistol and shot the soldier dead. That scene is as vivid in my mind today as the day it happened.
* * * * * *
I cannot recall how we were transported south to Pusan, where we bivouacked north of the city. After replacing missing equipment, we were taken by truck to the docks and loaded onto LST’s. Each of which carried a battalion and regardless of rank everybody was located on the deck. The only thing loaded in the holds was our vehicles.
We sailed up the east coast in very choppy seas, and men had become seasick. With limited latrine facilities, men were trying to hang over the sides to vomit, crap, or whatever else needed to be done. The deck became so slick from all the refuse, one could barely keep their footing; especially with the pitch and yaw of the boat. We didn’t help our situation any by eating C-rations. Needless to say, we looked like hell, and felt worse.
Finally, we reached Iwon, North Korea. The crew of our LST ran the vessel aground, opened its doors, lowered the ramps, and discharged its stinking passengers. Luckily, we met no enemy resistance and as we walked through the sand we drug our feet, trying to get rid of the slime from our landing craft. There was nothing we could do about the rest of our condition.
We moved inland and quickly took up positions along a ridge line. For the next several days, we patrolled the surrounding area. During this time I went from being a rifleman to a platoon scout; this meant I was the first idiot out front. I held this job until February of 1951, and then I became a machine gunner.
As October drew to a close, the days and nights began to get colder. When the big push began we headed north to the Yalu River. As we traveled along the roads, we saw six men dressed in quilted clothing lying dead in a gully; we knew who they were—Chinese. They had been killed by artillery fire. However, we could not get anyone beyond battalion to believe us.
By this time the weather had turned miserable; it had turned colder, rain with snow mixed in, and fog. We were still wearing our warm weather gear. A few of us didn’t have anything to keep us warm, our feet dry, or gloves for our hands—it would only get worse.
The 3rd BN had to be moved in a hurry, to the west, to join up with the rest of the regiment, so trucks were sent to pick us up. I don’t recall how far we traveled, but it was fairly long with very few latrine breaks. At one point I had to relieve myself—badly. So, I sat on my helmet, on the wooden seat of the truck, and did what I had to do. When finished, I threw my helmet out the back of the truck. Needless to say, I wasn’t the most popular guy on the truck. But I soon