Voices from the Korean War - Douglas Rice [9]
As we trekked northward, we went through the towns of Osan-ni and Seoul. After breaking through enemy lines, and crossing the 38th parallel, we headed straight for the capital of North Korea—Pyongyang. From here we went to Chinampo, which was on the west coast. We continued north until we were within fifteen miles of the Yalu River. One of the towns we passed through was Sinchang-ni.
One of the worse battles that I witnessed occurred in Sinchang-ni beginning on the 29th of November, and lasted for four days. The ROK was on our right and left flanks. When the Chinese attacked, the ROK left without informing anyone. The Chinese came at us from all sides, and outnumbered us ten-to-one. Casualties were extremely heavy, and we worked all day and night trying to save lives. All three battalion aid stations were overrun by the Chinese and most of the medics were killed or captured. Our station was the only one left in operation for the entire regiment.
There were eight of us medics, along with two doctors. Our aid station was set up in a one-room building. One of the doctors stayed outside, in the dark, to give aid to those who couldn’t come inside. By the time the wounded arrived, they were almost dead. As a result, most of my cases died before I could finish any first aid procedures.
Finally, after four days, I was able to take a break. I went outside with one of the doctors, where we saw row after row of dead that had been brought to the aid station. It was a sobering experience; we medics felt helpless.
When we heard that the ROK had left without telling anyone, we became very angry. It was very emotional when we were told which medics had been killed or wounded—they were our friends.
It was amazing what our medical team could do when we lacked supplies; we had to be creative. Our doctors constantly had to come up with alternate procedures. We depended on the doctors for their expertise, but us medics became good at diagnosing illnesses such as, pneumonia, malaria, and encephalitis. Several times I found myself making decisions when a doctor was unavailable—we had to! Each of us understood the gravity of the situation—no one wanted any soldier to die.
* * * * * *
The night before I was to rotate home we had moved to a new location, and a friend and I were to dig a foxhole; instead, I slept on the ground. Later that night we were strafed by enemy aircraft—we quickly dug that foxhole. I was afraid that I wasn’t going to make it home. However, during the last of June 1951, I boarded the Marine Lynx—headed stateside.
After we docked in Seattle, I walked down the gangplank, stooped down, and kissed the ground—I was back in the U.S.A.
I was discharged from the Army on December 21, 1951.[1]
~~Six~~
George Porter
23rd Infantry Regiment
2nd Infantry Division
U.S. Army
I was born in Kentucky on February 18, 1933. One weekend I went to see a movie at the local cinema, and the news reel said, “Join the Army and see the world.” The next morning I went to the post office to talk to the recruiting officer. I told him I was seventeen and wanted to join, but I was actually sixteen years old. He informed me that I needed to bring in my birth certificate, to verify that I was seventeen. When I asked my mother for it, she told me that it had been lost in the 1937 flood. The recruiter then explained to me that my mother would have to go to the courthouse and sign a notarized document stating that I was seventeen. She did. On August 29, 1949 I was sworn into the U.S. Army. Two days later I arrived at Fort Knox, Kentucky to begin my basic training.
On the 22nd of December, after three-and-a-half months of training, I received orders to report to A Battery, 37th FA, 2nd Infantry Division, in Fort Lewis, Washington on January 2, 1950. Here I went through more training