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THREE DAYS NEAR WONJU |
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Company C-187th Airborne Regimental Combat Team |
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By Cpl. James G. Wolfe |
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Almost 60 years have passed
since those fateful days of 13th, 14th, and 15th of February of 1951. Because
those days were seared into my consciousness as if by a hot iron, I thought
that the memory of them would remain rather clear even to this day. However,
I sense that time and age is beginning to blur what was once crystal clear.
With each passing day I realize that death is just around the corner and that
one day soon I must go the way of all flesh, and it may some day even take me
by surprise. It is with this in mind that I have decided to record, as
clearly as I can, what happened to me on those three eventful days, days that
changed the direction of my life. I had already been in Korea for about 5
months, but no other three days of my life have affected me in the same way.
So if you will bear with me, I will try to take you back in time and share
with you the events that changed my life. |
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I remember awakening on the
morning of the 13th. I had covered my sleeping bag with
a shelter-half because it was snowing when I bedded down the night before.
When I slipped out of my sleeping bag, I felt the weight of about four inches
of snow on top of me. I shook the snow off of the shelter-half and folded it
up. Then I rolled up my sleeping bag and tied it onto my cartridge belt. I
always carried my sleeping bag with me because I had learned the hard way
that you never knew what the day had in store for you. Twice I had been
caught without my sleeping bag and by morning I was nearly frozen to death. |
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I looked around and said to
myself, "Another nasty day!" But as it turned out, that was not
true. As a matter of fact, it was a beautiful day—about 30 degrees and clear
skies. We were in a wooded area and the sun was sparkling off of the snow on
the tree limbs. I could even hear some birds singing. It almost felt like
spring was in the air. |
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The squad was sitting around a
fire munching on C-ration breakfasts and drinking coffee when the platoon
sergeant came by and told us that we were to go with the 3rd platoon on a patrol. By "we" he meant the 57mm
recoilless rifle squad that I was in. I was the gunner at that time and with
those words I checked out my gun to see that it was in good condition. The
other men made sure that they had plenty of 57mm ammo. |
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We didn't know it then, but the
Chinese had launched a big offensive the night before and had surrounded
several of the ROK outfits and some units of the 2nd Infantry Division. They had not hit our positions for some
reason known only to them-selves. So off we had to go to see where they were. |
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As I recall, the patrol was made
up of the 3rd platoon, with my squad coming along. We also had an artillery
observer and his radioman along with us. We left the road at about 09:00 and
headed up a draw into the mountains. The rifle squads were in the lead and
this put me and my squad at the tail end of the line. Altogether we numbered
roughly 45 men. |
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We labored up the steep draw for
about a half mile, puffing and groaning. The march stopped suddenly when we
heard firing and some grenades exploding up ahead. As the lead rifle squad
approached the crest of a ridge, they were fired on by several enemy soldiers.
Our boys quickly charged on up and chased the enemy away. Then we all filed
on up to the top of the long ridge line. |
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My squad finally reached the
ridge line and I stopped beside Lt. Alexander, the 3rd platoon leader. We were all just gawking at a bare hill about
300 yards away. The hill was covered by men just sitting there. There must
have been four or five hundred men covering that hill. I looked over at the
lieutenant and said, "What do you think, lieutenant? Are they friend or
foe?" We couldn't tell if they were Chinese or ROK's. |
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At that moment a burp gun opened
up on us. A man in my squad named Fleming, from New Orleans, was standing
next to me and a slug hit him in the hip. He immediately fell down and
happened to fall forward, sliding about 10 to 15 feet down the exposed snow covered
slope. Immediately, without thinking, I and another man jumped down and slid
to him. The Chink was apparently not too far from us and was spraying us with
his burp gun. I remember that snow was kicking up all around us. |
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The other man, Lupe Contreras, (Ed. Note: Lupe, was from St. Paul, MN, he was recalled back
to active duty in Sept. 1950, the same time I, (Leo Kocher) was from
Aberdeen, SD.) and I
each grabbed a hand and began to slip and slide pulling Fleming up the slope.
Meanwhile, our friendly burp gunner was emptying his magazine at us. The
bullets were kicking up snow all around us, even between our legs. With each
jerk of our hands Fleming would let out a yell because he was flopping on his
wounded hip. It seemed like it took about 5 minutes to reach the ridge line
again, although it was probably only about 15 seconds. How that Chink missed
us, I can't imagine. We were fully exposed and just slipping and sliding and
wallowing in the snow, trying to climb up that steep snow-covered bank,
pulling up our wounded buddy. |
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Let me digress for a moment.
Right here we see one big difference between the Marine Corp and the Army. We
received no recognition for this act of courage. Had we been in the Marine
Corp, Lupe and I would have received a Silver Star for our actions. After
all, we voluntarily without hesitation risked our lives to save our buddy. It
was almost miraculous that we did not also get wounded or killed. To the
Marine Corp's credit I have to say that they always give recognition to their
men for any act of courage that they may do. This is why a Marine division
will give out as many decorations as any six divisions of infantry put
together. It is not because they are more courageous or do more heroic deeds,
but because the Marine Corp believes that recognition of bravery enhances
their esprit de corp. And
one must admit that the Marines have plenty of that. |
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Please understand that I am not
saying that Lupe and I were any more courageous than our buddies, because we
were not. I have no doubt that any one of them would have done the same thing
if the situation arose for them. I had absolute confidence that my comrades
would risk their lives for me if I were ever in such a position. We were
bound together by those unbreakable bonds that tie combat men to each other. |
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When I got back up on the ridge
line, I saw that the men on the other hill were starting to get restless. Our
artillery forward observer began to call in the 105 's and I had my assistant
gunner, a young man named Ken Gander, load my 57 and I fired a shot from that
opening through the trees on the ridge line. But the shell was deflected by a
tree limb as it left the gun and landed and exploded about 50 yards down in
front of us. |
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I called Ken and we went to the
right of our position on the ridge line into an open saddle between it and
another ridge that ran at about right angles toward the hill on which the
Chinese men were sitting. He loaded me and I took aim and fired. The round
landed right in the middle of some men that were running for the back side of
the hill. At the same time the 105's began to arrive on the hill. Then I
fired about four more rounds at the running men. |
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All this time some Chinks were
shooting at Ken and me who were standing out in the open. The fire got a
little too hot, so we decided to go back up on the ridge with the rest of the
men. Since all of the Chinese had run to the opposite side of the hill and a
57 is a direct fire weapon, there were no more targets for us. So we
high-tailed it for the safety of our ridge line with the rifle bullets
nipping at our heels like a pack of wild dogs. |
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The Chinese decided to attack
our position and a fire fight broke out. Our platoon machine gunner set up
his gun on the ridge line and lifted the latch to load a belt in the gun.
Just as he was about to place the belt in position, a rifle bullet smashed the
lifted latch to pieces. So there went our machine gun. |
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Our riflemen were all very good
shots and the Chinese soon found that out. A friend of mine from Malden,
Mass., whose name was Robert Monaghan, killed 12 Chinese soldiers one after
the other as they tried to climb up to our position. (If he would happen to
read this account, I would love to hear from him. All I can remember now is
that he is Irish and loved to kill Chinese soldiers.) |
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Our artillery observer decided
to play rifleman and was lying on the ridge line firing at the Chinks when a
bullet hit the stock of his rifle, shattering the stock and sending wood
splinters into his eyes, blinding him. The bullet also smashed his collar
bone. So now we no longer had artillery support. Instead we had a blinded and
wounded lieutenant that could do nothing for us. |
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Because a 57 weighs about 45
pounds, I carried a carbine instead of an M1. Since I had no real targets for
my 57, I laid it aside and covered our flank, along with a couple of other
men. I saw a Chink brazenly walking on the other side of the ridge across the
saddle from which I had fired. I took aim and fired at the man and missed. He
continued to walk slowly and nonchalantly in perfect view of that master
marksman Cpl Wolfe. So in anger I took aim again, knowing that this time I
would put him in his grave for sure. |
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Bang, bang, bang! He didn't even
flinch. I ranted and raved and tried again. He walked out of sight as though
nothing had happened. Perhaps I was shooting blanks. How could I have missed
four shots at a man that was walking slowly only about 30 yards from me? I
was so embarrassed that I looked around to see if anybody was watching my
display of marksmanship. Fortunately, nobody was watching and I kept it a
secret lest I would be the laughing stock of the company. |
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Up to now we had only a couple
of wounded men. But the Chinese suffered quite a number of dead that we could
see and who knows how many wounded. So they decided that they would not
continue their attack. They merely stayed their distance and took potshots at
us. |
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Lt. Alexander, whom I called
Iron Lungs, because his voice was so loud that he didn't need a radio to call
in mortar fire, decided to call in 4.2 mortar fire on the Chinks. So he gave
them what he thought would be the proper coordinates to hit the enemy and
they fired off a round. Fortunately we were all lying on the ground due to
the rifle fire because he called in the 4.2 right on top of us. |
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Ker-bam! It landed about 8 feet
from me and bounced me about 4 feet into the air. I temporarily lost my
hearing in the ear nearest the explosion and was knocked silly for a few
moments. A piece of shrapnel hit a tree about 8 inches in diameter and sliced
it in two. Another miracle! Nobody was hurt. So Iron Lungs frantically yelled
for them to cease firing. It never seemed to occur to him that he could
merely have them lift it 50 yards and it would be right on top of the enemy.
And being just a corporal I didn't feel that I could tell him what to do. So
we no longer had that support. |
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Lt. Alexander decided that we
needed some additional men, although it didn't appear that the Chinese wanted
anymore of what we had to offer them. At any rate, he sent the platoon runner
out to look for the regimental Recon Platoon which he knew was in the area.
About fifteen minutes later the runner returned and yelled up to the
lieutenant and told him that he had located them and that they would join up
with us in a little while. |
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The lieutenant asked if he was
OK and he said that he was wounded. He came on up to our position and we saw
that his right radius was shattered from a rifle bullet. He couldn't load and
fire his rifle, so he was essentially useless. Now we had a blind artillery
observer and two helpless riflemen. |
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There was a young man in the 3rd platoon, whose name I no longer remember, but we called him
Fag. Now he wasn't a fag by any means but he just looked a little faggish and
since he was a good guy and good natured, he never seemed to mind it. I
assure you that this fellow did not lack in guts. |
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He was sitting behind three
small trees that sprouted from the same spot and he was exchanging shots and
obscenities with a Chink who was about 50 yards away. Two or three of us were
standing back out of the line of fire watching, listening, and laughing. He
would curse the Chink and fire his rifle. Then the Chink would curse him and
fire his rifle. They went back and forth like this for four or five exchanges
when suddenly Fag was hit in the back. He flopped onto his back and the upper
half of his body trembled while his legs remained perfectly still. It was
obvious that the bullet had hit his spine. |
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We were all frozen into position
for about 5 seconds and then our medic, Bass, a man of tremendous courage,
slowly crawled up to him and dragged him back out of danger. Poor Fag
couldn't move. He just laid there quietly, saying nothing at all, although he
was not unconscious. We just looked at him, feeling rather helpless. He
didn't appear to be in pain—he just couldn't move. So now we had one blind
man, one walking wounded man, two litter cases, no artillery support, and no
machine gun, and with about 45 rifles we were facing about 500 Chinese
soldiers. |
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Poor Fag laid there on the
frozen ground for about 8 hours with very little complaint. Once or twice he
begged us to take him down to the aid station, but when we told him that it
was impossible, he accepted it like the real man that he was. I am happy to
report that Fag made it to the States and fully recovered. But I will always
remember what a macho man he turned out to be. Never let looks deceive you. |
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It was now about 2 o'clock in
the afternoon. Lt. Alexander was getting antsy because the Recon boys had not
yet arrived. So he looked over at me and told me to go look for them. Well—!
I can't say that I was one happy camper. I wouldn't have minded quite so much
going out with somebody else. But to go alone was not my idea of how to spend
a pleasant afternoon. As a matter of fact, it was downright scary. |
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With my insides churning with
fear I left our position and started out to find the Recon Platoon.
Everything was very, very quiet. I couldn't hear a sound. There seemed to be
no more pot shooting. |
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I would go about 25 yards and
then kneel down and peer around me looking for friend or foe. I went out for
some distance with my heart pounding every step. I saw nothing and I heard
nothing. |
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Suddenly I fell on my face and
strained my eyes and ears. I could feel eyes on me. They were burning me. I
had no doubt that there were one or two Chinese soldiers watching me, waiting
for me to get closer. I laid there for about 3 minutes straining my eyes and
ears. I still felt those eyes burning into me. But I couldn't see anyone. |
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Finally, I decided to go back. I
began to crawl backwards little by little. With every movement I strained to
see or hear anything. After I had pulled back about 25 yards into the woods,
I rose up and backed farther away. Then I returned to my beloved ridge line
with my wonderfully protective buddies. I told the lieutenant that I couldn't
find them and breathed a long sigh of relief. |
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Now it was about 3 in the
afternoon. We were surrounded as far as we knew and were told by radio to
remain where we were until given further orders. The artillery observer asked
the wounded runner if he would lead him down to the road and he agreed to do
so. Lt. Alexander told them that if they were dumb enough to go alone, the
blind leading the blind, so to speak, then go ahead. But he thought that they
would be either killed or captured. Still our blind observer and our wounded
runner both decided to go back down the draw to the road. The runner took a
hold of the observers hand and led him down the draw out of sight.
Miraculously, they made it fine. Either the Chinese weren't watching or they
didn't want two wounded prisoners. |
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About an hour later the Recon
boys found us and joined up with us to wait for orders to come down to the
road. Soon it was getting dark and still no orders. We were not happy about
the prospect of finding our way down to the road through 500 Chinese in the
dark. Finally, after waiting for and expecting the Chinese to attack after
darkness came, we received orders to come on down. |
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We loaded our wounded men on
litters and started down the draw. We didn't know if we would be attacked
while withdrawing but we were very nervous. It was impossible to be quiet
going down that gully in the dark. There was slipping and sliding and cursing
and falling and clattering. It must have sounded like a herd of elephants
coming down that ravine. Maybe that is why the Chinese didn't attack us.
Whatever the reason, we made it back without incident. |
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By the time that we arrived back
to the company it was about 11 at night. There was a column of tanks waiting
for us and we climbed on board. General Ridgway decided to pull us back about
twelve miles to Wonju where we would make a stand. Apparently Wonju was the
key to the Chinese plans and we, along with elements of the 2nd Division and a Dutch battalion, were going to hold it. |
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All night long we rode on those
tanks. Since it was completely dark and we could use no lights, the going was
very slow. We would go for five or ten minutes and then we would stop for
twenty minutes. It was so very cold, probably about zero or less. We would
crowd around the tank engine to get some warmth into our bodies, taking turns
so that everybody would share in it. Those eight hours on those tanks were
about as miserable as any eight hours we spent in Frozen Chosen. |
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Somewhere around two or three
o'clock in the morning of the 14th we stopped again. I don't know why but
everybody turned off their engines. Suddenly it was very silent. Then I heard
somebody groaning and saying, "Oh, my leg, my leg!" Then he would
begin to cry and scream. Some poor dogface laid down to rest and fell asleep
with his leg sticking onto the road. A tank ran over it and cut off his foot.
I don't know if he was a paratrooper or a dogface from the 2nd Division. I
never heard. But I can still hear his screams. |
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The Bible says that there is no
rest for the wicked and I have often wondered if hell is like that terrible
tank ride that night. It seemed that we would never get where we were going.
Often we would fall asleep on those tanks and wake up nearly falling off.
Somebody would catch you as you were falling and raise you back up. The cold
penetrated deep into our bones and turned us into numbness indescribable. I
think that only a combat infantryman can understand what I am saying. |
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After we arrived at our new
company position and were assigned our squad area, then we had to dig
foxholes in frozen ground because it would not be long before the Chinese
would catch up with us. It took us about four hours of constant digging to
break that frozen earth so that we would have someplace to be safe from
mortar and rifle fire. Finally, after being up for about 36 hours, walking
several miles up and down a mountain, riding on a tank in sub-zero weather
for about eight hours, hacking frozen earth for about four hours, and having
nothing to eat for longer than I wanted to remember, I crawled into my
foxhole and crashed. |
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Somewhere around midnight I was
awakened to pull guard for two hours. I managed to open a can of frozen
C-rations and eat it while on guard. I was so tired that I had to stand and
walk around to keep from falling asleep. Finally, I walked over to another
squad area to find out the time and came back, woke up my relief, and expired
again until about seven in the morning of the 15th. |
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The life of the infantryman is
made up of bad news, terrible news, and horrible news. This morning was no
different. We were going on a company sized combat patrol. Now there are a
lot of stupid things that the army does, but I can't think of anything more
stupid than a combat patrol. You go out just to get into a fight---not to
take ground or some objective that makes sense, but just to get into a fight.
It sort of reminds me of a senseless barroom brawl. And that is what we were
ordered to perhaps die for or suffer the loss of an eye or a limb for. Maybe
a major or a colonel understands the purpose of a combat patrol but a simple
corporal is too obtuse. |
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So the whole company lined
up—three rifle platoons, the weapons platoon, four medium tanks from
Support-Company, and a unit of 81mm mortars and a couple of jeep mounted 75
recoilless rifles from D-Company. And off we went to find the enemy and pick
a fight with him. We marched for about three or four miles before we made
contact. The Chinese were sitting on a hill that was about 300 feet high just
waiting for us. |
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One of our rifle platoons got
into a skirmish line and started across some frozen rice paddies. In the
meantime, the tanks, the 75's, and the 81's were plastering the ridge line of
the hill. The Chinese put up a little fight but we quickly kicked them off
the hill. Of course, they merely ran back to the next hill and set up
housekeeping. We got a few of their men and three of our men were killed and
several were wounded. And for what? |
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By the time that I got to the
top with my 57, the riflemen were lying on the ridge line exchanging shots
with the Chinese on the next hill. One of the platoon leaders grabbed me and
pointed out a possible target on the hill where our friendly Chinese had
gone. So Walter Shearer (Ken was sick that day) loaded me and I fired a few
rounds into those positions. Of course, I have no idea if there was anyone
there. I merely shot where the lieutenant said. |
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Our company commander, Capt.
Daniel Melvin and whoever else was involved in the decision-making process,
decided that we should take that next hill also. (Ed. Note: Capt. Melvin and I (Leo Kocher) both served in the
511th PIR
in Camp Haugen, Japan, thanks to that acquiescence; he requested that I serve
under him in C-Co.187th ARCT.) So a squad of riflemen and
my squad were ordered to take up positions on a finger that pointed toward
that hill. Once again I must criticize this decision because this finger
sloped downward and we were completely exposed to enemy fire with no place to
take cover. Once out on that finger the enemy could pick us off easily if
they were good marksmen. Fortunately they were not very good shots. |
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We followed the rifle squad down
the sloping finger for about 25 yards. We hit the dirt and took what little
cover we could find. I was standing up, leaning forward, peering across the
open ground at the hill we wanted to take, looking for some target for my 57.
It must have been about one o'clock in the afternoon. |
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Suddenly, I was spun around by a
hammer-blow to my right forearm. I could actually feel the bone vibrate. The
bullet went through my right forearm, cracking the radius and damaging the
ulnar nerve. I immediately felt my hand and arm go numb up to the wound. I
lost the use of the fingers on my right hand and I got rather excited. I
screamed for a medic and somebody told me to calm down. I realized what a
fool I was, because there was no way I would die from such a wound. |
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The medic, Bass came running up
to me. He ripped up my sleeve and put a bandage on the entrance wound. I was
lying down and he was kneeling beside me. I looked up at him and said,
"Bass, you better get down or they'll get you." The Chinese were
taking some pot shots at us. He laughed and replied, "Hey, they can't
shoot me. It's against the Geneva Convention because I'm a
non-combatant." The standard joke. |
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Just then I heard a noise, like
a splat. I looked up at Bass and he was leaning over with his hands covering
his face. He took his hands away and blood came gushing out of his mouth. I
immediately yelled for another medic for him. Then somebody made the mistake
of yelling for everybody on the finger to start shooting. |
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Well—that was a big mistake
because we were wide open. Those Chinks suddenly opened fire on us. I saw
little pine sprouts being cut down all around us by the hundreds of bullets
being shot at us. Everybody but Bass and I were shooting at them and then SFC
Gregg was hit. A bullet went into his forearm and clear up his arm and out
his back. Then somebody else was hit. |
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There I was in a hail of bullets
and unable to shoot back because I had lost the use of my right hand. I
thought to myself, "What are you doing here?" So I jumped up and
began to run up slope toward the ridge line. The Chinese must have seen me
running and decided to see who could get me. The soil was gravelly and there
was a little snow on it and I was running with all I had, kicking up gravel
and snow like a snow plow. |
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Little geysers of gravel and
snow were being kicked up and little pine sprouts were falling all around me.
Literally a storm of bullets was flying around me—but miraculously, I was not
hit. Above me on the ridge line my buddies were yelling encouragements to me
as though I were a running back heading for the goal line. As I neared the
top, I dove over the ridge to safety and my buddies applauded. Now it sounds
very funny, but at that time it was life and death. |
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I made my way down to the aid
station at the bottom of the hill. A medic asked if I had had a morphine shot
and I said that I didn't think so. So he gave me one—but I must have received
one from Bass before he was shot because I was soon flying very, very high. |
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I was standing there looking at
the dead and wounded. I remember seeing four dead men and about six wounded
men, besides us walking wounded. I looked at one young man that I knew rather
well. He was lying on the ground in a sort of coma, deathly pale. I asked the
medic if he was dead and he said no, but he told me that he was in shock,
although he only had a flesh wound in the thigh. I found out later that he
died about an hour later. |
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While I was standing there, a
platoon walked by me looking very sad. They were going to attack that next
hill. By this time I was feeling no pain and I said, "Have fun,
guys!" They just looked at me with big humorless eyes. I remember
laughing at them and seeing hatred in their eyes. (I'm so sorry fellas, I was
drunk on that morphine.) |
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About that time somebody came up
to me and said, "Hey, Wolfe, Craft is dead!" I was rather hazy from
the morphine and it didn't soak in what he said. So he repeated it. I looked
up at the hill and saw two men carrying Cpl. Donald Craft, from Buffalo, NY,
down the hill. I watched them go up to a trailer attached to a jeep and toss
him in like just so much meat. I collapsed and started to bawl like a baby. |
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Craft! Craft who seemed almost
indestructible! He was a giant of a man and as tough as they come, so how
could they kill him. Me, yes, but not him. I loved Craft like a brother. I
had shared many a hard situation with him—and now I would see him no more. I
was crushed. He had been lying on the firing line and a Chinese bullet hit
him in the throat and cut his jugular vein. He died within three minutes. It
was as though he just went to sleep. He closed his eyes and passed out of
this life. In my mind he was a hero of Homeric proportions, never to be
forgotten. |
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At that moment my mind was taken
away from my terrible loss by the return of that attacking platoon. They had
been cut to ribbons. Quite a number of them were wounded. So much for this
wonderful combat patrol. |
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It was finally decided that we
had hurt them enough with this combat patrol, (ha, ha) and now we had to get
out of there. So they lined up the jeeps with their trailers filled with
wounded and dead and prepared to race across about 300 yards of open ground
on the road back home. There we were, lined up like sprinters ready for the
starting gun and the tanks and jeep mounted 75 recoilless rifles ready to go
out into the open and hammer the Chinese until we had crossed to safety. |
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Fortunately, I was in a
"what, me worry" frame of mind because of the morphine or I would
have been quite nervous. But as it was, I thought it was all great fun. At a
signal from the captain the tanks and the 75 recoilless jeeps roared out into
the open and began to pound that hill. Our convoy burnt rubber and sped
across the open ground as fast as a jeep pulling a trailer could. The bullets
zinged all around us like buzzing bees. Somehow we made it across that open
ground without a single wound. Truly amazing! |
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AND NOW THE REST OF THE STORY |
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I was taken back to the
regimental aid station and then placed on a C-54 and flown to Taegu and put
in the 4th Field
Hospital. Three days later I was sent to an army hospital in Osaka, Japan,
where a cast was placed on my arm. After the cast was removed, I was given
physical therapy because I still could not use my fingers. Then I was placed
on limited duty for some time because they didn't know what to do with me.
The doctors didn't understand nerve injuries back in those days. |
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While in the hospital at Osaka,
I went to the army hospital in Kobe to see an old friend. And who should I
see there but my good friend and medic, Bass. The bullet that hit him went
through his head without hitting a bone. It entered his left eye without
damaging the eye and passed out the back of his head and neck. He healed up
and returned to the outfit long before I even got out of the hospital with my
arm wound. Will wonders ever cease? |
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Eventually, after almost two
years, it was recognized that my fingers would always be numb because of the
damage to the nerve and I was given a medical discharge. Thus ended my
military career and my combat life. Those three days near Wonju changed the direction
of my life. |
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After leaving the service I went
to college and then to graduate school and eventually became a professor of
physics and mathematics. Ten years later while I was a professor at Indiana
State, I had a powerful conversion experience. So for the last 46 years I
have been a Christian minister, a foreign missionary and a pastor of a
church. And now I am old and spend moments, from time to time, remembering
those days and my old friends. |
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Well, this is my tale of three
days near Wonju. My tale is no different than that of many others. I just
happen to be alive to tell it. On that fateful day of 15 Feb 51, US forces
lost 132 killed in action and about 500 wounded. Not the worst day on record
in Korea, but bad enough. But for me, I lost one of the finest friends that I
have ever had. |
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So I end this tale by saluting
Donald Craft and all of the other courageous men that gave their lives in
that far away land. (Ed. Note: the
author, James G. Wolfe had previously served in SVC-511th PIR at Fort
Campbell, KY, Donald Craft had previously served in C-511th PIR following WWII
at Camp Haugen, Japan and in Fort Campbell, KY. Lupe Contreras was KIA on 5/29/1951 during the battle of Inje in South Korea.) James G. Wolfe passed away on Oct. 12,
2016. |
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James is shown here with his second love "Big
Red." After leaving Indiana
State, he transported |
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goods across the USA for 10 years with "Big Red,"
experiencing a high in his life. |
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