The Not Forgotten War by Dick Nicholas Jr.;Dailey Janet;

Author:Dick, Nicholas, Jr.;Dailey, Janet;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
Published: 2002-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

On the night of July 13, 1953, all hell broke loose along the front line.

I didn’t know it at the time, but Singhman Rhee, the Korean president, had outraged the Chinese by, among other things, arbitrarily releasing thousands of prisoners of war. By doing so, Rhee had totally ignored the agreed procedure that had been hammered out between the Communists and the United Nations representatives at the peace table in Panmunjom

In retaliation for Rhee’s actions, the Chinese launched a massive attack, throwing an estimated seven divisions of Chinese Communist Forces against a single division of the ROK Army. (ROK is an acronym for the Republic of Korea; they were on our side.)

Seven divisions against one. I guess I don’t have to say any more than that.

By the morning of the July 14th, the ROKs were awash in a sea of Red Chinese. The Fifteenth - the Can Do - Regiment was among the units ordered forward to halt the flood.

Only the top brass knew what we would be up against that rainy morning when a convoy of empty deuce-and-a-halfs roared into camp. Orders flew.

“Grab you weapons and ammunition! There’s a hole in our line. Everybody in the trucks.”

When they said ‘everybody, there were no exceptions. Cooks, dishwashers, - the Army didn’t care what your job normally was. If you had on an Army uniform, they shoved a gun in your hands and pushed you into a truck.

We piled into those deuce-and-a-halfs while Dickerson, our new platoon sergeant from Georgia, raced to the motor pool. It was his job to get our Jeep, hook up the trailer and head to the ammunition dump to get our machine guns and ammunition.

As soon as our truck was loaded, the driver pulled out, gears grinding and the wheels slipping in the mud. Once we were on our way, the things we’d been told began to sink in – the Chinese had broken through our line. I remembered the hell of Outpost Harry with the Chinese

swarming up the hill and into the trenches. And here we were with no flak jackets.

Tension crept in, the kind of tension that comes from experience and the uncertainty of the hell that might be waiting. Something told me that if I ever needed God with me, I needed Him now.

Without even thinking, I started singing the first song that came to mind - “Onward Christian Soldiers”. I wasn’t singing for anybody else but myself. And I didn’t give a damn if any of the others thought it was weird or silly.

Before I knew it, everybody in the truck joined in and sang with me. The guys in the troop carriers ahead and behind us heard the singing. Soon they were singing, too. There we were, crammed in the back of deuce-and-a-halfs plowing through a driving rain to who knows what, singing “Onward Christian Soldiers”.

Maybe the song choice is a strange one. But we were soldiers heading into battle, just like the ones in the song. And this was

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