The Scariest Place in the World: A Marine Returns to North Korea by James Brady

Author:James Brady [Brady, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: History
ISBN: 9780312332433
Google: hvZ6zGVN-SYC
Goodreads: 556749
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2005-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 26

THEY WERE TOSSING GRENADES, ONE OF THEM AN OLD

GERMAN POTATO MASHER FROM WORLD WAR I.

Colonel Gregory was holding his regular officers’ meeting one pleasant spring morning in the lee of Hill 229 about half a mile behind the MLR. The colonel’s staff sat in a circle on the ground or on sandbags and it was all very relaxed, Gregory standing there in the middle of us in his fatigues and yellow canvas leggings and with a .45 strapped on, and going around the circle for the report: the operations officer, Major Dennis Nicholson; the supply officer; the air officer, Captain Gibson; the communications officer, Joe Buscemi, who had played in the 1947 Rose Bowl; Mack Allen as the adjutant. When he got to me most mornings I gave the intelligence report: whatever happened during the night, any hint of enemy action to come, issuing the password.

On this particular morning Colonel Gregory had a specific question for me. Which was rare, since I believe the colonel and I both understood that I didn’t know much about intelligence. He kept me around, and Mack Allen, who was also clueless when it came to being an adjutant, just in case there was a spring offensive and the usual casualties. The battalion would have a couple of spares, rifle platoon leaders who knew the job.

“Lieutenant Brady, as our fine intelligence officer, can you tell us if there are any Chinese on Hill Yoke?”

Yoke was a smallish hill out between the lines just north of us, a dulllooking pyramidal hill of sandstone with only one distinguishing feature, a badly smashed steel high-tension tower on its summit.

“I don’t know, Colonel. We haven’t seen any but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

“Well, then, as our fine intelligence officer”—Colonel Gregory could be cutting—“why don’t you go out there and look around and come back and tell us?” He cackled when he laughed and he was cackling now.

I said that sounded like a swell idea, one of the more creative ideas I’d heard in some time (lieutenants are expected to agree with colonels), and the S-3, Major Nicholson, was told to set up the patrol.

There was a reason behind Gregory’s question, not just a canny old soldier’s hunch, or an opportunity to get me off my ass and back out patrolling. It was a division order. The previous Sunday at four, teatime precisely, Chinese artillery in a very well-coordinated attack had fired off an impressive counterbattery concentration, hitting Marine artillery positions all the way along the division line. Did little damage up here where we were but sent us all diving into foxholes and pits as the shells shuttled noisily overhead. Behind us, a Chinese shell touched off some of our stored ammo and killed a couple of 11th Marines artillerymen. Which was unfortunate, but you haven’t seen the day Marine infantrymen mourn gunners. Hell, back there they’re living it up with tents and showers, and never have to go on patrol. So the infantry wasn’t shedding tears.

But it irritated the brass that the thing was so efficiently done.

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