We’d been close all this time, and I’d missed him. That had been my excuse for leaving Sara and joining up, to hopefully find my friends and try to keep them safe. Although Sara and I both knew I left because she was married. In retrospect, I’d been so naïve when I enlisted. Driven by emotions. I had made a huge mistake. I’d lost Sara and maybe my baby. And I’d done nothing to help my friends. I’d be lucky to save myself.
Only one of my friends was active. I needed to find him now. Tomorrows were a coin flip.
Chapter Forty-Eight
It only took me a couple of hours to locate Jerry Meyers. His tent partners told me he had just left for mess. I had just been there earlier. In the thousands of soldiers moving about I wondered how many times we had passed each other?
I walked back into the mess tent and looked around, studying each face until I found him. Though thinner, his basic features hadn’t changed, just aged. His eyes had sunk deeper into his skull and now lugged puffy bags under them. He had a week’s growth of beard. And his facial skin, what I could see of it, was wind chafed.
Warmth surged through me. It was almost as if we were home again and nothing had changed; everything was okay. My feelings reminded me of the time my dog had run away. I’d searched every day after school for weeks and not found him. But finally one day there he was, my pal, my friend.
What would I say to him? Hell, we probably had more in common now than we ever had.
As I worked my way toward him, as if he sensed my approach, he stopped eating and his eyes found me; too much foxhole time had made us all aware of someone approaching. Although his expression remained fixed, his stare locked on me. He knew me. He stood.
Looking at him reminded me of what I saw when I looked into a mirror; another war-scarred Marine.
I rounded his table, and we embraced like estranged brothers. His strong arms squeezed me as they had long-ago-yesterdays, days of innocence. Jammed up with emotions, running the gauntlet from happiness to regrets, it took all of my control to contain them.
He smelled stale, and I could feel his ribs, his prior football physique now history.
Long seconds passed as we stood hugging, speechless, savoring who we used to be.
In that isolated space of time, all my fears and the accompanying stress took a vacation. I’d found a piece of home in this hell-hole.
He eased to arms’ length. “Mick,” he shook his head, “you dumb son-of-a-bitch.”
I stared into his moist eyes and, despite the burning sensation seeping into my eye, I couldn’t repress a chuckle.
His stone face erupted into laughter, and I joined him.
We had moved to an almost empty table in the back of the mess; Jerry with his half-eaten meal and me with a refilled cup of joe.
“Ya know we met and talked, after Carl Henry . . . the three of us met, after a few weeks in the Pusan Pocket,” Jerry said.
When he hesitated in his conversation to take another bite, I swiped a biscuit off his plate.
“And to think we’d all agreed that you were the smart one,” he said in a facetious tone and a glare. “You weren’t in country getting shot at in this police action that no one understood. You were at home, safe and sound living with a good-looking, classy broad with lots of bucks. Yeah, you were our hero . . . for a while.”
I nodded and nibbled.
“Then my mom wrote me and told me she’d seen your mom, and your mom told her you’d enlisted. I passed that sad news on to Bob and Sam, and we agreed that if any of us ever saw you again, we’d call you a dumb son-of-a-bitch.”
“And you were right, all of you, Mom, Dad, Sara, all of you.” I took a swig of the hot coffee.
“Did you hear about Bob and Sam?” he asked between chews.
“Yeah, that’s how I found you. I pulled all your service records. But there wasn’t any detail about Bob’s wounds.”
“Bob got hit by a mortar round, in the legs and back. They’re not sure he’ll ever walk again. He’s going home, but most likely as a friggin’ stump. I’m sure he’d rather be dead. And Sam, well . . . Carl Henry’s death was reality kicking us all in the balls. And he was with Bob, and he must’ve cracked after Bob got hit. I can’t say I blame him.”
“Me neither.”
He shoved in another bulging forkful.
“What division are you in?” he asked with stuffed squirrel cheeks.
“First,” I said.
“Were you at Chosin?”
“Hagaru-ri,” I said.
“Close enough. What a fucking nightmare. I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.”
“Yeah, if I ever get back to South Carolina, I’ll never ever criticize the weather there again.”
With another fork load halfway to his mouth, Jerry stopped. “You know the North Koreans have retaken Seoul don’t ya?”
“Yeah, that’s old news.”
“My point is this is gonna be a long war or whatever the fuck they call it.”
That reminded me of Sara’s prediction on this war.
Jerry’s concerned eyes studied me for a long moment as he chewed. “Why . . . why are you here? Did she throw your ass out? Why?”
His question wasn’t easy for me to answer. I broke off another small piece of the biscuit and ate it. I couldn’t force myself to tell him I’d discover Sara was married. That made me look even dumber. “Sara and I were fine, we even had plans.” I released a big sigh. “But when Carl Henry got killed, I couldn’t stand it. I stupidly thought if I’d been in Basic with Carl Henry I might have been able to save him, somehow. And maybe I’d make a difference for the rest of you. Maybe a month before, a day before, whenever, I might kill some gook before he later killed one of you.” I held up my hands. “Don’t say it. I know how stupid it sounds, especially now. I was guilt-ridden. And anyway the rest of you were still here so . . . just a dumb son-of-a-bitch.”
“Did you and Sara get married?”
“No. That’s a long story.”
“We’ve got ‘til lights out,” he said, mouthing his last stacked fork.
I was cornered. I had never lied to my friends and wasn’t going to start now. “I’ll make it simple, though it’s not. Sara was married when I met her. But now, she’s pregnant with my child. She left her rich husband and moved in with me and then with my folks after I left. Then suddenly, without any warning, she disappeared, gone, without a trace.”
“That’s fucked up. You need to get home.”
“You’re right. But tell that to the United States Marine Corps.” I finished the biscuit. “I completely understand why Sam shot himself.” I sipped the coffee. “What about you? How are you doing?”
“Me? Other than being physically and mentally exhausted for the last six months, I’m fine. I’m just a stupid grunt. I’m a Marine. Though I’m scared all the time, I’ll stay until my time is up; one way or the other.”
Yeah, he was a Marine all right. He fit Sara’s description like he was a poster boy. I looked down and nodded my head.
What the hell was I thinking when I enlisted? I was trapped.
Andong, South Korea
Dear Mom and Dad,
I found Jerry Meyers, he’s fine. Bob’s been wounded and on his way to the US, not a good story. Mike’s in country facing a court martial, also not a good story. And me, I’m fine and getting my head back together.
Any word on Sara?
Chapter Forty-Nine
The day after meeting Jerry Meyers, in what seemed to be the middle of the night, me and my fire team were rousted from our tent-enclosed cots. All the stars in the heavens were out, and the air was still and penetrating cold.
The company was formed up along with a couple of artillery pieces, M101 howitzers, and headed out. Something was going on; something much bigger than a patrol. My teeth chattered but not from the cold.
Not long after daylight, we were motioned off the road, half of the company going to each side. We single-file marched in silence, keeping a hill bet
ween us and the road until our point came under fire. The always present fears fought to control me, eating at my gut. We were ordered to spread out and took cover along a small ridge line. As I crawled to the rim tip, I could see the enemy’s gun flashes on the hilltop above us.
I returned fire, shooting at the muzzle flashes and there were many. Then the mortars came slamming in, one after another, at first short of my position but adjusting. As I curled into a tighter and tighter ball, our howitzers set up and started walking 105mm high explosives rounds up the hill. The enemy shelling had almost reached our positions when it was shifted toward our artillery.
I was just breathing a sigh of relief when Sergeant Johnson slid down next to me with Tony Sculini in tow. Just seeing Tony lowered my fear level a notch or two.
“Mackenzie, this kid insists on joining your fire team.” He motioned at Tony. “Says he’s a BAR ammo carrier and used to lug for you.”
“That he did, Sergeant.”
”So be it,” Johnson said. “You can always use more ammo and another rifleman. Take your fire team left and flank them. Now!”
Shit.
My gloved fingers dug in my pocket until they found and rubbed my talisman.
“You picked a fine time to join me, Tony.” I nodded at the thin man as I patted his shoulder. Then I passed the word to the other three to follow me as The enemy’s small arms fire had almost stopped due to our shelling. I stood hunched and ran left toward the hilltop with my fire team shadowing me.
Running up hill carrying a sixteen-pound weapon, a suspender-suspended ammo belt, and a pack full of ammo and grenades was a strain, but my load became weightless when bullets started whizzing by me. I dropped and crawled as fast as I could. Fifty or sixty yards from the hilltop, I saw at least ten or fifteen North Korean troops sprinting toward us, then disappearing into a trench above us. I diverted our direction and rolled into a shell hole just as the incoming small arms rounds got intense.
I spread my team, and we returned fire.
The North Koreans began lobbing grenades down the hill; it was just a matter of time until they got the distance right. I had to do something.
“Smoke grenades,” I yelled as I shoved a fresh magazine into the BAR, “on my count.”
All five of us threw the grenades as far up the hill as we could.
“Stay here and keep the smoke coming; no cover fire,” I yelled. And I clambered out of the hole and ran up the hill. I was so scared I didn’t trust my wobbly knees. As I weaved through the smoke, I sensed someone behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, and Tony was following me.
What the fuck? Either my friend hadn’t heard my command or he was duty bound. Regardless, it was good not being alone.
Running in a crouched position, uphill, was slow, but not that slow, Tony and I would be out of the smoke soon. I tightened my grip on the BAR.
A step or two later, though the dense white smoke bounced a small black—“Grenade!” I dove to my left away from the rolling bomb and prayed Tony followed suit. Then my world went painfully upside down as I was lifted and pierced by molten shrapnel. I slammed to the ground, dazed, with eyes pressed closed from the burning punctures in my back and legs. Someone pried the BAR from my grasp.
Reality slapped me. I opened my eyes. The smoke would be gone soon, and I’d be exposed, defenseless in the open. I pushed through the pain onto my knees just as the well-known staccato bark of the BAR, my BAR, erupted nearby.
No, Tony, no! What the fuck were you doing?
On my feet, I hastily scanned the ground and found an M1 with a fixed bayonet. Grabbing the rifle, I hopped-limped-ran on stinging legs toward the noise.
I cleared the smoke just as the firing stopped. Tony was down, on the hillside fifteen or twenty yards from the trench. A Korean stood over him with his rifle raised on the verge of bayoneting him. I swallowed my panic and shot the Korean twice in the chest. Four steps later, I rolled onto the ground behind the downed Korean as more gun fire came from the trench.
I checked Tony. He was still breathing, thank Christ, but bleeding from a wound in his side. “Jesus, Sculini, what the fuck were you thinking? Hang on, man, hang on.”
I pulled a pin on a grenade and flung it at those bastards who had shot Tony and were trying to kill me.
When the dust settled, the gunfire had stopped. I exchanged the M1 for my BAR and inserted a fresh magazine. I sprang to my feet, ran six or seven pain-filled steps and jumped into the trench splattered with bodies.
A young Korean shakily rose to his feet out of a cluster of corpses, fumbling with his rifle. I shot him. Another got to his knees. I clubbed him with the butt of the BAR and then stabbed him with my KA-BAR. I scanned the remains for movement, nothing. But since no one had my back, I sprayed the bodies, emptying the mag.
I needed to get Tony out of the open. Reloading, I climbed out of the hole and trotted to him. Shouldering the BAR, I grabbed him by his arms and started dragging him up the hill, toward the pit of dead Koreans. My back and my legs felt like a dozen piranhas were feasting on them.
Shots boomed and clumps of dirt exploded into the air all around me.
Yanking as hard as I could, Sculini and I fell into the hole.
Bullets whizzing, I snaked over the dead Koreans to the right side of the trench. Four enemy soldiers were charging at me along the ridge line, their burp guns spitting fire.
I rose to a knee and cut them down with a sheet of .30-06 caliber shit.
It wasn’t until I turned to go back to Tony that I realized my legs were bleeding, and my back was on fire. I hobbled over to my friend, whose head was turned away from me. His helmet must have fallen off when I was dragging him. When I stood over him I could see blood oozing from a hole in his forehead. His eyes were open and fixed. He was dead.
I flung my BAR aside and dropped to my knees. My eyes burned and my fists clenched. I wanted to scream my anger and vent my sorrow at the same time.
I stared into those empty eyes. Tony Sculini, a little man with more courage than sense, my friend, my guardian, my loss.
Fuckin’ war! This was wrong; so wrong. This God-damned war was taking all the good people.
Cradling Tony’s head in my lap, I leaned over and retrieved my smoking BAR and reloaded it. I prayed for another attack. I’d never wanted to kill so badly in my life.
“You had to come and find me, didn’t ya? Had to put our team back together again. And look what that got you.” I wiped a couple of escaped tears off my cheeks. “I should’ve told you that people close to me get killed.”
I gently closed Tony’s eyes. Then I eased his head off my lap and rolled onto my knees. The pain causing me to brace myself with an arm to keep from falling.
The rest of my fire team arrived. They rolled into the trench scanning the surrounding terrain.
I didn’t know their names. And I vowed to never know their names, ever.
The taller one, the big eyed kid, glanced over at me. “Fuck, they got the new guy, your . . . sorry, Mackenzie.” he said, his shoulders slumping.
The shorter grunt, his helmet cocked on his head, looked around. “Damn. There must be ten or fifteen dead gooks in this hole.”
The third one with the bad acne elbowed his friend, pointed, and whistled. “Look over yonder, Jack. There’s another four out yonder.” His eyes returned to me. “Jesus Christ, Lance Corporal Mackenzie, you’re one of them fuckin’ heroes.”
I shook my head. “No. No, it was Tony, he—”
“You ain’t gonna dodge this one, Mackenzie, we heard that BAR of yours belching death,” said the taller one. “How many mags ya go through, four, five?”
“Hey man, you’re back’s bleedin’,” said the shorter one. “We need to get you some help.”
Kneeling there, leaning on the BAR, I looked down. I was covered in blood, a lot of it flowing out of me.
Chapter Fifty
The next day I was sitting up on a cot in the hospital tent eating breakfast, some cold grit
ty shit they called eggs along with grilled Spam, when Jerry Meyers walked in.
“So how’d you find me?” I asked him.
“I stopped by your tent this morning, and what’s left of your fire team told me what happened yesterday. They couldn’t stop talking about you, and what you did. You’re their hero. And if you did half of what they said you did, you should be everyone’s hero. How are your wounds?”
“Did they tell you about Sculini?”
“No. Who’s he?”
“A guy we lost yesterday, a friend.”
His brow furrowed. “Sorry. Based on all the bandages you’ve got; I‘d say you were lucky it wasn’t you. How are you?”
“Fortunately, nothing that won’t heal. A gook grenade got me. They had to dig a lot of shrapnel out of my legs and back, collectively over a hundred stitches. My legs and back are stiff from all the bandages and tape and just laying here. Ever since I got here, they had me lying on my belly. That got old real fast. It feels good to sit up, even though it hurt like hell to get here.”
He shook his head. “Wow, that’s a bunch of sewing. You’ve got to be sore.”
“They have good drugs, they keep me warm, feed me, and I get to rest. They said I’d be here until they take out the stitches. They don’t want me moving around and tearing them and getting an infection.”
“How’d you function yesterday with all that damage?”
I shrugged. “Adrenaline, I guess.”
“Your tent mates said you single-handedly—”
Gunny Johnson came into the tent and walked up to my bedside.
“Mackenzie, that was a fine piece of soldiering you did yesterday,” the Gunny Sergeant said. “Very impressive. So impressive that the Lieutenant wants to see you.” He glanced at Jerry. “Looks as if you can handle visitors.”
“Sure,” I said, looking away. “Gunny Sergeant, you know I wasn’t out there by myself. I got fragged. And the guy you assigned to me yesterday, Private Tony Sculini, grabbed my BAR and took on the enemy position by himself. By the time I got there he was down, alive but down. And-”
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