Sgt. Reckless: America's War Horse

by Robin Hutton

  Many surviving photos depict Reckless bearing only four rounds. “They packed her high when she was carrying just the four rounds shown in the pictures,” Wadley recalled. “At least someone in the gun crew knew to keep the load on top of the rib cage, where the strength is, and not on the extended rib cage to hammer the breath out of her.”32

  Sometimes, the rounds would be taken out of the canisters and stuck directly in her pack. This, however, was a needlessly dangerous way to transport the rounds, which were highly explosive.

  Lt. Eric Pedersen leads Reckless up and down the Korean hills to get her accustomed to the terrain. Camp Pendleton Archives

  Lt. Wayne Gouty (L) serves Reckless her first beer. Also pictured are Lt. William Hoffman (C) and Lt. Col. Andrew Geer (R). Leatherneck Magazine

  Latham and Coleman walked the hills with Reckless to get her used to the load—which she carried effortlessly. On occasion, Pedersen walked her, too. Reckless seemed to enjoy the forays with her friends—and they knew it. It’s been said that sometimes, when an ordinary animal looks at you, all you see in the eyes is an animal. But when the men of the Recoilless Rifle Platoon gazed into Reckless’s eyes, they sensed a person was looking back at them.

  Latham’s “hoof camp” instruction included self-defense training for Reckless. On one outing, he wrote privately that Reckless killed a wildcat near 76 Alley, near outposts Vegas, Carson, and Reno, “by rearing up and crashing down on the cat with her front feet and bellowing at the same time.”33 After one of her workouts, Latham poured a Coca-Cola into his helmet and offered it to her. She sucked it up and wanted more. From then on, Reckless shared a Coke with her friends almost daily. (Doc Mitchell advised no more than a couple bottles a day, concerned over damage the carbonated water might do to her kidneys.)

  But Coke wasn’t the only new drink she took a shine to. One night, Reckless moseyed over to the officers’ mess tent, swaggered in like Duke Wayne and bellied up to the small bar at the back. Another Wayne—Lieutenant Wayne Gouty—was bartending. For fun, he offered the four-legged barfly a brewski. Gouty poured a can of beer into a bucket and Reckless eagerly slurped it up. “That’s the first horse’s head I ever served here,” said the stunned lieutenant.34

  From then on, Reckless was known to imbibe on many occasions.

  Baptism by Fire

  The day of Reckless’s long-awaited “baptism by fire” finally arrived in late November 1952. The intended firing line was the colorfully nicknamed “Hedy’s Crotch,” a valley between outposts Ingrid to the south and Hedy to the north, in the center sector of the Jamestown Line. (The Jamestown Line was a series of defensive positions occupied by UN forces stretching about 35 miles from the Imjim River near Munsan-ni, to a point east of Kumhwa, South Korea.) The distance from camp to the firing site was two-and-a-half miles. Part of the way could be traveled by jeep, but the final five hundred yards was a steep climb to the ridgeline.

  Three trucks were sent out at ten-minute intervals. The squad, led by Lieutenant Pederson and Sergeant Ralph Sherman, and weapon went out first, followed by Reckless in her trailer, and finally, the ammunition. When they reached the base of the ridge, Reckless sensed something was up. She clambered out of the trailer, and headed straight to Latham’s pocket, sniffing for chocolate. But her trainer stopped her. “No pogey bait ’til this is over,”35 he said as he strapped on six canister rounds of high-explosive shells on her and slapped her backside for encouragement. (“Pogey bait” is Marine-speak for non-issued food or drink, especially sweets.)

  Coleman took Reckless’s lead rope and started up the steep hill. When they passed the gun crew, Sherman told Coleman to unload Reckless and bring up more ammunition. Pedersen and Scout Sergeant Berry were already searching for targets.

  Pederson and Berry were at the first firing point. Once fired, a recoilless rifle was easy to spot. So to minimize the danger, gun crews were trained that once a target was established, the gun should be fired quickly, only four or five times, before being picked up and moved to another location before counter fire came. This meant the crew would hopscotch around the ridgeline, at different firing sites, until a mission was completed. Infantrymen weren’t particularly fond of recoilless rifle crews because when they started firing, so did the enemy.

  The only time the recoilless crew members didn’t have to play hopscotch was when they used the restricted area of Panmunjom and the corridor as a shield, as they did with the shelling of Kamon-dong.

  The key to a successful mission was speed and teamwork. And now they were about to see how their newest recruit would handle the pressures of battle. Reckless and Coleman had just returned to the firing line with their second load when Sherman began blasting away.

  Reckless on the battlefield. Camp Pendleton Archives and Leatherneck Magazine

  The roar of the weapon echoed through the hills and dust exploded from the back of the gun. Even though Reckless was laden with six shells totaling about 150 pounds, the force of the blast frightened the horse right off the ground. Coleman saw the whites in her eyes and moved quickly to calm her.

  While Reckless became accustomed to the sounds of battle, the first few times she jumped off all four hooves! Command Museum, Marine Corps Recruit Depot, San Diego

  The second shot roared just as loudly. Again, Reckless went airborne, although not as high this time. Coleman managed to talk her down. As she shook her head trying to stop the ringing in her ears, the third round left the tube. This time, Reckless stood closer to Coleman and shook from the concussion of the blast. That third time was the charm for the rookie recruit because she didn’t jump and was breathing more easily.

  She watched the gun crew fire the fourth shot and hardly jerked her head.

  Sherman quickly directed his crew to move the weapon to the next firing position, with Reckless and Coleman following close behind. She delivered her second load and was heading to the truck for number three when enemy counter fire hit the old site. Reckless began to sweat more from the terrifying explosions overhead than from the weight of her loads and the stress of climbing the steep, craggy terrain. A lather of sweat formed under the packsaddle straps.

  At the truck, Latham checked her over and rubbed her down. He felt her wet neck and rubbed her ringing ears as she nuzzled him. This seemed to calm Reckless a bit, and Latham loaded her up for another trip.

  “They talk about her sweating profusely,” said Sergeant Wadley, an avid horseman and author of a book on horse training. “They didn’t realize how critical her fear was. A horse only drips sweat all over like that when they are scared half to death, or in extreme pain. How I felt for her! She adjusted on her own, and for the love of Gunny [Latham].”36

  “The whole idea of what that horse was able to do was remarkable . . . ,” observed Sgt. Ralph Sherman, “and she did everything they expected her to do.”37

  On that first firing mission, Reckless and Coleman delivered five loads of ammunition. Afterward, she relaxed by grazing grass and a surprising side dish: an old helmet liner she found in a hole.38

  As an adjective, “proud” didn’t do justice to how the Marines felt about Reckless’s first battle performance. When they returned to camp, Latham offered her a can of beer to celebrate with her comrades. She gulped it lustily and naturally wanted more.

  That night, the wind and rain kicked up and Reckless sought refuge in Latham’s tent, where the technical sergeant welcomed her warmly. Latham dried Reckless off and tossed a warm blanket over her. In a matter of minutes, she was asleep by the stove.

  Reckless had survived enemy fire with flying colors. She had kept her head in the heat of battle. She was now one of them, a true Marine.

  CHAPTER 4

  RECKLESS TAKES CENTER STAGE

  She could string more communication wire in a day than ten Marines, and nobody could pack as much 75 mm ammunition.

  —David Dempsey, New York Times reviewer

  In late November 1952, the Recoilless Rifle Platoon was called into ac
tion at Outpost Bunker, about 550 yards northeast of Outpost Hedy on a ragged hill. Outpost Bunker was a hotspot, with the entrenched Communist forces striking it repeatedly “with greater alacrity and fierceness than anywhere else along the line,”1 according to author Andrew Geer.

  Pedersen had the intuition to leave Reckless behind on this mission mainly because there was more barbed wire than she was accustomed to handling. Pedersen’s foresight paid off because the Chinese blanketed the area with shell fire—looking to annihilate anything in range. Mortar rounds exploded everywhere; Pedersen was wounded in the leg but refused to be evacuated. The action at Outpost Bunker led to Pedersen being awarded a Bronze Star and a third Purple Heart—not an honor he welcomed, because three Purple Hearts meant an automatic transfer out of combat duty.

  The platoon worried about losing an officer they admired and respected and also feared their beloved Reckless would leave with him. Of the two, Reckless was considered to be the greater loss, if it came to that. Officers come and go, but Reckless had become so critical to the platoon that she could not easily be replaced. The sergeants called a meeting in their tent to discuss the situation and decided to take up a collection to buy Reckless from Pedersen. Within an hour, the men had raised enough money to cover Pedersen’s investment.

  Lieutenant Pedersen Pleads His Case

  Pedersen fought hard to stay, pleading his case to Major General Pollock, the division commander. The general was no fool, directly asking the lieutenant if Reckless had anything to do with his wanting to stay with the platoon. Pedersen came clean. “Yes, sir, in a way,” he told Pollock. “If I leave and take her with me, it will be a blow to the platoon. If I leave her behind, it will be a double loss to me . . . losing her and the platoon.”2

  The lieutenant proved persuasive. Pollock cancelled Pedersen’s transfer. As Pedersen was leaving, the general asked if Reckless really was as good under fire as he’d heard. “Yes, sir. She got used to it a lot quicker than some Marines I know. The first day she might have panicked, but she figured out we knew what we were doing. Nothing shakes her now.”3

  Maj. Gen. Pollock admired Pedersen’s insight and leadership skills, especially when it came to Reckless. He would later write, “Lt. Pedersen deserves full credit for the purchase of Reckless . . . when he obtained this horse, he was thinking only of his men, trying to save them from the back-breaking loads over extremely rugged and difficult terrain. I am sure also, that he was thinking of saving the lives of his weary ammunition carriers. This is all a part of good leadership. Reckless no doubt was imbued with this same spirit, because she became a true Marine.”4

  That night at the camp, the men toasted Pedersen’s news. Reckless was already enjoying a late snack: a half loaf of bread with strawberry jam. But because bread always made her thirsty, Reckless’s latest trick came in handy: she had learned how to drink from a glass. Latham poured her a Coke, and the heroic mare joined in the toast. The ever-cautious Pedersen, however, knew his days with the platoon were limited and decided Reckless needed a backup companion in case he was transferred and something happened to Coleman. Pedersen chose another private first class, Arnold Baker, for the assignment.

  The Ride of His Life

  The platoon was assigned another fire mission, this one to support Captain Dick Kurth’s Fox Company of the 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines. “On the line they referred to us as the ‘horse Marines,’” recalled Sgt. Ralph Sherman. “It seemed to me that once we were moving around with the horse to different locations that was a phrase that I heard on a few occasions. ‘Oh, it’s the horse Marines . . . yeah, come on up!’”5

  Reckless went along, but only for the ride because the jeeps could reach the firing sites. An enclosure was built for her in a valley, shielded from the enemy by Hill 114. Baker, who was accompanying Reckless, decided she needed more exercise and brushed aside Pedersen’s directive forbidding anyone from riding her. He leapt onto Reckless’s back—and she bolted as if shot out of a recoilless rifle. What happened next was a blur to Baker. He cried out for the horse to stop, but Reckless ran like the racehorse she was out of the pasture and down the road.

  “Whoa! Reckless, Whoa!” he wailed, pulling furiously on her halter rope. He considered jumping off but feared Latham’s punishment for disobeying Pedersen’s orders and abandoning the prized horse. All the hapless Baker could do was hold on for dear life as Reckless turned onto the road leading to the main line.

  Reckless streaked through the patrol “gate” where a sentry stood by with a field telephone. Now Baker was really scared. Past the gate were fruit orchards and a countryside covered in flowers. But just north of the orchards were minefields. As Reckless ran past, the frenzied sentry yelled into the telephone, “Reckless is loose! She’s through the gate an’ heading for Unggok!”

  Unggok was enemy territory.

  Reckless raced downhill into a rice paddy. Lookouts relayed Reckless’s position via field telephones. When Latham heard what was happening, he jumped in his jeep and tore after her, as did some of the men of Fox Company. To the horror of her pursuers, she turned and bounded into the minefield. The helpless Marines could only pray, which seemed to work because Reckless turned around and galloped back to camp. Reckless spotted Latham waiting for her by his jeep. She casually trotted up. Baker slid from her back, landing in a heap. Baker had lived to tell the story, but he would no longer be caring for Reckless.

  The Work of Ten Marines

  The 5th Marines went in reserve, which meant a temporary break from fighting and a change of duty for Reckless. When she didn’t have to carry ammunition for the recoilless rifle, she became a transport animal for grenades, small arms ammunition, rations, sleeping bags, and even barbed wire. She also helped string communication wire from a pack on her back that unspooled as she walked. “She could string more [communication] wire in a day than ten Marines and nobody could pack as much 75 mm ammunition,”6 one reviewer would note.

  Reckless loaded with a reel of communication wire. Nancy Latham Parkin

  Even though the 5th Marines were in reserve, they could be called into action if the 1st and 7th Regiments needed them in the line. But for the most part, it was a relaxing time.

  Aussie Honors

  Occasionally, Latham and the men of the RR Platoon gathered with an Australian unit also in reserve. “The [Aussies] thought a lot of her,” Latham recalled. “They’d let her come right in their club. One Sergeant Major thought there was nothing better than ol’ Reckless.”7

  Reckless models the Australian bush hat with Hospital Corpsman George “Doc” Mitchell. Nancy Latham Parkin

  The Aussies were so impressed with the four-legged Marine that one offered his own bush hat to Reckless as a gift. Latham cut holes in the hat for her ears and it actually fit quite well, but it was clear Reckless didn’t like it.

  Pat O’Rourke agreed with Reckless. He found the hat demeaning and “something for the likes of that Army mule, Francis, to wear. He’s a clown. . . . Reckless ain’t.”8 Still, in snapshot after surviving snapshot, Reckless is seen wearing the hat.

  One night Reckless couldn’t take it anymore. She found the perfect solution to the headwear she hated so much: she ate it. All that was left the next morning was the sweatband and part of the brim and crown. Problem solved.

  “Read ’Em and Weep”

  One bitterly cold winter night, Latham, Gunnery Sergeant Norman Mull, and some of the men were tucked warmly in their tent, playing poker. All was nice and toasty until Reckless poked her nose through the tent’s overlap flap and ambled inside. She reminded them how cold it was with “a chilled blast from her hoarfrost-rimmed nostrils.”9 Latham quickly closed the flap, Mull motioned Reckless over to the stove, Latham tossed a blanket over her shoulders, and the sergeants returned to their card game.

  Reckless moved over behind Latham to watch the action over his shoulder. Latham placed his bet. Everyone passed but Mull, who looked to Reckless for some kind of signal. But the cagey equine showed on
ly her best poker face. Mull called, and lost the hand. As the game went on, Reckless became bored—no one was paying attention to her. So she grabbed Latham’s cigarettes and began to eat them.

  By then, Latham—who hurriedly tried salvaging some of his smokes—was on a roll. He won the next three hands and his stacks of chips began to grow. Something about the little blue discs fascinated Reckless, and before Latham could say, “Read ’em and weep,” the heroic war horse created a gambling problem uniquely her own. She leaned in, took a big bite of Latham’s substitute winnings and started chomping the chips.

  Latham tried valiantly to rescue his plastic winnings straight from the horse’s mouth. The others howled as the unamused Latham managed to wrestle back just two whole chips and a few broken shards; the rest went the way of all (usually organic) things.

  This inspired an argument as to how many chips Reckless had actually swallowed. But the poker-faced pony grew bored with the bickering, strolled back to the stove and was asleep before the guys cashed in their chips. Latham figured Reckless owed him at least $30—possibly more. “At least she goes first class—only eating the blue ones,”10 O’Rourke said, climbing into his sleeping bag. Latham moaned as he turned out the lights.

  Staff Sergeant Jack Railo pays a visit to Reckless. Jake Dearing

  At Christmas 1952, the men spoiled Reckless with a holiday bounty of rich fare including candy, apples, carrots, cake, cola, and the occasional beer. Doc Mitchell complained about the fattening diet, but Latham assured him, “Christmas comes only once a year. She’ll work it off as soon as we get back on the line.”11

  She sure did—and more.

  CHAPTER 5

  RECKLESS HONES HER SKILLS