Battlefield Taiwan

Devil Dogs

A light dusting of snow began to fall as the sun started to rise above the mountains. The valley below basked in the first glimpse of the new day. Staff Sergeant Tim Long of the 3^rd Battalion, 5^th Marines, saw the rays of sunlight penetrate one of the windows in the tent and knew it was time to get up. Even though the tent had a heater, Tim had spent the last few hours shivering in his sleep.

“Forget it. I’m too cold to lie here another second,” Sergeant Long thought to himself as he climbed out of his sleeping bag and hurriedly shoved his winter boots on.

Long had voluntarily chosen to sleep on the colder section of the tent, on the opposite side of the lone heater. Part of being a staff sergeant was making sure the young Marines in his platoon were taken care of, and if that meant he had to be a little cold while he slept so they could stay warm, then so be it.

A couple of the other solders in the tent also stirred as more sunlight crept into their moderately heated accommodations. Private Tilley rubbed the sleep crusts from his eyes and groggily inquired, “What day is it, Sergeant Long?”

Tim had to think about that for a moment. Although he’d shivered most of the night, the last six hours was the longest stretch of consecutive sleep he’d had since their battalion had hit the beach a few weeks ago. His mind flashed back through the series of chaotic events he had just lived through with the rest of the 5^th Marines.

After securing the city of Hamhung, Tim’s regiment had fought their way to a North Korean Air Force base at Hwangsuwon. They had received some intel from an Army Special Forces team that the 39^th People’s Liberation Army was setting up shop there so that they could threaten the Marines’ newly established beachhead. Sure enough, as Tim and his fellow Marines had arrived, they’d encountered quite a bit of resistance. At first, the 5^th Marines were effectively beating back the enemy brigade at the airport, but then it had become clear that the rest of the Chinese army group was not far behind them. A desperate fight in the surrounding ridges had ensued until the rest of the 1^st Marine Division had arrived, and the tide of the battle had finally turned back in favor of the Allies.

Sergeant Long jolted himself from his memories. “It’s November 5^th, Private Tilley,” he answered as he fastened his helmet on and then reached down for his rifle.

One of the young private’s friends punched Tilley in the arm. “Happy birthday, Tilley! You’re finally old enough to buy cigarettes and join the Army,” he said to a chorus of laughs and cat calls from the others in the tent.

Tilley had gotten his parents to sign his enlistment papers so that he could join the Marines at seventeen. He was the youngest Marine in the regiment, but despite his age, he was liked by everyone and was already turning into a great leader.

“Wow, I can’t believe I almost forgot about my own birthday,” he shot back, to the jeers of his friends.

While everyone finished getting ready, they heard the racket of the artillery guns resuming their barrage on the Chinese positions.

“I’m glad they pulled our company from the line yesterday so that we could get some sleep. Today’s going to be absolutely critical for our division. We’ve got to push those Chinese soldiers back across the border,” thought Sergeant Long.

“Everyone, get your gear on and weapons ready,” Tim announced. “I want everyone to go grab some hot chow and get to the vehicles in thirty minutes.” He looked down at his watch.

“Yes, Sergeant,” came the reply in chorus. His men scrambled to grab their remaining gear and move out as quickly as possible.

Though Tim had struggled to stay warm enough to sleep, he knew these soldiers were lucky that someone had studied the lessons of the first Korean War. With the temperatures dropping to subzero, the Marine commander had made the decision that units would only spend two nights on the frontline before being pulled back for an evening of rest in heated tents. Once the air base had been secured, an engineering unit had quickly come in and made a space that was livable enough for the units who were pulled away from the front to have a place to rest before returning back to the battle a few kilometers away.

As Tim stood in line to get breakfast, he spotted a few dozen Super Cobra attack helicopters.

“They must have gotten here while we were asleep,” he thought. Seeing the helicopters so close to the frontlines was comforting. “We’re going to have steady support with us for the coming offensive,” he realized with a smile.

He wondered if there was any truth to the rumor that the Air Force was going to move a squadron of Warthogs to the base once the frontline moved further north and they could better protect the critical aircraft.

A couple of Air Force C-17 cargo planes began to offload what looked like several companies’ worth of soldiers. Looking more closely at the uniforms, he noticed these were not American soldiers, or Japanese. A smile spread across his face as he realized they were Australians.

It was good to see the Aussies were getting in the fight. Tim had trained with the Australian Army in the past and knew them to be excellent soldiers.

A mere ten minutes later, Sergeant Long had scarfed down a plate of biscuits and gravy, four strips of bacon and a cup of piping-hot coffee, and he felt like a human again.

As he stood to walk out of the chow hall, Second Lieutenant Chet Culley caught up to him. “Sergeant Long — hold up a second.”

“What can I do for you this fine morning?” Long asked cheerfully, hoping he hadn’t just had his last warm meal for a while.

Culley had been their platoon leader for the past eight months. He was a pretty decent officer and liked by the men thus far. His brother was currently a captain with the 3^rd Marines, not too far away from there, and his father was a Marine brigadier general back at Camp Pendleton.

“Sergeant Long, we’re going to start pulling out for the front in about an hour. I wanted to go over our primary objectives with you and also pass along some good news.” He pulled out a folded map and placed it on the hood of their joint light tactical vehicle.

“First, I wanted to let you know that Master Gunnery Sergeant Nopel is going to make it. I spoke with the battalion surgeon, and he said Nopel may still lose his leg, but he’ll live,” Lieutenant Culley announced with obvious relief on his face. Sergeant Nopel had served with Culley’s father many years ago and had taken him under his wing when he was assigned to the company as the Third Platoon leader. Nopel was also well-liked by everyone and respected for his off-duty work with the Toys for Tots program.

Smiling, Sergeant Long responded, “That is great news, Sir. I’ll make sure to pass that on to the rest of the guys. Have you heard anything about Captain Millet or Lieutenant Patel?” He hoped their company commander and XO were also OK. Just before they had been pulled off the line, an RPG had hit their vehicle, injuring everyone inside. So far, their fellow soldiers had received no updates about the extent of their wounds.

Lieutenant Culley’s face darkened, and he suddenly looked like he had aged a few years. “Unfortunately, neither of them made it. I don’t know how bad their injuries were or why they didn’t survive. The battalion surgeon only told me they were in pretty bad shape when they were medevacked out.”

The two men stood there in silence for a moment as they reflected on the loss. They had experienced so much grief since the start of this war — not just here in Korea, but they also had friends that had died fighting in Europe, and so many had perished in California.

Finally, Sergeant Long nodded. “I’m sorry, Sir. I know Captain Millet had become one of your first friends here.” He put his hand on Lieutenant Culley’s shoulder.

Culley wiped a tear from his eye. “You’re right, Sergeant. Unfortunately, they probably won’t be the last friends I lose today, or before this war is over… but enough of that. The battalion commander told me I’m going to be taking over as the company commander. He didn’t have any captain bars to give me this morning but assured me I’ll have them before the end of the day. He also told me I had to replace Sergeant Nopel.” He reached down into a cargo pocket on his trousers and pulled out a new set of chevrons.

“The company and the battalion are desperately short on officers and senior NCOs. As such, you’re getting another promotion. You’re going to be taking over as the platoon leader for Third Platoon until a new officer is assigned,” Captain Culley announced with a smile. “These are for you, Sergeant Long. You’re now Master Sergeant Long,” he declared as he handed Long his new set of stripes.

Long almost took a step back. He hadn’t expected this. He’d gone from being an E-5 sergeant at the start of the war to a staff sergeant two days later, and now a mere five days after that, he was a master sergeant.

Realizing there would be time to process everything later, he shook Captain Culley’s hand and accepted the new rank. “Right now, we need to get ready for the fight that’s coming,” he realized.

“All right, what’s our objective and when do we hit it?” Master Sergeant Long asked.

Looking back at the map, Captain Culley pointed to the city of Kimhyonggwon. “Second Battalion secured the city yesterday afternoon and has pushed the PLA to these positions here and this hilltop here.” He pointed out the locations on the map. “Our battalion is going to be assaulting this ridgeline. The vehicles will drive us up to this spot and then drop us off, and we’ll advance on foot from there. They want us to secure the ridge by nightfall and then be prepared to hold it for the next couple of days. This entire ridgeline is less than twelve kilometers from the Chinese border. I was told the division commander wants to be the first American unit to cross into China.” The rest of the platoon started to gather around them.

Not wanting to linger too long, Captain Culley quickly folded the map. “All right, Sergeant, I’ll let you get your platoon ready. We roll out in ten minutes,” he announced, and then he rushed off to go find the next person he needed to speak with before they left.

An hour later, Sergeant Long’s vehicle joined a long line of medium tactical vehicle replacements intermixed with the more traditional 8X8 marine light-armored vehicles. While the convoy continued to snake its way through the valley, the thudding sound of artillery rounds impacting against the earth steadily grew louder. On occasion, they could hear aircraft somewhere high above them, blasting additional targets. Slowly, the convoy made it through the last major North Korean city before they reached the Chinese border. After several days of fighting, the city was mostly a smoking ruin of charred vehicles with dead bodies scattered everywhere. The Chinese had fought hard in the city, slowing the Marines’ advance considerably. Ultimately, the Marines had had to resort to leveling most of the city with airstrikes and artillery before the Chinese finally withdrew to the surrounding ridgelines and hilltops to start the process all over again.

As the sun neared its apex, the convoy finally came to a halt along a small dirt road that jutted off from the main highway. “Looks like we’re here,” Sergeant Long said to his driver.

Turning to the Marines around him, he yelled, “Everyone out! Grab your gear and let’s get ready to move out.”

The men immediately complied with his request and hopped out onto solid ground. With the vehicles now emptied of their human cargo, they began their trek back to the airport to bring up the next battalion.

“Listen up, Marines,” Master Sergeant Long barked. “We’re going to advance to contact and secure that ridgeline.” He pointed to their objective a couple of kilometers away, an imposing range of hills that ran for many kilometers in either direction. The ridge was currently covered in thick pine trees that had received a light dusting of snow. Had there not been enemy soldiers hunkered down under the trees waiting to kill them, this hike might have been a beautiful walk through nature. However, this was going to be anything but a leisurely stroll.

While at the airport, they received a forward observer from the artillery battalion that would be supporting their attack. The FO quickly called in a series of artillery strikes across the top of the ridge to prep the enemy position. After he made his call, the various platoons and companies fanned out and started the trek up the ridge. As the Marines moved into the woods, the friendly artillery fire lifted, leaving the ridge in momentary silence. Then all hell broke loose.

Dozens of enemy machine guns opened fire on the advancing Marines. “Everyone down!” yelled Sergeant Long as he hit the dirt, bullets ripping through the air where he had just been. Tree splinters and chunks of branches sprinkled down on Long like snow as hundreds of bullets cut down everything in their path.

Seconds later, the Marines returned fire, throwing just as many bullets back at the enemy. Long raised his head up to survey the scene before him. In the distance he saw several machine gun bunkers near a plateau, just below the top of the ridge. There was also a series of either foxholes or loosely connected trenches filled with enemy defenders. Despite the artillery barrage, the enemy was well entrenched.

As the bullets continued to whip over his head, he knew they needed to silence those machine guns. “Bravo Squad, advance. Everyone else, lay down covering fire!” he shouted to the soldiers of his platoon. With one squad pressing forward, the other three fired at anything that moved in front of them. Once Bravo Squad had advanced maybe fifteen or twenty meters, the next squad began to run forward with the help of covering fire. This continued until their entire frontline had proceeded towards the enemy lines.

While Sergeant Long’s platoon was bounding their way up the ridge, the other platoons in their company were doing likewise. As the Marines moved steadily up the hill under fire, the artillery FO once again called in for more rounds to hammer the top of the ridge to help provide additional cover for the ground troops.

The Chinese had made the mistake of opening fire too soon on the Marines. While they were getting lucky and hitting a few Marines at the outset, they had given away their position, and the Allied soldiers were still far enough away that they could call in artillery support. Had the Chinese waited until the Marines had gotten within 200 or 300 meters of them, they would have been helpless.

“Third Platoon!” Captain Culley yelled over the cacophony of the barrage through the platoon net. “When that artillery stops, I need you guys to hustle as quickly as you can to the top before those guys start back up again. How copy?”

“That’s a good copy!” Sergeant Long shouted over the roar of the explosions. The constant whistling followed by the concussions of the explosions was deafening.

The artillery scouts had changed the orders so that the new incoming rounds would explode in the air rather than on impact with the ground. This small distinction was having a devastating effect on the enemy. Dozens of 105mm rounds were detonating at treetop level, splintering the tops of the trees and throwing shrapnel down on the Chinese soldiers.

Long heard shrieks of agony from wounded men. “It has to be pure murder, what’s going on at the top of the hill,” he thought.

After maybe five minutes of intense artillery fire, the barrage lifted. Sergeant Long yelled to his platoon, “Charge!”

In that instant, the intense physical and mental training the Marines put their people through took over as the 43 members of Tim’s platoon jumped to their feet, screaming like men possessed as they charged towards the Chinese lines.

Long dashed forward, lifting his rifle to his shoulder. He fired a few rounds in the direction of the enemy before returning his focus to the task of reaching the top of the ridge. The Marines probably had twenty seconds to advance before the remaining Chinese soldiers opened fire on them once again.

As he was running, Sergeant Long spotted a Chinese soldier manning a machine gun. He dove to his right and placed his body behind a large pine tree and boulder. He heard several bullets impact against the tree and ricochet of the rock next to him.

“That was way too close for comfort,” Long thought. “We need to take that guy out.”

Sergeant Long inched around the tree to see the gunner. He brought his rifle to his shoulder, closing his nondominant eye as he looked through his Trijicon 4x ACOG sight and placed the red dot on the enemy soldier’s face. It was then he realized with disgust that the man before him was actually laughing as he gunned down his comrades. Sergeant Long gently pulled the trigger, and the man’s head exploded in a mist of red, his body slumping to the ground.

With one of the enemy machine guns down, the rate of fire being directed at the Marines slackened considerably. Then, sure enough, another enemy soldier ran up to the now-silent machine gun and resumed fire on Long’s men. Sergeant Long took careful aim at the new gunner and fired another shot, silencing him as well.

A scream pierced the air not very far from Sergeant Long. He paused his advance as he leaned against a tree and looked to see who was calling out for help.

“I’m hit! Corpsman!” screamed the wounded Marine. Tim was probably only ten meters away. He ran to the aid of his wounded comrade as bullets continued to whip through the air all around him, slapping trees and ricocheting off nearby rocks. As he got to the wounded man, he saw a pool of blood all around him. The Marine had been hit in the thigh and the bullet must have nicked an artery. Dark blood that was almost purple oozed through the young Marine’s fingers with each pulse.

Sergeant Long glanced at the young man’s name tape. “Hang in there, Tarpin!” he yelled above the constant din of machine guns and explosions going off all around them. Tim reached over and grabbed the field tourniquet all Marines carried with them and began to apply it just above the wound. He needed to stop the bleeding or Corporal Tarpin would bleed out. Sergeant Long got nervous as he observed that Tarpin’s face was already starting to turn pale and he was sweating profusely despite the cold temperature.

“He’s going into shock,” Long thought.

“Am I going to die?” Tarpin asked, fear written all over his face.

“No, Corporal. You are not going to die. I got a tourniquet on your leg and the bleeding has stopped. You’ll be fine, just hang in there. I see one of the corpsman heading towards you now… I need to keep moving. Hang in there, Marine!” he replied with conviction in his voice.

Tarpin just nodded in response. He knew Sergeant Long had to get back to leading the platoon.

Long looked up the hill and saw most of his platoon had advanced without him. They had probably moved 60 or 70 meters ahead of him while continuing to lay down heavy fire at the Chinese positions. A few of his men had been hit as they charged up the hill, and he heard them calling out for help. Sergeant Long desperately wanted to stop and check on each of them, but he knew he also needed to be leading and guiding his platoon to the top of the ridge. His men needed him, and he needed to trust the corpsmen to handle the wounded. Darting from one covered position to another, he quickly caught up to the rest of his guys. They were nearly in range of their hand grenades and would soon overrun the enemy positions.

“Come on, Marines! We’re almost there. Let’s go!” he yelled.

He moved with speed even he didn’t realize he had from one covered position to the next, all while bullets zipped and snapped all around him. As he took cover behind a decent-sized rock and some shrubs, Sergeant Long grabbed one of his hand grenades and shouted, “Frag out!”

He threw that grenade for all he was worth at the enemy position. A couple of seconds later, it exploded while still airborne, over one of the enemy machine gun positions. The two Chinese soldiers operating the gun screamed out in pain, temporarily stopping their murderous rampage.

“Charge!” Sergeant Long shouted for what felt like the tenth time that day. He jumped to his feet again and raced towards the enemy lines.

As he came within ten meters of the PLA soldiers, he saw the fear in their eyes as he leveled his rifle at them and fired multiple times into their positions. He kept charging, screaming like a banshee and firing his rifle rapidly until he ran out of bullets.

At that moment, Long realized that he didn’t have enough time to reload his weapon before the PLA soldiers in front of him would start to fire back at him. So, he leaped right towards one of the shallow slit trenches the enemy had dug and plowed into three of the soldiers, knocking them all off balance. Quickly, Sergeant Long rocked back on his heels, raised his rifle up high into the air and then slammed the butt of it into the cheekbone of one of the enemy soldiers. He felt the bone crack and give slightly from the sheer force of his hit, and the man groaned as he slumped down from the shock and pain.

Long shifted his weight and swung the butt of his rifle at the next soldier, slamming it into the man’s mouth and nose, crushing several of the man’s front teeth in and breaking his nose in an instant. Quite a bit of blood sprayed into the air with that last hit. The man screamed, dropping his rifle as his hands went to his face.

The third soldier swung his AK-74 like a baseball bat at Sergeant Long’s head and landed a solid blow on the side of his helmet. The shock of the hit caused Long to see stars as his head snapped back. Still reeling, Sergeant Long reached down with his right hand, grabbed his M17 SIG Sauer handgun and shot the enemy soldier three times in the face, exploding the man’s head. Blood, bone, and brain matter splashed back on Long and the dead man’s two comrades.

Sergeant Long twisted slightly to the right and fired several more rounds into the chest of the first soldier he had struck in the cheekbone. Then he rocked back on his left leg and prepared to fire at the last remaining soldier, the man with the broken nose. As he took aim, a three-round burst from the man’s AK-74 slammed into the front ballistic plate of Long’s body armor, causing him to stumble backwards out of the trench.

As he fell, Sergeant Long raised his SIG and fired four rounds at his attacker. All of the bullets missed, with the exception of his final round, which briefly caught the man’s helmet and caused him to lose his balance as he fell backwards while firing a string of bullets into the air, just barely missing Long.

“I’ve got to recover or I’m a goner,” Sergeant Long realized. He threw his body to the ground, then re-aimed his pistol at the enemy soldier and fired three more rounds into the center mass of the man before he felt that sickening click that let him know that his pistol was empty.

“I hope that guy’s dead because I’m out of bullets,” he thought. He lifted himself up slightly and grabbed for his next SIG magazine.

To his relief, he saw the enemy soldier clutch his chest and fall backwards, presumably deceased. The battle wasn’t over, however, because in the next instant, Sergeant Long involuntarily dropped his head to the ground. His lungs desperately tried to fill with air, and his chest hurt something fierce; it was almost impossible to get the oxygen his body was screaming for.

A moment or two passed, and then his body recovered from the impact of the bullets against his body armor. His lungs filled, and he rolled over on his side, taking in several large gulps of air as he immediately began to fiddle with his pistol to get it reloaded. All around him, his Marines moved past him and continued to take out the remaining enemy soldiers. It was pure chaos, with multiple groups of Allied and enemy soldiers grappling with each other in desperately fought hand-to-hand combat involving knives, brass knuckles and pistols.

More enemy soldiers appeared from atop the ridge and charged down to join the melee. Sergeant Long saw an enemy soldier rushing towards him and aimed his pistol at the man, firing three times before the soldier’s body crumpled to the ground.

The fighting continued for another five more minutes, with each side desperately trying to kill the other. It was only the superior combat training of the Marines that let them prevail; they had been badly outnumbered when the second wave of Chinese soldiers had joined the fray.

Slapping his third magazine into his SIG pistol, Long found his rifle lying next to one of the dead enemy soldiers and grabbed it. He dropped the empty magazine, slammed a full one in its place and slapped the bolt closed, loading a fresh round in the chamber.

“Sergeant Long, are you OK?” asked a voice that seemed far away. At first Long couldn’t place where he knew that voice from. It sounded like it was coming from a tunnel. “Tim, are you OK?” asked the voice, a bit closer to him now.

He turned to his left and saw Captain Culley as he jumped into the trench with him and the dead enemy soldiers. Two other Marines jumped in with them as well.

“I, uh, yeah… I think I’m OK,” stammered Sergeant Long, still trying to collect himself. Captain Culley looked him over for a second before nodding. “Good. I saw you jump into this trench here and fight those guys off. I swear I thought you were dead when that guy shot you at point-blank range. I’m glad you’re all right. Maybe we should have one of the corpsmen check you just to make sure,” he offered.

“No, Sir. I’ll be OK. I can get my ribs checked after we’ve secured the objective,” Long replied. However, when he went to stand up, he saw a spinning red haze. Then he involuntarily doubled over in pain and threw up. In the midst of the vomit, Sergeant Long spotted a fair bit of blood, and he knew then that he must really be in a bit of trouble.

“Corpsman!” yelled Captain Culley, flagging down one of the medics.

“Are you hit?” the medic asked as he approached.

Culley explained what he saw happen to Sergeant Long.

The corpsman said, “He probably has a punctured lung. He’s going to need to be medevacked out, along with the rest of the seriously injured guys.”

Sergeant Long tried to protest but nearly passed out from the pain in his ribs. Reluctantly, he consented to being evacuated out with the other wounded. As he made his way down the ridge, helping a few other wounded Marines along the way, he felt angry that he could not continue to be there for his platoon. They had been together since the start of the war, and now he was going to be out of the action for at least a few weeks, maybe a month or two, until his ribs and punctured lung were all healed up.

It took nearly an hour to get to the base of the ridge where they had originally started the day. Once down there, all the wounded were loaded into a number of trucks, waiting to be driven back to the airport they had been at in the morning. The more seriously wounded Marines were being picked up by chopper and immediately flown off to receive a higher level of care.

Six hours after being wounded, Master Sergeant Long found himself at a trauma center on one of the amphibious assault ships, getting an x-ray. Sure enough, it was quickly determined that he had five broken ribs and a punctured left lung. The doctors there told him that he’d be flown to Japan the following morning. From there, Tim would recover in a military hospital until he was able to return to his unit.