Chapter 10 - Part 1

Conscience Of The Reconciled

Arnold

Arnold Gray is happier at this moment than ever before in his life. Since he met Angela Jennings, nothing seems the same, and it is almost as thought he were a different person. Just a few short weeks ago, he was aimlessly enduring one pointless day after another, but it wasn't because he had no ambition. He had goals and aspirations the same as anyone else but simply lacked the confidence in himself to even hope he could ever achieve them, thus without ceremony, submitting to something less than mediocrity. His life was one in which he found himself the continual bystander, always observing others who seemed so much happier, so much more at peace with themselves. Rather than persisting to conform to a world that had no place for him, of necessity, accepting one heartbreaking disappointment after another, he chose to withdraw from it all, to reach out no more and just exist as the world revolved around him, but Angela Jennings has changed all that.

The pavement is wet with a slight night rain, and the street lights along Peachtree Road shimmer in the small puddles. Angela's eyes sparkle as she slips her hand across the car seat and firmly folds her fingers around his hand. The alluring smile on her lovely face entrances him with a passion and intimation of masculinity that is altogether a novel emotion for him. The program at the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra on this night was one so befitting – those works from the Romantic Period and especially the later classic, Spellbound Concerto, have always been among his favorites, but he never felt any of them as he did tonight, sitting there beside her in Symphony Hall, spellbound by the power of the composers' creations and the enchantment of just being with her.

From all indications, she has accepted him for what he is and although unaccountable as it may appear, seems to be somewhat fascinated with him with only a few minor exceptions, such as her insistence they always drive her late model car – especially when likely to see some of her friends. Thus far, he has tactfully managed to conceal his uneasiness and no one has noticed he is anything but the social mixer she prefers. She hasn't mentioned meeting any of his friends, which is just as well, because he doesn't have any – an understandable consequence of his self-imposed separation from most anything resembling the environment into which he has fallen.

Still, it all seems so contrived – almost as though it were a dream likely to end at any moment, sweeping him away from the fanciful spell that has possessed him since the very first moment he saw her, standing there in the Rich's Department Store. His self-confidence has shown some provisional advance over the past few weeks, he has desisted from some of his governing fears and for the first time in his life, dares to expect someone can return something of the love that dares to lurk within him.

Her car rolls into the parking lot of her apartment complex and stops in front of her door. She gently lays her head on his shoulder and whispers, "Come in for a while."

He has never felt as he does when they walk through the chilling mist and her hand reaches out so willingly to touch his own. As they step inside her apartment, she slips off her coat and in the dimly lit foyer, she is so beautiful and alluring, he feels it unfathomable such a woman could have taken an interest in him. Her dark, gray, one-piece dress fits neatly around her trim waist and curvaceous hips, reveals the outline of her shapely legs and is hemmed just below her knees. It has an open space that extends halfway between its buttoned coller and her waist, slightly revealing the top of her black, lace brassiere. Her breasts move up and down with each breath she takes.

She slips into his arms, lightly rubs her cheek against his and whispers, "Give me a few minutes," before walking into her bedroom.

He sits down on her sofa and remembers all those times when he had lacked the confidence even to ask a woman for a date. That petite woman on the morning bus now commands only a disinterested glance. Compared to Angela, she looks like a schoolgirl. A gratifying sensation comes over him as he has the sudden notion that perhaps he isn't the loser he has always pictured and savors the unfamiliar thought.

Her soft, feminine voice is calling to him, "Arnold....Arnold."

At first, he has no idea what she means, considering no other woman has ever said anything to him in the delicate and womanly tone that ever so invitingly wanders down her hallway to a man who is bewitched at the anticipation he is about to live the dream he has known for so long, through so many disappointments that he is now persuaded were self-inflicted, leaving him so fully deserving of the appeasing excitement he now feels.

There is a beguiling acceptance to his step as he walks through her bedroom door. He feels so much like a man, especially when he sees her captivating smile and the appealing outline of her body, framed by the dim, bedside light shining through the white, silk negligee that extends halfway down her legs, has a long slit running down to just above her navel and is loosely draped over her shoulders by 2 small straps. The scant garment clings to her body, revealing in the most entrancing detail the contour of her stomach, the form of her vulva and shapely breasts, which stand out as though still contained in a brassier.

She opens her arms and walks towards him. As he reaches out for her, she lays her head against his shoulder and puts one arm around his neck and the other around his waist, holding her body firmly against his and fomenting a surging passion of the sort he has never imagined. She unbuttons and slowly removes his shirt, begins caressing his deltoid and pectoral muscles with her fingertips and says, "You have such a nice body." She begins to breathe heavily and rubs her cheek across his chest. Gently, he slips his hands around her hips, slightly moving both their bodies from side to side and rubbing his erect organ between her legs. 

He can feel her heart excitedly throbbing against her sternum and thinks to himself, at last, at long last, all those tedious hours in the gym have yielded a dividend beyond the his wildest imaginations. An indulging smile sweeps over his face when she sits down on the bed and begins to loosen his belt. Her eyes are fixed on him as he removes his pants and slips into the bed, which was already conveniently drawn back, implying this is something she had intended and adding to his self-assuring gratification.

His eyes have adjusted to the dark, and he can see she has removed her makeup, but she looks even more beautiful, lying there with that bewitching smile, panting and searching over his firm abdomen with her soft hands. Gently, he fondles her breasts, which immediately brings an approving sigh. Firmly, she draws him closer to her and begins inching her tongue across the side of his neck, all the while breathing more heavily. When he moves his hand across the inside of her things, she feverishly rolls over on top of him, straddles his torso, slips her arms under his shoulders and begins to rock from side to side.

His erection is so firm it aches. She returns his kisses so softly. Her lips are smooth, her flesh so soft to the touch. Still straddling him, she sits up and slips off her negligee, prompting him to pull her down beside him and begin to move his nose and tongue down her neck and over her breasts, as he cradles her vulva with his hand.

She reaches out and clutches his organ, which tantalizingly precedes his torso by some 6 inches, holds her mouth closely against his ear and whispers, "I want him in me, now."

He balances himself above her as she spreads her legs and guides his organ into her vagina, which due to her excitement, is fully lubricated and warm to his organ as he lowers his body down on top of her.

She gasps, "Oooh," and heatedly exhales. Her arms slowly envelope his body, and her ankles slip over the top of his. She begins responding in perfect rhythm with his gliding thrusts with a slight sigh each time he moves up and down, but the passion within him is undisciplined due to his inexperience. He feels his body going limp as an exerted ejaculation surges from deep within him. With this, his newfound and glaringly unwarranted confidence expires and that same feeling of inadequacy snatches him back from fancy into cold reality. He can feel her terrible disappointment, even in the touch of her flesh. Her panting stops. Her arms drop beside her, and she lies silently still below him. His organ goes limp, an agonizing tingling streaks across his forehead. His palms are clammy wet as he sags down beside her and apologetically says, "I'm.... sorry. I got too carried away."

____________________

In the days that follow, his memory of her smile, the charm of her company, his unseeing infatuation and all the things that had drawn him into the dream world that had so reigned over a pragmatic valuation of any prospect of a lasting relationship with her begin to obsess him. Since the first day he met her, his fanciful hopes had ruled better judgment, and he refused to recognize the rather obvious fact she was too much of a woman for him. All the while, his ardor had only been eager anticipation, unpunctuated with the necessary precaution against untying his emotions to wander where they may and ultimately casting him into resent and bitterness. To retain such a precious experience for such a short while only serves to leave one more wanting, more alone and more intolerant to the pains of denial. This is what has happened to Arnold Gray.

That last time he saw Angela, it was so painfully apparent what fondness she once had, or thought she had, for him was indeed fleeting, something that should have only been anticipated to survive but for a moment. Now that it has expired, his abiding labyrinth of resent is a squalid travesty of what he had once thought, or at least hoped, could be a lasing love. And now, there is only emptiness – a tormenting hollowness within him as he walks along Euclid Avenue in the dispiriting setting of a cold January day. The sky is dreary, a discomforting wind whisks through the bare trees and the old houses mirror the past, their fading grandeur timidly defiant to alterations time has made in places and people. His hands are in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the sidewalk but still, she is in his mind as she will always be. Someone who brought him a momentary allotment of happiness but someone who has hurt him more than anything in his life.

He stops in front of Blanche's house, turns to look across the street at Mildred and Robert Mathis walking down the sidewalk hand-in-hand. They seem so happy and content, a feeling Arnold feels, now more than ever before, he will never know. From time to time, Blanche has mentioned how things once were in their house and how Robert was such a no good and self-indulgent drunk who did nothing but hurt those in his family. According to her insensible rattling that time she tried to explain it all at the evening meal, through some quaint matter of chance during the Korean War, something happened to Robert. What in the hell difference does it make? No doubt, they are so happy with each other now, because they both realize they can't do any better than each other – an unskilled, tobacco-stained factory worker and a sexless, short-order waitress. Both of them are an intelligible forfeiture to all that is beyond them.

Robert

In the summer of 1950, occupation duty on Kyushu, the southernmost island of Japan, was boring, and Robert Mathis sat on his footlocker, staring at the floor.

 He was a rather small man, standing only 5' 7" and had wavy, brown hair, a round face shaded lightly red, which his nagging wife and family insisted was due to his "problem with the bottle." They would constantly parade that outworn analogy before him almost daily – especially on Friday nights when the "problem," or whatever it was, would be most glaring. The presumed problem was sometimes exemplified by his throwing up on the front porch or various places in the house when he managed to find his way home, usually being driven by someone else, hardly the image of an ideal husband and son.

He hated the Army and those damn stupid Saturday inspections. It seemed so childish and extraneous – a bunch of grown men parading around like wooden soldiers, and egocentric officers and cadre walking around like frustrated 3^rd grade teachers, admonishing anyone whose top blanket was not tucked under flush with the 5^th spring of his bunk. It was all so silly and meaningless.

Robert glanced across the aisle at Joey Thurman, standing there like some fucking idiot, bouncing a quarter off his bunk and groping around under the blanket, trying to locate the all-important 5^th spring.

Horace Toonsley, an 18-year-old RA and career soldier, according to his juvenile blathering, was nervously pacing around his bunk and suddenly realized his hands were in his pockets. There was something unpardonably wrong with putting your hands in your pockets, according to the Army, but Robert could never understand why. Horace walked up, sat down beside Robert and asked, "What you gonna do with your weekend pass?"

"I'm going into Nagasaki and try to find that cute little whore I screwed last month," Robert replied with enthusiasm and purpose.

Horace glanced down at the wedding bank on Robert's finger, started to say something but thought better of it.

Robert began to snicker and a disapproving sneer came to his face as he pointed at Joey and said, "Look at that stupid son of a bitch."

"What do you mean?" Horace asked with an inquiring expression when he looked over at Joey.

Robert earnestly observed, "I mean that bastard ain't got sense enough to know this damn outfit is so chicken-shit, they ought to put sawdust in the barracks. Any fucker with any mind at all can see that."

Horace looked at Robert, then back at Joey before standing up, putting his hands back in his pockets and walking back to his bunk where he resumed his nervous pacing.

"Well, excuse me," Robert said and began to snicker out aloud. "I forgot you were a career man." Then, it was him that had his hands searching through his pockets to be sure he had not misplaced his package of condoms. He sat back down, leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees and began thinking about his civilian career, such as it was, at the Chevrolet assembly plant back in Atlanta. That thought didn't last very long, and he was soon thinking how he would always look forward to Saturday, which was payday, and meeting his friends, such as they were, in the bar down the street from the plant. He would play shuffleboard, laugh, drink and postpone as long as possible the humdrum travail of spending the weekend in that house with his mother, father and wife – all with that supposed sympathetic expression on their faces, desperately attempting to be the loving and understanding family and searching their brains for some plausible explanation to "what's wrong with Robert?" Sometimes, it was laughable, listening to them as they sat in the living room, asking themselves such soul-searching questions, thinking he was still passed out in the front bedroom.

Everyone snapped to attention as the company commander, platoon leader and field 1st sergeant entered the barracks.

Robert leisurely moved to the side of his footlocker, thought how hot it was and how good a cold glass of beer would be, or maybe a Camel cigarette to ease the craving in his throat.

The inspectors slowly walked through the barracks, briefly stopped in front of each man and with the most serious expressions of their faces, gave the impression the very existence of the world depended on whether everyone's belt buckle and buttons were in perfect alignment, not to mention the overpowering importance of the 5^th spring. When Captain Draper came to Robert, he stopped and with an expression of disbelief, surveyed his wrinkled uniform, tarnished brass and half-heartedly polished shoes.

Draper turned and looked at Lieutenant Floyd, whose eyes closed for a second just before his face lighted to a glowing red.

Sergeant Owens looked down at Robert's bunk, which sagged in the middle, but seemed more intent on checking the all-significant 5^th spring than how tightly the bunk was constructed but then, all of them were concurrently staring at his wall locker. The sleeves of his uniforms were not properly aligned, the white, wooden bar that was supposed to be 3 inches above the bottoms of the sleeves was out of place and the towels on the top shelf had the seamed sides instead of the smooth, folded sides facing forward.

"Pull this man's pass!" the captain curtly said as he disgustedly moved down the aisle.

A few minutes earlier, Robert had been thinking about that little Japanese whore and was wearing a semi-erection, but immediately, he was brimming mad and was silently repeating to himself, "God damn, how I hate the fucking Army."

The minute the inspectors left, the men were running through the aisles, screaming like Indians and racing towards the orderly room to draw their passes for the weekend.

Robert jerked off his tie, threw it to the floor, looked back through the barracks and saw that besides himself, only Joey Thurman remained. He muttered to himself, "Ain't this some shit."

Just then, Sergeant Owens was pacing down the center of the aisle like he was on the way to a 3-alarm fire and with the most resolute scowl on his face. He kicked Robert's tie under his bunk and with squinted eyes, began the most heartfelt unbraiding. "You sorry son of a bitch, you're the worse excuse for a soldier I've ever seen, and believe me, I've seen some sorry ones. From now on, you're gonna get every shit detail I can think of. You're a damn fuck-off, and the only thing that can be done with you is to keep you somewhere out of sight, scrubbing some latrine floor where you'll blend in with the surroundings."

He turned around and stomped out, leaving Robert standing there with his blood boiling and his face several shades darker than its normal light red.

All during the day, Robert thought of how he had felt when he was drafted. The war had been over for a few years, and it was unlikely that anything like that would ever happen again – at least, not during his lifetime, and that was all he cared about. He had almost welcomed getting out of that house and away from under all those long faces, perpetually staring at him and each other and always with that injured look of disappointment – just because he wanted a little enjoyment in his life away from that morgue-like setting that stifled the natural venturesome nature of a man. He had never anticipated anything like what he found in the Army – a bunch of people faithfully walking around, picking up things off the ground, hanging things at certain angles and incessantly submerged in the most pointless and tedious training.

Time passed so slowly that weekend. He couldn't get the whore off his mind and came to be annoyed by the near constant erection he had from thinking about her. It was Sunday, 25 June 1950. Robert was still sitting on the footlocker thinking of how his first 6 months in the Army had seemed an eternity and that the remaining 18 months seemed forever. All at once, he had an enterprising idea, something he rarely experienced, but he thought if he could get his boots highly polished, his brass very shiny and his barracks area straightened out, maybe that would entice Sergeant Owens into going a little easier on him with the ultimate reward being less of the threatened shit details, and maybe he could even manage another excursion back to that whorehouse in a few weeks. Immediately, he experienced an even tighter erection. He felt he needed something to look forward to – something that would blot from his mind the depressing fact he had 18 more months in a domain he was finding even worse than the Chevrolet plant. He felt much more in place in that bar back home or even in the Japanese whorehouse.

He picked up a rag he found in the trashcan, got out his polish and brush and began half-heartedly working on the boots when Joey Thurman sat down beside him and said, "I think that rag is too stiff. You need a soft cloth like this," as he handed him a piece of an old t-shirt. "You can get a better shine, if you wet the cloth. Let me show you."

Robert was intimidated that Joey, or anyone, would take a wet rag so seriously and retorted, "And all the time, I've been thinking the only thing too stiff around here was my dick." Then, he became affronted. Here was some crude hick trying to tell him what to do but immediately, he began to see the usefulness of such an unwitting goon.  If he were foolish enough to think he needed to do at least one good deed a day like some stupid-ass boy scout, maybe he could make the proper use of him in his grand plan to make it back to the Japanese whorehouse and do as little work as possible for the next 18 months. He had know others like Joey Thurman back at the plant, and they all seemed to need the intoxication of being virtuous or some shit like that.

Robert handed both of his boots to him and appeared interested as he watched him diligently begin work on them and was even cordial when he asked, "Did I hear you say something the other day about your being from Georgia. I'm from Atlanta, you know."

He could hardly keep the disbelieving smile from his face, as Joey seemed to be playing right into his delusive interest in him when Joey said, "Yes, I'm from Cordele."

Robert observed Joey's naive mannerism and his light, brown hair that was still in that ridiculous short, crew cut he received in basic training. He was rather slender and that foolish aura of sincerity was in his eyes as though some damn halo followed him around everywhere he went or more specifically, to every senseless shit detail the Army sent him, and all the while, he didn't have the fucking sense to see how pointless it all was. It was a strain to imply he was even interested when he asked, "Were you drafted?"

"I wasn't drafted. I enlisted," Joey responded, not looking up from Robert's boots.

"Don't tell me you're another career man like Toonsley," starting to betray his mask of sincerity and could barely avoid laughing aloud at the serious expression that came to Joey's face.

"I really don't know what I am, Robert. There wasn't anything else for me to do. Just about the only work in Cordele is to farm watermelons, but for the past few years, there wasn't enough rain. Last year, the weather was all right but the market was over-stocked, and the price went way down." He stopped, set the polish down on Robert's footlocker and began gazing out the window. "Me and my mother and father were just barely making it; and when the market went bad, I couldn't get a job anywhere. Finally, I decided the only thing I could do was just get out of the house. I was just a dead expense, sitting around and not doing anything."

All sorts of sarcastic thoughts rushed into Robert's mind, but he remained quiet, not wanting to offend his newfound valet who didn't seem to have enough sense to know that in watermelon farming or the pointless existence of military life, everyone should look after himself and forget about everyone else.

There was a commotion in the company assembly area, and what few men who were not on pass began running towards the orderly room. About 10 of them were huddled around a small radio beside the CQ and listening to an excited reporter, as he rattled, "According to reports received in Washington within the hour, infantry supported by armor columns have moved across the 38^th Parallel, and South Korea is under attack from the north. Thus far, neither President Truman nor Secretary of State Dean Acheson has made an official comment, but as soon as the situation can be more fully accessed, surely some statement will be made. Stay tuned to Armed Forces Radio."

An thus, on a quiet Sunday afternoon, a world that had recently endured the most brutal conflict in the history of man was at the edge of yet another war, except this one was to be managed like none of the others, but through the pain and suffering of those who would be called to fight, it would be all the same.

____________________

At the close of World War II, Japan had annexed Korea and after that, the Communists began to gain power. Near the end of World War II at Yalta, the Russians had agreed not to enter the Pacific War, and with the ultimate outcome of the war already known, the 38^th Parallel was determined as the dividing point between North and South Korea – the same concept as in Germany and yet another official acknowledgement that with the end of the war, the world would remain in 2 armed camps.

The Communist Party had a presence in South Korea but was resisted by the right-wing government. As Communist repression in the north became more severe, many began to come south. In 1949, as part of postwar treaties, American soldiers were withdrawn from Korea, which at that time, seemed inconsequential due to the grave dangers, primarily Communist inspired, throughout the world. Then, the Berlin Airlift was underway due to the Communist blockade of the city, which possibly was only a means to test the will of the Free World but may have well been a part of an effort to bring an end to the divided city idea, simply because it offered too vivid a comparison between the yields of the Communist and Capitalist systems. There had been the development of the Russian A-Bomb, largely accomplished through espionage, and there was also the Communist victory in China. In February 1950, Russia and China had signed an agreement for international Communism, which made Russia's presence as a permanent member of the United Nations Security Council all the more contradictory to the principals on which that organization was founded.

South Korea was a new country sponsored by the United Nations and no doubt created the same affront to the Stalinists as did West Berlin. Certainly, South Korea offered limited strategic and military importance and possibly, it was those very reasons that Stalin chose it as a psychological means by which to test the resolve of the Free World to halt the spread of international Communism.

At the outset, American policymakers were unsure as to the proper reaction to the invasion of South Korea. Recently, Communist China had taken Hainan Island and assembled 200000 troops on the mainland opposite Formosa. Some Pentagon advisors felt the North Korean Peoples Army (NKPA) invasion of South Korea  was an attempt to divert attention from a pending invasion of Formosa.

Initially, American air power was committed to support the evacuation of American civilians through Kimpo Airfield and Inchon, but was soon committed in the support of the Republic of Korea Army (ROK) with strict orders to operate only south of the 38^th Parallel. In the first few days of the war, the ROK leaders demonstrated their rather clear ineptness when they blew the bridge over the Han River just south of Seoul and in doing so, cut off thousands of their own soldiers as well as most of their heavy weapons and logistics.

On 29 June 1950, General Douglas MacArthur stood on a hilltop overlooking the south bank of the Han River and watched the clouds of smoke rising from Seoul, which has fallen to the NKPA. Although the war had just begun, clear decisions were already forming in his mind. He was sure American ground soldiers must be committed to the battle and was equally sure an amphibious attack at Inchon, or somewhere along the Korean western coast, would be needed to cut off the tons of supplies from the north. Almost from the outset, his superiors resisted the idea, even though such a maneuver was firmly established as fundamental tactics of peninsula warfare with an example as recent as the Anzio Campaign of World War II.

On the other hand, the World War II campaigns in Burma and China had seen American GIs fighting Asians on the Asian mainland, and when compared with the loss of American lives, the gains had been futile. In addition, the 8^th Army, considering its training and equipment, was unprepared for battle. Past experiences in both wars had shown most units do not show good discipline on first contact with the enemy. From some viewpoints, it was understandable why some opposed the recommendation such an untrained and ill-prepared American Army be flung into the face of an advancing enemy with South Korea crumbling around them and thus be denied the opportunity to gradually come under enemy fire and build their confidence.

General Eisenhower's first recommendation was for the use of force, which might possibly have included an A-Bomb to remove the 38^th Parallel limitation, as the idea of a protected sanctuary for an enemy contested every sensible means of waging war by any means. He also wanted a younger general in command instead of Douglas MacArthur, who had a history of unpredictability and an assumed predisposition to release only certain information that supported his tactical plans.

Within a matter of days, it was obvious South Korea was falling apart and the committal of American soldiers was inescapable. Authorization was given to make air strikes against purely military targets above the 38^th Parallel but to exercise special care to remain clear of Manchuria and the Soviet Union.

Nationalist China volunteered the use of 33000 soldiers, but the idea was ultimately rejected, because such a committal would give the Red Chinese an opportunity to enter the war on the pretense their security was at risk.

Just 6 days after the war began, American soldiers were on their way to the front. Two American divisions would be thrown straight into the advancing NKPA, and tentative plans were initiated to employ a third division in an amphibious landing behind the NKPA at Inchon and trap it between the American forces. Even then, however, political concerns were moving to the forefront, but as so many, many times in the past, the military's task was to set them aside and put all effort into accomplishing the mission it had been given.

____________________

Task Force Smith boarded trains at Pusan on the evening of 2 July 1950, and the men of the 24^th Infantry Division had not then grasped the initial plan was for them to delay the enemy long enough to get the remainder of the 24^th and 25^th Divisions into Korea.

Joey and Horace sat on either side of Robert, and even if they had set their minds to analyzing the tactics, they probably couldn't have done it because of Robert's bitching. "This is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever been involved in," he mumbled as he kicked his M1 out into the center of the boxcar. "A bunch of gooks cross some line somewhere and half the world shits in its pants. Somebody needs to explain to me how Russia and China got to be our enemies so damn quick."

Joey hesitated a moment before saying, "Hitler was a greater threat to us before the war than they were, Robert. That fact alone brought made them our allies then, but all that's changed now."

"How in the hell do you know so much?" Robert snapped, as Horace's eyes alternated between the 2 of them.

"I studied in school," Joey responded with a certain intimation of pride.

Robert began to laugh, because he never had imagined Joey anywhere except in some field with sweaty clothes and dirty hands, pulling things out of the earth. Suddenly, he quit laughing, immediately became even more antagonistic and growled, "Why don't you explain that to us?" never expecting Joey could offer any explanation.

It seemed clear Joey was not accustomed to having anyone ask him to explain anything, but with a negligible degree of interest, all in the squad were suddenly staring at him. Immediately, he slid closer to the stone-faced men and with the formidable sounds in the background of the train passing through the night, he began something of a lecture, earnestly moving his hands about and speaking anything like the hick they all had thought him to be. "When Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin met at Yalta, Roosevelt was a sick man and could only stay a few days. They were primarily concerned with ending the war, and only Churchill seemed to recognize Communism for the threat it was soon to become to the Free World. After the meeting, he had simply said, 'Hitler and Nazism are dead but after that, what.'"

Some slight interest began to appear on the men's faces, as Joey continued, "The Russians suffered far more casualties than any of the Allies during the war and somehow, Roosevelt seemed to have the idea that because of that, they must be appeased. What they did amounted to dividing the world up into 2 armed camps – Eastern and Western Europe and along the 38^th Parallel in Asia. The problem with the Russians, and now the Chinese, is that they don't seem satisfied with what they got, and the rest of the world these last few years has been too comfortable to do anything about their expansion."

"Like hell," Robert offered. "A few monkeys come across some line somewhere carrying slingshots and bows and arrows, because they don't know any better. They'll probably run back to their caves the first time they see human beings. Shit, if they had any sense at all, they'd know they can't stand up against the weapons we've got."

"You mean the A-Bomb?" Horace said, finally seeing his chance to enter the conversation.

Concurrently, Robert began earnestly nodding his head, while Joey was shaking his. Whatever interest the other men had was momentary, and their attention quickly drifted away.

Most of the remaining train voyage to Suwon was quiet. Each man was consumed in his own thoughts in one of those rare moments when one is honest with one's self – not knowing what the future might hold but fully aware in the most minute detail with many things from the past.

Robert was thinking of the Japanese whore, how he hated the Army and how unnecessary all that shit was about stopping the NKPA and the spread of Communism. Who in the hell cared? Joey was thinking about his mother and father, how loving they had always been and how much he had wanted to amount to something instead of becoming a liability. For the most part, Horace was confused by it all and had never spent much time in the past trying to reckon with particulars. He had somehow always found himself simply accepting everyone else's explanation for nearly everything that had not happened directly to him and was convinced he couldn't have done anything to change it anyway. The same could be said for many of the things that had happened directly to him. Many times, the Army brings the most unlikely combinations. Removing Robert from his home had probably been the best thing that could have happened to his family. Joey's enlistment had been a practical matter of necessity, while Horace seemed to just be trying to find himself and without sufficient explanation, that had led him to the Army.

Most of the world had never even heard of Korea. Certainly, there wasn't anything about it that would make anyone want to go there, even if they had known it existed. The countryside was rolling with endless hills, and there was a glaring absence of trees. It almost appeared there wasn't enough of everything left when the landscape was formed and what finally had resulted was only a matter of fortuity. The depressing surroundings made putting up those wretched squad tents all the more wearisome, and it was something of a relief when Robert, Joey and Horace found themselves among a battalion of men, meandering along a winding road in the direction of Suwon. Artillery pieces and Jeeps carrying extra ammunition trailed the column with the idea it would seek high ground close to the advancing NKPA.

The weather had turned unseasonable cool and a slight rain was falling, making Sergeant Owens appear even more unpleasant as he walked up behind Robert and said in a deriding voice, "Mathis, get your sorry ass out on the point!"

Suddenly, the monotony disappeared. There was no longer any tedium and at that moment, some of the training even seemed more significant than the Japanese whore who had constantly been on Robert's mind before all this idiocy started.

When Robert reached his position about 150 yards ahead of the column, his skin was clammy, his mouth was dry and he instinctively reached inside his poncho for a cigarette but immediately thought better of it. His eyes glared across the winding, muddy road in front of him and skimmed the ridge lines to his right and left. His heartbeats were throbbing in his throat when he heard something behind him. As he pivoted around on the slimy road, his feet fell out from under him, and he fell squarely on his back, but not before he caught a glimpse of Joey running up the road like some damn pet animal.

Robert looked up at him and snapped, "What in the hell are you doing here?""

"I convinced Sergeant Owens this is a 2 man point," Joey said with an expression that looked ridiculously enthusiastic. "You know, with all these curves in the road, someone should be out there ahead of you. I mean......if something happened to one of us, the other one could get word back down the road."

Robert slowly pulled himself off the ground and began thinking how perfect it was to be blessed with such a pure dupe as Joey, who didn't have enough sense to know when he was well off and seemed guided by some juvenile notion he should have some commitment to all this shit.

 Joey never even stopped moving and said, "I'll be out there about 50 yards ahead."

It was about 0730 hours. The rain had slacked but the sky was still too cloudy to rely on any fire support from the Air Force. Robert was debating which he preferred – not to meet the enemy at all or to meet and engage them with the much superior weapons of the American force and get all this nonsense over with and back to the whorehouse. Suddenly, a shocking thought struck him, and he whispered to himself, "Hell, we don't even have a field radio," but just then, he noticed Joey moving off to the side of the road and running up to the top of a ridge line to the left. When he dropped to the ground and began crawling, Robert's first thought was to turn around and move back closer to the infantry column behind him, but the prospect of seeing the disagreeable sight of Sergeant Owens, without sufficient explanation, discouraged the idea. In the absence of other immediate alternatives, he slowly moved up behind Joey and began hearing the sound of motors somewhere out ahead of them.

Joey motioned for him to hit the ground. Robert crawled up behind him and with a rather annoyed expression, gazed out ahead for a moment before saying, "Son of a bitch!"

The road on the other side of the hilltop winded down into a deep valley where 8 NKPA tanks were advancing south and some 100 yards behind them was another column of 25 or so more.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Robert immediately insisted and began sliding back towards the road.

"Wait a minute," Joey whispered. "We'll need to report their strength."

For reasons Robert didn't fully understand, he didn't want to leave Joey and go back down the road alone, so he reluctantly edged his way back up to Joey's side and cautiously began peering below. "Look at those fuckers behind them," he said, pointing to several columns of infantry some distance behind the tanks. He stared at them for some few moments and then, in a drawn voice, said, "What in the hell?"

All of a sudden, Joey said, "We've got to get back and report!"

The 2 of them began sprinting back down the road and all the while, Robert was bitching to himself, "Those fuckers should have sent a radioman out here with us."

Sergeant Owens was at the head of the column and had come to take advantage of every opportunity to express his profound distaste for Robert. Very warily, he moved towards him and said, "Don't tell me you've already surrendered, Mathis. What in the hell are you doing back here?"

"Get off my ass!" Robert snapped.

"Save it!" Joey interjected, moved in front of Robert and pulled Owens out of earshot range of the platoon, which by that time, in unison, showed a rather puzzled expression. The 2 of them stood there beside the road, and Owens's face became progressively more severe and less disapproving of Robert, the longer they talked.

Finally, Owens ran down the road, looking for Lieutenant Floyd. In a few minutes, Lieutenant Floyd, the entire 1^st Platoon and a few artillery forward observers were running back to the front of the column. Owens glared at Robert as he ran by and said, "You and Thurman fall in with the platoon."

"Shit," Robert murmured in a stifled voice, being sure it wasn't loud enough for Owens to hear.

The artillery observers quickly moved to the hilltop, and Robert grabbed Joey by the arm, pointed to them and muttered, "Well, at least they had the foresight to bring a radio."

Only after a brief gaze over the ridgeline, the observers seemed to go into an observable panic, ducked down behind the embankment and feverishly began a radio transmission. Within only a few seconds, artillery rounds began to whistle overhead. Sergeant Owens can running down the hill and motioned for the platoon to move up alongside the observers.

Robert, Joey and Horace dropped down, fully expecting to see the NKPA units in disarray, but to their total dismay, they were forming into well-defined attack formation and continuing forward. The howitzer impact pattern was well forward of the advancing tanks, there were no hits and they didn't even slow down.

Sergeant Owens was screaming into Lieutenant Floyd's ear and pointing to the infantry behind the tanks where the foot soldiers were also moving into attack formations. Lieutenant Floyd turned to the platoon, never gave a command, or even uttered a word, but in complete synchronism, he, Owens, the artillery observers and the entire platoon began sprinting down the hill. They stumbled out on the road and began streaking back towards what without proper ritual had suddenly become friendly lines.

The battalion had already taken defensive positions wherever they could be found; and just as the 1^st Platoon joined the rest of the company, the first of the NKPA T34 tanks appeared some 1000 yards ahead of the makeshift perimeter. The cadre was circulating through the company with various manners of discordant prompting the infantrymen to pull themselves away from the inferred safety of the hovels in the earth that contained their trembling bodies and begin to form a defensive line. 

Gradually, the circumstances began to suggest some degree of order. The automatic weapons were placed into positions, fields of fire were hurriedly assigned and communications were established with the 4.2 inch mortar units on the reverse slope of yet another hill behind them. Seeing this rudimentary positioning of the recoilless rifle teams brought some elementary level of reassurance, but all the while, the grinding sound of the advancing tanks was drawing closer and closer and began to overpower the momentary confidence of what appeared an acceptable implementation of battlefield improvisation. That confidence was, however, quickly decimated when the tanks began occasionally firing their .85 millimeter guns and picking up speed.

The enemy shells were not especially accurate and struck well in front of the defenses where orders were circulating among the recoilless rifle teams not to open fire until the tanks were within 100 yards. Finally, there was the swishing noise of the bazooka rounds and the blunt sounds of their explosions when some of them scored direct hits on the oncoming tanks, but none of them even slowed down.

The enemy foot soldiers were not in range, and everyone's attention was divided between them and the struggling bazooka teams that kept shouting among  themselves something about HEAT rounds, but there was the coarse voice of some sergeant prevailing over all the sounds of the outgoing rounds and incoming enemy rounds, "Heat rounds! ?Hell, we ain't got but 6 of the frigging things!"

Robert found his voice, which was raspy and weak. All he could manage was a disapproving, "Those stupid bastards are gonna let them roll right over us!"

The tanks continued to draw closer but still, there was no order to open fire, even though intermittent small arms fire was being received from the advancing enemy foot soldiers. When the lead tanks were almost abreast of the American infantry, the bazooka teams were firing at near point blank range but could not stop them. The enemy small arms fire was becoming more intense but again, there was that same sergeant's voice above it all, "Fire the heat rounds!"

Immediately, 2 of the tanks were hit, burst into flames and began to roll backwards. The battalion commander, a stocky lieutenant colonel, suddenly appeared with Captain Draper in the center of the squad; and just as the enemy crews began climbing out of their burning tanks, he reached out and grabbed Robert and Horace and shouted, "Let's get out there and take them prisoner! G2's got to know what we're up against!"

About half the squad stumbled forward, not fully realizing exactly what it was supposed to do but suddenly, one of the enemy tank crew defiantly began firing a burp gun, simultaneously striking both the colonel and Horace directly in the chest. Both were lifted off the ground and fell at the feet of the others who were stunned at seeing the first American casualties of the war.

Robert wasn't sure if he had even fired his weapon but saw enemy soldiers grasp their bodies and fall from the damaged tanks. For a moment, his eyes were lodged on the 2 Americans lying there in front of the squad. Ironically, both of them were career soldiers or at least, Horace would have been a career soldier. He was barely 18 years old and had been in the Army for only about 6 months. The colonel was around 45, had been in the Army all his adult life and was a veteran of the Battle of the Bulge and advance into Germany. It was a shock to everyone, seeing the 2 men lying dead at their feet. It seemed so unlikely that someone with the colonel's background would even be in the midst of a rifle squad, lying dead at the side of someone who had never fired his weapon in battle.

Four of the enemy tanks were knocked out, but the remaining ones rolled straight through the defenders and continued down the road towards Osan. The NKPA infantry followed and finally, the order to open fire was given with Robert, Joey and half of their rifle squad still standing directly in the fields of fire. Robert was still dazed, looking down at the colonel and Horace, but Joey was tugging at his arm and pulling him back into the squad's position.

The NKPA soldiers dropped to the ground, there was a brief moment of calm and Robert and Joey crouched down in their improvised foxhole, looking out across the rugged terrain. All of the tank crewmen were dead and lay stock-still beside their flaming vehicles. Horace and the battalion commander lay on their backs with large blood splotches on their fatigue shirts. Both of their heads were tilted towards the battalion defensive line. Horace's light, brown hair tossed in a slight wind blowing from the north, and his eyes were still open. His face was pale and still suggested that boyish expression of an 18 year old. The colonel's face somehow still retained the expression of determination that had so quickly led him to his death. Maps were protruding from his fatigue shirt, and his hand was still gripping his carbine.

Sergeant Owens moved along behind the line, and although he was speaking to the entire platoon, looked directly into Robert's eyes as he said, "Get ready for a frontal attack. Hold this position."

Just then, there was the sound of tank fire from behind. "They're attacking the command post and artillery positions," Joey said.

Robert pointed out into the valley and asked, "What are they doing out there?"

The NKPA infantry was moving around, positioning automatic weapons behind platoon-size units that began running towards the defense perimeter. The Americans again opened fire but the attackers immediately dropped to the ground, just as what seemed an avalanche of enemy fire began to dig up the earth all around the perimeter. The American hugged the earth but when the NKPA resumed its advance, they again came under accurate fire, again dropped to the ground and appeared to be waiting for orders to get them out of the fields of fire that were chewing into their ranks each time they would advance.  For 10 minutes or so, the battlefield was deceptively quiet but presently, the enemy began establishing skilled infiltration routes across the lower ground. The American were dumbfounded. All through the morning, the enemy edged closer and closer and by 1000 hours, friendly artillery had ceased.

Robert was so afraid he could hardly move but managed to slid closer to Joey and asked, "What happened to our artillery?"

"The tanks probably got them," Joey replied.

"You mean we're sitting out here outnumber and with no artillery support!?" Shit, that's fucked up! That's fucked up!"

All of a sudden, enemy fire erupted on both flanks. Two .30 caliber crews from the weapons platoon were racing towards the high ground to the left. They dropped down and began firing, but almost immediately, both of the machine guns jammed. They had only one M1 among them, and their position was quickly overrun by a whole platoon of NKPA who shot them close enough for the rifle discharges to scorch their uniforms.

Immediately, the North Koreans began firing on the 1^st Platoon's position just as a strong frontal assault began. Captain Draper was crawling wildly on his hands and knees behind the company, shouting, "Fall back! Fall back!"

They all stood up and crouched low to the ground. Some began running straight back down the hill but some others in their confusion, ran straight towards the right flank. The company was receiving fire from 3 sides. Men began dropping their weapons and running in every direction with no apparent knowledge if they were running towards or away from the enemy. Robert, Joey and the rest of the 1^st Squad, quite by chance, had chosen to run down the hill and stumbled into a gully at the side of the road where about half the company was scattered across a 50 yard sector.

Owens was running down the middle of the road, screaming at the top of his voice, "Stop! God dammit, stop right here!"

Lieutenant Floyd was down in the gully, pulling men from the ground and ordering those who still had their weapons to begin firing on the enemy who was again within range.

The North Koreans were advancing by fire and maneuver all across the left side of the road. Their confidence was building and what appeared an entire company was running straight towards the road.

"Fire! Fire!" Lieutenant Floyd and Sergeant Owens were both shouting, as they paraded back and forth behind the platoon.

Robert looked down at his weapon and noticed that during the entire morning he had not fired a single round. He inched closer to Joey and both of them began squeezing off rounds. Some order of coordinating fire from the company began eating into the primitive attack method of the North Koreans very quickly producing many casualties. They soon broke off the attack and disappeared back into the valley behind them.

As soon as the firefight broke off, gunfire could be heard from the positions the company had earlier abandoned. Robert, Joey and everyone else in the platoon gaped at Lieutenant Floyd who was receiving orders by radio. He handed the receiver back to the radioman and said a few words to Owens who immediately began running towards the platoon, shouting, "On your feet! Move straight up the road, now!"

The platoon started running straight through the gully to the road and was joined by fragments of the other rifle platoons of the company. Robert looked around and gasped to Joey, "Where the hell is everybody?"

Joey pointed to both sides of the road where medics were laboring over scores of soldiers scattered through the rice paddy. Many others lay still, alone and obviously dead. A cold sweat came to Robert's forehead, nausea seized his stomach and he began breathing quite heavily. His body began to lose coordination, his arms were so weak he could no longer hold his weapon in front of his body and he began to straggle behind the others. Joey turned around and started towards him but Owens reached him first, grabbed his arms and in an admonishing voice, said, "You sorry son of a bitch, if you think you can fuck off now, I'll shot you myself."

Robert's couldn't lift his weapon. Joey reached down, took it and said, "Come on, Robert. Stay with me."

The 2 of them stumbled along together and between gasps, Robert began to mumble, "I don't know why he has it in for me. Hell, I'm not the enemy."

As the company came closer to the ridgeline, the gunfire was louder and mortar rounds began falling to the right. Men at the head of the column stopped and hit the ground, but Owens and Floyd jerked them up, screaming, "Keep moving! We can't stop in open ground! Keep moving!"

With the mortar rounds bursting closer and closer, the company required little more encouragement to keep moving and in a very short time, was lying, heaving for breath, at almost the same place it had been when the battalion first came under attack. At first, all that could be heard was incoming fire but when it subsided for a moment, all sorts of depreciatory comments filled the air: "Those god damn bazooka rounds didn't even penetrate the armor." "Penetrate hell! All my rounds were duds!" "I hit 3 of them squarely in the tracks, and none of the fucking things exploded!" "Where the hell is our artillery!?"

Robert's mouth was already open to join in with some unthinking reprehension but his eye caught Owens and Floyd moving through the platoon and again assigning fields of fire. He looked at them with something of a different method of assessment than he had when, only a few days before, both of them had been judiciously measuring the blanket alignment with the 5^th spring of men's bunks.

Owens was a robust man of some 35 years of age, had a full, round face and very large hands. He was a veteran of North Africa and Normandy. He wore a wedding band, and Robert had often thought what a strange marriage he must have with his wife constantly thousands of miles away and only seeing him a few times a year. A smirk came to his face, and he whispered to himself, "And he thinks I'm fucked up."

Floyd had been an enlisted man in World War II, had served in Italy and gone to Officer Candidate School after the war. He had many of the demanding qualities of Owens but constrained them into a rough grade of dignity. He was a small, wiry man with sharp facial features and piercing, blue eyes. Robert didn't exactly admire him – he only felt he was capable of so much more than wasting what potential he had in the fucking Army.

Owens dropped down beside Robert and Joey. His distaste for Robert seemed to have momentarily subsided when he said, "The company is covering a battalion sector. They'll probably attack."

He assigned their fields of fire, and as he was getting up Robert made a concerted effort to be polite when he asked, "How long do they expect us to hold this position?"

Owens kneeled down, and his scornful distaste for Robert quickly returned.  He started to say something but stopped and for a brief moment, looked towards what they all thought were the NKPA positions. As he got up, he said, "You just stay where you are until they kill you or I come and get you."

Robert had never felt as he did at that precise moment. He hated Owens, but that hate had suddenly been superseded by his fear of the enemy and the immediate prospect that very soon, he might indeed be killed. It was a strange phenomenon – hating a man, but at the same time, being reassured by his presence.

Hardly able to speak, Robert began muttering to Joey. "If this is a damn battalion sector, why the hell do they have us positioned in pairs? We could cover more of the line, if we were spread out more."

"Do you want to be out here alone?" Joey asked.

With Owens' departure, Robert's natural attitude began to return, but before he could make another of his typical derogatory observations, enemy machine gun fire broke out from a chain of small hills about 200 yards away. Return fire burst out all along the line but Owens' voice prevailed over it all. "Stop! What in the hell are you firing at!?"

The gunfire from both sides stopped as suddenly as it had begun, leaving the men nervously peering out into the rugged valley, which had little vegetation but was rolling and provided many concealed avenues of approach for the enemy.

"There!" Joey shouted and began firing on several squads of North Koreans that were weaving their way along a basin about 100 yards away.

Robert sighted his weapon on the top of the ground where he had last seen them. After a few seconds, they began to move forward. He held his breath, squeezed off one round, and when he saw a NKPA soldier fall to the ground, he clamored, "I got the slimy bastard!"

The advance fell under fire from all along the line and quickly stopped. For the next hour or so, there were intermittent periods of fire and quiet. The battalion was holding its position but the enemy had reassumed their infiltration strategy and was inching closer and closer, taking full advantage of the terrain features. Catching brief glimpses of them as they darted from one depression to another was becoming quite frightening – especially when they became so close their yellow skin and slanted eyes were clearly visible, and everyone knew they would soon be within grenade range.

All at once, a massive firefight broke out to the right. Floyd pounced to his feet and for the first time, his face clearly showed an intolerant anger when he said, "I knew we were too thin. They've flanked us!" He turned to Owens and said, "Get Draper on the radio. There's no need to sit here and wait to be overrun."

A cold chill ran through Robert's body. He had always regarded Floyd as something of a wooden soldier, flouncing around a company area, fretting over cigarette butts on the ground and latrine sinks that had not been wiped down before one of those damn silly Saturday inspections but now, here was the same man, not exactly afraid, but showing what was clearly blatant resent towards what seemed an emerging hopeless condition.

The right flank was under heavy mortar and infantry attack; and the sounds of the battle were so loud, some heard the withdrawal order and some did not. At some places along the line, men began to get up and in panic, leave their equipment behind. The positions on the right flank were quickly overrun. The enemy was chasing through the rice paddy, firing their burp guns into the backs of the fleeing Americans.

The 1^st Platoon was not under attack and remained intact, firmly under the control of Floyd and Owens who lead it down a slope towards the Osan-Ansong Road. Robert's trembling and weak legs flew out from under him, he dropped his weapon, his helmet came off and he began tumbling down the steep incline, screaming as he rolled over the bodies of several dead American soldiers. Finally, he came to a stop at the bottom of the grade and had no idea where his weapon and helmet were. Crouching on his knees, he feverishly began searching for them but looking back up the hill, his eyes were locked on the litters of a number of soldiers who had been wounded earlier in the day. Medical crews were at their sides, refusing to leave them.

When the NKPA took the high ground, they broke off the attack, positioned mortars at the top of the hill and began lobbing rounds ahead of the confused retreat. All unit integrity had been lost and soldiers from various squads and platoons were bolting in the same general direction towards the rear, but when the mortar rounds began to fall, they all scattered on both sides of the Osan-Ansong Road.

Robert wasn't even sure in which direction he was running. He turned around to look behind him, stumbled, fell again and screamed at the top of his voice, "God dammit!" He struggled to get back to his feet, felt someone's hand on his arm and screamed out, "Auugggghhhh!"

It was Joey, tugging at his arm and shouting, "Over there, Robert! Over there. We've got to stay close to the road!"

The enemy quickly set up their automatic weapons and soon, withering fire was raining down on several groups of men who were running away from the road, straight into the flat ground of the rice paddy. It was only a matter of seconds until all of them were cut down and lay in tangled heaps. Some were completely still, while the bodies of others wrenched in pain, first desperately looking at their wounds and then frantically reaching for their first aid pouches. There were indiscernible and anguished cries blended in with the tortured screams: "Help!" Help! Medic! Medic," but the medics were not to be seen. Most of them had elected to remain with those already wounded, and by that time, had already been taken prisoner.

Robert, Joey and about 10 other men dropped into a gully beside the road and between heaves, Robert protested, "Shit, this is right where we were this morning! That's brilliant! That's brilliant! That bunch of screwballs didn't have any fucking idea what they were throwing us into!"

After a few moments, Robert looked around for Joey and saw him kneeling beside a wounded man, applying his first aid bandage to his shoulder. The man's face was sheet-white, his hands were trembling, and there was the most terrified expression on his face – yet at the same time, there was also a look of heartfelt gratitude. Without thinking, Robert scurried to Joey's side and began glaring back towards the North Korean positions, which abruptly fell silent.

And thus ended the first day of American combat in Korea. The battalion had suffered 185 dead and wounded. Immediately, there were grave doubts as to the effectiveness of their tactics and equipment. Quite understandably, morale became rigorously low.

All during the night, Robert, Joey and the others that chance had united in the safety of the gully crept along the side of the road towards what they hoped were friendly lines to the south – everyone, that is, except the wounded man. Two of the others had tried to carry him but his body began to jerk when he started to go into shock, his wound was reopened, and he died from loss of blood. Seeing him lying there in the moonlight with his blood-soaked uniform and  that twisted wrench in his face left an indelible image in all of their minds that would remain with them forever.

As morning neared, the exhausted men hid in a small clump of trees at the side of the road they had followed all during the night. The sun was just beginning to rise and a slight mist hovered close to the ground. No one had uttered a word for quite a few minutes. They were all dazed and simply gazed off into space. Robert was struggling to get the images of the dead men out of his mind but thought little of the medics who would not leave them. He only thought of himself and how much he wanted to be away from all this.

There was the sound of a Jeep up the road. The men ducked deeper into the gully, but Joey crawled to the top, saw it was Americans and announced, "It's ours," just before they all began to pelt up the bank and out onto the roadway.

The Jeep slowly made its way towards them and came to a stop at their side. It was driven by a young corporal, there was a 1^st lieutenant in the front seat and major in the back All their uniforms were clean and neatly starched.

The major looked at Robert whose shirt was hanging loose outside his pants, he had no weapon or helmet, one of his boots was untied and his ammunition belt dangled to one side of his body. A disapproving grimace came over the major, as he looked at Robert and deridingly asked, "Where's your weapon, soldier?"

There was a slight quiver to Robert's voice but he managed to murmur, "I lost it."

"I lost it sir," the major snapped. "What do you mean you lost it?" he insisted with his expression becoming more intense and giving the impression he was more concerned with the current location of Robert's weapon instead of the deteriorating tactical condition.

Robert felt the status of his weapon was hardly the most pressing issue at the moment and became quite annoyed. The young lieutenant was somewhat impatient and began tapping on a clipboard in his lap all the while the major's pointless interrogation of Robert was underway. Finally, he broke in and asked, "How far up the road is the enemy?"

Joey walked forward, discretely pushed Robert aside and said, "We haven't had any contact since late yesterday afternoon. The last time we saw them, they were just on the other side of Osan." He stopped and watched the major write something on his map overlay before adding, "Where's the 24^th?"

The major didn't even look up and snarled, "How the hell do you think I know. I'm an intelligence officer who's supposed to know where the enemy is and not our own damn forces!"

Just then, a few rounds of sniper fire began striking the road just in front of the Jeep. Immediately, the major grabbed the driver by the arm and blurted out, "Get us out of here!"

As the Jeep spun around in the road, the lieutenant almost fell out but as it came straight in the road, he shouted, "We've been passing men all morning. It's just outside Pyongtaek, about 3 miles down the road."

Momentarily, the men forgot about the sniper and stood in the middle of the road as the dust stirred up by the Jeep began to settle on their sweat-soaked uniforms, staring at one another and then back at the Jeep, which was already almost out of sight. Robert kicked the ground and hissed, "That bastard was more concerned with where my weapon is than getting us back to our unit. Just as long as everything looks right – that's all that matters in the fucking Army."

Several more rounds from the snipers were fired from somewhere up the road. The men darted back into the gully and all the while, Robert was muttering, "Chicken shit! Chicken shit! Hell, you can't even escape it at the damn front with fuckers shooting at you."

They all crouched low and flitted through the gully in the direction of Pyongtaek, where they hoped to find their unit.

After a few moments, Joey glanced back at Robert and said, "There're not all like that major, Robert. What about that colonel back there yesterday?" 

No one had enough energy to discuss the temperaments that reveal a person's true nature in times of an ordeal. As they wobbled through the warm morning, their stomachs gnawed with hunger, their mouths were dry and their bodies ached with exhaustion, but what Joey said remained in Robert's thoughts. He had been infuriated by the major's smug and authoritarian attitude, which seemed a direct contradiction to the colonel's fixation on taking a few stupid prisoners to gain some pointless intelligence that would have been much easily and accurately procurable from a few simple aerial photographs. As far as Robert was concerned, both of them only represented opposite extremes of superfluity.

Later in the morning, quite a number of others who had become lost after the initial contact with the enemy began to congregate along the road. They finally found the 24^th, rejoined their units and were taken to resupply points, sufficiently away from the action, and were given new clothes and weapons. Several days later, they were all in 2 ½ ton trucks, moving back towards Pyongtaek. The first thing Robert saw when he got off his truck was Sergeant Owens who hardly seemed relieved that he had survived the battle.

Late in the afternoon, Lieutenant Floyd called the platoon together, introduced the replacements and explained the immediate plan was to form what he called the "Pyongtaek-Ansong Line" and hold as long as possible. He was annoyed when several asked just how long they were expected to hold and how expendable they were, although it wasn't especially clear if he was annoyed by the questions or the order itself. Even those such as Robert, with a limited military aptitude, could readily see the defensive force was too widely dispersed and obviously prone to flanking action. Everyone was troubled with the clear implication they were indeed expendable and whatever delay they could achieve in the enemy's advance held the premium at the moment.

Robert didn't know if what he felt was anger or fear when he again found himself at Joey's side, in another foxhole and again staring out across more barren terrain that looked exactly like the terrain around Osan. Both landscapes prompted nagging questions. What in the hell could anyone want with such a God-forsaken place, which seemed hardly worth a single American life? Even the most unskilled person could see the American forces had been committed much too soon, the enemy's firepower had been underestimated or ignored and now, Washington was exhibiting the same attitude as that major out on the Osan-Ansong Road. True, the political position represented a much larger scale but appearance and saving face prevailed over near every other consideration.

Earlier in the morning, several bazooka patrols had moved north after the report enemy tanks had once again been seen moving south from Osan. The line had been quite for sometime but suddenly, there was the sound of  bazooka fire somewhere off in the direction where the patrols were last seen. The sounds of machine gun and burp gun fire quickly followed as well as the unmistakable sound of the NKPA .85-millimeter tank guns. Robert, with a breath of disgust, looked towards the sounds of the battle and clamored, "Oh shit, what now!"

The gunfire only lasted for 10 minutes and was followed by a peculiar quiet, which proved more frightful than the sounds of the battle. Such reoccurring quiet always cultivated the imagination that, exhorted by the startling events of the recent past, was prone to envision the worse. Men began darting in all directions around the CP and in a few minutes, several ambulances were streaking up the road towards Osan.

"Have they lost their fucking minds?" Robert blated. "They don't even have any weapons. That's dumb. That's dumb."

The ambulances were still barely in sight when Joey raised up on his knees and said, "Look, Robert. It's the patrols."

Robert was exasperated when he stared up the road where the ambulances had stopped and the crews were running across a rice paddy towards a group of soldiers who were slowly moving down a hill and carrying a number of wounded. The wounded men's arms were draped over the shoulders of those carrying them and their legs were limp, dragging behind them. A few riflemen remained at the top of the hill, desperately firing into the valley below.

The men at the top of the hill began to fall in patterns until they were all hit, whereupon the enemy fire ceased in the absence of further targets. The ambulance crews collected the wounded, hastily placed them in their vehicles, wheeled around and began speeding back towards the line.

Robert and Joey watched the other members of the patrols as they ran alongside the road until Joey said in a faint voice, "There's hardly any of them left."

The remains of the ill-fated bazooka patrols staggered into the 1^st Platoon area and fell at the feet of the startled men on the line. They all had that same dazed and vacant expression that was becoming so common. From the caked blood on some of their hands, it was obvious they had tried to assist the wounded while still under fire. Saliva was freely flowing from their mouths. Finally, a small, very young private looked up at a robust sergeant and whimpered, "We had them. We had them. They never say us....What's wrong with our weapons? He began to cry.

The sergeant said nothing for a moment, only remaining on his knees and staring out across the rice paddy. As he began to catch his breath, he first looked back towards the CP where the ambulance crews were unloading the wounded and then, back out into the rice paddy. His expression gradually began to change from one of exhaustion to indignation, which suddenly boiled through his drawn mouth. "All the god damn rounds were duds!" he said as he stood up and stomped away in the direction of a lieutenant who was talking over a field radio and apparently reporting the details of the latest disaster to battalion.

Joey moved over to the young private, extended his hand to his shoulder and gently asked, "What happened out there, soldier?"

Tears were still in the young man's eyes when he looked up at Joey and in an unstable voice, said, "They told us tanks had been sighted on that road up there. We were supposed to intercept them. The lieutenant had us all dug in just off the road. They didn't even see us and were sitting still on the road when the lieutenant gave the order to fire. Not one of our bazooka rounds exploded. We hit every one of them. I know we did. I heard the rounds when they struck them."

Without invitation, Robert joined in and pointedly asked, "You mean there's nothing between us and the gooks?"

The young man weakly shook his head.

Owens's voice bellowed out, "Mathis....Thurman, get back in your damn foxholes!"

"Bite my prick," Robert mumbled under his breath as both of them dropped back down into their foxhole and, with renewed concern, began looking at the ridgeline where the Americans had been gunned down. Robert's dissertation became crudely analytical. "Those son of a bitches in that fucking United Nations just stuck our asses out here to make some kind of mindless example. We ain't ready for this. What in the hell are we supposed to do now?"

Joey was noticeably shaken but did seem to retain a degree of composure when he looked at Robert and asked, "Haven't you ever done anything you weren't ready for, Robert?"

"Hell yes. Got married," Robert responded with a caustic laugh. "Getting a little ass now and then ain't worth that."

Lieutenant Floyd and Captain Draper suddenly appeared behind the platoon, repeating over and over, "We're pulling back. We're pulling back. Move back towards the CP."

Immediately, Robert stood up and said, "That's the only fucking thing I've heard in the last 3 days that made and sense," and started off towards the CP, a good 10 yards ahead of everyone else.

Without elaborate ceremony, the Pyongtaek-Ansong Line had been determined too thin to hold against the enemy equipment and initial orders were to blow the bridge over the river north of Pyongtaek, hold the village as long as possible and then, withdraw to Chonan to join other units everyone took it to be in full retreat as well.

The heat had become progressively more unbearable as the men of the 1^st Platoon dragged their fatigued bodies down that damnable, dusty road. They were weary, disoriented and "pissed off at the whole fucking mess," as many had begun to so poetically put it.

 The retreating column was just outside Chonan when there was a loud explosion to the rear. Some unslung their weapons and stood in the middle of the road, gazing back to the north while Robert and a number of  less adventurous others ran off to the side of the road and flopped down. 

Sergeant Owens was shouting, "Keep moving! Keep moving! They've just blown the bridge."

When the column resumed its march with some degree of order, a Jeep appeared towards the front and the man who seemed to have replaced the colonel appeared to be giving some high-ranking officer in the Jeep an explanation. Soon the senior officer became quite upset, started to wave his arms about and pointed back to the north, while several others stood with their hands on their hips, giving the distinct impression they were shocked at what they were hearing.

The Jeep turned around and started back down the road, but the column was ordered to stop. Soon, word went out that there would be an officer's call in 15 minutes at the head of the column.

Robert sat on the ground, rubbing his legs and said, "Don't tell me they've fucked up the retreat like everything else."

Men gathered in little groups with worried and blank expressions and began talking in whispering voices of the rumors that had circulated for the past few days. They had heard the Republic of Korea (ROK) forces to the west were also under heavy attack and were also retreating south. It was evident everything was going wrong.

After about an hour, Floyd returned from the officer's call and raised his hands for the platoon to assemble. There had been a great deal of vehicle movement on the road but for the past 30 minutes, all of it was had been moving north instead of south, which was supposed to be the direction of the retreat. At first, the lieutenant was unable to summon the words to prepare the platoon for what he had learned in the officer's conference, but with a connotation of something less than complete committal, he finally began. "There was a misunderstanding this morning. The military term for what we're supposed to be doing is a 'controlled retreat.' The way such a maneuver is described in the manuals is that the retreating force maintains contact with the enemy and delays its movement as long as possible. We've been ordered to halt our present retreat method and, in fact, initiate something of an attack while fighting a delaying action back towards Chonan."

He stopped to wait for the murmurs to subside and looked up on the road where the vehicle activity was increasing. It might have been determination but it sounded more like bitterness when he concluded in a voice that was barely audible. "Everyone get off the road, get your equipment in order, draw a full load of ammunition from that supply point being set up down there and wait for further orders." He motioned for Owens to follow him and they walked over to a field table, unrolled a map and began pounding over it.

No one said much when the platoon passed through the supply point where those who were manning it had almost guilty expressions on their faces as they handed out the M1 clips and hand grenades. With expressions of equal disbelief, battalion officers and cadre were holding meetings all over the area, but far enough away so the enlisted men could not hear what they were saying.

With time, the shock wore off, but the air was filled with whispering undertones. All the while, Robert's attitude was quickly evolving from one of acute distaste for anything remotely pertaining to the Army to one of ruling fear. It was fear that governed them all and vigorously prevailed over the advisability of the controlled withdrawal idea, or whatever Floyd had called it, and each man wondered how long the battalion could survive under circumstances that seemed so decidedly staked against it. Robert felt something building within him but could not transpose it into profanity or the belittling remarks he so often used to express his opinions, which were almost always positions of dissension. Betrayal wasn't precisely what he felt. He was more shocked that such demands could be made and render the lives of so many men to such a secondary consideration.

That rare moment of mindful deliberation was broken was broken by Owens' voice. "Everyone back up on the road – now!"

The company slowly stood and walked even slower towards the road that led back to Pyongtaek, and within a few minutes, the battalion was dragging itself towards the north.

After the force had been on the road for about 30 minutes, there were voices from the front of the column. "What's up there?"

"It looks like bodies."

Everyone leaned towards the center of the road and strained to see what they were talking about as the voices became more sensitive.  "Oh no, look at those men!" Why did they do that!?"

The column was hardly moving when Joey, with his eyes fixed on something ahead, grasped Robert's arm.

Robert was stunned at what he saw. Empty stretchers were scattered all across the rice paddy to the right of the road and the corpses of American soldiers lay everywhere. The whole battalion stopped and gazed at the macabre panorama. Close by, lay the twisted bodies of men lying flat on their backs with their arms spread and open eyes staring straight into the sky. Their mouths were open and filled with dirt. Further out into the rice paddy were a number of shallow graves containing the bodies of others who had been buried alive. Only their heads were protruding from the ground. Some had obviously suffered execution style deaths, having been shot at close range in the backs of their heads, because jagged pieces of white skull pierced the dried blood.

Captain Draper walked into the rice paddy and stood there for a moment before returning to the road and motioning the company to resume the march towards Chonan.

The hundreds of men who were on that road that sweltering July morning represented all forms of temperaments, persuasions towards morality or lack or morality and ambitions both selfish and redeeming. Some were selfish and inconsiderate such as Robert. Others were quiet and withdrawn such as Joey. Still others had led rather sheltered lives. Regardless, they all were innocently susceptible to the shock and hate that quite naturally would result from witnessing such a terrifying calamity.

It was 1400 when the column was ordered off the road just outside the village of Chonan. Robert sat beside Joey and said, "I've never seen anything like that back there. What made the bastards do that?"

"Hate," Joey replied. "Emotion is a strange thing. It can create and destroy. Communism preys on the tendency of it denied people to hate those in a Capitalist society because they have so much more. Eventually, they come to believe all who are more fortunate are their natural enemy."

Robert started to cough up some sort of insult but found himself at the beginning of a whole new experience. He thought a moment before saying anything. Finally, he slowly said, "I don't know if emotion has anything to do with it. We might just be up against a subhuman race that doesn't have any feeling – at least not as we know it."

"Everyone has feeling, Robert," Joey quickly responded. "Some simply use it as justification for what they do instead of being driven by reason."

With a restrained laugh, Robert said, "There's got to be more to it than that, Joey. I mean, what the hell controls whether a man gets his feelings at the beginning or end of something?"

Joey thought a moment, looked up the road towards Chonan and finally said, "Conscience, among other things."

Owens was walking towards them, and Robert muttered, "Damn, I wish I could go 10 minutes without seeing that bastard."

"First Platoon back out on the road," Owens barked at the men, all of whom appeared quite unreceptive to the idea.

Within 15 minutes, the platoon was just outside Chonan, approaching a long line of refugees who were slowly meandering down the winding road leading from the village.

"Stop!" Lieutenant Floyd shouted and ordered the platoon off the road. Both he and Owens feverishly ran towards the refugees and pointed their weapons straight into the file of what was mostly old men and women with a few young children. Compared to the Americans, the Koreans were quite small, but most of them were carrying large bundles on their backs, and some were pulling small carts behind them.

Robert looked at them, standing in front of all those destitute people and sneered, "Those stupid bastards just can't quit playing their little games. What the fuck do they think a bunch of old men and women...."

"Look out, Robert!" Joey shouted as 2 men darted out from behind one of the carts and opened fire with automatic weapons. Another man with a burp gun strapped to his back dropped to his hands and knees while still another began firing straight into the 3^rd Squad that was still standing on the road. Within seconds, they were all hit.

Owens and Floyd immediately opened fire, cutting down the North Korean soldiers as well as some of the refugees that were screaming and running off the road. A few men farther down the road began indiscriminately firing but forthwith, Owens was running towards them shouting, "Hold your fire, damn it!"

Within moments, all the refugees and everyone in the battalion were hugging the ground. Owens and Floyd were the only ones remaining on the road. They slowly moved towards one of the carts and suddenly, both of them emptied their carbines into it. Quickly, they reloaded and deliberately walked forward and stood at the side of the cart for a moment before kicking it over. Four bodies and an assortment of Russian-made weapons toppled out onto the ground.

Author's Note – Sometimes, even until this day, this incident is reported in the press.  Instead of relating the true facts, American soldiers are portrayed as murders of innocent civilians. In more recent conflicts, terms such as "collateral damage" have appeared, which I suppose is the military's effort to correctly explain that any war cannot seek out only the guilty - those who have truly murdered those such as the American soldiers who were buried alive by the North Koreans and starved to death by the Japanese.

They checked the bodies of the NKPA soldiers before turning to the bodies of the 5 refugees who lay dead a few yards away. The statement of scorn written over both their faces was quickly displaced with a look of sorrow and regret, as they remained kneeling at their bodies for a few moments.

Owens motioned for the platoon to resume the march, looked at Joey and said, "Thurman, you and Mathis get them off the road."

Robert and Joey bent down and began removing the bundles for the backs of the 3 women who were all very old, but the other 2 were boys who were quite young. All the bodies were still warm. Robert began dragging one of the boys when his head tossed backwards. His eyes were open and staring straight forward. He dropped the boy and glared down at him. He looked to be only about 7 years old, and for an instant, Robert's mind was filled with the images of himself as a young boy in the 2^nd grade at Moreland Grammar School. His only concern had been how he could do as little of his schoolwork as possible and persuade his parents why they should buy him all the things from Carl's Five and Ten Cent Store he was convinced he could not do without.

"Are we going to bury them?" Joey asked Owens.

Owens' eyes remained on the young boy for a second before he replied, "We don't have time for that. Get back in the column. We've got to get out of this open ground damn quick."

Cautiously, the refugees made their way back out on the road, and the battalion continued its march in the opposite direction. Most of the men were thinking of their own loved ones back home and were thankful, because they knew none of them would ever have to endure something such as they had just seen. 

Chonan was a small village with few modern building and paved streets, largely consisting of small clay buildings with thatched roofs on either side of what were no more than paths. It was deserted, and a few of the buildings were in flames.

"Shit! You mean we're gonna just walk right in?" Robert murmured as the platoon probed through the village.

Immediately, there was Owens' voice. "Keep your fucking mouth shut, Mathis. Leave the tactics to the Pentagon."

The platoon broke down into squads and prudently moved form one building to the other. Hearts were pounding and for the moment, all had forgotten the dismal sight of the column of refugees and the Americans in their shallow graves. Only a few frightened old men and women were found, huddled in the corners of what had, only a few days earlier, been their homes.

Floyd looked at Owens and said, "They've been here. God dammit, we ought to have a translator with us."

The same expression of impatience and frustration was on both their faces as they stood there, quietly talking before facing the platoon and motioning for the march to resume.

"Fuck!" Robert muttered under his breath, as the platoon started up a steep incline just outside the village. "Those bastards at battalion don't have any notion what's out here and just stuck us out here to find out like a prick that's about to screw some bitch with the creap." 

There was Owens again. "That's what a reconnaissance patrol does, Mathis. I'm not going to tell you again to keep your cussed mouth shut."

They hadn't been on the road very long when the sound of motors were heard on the other side of the hill. Floyd held up his hand and motioned for the 2^nd Squad to follow him. They crept to the hilltop and were astounded to see tanks and a very long column of NKPA infantry moving forward in a cloud of dust reaching far back across the worthless terrain.

Floyd flinched, momentarily closed his eyes and exhaled before mumbling to himself, "We've got to get a radio report to battalion."

The squad required little encouragement to vacate the hillside, but just as they were hastily returning to the platoon, Joey grabbed Floyd and excitedly said, "Lieutenant, look down there!"

They all abruptly stopped and looked to the right. Screaming voices were coming from a group of 7 or 8 parked Jeeps. They strained their eyes and saw a dozen or so Americans lying between the vehicles. A group of NKPA soldiers were laughing among themselves as they cranked the Jeeps and began dragging the Americans across the ground. Their screams became progressively louder.

Everyone in the squad was petrified and momentarily forgot about the approaching enemy force as they crouched down on the hillside and watched the American soldiers, some of whom had long pieces of rope around their legs, while others were being dragged by rope around their wrists.

Robert and Joey looked at each other's startled faces and then back out into the field where the American were toppling over and over with their backs, chests and faces scouring across the rugged ground. 

Every man in the squad could feel the prisoners' pain in his own body as the screams became more agonized. Suddenly, the vehicles stopped and the tormenting sight was temporarily lost in the cloud of dust hovering over them, but the pathetic voices could clearly be heard – "Ooooohhhh!" "Stop!" "Oh please, stop!"

The vehicles started up again and jerked the bodies across the ground. One man's arm was pulled from his body. At first, he didn't even seem to realize what had happened. He quickly stood up and started to run into the field but stumbled down to his knees. He looked down at his shoulder, which was gushing blood, and released the most agonized scream just as he collapsed to the ground where his body lay twitching from side to side for a few seconds before he became perfectly still.

The group of Jeeps stopped again, and a few of the Americans crawled on their knees as far away from the NKPA soldiers as their ropes would permit, but they were all shot at point blank range. No experience could have been more bloodcurdling as what those men must have felt, helplessly kneeling, watching their comrades being murdered and knowing the NKPA soldiers would soon turn their guns on them. In a matter of seconds, all the helpless Americans were dead, the ropes were cut away and their broken bodies lay at the side of the road. In a reprehensible manner, it seemed the enemy tank column was passing in review in front of them.

The squad rejoined the platoon, and Floyd made his radio report to battalion. Within minutes, they were all running back down the road towards Chonan, where men were digging at the roadside. The NKPA tanks were already appearing at the top of the hill. They stopped, and their turrets slowly began to turn towards the men who were in no organized defensive pattern and were hectically clawing at the earth anywhere they thought they might be out of sight. Robert was so afraid he could not speak when he saw two of the .88 millimeter guns appeared to be pointing directly at him.

Bazooka teams rushed forward, stopped, started to load their weapons but were slashed down by the tanks' machine guns before they could launch a single round.

The enemy tank commanders quickly saw there was no bazooka threat and ordered their vehicles forward. They rolled off the road and in a very few minutes, were passing directly over the hastily prepared trenches in the forward positions. Control was quickly lost everywhere in the battalion. The platoon leaders and cadre desperately tried to establish order, but no one could hear them due to the sounds of the battle. Some were so afraid they could not move and were crushed when the tanks rolled over them. The enemy machine gunners could easily pick out the leaders and systemically began to annihilate them with overlapping fire. Those who were still alive began to run wildly back down the road, where several companies were beginning to fire on the enemy infantry behind the tanks and just coming into range. Enemy soldiers began to fall. Robert was briefly encouraged and began firing and reloading as quickly as he could. For a short moment, he was not afraid – possessing hate boiled through his blood.

The tanks continued uncontested until at last, someone was shouting, "Fall back! Fall back!" But again, some did not hear the order and were overrun, just as others were up and running back towards Chonan. Robert and Joey were still together and could see the disorganized gaggle on either side of them was being progressively reduced by the automatic weapons fire from the advancing enemy, then firing at will.

Mercifully, the battalion staggered into Chonan and took cover among the deserted buildings. The tanks momentarily stopped but soon went into the file formation and were again rolling forward. Bazooka teams were positioned in the windows of buildings close to the edge of the village and began firing a few rounds but soon, they were all shouting, "These son of a bitching things still won't fire!" They left their weapons and began running into the village just as a rather young lieutenant colonel was screaming at Captain Draper, "Our orders are to hold!" He reached out and grabbed one of the men from the fleeing bazooka teams - the only one still carrying his weapon. The lieutenant colonel jerked the weapon from the frightened man's arms and pulled 2 ammunition bearers with him about a block forward and directly in the path of 2 of the oncoming tanks. He stooped down behind the corner of a building and like an ordinary infantryman, ordered the bearers to load the weapon, as he sighted it on the approaching tanks, not 50 yards away.

Both tanks fired into the building and just as their rounds exploded, the lieutenant colonel stood up and snapped at the waist. He was literally cut in two like a brittle straw from the concussion of the explosions. No one saw the ammunition bearers who must have been buried when the roof collapsed.

Again, all had been lost but this time, there was no order to retreat. Men were just running everywhere through the streets of Chonan and out into the surrounding countryside.

The enemy's orders must have been to seize Chonan because fortunately, their advance stopped once the Americans had fled the village.

An optimist could rationalize some good had come from the defeats at Osan and Chonan. The shock of initial battle had passed and gradually, the men were showing a tendency to retain some degree of composure in the heat of battle. Respect for the older soldiers such as Floyd and Owens was building. Within the next few days, truck convoys came forward and evacuated the battered 24^th Division south to positions just north of Taejon. Orders were issued that were cynically identical to the previous ones: "Consolidate a defensive line along the Kum River north of Taejon."

While the Americans were retreating on the western half of the Korean peninsula, the enemy was making rapid advances in the east as well through Wonju, Chechon and Yechon. The ROK units and the 25^th Infantry Division were helpless and fell back much in the same manner as the 24^th. The agonizing truth was then quite obvious to everyone, no matter where he was and no matter what his rank. No one any longer believed the campaign would be brief. The enemy was much better trained and equipped than bad been believed, and the Americans desperately needed the new 3.5 inch bazookas, HEAT shells and .90 millimeter antitank guns.

Command echelons seemed uncertain if American forces were really as uncontrollable as early battles had suggested, or was the whole idea of throwing an ill-equipped force into the path of an advancing enemy most accurately described as the men at the front were fully convinced, "Fucking idiotic?"

The retreating force was thinly deployed between Kongju and Chochiwon, which were 2 small villages north of Taejon. The Seoul-Pusan Highway forked and led to both villages before continuing near Taejon. Fighting such a delaying action on each fork was proving difficult, if not impossible.

Robert and Joey again sat at each other's side in another foxhole, looking across more rugged, worthless terrain and more endless hills, which suggested to even the most non-military mind Korea was the worst possible place for a modern, mechanized army to fight such a war.

Half of the battalion was deployed at a forward position in Chonui, another small village between Kongju and Chochiwon. Air Force F86 jets had been flying towards the north all morning and more equipment had been brought forward, including a battery of 155 millimeter howitzers and also M24 light tanks with 75 millimeter guns. With the shock of the initial battles behind, the sight of additional armaments diminished the ordinary infantryman's fear, although the mood was still far from commanding confidence. 

Robert searched across their field of fire, and his imagination and fatigue caused him to fantasize all sorts of things that were not there. He finally mumbled, "What in the hell are we doing in this shithole?" and jerking his head towards Joey, he hastily added, "And don't give me that horseshit about protecting democracy in the Free World."

Joey didn't respond at first but saw Robert continued to stare at him, expecting some sort of answer. Without thinking, he said the first thing that came to his mind. "That's one way of putting it, Robert, but did you ever think where you would be now, if so many in the past had not been in situations just like the one we're in now?"

"That ain't got a god damn thing to do with it," Robert snapped. "Hell, they were at war. What the fuck do you call this?"

Joey smiled. "Look at the positive side. Weapons now exist that could wipe out a city in a matter of seconds. The big thinkers in Washington and Moscow obviously think putting you and me in some shithole is preferred to that."

"Oh, I get it. Just put a few men out in a rice paddy somewhere and move them around like objects on a chessboard. Maybe they ought to send in some referees, designate one of these stinking villages around here as the finish line, and which ever side gets there first is the winner and...." He stopped when he saw Owens moving briskly down the line towards the squad, and in a much less authoritative tone, added, "Oh shit, that's all I need. Here comes one of the Knights right now."

Owens didn't stop but Robert's nature quickly changed when he heard Owens say, "Get ready for an attack. Air Force reconnaissance has sighted a large enemy force headed straight for us."

Robert and Joey leaned forward and glared out ahead. The scorching sun beat down on their sweaty bodies and a piercing anxiety stabbed at their stomachs. Joey pointed to a small cloud of dust behind one of the hills about a mile away and quietly said, "They must have tanks, Robert." He looked around to try to find Owens or Floyd, but saw Floyd had already seen it and was positioning bazooka teams close to the machine gun crews. With obvious unrest, he added, "It looks like there ought to be mines out there. I don't guess we've had time to lay them. Either that or they didn't think we'd last this long."

"That's the first time I've heard you complain," Robert responded in a taunting voice. "Don't tell me you're finally starting to realize what's really happening." He waited for Joey to say something, but he never did, so he resumed staring back out into the field. In a few minutes, he said, "Don't you think we ought to estimate the distances to some of the terrain features out there? We'll need some references for our aiming points, if they really do attack."

Joey reached out and tapped him on the shoulder, smiled and replied with an element of surprise, "That's the first time you've talked like a soldier, Robert."

They both looked at each other for a moment before breaking into a reserved laugh.

Before much longer, enemy mortar rounds were exploding all along the front of the line. At first, both Robert and Joey ducked deeper into their foxhole, but immediately rose back up, keeping their field of fire in view. Large clods of dirt flew over their heads and particles of the useless earth struck their sweating bodies.

"They'll try to soften us up awhile with those mortars before they attack," Joey said in a deliberate voice.

Robert nodded, rubbed his wet palm across his dry lips and in a strange way, felt almost relieved that his contempt for being there, at least for the moment, was replaced by his concern at the prospects of staying alive for the remainder of the day.

The mortar fire lasted 30 minutes, and the defenders hugged the ground, searching for enemy soldiers or tanks until all of a sudden, there they were – several files of those squat little creatures, following a line of T34 tanks.

Lieutenant Floyd shouted, "Wait until they assume their attack formation before firing!"

Joey looked at the NKPA soldiers massing for the attack and attentively said, "I don't think we can stand up against that!"

The enemy infantrymen darted around behind the tanks and slithered like reptiles through low places in the ground, just as American mortars began firing and prompted at least a momentary halt to the advance.

At the moment, Robert wasn't thinking how much he hated the Army and Sergeant Owens, but with a developing perception of the situation, asked, "What do you think they're gonna do?"

Joey drew his weapon to his shoulder and replied, "They're trying to determine our firing range. They're not gonna stop."

Just as the T34s started firing rounds that were not especially accurate and struck well in front of the line, Joey reached out and clutched Robert's arm, as he excitedly said, "Listen....Listen!"

 Immediately, he was reminded his mother had told him "listen" was the first word he had ever uttered. All through the first months of his life, when he would cry, she would sit with him in a rocking chair, hold him close to her body and say, "Listen....listen."

"I don't hear anything but those fucking gooks," Robert said, obviously annoyed.

Joey insisted, "I think its our artillery."

Faintly, above the T34s and incoming fire, they could hear the blunt reports of 155-millimeter howitzers. A jeering smile came to his face and he laughed, "Now we're gonna fry some gook asses!"

Their heads quickly turned to the NKPA tanks. The infantrymen were hidden in the low ground but in a few moments, long patterns of explosions were bursting only yards ahead of the Americans all across the right side of the defensive line. Screams and curses erupted that were so coarse and intolerant they prevailed well above the immediate chaos that seized the moment. In a scant breath, the men's spirits had been turned from something resembling hope to the promise of near certain doom.

Disbelief and anger possessed Robert's, as he screamed at the top of his voice, "God dammit! I can't believe those stupid bastards are firing on us!"

At once, the NKPA tanks were moving forward at top speed. Several artillery forward observers were wildly running back towards the communications station just as T34 explosions began blending in with the American artillery and it became impossible to distinguish between friendly and enemy fire, both of which were falling on the defensive positions at the same time.

It was something of a miracle that the group of eight F86 jets appeared from nowhere and began pelting the enemy advance with rocket and machine gun fire about the time the forward observers managed to lift the supposed friendly artillery. The jets' rockets made a whishing sound, left a white trail behind them and slammed into several of the enemy tanks. Large pillars of black smoke shot from the tanks, and the enemy advance began to lose its purpose. The foot soldiers were running to the rear and were being cut down quite efficiently by the diving American warplanes in a magnificent example of close air support, be it a matter of pure chance rather than astute planning.

The attack stopped, and all fell silent. Immediately, Robert complained, "Why in the hell are they stopping?"

"They're probably low on fuel," Joey said. "I think that's the same group of planes we saw earlier. They must have been returning from a mission in the north."

Robert was confused by his own emotions and felt a dominating fear and anger at the same time as he looked over to the right side of the line and in astonishment, said, "I'm a son of a bitch! Look at that – just look at that!" He was pointing to the distorted bodies of a number of American soldiers who had been blown out of their foxholes during the friendly fire fiasco.

Without warning, the NKPA soldiers appeared everywhere across the entire line, exhibiting tactics quite differently than they had used at Osan where their method had been one of measured infiltration. A deafening roar of defensive fire burst out, sizable numbers of the enemy began to fall and again, the attack quickly lost momentum.

Robert was encouraged, and as he quickly reloaded, said, "Those bastards don't have any sense at all. They're running straight into our fields of fire."

Joey didn't share his tactical evaluation. He squeezed off a few rounds and added, "They're also getting closer to our positions, Robert."

Just then, what looked like several companies of NKPA began wantonly running forward, but there were four F86 jets streaking down from the ridgeline behind them. Robert and Joey were elated and screamed, "Get them in the open ground!"

Owens was also screaming, "Get down. Those fucking airplanes are attacking in the wrong direction!"

Robert and Joey sank back into their foxhole, and Robert immediately protested, "What in the hell does he mean?"

The American jets were at a much higher altitude than the ones that had earlier attacked the enemy from behind the defensive positions and were swooping down at a high rate of speed and at a concave angle. They overshot the enemy and sprayed fire all across the startled Americans, clenching at the earth at the bottoms of their foxholes. Again, heartfelt curses were heard. Then, there were calls for the medics.

 NKPA soldiers were running uncontested not 100 yards away from the entire right side of the line, which had been heavily hit by both the F86s and enemy fire. Finally, came the disgusted command, "Pull back! Pull back!"

The order was welcomed but regardless, left a sickening, hollow feeling in the men's stomachs as they all frantically ran behind Captain Draper, who they took it had given the command. For a moment, Robert thought of those senseless runs in basic training and how they had robbed him of energy he would need at the whorehouse. Then, he had never envisioned the rote practicality of such preparation.

For the first time, Robert was relieved to see one of those damnable hills. The company was running directly towards it. His legs were aching, he was gasping for breath and sweat was streaming from every pore of his body. For a moment, he doubted he could even remain on his feet but then, he remembered those dead American soldiers with dirt in their mouths and the others with jagged skull protruding from the tops of their heads. Only that kept him going until the entire company lay panting under the concealing, scrubby foliage of the mountain that had so quickly become a blessing.

They all lay there for quite a few minutes. No one said a word. They were dazed with fatigue and the shock of yet another retreat but presently, Joey was tugging at Robert's arm and pointing back out along the path of retreat, which was littered with dead American bodies. Some lay perfectly still, and some were weakly crawling towards the mountain. Mercifully, the enemy had broken off the attack.

The battalion was regrouped – at least, what was left of it, and the retreat to the south continued. All had lost the incentive to fight after having seen those men with dirt in the mouths and the others being dragged across the ground when all the while, the North Koreans were laughing, as if in some childish game. Their growing fear was punctuated with a growing skepticism as to the merit of their even being there. They were all in a land so far away from home and helplessly engaged in something that wasn't even called a war, but men were still dead and with each minute, others were receiving wounds that would always ebb away the diminished forms of lives fate had given them. Through it all, was a latent but growing resent that they were seemingly just being used by those half a world away to buy time to decide what, if anything, to do next.

As the men of the 24^th marched down that winding road, planes flew overhead en route to bombing missions in the north, and there was the sound of artillery back there in the distance. The oppressive heat and steaming humidity blunted their reason. Hate, misunderstanding, fear and self-pity rarely lead one to the proper conclusions.

Some of them identified with other men in other wars who had been in the same position and quite honorably responded with unimaginable sacrifices but some could not, or least would not, accept what they had seen, what they felt and what all of it was doing to them when they suddenly realized they were not at all the types of persons they had always thought themselves to be. Yet, in time, seeing all those refugees on the roads, the primitive manner of some of the villages and the subhuman character of the enemy would cause them all to fathom what was really important in life, and the things back home they had  never stopped to appreciate were truly worth the demands made by so many situations, both in the past and then, that were so vile and unfair.

The retreat was moving towards Taejon, and a few N24 Chaffee light tanks and infantrymen marching towards the north began to pass them on the road. The scene the battalion presented to those about to be thrown into battle must have been anything but heartening. Men were exhausted and lifelessly sitting at the roadside during a brief rest period and only gazed at the men and equipment moving past them. No one even looked up when a Chaffee tank stopped – that is, not until a young crewman walked up to Robert and Joey and asked, "What's it like up there?"

Robert looked around to see if he could see Sergeant Owens before he pointedly responded, "It's like it is everywhere else in the fucking Army – a screwed up mess. As soon as you get a little further up the road, you're gonna start seeing dead men to prove it."

Joey was frantically shaking his head, trying to get Robert to realize the young boy was so afraid he could hardly speak. With a slight smile, he looked at the crewman and said, "It's rough but we've got some new equipment coming up. I think we'll be okay."

The young boy sighed and looked at his tank before saying, "I don't know about that. We don't have any recoil oil for our guns. We're gonna have to fire them by lanyard." He started to say something else but the tank commander was shouting for him to get back into the vehicle.

Robert dropped his hands to the ground and his head fell down between his knees. "Damn! There's bastards like that fucking Owens everywhere," he spit out between tight lips. He was confused by his own hate as he looked at the columns of American soldiers and tanks moving up the dusty road, and wondered how many of them would be dead within the next few days. Then, his thoughts abruptly turned to himself when he realized it might well be him that would not survive. Mistrust was fused with his hate and nearly everything, both the enemy and his own leaders, but still, he was accruing an identity with all those weary men sitting on the side of that wretched road surrounded by worthless ground. Most of them must have been obsessed with the same thoughts entering his bewildered mind.

Soon, the battalion was again on the road, dragging itself towards Chochiwon. All their legs were dragging as they approached the top of a steep hill leading into the village. Gunfire broke out some distance behind them, and the entire battalion stopped to glare back up the road. From their high vantage point, they could see the tanks and soldiers that had earlier passed them were attacking a ridge just south of Chonui, a village between Chonan and Chochiwon. Tension built in the exhausted soldiers throats as they watched the Chaffee tanks rolling some distance ahead of the foot soldiers. They stopped, rotated their turrets and comments began to build in the retreating column. "Come on. Come on. Kick the slimy gooks in the balls."  All at once, there was a shout from somewhere down the road, "Oh hell!" just as the tanks began firing at the enemy positions.

The whole platoon anxiously walked up the road, gazing at the row of tanks as they lobbed rounds towards the ridgeline while the infantry behind them prepared for a frontal attack. Just as 2 of the tanks fired their first rounds, there was a loud humming sound and the turrets were blown completely off. It was a sickening sight, watching them slowly roll backwards and coming to a stop at the bottom of the incline where they stood dead still with a faint cloud of brown smoke streaming from inside. Immediately, Robert remembered what the young crewman had told them about the recoil oil, and he knew that neither of the tanks had been hit by enemy fire. They had simply not been properly prepared, much like the men who bravely advanced towards the ridgeline and were about to be devoured by the adverse circumstances they had done nothing to create. They took the ridge but could not hold it. A large portion of yet another attack force had been wasted, and Robert wondered if that young tank crewman was even still alive.

The NKPA launched a massive counterattack, and the Americans fell back behind the Kum River. Portions of the 24^th Division continued to fall back towards Taejon, and all the while, replacements were rushing up from Pusan.

It was sort of a diametric form of reason. Three thousand dead, wounded or captured Americans were scattered all across the squalid landscape and at the same time, more Americans were moving forward to face an enemy whose effectiveness had come as a deprecating shock to the American commanders. All thought of the Inchon amphibious landing by the 1^st Calvary Division was abandoned for the moment and every effort was directed towards