Some of the Men in Company L
Korea July 1952
Marcus Freye and Paul Boring were quiet GIs. They occupied a space, but most of the GIs in our platoon were unaware that they filled it. Maybe they had buddies in the other platoons.
Oh, we did have a few quiet men. Oscar Konnerth never complained, missed his wife, but we knew that we could depend on him based on his performance on Mary and Nori Outposts.
John was unaware that his Cajun accent needed an interpreter. He joined in the endless laughter and, when I made a contribution. With hands the size of a baseball glove, he affectionately squeezed my pate.
C.P. Jones, a black GI was full of fun. We called him C.P because whenever he was the butt of a joke, he threatened to go to the C.P. (Command Post) to report us.
Wayne Caton, our medic, came to us when we were in reserve. He told me in confidence, that he was concerned whether he would be terrified, and unable to perform when we were engaged by the Chinese. I told him that any normal person who tells you they are not frightened is a liar. His aid bag had many morphine sureties. When it was quiet, or we were waiting to go on the chow line, he’d pretend to count the packets, accuse us of stealing a few of them, and threatened to go to our company commander if they weren’t returned immediately. He ended up as a KIA while performing an incredibly, heroic, and unselfish deed.
Gales of laughter trailed Sgt. Hoover wherever he went. He came from Hinton, W.Va where he claimed, the train station was a bale of hay, and departing passengers would be kicked off and onto the bale. Jungles was attached to Sgt. Hoover like a fly to fly paper.
“How do I get rid of that mess?” he asked. “I tried everything, even the insecticide we were issued lat week.”
There aren’t enough phrases to describe Charley Kauneckis. Charley came to us from the 82nd Airborne. They made two drops, were dismantled, and sent to infantry companies. He fearlessly led us on every raid and every patrol. I was the runner who was the contact between the officer who led the raid or patrol and Charley. In reserve, unaware that he was under the influence of one beer too many, he led me to a Korean village in a search for young girls. We never made it. After being caught by the Officer of the Day, before we reached the village, a summary court martial was our penalty. Enough of Charley.
George Whitefeather used his Indian instincts to find marijuana plants growing on the MLR (frontline). He removed the leaves, soaked them in after-shave lotion (from the 101 pack) sent to us from the rear, cut them into small pieces, and then placed it into a corn cob pipe (also in the 101 pack). He puffed away claiming he didn’t stand patrol at his bunker, he was floating over it.
Sgt. Flaherty was also from the 82nd Airborne. He was strictly business. But one day, in reserve, he tried to cut into mess Sgt. Goff’s petrified pancakes. He brought them to Sgt. Goff, dropped them at his feet, took out his bayonet, and shouted, “It’s time to resole our boots!” Andy Concha and I laughed so hard that Sgt. Goff had us digging a 6’ x 4’ “refrigerator” which became a piss tube when we buried an emptied artillery shell into it.
Sgt. Staszewski came from Chicago. He was a kind and gentle man who swore he would never return to that horrible city. But one day, when we were on the line, Phillip Dickson refused to obey a command given to him by Sgt. Staszewski. Phillip was sent to battalion headquarters to face a court martial. Upon his return, our platoon was leaving to raid Hill 117. Sgt. Staszewski ordered him to get his weapon, put on his vest, and join us. When we were ambushed by the Chinese, Phillip was severely wounded.
Coy Jaegers was without a doubt, the dullest tool in the shed. With a glowing smile embedded into his face, he was always willing to do anything, but he always did it wrong. When we were in a blocking position, I was sitting on the ground, with my back against a large, smooth rock. Someone told Coy that I was talking about him. He came over with that smile, and asked why was I talking about him. Of course, I denied it, but he unexpectedly jumped me, hurting my back. I knew that there would be no resolution to this fantasy, so we shook hands and he went on his simple, smiling way.
Truman Bastin, from southern Kentucky was also a quiet and dependable GI. He lit up when he learned that the rationed beer on line would be made available when we went into reserve. Truman was severely wounded on the Hill 121 raid.
Ed Heister was a tall, muscular, fearless GI from Norman, Oklahoma. He volunteered to accompany Sgt. Flaherty and Lt. Sidney, our company commander, to retrieve the body of Jesus Comacho. We didn’t see Jesus during our withdrawal from the ambush on Hill 117.
During our raid on Hill 121, Ed carried a hemorrhaging Truman Bastin on his shoulders to a jon boat which brought him across the Imjin River, and quickly to an aid station.
But Marcus Freye and Paul Boring remained temporarily in the background. While we were in reserve, Marcus Freye was given permission by the Red Cross to return home in order to resolve a family problem. He was under the impression that he would remain stateside. After the problem was apparently resolved, he was ordered to return to our company. He was devastated. But, there he was, encased in an armored vest, holding his BAR as we prepared to occupy Hill 121. With a blank face and glazed eyes, he listened to Lt. Theiss review the plan of attack. We temporarily occupied Hill 121, and then were ordered to withdraw. I joined eight of our men into a waiting truck. We were to report to battalion headquarters to report the results of our mission. Marcus Freye was sitting on a slatted bench directly opposite me. After a short ride, he stood up, lifted his BAR and fired it, shredding the truck’s canvas canopy. The rest of us dropped to the floor bed. He remained standing. Finally, the truck arrived at battalion headquarters where Marcus was removed by the medics. We never heard from him again.
Paul Boring tragically emerged from the background when we were in reserve. Immediately after breakfast Lt. Sidney ordered us to meet him under two adjoining squad tents. He detailed a new procedure for “attacking an enemy’s fortified position”. As we listened quietly, a burst of bullets interrupted Lt. Sidney’s instructions. Enrique was drowsing while his finger was in the trigger housing of his BAR. His safety was off. While nodding forward, his finger pressed down on the trigger emptying the twenty rounds in the magazine. Paul Boring, a friend of Benny Hoover’s, was sitting adjacent to Enrique. His head was the recipient of the bullets.
Forty-five years later, Lt. Sidney, then Col. Sidney gave an account of this incident.
Benny Hoover swore that Enrique would pay for this. When we were on line, on a minor action, on a minor hill, Enrique’s squad was the base of fire (rear guard protection), while Kevin Brockett was to crawl in and plant Company L’s guide-on (flag) into the hill. Upon our withdrawal, Benny Hoover saw Enrique sleeping near a bush. He pulled a pin on his fragmentary grenade and dropped into Enrique’s lap.
Many untold and unseen stories occur during wartime, but only the participants might be the observers.
For the complete story read, Cold Ground’s Been My Bed: A Korean War Memoir by Daniel Wolfe
danielwolfebooks@aol.com