Danny, Don’t Play With Him
Uijonbu, Korea July, 1952
Charley Kauneckis was the volunteer point man on every patrol or raid for Company L, 3rd Infantry Division, 2nd platoon. Prior to this, he was a paratrooper for the 187 Regimental Combat Team that made two jumps in Korea, then they were distributed to the combat infantry divisions.
Charley was a 6′ 2″ lanky, man who had as many biases as letters in his name. If it burned or exploded, he knew everything about it. If there was a way of getting a court martial, he knew everything about it. My mother would have said,
“Danny, don’t play with him.”
When Charley discovered I was Jewish and from New York, he said,
“Oh. A New York Irishman! From now on you’re Reilly.”
From that time on, our men called me, “Reilly”.
Company L was sent to reserve awaiting replacements for those who had rotated, the men we lost due to wounds or casualties. In reserve, and under Charley’s persuasion, I became the platoon runner. The platoon runner during a patrol or raid is the contact between the point man (Charley) and whoever is leading the squad or platoon.
We had arrived to a flat and sandy area. Our company was busy setting up tents for the platoons and the mess hall when Sgt. Jeffries assigned Charley and me to hammer posts into the ground, and then connect a wire fence to them. In the evening, I was called upon to read an order to the company warning any man found outside the fence (which Charley and I built) would face a court martial.
After dinner, Charley sidled up to me. His breath, pure malt, as he said,
“You see that village there, about a mile from us? There are mooses (young girls) anxious to see us. We’ll go there after dark.”
“What are you nuts? The approach is as flat as a football field. I just read to the company that anyone found outside the fence we built will get a court martial.”
“We won’t get caught, Reilly. Join me. The most obvious way is the least suspected way.”
Whatever motivated me to join him is a mystery to this day (64 years later).
Upon the onset of darkness, Charley and I left on this harebrained adventure. With a can of beer in his hand, and who knows how much in his blood, we advanced quietly towards the village.
Out of the darkness, three men approached. I fell flat and hugged the ground.
“Get down Charley! Get down!”
Charley was sitting up and singing an alcoholic version of a Korean folk song, Arriang.
Warily, the three men moved towards us. They were the Officer of the Day and two corporals.
“Get up and return slowly camp,” said the officer. “You know you’re not supposed to be here.”
As we were walking towards camp, Charley spun around then threw his beer can in the direction of the men and yelled,
“Look out, a grenade!”
They fell to the ground. Charley, standing over them, burst out laughing. Angered by his embarrassment and Charley’s insubordinate behavior, the officer said,
“I was going to let you guys go, but this is too much. Lead me to your company commander’s tent.”
I turned to the officer,
“Would you consider that we were on the front line for…”
Charley interjected.
“Don’t beg Reilly, don’t beg. I can’t stand a beggar.”
We went to Capt. Smith’s tent, but he wasn’t there. Getting our names from our dog tags, the officer left a note to the captain.
In a week, Charley and I were called to Colonel Welch’s tent for the court martial.
His clerk was at a typewriter, but the colonel wasn’t there.
“We’re here for our court martial. Where is the colonel,” I asked.
He’ll be here soon. He is exhausted from a bad case of the *Whistling GIs.
“Whistling GIs? What’s that?”
“Son,” he said. “Did you ever shit so fast your asshole whistled? That’s the Whistling GIs.”
I put that one in my memory bank.
We were fined one month’s pay and were not allowed to change our allotment; a minor penalty for our major crime.
Charley passed away on December 5, 1998. I felt obligated to deliver a eulogy to this man who enlivened my life under the stress of combat. My wife and I drove from North Carolina to Poquoson, Virginia to attend his funeral. Neither his wife, nor his family knew anything about Charley’s life in the army.
Rest in peace Charley. You never let me.
* In the army, The GIs is a case of bad diarrhea.
Adapted from, Cold Ground’s Been My Bed: A Korean War Memoir by Daniel Wolfe.