Shithead
For a short while in Korea I had the unfortunate nickname of "Shithead." Here's how it happened.
I was sitting in the bunker one fine morning, peering through the BC scope (binocular periscope) at a bunch of Chinese soldiers lugging a .76-mm moun- tain gun, piece by piece, up the slope of Reno, one of the hills they occupied across from our lines. The duty sentry appeared in the bunker's entrance, announcing that my lieutenant wanted to see me.
I turned the scope over to one of the other FOs (forward observer) and headed to our team leader's tent. I entered and reported in.
"The gunny from the battery just called." he stated. "They want you down there ASAP."
"What the hell did I do now?" I wondered. You weren't invited back to the battery by the gunny unless something was up.
"Any idea why they want me, sir?" I asked.
"They have a special job that you're qualified for." He explained. "Don't sweat it; you're not in trouble."
An invite from the gunny for me to perform a "special job." The hell I wasn't in trouble! The gunny didn't ask for volunteers — he volunteered you! Oh well.
I hiked down the hill to the jeep we always had standing by, jumped in and started it up. I turned the jeep around and headed back toward "Dog" Battery. Well, at least I'd be off the front lines for a while.
All the way back I tried to fathom what they might have in mind for me. A special job that I'm qualified for, the lieutenant had said. What did that mean? Cleaning toilets? By the time that I reached the battery, my head was swimming from trying to figure it out.
