He'd come to the team as a wireman, charged with the duty of running telephone lines from the outpost back to the FDC. Now he was the wireman, the radio operator, the Scout sergeant, and the team leader. The thought was overpowering. The radio came alive.
"Woodcock 24 Charlie, this is Woodcock. Over."
He picked up the handset, depressing the talk switch.
"This is Woodcock 24 Charlie. Over."
"Ah, this is Woodcock. Mission report. Over."
Oh shit! He hadn't even checked to see the results of the barrage he'd called in. How much time had passed? He really didn't know. He could hear men moving around outside. He listened. They were speaking English, and he could hear the disbelief in their voices. "Woodcock, this is Woodcock 24 Charlie. Mission report to follow. Wait."
He delayed his answer until he could figure out just what the hell had happened. Warily, he eased through the opening in the bunker's rear, Thompson submachine gun in hand. Slipping into the trench line, he was amazed to see Marines walking around, jabbering, as if they had come upon some amazing sight. He peered over the lip of the trench, staring down at what had been more than a battalion of Chinese communist soldiers. The ground below was littered with bodies in quilted uniforms. None moved.
Dazed, he looked around at the smiling faces of Marine infantrymen. They had thought they were going to be overrun, and now the enemy was gone, leaving behind their dead. From the bunker came the sound of the radio, demanding. "Woodcock 24 Charlie, this is Woodcock. I say again, mission report. Over."
He ran to the bunker, picked up the handset, pressed the talk switch, and reported. "Woodcock, this is Woodcock 24 Charlie."
He reported what he'd seen, approximated the number of enemy casualties, and advised the FDC that the Chinese had withdrawn, leaving their dead behind, which was unusual. Later he found out that over twenty thousand rounds of high explosive anti-personnel ammunition had been fired that night, up and down the main line of resistance. Most of it had been sent their way from all the batteries of the Eleventh Marines, as well as from British Commonwealth forces.
He whistled to himself as he thought of the immensity of the ordnance used during the battle.
Again a nudge from the private brought him back to today's reality.
"What the hell is going on with you, corporal? You just dropped a lit butt on your lap, and now you're whistling! Have you cracked?"
The corporal smiled. "No, private, as a matter of fact, I haven't. Let's go home."
* * *
About the author: John Henson enlisted in January 1953 — boot camp, ITR, and straight to Korea. MOS was 2511 — Wireman. Learned to climb with ankle hooks as soon as he reached his first Marine unit, H&S Battery 2nd Bn 11th Marines. Due to a shortage of FOs, he was assigned to the FO unit out of D-2-11, attached to H-3-7. As casualties mounted, he became the radio operator and eventually the team's Scout sergeant. Stayed with the battery until the 1st MarDiv returned to the USA in 1955. Spent a year or so at Camp Pendleton, then was transferred to the1st MAW (MACS3), then back to Korea. The squadron was moved to MCAS Iwakuni in 1956. He stayed with the Wing for the rest of his tour, and was discharged in November 1957.
