Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

Twenty-Nine

 

“No one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected.” 
Julius Caesar

 

My graduation and return to OCS was only a few short months away. With a light class schedule and NROTC duties winding down, I kicked physical training into high gear once again. I had learned my lesson from the previous year though; no running in boots or while wearing a backpack, get plenty of rest, and avoid overtraining. My first date with Elizabeth had gone surprisingly well, and I started seeing her on campus often, also realizing that she was one of the hundred or so students in my Astronomy class. She became a frequent visitor to the armory, hanging out in the lounge and studying until I could break free. Very soon it was like I had known her all my life. On the day of graduation at Chapel Hill, the other Midshipmen in my class gathered with their friends and family in front of the armory for the commissioning ceremony. The oath of office was administered to each in turn, and I watched as they pinned on the single yellow bar on each shoulder that designated them as an officer.  My commissioning ceremony would have to wait until later in the summer after successful completion of OCS. It was painful to watch them become officers while I remained a Midshipman, but I was happy for them. We had studied, struggled, and trained together for four years, and they had earned this day. Most of them would go on to successful, distinguished careers in the Naval Service. Chris and I returned to our apartment, packed up our stuff, and moved out. He returned to his Stanly County home to search for a job in that area, and after a short stop at the farm, I left for the Marine base in Quantico. Over the four years at UNC, Chris had gone from being one of many good friends in high school to my absolute best friend. I felt he had become the brother I never had. Always encouraging and supportive, he had wisdom beyond his years that helped me through hard times and setbacks. He also had a joyous enthusiasm for adventure and fun that inspired me to live each day to the fullest with boldness. I would miss him dearly. I was confident that as adults we would eventually settle down near each other and our families would be as close as we had been during our years at Chapel Hill. We agreed to meet up next time I was home at the end of July.

I packed up and left for Quantico, stopping at the NROTC unit in Chapel Hill to take care of some administrative issues. During my short visit, I had the opportunity to meet Marine Colonel (later General) George Walls, who had recently arrived as the Commanding Officer. Walls had served as a lieutenant in Vietnam around the time of my birth and had joined the Marines despite facing challenges due to his darker skin tone. Our conversation was brief, but I was immediately impressed by his demeanor. He exuded a strong sense of confidence and professionalism, yet remained approachable and genuine, unlike some other officers I had encountered. He was exactly the type of officer I aspired to become.

As I drove my beloved Camaro towards Quantico, I felt less apprehensive than the previous summer. I knew what to expect and had confidence that I would graduate and be commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in a few short weeks. After showing my ID card at the gate, I continued down the lonely stretch of road towards the OCS compound. As I passed by the White Elephants and Bobo Hall, I couldn't help but remember the pain and heartbreak I had experienced in that area. I parked in the designated area for candidates, shouldered my sea bag, and made my way across the parade ground to the OCS barracks. The distinctive smell of the barracks, likely from the rubber flooring in the stairwells, triggered memories and emotions. I took a few deep breaths and reassured myself that I was prepared. Soon, the OCS show would begin, with the Platoon Sergeants playing their roles as tormentors to perfection. The wide-eyed candidates would be thrown into a flurry of confusing and often impossible assignments. Word spread among the platoon that I was a "retread," someone who had been injured the previous year but given one final chance to become an officer. While my situation was rare, it was not unheard of, and I was sought out for guidance on what to expect and how to navigate the environment. I offered some standard advice, such as "stay off the skyline," "obey the Platoon Sergeants instantly," and "don't do anything stupid." I respected the process and did not offer anything that would give an unfair advantage. The last thing I wanted to do was to serve with some Lieutenant that didn’t deserve to graduate OCS and only succeeded because I had short circuited the intricately designed screening program. “You can’t be the few and the proud if you let in the many and the weak.”

The course passed swiftly.  Although the physical training was still intense and exhausting, it was manageable. The summer weather in Quantico was hot and humid, and the strenuous physical activity posed a risk of heat stroke. We typically did the most demanding physical training in the morning, before the heat became unbearable, but even then, the air could be stifling. It was similar to the North Carolina heat I was accustomed to, so it wasn't too much of a problem for me, but other candidates were not as fortunate. Heat casualties were a common occurrence, and the Corpsmen would prepare tubs of ice water near the training area to quickly cool down overheated candidates. Becoming a heat casualty was a fast track to being dropped from the program as "not physically qualified" or NPQ. Two documented incidents were all it took for the Corps to determine that even though a candidate might be a great person, they would not be able to withstand the physical demands of intense activities in the tropical climates where Marines often operated. An additional humiliation was that being a heat casualty carried the stigma of having a "rectal rocket" thermometer used, as temperatures taken in that manner were considered the only accurate way to determine if someone needed immediate medical attention. The academic and military skills curriculum was a breeze for me, as I had previously trained younger Midshipmen on the subjects the year before. The drill instructor's taunts and insults, meant to expose any weaknesses or lack of self-control, were now just part of the routine. The long days of physical activity, including running, marching on the blacktop, training hikes with packs, and hours of standing at attention and parade rest, did cause some discomfort in my feet, but my previously injured leg did not bother me at all. The feet aches could certainly be tolerated until graduation. I continued to press forward, steadily completing the events and requirements of the program.

One of the challenges that candidates must master is a series of tactical problem-solving exercises. In these exercises, small groups of four are provided with basic materials such as rope, poles, and ladders and given a mission. The mission typically involves a rescue or a situation where the group must use the materials to come up with an innovative solution to save the lives of Marines or civilians. After completing an afternoon of these exercises, a truck arrived and we were instructed to get in the back. This truck, known as a "5 ton," was a massive machine weighing over 22,000 pounds. We appreciated the small comfort of a ride and climbed up the rear of the truck to the cargo area, settling in on the narrow wooden benches for the short ride back to the compound. Upon reaching our destination, we gathered our backpacks and strapped them on before getting out. It was standard practice to lower the tailgate for safety, as it reduced the distance to the ground. However, someone in a waiting group of Platoon Sergeants yelled at us to hurry up, so we skipped lowering the tailgate and instead climbed over it and jumped the 5 feet or so to the blacktop below. This was a clumsy task, as we had to carry a backpack, helmet, and rifle, as well as wear a web belt and suspenders. The belt and suspenders, also known as "782 gear," were likely the inspiration for Batman's utility belt, as they contained various helpful items. The back of the belt held a personal first aid kit and a pouch for carrying a poncho, while canteens filled with precious water were attached to the sides. Any remaining space was usually taken up by ammunition cartridges or other miscellaneous pouches. As I climbed over the tailgate and jumped out, something on my 782 gear caught on the truck. It quickly released, but the split-second hang caused me to lose my balance and I landed flat on my left foot. I felt a brief flash of intense pain and shuffled on to the formation. I knew immediately that a bone in my foot had broken, and I hoped no one had noticed me stagger after the fall. We were dismissed to the barracks to clean weapons before marching over to Bobo Hall for dinner. By the time I returned to the barracks after the meal, my foot was swollen and throbbing. Now within a couple weeks of completion, I considered the events and tests remaining, wondering if there was any way I could make it to the end of the program. Despite exhaustion, sleep didn’t easily come when the lights finally went off that night. The next day, we were scheduled for a short PT session and then classroom instruction. My foot had swollen overnight, and I quickly attracted attention as I limped along. A Corpsman was summoned, but to my surprise there were no taunts or insults this time from the Platoon Sergeants. The Corpsman quickly recognized the injury, and I was ushered into a van that would deliver me to the familiar Naval Hospital on the other side of the base. A few hours of waiting, and an X-Ray confirmed what I already knew. There was a complete break in the third metatarsal bone of my left foot. Feeling defeated and hopeless, I realized I had failed again. The doctor applied a plaster cast, and I was issued a pair of crutches. Downtrodden and full of gloom, I returned to the barracks. The next day, I stood on the sidelines and observed as the rest of the candidates completed morning physical training. I attended classes as scheduled and was told to report to the Company Commanding Officer (CO) at the end of the day for what I expected to be a final dismissal from the program. Reporting as ordered, I entered the Major’s office. He offered me a seat, and then explained the situation to me in a straightforward, professional, and surprisingly understanding voice. With my foot broken, I couldn’t run or march, and there was no shame in deciding that being a Marine officer wasn’t the right path for me. He asked if I was ready to go home. I told him that there was no way I was going to quit. If the official decision was to send me home, I would respect that verdict and leave, but I wasn’t going to voluntarily drop out of the program. I still very much wanted to be a Marine officer, and after coming this far I knew I had what it took to be a good one.

A few days later, I was summoned once again to the CO's office. He had discussed my situation with Colonel Walls and they had come to a decision. Despite my injury, I would be allowed to continue the course. However, I would not receive any scores for the remaining physical events and would only be able to participate in activities that did not require the use of my leg. Fortunately, I had performed well enough before my injury that they were willing to give me a chance. If my overall record at the end of the course met the required standards, I would graduate. I was surprised to learn that I was closer to the end than I had realized. The final week of training consisted of events and activities, followed by a week of administrative preparations for our transition from candidate to officer. We were fitted for uniforms and briefed on the next steps in our journey. Finally, after what felt like a long journey, Officer Candidate School was complete and I had passed. After the graduation ceremony, I was placed on convalescent leave and allowed to return home to heal. Once my cast was removed and I was medically cleared for duty, I would be commissioned in Chapel Hill. From there, I was to immediately report back to Quantico for further training and to begin my career as a Marine Officer.

Chapter Forty-Three

 

Forty-Three

 

So here it is, another chance
Wide awake you face the day
Your dream is over
Or has it just begun?

Queensrÿche

 

Summer was filled with more exercises and training on Okinawa as we prepared for the upcoming event. My replacement, Captain Green, checked in and I briefed him on the previous year and ongoing operations. He was competent, with technical skills and experience far beyond mine. I quickly realized I was going to learn much even from a short time working with him. With the arrival of August, it was time for the movement to Korea. In a now familiar process, the division HQ packed up, loaded onto planes, and flew to our destination. We landed in Osan, unloaded, and convoyed to the Republic of Korea  (RoK) base in Suwon. I supervised the setup of the network and phones for the HQ, and the operation began. The exercise was simulating the mobilization and deployment of 130,000 Marines into an expeditionary force operating against KLA aggression. The simulation continued, with our systems functioning as designed.

One disturbing issue was the smell in the large operations center that we shared with participating ROK Marines. It was unsettling, like a mix of benjo ditch and Bangkok fish market. The smell permeated the entire building but was especially pungent in the Combat Operations Center (COC). After a few minutes of conversation with ROK Marines in the COC, I realized the source. They had recently feasted on Kimchi, and the resultant odor was wafting from every pore and opening of their body. It was not going to be an enjoyable exercise. That evening, we went to the mess hall on base, and saw the source of our misery. In the middle of the salad bar was a large vat of the fermented cabbage mix. Encouraged by peer pressure, I tried a small bite. It was strong, and the first bite opened my sinuses, but after the initial sensation it wasn’t too bad. Kimchi was present in the mess hall for all three meals, and I grew increasingly bold with my consumption and was beginning to look forward to it. Within a couple days, I noticed a corresponding reduction in the offensiveness of the smell in the COC.

Many of the older officers on the division staff still shunned the computers, but General Byron had become an avid user of email. The system allowed him quick access to messages up and down the chain of command, and he saw the potential for improved operational tempo and easier coordination. During the exercise he kept up a steady correspondence with general officers above him in the food chain. One afternoon, the exercise was running along smoothly, and I had let much of my staff go out in town for liberty figuring I could hold down the fort. Things were fine until the General’s aide came over and asked if there was something wrong with email. He said Byron was expecting some critical messages that had not arrived. I checked the system, and found that something was wrong, we were offline. Not wanting to be the bearer of bad news, the aide suggested I explain to the general exactly what was going on. I stood up to walk to his office, but he had already sought me out and was entering the G-6 area, obviously upset. I explained that I had just learned of the outage and would get to work immediately to figure out what had gone wrong. I expected an explosion, but it didn’t come. He was firm and serious, telling me to figure out what was going on and keep him in the loop as it developed. He said he was counting on me to get things squared away, and as he turned away added, “If you don’t get email working soon, I’ll have you taken out and killed.” I thought I saw the glimmer of a smile before he turned, but his message was clear. The system was important, and if I didn’t return it to functionality ASAP, bad things were going to happen. It didn’t matter if the outage was due to sunspots, a loose connection, or a giant fruit bat, I was responsible for finding a solution. We had learned in TBS that, “an officer is responsible for everything that happens or fails to happen in his area of responsibility.” I methodically worked through the possible causes of the outage and found the link that had dropped. Within a few minutes, it was reset. The system returned to full operation, I briefed the general, and his expected emails arrived. He grunted his appreciation and went back to his emails. Not only was I still alive, but a message had arrived from HQMC authorizing my promotion to First Lieutenant. The next morning a formation was held, and I was promoted to the rank of First Lieutenant, reaffirming the oath I had taken at commissioning two years earlier.

 

I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.

 

One of the oldest naval traditions is that of a “wetting down” celebration, where a newly promoted officer buys the drinks of his comrades during a night out. A small group of Marines was convened, and we went out into town. A suitable bar was found, and we commenced the time-honored tradition. Korean soju (a liquor made of rice) and beer flowed as the bar girls hovered and Marines gave toasts and recounted stories from the past. Long after midnight, we stumbled back out onto the street. There was a food cart serving strips of spicy meat called bulgogi and fried dumplings known as yaki mandu. Over the vigorous warnings of one of the group who was wary of the sanitary conditions of the local street food, we ate the Korean treats until we were stuffed. We poured into a couple of cabs and made our way back to the base. The next morning brought loud moans of misery and repeated visits to the head. The effects of kimchi, soju, beer, and our late-night meal had caused our stomachs to revolt. For the rest of the trip, the wise officer would remind of us of his admonition, softly whispering, “Don’t eat the yaki mandu!” when he passed by.

The exercise was winding down, and Captain Green took the time to show me something new he was very excited about. He explained how the DoD had created a global computer network years earlier, and that it had recently been opened and expanded to include university and other government networks that contained massive amounts of information and computing resources. It was all text based, long before web browsers, so Unix commands had to be used to find and access information. He taught me to use the telnet command and a few others to navigate around, hopping from one host server to another in search of interesting content. He created an account for me that could be used to access it for myself once I returned to the US, and I spent the remaining days exploring this rapidly growing network, now known as the Internet.

            After the exercise ended, we were given a few days of liberty. I had planned a mission to the capital of the country, Seoul. Prior to joining the Marine Corps, my wardrobe was simple. I usually wore jeans, T-Shirts, and sweatshirts in the winter. I had a pair of trousers and a couple of dress shirts with ties that had been Christmas presents. When I got to high school, a blue blazer from the department store where my botched ear piercing had been fixed was added. The Corps takes pride in sharply dressed officers, and the last week of OCS we had been bussed to a tailor shop where detailed measurements were taken and recorded. Both service and dress uniforms were meticulously custom tailored from the highest quality materials. It was no small undertaking; an officer’s uniform kit included a closet full of service and dress uniforms addition to the familiar camouflage utilities. The custom uniforms fit perfectly, and I felt pride wearing a garment that had been tailored specifically to me. Seoul was known for its master tailors who would quickly craft a custom suit. I talked three other lieutenants into joining me for the excursion north, and we caught a cab for the train station. The train ride to Seoul was about an hour, and the car was empty when we boarded. We picked up more passengers at subsequent stops, and oddly, they all appeared to be students. More students got on at every stop, until they were standing in the isles and packed every inch of the car. About that time is when the singing started. We didn’t have a clue what they were singing about, but the songs had a nice ring to them, and we settled in for the remainder of the ride. The songs increased in pace and pitch, and at intervals were interrupted by a young man who made speeches about something that seemed very important to him and everyone else. The speeches led to chants, which he conducted with his hands, pumping his fists in the air. The chants took on a menacing tone and attention seemed to shift to us. The young man was now shouting, and he moved towards me saying something that sounded like, “Yan Hee, Ho Hom.” He repeated it over and over as he approached, pumping his fist in the air with fury. He stood over me and continued the chant. We appeared to be in deep kimchi, and quickly discussed our predicament. We seemed to be on the path to an international incident, and the situation was escalating. I stood up to face the young man. He was much shorter than me, but he continued to pound the air with his fist, coming dangerously close to my face. I figured I could take him out with a quick shot to the jaw, but there was no chance against the rest of the crowd. My hands curled into fists and I felt a mix of anticipation and fear that tingled up my spine. I looked at him and he wasn’t backing down. He kept up the chant, now only inches from me. Yan Hee, go hom, Yan Kee, go home.” His words came into focus and I realized what he was saying, resulting in a burst of hearty and sincere laughter. The little guy was calling me a Yankee and telling me to go home. I had thought of myself as many things over the years, but a “Yankee” was never one of them. The tension was broken, and I smiled and told him, “yes, yes” I wanted to go home as badly as he wanted me gone. I don’t know if he understood me, but he walked away. I sat down, and the cabin went quiet, the students looking at the floor with what I perceived to be embarrassment. Another young man who spoke fluent English came over and explained what was going on. They were upset about our exercise and US troops in their country and planned to meet other students in Seoul for a large protest march and demonstration. He seemed like a reasonable guy, but about half of what he said was meaningless, with talk of American aggression and provocation. He did make some good points though; the Peninsula and the Korean people would be better off as a united country that didn’t need American protection. He said they were especially concerned about nuclear weapons that they had been informed were in our possession. He asked me why the US had the weapons in his country. I replied that I didn’t know anything about nukes, and I didn’t know of any reason we would have them in the country. I told him the truth, none of the planning I had been involved in made any provision for the use of nuclear weapons. I also knew that our SSBNs lurking in the Pacific contained enough firepower to destroy the north many times over if it came to it. We arrived at Seoul Station and let the protesters go out first. They rushed out of the building and were met by police armed with clubs and water cannons that were brought into action without hesitation. We exited the station and went in the opposite direction. The next day the front page of the newspapers carried the story of the protests and resulting injuries and damage. It had been tense, but we didn’t trigger an international incident and lived to tell the story.

 I found a store, negotiated the deal for a new suit, and measurements were taken. Two days later, I picked up the objective of my mission, and we boarded the train for Suwon. The return trip was peaceful. We loaded up our equipment and boarded transport planes for Kadena, arriving without incident.

Once back at Division HQ, I took a few days to finalize my after-action reports and turnover folder for Captain Green. One of the officers held a BBQ send off, and we all said our goodbyes over beer and burgers. I made one final visit to my Scout troop and wished the boys well. A new Scout had joined the troop, and his dad had taken over as the Scoutmaster. The Division was preparing for a celebration of their 50^th year in operation since being activated for the Pacific campaigns of WWII. The events would last the entire day and would include physical endurance and combat skills competitions, along with rifle and pistol marksmanship matches. There would be a parade of the division colors in the finest of Marine Corps tradition, messages from dignitaries, and cake. As the Commanding General of the Division, General Byron was to give a message to his unit. The celebration was scheduled for a few days after I would have left the island, but I managed to get a copy of Byron’s message. His words recounted battles where the Division had served with pride and distinction from Bougainville to Desert Storm. He lauded the sacrifices and inspirational accomplishments of the Marines who had served under the Division’s colors. The central paragraph is below:

 

“We, who are fortunate to serve in this proud Division today, have been handed a legacy to carry on. It is a legacy represented by three words inscribed on our Division shield – FIDELITY, HONOR, and VALOR. Fidelity in the faith we have in our God, our country, our corps, and to one another. Honor in maintaining the highest standards of personal and institutional integrity and dedication to the ideals and core values that have made our Corps and Division what they are today. Valor in the courage and strength of character to select the right course even though it may not be the easiest.”

 

I packed my sea bag, shipped home a box of belongings and presents for family, and called the duty driver to take me to Naha for my flight. The trip was bittersweet as the van traced the route I had taken thirteen months earlier going in the opposite direction. I was lost in thoughts of all the people I had met and the experiences of the year. A gentle rain was falling as we wound through the narrow streets. The sights and scenery came back in a rush of images that seemed to span a lifetime. The adventure I had long dreamed of was ending, but I looked forward to a new one. I carried a diamond ring in my breast pocket, and I imagined giving it to Elizabeth and our future life together. I thought of my family back home, and how good it would be to return to the farm and sit on the front porch. We reached the terminal, I thanked the driver, pulled my sea bag from the van and threw it across my back. A few Marines waited outside the terminal in their service Alpha uniform, which told me they were new to the island. I thought they looked too young to be in the Corps. I got my ticket and checked my sea bag for the flight. Out the panel of large windows facing the runway, I could see the plane that would take me on the first leg of the long journey that would end with the gravel driveway leading to the old farmhouse. The most beautiful full rainbow I had ever seen stretched over the plane. I was going home.

I had just turned 24 and felt that I too had transgressed the ages. I was ready to settle down and start a family. I had no idea that the hand of fate would put me in circumstances to make the next 24 years every bit as challenging, heartbreaking, and exciting as the ones I had just experienced. History weaves through our lives and binds us to our forefathers. Powerful forces swirl unseen doing their work, and we are blissfully unaware of the influences shaping our destiny. Like the captives of Plato’s cave, the images we see flickering past only represent a shadow of true reality and the larger context of human presence as part of God’s creation. We have been granted free will and choice to make decisions within the confines of His larger plan. Our actions have consequences as we toil to overcome the circumstances of our birth, misfortune, or place in society. However, those circumstances don’t define us, they only provide a backdrop for our role in the adventure of reality. We are ruggedly independent individuals, connected to the whole but able to operate with creativity and initiative as we navigate life’s course. We can’t always control the conditions of our existence, but we can control our actions and responses to challenges. “…we are not descended from fearful men.” (15)

I firmly believe that life does not end with our days on this planet. Although I can only conceive of the form dimly, I believe that our core existence lives on in some manner. Whether that form is energy, spirit, or conscious being I don’t know. I do like to think that it is of the more complex nature, and that somewhere in the realm of the long gone, a distant ancestor who toiled and struggled to provide for his family, or protect his country on some dusty battlefield might be granted a vision of the events of my life, and with an expression of contented satisfaction think, “Well done, my boy! Well done, indeed!”

Chapter Four

  

Consider that before long you will be nobody and nowhere, nor will any of the things exist that you now see, nor any of those who are now living. For all things are formed by nature to change and be turned and to perish in order that other things in continuous succession may exist.

Marcus Aurelius

 

The small town where we lived was named Badin, and it was nestled on the edge of the Uwharrie Mountains, beside a lake named after the town, Badin Lake. The Uwharries are one of North America's oldest mountain ranges, thought to have formed around 500 Million years ago. With peaks at one time soaring to heights of 20,000 ft, higher than the present Rockies, they have been worn down by eons of wind and water to their present stature of large rolling hills, with the highest being around 1,100 ft above sea level. Before the arrival of Europeans to the area, Native Americans made their home by the river that runs through the mountains, now known as the Yadkin. A particular rock of the area, known as Rhyolite, was of such a quality that it could be formed into exceptionally durable knives, tools, and arrowheads. It was also plentiful, being found in large boulders strewn through the forests, fields, and river. On the outskirts of where the town now lies, the Native Americans had setup camps making tools and weapons. On sites overlooking the Yadkin River, the local population flourished for over 10,000 years before they vanished to disease, war, and relocation sometime in the 16th century. The fields and forests still turn up arrowheads, tools, and occasional axe heads from the native operations.

            Badin Lake had been built by the French in 1913 to serve as a source for hydro-electric power for their planned Aluminum plant in Badin. A soaring dam, the largest dam in the nation until the completion of the Hoover Dam in 1934, was built at a section of the river called the Narrows, where the normally wide Yadkin river cut a narrow channel in the valley between two ancient, worn mountains. Prior to the construction of the dam, the Yadkin river flowed freely all the way to the ocean. Badin had always been a company town, most of the residents either worked, or were connected to the Aluminum plant in some fashion. With their country under attack by Germany during WWI, the French left in 1914, selling all property and operations to a local power company who completed construction of the dam.

 In 1918, the Spanish Flu hit the community hard, especially the young. Dozens of lives were lost in the small community, and a special cemetery was constructed outside of town for many remains. I'd often ride my bike by the cemetery, by then overgrown and on the edge of a forest. I thought about the kids who died from the flu, and what the community would be like if they had lived. It seemed so unfair for them to be struck down before they could live life. I wondered what life was like in the town in the aftermath of such a devastating event. How had people kept on going after such tragedy and loss? Over the years, I came to see that these people were hearty, and they took what life gave them and kept on going. Resilience in the face of hard times had been a theme of this place since the earliest days, testing and refining the character of its people.

            The Aluminum Company of America (Alcoa) later purchased the entire aluminum operation. Alcoa became a good steward of the town, providing well-paying, middle class jobs that served as the backbone of the local economy. Aluminum was the wonder metal that spawned a new generation of vehicles and aircraft in the early twentieth century, replacing the heavier steel that had traditionally been used. Lightweight, durable, and relatively inexpensive, the demand for Aluminum was steady. A  stream of raw materials needed to produce Aluminum was delivered by a railway that came right into the plant. The production of Aluminum was a non-stop process, with shift changes announced on a public-address system that could be heard throughout the entire town. The process of creating aluminum required a tremendous amount of electricity to turn the raw bauxite into finished aluminum.  The dam at the Narrows proved so effective at generating electricity, that more dams were built along the Yadkin River. Eventually, Alcoa would own four (High Rock, Tuckertown, Badin, and Falls) Hydroelectric power became a profitable secondary business, with excess power being sold to Duke Power Company. As demand for electricity increased due to use of air conditioning, appliances, and manufacturing, this secondary line of business was spun off into its own company named Yadkin, Incorporated.

            With broad streets lined with pin oaks, a state of the art water treatment plant, a small downtown area, and a school, by the 1950s Badin was home to a few thousand residents. It had once been a booming town, boasting of the largest theater between Richmond and Atlanta. It had a grocery store, pharmacy, school, library, doctor's office, and a beautiful golf course complete with a sprawling club house on a hillside overlooking the tidy white apartments constructed by the French. By the time I was a boy, life in the town had slowed. The theater had been torn down in 1959 and replaced with an unpretentious US Post office. Many of the residents were nearing retirement, enjoying the peace and quiet of the restful village.  As with most small towns in the US at that time, the details of your life and lineage were well known. Everyone in the area knew you, your parents, and many knew your ancestors going several generations back. Most likely you were related to many in the community by either blood or marriage if you went back far enough.

In a place of prominence across from the Post Office, on a grassy lawn adorned with dogwood trees was a granite monument. Beneath the outstretched wings of an eagle carrying a banner labeled “Honor Roll” was a brass plaque with the words:

In honor of the 
Men and Women 
of Badin, 
North Carolina. who
served their country
in World War II and
in memory of those
who gave their lives.

G.F. Biles J.P. James
J.B. Davis, Jr. C.M. McDaniels
J.D. Huneycutt R.L. Moir, Jr.
C.J. Hunter R.T. Robinette
T.R.Venters

 

I felt I was growing up in a time that was a footnote to history. Noble Indian warriors, inspiration for the characters of Uncas and Chingachgook, had disappeared from centuries of war, disease, and famine, leaving only arrowheads and fragments of stone tools. Daniel Boone no longer explored the banks of the nearby Yadkin River, and the French had retreated to Europe. The wild, rugged landscape where giants of men had once roamed was now tame, the adventures and opportunities once afforded had vanished. I had arrived too late, long after their footprints were lost to the ages. I saw evidence of onetime greatness in the scaling dams, massive aluminum plant, and monument to soldiers who won WWII. I read and heard stories of the War of Independence, and the tragic valor of the Civil War, but those times had long passed.  It seemed the energy, initiative, and dynamism of our forefathers had passed with it. Our ancestors had been ambitious, industrious, bold, and courageous. I imagined it was like living in the British Isles a hundred years or so after the Roman Empire collapsed. In the shadow of Hadrian’s wall, they could see remnants of a great people, but those remnants were only a dim reflection of the greatness of the heroes who had once thrived.

Chapters Forty-One and Forty Two

    

Forty-One 

“Our Country won’t go on forever, if we stay soft as we are now. There won’t be any America because some foreign soldiery will invade us and take our women and breed a hardier race!”
Lieutenant General Lewis B. “Chesty” Puller, USMC

 

The peninsula of Korea had been an early target of Japanese aggression, being forced to submit to status as a “protectorate” in 1905 and being formally annexed in 1910. Koreans had fought vigorously to expel the hated invaders, with the rebel forces including a mix of political ideologies. Communists were heavily represented in the anti-Japanese insurgency and were led by a young man named Kim Il-Sung. Like their western counterpart, Korean names consist of a family name and a given name, however, the order is reversed.

When the defeated Japanese pulled out of the Korean Peninsula, the country was divided much as Germany had been sectioned off in Europe. The half of the country north of the 38^th parallel was administered by the Soviets and their Chinese communist allies, while the task of rebuilding the southern half and setting up a functioning government fell to the United States. An eventual unified, stable, and independent Korea was the objective. Within a few years, a series of disputed elections, incidents, and tensions caused each section to form their own government, with the north being dominated by communist Kim Il-Sung, and an American designed republic in the south led by Syngman Rhee.

As agreed, by 1949 both the US and the Soviets ended their occupation of their respective zones and removed their military from the now independent nations. It was hoped that the two sections would unite peacefully, but a series of border clashes started immediately.

Less than five years after the Japanese occupation ended, on June 25^th, 1950, The North Korean People’s Army (KPA) exploded across the 38^th parallel with tanks, mechanized infantry, and artillery support. They streamed south, completely overwhelming their lightly armed southern foes. They quickly overran the southern capital of Seoul and continued south in a string of victories against the southern armies. After the end of WWII, the war weary US had rapidly demobilized their military forces, leaving only a small group of occupying troops in Japan. Hearing of the invasion, President Truman’s administration immediately petitioned the newly formed United Nations to support the Republic of Korea (ROK), and a measure condemning the aggression as well as encouraging member states to come to the aide of the beleaguered nation passed.  As a founding member of the UN Security Council, the Soviets would normally have wielded veto power and blocked any resolution against the communists, but they were boycotting the UN over a disagreement related to recognition of Taiwan.

A small element of US soldiers from the Army’s 24^th Infantry Division that had been in Japan were dispatched into the fight, arriving at the air base of Osan just in time to meet advancing KPA forces. Armed with only light weapons against heavy Soviet built battle tanks, they bravely attacked. They were defeated, but their heroic stand slowed the KPA’s march down the peninsula. 60 US soldiers were killed, 21 injured, and 82 captured by the KPA. (13) US forces slowly began to arrive and build up combat power in the south, but the steady push by the KPA soon had them confined to a small area on the far end of the peninsula around the city of Pusan. This became known as the “Pusan Perimeter”, and US forces defended doggedly to avoid being destroyed as more forces arrived and they planned a breakout.

Arriving forces included the 1^st Marine Division from Camp Pendleton as well as the army’s 7^th Infantry Division. 8,600 remaining ROK soldiers were added to form the X (Tenth) Corps. X Corps was placed on amphibious ships and conducted an assault on the city of Inchon, directly to the south of the 38^th parallel on the west coast of the peninsula. The attack was a success, Seoul was liberated, pressure on the Pusan Perimeter was released, and now victorious US and ROK forces began to push the KPA north, across the 38^th parallel and deep into North Korea. Kim Il-Sung made a frantic plea for help from his Chinese and Soviet supporters for help, and after much debate, China deployed over 200,000 troops to the border they shared with North Korea. The Marines had been ordered to the far north of the country in a final effort to defeat the KPA and bring the war to an end. The leader of the Marine division, Maj. General Smith, suspected Chinese incursion over the border, but he had been overruled and directed north anyway. As he suspected, the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA) had secretly infiltrated 12 divisions with an estimated 120,000 troops across the border in the vicinity of the Marines and set a trap. The brutal Korean winter arrived, the trap was sprung, and the Marines of 1^st MarDiv together with elements of US Army troops and British commandos were surrounded by an overwhelming number of PLA troops and cut off from reinforcements. With temperatures dropping to 30 degrees below zero, the single American division was surrounded by a combined PLA and KPA force thought to be at least four times as large, and likely much larger. The cold weather brought the kind of agonizing friction we had learned about in TBS. Weapons malfunctioned, vehicles wouldn't run, and the ground was so hard that fighting positions couldn’t be dug. The situation was about as desperate any faced by Marines in their history. Unintimidated, one of Smith’s regimental commanders, LtCol Lewis B. (Chesty) Puller was reported to have remarked that, “There are not enough chinamen in the world to stop a fully armed Marine regiment from going where ever they want to go." They proceeded to “attack in an alternate direction” and fought their way out in brutal hand to hand combat over a two week period. Marines killed in combat were strapped to vehicles rather than be left for the advancing PLA. The opposing PLA 9^th Army was chewed to pieces, with casualties estimated to be as high as 60,000. Combined Marine and Army battle casualties were 10,495. (14)

The conflict went back and forth until a cease fire was negotiated, and forces pulled back to their respective sides of the 38^th parallel. No official peace treaty was ever signed, and the Koreas technically remain in a state of war. A two-and-a-half-mile wide strip of land on either side of the border serves as a buffer zone separating the countries. The Kim family solidified their rule in hereditary communist dictatorship still in place today with the rule of Kim Jong Un, the grandson of Kim Il-Sung.

 

Forty-Two

“I did not tell half of what I saw, for I knew I would not be believed.”

Marco Polo, of his adventures in Asia

 

After returning to Okinawa from the deployment, I found the division HQ to be a busy place. Much of the planning staff had flown back and had been working while the MEU made port calls and floated in the South China Sea. The planning was related to an upcoming exercise in South Korea, known as Ulchi Focus Lens (UFL). UFL was one of several large exercises designed to prepare for the long-expected resumption of hostilities in Korea.  This year’s event was going to include a widespread computer network on the peninsula that would be used to transmit and receive messages, reports, and map data. I was only a couple months away from completing my twelve-month tour on the island, and my replacement, a Captain, had been identified and would be arriving right as the exercise kicked off. The G-6 staff worked steadily on our part of the operational order, designing the architecture for the network, planning for communications frequencies, creating equipment lists, telephone directories, and a myriad of details designed to ensure the staff could function seamlessly once they arrived in country.

My one-year tour was well over halfway complete at this point. A typical tour length in the Corps is three years, but shorter, “unaccompanied” tours can be for a single year. These are typically for officers deploying without families, or for combat duty. While most of the lieutenants on the island were there for a year, much of the older staff had brought their families and would live there for three. I began to hear suggestions that I request an extension to my orders and stay with the division at least one more year. Life in the FMF had been exactly what I was looking for, but I knew that when August arrived I would be ready to return to the US. I also had a diamond ring and a nascent plan for its use. I floated the idea that Elizabeth visit me in Okinawa. My hope was she would love the island and perhaps decide to return to teach in one of the Department of Defense (DoD) schools. I could stay with the division and see her when I wasn’t deployed. This plan was immediately and definitively shot down by her parents, and she didn’t seem enthusiastic about it either. It was, in the vernacular of the Corps, a “non-starter”. I learned that there was an officer at HQMC that was responsible for duty assignments (known as a “monitor”), and I began making calls to him to arrange a next assignment in North Carolina, or at least on the East Coast.

We were to operate from a ROK base near the town of Suwon, south of Seoul, where the Headquarters for all Marine Forces in Korea was located. No one involved in the planning was familiar with the ROK base facilities, and there were critical questions about the infrastructure that would be present and the location. Understanding the element of friction, General Byron wisely sought to minimize surprises as much as possible. It was decided that a small team of three Marines conduct a physical site survey to scope out the base and surrounding area. While it wasn’t a dangerous trek behind enemy lines, it was still a rare chance to operate independently and accomplish an important mission. I enthusiastically volunteered for the trip. In speaking with the LtCol in charge of my section, I reminded him that I knew how to operate a technology that was brand new to the division at that time. At significant expense, new digital camera had been purchased for this kind of mission. Since it was “computer stuff” as the crusty old officers referred to anything digital, I had been the one to unbox it and figured out how to take and download pictures. I explained intricate details of how complicated the camera was to operate and told him about drivers that would need to be loaded, software updates that would need to be performed, and settings that had to be optimized or else it might not work. He agreed that it would make sense for me to go, but there was a problem. My rotation date back to the US was approaching. The anticipated return date for the exercise was after I was supposed to check out, and I couldn’t leave an exercise while it was still going on. Whoever conducted the site survey would not only take pictures but would coordinate with the ROK Marines and staff at the base. It wouldn’t do to have someone who wasn’t going on the exercise conduct all that coordination. Whoever did the site survey would need to deploy for the main event, and if I couldn’t do that, then they would have to find someone who could. He was confident I could teach someone else how to operate the camera. I was crestfallen. The LtCol thought a moment, and then offered a solution. “You know, you could extend your tour and stay here with the division for another year or so.” Another year in the fleet! The tour had flown by, and I had enjoyed most of it except the near amputation of my finger, but extending for another year wasn’t going to work. After weeks of back and forth, the monitor at HQMC had begrudgingly offered up a job at the Marine Corps Logistics Base (MCLB) in Albany, GA. It wasn’t Camp Lejeune, but it wasn’t in California either. I asked if a shorter extension might work. After a quick discussion, the issue was settled. I would extend for a month, so I could deploy for the exercise, and he would recommend me for the site survey team.  My extension was approved with no change to my next assignment, and I made plans for the mission to Korea.

In addition to the non-stop planning, we also conducted field exercises on the island. During those, we would practice setting up the computers, connecting them together with a master computer known as a server to form a local area network (LAN). Microwave or hard-wired telecommunications lines would connect LANs from different sites to form a Wide Area Network (WAN). All data transmissions were encrypted by special devices to ensure the data flowing across the WAN couldn’t be intercepted. True to what I had heard at TBS, the Marine Corps was on the cutting edge. The technology could provide a critical advantage during an operation, allowing messages, maps, and reconnaissance photos to be instantly transmitted throughout the theater and beyond. We spent hundreds of hours testing and tuning equipment settings and documenting how the various components should be setup, so they worked as designed. Even with documentation, there was always friction, resulting in our troubleshooting skills being well developed.

When I wasn’t on duty, I continued my work with the local Scout troop, taking over as the Scoutmaster when the previous one left for another duty station. I took the boys camping, coached them on advancements, and held study sessions where we worked on fundamental skills. When I first visited their troop, meetings were chaotic, with little organization or seeming purpose. The boys were rude, and I was saddened by the way the older boys treated the younger ones. It was far different from the troops I was used to. Over the year, the troop came into order. Meetings had distinct opening and closing ceremonies. Scout signs and salutes were given appropriately, and each meeting became structured, including time for specific activities and games. Older boys took on responsibility for teaching basic skills to the younger ones, and badges were promptly presented once earned. After my long absence for the deployment to Thailand, I was pleased to return and find things were still progressing in the right direction. Scouting is a boy led adventure, but competent adults must provide guidance and structure for the program to be effective.

Orders were cut for the site survey trip to Korea, and the duty driver ferried my small team to the base at Kadena. Since there were just a few of us, we were to wait at the airport for the next transport flying to the base of Osan, where the 24^th Infantry Division had made their heroic stand. We waited for hours until our bird arrived. It was an Air Force KC-135 “Stratotanker”, which is a four-engine military jet that had been specially designed to conduct mid-air refueling of fighters and bombers. The plane had first flown in 1956 but remains the primary refueling aircraft for US forces. Aerial refueling gave the US a significant advantage for long range bombing or attack missions, as it greatly extends the range of operations and time on station over a target area. Once cleared to board, we climbed up the portable stairs into the fuselage of the craft and sat down in the familiar nylon covered metal framed seats on each side of the cavernous interior. There were only a handful of passengers, so we had plenty of room to stretch out. By this time, it was late afternoon, and the sun was low in the sky. The plane took off, and we watched as Okinawa disappeared into the water.

About half way to the peninsula, as it was just getting dark, we were joined by several other Air Force jets, who pulled into formation behind the Stratotanker. They were going to conduct a planned mid-air refueling over the East China Sea. A crew member came back and briefed us on the operation and said if we wanted to watch we could join him in the rear of the plane. I followed him back, where he had what looked like his own cockpit facing down and out the rear of the plane, with controls, levers, and instrument panels below a window. He lay down on his stomach on a bench, so he could see out the window and extended a telescoping boom hose behind the tanker. The first jet approached the end of the hose, and he skillfully guided the trailing hose to a connecting point on the jet to be refueled. A few minutes later, the process of fuel transfer was complete. The first jet disconnected, and the second moved into position and repeated the sequence. This played out a couple more times before the operation wrapped up.  The rest of the flight was uneventful, and we landed in Osan. The next day, a duty driver took us north to the ROK base at Suwon, about twenty miles south of Seoul. We met with the ROK Marines, discussed the operation and facilities, then inspected the area we would be operating from. No surprises. I used the new digital camera to take dozens of pictures, and we explored the area and made coordination with other US Marine units who were in the country. A few days later, with the mission complete, we were back at Osan for the return flight to Kadena. This time we caught a less exciting cargo plane.

Chapter Forty

 

Forty

“Hong Kong is a wonderful, mixed-up town where you’ve got great food and adventure. First and foremost, it’s a great place to experience China in a relatively accessible way.”

Anthony Bourdain

 

The San Bernardino got underway and we navigated south. We passed by Cambodia, out of the Gulf of Thailand, and around the peninsula of Vietnam as the ship turned north. For a while, we ran roughly parallel to the southern Vietnamese coastline, then turned out into the South China sea, continuing north midway between Vietnam and the Philippines. On our port side (left) lay the shore that held names long familiar to me. Dong Ha, Huế City, and Da Nang, where my father had served in 1966. To our starboard (right) was the Philippine peninsula known as Bataan, which had been the setting for the infamous march that caused so much death and misery during WWII. At that point in the voyage we passed through a fast moving storm, and I learned the special misery of seasickness that comes from being on a flat-bottomed ship in the rolling ocean waves. Once the storm passed, the seas became calm and the skies clear. The ship’s Captain arranged for a “steel beach picnic” day, where we grilled hamburgers, relaxed in the sun, and played games on the deck. Being at sea was magical. At night the stars shone bright in the darkness, with no competing lights from cities or vehicles. The evenings usually brought a light warm breeze, and I developed a habit of staying out on the open deck until late in the night. I would sit idly and watch the stars shine and the dark water of the ship’s wake churning below to the low hum of the six diesel engines that pushed us along. After the hectic schedule and events since joining the Fleet, it was a welcome break. Our next destination was the port of Hong Kong.

What first appeared as a small smudge on the horizon grew steadily larger until the view was filled with skyscrapers and buildings. We eased into Victoria Harbor as large passenger jets passed dangerously low to land at the waterfront airport. The city of Hong Kong had been a center for commerce for thousands of years and had developed into the financial heart of east Asia. Unlike Japan, it had been successfully conquered by the Mongols in the thirteenth century, and it became the capital for the region. After the first Opium War in 1842, the British Empire had absorbed the city as a colony, and in 1898 had dictated terms of a 99-year lease of the surrounding territory. Much like the Japanese who would later emulate them, the British preferred their conquests to have an air of legality, and a 99-year lease was the longest term of lease recognized by commonly accepted international standards of the time. Hong Kong had prospered under British rule, but the 99 years lease would be expiring soon, after which it would return to the now communist government of China. The prospect of the largest economic center in Asia falling into communist hands was not appealing to the West.

Most people think of port calls as a tamed down version of the “Pirates of the Caribbean” attraction at Disneyworld, where Marines and sailors run ashore to wantonly pursue beer and merriment. While these visits certainly provide the chance to blow off steam after a long period at sea, they also provide several other substantial benefits. The spending of the crew helps the local economy, fostering goodwill towards the US. Ships purchase large quantities of fuel and supplies, providing an added local fiscal boost. Coordination with the national and local officials who must approve the visit builds trust and familiarity. Officers and staff become familiar with local harbors and coastlines where they might navigate during future operations. Finally, the sight of the grey ships with their deadly armaments pulling into a harbor serves as a not-so-subtle reminder to both friend and potential foe of the ability of the United States to project overwhelming military power anywhere on the globe.

The July 8^th,1853 arrival of an American naval squadron commanded by Commodore Matthew Perry to Edo Bay (now Tokyo Bay) had introduced the previously isolated nation of Japan to American “gunboat diplomacy”. The squadron included a detachment of Marines under the command of a future commandant of the Marine Corps, Major Jacob Zeilin. Demands by the Japanese that the Americans leave were answered by the gift of a white flag and a letter bluntly stating that further inhospitality would result in war. The Japanese would need the white flag for their inevitable surrender. (11) In order to drive the point home, Perry pointed the 73 guns of the fleet towards the shore and fired blanks in a celebration of American Independence Day. Negotiations commenced and the Americans were allowed a port call at an alternate location of Yokosuka, a few miles southwest of Tokyo. During the visit, Perry submitted a request to the government for access to Japanese ports for refueling stops and commerce. Once the port call was complete, Perry relayed that he was leaving, but would return in a year for a formal answer to his request. (12) He proceeded to Hong Kong but would return six months later to successfully negotiate the formal agreement. The shock and humiliation from the incident would fuel a drive to modernize and strengthen their military under a revival of the Bushido culture. While my ancestor Henry Bunch and his confederate rebels were fighting their Yankee cousins, the Japanese were steadily laying the foundation for an empire. By the turn of the century, the nation and its revived military would be violently projecting power in the region themselves. 

The San Bernardino (designated as LST-1189) slipped into Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbor, and the crew watched in awe as the expanse of the city came into view. The docks and surrounding area teamed with activity, and the buildings stretched all the way to the mountains in the distance. In a long held naval tradition known as “Manning the Rail”, Marines and sailors stood at parade rest facing outward on the deck’s perimeter, adding their presence to what must have been an impressive sight for the locals viewing the arrival. The crew and the residents of Hong Kong both eagerly awaited the ship’s mooring and the lowering of the gangplank.

My first stop was to a currency exchange operation. I had converted much my savings to traveler’s checks before deploying. I cashed my remaining checks and converted them to local Hong Kong dollars. The ornate currency featured a shield crest, with a lion and a horse facing a crown in the center. At the top of the dollar, in both Chinese and English characters, was written, “The Hongkong and Shanghai Banking Corporation Promises to pay the bearer on demand at its office here” The amount of the bill was printed below the text in the middle of the note.

I had only one objective for the port call. While Bangkok was known for its emeralds and sapphires, Hong Kong had a reputation as one of the best places in the world to buy a diamond. During my time in the fleet, Elizabeth and I had kept our correspondence going. She was a keeper, and with every letter and call I realized how special she was. All signs pointed to a continuation of the relationship, and an engagement seemed a distinct possibility once I returned. I checked out several stores and finally ended up in the Kowloon district, in the shop of proprietor Marco F. K. Lam. Mr. Lam patiently explained the nuances of diamond selection, introducing me to types of cut, clarity, color, and weight that distinguished stones of higher value. Under his instruction, I picked one that seemed appropriate for the occasion and my budget. As was customary, the price was negotiated. I had been instructed by salty Marines that shopkeepers expected haggling, and if you didn’t try to work the price down they considered you foolish. Mr. Lam and I came to an agreement on what was fair, the transaction was completed, and I tucked a beautiful diamond engagement ring into my pocket.

With my main objective complete on the first day, I began taking in the sites with friends. We first stopped at MadDog’s pub, where we met a group of British expatriates who worked in the financial sector. They loved the life in the port city and were concerned about what would happen when the communists were scheduled to regain control in a few years. After a few rounds of drinks, we wished them well and set off to explore the narrow streets. We ended up in a six story Chinese restaurant named the “Jumbo”, which was floating in the harbor. From our table on board the Jumbo, we watched dragon boat races in the harbor until it got dark. The next few days were a blur of sightseeing as we took in the historic city and experienced its culture. Our final shore excursion was a ride in open gondolas that were precariously suspended from a steel cable running from the base to the top of one of the mountains I had seen as we entered the harbor. From the peak, the breathtaking view included the entire city, as well as the harbor and ocean below. Liberty call ended, and we again boarded our ship and gently cruised out of the harbor.

Back underway, we headed east, eventually passing just to the south of Taiwan, close enough that we could see the large island on the horizon as we continued out into the northern area of the Philippine Sea. From there it was an easy cruise back to Okinawa. We eased into the bay named Kin that the division HQ overlooked and pulled up at the end of a concrete pier that jutted out into the water. The San Bernardino lowered her ramp onto the pier, and vehicles rumbled off. Our deployment was complete.