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.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

 

We didn’t get nervous until the Royal Thai Army and Marines started shooting at each other.

Major Ladd, 37^th Marine Expeditionary Unit

     The situation in Thailand went downhill rapidly. Massive protests broke out in Bangkok, with an estimated 200,000 people rallying against the current military regime. Some of our Marines were in Bangkok at the time, and when they returned to our compound, they told stories of protestors with Molotov cocktails squaring off against soldiers with fixed bayonets and loaded rifles. At some point the army opened fire on a crowd, killing around twenty. Things were looking very serious, but exciting for us as we thought about the various scenarios that might result in our unit becoming involved.

 Due to the deteriorating circumstances, orders were given for all of our Marines and Sailors to return to our HQ on the beach. We got word that the riots had spread, and sporadic violence had been reported between elements of the Thai Marine Corps and the army. The exercise was brought to an end (known as ENDEX) early, and we packed up our equipment and prepared it for transport. Instead of flying back to Okinawa, we were redeployed on amphibious ships. The situation was volatile, and I suppose our leadership had the idea that it would make sense for us not to rush off, but to linger off the coast for a while just in case we were needed to evacuate Americans or help with security at our embassy. I was assigned to the USS San Bernardino (LST-1189) which was a Landing Ship, Tank (LST).  LSTs were designed with ramps that would open into the water, allowing tanks and assault vehicles to roll up onto the beach. The ship had a flat bottom, so it could come up to the shore and dislodge cargo without a dock or pier. In addition to holding a belly full of Marines and vehicles that could be unleashed to wreak havoc against an enemy, the solidly built warship had an armament consisting of two 25mm chain guns, six 50 caliber machine guns, and a 20mm close defense cannon. It also had a pad from which a helicopter could operate.

The ship I was on had been operating in the Persian Gulf during the 1980 failed rescue attempt of 45 American hostages from Iran, known as Operation Eagle Claw. The 31^st MEU served as a floating reserve for the CIA, Army Ranger, and Delta Force led operation directed by President Carter. The rescue attempt had gone off the rails from the start, with poor planning, bad weather, and equipment failures leading to a humiliating debacle and the deaths of eight American troops. The mission was aborted, and the Marines of the MEU listened in horror as the disaster unfolded but were given no orders to intervene. Iran’s Supreme leader and face of evil to the West, Ayatollah Khomeini, credited an Iranian version of the divine wind for the failure of the Americans to rescue their citizens, “Who crushed Mr. Carter's helicopters? We did? The sands did! They were God's agents. Wind is God's agent ... These sands are agents of God.” (10)

As quickly as it started, the chaos in Thailand died down within a few days.  Thai King Bhumidol Adulydej made a personal appeal to the officials involved and the protestors for peace and calm, and that’s exactly what he got. Evidently even though the people were ready to kill members of the military government, both sides respected the King and obeyed his call for them to settle down. Incredibly, the country returned to peace like a switch was flipped off. It was like nothing had ever happened, but later reports on the situation said that 52 protesters were killed, around 650 injured, and around 170 “disappeared”.

Rather than keep us all on the ships, an unexpected weekend of Cinderella liberty was announced. Much like the routine at Camp Courtney on Okinawa, life for an officer on ship came with some duties. One of those was to supervise a nightly “shore patrol” team that would stroll the streets from the afternoon till the last barge left the shore for the ship. The shore patrol would watch for Marines and Sailors who had too much to drink or were causing trouble. I drew duty for the first night of liberty, gathered my assigned team, and reported for duty in town. The evening was relatively tame. With the exercise over, most of the thousands of Marines and Sailors were gone, and only a handful from the ships that remained were still in town. It was peaceful, like being at the beach the week after a major holiday. I walked the streets, on the lookout for any sign of trouble, but it was quiet. About halfway through my shift, I saw Tic sitting at a table by the street. I walked over, said hello and told her what had happened with the exercise. She asked how long we would be around, and I told her I didn’t know, but I suspected it wouldn’t be long now that things were settling down. While I had been walking that evening, I had seen a sign for a tour to the river Kwai, and I asked her what she knew about it. I had seen the sign before, but after checking a map it appeared to be far outside the established liberty limit zone that served to prevent Marines from getting into bad situations. None of the other officers had been interested in getting in the “deep kimchi” that such a trip would have risked. She said the town where the bridge was, Kanchanaburi, was a long way and the tours were a rip off, only allowing enough time for a quick stop before heading back. A friend of hers drove a cab, and she said if I would meet them as early as I could get away the next morning, she would be my guide and they would make sure I got back on time. It was a gamble. If there was an accident, or I somehow got hurt or in trouble, or didn’t make it back in time, I would have been brought up on career damaging charges. However, the old adage that, “it’s better to beg forgiveness than ask for permission” won out as I considered this might be the only time in my life I would be in the area. I hadn’t come halfway around the world to sit in a bar and drink beer on what might be my last day in the country.

As planned, I was up early the next morning and took the first transport boat to shore. Tic was waiting, and we had a quick breakfast of fruit and juice, then climbed in the waiting cab. It was about three and a half hours to the spot where the railroad between Bangkok and Rangoon crossed the Kwai river. It had been close to 1AM by the time I had completed shore patrol and returned to my stateroom, so I was tired, but couldn’t wait to see the place I had read about and seen in the movie. As excited as I was, it wasn’t long before the road ahead appeared to split in two, and my eyelids felt incredibly heavy, then closed.

I woke to voices chattering in the distinctive rhythmic tones of the Thai language. The car wasn’t moving, and as I came to I had the dark thought that they were possibly discussing how to get rid of my body after robbing and killing me. I sat up and realized they had just been talking about the best route to take. Refreshed after a much-needed nap, I watched as the countryside streamed by. Tic was right, this guy was getting us there much faster than a bus would have. We talked for the rest of the trip. She told me she was engaged to an airman who had recently passed through. She confidently explained that when he got back to the US and got settled, he was going to coordinate bringing her to the States so they could get married. She asked a lot about the US and what life was like there, and I told her about my home. I learned more about her, that she was originally from a northern area of the country and had been sent to Pattaya by her parents to earn money for the family. She said she worked mostly waitressing and doing “some other things” to get by.

The risk of the trip outside the allowed liberty zone was well rewarded when we arrived. A black sign with neat white letters that spelled out “River Kwai Bridge” in Thai and English stood beside the road. Directly behind the sign, the railroad the WWII prisoners of war (POWs) had built long ago crossed over the river and disappeared into the forest on the opposite bank. The river was about the width of two football fields end to end, and didn’t appear deep or swift, as the surrounding landscape didn’t have much of a slope. A series of six or so vertical concrete piers followed a line across the river, spaced about a hundred feet apart, with their base on the river bottom and rising around 20 feet into the air. Heavy black iron trusses rested on the piers and held the iron crossbeams and still functioning tracks that spanned the river. The bridge had been bombed from the air by allied planes during the war, not packed with explosives and blown up as the book described. Several of the trusses survived the bombing intact, but the middle section had been destroyed. After the war, the Japanese had rebuilt it as part of their reparations for wartime actions. The bridge wasn’t a work of art, but it was sturdy and functional.

I sat on the bank and took in the scene, considering the misery caused by the Japanese and their effort to build the railroad. A nearby well-maintained cemetery held the remains of British and Dutch POWs who had died during the war. Each grave was marked by a short, rectangular granite headstone with the name, rank, and unit of the soldier who lay beneath. Some included the age, with many younger than was. A white marble slab near the entrance simply stated, “THEIR NAME LIVETH FOREVERMORE”. A small museum told the story of how the railroad was constructed and of the men who died in the process. Feeling connected to the history of the place, I was awestruck just being there. A train was still functioning on the tracks, and we bought tickets and boarded the next one that passed, going west towards the Burmese border. The landscape turned mountainous, and the scenery was breathtaking. From high on the sides of mountains, we could look down on the lush green canopy below. The train rumbled on down the rickety line, carrying its cargo of tourists and travelers. At times it felt and looked like we were riding on a wooden roller coaster track instead of a structure designed to hold the weight of a freight train. We rode for about a half hour, then got off at a stop and had a late lunch. When the meal was finished, a train coming the other direction appeared, and we boarded for the return trip.

When we returned, Tic led me down to a dock near the base of the bridge. I imagined it was the precise spot that was the setting for the British Commando to slit Colonel Saito’s throat in the book I had read while sitting on the front porch of the farm half a world away. A man was on the dock tending a shallow boat tied up near the base of the bridge. His craft looked like a colorful double sized canoe, but its bottom was flat, and it had what appeared to be a small automobile engine perched precariously on the stern, with a long shaft sticking out behind the boat that ended in a propeller a few inches below the surface. He waved us onto the red benches, fired up the odd-looking engine, and we were soon skipping over the water on his boat heading north as grass topped huts, fishermen, and kids appeared on the banks. He took us a few miles up the winding river, past rice paddies, jungle, and fields before returning to the dock. Our adventures had filled the day, and Tic had been a wonderful tour guide.

Worn out, we headed back to Pattaya so I could get back on ship before the curfew. When we arrived, I paid the driver what we had agreed on, and then gave Tic the rest of the cash I had in my wallet. I knew she had taken a day off to take me to the bridge and it had cost her much needed income. She walked with me to the landing where the barge was waiting. In a voice that reminded me of my last conversation with Christina years earlier on the French Riviera, she told me she would miss her “Mah-Reens”. I wished her well and told her I appreciated her taking me on the adventure.  She was quiet for a moment as we walked, then asked me, “Do you think I’m dirty?” I replied simply, “No, I don’t think that at all.” We reached the landing, I gave her a hug and said goodbye, and stepped onto the transport boat for the San Bernardino. She waved and watched as long as I could see her in the darkness. She was a special person and would make someone a great wife and mother one day. I hoped the airman lived up to his promises to her.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

 

Thirty-Eight

 

“If it is not right do not do it; if it is not true do not say it.”

Marcus Aurelius

 

The mission of the division and the MEF continued, with non-stop planning for contingencies and exercises. The next mission was to be a deployment to Thailand. Elements of the division were to join the 37^th MEU for an exercise called Cobra Gold. The exercise was a longstanding show of force by the US Marines of the Pacific with our nation’s oldest ally in Asia, Thailand. Intelligence briefings for the staff by the G-2 indicated that Thailand was experiencing some internal tension, as large-scale protests had been brutally put down in recent weeks. If the situation escalated and evacuations of American embassy staff or civilians became necessary, the 37^th MEU would have a leading role.

The flight to Thailand took 6 hours, and we sat cramped on nylon covers that had been stretched over a narrow metal frame to create seats. The Pacific is an enormous ocean, and even places considered to relatively close are separated by vast distances. We flew with our weapons and gear, crammed into the back of a C-141 “Starlifter” cargo jet. The C-141 was a workhorse of a transport aircraft, having seen extensive use in Vietnam to move troops into, out of, and around the theater. One of them had been used in 1973 to bring home the last American POWs from Vietnam, earning it the nickname of “Hanoi Taxi”. We landed at the Utapao airport, on the northern end of the Gulf of Thailand. From there, we convoyed to a Vietnam era resort that had been converted to a Thai Marine Corps compound. The buildings of the compound looked out from a rise to the soft white sand of a tranquil beach below. This area would be the HQ base for the 37^th MEU, and this is where the communications center would be setup that would include the radios, telephones, and computers that would allow the Marines to communicate, command, and control operations. I would supervise the installation of the network of computers and integrate it with tactical systems of subordinate units.  We hit the ground running, taking a quick inventory and then working steadily to bring the systems online. As anticipated, friction appeared, and problems with power, electronic components, and even a short circuit caused by the six-foot wingspan of massive fruit bat were worked through. It took us a couple days, but we completed the setup and the Major in charge proudly proclaimed the words every Marine communications officer longs to say, “Comm is UP!” The exercise proceeded as scheduled, and shifts were setup to keep the operation moving around the clock.

When we were off shift, we were often granted liberty to go to nearby Pattaya Beach for dinner and an evening away. The beach had been a favorite R&R destination of American troops during the Vietnam War, and after the end of the conflict it became a haven for European tourists. A line of Thai taxis, known as “Bhat busses” waited in the parking lot to ferry us to the beach a few miles away. “Bhat” was the name of their currency, like our dollar. The Bhat busses weren’t really busses, they were small open bed trucks with rickety wooden benches that had been bolted on. The ride to Pattaya Beach was a perilous adventure as the balmy tropical breeze soothed us while the driver’s seemingly maniacal driving made us hold on to the benches for our lives.

Upon establishing our HQ at the beach, we had been told to report to a briefing by the unit medical staff. Before reporting to the country, we received inoculations for various exotic diseases like the plague and yellow fever. Once in country, malaria pills were issued, and we were advised to take them daily and warned of the vivid dreams they would cause. They cautioned us sternly of the dangers of the land we were now in. From venomous snakes and spiders to stinging jellyfish and foul local water, we were warned to be on guard to protect our health. Most of the briefing, however, was devoted to putting the fear of the Almighty into us about the women of the resort area. An evening in their company could result in a range of painful and embarrassing conditions, several of them having no cure. The newest was known as AIDS, and up to a quarter of the women we would encounter were thought to be infected with the lethal virus. AIDS had a long period of incubation, and those infected would no doubt infect their loved ones back home before dying an agonizing death after years of suffering. Their point was driven home with scores of graphic photos depicting what we could expect from bad behavior. Critical body parts would turn black with rot. Ulcerous sores would ooze with painful infection. Additionally, there were criminals lurking in the shadows. Marines bold or dumb enough to end up alone could be expected to be beaten, robbed, and left bleeding in a dark alley. Wide eyed Marines listened to the cautions and studied the pictures with interest.  Most of them promptly went out and ignored the entire presentation. As we left, we each were issued a blue card. The front had our name, rank, and unit, and identified us as a member of the US Armed Forces. It said in case of emergency to present the card at the nearest police station. A message in English and Thai was printed on the back:

 

I am a United States citizen in Thailand at the invitation of the Royal Thai Armed Forces. I speak little or no Thai. It is essential that I contact my superiors. Please assist me by notifying one of the following. Thank you for your assistance and cooperation.

 

Phone numbers below included the US Embassy, and our unit HQ. Marines had clearly gotten into trouble in this place before.

 

If you’ve ever heard the phrase, “to spend like a drunken sailor on shore leave”, know that there is truth behind the expression. While deployed with the MEU, we received pay every two weeks. We could opt to take all or part of that pay in cash, and most Marines chose the latter. On payday, a table was setup outside the HQ, and the paymaster sat behind it with sturdy chest filled with cash. Marines and sailors would stand in line until it was their turn. The name would be checked off, the Marine would sign the ledger, and be issued the appropriate amount. At the next shore leave or liberty in town, the money would be spent with reckless abandon on drink, food, trinkets, and entertainment. I waited patiently in line, having opted to take most of my pay in cash to fund a few purchases I wanted to make.

The first night was a kaleidoscope of lights, booming dance music, outdoor bars, markets, and throngs of people. The women we had been warned about were everywhere, only they weren’t women, they were teenagers.  Most appeared younger than me, some heartbreakingly so. We ducked into a bar and the scene was depressing, even though the Christmas lights strung around the bar lent a festive glow. About a dozen girls were sitting on stools near the bar, and each wore a round badge with a large number on it. The salty Marines explained the operation to me. If you wanted the company of a girl for part or the entirety of the evening, you would tell the old lady behind the bar the number. She would tell you how much, you would negotiate the price down, and once agreed, the girl was your date. The girls would sometimes leave their perch to roam the dark room, moving from table to table initiating conversation. The conversation would lead to a request to buy her a drink, which was conveniently double or triple the price of a regular drink. We referred to these young ladies as “buy me drink-ee girls”, after their signature phrase requesting a purchase. Other girls were also in the bar and would take turns dancing on a small stage. One beer later, we were back out on the strip. Marines and sailors were everywhere, and before long I heard a familiar voice call out “COWBOY!”, which had been my nickname during a summer training session. One of the Drill Sergeants from a northern city had confused my central North Carolina accent for that of a Texan accent during a rant, and the name stuck. The voice was that of my longtime friend Steve, who was also a lieutenant and had several Marines with him. We made our way to an open air kickboxing ring and spent the rest of the evening watching matches and trying to talk drunk Marines out of getting in the ring. We mostly succeeded, but one young Marine couldn’t be dissuaded, and ended up flat on his back from a roundhouse kick to the head. At some point, a group of Thai girls joined us. Their English was poor, but it was much better than our Thai, so we communicated the best we could. They told us the best places to go, and where to avoid during our stay. A Lieutenant in our group hit it off with one of the girls, who was known as Tic and was about our age, with a short bob haircut. After an evening of conversation, food, beer, and entertainment, we climbed aboard the Bhat Busses for the base. Over the course of the exercise, we returned when we could. We would inevitably run into Tic and one or more of her friends, who would join us for a beer, clubbing, or to watch kickboxing.

I spent time in the open-air market areas, studying options for one of the purchases I had in mind. I had always wanted a nice pair of civilian dress boots, and there were several shops in Pattaya that would craft a custom pair from a range of exotic materials in addition to the standard leather. I settled on my decision and the cobbler measured my feet carefully. I returned a week later to proudly retrieve a set of custom-made crocodile boots that I still wear today.

Our free time when we could leave the operation was typically “Cinderella” liberty, which meant we had to be back at the base by midnight, so we could be ready for duty the next day.  One weekend several of the officers were given weekend passes, and we decided to go to the Thai capital of Bangkok, about two and a half hours away. I had heard that Bangkok was a great place to find a deal on jewelry, especially emeralds and sapphires. This would fulfil the second purchase I had planned, something nice for Elizabeth. Bangkok was much like Pattaya, but on a larger scale. There was more of everything. We visited the Golden Buddha statue, the floating market, and an ancient palace. I carved out time for a trip to the jewelry district, where I found exactly what I was looking for. I bought a beautiful set of emerald earrings as well as a sapphire ring for Elizabeth. I knew the deep color of both stones would look amazing with her red hair, and I looked forward to seeing her try them on. Our final excursion was to a show that depicted a historic Thai scene where warriors had once battled while riding elephants. After the show, the crew let us climb up on one of the elephants and ride him around the open field. Thailand was not a place where safety restrictions got in the way of a good time.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

 The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it.

- Kipling –

 

I arrived at the airport in Naha, Okinawa in August of 1991, 6,900 miles away from home. It had been a year since my commissioning ceremony in Chapel Hill. I had completed TBS and DSO course and my orders were to join the Fleet Marine Force (FMF) for a one-year tour. My assigned unit was the Headquarters of the 3rd Marine Division which was the ground combat element of III MEF. A duty van from the HQ picked me up at the airport for the 45-minute trip to Camp Courtney. The first thing I noticed was the air, it was thick and had the pungent odor that seemed like a mix of farms, outhouses, fresh rain, and decaying forest. The winding streets were outlined by narrow concrete trenches known as benjo ditches (formerly open sewers), and rice paddies or other crops typically on either side. There were oxen in the fields, accompanied by farmers with broad brimmed straw hats. The buildings were all concrete, sturdy block structures designed to survive the frequent destructive storms known as Typhoons. Businesses were small, with repair shops, grocery stores, and a few restaurants crammed in to commercial districts.

It was late when the van finally pulled up to the main gate at Camp Courtney. We showed our ID cards to the well-armed, no nonsense Military Policeman (MP) at the gate and passed onto the base. The driver let me off at a rectangular one-story concrete block office building where the Officer of the Day (OOD) resided. Being the OOD (also known as the Duty Officer), is one of the additional duties officers have on a rotating basis. Each junior officer in the command served a 24-hour shift as the OOD when it was his turn. In addition to making sure that Lieutenants arriving after hours got checked in correctly, the OOD made regular rounds of the base in search of anything out of the ordinary. He would check fences, locks, and doors, visit barracks, and ride through the residential areas. He would inspect the mess hall and check the cleanliness and the quality of the food. (One of my proudest accomplishments as an inspecting OOD was finding a worm in the lettuce of the salad bar)

            I reported in formally as was customary, and the Lieutenant drove me to a temporary room in the bachelor’s Officer’s Quarters (BOQ). The next day I was up early and walked the HQ building. The scenery was incredible. The squat buildings of the base weren’t much to see, but the view of the Pacific was breathtaking. For all their trouble in the Pacific, the Marines ended up with a choice piece of real estate for a base. Camp Courtney overlooked the deep blue waters of Kinbu Bay on the eastern edge of the island.  The base HQ sat atop a prominent hill with the best view of the bay on base. I made the rounds in the oppressive heat, completing my check-in worksheet and visiting all the required sections. In addition to administrative, training, and medical check-in, I was issued a weapon and field equipment.

I found my permanent room in the BOQ, walked in, and dropped my sea bag on the single sized bed known in naval terminology as a rack. The BOQ was a long one-story concrete building, much like the one where I had found the OOD the night before. Officers’ rooms were organized in a two-room suite, with two Lieutenants to a room.

I was introduced to my assigned section, which was the “G-6”. Marine Headquarters elements are organized into sections of shops, each having a specific responsibility with the Division. The G-1 section handled administrative issues such as pay, promotions, and orders. The G-2 was for intelligence, processing reports and information to provide briefings on such things as enemy activities, weather, locations of civilians. The G-3 was operations, developing plans for current operations, while G-5 evaluated courses of action for future operations. The G-6 was responsible for communications systems, ensuring that all units within the division could communicate and operate leveraging available resources, including radio, telephone, and computers. They also coordinated communication requirements passed down from the higher MEF HQ. At the top of the food chain of the Division was the Commanding General, Major General Michael Byron. General Byron was a veteran of the Vietnam war, and among the rows of ribbons on his chest were ones denoting a Silver Star, Legion of Merit, two awards of the Bronze Star with Combat V, and a Purple Heart. Byron had been a Lieutenant with the Division in Vietnam in 1965, when the patrol he was leading came under heavy enemy fire. Half of his force was killed or injured. Even though he was seriously wounded, he refused treatment and directed defensive operations, calling for reinforcements and holding out until they arrived. (8) He was a giant of a man in spirit and in courage. He could be gruff and intimidating, but under his leadership the Division was in capable hands.

The G-3, Colonel Raymond Hord, also wore the ribbon of a Silver Star earned in Vietnam. When he was a Lieutenant, his unit had taken fire from an enemy on the other side of a rice paddy. Instead of taking cover, he charged towards the machine guns, leading his Marines in a headlong assault that devolved into hand to hand combat. He pressed the attack, calling up additional Marine units, and calling in artillery and air strikes on remaining entrenched positions.

The Division was the sharp tip of the nation’s spear, a warrior culture with a legacy of valor that went back centuries. The men there were the real deal. Most were too young to have been in Vietnam, but they had been trained by men like General Byron who had been there. General Byron’s generation had been brought up and led by Marines who had fought their way out of the frozen wasteland of Korea. The Korean vets had known and been trained by those who conquered the Pacific in WWII, who had themselves learned from the Marines the Germans had nicknamed Devil Dogs because of their tenacity in places like Belleau Wood during WWI. The line was unbroken back to the founding of the Corps in 1775 as generation after generation of Marines ensured those who followed would be prepared when the nation called.

The officer I was replacing stayed around for a week after I arrived before he returned to the US, and he briefed me on all the critical information I needed to know. The division didn’t have any deployments scheduled for a few months, so I settled in to work at the HQ and learned my responsibilities.

Camp Courtney was a Marine’s paradise. It featured a weight room, a movie theater, library, and an officer’s club that served dinner most nights. The Morale, Welfare, and Recreation (MWR) office had sailboats and wind surfing boards that could be checked out. I signed up for Scuba classes, enrolled in a night time Japanese language course, and studied for the Okinawan driver’s license exam. I was thrilled to find that there was a Scout troop on base, and I started attending meetings the week after I arrived, serving as the assistant Scoutmaster.

The first month on the island was a whirlwind of cultural experiences. We hunkered down and weathered a “Super Typhoon”, with its devastating winds and torrents of rain that lasted for days. I explored the surrounding area, navigated through mazes of narrow paths in bustling shopping districts, and toured historic castles and battle sites. I got to know the other officers in the BOQ, most of whom were “salty”, meaning they had been in the FMF for longer than I had and knew their way around.

In addition to being our home, the BOQ was also the workplace for an older Japanese woman we called “Mamasan”. For a very reasonable monthly fee, Mamasan would keep your room squared away and clean. She would also handle all of your laundry, returning bags of soiled clothes freshly cleaned in neat, organized stacks. She had her own room in the BOQ, and seemed to work tirelessly, night and day. Her location in the building was announced by her small dog, who wore a collar that jingled when he ran along beside her. She had long ago told the residents his name, but they couldn’t pronounce it and the best approximation they could come up with was “Skivvy Honcho”. Mamasan and her sidekick Skivvy Honcho ruled the BOQ. An officer’s room that was too untidy from a night of drinking or recent return from the field would result in a stern lecture from Mamasan in a broken mix of Japanese and English. Sometimes dark humor among the lieutenants would call for Skivvy Honcho to be being barbequed in the Korean fashion, as we had heard dog meat was a favorite dish on the peninsula. I was frugal, and had never had someone clean up after me, but my peers convinced me to subscribe to her services. It didn’t take long to realize what a blessing she was. The drudgery of cleaning and laundry was replaced by more time doing things I wanted to do on the island. I kept some hotdogs in my room and would sometimes slip a piece to Skivvy as they made the rounds, teasing Mamasan that I was fattening him up for a feast.

In the evenings we would often go out in town to local restaurants for dinner. I was introduced to the chefs and staff, and found our Okinawan hosts to be cordial, friendly, and extremely polite. I learned to use chopsticks correctly and found out there was a difference between sushi and sashimi. Contrary to popular belief, sushi is actually a specifically prepared rice made with vinegar wine. The rice is clumped together and used to make rolls containing uncooked seafood or vegetables. Sashimi is thinly sliced cuts of raw fish or other seafood eaten plain or with a small bit of soy sauce. Any additional sauce was considered a grave insult to the chef, as the flavor of the meat he had carefully selected and prepared would be hidden. Tuna, salmon, and squid were the most popular. I was additionally warned that leaving one’s chopsticks standing vertically in a clump of rice was a serious breach of etiquette. The local joints in town became a welcome change from the mess hall and officer’s club. There, we were masters of our own empire, steadily devouring all that lay in our path without remorse. Sushi and sashimi, fish and “not fish”, all were consumed.

Readiness training was constant. Runs, hikes, and range training were standard parts of the schedule. The hikes seemed excruciatingly slow compared to what we had done at TBS. It dawned on me that was by design. TBS had pushed us beyond what was normally expected, so when we got out into the real world it would seem easy. You couldn’t be a leader and use your brain if you couldn’t keep up on humps or had to stop beside the road to throw up while the formation passed you by. On my first hike on the island, an ancient (to me at the time) Master Gunnery Sergeant commented cheerfully with only a hint of sarcasm as we started moving into the Okinawan bush, “This is what I went over 24 years in the Marine Corps for.” The entire formation broke out in cheers and hoots. Runs were equally entertaining as the Jodies reflected life in the exclusive club. Leading the now familiar call and response song as we ran, a Staff Sergeant called out the starting melody to the steady cadence of shuffling feet hitting the pavement in unison, “Left,____, left, lefty, right, lay-yuft….. We’re gonna run our selves to death.” This also generated laughter and loud grunts of approval. These Marines appreciated life and lived every day to the fullest, having as much fun as they could along the way. The often-quoted Marine philosophy that, “Every day is a holiday, every meal a banquet” typified the attitude. It was commonly accepted that events completely out of their control could quickly change their lives, so enjoyment was to be seized wherever possible. These Marines were my family. I was bound to them by duty, honor, and the legacy of brotherhood that had been alive since Marines had first gathered in a Philadelphia tavern in 1775.

The division staff was an exciting place to be. As the resident computer expert on the staff, I often got to attend the General’s staff meetings. I was usually the only officer under the rank of major present, so I got to hear information on operations that younger officers normally wouldn’t know about. The division contained officers of many ranks, but I realized that younger officers were the ones who did the bulk of the grunt work that made the unit function. More senior officers provided wisdom, guidance, and direction, but when it came to the actual business of getting something done, the first two of ranks made it happen. Marine officers started out as second lieutenants, then usually progressed to the rank of first lieutenant two years from their commissioning date. If they received good fitness reports (a report card for officers), they would pick up the rank of captain a couple of years later. Lieutenants tried to look out for each other, as we all typically made mistakes and found ourselves in situations we couldn’t resolve on our own. There was even an informal understanding that we were bound in a “Lieutenants Protective Association”, or LPA for short. The LPA network would provide information deemed to be helpful and would work on your behalf depending on your merit. If you were a jerk, no help would be expected or given, but a solid officer could count on his peers when needed.

 Asia was a busy place, the staff watched events closely and planned contingencies in several countries in case we were needed.  My section worked on planning for several operations over the coming year, with the closest one being an exercise in mainland Japan after the New Year. A large part of the division was going to the area around Mt. Fuji. Planning was intense and detailed, and I was tapped to go with the detachment. I was excited about my first deployment off the island and threw myself into the planning and training for the adventure. Weeks flew by as I became familiar with the operations and confident in my role within the division.

Phone calls from Japan were expensive, so Elizabeth and I mainly communicated through the mail. We maintained an ongoing exchange of letters and would speak on a quick phone call once every two weeks. When I had received my assignment to Okinawa I knew the year apart would be tough. One weekend after leaving her apartment, I went to campus instead of going directly back to Quantico. In the Undergraduate Library where we had studied together, I hid notes for her in the most obscure, unused books I could find. Notes were hidden in books such as “The History of History” that didn’t appear to have been opened in years. The less chance someone would look at the book, the better. My notes would wait patiently in the library until she found them. I made a key to the location of each note I left behind, indicating the page and location of the book. Once I was in Okinawa, that key became my map as I would write to Elizabeth and give her the location where she could find the next note. I spaced them out over the year. I also hid notes in her apartment for her to find after I was gone. Her box of cold medicine hid a small note that said, “I hope you feel better soon!”, and her makeup case had one that said, “You don’t need makeup, you’re already beautiful!” Her shower cap held a note that said, “Hey! I bet you look real pretty with this thing on.” Her dictionary held a note with a new entry – Mark: Noun – Good boyfriend, loves Elizabeth, real sweet.

I often slept in my sleeping bag in the barracks. It was comfortable and there wasn’t much need for sheets and a blanket when the bag was fine. We had recently spent several nights in the field on the rugged northern end of the island, and when I returned I rolled my sleeping bag out on my rack. I slept well the next night until I felt a sharp, stinging pain on the inside of my upper left thigh. I jumped out of my bag and realized what had happened, I had been bitten by a spider that had found its way into my bag. Over the next few days, my entire thigh swelled up around the center of the bite. It looked worse than it felt, but it felt pretty bad. It was a few days before Christmas, and on Christmas Eve it was still hot and swollen. Several of the Lieutenants headed out for town, but I decided to rest and went to sleep. When I woke up, I was starving. The Officer’s club was closed, but I usually kept stash of hotdogs in a small refrigerator. On top of the refrigerator was a microwave I used to heat them. I figured that would hold me over until morning when I could go to the mess hall. I opened the refrigerator to find it empty, I must have eaten the last one and forgot to move the next pack out of the freezer to thaw. I pulled out the pack out of the freezer and inspected my holiday meal. The only utensil in the room was K-Bar, which I meticulously kept razor sharp. There wasn’t a table in the room, so against all of my Boy Scout training, I held the frozen pack in my left hand, and pried at them with the K-Bar in my right to try and dislodge one. I was surprised at how hard it was to get one loose, and I pressed with increasing force as my hunger fueled impatience. In an instant, my tool completed its intended work, but I had pushed too hard. As the knife separated the hotdog from the pack, it continued its path down, slicing through the pack and into the middle finger of my left hand. I felt the sick burn of a deep cut and scrape of the knife on bone and watched in horror as a pulse of blood spurted in an arc into the air and onto the floor. Scared to look at my finger, I wrapped it in a towel and ran through the BOQ banging on doors. Luckily, another Lieutenant was home, and drove me to the hospital on the Air Force base at Kadena. Since it was Christmas eve, there was a minimal staff. The attending doc did some basic clean up, stitched up the wound, put my arm in a splint, and told me to come back in a few days. My finger swelled up until it seemed the stitches would burst. It was completely numb and wouldn’t move, and didn’t seem to be getting any better. The next week, I returned to the hospital. The wound was reopened and examined, and I was given the bad news. The blade had cut all the way to the bone, and had sliced through nerves, blood vessels, and the main tendon of the finger. The tendon had retracted down into my wrist. It was a mess of a wound. They would try surgery, but I would probably never regain full use of my finger, and I wouldn’t be able to make a fist. The wound was stitched back up, and surgery was scheduled for the next week. I returned on schedule and watched as the surgeon again reopened the wound, peeling back the loosened flaps of skin and exposing the bone below. Expertly, he fished the tendon from my wrist and stitched the severed ends back together. He worked for an agonizingly long time to bring order to the intricate mess. One complete, the gash was stitched closed the best he could. I was sent home with a wrist brace that kept my finger curled down so the tendons could heal.

The surgeon told me I most likely would never regain full feeling and use of that finger, and he repeated that it was unlikely that I would ever be able to make a fist. For a Marine, this was bad news, and possibly career ending. If that turned out to be true, the required PFT that included pullups was going to be very difficult. A Marine that can’t pass the PFT isn’t a Marine for long.  After a month of healing, it was time to begin therapy to try and regain use of my finger, now frozen in place. I missed the long-planned deployment to Mt. Fuji that I had looked forward to. The surgeon put me on two weeks medical leave (no work), but the morning after surgery I reported back to HQ. I knew the staff was counting on me, and there was no way I’d leave them in a bad spot. I may have been one handed, but I did my job even though some things took longer. I took some serious ribbing for the incident, but I agreed it was a boneheaded mistake, and I owned it.

Remembering my uncle Steve and his experience with therapy, I religiously stuck to my therapy schedule. The sessions and exercises were uncomfortable and always painful. My finger had been left with a jagged diagonal scar running across the grasping surface. The scar was thick and heavy, and the joint stubbornly wouldn’t flex. The thought crossed my mind that it might have been better if the finger had been completely cut off and could be kept out of the way in a jar on a corner cupboard shelf at the farm like the story my grandmother had told me so long ago. I persisted with therapy though, and over the following weeks I managed to regain some use. In time, pullups and weight training resumed, and by the end of my tour I had mostly full use of it and was very close to being able to make a fist. The thick scar still serves as a sickening and ever-present reminder of the price of carelessness.