JBC*

 Ok, campers, I'll get to the meaning of the cryptic title to this post in a paragraph or two.  I stumbled upon a source a couple of days ago that brought laughter to my belly and tears to my eyes, but more on that a little later.

First and foremost.  Mrs J had a follow up with her surgeon a week or so ago.  Without going into the gory details, he said she looked free and clear.  But, he also said that he couldn't be very sure until a PET Scan was performed.  (Beans, PET is an acronym for Positron Emission Tomography.)  I'm not a Doctor, nor have I played one on TV, but he led us to believe that those results are very reliable, so "Nothing there" will be very good news.  We'll see.

Recovery wise, she's doing quite well, we even went to Church in my Truck this morning.  She hadn't been able to get up into it since surgery.  I think that capability returned with a view of the underside of a Buck crossing at her car's windshield height from right to left within about a foot off the glass as we drove down the road to our house, a couple of days ago.  She let out a rather loud, "Look Out" as it came into my field of vision.  I was quite excited also.  There might have been a couple of not safe for work words spoken, during and shortly after, by yours truly.  He cleared the vehicle without a scratch and now that I have tested her brakes, I'm very confident they are in good shape.  We also had a discussion of why I liked taller cars.  She had no problem climbing into the truck this morning.

Thank you Lord!

She has been getting quite a bit of nappage daily which leaves me with a bit of time on my hands, and even as good as she's doing, I'd rather be close by to assist if and as needed.  So...I was fooling around the internet, seeing what's out there and got to wondering, what with all the changes in the Air Force (and other branches) lately, if the squadrons I'd belonged to were still around.  

 

Source

The basis for this research project was reading that the 12TFS, which I'd written about here, had been disbanded.  That was a bit of a hard swallow on reading that.  So, I wondered if...

Prior to the 12TFS, I had been an instructor in the 435 TFTS (tactical fighter training squadron) at Holloman AFB, NM.I found out that the squadron is still active and performing the same mission at Randolph AFB in San Antonio.  Good on 'em.

Source

 

The assignment prior to that was to the 69TFS at Moody AFB, GA.  

Source

 

That was an F-4E squadron that was part of President Reagan's early 80s "Rapid Deployment Force".  We were expected to be able to deploy a squadron anywhere in the world on very short notice, (I think it was 48 hours, could be wrong).  And Fight when we got there. Needless to say we did a lot of deploying, quite frequently to Wendover AB, Utah to participate from a bare base in Red Flag Exercises.  Suffice it to say, I was a lot better at doing Fighter Pilot "things" when I PCS'd from that assignment than when I arrived.

Source

 

But, my first operational assignment was a short tour remote to Kunsan AB on the ROK.  Myself and another Pilot (I'll call him "Al") from my F-4 Replacement Training Unit arrived from Luke AFB in the first week of December.  (Yes, Beans, in Korea).  Cold?  Nah, cold is warm compared to the air temp stepping out of the C-141 on the Kunsan ramp in December.  It took me til the end of my 1 year tour to warm back up.

But, I was assigned to the 80TFS.  Also known as "The Juvats".  All the rest of the front seaters in the squadron were Captains and above.  Many had participated in the SEA festivities, so when they talked about how to do things, we listened.  Closely.

Great assignment, no distractions, good flying areas.  Learned a lot about a lot of things in that year.  

Source

 

But, juvat, what did you do for entertainment there.  Well, there was the movie theater with very old movies.  Or there was the Officer's Club.  The Club had two long tables, one for each squadron and a bunch of 4 tops scattered around the rest of the dining room for other folks.  Suffice it to say that if you weren't a member of the Squadron, you didn't sit at "our" table.  Again, learned a lot listening to the stories at the table.

But, "The Juvats" had another aspect of entertainment called the "Juvat Boys Choir".  It was composed of about 15 pilots/WSOs, most of whom were unmarried (you'll understand why shortly).  The Juvat Boys Choir provided the entertainment for official and semi-official dinners.  That entertainment revolved around singing.  Al and I had been on station for about a month when we were invited to become members of the JBC.  We accepted.

We, the choir leadership, generally stole the music from some song we liked and adapted the lyrics so they referred to the reason for the party, people PCS'ing home, or maybe, someone who had done something stupid, on the ground or in the air.  You know, poke a little fun at somebody and they generally try harder not to be mentioned in the next round.  Even the Squadron Commander (at the time his call sign was "JayBird") wasn't safe from being in a song.  

But...we were very careful about that.  He carried a very big sack of bad/not fun things that could be assigned as additional duty for a Fighter Pilot/WSO who had annoyed him.

It was fun, a lot of laughing, and yes, some alcohol was consumed.

Enough background, where are we going with this, juvat?

In my "who's still around" web research, I entered the name of the 80TFS, aka Juvat.

The first response was "The Juvat Boys Choir".  Good to be famous, I guess.

In any case, here's a pretty good and to be expected example of the Fighter Pilot Song genre, even if it is from the "Lawn Dart" generation of Juvats.

 

If you're interested in listening to more Juvat Fighter Pilot songs (note the capital J), here's the site.  A word of caution, many of these songs are "Not safe for Work", "Not safe for Kids", "Not safe for...".  Heck, they were written by Fighter Pilots for Fighter Pilots on a Remote Air Base with not a lot to do for entertainment.  What did you expect?

 Peace Out, y'all!

*Juvat Boys Choir

The Hill - Hell on Earth

(Source)

Sauer was halfway to the squad's machine gun position when the first Chinese artillery round impacted about 20 meters behind the trench line. As he hugged the earth, knowing that more would follow, Sauer had the odd thought that he still thought in terms of meters, not yards.

The next round was much closer and the explosion seemed to push him away from the shelter of the bottom of the trench. It was almost as if Mother Earth was trying to throw him up into the fragment-filled air outside of the trench.

Sauer was crawling as fast as he could in the direction of his 1st Squad's MG team, but it was slow going. The ground was shaking and heaving as the artillery continued to fall all around his position. For a moment he stopped crawling and buried his face in the dirt, his arms covering his helmet.

Another explosion, this one too close. His ears were ringing and it felt as if a weight was across his legs. He panicked at the thought of being buried alive.

"Come on Freddy, move your ass!"

He heard the voice, dull and as if from a great distance. Two sets of hands were pulling him forward, his legs had been buried when the section of trench just behind him had collapsed.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he managed to say, shaking himself free of his rescuers. He was amazed that he still held his rifle in his hands.

Corporal Brett Worthington was pulling him forward, "Come on Freddy, we need you on the gun!"

Pvt. Dana Parsons was screaming in pain and in fear. A nearby hit had thrown him back from the machine gun and blasted dirt and stones into his face. He was blinded and the panic was starting to overwhelm him. The he heard the .30 cal stop firing.

"Shit, shit, shit ..." he stuttered then he began yelling, "Hey, I need someone on the gun, I can't see! I can't see!"

Someone pulled him backwards and told him to shut up. He heard someone yelling, he realized it was the German guy, Sauer. Damn, where'd he come from?

"Schnell, wasche ihm das Gesicht ab! Scheiße! Water, wash his face off! It's just dirt in his eyes!" Sauer realized that he had broken into German, it happened in moments of extreme stress.

"Help me get this body out of the way!" he yelled at the nearest man.

"Shit, it's f**king Smitty!" the man yelled when they rolled the body away from the gun.

"He's dead, if you don't to wish to join him, grab that ammo belt and feed me!" Sauer was frantically checking the gun, other than some dirt in the feed, which he cleared, it seemed to be okay.

When the gun was loaded he looked down the slope, it was crawling with Chinese infantry. They had followed the barrage in.

"That's it Nate, rounds complete. The arty is going for the Chicom guns, we're on our own now." Hernandez dropped the radio handset and turned to head out of the bunker.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"We've still got our mortars, the batteries in the radio are dead. I'll get them going. We're in the shit now, Cap!"

Paddock looked through the observation slit, lots of smoke, very little visibility to the front, so he grabbed his carbine and stepped out of the bunker.

"Jesus, it's f**king freezing," he hissed as the cold air hit his lungs. Then he was in action, the Chinese were almost in the trench.

The company mortars started banging away, dropping their rounds within 50 yards of the trench line. As Hernandez made his way back to the CP, he heard the sound of a carbine firing, nearly as fast as the man holding it could pull the trigger.

Coming around a corner, he saw the CP, Captain Paddock was reloading his weapon and didn't see a Chinese soldier rushing towards him, bayonet at the charge.

Hernandez snapped off a round, it missed but it startled the enemy soldier. The man turned towards Hernandez, sheer hatred painting his face. Before he could act on that hatred, Paddock shot the man in the torso from point blank range.

As the soldier went down, Hernandez put a round into him as well. That snapped the man's head back throwing his soft winter cap, and most of his brains, back against the trench wall.

"Jesus, Sir, I can't leave you alone for a minute!" Hernandez had grabbed a spare battery for the CP radio down at the mortar pits. He handed it to Paddock.

"Fix the radio, I'll watch your back."

The Chinese tried one more push, but as they did so, the sun began to rise. The enemy knew that with the dawn, the American Air Force would make its presence felt.

The bugles sounded, and the enemy tide slowly ebbed back down the slopes of the bloodied hill. The snow leading up to the crest had been churned into a dirty brown, that near the top had been stained red with blood.

The platoons began to report in, Hernandez had his notebook out as Paddock relayed the casualty figures to him -

"First platoon, three wounded in need of immediate evac, six men wounded but ambulatory, seven dead, including the platoon sergeant and one of the squad leaders."

"Second platoon, seventeen wounded, twelve dead, the damned Chinese nearly overran them, it was hand to hand for a while before Third Platoon counterattacked with a squad and drove the bastards back down the hill."

"Third Platoon ..." Paddock paused, Mike Masterson had been a good friend.

"Seven dead, including the platoon sergeant and the platoon leader ..."

"Masterson?" Hernandez stopped writing, looking at Paddock in shock.

"Yeah, seven dead, twelve wounded, one of 'em isn't going to make it unless we can get his ass down the hill ..."

"SHIT!" Paddock slammed the handset down and buried his face in his hands, "The guy just died, make that eight dead."

Hernandez got up and placed a hand on his Captain's shoulder, he picked up the handset. Paddock shrugged it off and went outside, "I need a smoke, Top."

"This is Top, who's this?"

"Hey Top, it's Winthrop. L.T.'s f**king dead, man, S/Sgt Henderson just f**king died, Jesus it's a mess over here, Top. F**king Second Squad's CP looks like a slaughterhouse."

"Calm down, take a deep breath, Bobby. You've gotta pull yourself together. Who's left of your squad leaders?"

"Uh, lemme think. I don't know where Thornton is, hell I've got fifteen guys with me, Parsons is half-blind, Sauer and Johnson are on our last MG, covering the front of the line. We need reinforcements, man!"

Paddock came back in, he looked better, "Top, get over there and sort things out. Runner from battalion just told me that Baker Company is moving up out of reserve, we're going back down the hill. To regroup battalion says, with what I asked them. Jesus why did I stay in the f**king Army?"

Corporal Brett Worthington met Hernandez as he came into the area belonging to Second Squad, "Ain't much left Top, the survivors are all shell shocked, worse thing I've ever seen, and I was on the f**king 'Canal.¹"

Hernandez followed Worthington, it looked like he and Winthrop were the only unhurt noncoms. "We're going back down the hill, into reserve, as soon as Baker relieves us. For now you're the man in Third Platoon, Bobby." He said, looking at Winthrop.

"Brett, you've got first squad ..." he was looking around to see who else he knew who might hold the platoon together for the next day or so.

Making a decision he said, "Sauer, you're a corporal as of right now. Parsons, you gonna live?"

Dana Parsons looked sheepishly at the ground, "Yeah, I think so Top."

"Good. Winthrop, who else ..."

"Parsons is good on the gun, he panicked a bit, but so would I if I thought I was blind and every Chicom in the world was attacking my position. Hell, give him what's left of his own squad, at least until we can get another Sergeant."

Hernandez nodded, "Parsons, you're a Corporal, for now. All right Third, get your shit together, we're packing up soon. Ah, here's our relief now."

A platoon from Baker was entering the trenches, a number of the men looked aghast at the devastation the Chinese attack had left behind.

Hernandez had seen it all before, but it made him sick to his stomach. He wondered if the Goddamned politicians of the world would ever get sick of trying to take what wasn't theirs. Damn them all he thought to himself, damn them all to Hell.

¹ Guadalcanal.

The Hill - Night Terrors

A pair of M-40 155mm Gun Motor Carriages of Battery B, 937th Field Artillery Battalion, providing
fire support to U.S. Army 25th Infantry Division, Munema, Korea, 26 November 1951.
(Source)

Sauer was nervous, not about combat, he'd seen plenty of that, but a lot of the men in this unit were very green. Most of them were new to the army, quite a few draftees among them. There were only a few WWII vets, like Hernandez and apparently the company commander. They were among the very few that had seen combat. Other than Sauer himself.

"Hey Fred, can you see anything down the slope? I swear there's someone there. Straight in front of us." Private Jeb Turley was one of those green troops.

Sauer scanned the slope to their front, he guessed that Turley had been staring at a clump of low brush about 50 meters below. "Don't look directly at something, Jeb. Look to one side or the other, if you stare at something long enough in the dark, your brain will be convinced that it's moving."

"Really?"

"Trust me, I remember my first night on the line. You get used to it." Or you died, but Sauer didn't say that out loud.

"Was that in Normandy or were you in Africa?" Turley was getting too chatty, it was nerves, but he needed to quiet the lad down.

"You need to be quiet, Jeb. Sound travels a long way at night, especially in this cold."

And in truth, it was getting colder.

"Cap, wake up." Hernandez was gently shaking Captain Paddock's shoulder. The man had been dead on his feet so Hernandez had convinced him to put his head down for an hour or so.

"Huh, where ..."

Sitting up, Paddock removed his gloves to rub the sleep from his eyes. It felt like he'd been asleep for only a few minutes, even though he figured it had been at least an hour. Hernandez wouldn't wake him unless it was important.

"What's up, Top?"

"I just got off the radio with battalion, here's our artillery concentrations for tonight. Seems we lucked out, we've got two batteries of self-propelled 155s on call."

Paddock took the proffered notebook and scanned it by the dim light of the nearby battle lamp. "Nice, this'll give the Chicoms some fits, won't it?"

"Sure will, according to ..." Hernandez paused, "Ah, shit, you hear that?"

Paddock cocked his head, he did hear it, in the distance the two men heard the tinny sound of a Chinese bugle. Followed by others.

Many others.

1LT Masterson came down the trench line, he wanted to make sure the men were ready.

"Don't fire until I give the order. Have your grenades ready. Aim at your targets."

One of the Privates looked at his buddy, "How the heck are we supposed to see what we're shooting at?"

PFC Mac McLendon just shook his head, "Don't worry Joey, just wait."

The noise emanating from the bottom of the hill was getting very loud, and closer. The bugles were unnerving to some of the new men, their sergeants kept telling them that a bugle couldn't kill them. But still ...

Sauer felt the lieutenant pat him on the back, he heard a muffled, "Stay alive, Freddy, I'm gonna need ya."

He waited, it had been a while since he'd held a rifle in his hand about to go into combat. The one he was holding had been shooting at him the last time he'd been in battle. Now he was carrying the Garand and truth be told, he really liked this rifle. But he wondered, could he still take the stress of battle?

Multiple streaks lifted into the air from behind their position, a series of muffled pops ensued, then the battlefield was lit by the strange swaying lights of parachute flares.

Sauer looked down the hill, there were scores of Chinese infantry advancing up the hill. He had the momentary thought that they would soon be swept away by this human tide. Then he settled his cheek into the stock of his rifle.

And waited.

Captain Nate Paddock was watching down the hill, shortly after the flares lit the landscape, he turned to his 1st Sergeant, "Concentration Able Foxtrot."

Hernandez spoke into the radio and within moments the screech of outgoing rounds crested the hill and began to explode on the slope below. Hernandez winced as he heard the screams over the roar of  the explosions. Men were dying out there.

Sauer heard his lieutenant bellow, "Open fire boys, let the bastards have it!"

All along the line the men opened fire, carbines and Garands popping away over the roar of the artillery. With the Chinese going to ground, or simply being blasted to atoms, the officers felt that the muzzle flashes wouldn't give much away. They did, however, keep their machine guns quiet. Those the Chinese would pay attention to.

Sauer carefully picked his targets, the first round he fired was at a man who was running up the hill, ignoring the explosions around him. Either an officer or a sergeant from the way he kept beckoning to the rear, urging his soldiers forward into the maelstrom.

Sauer couldn't tell if he'd hit the man or not as an artillery round detonated at the same time, right over the man and his comrades, as he felt the kick of his rifle.

Damn it these fellows were brave, they kept coming on, heedless of the devastation in their ranks. As the flares began to flicker out another round were sent aloft. In the flickering shadows of the dying flares, Sauer spotted another man, this one carrying a rifle.

The man looked towards the American positions, then looked back down the hill, he decided that advancing was better than falling back into the bombardment behind him. Sauer aimed, then squeezed the trigger.

This time he knew that he had killed a fellow human being. The Chinese soldier stopped in mid-stride, a look of surprise on his face, very clear in the new round of flares. Then he fell to the ground in a heap.

As Sauer looked for another target, there were many, he heard the machine guns open up. Things must be getting desperate.

1LT Masterson had decided that the damned Chinese were close enough, no grenades just yet, he'd use his machine guns to sweep the enemy from the field. As he was directing the fire of one gun, he felt a tug on his field jacket.

Then he felt an enormous weight fall upon him as he dropped to one knee. "Bobby, I'm hit."

Sergeant Bobby Winthrop turned from the machine gun, as he did so he said to the crew, "Short bursts, kill 'em all."

He looked for the lieutenant, where the hell was he? He'd heard the man yell his name As he moved back, his knee pressed into something soft at the bottom of the trench. He looked down.

"Ah Jesus, L.T."

The bugles sounded again, the Chinese were starting to fall back, they had lost too many men and their attack was breaking up into small groups of men trying to advance but mostly dying in clumps.

"Hold your fire!" the cry went up and down the line.

In the Company CP, Captain Paddock watched the Chinese falling back, he turned to Hernandez, "Concentration Baker Hotel."

Hernandez spoke into the radio. Moments later the artillery lifted and then shifted fire to the base of the hill, hoping to catch the Chinese as they tried to reinforce and regroup.

It did.

"Freddy." Sauer heard his Americanized name and turned, it was Sergeant Winthrop.

"L.T. Masterson's dead. I gotta take the platoon, take the squad, will ya?"

Sauer was puzzled by that, he thought Winthrop didn't like him, always referred to him as "that f**king Kraut."

"Me Sarge?"

"Yeah you. You're the only f**ker in the platoon with any combat experience other than me. Hell, you survived Dubya Dubya Two being on the wrong side ..." Winthrop paused.

"Jesus, Sauer, just get down to the machine gun and take charge. The guys are expecting you."

Winthrop then slapped Sauer on the shoulder and headed to the platoon CP.

The Chinese did not come back up the hill for a long while. Every man in the American line wondered, "Was that it? Is that all they've got?"

Then in the distance, well behind the Chinese lines, a number of men saw flashing lights. Some wondered what it was, the few combat veterans in the company immediately began screaming at the men to take cover.

Seems the Chinese had artillery too.

The Hill - Old Adversaries

Their job to blast Communist-held positions in Defilade, troops of Heavy Mortar Co., 32nd Regiment, 7th Division, move into position in a pass between Punggi and Tanyang, Korea. 8 January 1951. Korea. Signal Corps Photo #8A/FEC-51-787 (Elkins)
(Source)

Ducking his head to get through the low opening to 3rd Platoon's CP, 1Sgt Hernandez looked around and saw who he was looking for, "Afternoon, L.T., got some mail for you guys."

1st Lieutenant Mike Masterson looked up from the novel he was reading, "Hey Stephen. Mail? Damn that's nice, the guys were starting to think the Army had forgotten where we were."

Handing over the sack, Hernandez looked out of the observation slit down towards the Chinese lines, "Cap'n thinks they'll hit us tonight."

Masterson nodded, "Yep, I think the same. I checked to make sure we're tied in with Charlie and that the guys have deep enough holes. I got a feeling it's going to be really chilly tonight."

"Yup, battalion thinks it'll get well below zero."

"Wonderful."

"You guys have enough grenades? We have a shitload at the company CP if ya need more."

"I won't say no to more. I also had the MG teams strip all the tracer from their belts, no sense telling the Chicoms where our heavy weapons are."

"I know the guys like to know where their rounds are going, but yeah, it's telling the baddies, 'We're here, shoot us here.' At night the grenade is your friend."

"Gimme a couple of guys to go back and get some more grenades. Is your new guy available? Sauer I think Nate said his name was."

"Yeah, I'll get him. Moses, Jacobs, head over to Company, Top says they have spare grenades, bring us back as many as you can carry. Tommy, head down to 2nd Squad, tell Freddy to come up to the CP."

As the men detailed set off on their tasks, Masterson turned to Hernandez again, "Sauer says you and Nate captured him and his outfit near the end of the war."

"Yeah, that's what Nate said. We had a Kraut battalion, about company strength by then, surrender to us. Their Skipper said he was tired of fighting for Hitler and so were his men. It took a while to make it happen, but they surrendered to us. Saved a few lives on both sides that day."

"Would you recognize Sauer if he was there?"

"Dunno, Mike. It was five years ago, there was a bunch of Germans we processed that day. I remember their commander, and one or two of their other officers. So maybe, or more likely, it depends."

"I get ya, ah, here's the man himself. Come on in Freddy."

The man who entered the bunker had a hard-bitten look about him, like he'd seen way too many things in his life, not many of them pleasant. Hernandez recognized him immediately from that day back in '45. He'd never caught the man's name, but he remembered that one German lieutenant with the German battalion commander. Guys like this were hard to forget.

Hernandez stood up, "Herr Leutnant."

Sauer looked confused at first, who was this sergeant speaking to him in German. Then his face tightened up, he knew this man. Sauer stood to attention.

"Herr Hauptmann, it's good to see you again. We're on the same side this time."

"I'm a 1st Sergeant now, cutbacks after the war you know. What's your name again, I don't recall ..."

"Sauer, Manfred Sauer. The guys call me Freddy, I'm very American now."

Hernandez noticed only a slight accent, "How long have you been in the States?"

Sauer thought a moment, "Three years, we were released from the POW camp in the middle of 1947. I went home to Saxony, there was nothing there for me. So I managed to come here, well, to the United States early in 1948. I got here, to Korea, just a couple of weeks ago."

Hernandez nodded, then spoke, "Where are my manners, I'm Stephen, Stephen Hernandez. I figured you'd be all done with war. You guys saw some real shit. I remember you had the Frozen Meat medal on your tunic, how long were you in Russia?"

Sauer remembered the cold, and the death, "Too long, Sergeant, far too long."

The two men sat in quiet for a few moments, then Masterson cleared his throat, "I need to check the lines again, you don't need to wait for me, Stephen. Freddy, go ahead and keep an eye on the radio while I'm gone, okay?"

"Roger that, L.T." Sauer nodded at his platoon leader.

"Your English is really good, Manfred. You don't mind if I call you Manfred, do you?"

Sauer grinned, which startled Hernandez, Sauer's face lit up and the years seemed to fall away from his weather-worn face. "You outranked me in the last war Sergeant, you outrank me in this one as well, you can call me whatever you like. As long as it isn't 'Freddy,' that name is easy for the guys so I tolerate it, don't really like it much."

Hernandez smiled, "Call me Stephen, we're pretty informal around the Company. If battalion visits we get a bit more formal, but in the field, we go by first names, mostly. That okay with you, Manfred."

"You sound almost German the way you pronounce that."

"I was born in Spain, we moved to the States when I was a kid. We still speak Spanish at home, so I guess I have a knack for languages. I still can't get over how good your English is."

Sauer grinned again, "I had a good life in Iowa, made some good friends. Your farmers aren't much different than the ones I grew up around in Saxony. I was trying to get a pig farm going when the Communists attacked Korea, things were slow, so I enlisted. I saw Communism in Russia, I hate it, so I will fight it as long as I am able."

"Pig farmer, eh? Our neighbors in Colorado raised pigs, not for market, just to eat. Is that what you did before the war?"

"Yes, my grandfather owned the farm, my mother and I worked it. My father was killed in the first war. After my release from the camp, I went home. Goddamned Russians everywhere, the farm was now a collective, my grandfather had died near the end of the war, old age. My mother ..."

Sauer took a deep breath, "Had been raped and murdered by the Soviets. There was nothing left for me in Germany."

Hernandez looked at Sauer for a long moment, then he stood up, "I've gotta get back to the Company CP, glad you're with us Manfred. Stay alive, okay?"

Sauer nodded, "You as well, Stephen. Keep your head down tonight, those bastards are coming up the hill after dark, I can feel it in my gut."

Hernandez slapped Sauer on the shoulder, "Hals und-beinbruch, Leutnant. Bis morgen.¹"

Sauer nodded, "Gleichfalls, Herr Hauptman, bis morgen.²"

After Hernandez left, Moses and Jacobs returned to the bunker, each had a rucksack with grenades,

"D'ya know where the Lieutenant wants these, Freddy?" Moses asked.

Sauer stood, "Yeah, distribute them equally among the squads. L.T. has me watching the radio, so deliver these grenades, then come back here."

"Sir." Jacobs said as the two men departed.

After leaving the bunker, Moses shot Jacobs a look, "Bob, you just called a buck-ass private, 'Sir,' what's up with that?"

Jacobs looked back at the bunker, "I dunno Jackie, guy seems like an officer, ya know? Guy in 1st squad says Freddy was a Kraut officer back in Dubya Dubya Two."

"No shit?"

"No shit. Now let's get this shit delivered so we can get back inside the bunker, it's starting to get colder."

Both men saw the sun heading down to the horizon, neither man was looking forward to the night.

¹ Break a leg, Lieutenant. See you in the morning.

² You as well, Captain, see you in the morning.

The Hill, Early Afternoon

Pfc. Miles Adair of Leon, Io, (left) and Sgt. Norbert Brzycki of Chicago, Ill., infantrymen of the 5th RCT, dig in on a hill captured from the Chinese Communist forces overlooking the Han River, Korea, as UN troops continue their offensive in the area. 7 February 1951. Korea. Signal Corps Photo #FEC-51-3582 (Chang)
(Source)

1Sgt Hernandez rushed into the low-slung bunker holding Baker Company's command post, a flurry of Chinese automatic weapons fire filled the air over the trench he had just vacated.

"Forget to duck, Top?" Captain Nate Paddock chuckled as his former commander gathered his wits about him.

"I tell ya what, Nate, those Chinese can't hit shit at this range."

"Whaddaya got, Top?"

"2nd Platoon is improving their positions, dumb bastards didn't dig near deep enough. Ground isn't frozen yet but another night like last night and it won't be long before we'll need a backhoe to dig any deeper. I chewed L.T. Carlson's ass about it, he's seen the light now."

Paddock shook his head, at the end of World War II, Stephen Hernandez had been a Captain commanding a company, Paddock had been a 1st Lieutenant commanding a platoon in Hernandez' company. Now he was the company commander and Hernandez was his 1st Sergeant, he felt bad about that. It didn't bother Hernandez at all.

"Hell, Nate, you're a ring knocker, I'm just a volunteer from the boondocks of Colorado. It makes sense to keep you guys in, me I'm ready to head back to civilian life!" Hernandez had told Paddock that over a beer in Germany.

Both men had stayed on with the Army, still in the Big Red One, still in Germany, until late in 1948. At that time Paddock had rotated out to attend an Army school back in the U.S. and Hernandez had resigned his commission and headed home.

Hernandez had shown up at the Army Recruiting office two days after the North Koreans had invaded the Republic of Korea. Though he had been an officer, he was sent to boot camp like any other volunteer, as a buck Private.

During training he had been recognized by a number of soldiers as being from the 1st Infantry Division from World War II. Hernandez wasn't big on blowing his own horn, but men who knew him realized that a valuable combat veteran was wasted in the insanity of Army boot camp.

Two weeks after reporting for Boot Camp he'd been on a train to an advanced training course, as a Staff Sergeant. After training, he was assigned to the 5th Regimental Combat team in Hawaii. Which he soon discovered, was actually in Korea. So to Korea he went as a Master Sergeant.

Now he and his friend from the big war were together again, fighting the Communist Chinese now, not the Germans.

"Did you get the mortar teams moved?" Paddock asked as he looked down the hill towards the Chinese lines.

"Yessir, they bitched about it but when I explained that the Chinese had probably nailed their old positions down by now and probably had their artillery dialed in on them, they were happy to displace."

"Happy?"

"Well, they didn't bitch quite as much."

"Hey, remember back in the big one when all those Krauts surrendered to us?"

"Yeah, a whole battalion, well, company-strength at best, but a battalion on paper. What about it?"

"There's a replacement in 3rd Platoon claims he was there."

"Seriously? Whose platoon?"

"He was a Kraut officer."

"Get out."

"No, seriously. He emigrated to the States in '48 after getting de-Nazified. Moved to Iowa, was trying to start a pig farm up there, something he did before the war."

"Why the Hell is he in the Army? He could have stayed put, being a former German soldier and all."

"Sumbitch volunteered."

"Huh. What's his name?"

"Sauer."

"In 3rd Platoon, eh?"

"Yup, Masterson says the guy is a natural soldier. Wants to make him a squad leader or something."

"Well, if L.T. Mike Masterson speaks highly of him ... I need to go down to 3rd Platoon anyway, I'll check this new guy out."

Paddock turned and grabbed a small sack from the rear of the small bunker, "Take this with you, 3rd's mail."

"They'll appreciate that."

"Yup, tell Mike that I expect we'll get hit tonight. Make sure those boys are dug in and make damned sure they're tied in with Charlie Company on their left."

"Roger that, Boss. Back in a flash."

"Keep yer f**king head down, Stephen!"

"Yessir, absolutely Sir."

With a nod and a wink, 1Sgt Hernandez headed out the way he came in. This time the Chinese didn't fire, probably some overeager kid had opened fire when he'd seen Hernandez' helmet for a split second.

"Come on kid, shoot this way again, we need to know where you bastards are at!"