The Korean War had begun in June of 1950. On September 8 of 1950 I turned twenty-two years old. I had graduated from Newman Grove High School in 1945 and was farming with my father, Charles, northwest of Newman Grove when I was drafted into the U.S. Army. It was on January 23, 1951 when I began 14 weeks of basic training in Fort Riley, Kansa. Following a brief visit back home on my family’s farm in Newman Grove, I was deported from Fort Lawton, Washington on the “Marine Lennox” troop ship.
My memories are vivid of that day in early June when I along with 3000 troops plus merchant marines was preparing to load on the troop ship to depart U.S. soil. By 2:00 or 3:00 P.M. we were on board and had been assigned to our bunks. It was time for “Good Bye America”. Everyone, myself included, were pretending to be happy. In reality, we were scared to death!
Much to my surprise, a message came over the speaker, “Recruit Reigle, come to the gangplank.” An officer escorted me back down the gangplank and off the ship. From the gangplank I had spotted a Cadillac with the words PRESS on it. I had no idea why I was being summoned back off the ship. It was a complete surprise to be greeted by the publishers of my hometown newspaper, “The Newman Grove Reporter,” Mrs. Velma Price and her husband. Mrs. Price was my former teacher. She approached me and warmly shook my hand, visiting for a while. They were attending a convention in the area and had heard that a military ship was departing that day. With a hunch that I might be aboard, they took the chance to come out to see. After a brief time, the officer accompanying me said, “Time to go,” and now my leave of the country was imminent. My Newman Grove friends filmed the ship going out to sea as far as they could see. I never did see the film and no longer know if it exists. I assume that it has been discarded by now. It was probably 10:00 P.M. when we could no longer see land. But for the next months, my hometown newspaper did not forget me. News articles about the Korean War appeared in the “Reporter” several times during my tour of duty.
It was two weeks of travel time to reach Japan. Our assignments were made at “Replacement Depot”. We were back on the ship that same night. Then it was a three day trip from the east side of Japan, around Japan, and around the Korean Peninsula to the west side of Korea. Arriving from the Yellow Sea, we were boarded on landing craft called Higgins boats (designed by a Columbus, Nebraska native.) As we floated to shore the Koreans were being pushed back. We were immediately in combat action.
My assignment was with the 1st Cavalry Division, 7th Cavalry Regiment, First Battalion, Company C. Company C is known as Custer’s Company and also nicknamed Charley’s Company. That summer and early fall I encountered 3 ½ months of fighting and skirmishes. We averaged losing 2-3 men a night and sometimes as many as 8 or 9.
Of all the many, many stories that I could share with you, I’ve chosen to tell about my last nine days of combat.
We were called down off a hill just after dark in early October 1951 and replaced by a new, green horn outfit. We had no idea what was happening next. Our unit was loaded onto trucks and moved around the mountains to another hill. Three companies of the first battalion (about 700 or more men) were assigned to take a hill five miles behind the enemy lines. My outfit was called the “spearhead” outfit. As the troops form a spearhead pattern, we were located at the foremost point. We took our objective with very few casualties. Attacking the enemy was as easy as going through hot butter. Little did we know that the Chinese had already hit our mainline with lots of casualties.
This was all a plan and the Chinese did know and had let us through their mainline. Of course we thought that our mainline would move with us, but because of the attack they did not. Now we were surrounded and cut off from the rest of our own troops. For the next nine days and nights we were without food and water. Not everyone would, but for nourishment I ate the parched beans which filled the bags hanging on the now dead Chinese and North Korean Communists.
We were hit the first night. Second night was more of the same. We became a group of fewer and fewer men. Each night we moved farther up the hill. Down in the valley we could see the Chinese. Every night we were hit hard from Bansai attacks. A Bansai attack starts with a bugle sounding in the valley followed by the chanting of the Chinese, “GI DIE, GI DIE.” Then they would hit with about 3000 men. Half of them had weapons and half without. They charged and you had no choice but to kill as fast as you could.
More than once we would find a thousand dead Chinese on the following morning. This fighting went on for nine nights.
On the ninth day I was one of the only 70 Americans left alive out of the original 760 men. By now we were five or six miles back from the 38th parallel. We moved to the peak of the hill. Our commander was dead and there must have been 60-70 other dead bodies along with many wounded.
We stripped clothes from the dead Chinese and found items to fit us. We were all dressed like the Chinese except for our boots. None of their shoes would fit our feet!
Just after dark another dreaded bansai attack came. We had no chance because now we were so outnumbered. And one thousand of them are attacking us. I was on the front side of the hill and first to be attacked. I saw one soldier immediately hit as a mass of enemy soldiers overran us. We could no longer hold them.
There were three in my foxhole. An enemy opened up and shot down into our hole at all three of us. The other two were killed and I was also hit, but alive. I could hear the Chinese gloating and having fun. What could I do? As I lay in the blood of my dead buddies, I threw six grenades in every direction. I said a prayer and jumped like a “jack in a box” while God took me by the hand once again.
As I jumped I had in my hands two of their guns and my own. I had a Chinese machine gun that held seventy rounds. It was called a “burp gun”. As I jumped from the hole, I shot everything that moved and ran like hell. Another buddy and I got mingled with the Chinese. We drug another wounded buddy along with us until his clothes were literally drug off his body. We were running with the Chinese in the same direction that they were heading. I remember we tapped who we thought was the company commander, only to have him turn around and be a Chinaman. From then on we just fell into the Chinese troops and I stayed with the Chinese until they hit the mainline of the 8th Cavalry. We must have run like this for five miles in the darkness.
Now there are two of us and the wounded soldier. We dropped into a trench near the American mainline. The Chinese and Americans were engaged in fighting. There was an enormous amount of friendly fire (our own).
By daylight on the morning of October 12 we find that now there are only seventeen left alive from the original 760. Five of those seventeen were from my company. With daylight the Chinese pulled back as was their customary routine. By now the Chinese had been battered badly. We stayed in our trenches rather than joining them. Of course the 8th Cavalry could see us and thought we were enemies. They kept firing. Several Americans were killed by our own fire. We had no signal or password to let our own soldiers know who we were. And we were dressed like Chinese. By 10:30 A.M. we finally got them to realize who we really were.
When we finally met up with the 8th Cavalry, every one of us seventeen survivors carried blood on us in some way. We were administered first aid. I didn’t know at the time, but later found out that the medic who patched me up was from Verdigre, NE. What a surprise to hear him telling my story at the Creighton, NE sale barn 40 years later. I interrupted the group he was having a conversation with to say, “I think I was one of the men you patched up.”
I was then taken by jeep and helicopter to a Swedish Field hospital just like the tent hospital on the television program, “MASH.” About late afternoon or evening we were loaded on a train. I rode on a box car all night where we sat or laid on wooden plank seats. A special buddy cushioned my bleeding head with his coat. I remember having a horrid headache.
Our destination was a hospital in South Korea where x-rays were taken. I was told that I had a one way ticket home and a “million dollar wound” because I’d never see combat again. Very shortly I was flown to a hospital in Japan. On the plane I had a chance to see my x-rays. My wound was to the right side of my face where a shell had entered near my nose. I had a shattered jawbone with shrapnel in it. My jawbone had actually been broken two or three weeks before that. The end of my nose was shot off and a bullet had entered my head and was lying under my right eye near my brain.
They patched my nose first and then removed the shrapnel from my jaw. A week later the bullet was removed from my head by going through the roof of my mouth. The bullet appeared to have been hit by a hammer. I had actually been hit by a bullet after it had ricocheted off of a grenade.
I was wounded on October 12, 1951 and spent until mid to late January 1952 in this hospital in Osaka, Japan. Then I rejoined my original outfit in northern Japan for three months, was sent home, and discharged. It was a year and a half after my discharge before I received combat pay ($45 a month) because this was not legally considered a war, but rather police action.
The medals I received include the Purple Heart, Combat Infantry Badge, United Nations Service Medal, Korean Service Medal with one bronze service star, and Army Occupation Medal.
Today there is a huge cross made of white rocks on a North Korean hill where I know thousands of American, Korean, and Chinese bodies were left. That cross is a reminder for many of the lives lost.
