July 4

Independence Day was subdued. American soldiers are once again going to war. Less than five years after VJ day, and the world still hasn't learned. I fear for them. Korea. I had to find the place on the globe. Right next to China. I hope they don't get involved too.

"Oh, hi. Sure, I guess I can talk to you. Not like they'd let us corporals know anything important." The following laugh also sounded like her father's.

Mr. Simon asked, "Well, let's start with your name."

"Corporal Nathan W. Morgendorffer."

"Cpl. Morgendorffer, tell us a little about yourself."

"Well…I…married my sweetheart, Ruth, right out of high school, and was drafted a little over three years ago. Got two sons. Bruce is two years old, Jacob is eight months."

"You don't sound like the typical marine."

"I guess not. But, not everyone needs to act like that, the important thing is to be reliable and work together. I'm the loader on a fifty team. I don't need to be as aggressive, just make sure the ammo keeps feeding."

"How are you feeling about going ashore soon?"

"Scared to death. Don't let them tell you otherwise, most of us are. Except a few of the old timers who'd made through landings like Saipan or Iwo."

"Any messages to send back home?"

"Can I say something to my family?"

"Go ahead, son."

"Ruth, I love you. I promise to take care of myself and get back to you. Bruce, Jacob, I love you. Damn, I hate being not being able to see them I miss all of you."

"Filthy Chi-Com bastards wouldn't try that trick again. Just as a warning, I put bayonets on two of their rifles, jabbed 'em through the leader's back and propped him up, facing toward the reservoir."

Mr. Simon narrated. "I'm with another of the young marines I interviewed before the Inchon landings four months ago, Corporal, now Sergeant, Nathan Morgendorffer. Or, as some of the other marines call him, Mad Dog Morgendorffer."

"Yeah, I remember you. Whole damn different world out there now. We need every good marine we can get out there, and the stupid pencil-pushers are sending me home."

"You look pretty banged up. A lot of guys would be happy to be heading home."

"Well, those prissy little bastards can run if they want. I want to go back, and they won't let me."

"What kind of injuries do you have that prevents your return to duty?"

"That's what pisses me off so much. Four stinkin' rifle slugs through me and they're not a problem. No, I lost half my left foot to damned frostbite. That's what's sending me home."

"Those are some nasty-looking stitches on your neck, what happened there?"

"Ever try to shave with a straight razor when everything in your body was numb? Dammit, almost slashed my throat clean open before I even felt it. Then one of those lame-brained doctors at the aid station tried to get me psychiatric treatment for trying to kill myself. He might be eating solid food by now."

"Oh…yes. Could you tell us about some of your experiences at Inchon?"

"That was by the numbers. Donaldson and me would set up the fifty, provide cover and support fire for the platoon. Once they secured that objective, we'd pack up and move to the next. More fire support, move on. Whole operation went like that for us. Inchon broke the North Korean's backs."

"Care to talk about your more recent experiences?"

"Why not. Maybe someone back home can hear about these cock-ups and hang someone from a meat hook for it. We were pulled back for refit, then the powers-that-be horsed around with this and that before finally putting us back in the field in late November around the Chosin Reservoir. That's where the crap hit the fan. We were ordered to attack up the basin to relieve pressure on troops to the west. Ran smack into the middle of the Chi-Com army coming down for their big offensive. They had us surrounded within a day. Word came down the line we were outnumbered better than ten to one. We didn't have enough decent cold weather gear for a squad, let alone the division. Weather reports said we had temperatures of thirty-five below zero out there. We had to fight our way back out of that god-forsaken trap."

"The First Marines are already being recognized for their courage."

"Yeah, courage to get our asses out of the trap those idiots on high sent us into. We learned to rely on ourselves; nobody was going to save our butts out there. We crawled and scratched our way back to Hungnam. Taking our wounded and dead with us every step of the way."

"I understand that was when you were promoted."

"Field promo. Only corporal left alive in the squad after the Sarge took a bayonet through the lungs. I didn't think modern armies did that much hand-to-hand combat any more. We'd been doing it off and on for a week by then. Donaldson took a load of shrapnel the same time, blinding him. We picked everyone up and kept marching."

"What about this name, Mad Dog, that you picked up?"

"Grrr. My squad started calling me that. Don't ask any of these idiots; they'll only give you one of the bullcrap versions floating around that make me into some kind of one-man marine regiment. We were leaving a small hilltop after covering the platoon withdrawal. Burned out the last barrel on the fifty that night to keep 'em back. Only five of us were still on our feet. I had the rest carry the three wounded while I took point. We had a Chi-Com patrol blocking our escape. I was cold and just plain tired; wanted to get back and get my men taken care of. I cut loose with a Thompson and marched toward 'em. Caught 'em by surprise and the whole squad went down by the end of the mag. Once we got up to them, we found they had a bunch of gear looted from the Seventh Infantry. That stinkin' pissed me off. I dumped a second clip into the bodies, just to make sure they were all dead. Filthy Chi-Com bastards wouldn't try that trick again. Just as a warning, I put bayonets on two of their rifles, jabbed 'em through the leader's back and propped him up, facing toward the reservoir. We made sure we collected all the personal gear they'd looted. Hope Graves Registration can get them where they belong."

"Uh…that was…quite a story."

"That's when the corpsman told me to sit down while he bandaged my leg. First slug I took. That was the story all the way back. Cover, rear-guard, fall back. Bring everyone with us."

"Didn't you get that leg taken care of then?"

"Had the corpsman stitch it up. Didn't have time for anything else."

"What about the rest?"

"Does it really matter? I got popped here and there. Another in the leg, one sliced my boot open. Probably why I got frostbit. Took one in the arm. If you could get patched up and carry a weapon, you stayed on the line. It was all just one frozen stint in hell. I don't remember which was worse, guard duty at night, or trying to sleep at night. We were constantly being hit by infiltrators. Kind of like up close and personal snipers. Sneak in, kill a guard or a sleeper, and creep back out. Or just being cold. Every day, every night. That damn cold."

"A lot of people will probably think you are heroes."

"Big frickin' deal. I'd rather they patch me up and put me back on the line were I'm needed than think wonderful things about me. The Chinese are just rolling right back down the peninsula. Looks like we could lose everything we gained in the last few months. These people have to be stopped, and stopped here. We've lost too many good men. Do it for them."

"What about your family, do you look forward to seeing them?"

"Only damn thing to look forward to in going stateside. I have two sons I can raise right. Make damn good soldiers out of them before they're needed. Make 'em the kind of men to come out to these hellholes and do the work that needs to be done. Raise them to be tough, to do things right. They may not let me keep up the fight. But, I'll do everything I can to make sure my sons can."

"Moving on to the next marine."