Dick
became a U.S. Marine at the age of seventeen, arriving in Korea
in November 1951. He served with Fox Company, 2nd Battalion,
5th Marines, 1st Marine Division, and he achieved the rank of
sergeant. His company commander reported that he was the youngest
buck sergeant in the Division and possibly the entire U.S. Marine
Corps.
Fighting
a war without having your scriptures is like being baptized
without going in the water. During the twelve months I served
in Korea, I never experienced the abiding comfort and the feeling
of the Spirit you receive when attending a sacrament, Sunday
School, or priesthood meeting. My scriptures had been lost someplace
between getting aboard the troop transport ship in San Diego
and when I arrived in the port of Pusan, South Korea. But I
did pick up a small copy of the New Testament provided by a
Protestant chaplain. I think I had taken having the scriptures
for granted until I got into a war.
I
found that in those months in Korea between 1951 and 1952 that
my experiences would forever change my life’s perspective. Without
personal prayer and scripture reading I don’t think I would
have been able to keep my sanity or my beliefs intact. Why?
Because an 18-year-old seems to view himself and his life as
immortal. I quickly found it not to be the case. It happened
shortly after I arrived at the front. I met a Marine much older
than I that everyone called “Preacher.” Most of us seemed to
pick up a nickname. He got his because he always carried his
Bible wherever he went. He liked to read us various verses that
seemed to fit the moment. He was married, had some kids, and
was a nice guy. I really liked him a lot. Then one day about
noon he was walking to his bunker carrying his Bible as usual
and an incoming mortar exploded a few feet from him, and he
was killed instantly. It happened that quickly. One minute he
was there and alive and the next he was gone and dead. He was
the first person in my life that I knew as a friend and that
had either died or was killed. Later when they were gathering
his personal belongings someone murmured the question, “How
could someone so good, so spiritual, and so religious lose his
life while others who are not so good and some who have never
even attended a church or read the Bible live?” I remember thinking
about that for a long time that night.
That
was the first time I realized how quickly you can meet your
Maker, lose your life and a friend. I think that day we all
asked ourselves if we were ready to face the ultimate sacrifice.
It took me a long time to deal with that event—if I ever have!
*
* * * *
In
early spring of 1952 some of our company was assigned to occupy
a hill; I think it was called “Warsaw.” It was about four to
five hundred yards in front of the MLR (main line of resistance).
We had daily and nightly contact with the North Koreans and
Chinese which amounted to mostly mortar fire and enemy probes
to test our resolve to hold the hill. Next to that hill was
a slightly less elevated hill where there were several reinforced
rifle and machine-gun squads. Forward of the main bunker and
trench line was a sniper’s hole. It was dug on the forward slope
about forty to fifty yards. It was camouflaged with scrub brush,
and it was almost impossible to see. The routine was that an
hour or so before sunrise one of our snipers would belly out
to that sniper’s foxhole and wait for sunrise. With his snipe’s
rifle, silencer, and high-powered scope, he could observe throughout
the day and especially in the early morning the movement of
enemy troops in the trench line and bunkers across the shallow
valley. They were his target.
For
several weeks he did his job. Then one day just after dark,
which was the usual time for the sniper to crawl back to the
safety of the trench line and his buddies—that night he was
late. He never showed up. They tried to make contact but with
no luck. Finally, under the cover of darkness a fire team of
three from his unit crept down to his sniper’s foxhole and found
him slumped over his rifle with a single bullet in his head.
An enemy sniper had somehow caught him during a split second
of exposure and with just enough time to get off a single shot.
It was a very sad day for all of us. Everyone placed a special
value on these courageous Marine buddies. Unfortunately it did
not end there.
A
couple of days later his replacement showed up and took his
position in that same sniper’s foxhole each morning before sunup.
Three days or so went by and one night after dark he was late
and did not return. The word quickly spread and all of us could
not believe that we might lose another one. It would be too
much. We still felt the deep pain from losing our other friend.
That night the fire team crawled down to his foxhole and found
him with a single bullet to his head. The word spread. No one
would believe it. But this tragedy and deep loss was even more
staggering when we found out that they were brothers!
Even
as I write this story that occurred a half century ago, the
personal heart-wrenching emotion of that day brings a lump in
my throat and tears to my eyes, and I can hardly contain myself.
That was the last time they used that sniper location.
