Bakers, bullets and Bed Check Charlie

130th buddies in Yong Dung Po, Korea. (Walt Sehnert)

(Note: The current news of continuing squabbles with North Korea, and word of the death of one of my old Korean War buddies, stirred more memories from the Korean War)

In 1945, following the end of World War II, Korea, a former colony of Japan, was divided by the victorious allied forces, at the 38th Parallel. The Russians set up a puppet government in the north, with Kim Il Sung as Premier. A Democracy (more or less), with Syngman Rhee as President (with US backing) was set up in the south. The North Koreans, in June of 1950, initially invaded the south, across the 38th Parallel, and pushed the South Koreans and the American troops who came to their assistance, almost to the gates of Pusan, on the extreme southern edge of the peninsula. When the American forces, under the banner of the United Nations, gained strength, they checked the advance of the North Koreans. Then, following Gen. McArthur's bold invasion at Inchon, in September of 1950, the push of the United Nation forces moved the war almost to the banks of the Yalu River in the extreme north. At that time the belief, in the United States, was that the war was virtually over. But in late November, 1950, 200,000 Chinese poured across the Yalu River to assist the North Koreans and again pushed the United Nations forces (mostly South Korea and United States) south of the 38th Parallel. The UN forces gradually stemmed the Chinese advance, and for the next three years the fighting was confined to a narrow strip of very mountainous territory on either side of the 38th Parallel.

The Korean "Police Action" was never officially called a war, since President Truman committed US troops without a Declaration of War by the Congress. Yet one would have trouble convincing anyone who fought in that conflict that this was not a full fledge War. The United States counted some 54,000 dead and 103,000 wounded during that period, with some 46% of the casualties coming during the period of the stalemate. Although an Armistice was signed at Panmunjom on the 38th Parallel on July 27th, 1953, no Peace Settlement has ever been signed.

Front gate of 130th compound in Korea. (Walt Sehnert)

The Korean War had been in progress for almost a year and a half when I was sent to Korea. Though my Army training had been in an Artillery unit, all in our group arrived in Korea fully expecting to be replacements for Infantry units who by that time were fighting in the general vicinity of the 38th Parallel. Instead, however, I was assigned to a Quartermaster unit in the Seoul area. In a move that is almost unheard of in the Army, I was sent to the 130th Mobile Bakery Company, to do a job that I actually knew something about.

That Bakery Company had been very active in the early months of the War, trailing the Marines and fighting units of the 8th Army, supplying the troops with fresh bread from ovens mounted on trailers, pulled by Army trucks. In November of 1950, a year before I joined the unit, the 130th had been set up behind the front lines in the mountains, not too far from the Yalu River. The bakers could hear artillery fire, but had seen no fighting, and bread production was in full swing when two MP's came by in a jeep. The MP's stopped to say that the bakery must evacuate the area at once. Those MP's were the rear guard of a retreating 8th Army. The Chinese had launched a major invasion and were just minutes behind, and the bakery would have to move fast to avoid capture. Somehow, in the confusion of battle, our Company had not been informed of imminent danger. In record time the mixers, molders, and ovens were hooked to their trucks and the company raced to the rear. The departure had been made so quickly that bread was still baking in the ovens. Soon the bread in the ovens was thoroughly baked, then began to burn, the smoke curling upward as the little convoy moved through the mountain passes, accurately marking the exact location of the unit as it made its way to safety. Fortunately, the Chinese planes were occupied elsewhere, and the retreat was successfully made, despite the telltale trail of smoke from the burning bread.

By the time I joined the 130th, the bakery was set up permanently in a former textile factory in Yong Dung Po, across the Han River from Seoul. The factory was a huge complex, sprawling over many acres. Before the war it had been one of the largest textile factories in Asia, employing thousands of workers. Though it had been more than 80% destroyed during the two recent invasions, there were still enough buildings in tact that we were able to set up our bakery, make living quarters for our company, house a large motor pool (in a building large enough to play basketball games), and have room left over to house a Medical Unit and a Graves Registration Company.

Though the fighting front was some miles to the north, we could occasionally hear the shelling and we kept 24 hour guards against sabotage, thieves, and mischief, but there was no fighting in our immediate vicinity. Still, some of the men in our unit managed to get themselves in trouble. Our Bakery Company was issued rifles and we were required to make regular visits to the rifle range to keep qualified as to our marksmanship, but many of the men in the 130th were not adept or comfortable with rifles. Fortunately, as long as I was in the company no one was required to fire his weapon in anger. That was good because some of the men in our unit were not exactly skilled in handling weapons. Some were entirely inept. For instance:

Once one of our fellows was walking his post on guard duty and managed to shoot himself in the foot, while attempting to get his rifle off his shoulder. Another time another fellow was standing guard atop a guard tower. As he challenged a Korean attempting to climb the perimeter fence he stepped back too far, lost his balance, fell fifteen feet off the tower and broke his arm. The Korean turned out to be a workman assigned to repair the fence.

For a period of time, several nights a week, about 11 p.m. there was one lone enemy plane, which flew a reconnaissance flight over our compound. The pilot, whom we referred to as "Bed-Check Charlie," would circle for 15 or 20 minutes, make several low passes, then fly away, without firing a shot. As far as I knew, he never caused any trouble, but we had guards on the roof of the compound with a machine gun, just in case. (There were fighter planes galore just across the river at Kimpo Air Base. They must have known about "Charlie," but chose to ignore him.)

Then one night, Antoine Rouge, a Creole from New Orleans, was on guard duty on the roof of our compound. Antoine was always somewhat excitable, and that night he apparently saw or heard something that caused him to believe that we were under attack because he began to fire the machine gun in the general direction of the plane. But he was not skilled in the firing of that weapon and before he realized it the machine gun began to jump and fire in all directions. He was unable to let go of the trigger and began to spray the entire area with 50 mm bullets. His partner feared for his life. Needless to say, Antoine did not bring down an enemy plane, but he did destroy a small shed on the roof, a skylight, and a section of the façade at the edge of the building. He also incurred the wrath of our company commander, who decreed that henceforth, though there would continue to be a guard on the roof of the building and that guard would have a machine gun, he would no longer have ammunition for that gun. It was probably a wise decision. There was more danger to all of us from our own Quartermaster people with machine guns, than there was from Bed Check Charlie.