This particular Veteran, Donald Kerr, filled in a very important gap in our family history. You see, we knew very little of my grandfather,
SCHWENNEKER, Melvin Hugh Eugene, Corporal, 1 Bn PPCLI, killed in action, June 25, 1952.
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| http://www.lifeinkorea.com/Images/pusan/Unb004.jpg |
While doing a random internet search, my brother came across this retelling. My father has since been in touch with Donald Kerr. We now know so much more about my grandfather and THAT is truly a gift.
I realize this is long... but if you have the time, please read it. Thank you Donald Kerr. I truly hope that you don't mind me reposting this on my Blog...
JUMP BOOTS & FRIENDLY FIRE
By Donald Kerr
http://www.kvacanada.com/stories_dkjumpboots.htm
It was Korea in the late spring of 1952 and it was time for R&R, Rest and Recuperation. I was in "B" Company, the First Battalion of the Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry and had been in the line for months, most of it in the snow. Now it was time to party, six days in Tokyo with one of my best buddies.
The First Battalion was airborne but we were there as infantry. The army took our jump pay away the day we embarked on the troopship, General Hugh J. Gaffey in Seattle, but they let us keep our red berets. Some of us still had jump boots, beautiful oxblood red boots, but not me. Several years before, just before we completed our jump school in Rivers, Manitoba, the service was so hard up they took jump boots off issue. That meant that if you wanted jump boots you had to order them from the States or buy a pair from a hard-up fellow soldier. I got mine the latter way. However, when leaving Calgary for Korea I was also hard up and sold them to a recruit. That meant back to the black boots and puttees.
Anyway, with a week of partying ahead I wanted to look good with a pair of red boots plus we knew we would have to remove our boots anytime we went into anyone's house or even a hotel. Rolling your puttees back on every time would be a pain. Up jumped a soldier named Dockendorff and offered me the loan of his; they just happened to fit me and I told myself what a good guy he was, and hoped it wasn't just because I was his sergeant.
It was a few days after returning from this fabulous leave that we held a payday in the line. There was a sudden barrage of mortars that came in and guess who got hit? Dockendorff, the owner of the "boots." Blood everywhere, a shot of morphine and he feels great and as they load him in a jeep ambulance he is yelling that he is going home and "Sarge you can keep my jump boots."
Anyway, a week or so later I don't know whose idea it was but someone, probably the Colonel, got this great idea for a fighting patrol. Somehow my platoon got picked. I didn't remember there having been a fighting patrol the whole time we had been there, but there probably had been some. None of us were real excited about it, to say the least. I decided since I had just returned from R&R and I still had Dockendorff's jump boots that I would wear them; if I was going out I might as well go in style.
We were to cross about a half-mile of dried out rice paddy and then climb this hill and "sweep" the Chinese trenches for prisoners. All after midnight! I had a problem imagining what it would be like dropping down into these trenches in the dark, how deep would they be, would we start shooting at each other? They brought in a British Bofors and its crew to fire us in. A Bofors was an anti-aircraft gun that fired five rounds automatic and was used a lot in the Second World War. It was set on an adjoining hill for several nights before our action and pounded away on these trenches that we were going to visit. They were using tracer shells and we watched it for several days and joked that we hoped they didn't get the Chinese mad. We set off after dark, approximately thirty of us, with our Lieutenant, Al Bull, myself (the platoon sergeant), three corporals and some real good guys. We had two radio operators, a real young kid and a more mature corporal on loan from headquarters platoon, name of Schwenneker.
Corporal Schwenneker kept saying before we left that he was the only one who knew for sure where he was going the next day. He was to leave for some advanced training in Pusan the next day and the Canadian Cemetery was also in Pusan. He kept saying over and over that he was going to Pusan either way.
We had what was known as artificial moonlight right across Korea. It was provided by searchlights situated on distant hills that made a glow so it wasn't pitch dark, still you had to look awful close to see the hand in front of your face. As we single filed across the paddies the Bofors was booming in automatic fire ahead and above us. When we reached the base of the hill we held an "0" Group to decide which way to proceed up the mountain. We had some difficulty getting together on the route. It was so dark we figured the only way was to proceed up to just in front of the Bofors explosions. The plan was for us to radio the call, "switch to Betty target," the Bofors were to land several hundred yards to our right and we were to sweep the trenches. The name "Betty" was picked because it was the name of the wife of our Lieutenant. We thought it might be lucky. It wasn't.
We all fanned out facing the Chinese trenches with the Bofors rounds coming right over our heads. We were so close we could feet the heat from the explosions. The Lieutenant and I were at centre with the one section to the right, one to the left, and one behind, all laying on our bellies facing up the hill. The Lieutenant called out to radio "switch targets" and immediately everything lit up as five rounds landed right on us. One of the operators radioed stop the Bofors! Too late, another five rounds landed and killed both radiomen and almost everyone on the right section. The younger operator took a hit right through his radio and his screams were awful.
A soldier in front of me that I remember only as "Izzy" stood straight up and said he wanted a cigarette, saying he couldn't see anything. I had to grab him and hold him down and try to sweet-talk him out of standing up. Finally, we got everyone calmed down and organized for defence from an attack from above but thank God those Chinese must have been so far down in their bunkers that they didn't know we were there.
After several minutes and some hasty head counts we decided that we had to get off that mountain. Everyone that wasn't badly wounded had to carry either a body or a wounded man down off the hill. I half carried and half-dragged Izzy all the way back to our hill and all the way we talked and I told him to just hang on. He kept saying over and over that he couldn't see but he wanted a smoke. One of our corporals was a big tall guy, I can't remember his name, might have been Collins, took up the tail end of our group, sure that the Chinese would be on us at any minute. He carried most of the weapons left by the dead and wounded. Somehow we got across to our lines with everyone, both dead and alive. All accounted for and all our weapons safe.
Those of us who were all right returned to our bunkers in shock. Someone told me that Izzy had died just after we got him back. It haunts me some because I don't recognize his name on the list of dead from that action. The problem is that I don't know his surname, I just know that he was well liked by everyone. Did I mention that Izzy was black? He was from Nova Scotia and I often wonder how they broke it to his parents. I am real sorry to say that Corporal Schwenneker made it to Pusan as he knew he would.
We sat around for about an hour drinking coffee. We were told that our other platoons were listening on the radios when we were hit and some got their weapons and went after those gunners. I still don't know if they forgot to increase their range when they switched targets or is it possible we were laying right on "Betty target". Anyway, they moved out of there before there was any trouble.
While sitting there with our coffee someone asked my why I was rubbing the back of my right leg. I said I must have been hit by a clump of dirt, as there was a big swelling about half way between my buttock and my knee. After dropping my pants I found there was a little break in the skin in the centre of the lump and right there I figured I better go to the regimental aid post. A medic looked at it and put me into an ambulance. At the first field casualty clearing station another medic put me into another ambulance. Same thing happened at the rear field casualty clearing station and I was on my way to Normash, Norwegian Mobile Surgical Hospital. After waiting there four or five hours and watching U.S. helicopter and ambulances bringing in lots of wounded American soldiers, they took me into surgery and removed a piece of shrapnel and the next thing I was on an ambulance plane to Japan.
One thing I didn't mention was when I went to our regimental aid post, the Colonel was waiting to talk to me. "What happened out there Sergeant?" he said. "The Bofors landed ten rounds on us, sir" I said. His face dropped and he said, "That's not what happened. You must be in shock. It was Chinese electrically operated mines." I said, "We know what it was and furthermore, when we called 'Stop the Bofors', the last five rounds were on the way but immediately the gun stopped firing." He nearly turned purple and said, "Don't you ever say that" and stomped away.
In Japan, it was an eerie feeling to be back in civilization and hardly even thinking about our poor dead buddies. It seemed like a completely different world to be laying in sparkling clean sheets knowing the rest of our guys were still in the line, the lucky ones that is.
As I was wheeled into the ward, guess who was the first of our guys to greet me? Dockendorff! He was just being discharged. I still had his jump boots and guess what? He wanted them! That meant that when I got out it would be back to the old black boots and puttees - if I could find any!
In 1944 at age 15, Donald Kerr signed on a merchant ship as galley boy and was appointed sight-setter on a four-inch gun. He joined the Seaforth Highlanders reserve in 1947 and then the Permanent Force in 1949. After training in Camp Borden, he was posted to Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry. He left for Korea with headquarters platoon (mortars) aboard the U.S.S. General Hugh J. Gaffey. In early 1952 he was promoted to sergeant. After recovering from the wound described in the story, he was discharged from the Commonwealth Hospital in Kure, Japan and was appointed Sergeant of the Guard at 25 CRG in Kure. On returning home he took his discharge from the army.
In 1963, Don Kerr moved with his wife and children to California. They have a son and daughter in Canada whom they visit several times a year.
picture courtesy of www.cbc.ca
