Photo: Army Chaplain (Capt.) Emil Kapaun (right) and Army Capt. Jerome A. Dolan, 1st Cavalry Division, carry an exhausted soldier off the battlefield in Korea, early in the war.
Credit:Army VIRIN:500712-O-D0439-001
By Wade Thompson
Things got serious as we geared up for the move north along the Korean DMZ. Every detail had to be tighter than a new pair of boots — readiness was everything. The move kicked off in late November 1967, and the weather turned colder than ever, dipping to the mid‑20s. The cold‑weather gear they issued was a godsend, keeping me from turning into an icicle.
We rolled into the new camp and had to hunt down our hooch like a pack of lost dogs. We got squared away quickly, though, figuring out the lay of the land. Gilliland, one of the jokers in our hooch, went full holiday mode, rigging up a scrappy Christmas tree. His record player blasted Bing Crosby’s White Christmas and Gene Autry’s Here Comes Santa Claus, turning our hooch into a DMZ North Pole.
I was back in the Headquarters hooch, sipping rough coffee and waiting for Lieutenant Chip to need a ride to his next post. To kill time, I was buried in Catch‑22 by Joseph Heller, laughing because every character felt like one of our screwballs.
Things were solid — until our new 1st Sergeant, a hard‑as‑nails vet with ribbons from WWII, Korea, and two Vietnam tours, called me out.
“Thompson, you and Ables got listening post duty tonight,” he said, his voice like gravel.
I thought there was a mix‑up. This 1st Sergeant was new, maybe didn’t know I was Chip’s driver. But he was sharp as a bayonet and caught my look.
“It’s done, Thompson. I cleared it with Lieutenant Chip. You’re free to watch for any North Korean troublemakers sneaking around.” He cracked a grim smile, but you didn’t cross a man who’d seen more wars than you had years.
I gave a sharp “Yes, 1st Sergeant.” out of respect, even though I was dreading the cold night ahead.
The day was frigid, with a drizzle that made everything miserable. I was dreading 20 hours like a root canal. At 19:30, Ables and I linked up outside HQ, geared up and annoyed at the weather. They gave us our call signs, pointed us to our cover spot, and we humped up the hill overlooking the compound. The rain turned to sleet, and a biting wind hit like a slap in the face.
Through the brush and trees, we had a good view of the mess hall, HQ, and a few hooches. We’d hauled our cold‑weather gear and ponchos, and with some grunt ingenuity, we strung the ponchos into a half‑decent shelter—almost cozy, if you ignored the DMZ ready to bite.
We locked rounds into our M‑14s, ready for trouble, and settled in for a long night.
I nudged Ables, “Hey, what’s the password and counter‑password?” He smirked, “Rats and apples.” I snorted, “Quit joking around, man. For real.” He sighed, “It’s ‘sweetheart’ and ‘daisy.’ Happy now?” I grinned, “Wanna practice?” He groaned, “Thompson, don’t be a pain. Peel that orange—I’m hungry.”
I dug the orange out of my pocket and, just to mess with him, said, “Ables, you always annoyed? That a California thing?” He chuckled, shaking his head, and stayed quiet.
After a bit, I got serious. “We should sit back‑to‑back, man. Some North Korean could sneak up and surprise us, and I’m not trying to die tonight.” Ables nodded, “Smart move.” We shifted, and I said, “Feels safer, right?” He mumbled something I couldn’t hear, and we went quiet, listening to the sleet and our own nerves.
Wade Thompson, originally from Meridian, Mississippi, is a U.S. Army veteran now residing in Irmo, South Carolina. He served in Korea from April 1967 to May 1968 with Headquarters and Headquarters Company, 1st Battalion, 9th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Infantry Division—first in the Communications Platoon and later as the Commanding Officer’s driver.
