No Other Way

Korea 1950...When Honor and Duty Collide, There's

No Other Way

by Ben DeWitt

Smashwords Edition

Copyright ©1996, 1999 by Ben DeWitt

First ebook publication 2007. Published by OSO Press, LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan American Copyright Conventions.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This is a work of fiction. The characters and situations—other than public figures identified by their real names, and documented historical events—are products of the author’s imagination and are not intended to portray or represent actual persons or events.

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Dedicated to Captain David Engberg Etzold, Citadel graduate, artillery forward observer, Korea, silver star, purple heart, My friend.

March 25, 1924 - January 11, 1999.

Author's Note

Korea, arguably the bloodiest war in the history of the United States of America, was not about stopping the spread of Communism. It was about testing the heart and soul of our desire to hold the line. Our leaders, both political and military, failed. Our troops never gave up. America’s heart and votes were at home. The Russians understood and took the fight to every corner of the world. American soldiers are a wonderful fighting machine. When they are well-trained, competently led and correctly supplied, there is no other military in the world that can out-think or out-fight them. When they are not, they are still the world’s best.

In Korea, we called men cowards because they were freezing to death; we called them cowards because they were let down by their leaders; we called them cowards because the American people did not want to understand the new world politics of Communism. Units lost their colors to cover up poor leadership at high levels. We accused these men of being cowards because they had summer equipment to fight a war in zero degree weather against hundred to one odds. There were more heroes during the Korean War than in any war in our history. As a combat veteran of the War in South East Asia, I salute the Korean Combat Veteran.

I have tried to make this novel historically correct and I believe my perceptions of the events which take place are accurate. Having the advantage of hindsight makes it much easier to criticize. The primary characters only exist in my mind, therefore their exposure to real individuals could never have happened. I have tried to be correct in assessing what would have happened if my fictional characters had interacted with real individuals.

To absent companions!

Chapter 1

The color of the bars was more black than gray. First Lieutenant Albert Houer always thought they would be gray. The man looking back at him through the bars did not care what color they were.

Lt. Houer didn’t look very good at the moment. His fine, straight Winston nose had been rearranged by the man looking through the bars at him. Lt. Houer did not wish to meet the bigger man’s eyes or see the smile that he was sure was there. He wanted to determine the true color of the bars.

Lt. Albert Houer’s dilemma was to determine if Corporal Booth, the man in the cell, was at fault. Sure he had broken Lt. Houer’s nose, but he didn’t know Houer’s rank at that moment. Houer had physically initiated the confrontation. Did that make it his fault? There had to be an honorable way out for both men.

Al Houer was a man of honor, not by training but by tradition. He was the third generation Army officer on his father’s side. He was the third generation graduate from Virginia Military Institute (VMI), with honors. His father and grandfather both wore the rank of general. His mother’s father was the honorable senator from the State of Virginia in his fourth term. It was a heritage of honor that the young man was determined to continue. He knew no other way.

Young Al Houer was a natural student and a better than average athlete. He dominated most of his contemporaries at VMI in academics, boxing and fencing. Boxing and fencing required the same skills: superb concentration, reflexes, stamina and controlled aggression. These skills would temper him into a fine officer if he lived through the Korean War.

Corporal William B. Booth was very similar to the man staring at the bars. Booth was not happy about being in the brig on Kyushu Island, Japan. It was an old building that was always damp and the facilities were rotting. His unit, the 21st Infantry Regiment, would be deploying for Korea in less than a week, so they saw no reason to build a new jail just for one Corporal Booth.

Booth had arrived at the same spot in time with Houer through completely different paths. Booth was born in Midland, Texas in 1927, the son of an oil field roughneck. Houer was born in Washington D.C. in 1925, the son of a captain in the army, grandson of General Norman G. Houer and Senator Whorton Winston. Houer was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a rifle in his hands. Booth was born in a tent with a shovel in his hands.

Corporal, where are you from, in the states? Lt. Houer was delaying his decision on what to do about Corporal Booth. He wanted to know more about this big man.

Sir, I am from Wyoming but started out in Texas. I went to college at the U of Michigan. Booth had put on his Texas twang for the L.T. Where are you all from, I mean in the states?

Are you mocking me soldier?

No sir, I am genuinely interested. Booth was mocking, but he decided that this shavetail lieutenant might have some control over his immediate comfort.

I am from Virginia, but have lived all over the world. We spent a lot of years in China before WWII. I am your worst nightmare-- a career Army officer raised in and by the Army.

Booth was not intimidated. Sir, can I use that line? That was great. Did you get it from the movies or out of a book? ‘Your worst nightmare,’ what a line. Lt. Houer had to smile at the line he had thrown out.

I don’t know, Corporal. It does sound a little corny now that I hear it back. You’ll have to bear with me. I’ve had a hell of a long eighteen months, and it does not seem to be getting any better.

Booth was less than interested in the troubles of this young lieutenant, but the officer was on the right side of the bars and pretty much in control of Booth’s future at the moment.

I know what you mean, Booth drawled. He settled into the tiny bunk as best he could and asked the shavetail with the racoon face just how it was he got to Kyushu, Japan.

That’s a long story, Corporal.

I got nothin’ but time, sir.

"Well, after infantry officer basic and airborne training at Ft. Benning, Ga., my mother ordered my father to get me transferred to D.C. so she could see me now and again. I was one of many briefing officers and gophers in Washington when General Willoughby, General MacArthur’s G-2, saw a report I did on the North Korean and Communist Chinese armies and their attempt to bring in and supply troops in Manchuria.

I made the assumption that North Korea was going to strike south in the spring of 1950 and the Russians were going to put pressure on the Communist Chinese to back them. Willoughby liked the report so well that he drug my ass to Japan to work with the Military Intelligence group. It is now the spring of 1950 and the North has still not moved south, but both sides are moving troops around and posturing. I am sure my analysis will prove to be true, but it might happen a little later than I originally thought. Anyway, Willoughby believes that my assumptions are correct, meaning he has the same scenario.

Booth detected the soft, cultured drawl of American aristocracy in the lieutenant’s speech. Booth had dated a pretty blonde from Virginia with the same drawl, who would take anything off but her gloves.

Of course, you know the part about Military Intelligence. Lt. Houer could not resist the dig. At any rate, being around General MacArthur has a tendency to bloat my ego at times. He and General Willoughby know my father, which does give me a lot of freedom for a junior grade officer. They have given me a new mission and I’ve been looking for personnel to join my team. Then I got hit by this big dumb corporal and you know the rest of the story. So tell me, how did you manage to be at that NCO club just in time to make contact with my face?

Booth was uncomfortable with the lieutenant exchanging personal information with him. But if telling about his life would get him out of the brig and back to his unit before they left, he would tell the L.T. anything he wanted to know, even if he had to make it up.

I am truly sorry, Lieutenant, but I have spent my life hitting people. The University gave me a full ride because I could run fast and hit hard. I’d be playing football this year with the Chicago Bears if Uncle Sam had let me be. Don’t get me wrong, I want to serve my country. I want to kill commies as much as the next guy. I want to be a good soldier like my brother was during the big war. Booth didn’t mention that his brother had also died in that war. Houer noticed Booth’s twang was disappearing.

OK, Corporal, tell me why you are not an officer if you went to college. Houer was getting interested. There was more to this man than he originally anticipated.

I didn’t say anything about graduating. I hit a coach during spring training my junior year and was not allowed to come back my senior year. I tried out with the Bears and then got drafted. Hell, I was even engaged to be married to a yell leader when I hit that fuckin’ coach. She broke it off when she found out I would not be playing for Michigan my senior year. The football hero and the yell leader -- the American dream.

It would seem that hitting people has a tendency to change your life, not always for the better. You might want to see about changing that part of your personality.

Are you mocking me, Lieutenant? Booth said it with a chuckle in his voice.

I need to think about your, er, our situation. I’ll be back in a few hours. Al walked out sniffing the air, trying to decide what the smell was. Booth was the only man being held. He deduced that the aroma must be from the disinfectant the Japanese were using.

Corporal William B. Booth had lived and worked a farm with his family outside of Austin, Texas as a kid growing up. His father had a job running a small oil field. He took care of the equipment and made sure everything was maintained and in perfect order. It was a good job during the Great Depression. The wells were pumped by a large steam driven engine that pushed and pulled horizontal rod lines across the field. These lines snaked over to the wells’ rotating bell cranks that pulled vertical rod lines up and down activating a pump at the bottom of the well. The oil tank battery consisted of a number of redwood tanks that always needed the bands adjusted to keep them from leaking, a three-phase separator, and a lot of old equipment. Henry and Lettie, William Booth’s parents, took care of almost all repairs using the little spud rig and pole pulling unit when necessary. The boys started helping when they got big enough.

Lettie Booth always pounded the need for education into her sons. She would not let them work or play until their studies were finished --hers and the school’s. One weekend a month, Henry would walk the primary oil pipe line from his tank battery to the tank farm. It was a two-day walk which required Lettie to pick him up in the company Ford Model T pickup on the second day at the tank farm. The boys loved the two-day walk. They took picnic lunches and bedrolls. It was a camp out.

Magnolia Oil bought the oil field that Henry Booth took care of in 1943. They were impressed by Henry’s honesty and hard work and promoted him to field foreman and transferred him to Big Piney, Wyoming, the coldest place in the continental US on any given day. Henry and William loved it, but Lettie hated the cold and got cabin fever. Lettie always wanted to know where the Big Pine trees were. She was positive that Jim Bridger had to cut them all down for firewood to survive. William’s older brother, Robert, would never live to see it. It was 1944.

William B. Booth grew to be six foot five and 220 pounds. He could run the hundred yard dash in close to ten seconds flat, with or without his pads on. He was a punishing tailback and linebacker. During his high school senior year, he was the best football player in the state, maybe the nation. The University of Michigan offered him a full ride scholarship on the word of an old friend, Gail Brelsford, retired Chicago Bear lineman and superintendent of Magnolia Oil’s operations in Wyoming. Booth majored in mechanical engineering with a minor in chemistry. He was an excellent student and could have been a great pro football player. His temper and the Korean conflict changed his life.

Lt. Al Houer had been given a lot of freedom to form a clandestine unit within the Military Intelligence community under the control of the G-2. He thought Corporal Booth might be one for his team. Houer was close to six foot tall and 160 pounds but he felt small next to Booth, which was something he was not used to. He decided to make Booth an offer that afternoon. If the big man could not see the advantage of joining his team, he would leave him in the brig until his unit left and then have the talk one more time. It would not do the Army any good to leave Booth incarcerated.

The whole mess started when Lt. Houer went to Camp Wood on Kyushu Island, Japan to look for possible recruits for his new team and to report on the readiness of the 21st Infantry Regiment. It was made up of a lot of reservists without much training or experience. Houer had found the men in the unit to be willing enough, but they needed more training and experienced officers. Their equipment was not suited to fight a war during the winter months in Korea. After several days at Camp Wood, Houer was not making any further progress. The officers thought of him as a spy from headquarters, rather than someone that might be able to improve the situation.

Lt. Houer, like all Military Intelligence personnel, did not wear rank. There were advantages and disadvantages. The one perk that Houer liked was being able to go to either the NCO or Officers Club. The NCO clubs tended to be more fun, have better food, and one could pick up good information. This is where he ran into Corporal Booth, or rather his fist.

The bartender wanted to know what rank Lt. Houer was before he would serve him.

I am with Military Intelligence and all of us are either officers or NCO’s.

Sitting at a table behind Lt. Houer was William B. Booth. I hear that Military Intelligence is an oxymoron. None of the NCO’s at Booth’s table laughed, since they had no idea about the definition of oxymoron. Lt. Houer, however, did, and he was tired, hungry and thirsty and he sure as hell did not have to take this shit.

Houer turned from the bar and asked the rather large corporal for an apology. Booth laughed and said you bet. Al Houer got in Booth’s face and demanded an apology. For a big man, Booth moved very fast. He had the irritating Military Intelligence fag turned and shoved back to the bar before Lt. Houer realized what happened. Booth was not looking to get into it with some MI shithead, but he would not run away. Unfortunately, Lt. Houer did not realize he was dealing with someone who had little respect for him or his organization. A man had to earn respect from the Booths of this world. Besides, he was not wearing any rank.

Al Houer came bouncing over to Corporal William B. Booth in the classic boxing position: hands up, left hand out, fingers curled into a fist, left foot in front of the right. Booth hit him on the nose before Houer could throw a left jab. When he hit Houer, it broke his nose and blacked both eyes. Houer had never been hit that hard, ever, and he had been captain of the VMI boxing team.

The MPs asked Corporal Booth to come with them as soon as they got Lt. Houer’s bleeding under control. In later years, Booth would comment that it had been a two-hit fight. He hit Houer and Houer hit the floor.

Lt. Al Houer had run the confrontation through his mind a hundred times before going back to talk to Booth. He was not sure who should be in the brig, him or Booth or maybe both of them. But he doubted if there would ever be another fistfight started over that classic fightin’ word, oxymoron.

When Houer got to Booth’s cell, Booth was sitting on his bunk reading. He presented his offer as quickly and precisely as possible.

Let me get this straight. If I voluntarily join your little unit, then I’m out of here with nothing on my record. If I don’t, I stay in this shithole until someone decides to let me out and then possibly get a dishonorable discharge to boot.

Lt. Houer sniffed around the room and definitely decided the smell was from the disinfectant they used and not Booth. That was indeed the deal he had originally worked out in his mind, but now, sitting in front of the man who had bested him, he had a change of heart. To force this man to come with him would not give Lt. Houer the loyalty he wanted and needed from his people. They would be working without supervision and, at times, making up their own parameters and missions. And, Lt. Houer knew that seventy-five percent of the Forces in Korea had it worse than Booth in the brig. The man would be smarter to remain in his cell.

Corporal, I have changed my mind now that I see you up close again. I think you would be an asset to my unit, but I cannot blackmail you into joining it. I’ll drop the charges and you can get the first available transportation to join your old company. I’ll make the arrangements. Lt. Houer at times spoke very fast, chopping off the end of each word, making him sound much like an old water-cooled machine gun. It was a habit he would try to correct over the years, but it would always return at times of stress.

Booth was puzzled by the man in front of him. Booth’s experience with officers had not been good. The only reason he had made corporal quickly was because of his test scores and because he changed units so often. The officer that had promoted him to corporal would take it back now, if he had the chance. Not because Booth was not a good hand, he just did not handle authority well. He was also smarter than most of the officers he worked for.

"You buy me a big steak and explain to me what you do again. If the steak