Hard luck 2nd squad following us in their M113--maneuvering carefully thru a Korean town.


Who is that asshole not wearing a helmet?
Korea, early 1990.

 It was a cold winter morning and the company of ~22 vehicles were rumbling thru a little Korean hamlet. The Wolverines were packed into four M113 tracked vehicles. I was starting to get the hang of being the platoon leader of the Wolverines, the proud 28 life-takers and heartbreakers of 2nd Plt, Bravo company, 5-20 Infantry (Mechanized).

In each of our M113s was a driver, TC (track commander), and a squad of infantry.  In each track, some of the squad were crammed inside dozing and those that got coffee that morning were standing up thru the top hatch watching the snow covered countryside go by. Korea has 2 seasons...pretty damned cold and pretty damned wet. January was cold.  Everyone standing up in the track was bundled up against the wind-chill inevitable in a moving vehicle.

The Army balaclava. This was a highly coveted bit of "snivel gear" for winter tracked vehicle movements.  It's made of very thick wool and tightly covers head and neck. The balaclava made the bitter 10deg wind-blast endurable.

As we moved into the little snowy hamlet, all of us continually buffeted around inside the clumsy and roaring tracked vehicles, I could see a couple HMMWVs pulled off the road up ahead. The pattern of how they stood said to me "senior officers and strap hangers." Being no dummy, I did a quick check of the forward squad and the two to rear to confirm that every head sticking up from a 2nd platoon track had a helmet on it. With all that brass up ahead, god help the idiot in an armored vehicle without a helmet on.

The platoon sergeant was, as usual in the last track. That was particularly good because the last track was 2nd squad and their squad leader was weak.  Having the platoon sergeant ride with the weak squad leader helped the latter to suck less.

As we got closer I saw general's stars on one of the HMMWVs. "Ah, the division commanding general", I noted. I transmitted on the platoon radio net "This is 2-6. That's the commanding general, stand tall, over."  Meaning "squad leaders, do a quick scan and fix any shit-bags within view."

 "6" is military parlance for the commander. My boss, the B (Bravo) company commander, was Bravo 6. The earnest and proud 2nd platoon leader was Bravo 2-6.


My track, (bumper number) B24, having a bad day. Left to right, me, Spc Vaars and Spc Ortner. They were both bright, hard-working, and great fun to be around.

Up ahead our lead track was passing the knot of senior officers. The lead squad had a particularly good squad leader, so they were always squared away. As my track rumbled up to the officers I could sense their close attention on us, or maybe on me in particular. So with my torso sticking up out of the troop hatch, I stood particularly straight and tall. I didn't want to gawk at the commanding general; I was a squared away professional, a leader of men, and I had a job to do. I kept my steely eyes forward on the horizon and my square jaw firmly in profile.

Moments later, an annoyed Division Commander radioed one of his Brigade Commanders.

 "I'm watching one of your battalions go by. A 113 just drove by me and someone didn't have their goddamned helmet on. That sounds to me like a leadership failure. Pls find out for me which one of your company commanders just moved thru <hamlet name>."  Being on the Division Command radio net, the entire division leadership of ~100 senior officers must have heard this exchange.

The Brigade Cdr got on the Brigade Command radio net. Every battalion and all the attached units heard him say "For the love of god, who driving through <hamlet name> right now? The CG (Commanding General) says that some idiot in a 113 just rolled right by him with no fucking helmet on."

Our Battalion Cdr got on the Battalion Command radio net and radioed all the companies and supporting elements: "The Commanding General would like to know which company has the idiot that just rolled by him w/o a fucking helmet."

I wasn't on any of those radio nets, so I had no idea all that happened.

Then my company radio spoke in a weary voice "All Bravo elements, this is 6 (my Company Commander). The CG was in that hamlet and says someone didn't have their helmet on. Check and confirm that your troops have their damned helmets on."

I knew 2nd platoon was good because I'd checked before we got to the general. But, just to confirm, I quickly eyeballed the track in front of me and the 2 tracks behind me. Everyone had their helmet on. I shrugged my shoulders and transmitted, "6, this is 2-6, we're good."

Which is when my radio operator nudged me, pointed to my head and whispered--"sir, it was you."

I looked at him in confusion. What the fuck did "Sir it was you", mean? No way it was me. I could feel the weight and grip of my helmet on my head. We'd been in this movement for hours, for crying out loud. I reached up and gave my helmet a hard and re-assuring whack with a knuckle. But, to my horror, instead of a nudge on my helmet, I felt the whack on my head. The heavy balaclava had bound my head so tightly that it had felt like the re-assuring weight of my helmet. Apparently I had not been wearing my helmet all goddamned morning as we rumbled mile after mile down narrow frozen Korean roads. My shoulders slumped with mortification. This was a very personal fuck-up and I'd embarrassed my entire chain of command. Shit.

I reached for the handset connected to the radio on the Company Command net. I brought the handset to my cheek, pressed the Push-To-Talk button and with a voice full of despair, said "Bravo 6, this is 2-6.  Sir, it was me.  Not someone in the platoon.  Me." 


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