Like a calf following its mother, I anxiously followed him to my new home. With moonlight shining on its roof, I could see brittle, pale weeds twisted among scattered rocks and soil. He pulled aside a limp and filthy OD blanket, the door to a 6′ x 8′ hole in the ground called a bunker. We entered. I stepped onto a slick floor of earth tamped down from months of traffic. Jagged earthen walls conspired with the floor to radiate a chilling cold and dampness. Before he left, Springer introduced me to Jesse, who was sitting on three empty, stacked grenade boxes.<\/p>\n
Am I expected to sleep here? Will this be home? Until when? I was raised in a humble home in the Bronx. I slept on a convertible couch in the living room whose piercing springs were covered by a thin fabric, over which Ma placed a blanket. This had been my mattress at home. But wrapped in my clammy fatigues, I was totally unprepared for a sleeping bag rolled out over my poncho on a damp, slick floor.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cWelcome home,\u201d said Jesse.<\/p>\n \u201cWelcome home?\u201d I replied. \u201cDon’t tell me you can sleep through the night in this miserable damp box.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThrough the night, every night. No more of that. You’re not stateside. You\u2019re not in the artillery. You\u2019re not in the tanks. You\u2019re a dogface. We take guard duty every two hours.\u201d<\/p>\n Pointing to his rolled out sleeping bag he said,<\/p>\n \u201cWhen I’m not on guard or on a patrol, this is my innerspring mattress.\u201d Then he recited lines from a blues song by Brownie McGhee:<\/p>\n Rocks has been my pillow, \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/em>Cold ground’s been my bed, \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/em>Blue sky’s been my blanket, \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/em>And the moonlight’s been my spread.<\/em><\/p>\n These words resonated within me for a few days. Soon they became my way of life.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Adapted from:\u00a0Cold Ground\u2019s Been My Bed: A <\/em>Korean War Memoir <\/em>by Daniel Wolfe<\/p>\n danielwolfebooks@aol.com<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Will I Ever Walk On Asphalt Again? Chorwon Valley, Korea March 1952 The sun had just dipped below a cragged chain of mountains to the west. A bumpy ten-minute ride from battalion headquarters brought us to Company L\u2019s position on the MLR (front line). The rain let up. My body, warming my wet fatigues, itched… Continue reading Will I Ever Walk On Asphalt Again?<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[528,107,527],"class_list":["post-3216","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-6x8-bunker","tag-cold-grounds-been-my-bed","tag-company-l-on-the-mlr-main-line-of-resistance","entry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.danielwolfebooks.com\/danielsblog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3216","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.danielwolfebooks.com\/danielsblog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.danielwolfebooks.com\/danielsblog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.danielwolfebooks.com\/danielsblog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.danielwolfebooks.com\/danielsblog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3216"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"http:\/\/www.danielwolfebooks.com\/danielsblog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3216\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3394,"href":"http:\/\/www.danielwolfebooks.com\/danielsblog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3216\/revisions\/3394"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.danielwolfebooks.com\/danielsblog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3216"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.danielwolfebooks.com\/danielsblog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3216"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.danielwolfebooks.com\/danielsblog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3216"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"Incoming](\"http:\/\/www.danielwolfebooks.com\/danielsblog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/12\/Incoming-WP-Round.jpg\")
<\/a>