Bed Check
There were two sounds we never wanted to hear after we sacked in at night.
One was the whoop-whoop of the electric horn that signaled a red alert and the other was the report of the twin 40-mm cannon on the hill above the base.
The response to either one was to roll off our cots into our boondocks, slap on our helmets, grab our carbines, and head for shelter or duty stations.
More often than not, there was no real crisis and we’d soon be allowed to shuffle back to our tents and our interrupted dreams of home.
Occasionally, the threat was sufficient to scramble a flight of Mustangs, the crews fully aware that no North Korean pilot in his right mind would try an attack so deep into American territory.
There was one brave Communist flyer who would sometimes come down in a single engine Piper-type recon aircraft at low altitude and drop two or three hand grenades, just to scare hell out of everybody and spoil their sleep. The troops called him “Bedcheck Charley.”
I somehow missed out on that entertainment, but I can still hear that damned horn in my head.
© Copyright 2008 Buck Matthews. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes without permission in writing from the author. Used with permission by BelleAire Press as a tribute to those American servicemen and women who served during the Korean War.