Fifties Frogs Magazine

Vol 7

Pg 4

Night Operations—Chet Bright
 

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In response to the request for sea stories I would like to submit the following. It is not a tale of exploits of UDT in battle. It is a tale of action after working hours, on liberty.

It was during the Korean conflict, and the teams were busy with a new assignment, that of destroying bridges parallel to the coast. We worked at night, deep within enemy territory behind the lines.

We would go ashore trying to avoid detection, place our charges on time delay and return to the mother ship prior to the detonation. Needless it was risky work.

Between missions we returned to our home base, Camp McGill. Camp McGill was an old WW II Japanese army camp located in Takiyama, a small town about fifteen miles west of Yokosuka. The area surrounding the base was restricted to military personnel and paroled by military police. Many saki houses and houses of ill repute had set up shop there. This was our training area where we spent our off duty hours. It was a great game that we enjoyed very much. Deep down we knew that if we could not operate and survive here we would never make it behind the lines in Korea. So we made the most of liberties in this restricted area usually going ashore out of uniform, in our work greens or what ever we happened to have on. Instead of the main gate we went over under or through the chain link fence that surrounded Camp McGill. Then we would gather at a saki house for an evening of drinking and hell raising, returning to camp in the early morning hours the same way we left it. The MPs were on to our night operations and were determined to put a stop to it. This raised the stakes and made the game even better.

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Cont-

One such night, a large group of us had gathered at one of our favorite sake houses. We had stationed a boy outside to watch for MP’s, and the booze was flowing freely. Suddenly our lookout ran inside shouting MP., MP. All hands ran outside to find a hiding place. There happened to be an old Japanese truck parked out front. About a dozen team members elected to hide there. They got under it, in it, on top of it, any place there was room to squeeze in a body. The remainder of us got down in the weeds and bushes. The MP jeep pulled up, they turned off their lights and engine. It was deathly still and quiet. A first class gunner’s mate by the name of John Ingram was hiding behind a large bush with me and screamed at the top of his lungs, "Those bastards are hiding in the truck!" Words cannot describe the scene that followed, the noise, the screaming, and the yelling, to say nothing of the damage suffered by the old truck as a dozen drunken frogs tried desperately to separate themselves from their respective hiding places, in around, under and on top of the truck and trying to escape the hands of the law. A few were captured and spent the night in the brig, but most made a clean getaway and returned to camp

After a few nights on the town such as this, the beaches of Korea seemed almost peaceful.

Editor's Note: I know I’ve typed this article before. But it’s worth it. I’m sure there are frogs out there that haven’t read it. Just another chronicle.

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