The Bandido
"X-Ray Easy" wasn't so "Easy" (Chapter 4 is a wrap)
So, chapter four will wrap here. We should never forget, Korea: the forgotten war, is a testament to the men who fought. Those who went and never made it home: forgotten. And those who went and made it home: forgotten. The worst part is those who served politically to line their pockets monetarily at the expense of those who went to survive or die. I’ve dedicated two chapters to this conflict, believing that WE as a people soon forget the past, never understanding that the past will quickly be repeated if there is money to be made. The last three paragraphs tell the tale. I have the original onion paper typed copy:
Flights had a name and call sign. When Chico became Flight Lead, he used “Ugly.” Additionally, the grid system on maps were two letters followed with a sequence of numbers. “XE” or “X-Ray Easy” was on the Yalu. So far north, someone had the audacity to call it easy. If for some reason a pilot was downed, he was on his own. Too far for a helicopter or be covered by CAP (combat air patrol). There were times when guys were seen going down; others saw a chute, but only a few came home. Other times, they thought the pilot bought the farm, yet he made it. No rhyme or reason.
Every night, a fragmentation order or “Frag” was sent from group operations to the 49th Bomber Group. From there, the squadron operations officers or ops scheduled flights for the different missions requested in the day’s workload. Sorties were anything from single ship to flights (4 planes each) or night bombing to multiple flights forming a gaggle. Flying selected zones, pilots scanned for targets of opportunity or if on selected routes, looked for things to destroy. Flights also flew armed reconnaissance missions or “recces:”
“One time we were on an armed recce flying a route up in the North. We were right on the deck (about 500 feet), just flying along the road with trees lining it. We saw some guys, at least me and my number Four saw these guys looking up at us. They were in an American jeep. I knew there were no Americans up there, so it must have been one that they had captured, but it looked like a jeep anyway. We called out to Lead, and we could see him out there. We saw him go around the bend.
When number Four and I got there, all hell broke loose. I mean they had .50 calibers, 20 mm, machine guns, cannon. The first two guys got through. They were ready for us. All I did was hose down [fire guns]. I just hosed whatever I could see and got the hell out of there. Number Four pulled up. We got separated, and my radio went dead right then. I couldn’t find him, so I started for home. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but when I got back, I found out everything was all right.” - Roland X. Solis
In addition to armed recces, there were also weather recces. Two pilots would verify target conditions. Their sole purpose, check for minimums (cloud cover) or mission viability for other flights to get to the target: “One day, I was sitting on the runway waiting to fly a weather recce. It was pouring rain. I mean it was coming down in buckets, and we sat waiting to be launched. It was two of us. I was praying they would call it off; I did not want to go. Well, we sat there for what seemed like hours and they finally aborted the mission; the weather was just too rough.” - Roland X. Solis
Figuratively, the world today is smaller than the 1950s. The Internet has opened an instant worldview of cultures. The population then relied on newspapers or radio to bring world-changing events home. News traveled at a different speed—the antithesis of our time. The television was not in every household and cable TV not even on the drawing board. When the war kicked off, most did not even know there was a Korea, much less why they sent their children to die. Just by stepping onto soil that was like the soil they knew back home; fighter pilots found a world vastly different from theirs. Imagine going from one world to another, yet on the same planet. One of plenty, one of nothing; one of prosperity, one of despair. Throw in combat, and X-Ray Easy delved into a convoluted netherworld of “Is this for real!” One cannot make this up:
“It is bounded on the East by Japanese fishing boats, on the West by the Yellow Sea, on the South by a revolt and on the North by utter confusion. It is divided by a hypothetical parallel that circumscribes the earth and depending on which side you plant your rice paddy determines your politics. It is ideally suited for submarine truck gardening and for people who like to write underwater with a fountain pen. It is inhabited by some thirty million people, half of whom own “honey carts,” the other half are babies. It is a nation of myriads of sticky antagonistic flies, countless and apparently unattached naked children, all with running noses.
Plumbing that defies Newton’s pet theory, horrible bad weather conditions, and housing problems aggravated by a birthrate competitive with white mice or rabbits. Transportation methods that resist description. Everything with the exception of an outboard motor on a wheelbarrow is put into practice. Streetcars that look like refugees from a San Francisco cable line, pregnant motorcycles, horse-drawn trolley, stripped down Army trucks and overbuilt jeeps, versatile bicycles, taxis with co-drivers and the inevitable rickshaw, all of which are completely ignored by the obituous [sic] pedestrian.
Its pet gastronomical delight is a conglomeration of calories that would be revolting even to a crocodile’s digestive system, and it is consumed with a tone likening to an inebriated harelip sucking hot spaghetti out of a soup bowl. It is probable the only country in the world where a germ can be seen with the naked eye. It is unique in that not one of its authors has ever mentioned chronic alcoholism. It is a nation that has amazingly survived over 4,200 years through the flotsam and jetsam of other people’s politics. It is a country where the instinct to survive is greater than the will to live. Most countries leave us with a pleasant memory, but this is a strictly taste in the mouth deal. If you do have memories, they are apt to wake you up in the night screaming at the top of your lungs and beating the hell out of your better half. Let’s call the whole deal off, and fervently pray for a bad case of amnesia.” (Anonymous - 1952)