SOLDIERS Magazine March 1992 Page 1

Just Call

KC-39

Story and Photos by SSgt. William H. McMichael

nications chain for U.S. forces in the Republic of Korea.

The team, known by its call sign KC-39, retransmits radio messages sent by ground units and aircraft that would otherwise be swallowed up by the region's signal-swallowing terrain. During combat, the station would relay requests for follow-on forces and supplies. For an injured soldier at a distant accident site, KC-39 can mean the difference between living and dying.

Off duty, those on Hill 754 must choose between living and dying of boredom. The team has made the conscious decision to live, and live relatively well. "The Boyz," as they call themselves, have their own unique set of straightforward rules of conduct that are posted on a list next to the radio room.

Right: Spec. Rob Roberts and PFC Danny Davis on Hill 754. • Below: PFC Kenneth Lewers, on the job.

WHEN the icy gales of winter roar down from the north, the steep, winding road that curls around Korea's Hill 754 turns slick as an Alaskan glacier. On foot, the descent would be long and treacherous. A vehicle attempting the trip would literally slide off the mountain.

Stranded at the peak are a handful of soldiers who perform their mission in a tiny, fenced-in complex of bunkers and buildings. Except for an occasional visit by a supply helicopter, they are completely cut off from the outside world. For months, they spend every waking hour with the same people, doing the same things, in very close quarters.

But man is an adaptable creature, and the 2nd Infantry Division soldiers assigned here have learned to adapt and overcome. Not doing so would critically weaken an important link in the commu-

Newly assigned soldiers quickly learn to fall in line, and usually do. If they don't, they're quickly shown the door.

"There's no room up here for pretending," said SFC Melvin Cheeley of Company C, 122nd Signal Battalion, the site noncommissioned officer in charge. "You're talking about guys you're with

SOLDIERS



Just Call KC-39
Story and Photos by SSgt. William H. McMichael	nications chain for U.S. forces in the Republic of Korea. The team, known by its call sign KC-39, retransmits radio messages sent by ground units and aircraft that would otherwise be swallowed up by the region's signal-swallowing terrain. During combat, the station would relay requests for follow-on forces and supplies. For an injured soldier at a distant accident site, KC-39 can mean the difference between living and dying. Off duty, those on Hill 754 must choose between living and dying of boredom. The team has made the conscious decision to live, and live relatively well. "The Boyz," as they call themselves, have their own unique set of straightforward rules of conduct that are posted on a list next to the radio room. Right: Spec. Rob Roberts and PFC Danny Davis on Hill 754. • Below: PFC Kenneth Lewers, on the job.
WHEN the icy gales of winter roar down from the north, the steep, winding road that curls around Korea's Hill 754 turns slick as an Alaskan glacier. On foot, the descent would be long and treacherous. A vehicle attempting the trip would literally slide off the mountain. Stranded at the peak are a handful of soldiers who perform their mission in a tiny, fenced-in complex of bunkers and buildings. Except for an occasional visit by a supply helicopter, they are completely cut off from the outside world. For months, they spend every waking hour with the same people, doing the same things, in very close quarters. But man is an adaptable creature, and the 2nd Infantry Division soldiers assigned here have learned to adapt and overcome. Not doing so would critically weaken an important link in the commu-

		Newly assigned soldiers quickly learn to fall in line, and usually do. If they don't, they're quickly shown the door. "There's no room up here for pretending," said SFC Melvin Cheeley of Company C, 122nd Signal Battalion, the site noncommissioned officer in charge. "You're talking about guys you're with SOLDIERS