From: Cub Driver look@m

A friend of mine served with the British army in Korea and used to
tell stories about the Americans' dislike of personal combat--using
artillery instead of sending out a patrol,

That's the American way of war: Fire kills.

But when you read of
the campaigns in WWII and Korea, what's astonishing is the williness
to take huge casualties. Units routinely lost 10 percent of their
strength in 48 hours--that sort of thing.

Yes. It makes you puzzle over why, today, a handful of casualties so small
they wouldn't have even been enumerated--only listed as "light"--causes such
national upset.

I suppose it was Vietnam that changed that, as it changed so many
things.

I suppose so, too. That was the great watershed, in so many ways. It wasn't
WW2 or Korea that really changed the character of the country. It was Vietnam.
Just like there was America before and after the Civil War, so is there
America before and after Vietnam.

It is always good to hear from you, Chris. Your posts are a pillar of
sanity on this newsgroup.

Most kind of you to say so. Right back at you.

On the subject of Hangnam, it is pretty much a forgotten episode. The Marines
battle at Chosin is rightly remembered, as they went through the Chicoms like
Caesar through Gaul. (Wasn't that where Chesty Puller said, "They've got us
surrounded--they won't get away this time!) But the Army was there, too (and
the Air Force!). A few memories stand out for me. One was, having driven our
jeep up to a high point to get better radio reception, one of the boys looked
around at the scene and said, "Well, I wouldn't have believed it, but it's
true--hell can freeze over." (I think that was actually a pretty common line
during the Korean War, but it was the first time I had heard it.) And another
one was a casual comment I heard, one dogface saying to another, "What the hell
are you bitching about? You're getting paid $2.60 a day ain't you?"

Don Chase, 1/15/3, penned some pretty decent poems about the Wonsan-Hangnam
episode. A sample:

"Fallen Comrades"

No matter what I'm doing, or where my steps may roam,
I think about my comrades who never came back home.
Many years have passed, but my memory hasn't dimmed;
A picture of those men, still clings and lies within.

I see their unlined faces, which never did grow old;
The shy, timid, withdrawn ones, and also those so bold.
Still hear their youthful banter, brightening many dreary days,
Keeping all their fear Inside, each one in different ways.

Yet all did their duty, as good soldiers do so well,
Existing under conditions, that offtimes were sheer hell.
I remember all the sharing, both rations and packages from wives;
This generousness of spirit, always kept so much alive.

All of this stays with me, ever turning in my mind,
Faces drifting pass my eyes, from another place and time.
So many times I've wondered, why them instead of me?
Maybe in some future world, I'll be allowed to see.

****

Excerpt from a longer poem, "Ballad of a Retreat"

They had us all surrounded,
I could hear them scream and yell,
My feelings at that moment,
No tongue could ever tell.
I saw the bursting mortar shells,
And the bullets around me flew,
As all my strength had left me,
And all my courage too.

With the breaking of the morning,
Just before the dawn,
I heard the sounding bugles,
And the big attack was on.
The cotton quilted uniforms
Against our bullet spree,
The screaming yelling banzai,
They called the human sea.

Baby faces bearded,
And chapped with hardenin'mud,
Parkas that were dirty,
And stained with frozen blood.
Here a bunch of youngsters,
Who fought on till the end,
In the battle without an end,
Where boys were changed to men.

Twelve long miles of convoy,
Headed for the sea,
Roadblocks at every turning,
Down to the frozen sea.
The frost bite and the wounded,
With their dead and dying too,
No matter what the objective be,
These boys were going through,
The Captain he informed us.

Perhaps he thought it right,
That before we reach the river, boys,
We're going to have a fight.
We're going out like Americans,
In an organized withdrawal,
And no matter what the rumors say,
It's no retreat at all.

We fought at least nine hours,
Before the strife was o'er
And the like of dead and wounded,
I've never seen before.
But the everlasting promise,
Kept along each bloody yard,
No one leaves behind the wounded,
'Cause there ain't no fight that hard.

The chaplain collected dog tags,
In his hands were quite a few,
There was Captain Smith's, McCloskie's,
And Corporal Bryan's too.
And before we reached the river,
And fought our way back through,
The sergeant had the dog tags,
And he had the chaplain's too....
.....

If I made you pause one moment,
And take a little time,
Then I know it wasn't just in vain,
That I put these words to rhyme.
For there're just too many people,
Who take this all in stride,
Who hear these tales of battles,
Then cast it all aside...


Chris Mark