Over the course of 28 years as an Army officer, I’ve spent a lot of time away from home over the holiday season. In fact, in all that time I’ve only made it back to Wisconsin for one Christmas and two Thanksgivings. While this partially reflects the fact that I’ve spent the vast majority of my time on active duty stationed on the other side of the world, it also hints at a growing familiarity I’ve gained there … well … here in Northeast Asia.
The extensive amount of time I’ve spent in Korea and Japan have provided me an interesting perspective, I think, one that’s perhaps more in tune with the history and cultures here. That perspective, and an ever-growing proclivity to seek out interesting historical facts, has led in turn to a realization of the hardships endured by so many here on the Korean Peninsula over so many years.
Okay … so you might be wondering how I got to this point, right? It is the joyous season after all! Well, believe it or not while shooting my bow this past Wednesday I had an epiphany—if such an obvious thought can be so grandly labeled. You see, it’s cold in Korea right now, and that night was colder than most. And while the ambient temperature was enough to make most folks remain inside, the wind was blowing at about 15 miles per hour, dropping the temperature to the low single digits. “The Hawk” we used to call it, back when I served up north near the Demilitarized Zone, screams down out of Siberia, and penetrates any amount or type of clothing one can layer on. And there I was—no kidding—standing gloveless and hatless on an archery firing line launching blunted arrows at wooden targets.
Few were shooting with me that day, and the long walk down to retrieve our arrows indicated why that was the case. IT WAS COLD!!! In fact, I can honestly say I haven’t felt that cold since I left Alaska back in 1999. Yet on one of those long, quiet walks back from the target the Hawk caught me full in the face and I swear I could feel parts of me freezing in mid-stride. It was at that very moment I gained a tiny bit of appreciation for the difficulty endured by soldiers, warriors, partisans, and guerrillas who found themselves, of necessity, fighting a war on this Peninsula, in this very weather.
Most of you are, I think, aware of the exploits of the U.S. 1st Marine Division and its painful, fighting extraction from North Korea around the Chosin Reservoir. For those who are not, I’ll summarize. Roughly twenty-five thousand men of the 1st Division found themselves cut off by Chinese forces near Chosin in late November of 1950. Forced to either surrender or fight their way south to the port of Hungnam, the Marines unsurprisingly chose the latter. Over the course of the next three weeks, they fought a running battle, in sub-zero temperatures, over some of the worst terrain on the planet, with the veteran Chinese 9th Army, a hundred and twenty thousand strong.
Through incredible and repeated feats of heroism and sacrifice, the Marines reached the port city on 11 December, having sustained just shy of eighteen thousand casualties. Throughout the prolonged series of engagements, they inflicted nearly fifty thousand casualties upon the Chinese 9th Army. This was a battle that went down into the annals of Marine Corps history, a testament to the toughness, grit, and sheer determination of those “Frozen Chosen” as they were called.
Consider that for a second. That was 1950, just seventy odd years ago. Fairly modern, I would say, at least when it comes to conjuring up all the things one might want to have with them to fight in the extreme cold. Yet those have been the normal conditions combatants in Korea have always faced, should the calendar make its fateful turn around Christmas and the new year. In fact, it might just help explain how Koreans at various times during their history, have successfully fought, against the odds, to defeat overwhelming enemy forces.
The Japanese invasions, 1592-98, are a wonderful example, given how much operational maneuvering took place during the winter of 92-93. Japanese troops swept rather easily up the peninsula during the summer and autumn months but were completely unprepared for what came next. What ALWAYS comes next in Korea. The unseasonable cold that year battered the invaders during Konishi Yukinaga’s retreat from Pyongyang in February of 1593, and made life absolutely miserable for Kato Kiyomasa’s withdrawal from the Northeast later that same month.
Both of these commanders, and their bedraggled, frozen men, were lucky to have made it back to Seoul with their lives. Their winter ordeals in the mountains of Korea changed both men. Konishi became the single most outspoken advocate amongst senior Japanese leaders for a negotiated settlement and withdrawal from the peninsula. Kato—up to that time the most aggressive commander amongst samurai known for aggressive action—settled down to a pattern of castle building and defending for the duration of the war. Neither, it seems, was ever again willing to go on the offensive during a Korean winter.
As most of you know, I love to visit old Korean fortifications, but I’ve found myself more than once climbing steep steps along a wall wondering at the poor fellows who had to do so when the temperatures plunged below zero. Those guys—tough as woodpecker lips—from ancient Gojoseon through the end of the Yi Dynasty, walked those same stone steps without any of our modern conveniences. No poly-pro underwear, no vapor barrier boots, no micro-fleece or Gortex jackets. Those guys did their duty and stood their posts, for over two thousand years, enduring the cold without so much as a single chemical heating packet. And through their efforts, this tiny nation and its determined people have survived innumerable invasions.
Today, ask any soldier who’s spent time up along the DMZ in January. We can all testify as to why Korean troops even today have a reputation for physical toughness. It’s cold … deadly cold. And when the Hawk comes screaming down out of the north … there’s just no place to hide.
I look around me today at a thriving Republic of Korea. The lights, the joy, a people full of life and living it. Koreans—especially younger Koreans—enjoy the holidays, running from Christmas through to the New Year. And why shouldn’t they? They’re living life on their terms in a free and prosperous nation.
All of us have so much to give thanks for this holiday season, but every single one of us should probably spend at least a moment or two in silent reflection, remembering those who endured so much on our behalf. Many of the survivors of Chosin and other battles fought during the winter of 50-51 are still with us, scarred to their core, perhaps, by the things they saw and endured. Wherever we are, wherever we find them, we should probably thank them for their service. And help them to see that without their efforts, their sacrifice, no such world as the very vibrant one I see around me every day would even exist.
Something to ponder, perhaps, as you exchange gifts, sip your egg nog, or even shovel snow.
Merry Christmas!
M. G. Haynes