Korea Remembered

James Kuebler

EDITOR’S NOTE: When our country chooses to fight a war, we know that peace-loving men and women leave their families and the fabric of the life they love to go fight the war for our country, for us. Like the soldier in the picture to the right, they look death in the face. Knowing it may take them; knowing they may be required to kill.

In a fundamental sense they relinquish control of their personal destinies so that we may continue to enjoy ours. They commit to being part of a team playing by and living under the harsh rules of war. These pictures hint at a part of their sacrifice.

If there is a Korean Conflict veteran in your family or neighborhood, now is the time to appreciate him. A soldier 20 years old during that war would now be about 75. Their numbers are shrinking.

Appleton vet James Kuebler recently wrote down his remembrances of service in Korea. Put the stories in the context of the images surrounding this article, and you’ll get a sense of what the war was like for him. A sense of how he still remembers...

 

Welcome to the Neighborhood

Newly arrived, we first moved up the front lines during a blizzard as army trucks snaked their way up a treacherous mountain road to an area known as The Punch Bowl. Our first sight was of filled body bags waiting for the trip down the hill – we were their replacements. A trench line just over the ridge faced the enemy, who were located across a wide, deep valley. Sandbagged and timbered fighting bunkers guarded the steep hillside, and sleeping bunkers had been dug into the hillside behind. The fighting bunkers were manned 24 hours a day and that is where I spent my first night with a warning not to shoot unless absolutely necessary.

After several hours of cold, fatigue and fear, I was certain that the tree stumps and shrubs in front of me were advancing and I opened fire. This brought the soldiers in the sleeping bunker scrambling into the trench and they were not happy to have their infrequent sleep interrupted. In the daylight the sergeant made me memorize every object in the front of the bunker.

 

Hot & Cold Running Memories

We moved to several different areas during the next few months. I experienced the numbing cold of winter when our rifle bolts would sometimes freeze shut. We said that Korea was called “The Land of the Morning Calm” because everything was frozen solid.

In the jungle-like heat and humidity of the valleys, rot would attack our boots and feet. An occasional stream would provide a welcome respite from the heat.

Lasting memories include the arcs of bright tracer fire at night along with flares and the eerie searchlight beams that were bounced off low clouds to reveal any approaching enemy below. The sound of a helicopter still reminds me of their constant flights carrying wounded to the rear.

 

No Pet

When I finally got to use the sleeping bunker, I was surprised to be given a lower bunk that was in the best condition. The bunks consisted of communication wire stretched between poles. Most were sagging, but mine was tight. Later that night I awoke – zipped up to my to my neck in a sleeping bag – with a huge trench rat sitting on my chest. “Welcome to Korea, rookie!”

 

Reach Out and Be Touched

Most action occurred in raids at night, so we had listening posts in front of our lines on the ridges that extended into the valley. A few soldiers with phones manned these. They would warn of any approaching enemy, then they would quickly retreat back to their lines. Sometimes they weren’t alert or quick enough and they just disappeared.

One rainy night, two of us were on a listening post, hunkered down in a depression behind a brush pile. Suddenly an enemy patrol loomed out of the dark and moved right toward us. We agreed to hold our fire until the last second, as it would reveal our position. There were 8 or 10 of them and we would not be able to get all of them before they returned our fire. Suddenly the patrol veered off down the ridge to the valley below, just missing us. In combat areas, survival is often a matter of chance.

A patrol of a dozen or so men was sent into the valley each night. They would follow a known path through the barbed wire and land mines and try to avoid similar enemy patrols. Sometimes they met and a “firefight” would ensue. The wounded would need to be carried back up the steep hill to our lines. Listening post and patrol duty was very unpopular.

 

Incoming Fire

Incoming small arms fire sounded like the loud buzz of angry bee’s before the rounds slammed into sandbags or the dirt trench walls. The vets said, “Don’t worry about the ones you can hear because you don’t hear the one that gets you.” Artillery and mortar fire were the most feared as the jagged shrapnel could cause terrible wounds.

Sometimes a tank would come up the hill where they could fire directly at the enemy across the valley. They would fire a few rounds and leave, provoking a barrage of enemy artillery fire in the attempt to hit the tank. We were never happy to see the tank arrive and threatened to shoot it ourselves.

Occasionally jet planes would come screaming just over our heads to strafe the enemy positions or to drop Napalm bombs, which set the enemies hill ablaze. The North Korean’s probably retreated to a series of deep tunnels and were mostly unaffected by the flames. Once we were near the East Coast and we received a supporting Naval bombardment. This was incredibly loud and shook the ground beneath our feet. We always hoped that they didn’t fire at the wrong hill.

 

Ventilating the Chopper Floor

Helicopters played a large role in Korea due to the rugged terrain of many front line areas. The “choppers” brought in supplies and would also quickly transport the wounded to rear areas saving many lives. The chopper pilots were daring and would often try to rescue other pilots when their planes were shot down.

Once while I was helping to unload a cargo chopper, one of our planes strafing enemy lines was shot down. The chopper pilot took off immediately to try a rescue while I was still aboard. As we flew over enemy lines, I would see and hear small holes form in the chopper floor caused by small arms fire. I had a great deal of uncertainty as to where to stand and finally just sat on top of my helmet. We were unable to rescue the downed pilot.

 

Action, Rest, More Action

Being a Regimental Combat Team, we were mobile and we sometimes moved to other troubled areas. One night we traveled quite a distance by truck and then marched into a counter attack position near a strategic hill known as “Outpost Harry.” As we huddled in our ponchos in a hard rain, we listened to the battle on the hill and waited for word to move out. As I was huddled there I heard, “Trade you a Beans and Weenies for a Spaghetti?” That small phrase eased the tension.

Eventually another unit of our regiment lost the hill and we counter-attacked in the rain. As the mortar and artillery fire rounds fell amongst us, the allies and enemy became entangled. Amidst the confusion some hand-to-hand combat occurred and the seesaw battle resulted in many casualties. Later our unit received a Presidential Unit Citation for the action.

We were sent to a rear area for rest and replacements and our Captain somehow had a truckload of beer delivered. For a few days we rested and floated in the river on our air mattresses. Then it was time to head back up “the hill”.

 

Dawn, Tokyo rooftops, and Stardust

There was a system called Rest and Recuperation (R&R) where a few soldiers at a time were flown to Japan for seven days. Many of us took advantage of the great bargains that were to be had and sent linens, sets of china, etc. home. The city never closed. On my last night in Tokyo, I awoke at dawn, I saw the sun peeking over the harbor and heard someone playing “Stardust” by trumpet on a nearby rooftop; a very memorable moment. As the plane banked for a last look at the city, we realized we would probably never again see Tokyo or Japan.

After we returned to the reality of Korea, there were many rumors of an Impending cease-fire. Meanwhile both sides were pushing for territory before the war ended. We became very cautious because no one wanted to “catch it” at this stage.

Eventually the cease-fire did occur and a Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) was established. It continues to be manned by North and South Korea to this day. Gradually we returned to the States to resume our lives and to try to forget much of the experiences in the “Police Action” that resulted in some 54,000 U.S. soldiers killed and over 100,000 wounded.

 

To Not Forget

On a time and date agreed to by both sides, the shooting ended and the silence was sudden. No one wanted to believe the war was over. We cautiously emerged from our bunkers and the night sky was filled with colored flares to signal the cease-fire. The war was over. I have seen many spectacular Fourth of July fireworks, but none will ever be as meaningful as the night of the cease-fire in Korea.

Recently I visited the new Korean War Memorial on the Mall in Washington DC, and found it to be a fitting and realistic tribute that honors all those who served there. The statues of the soldiers were bigger than life, dressed in rain ponchos and with a weary and wary look on their faces. The memorial evoked many memories that had been long forgotten. It was a very emotional experience. Although I can no longer recall the names and faces of many of those I served with in Korea, the sights, sounds, smells and other memories still surface from time-to-time.

Today, South Korea is a prospering, democratic country – while North Korea is still an impoverished dictatorship. Our country paid a high price for that, and the war should not just be a footnote in our country’s history between WWII and Vietnam. With the 50th anniversary of the end of the Korean War, I felt a desire to write about this “Police Action” to help keep it a relevant part of our history.