Occasional coarse language, common usage
at that time and place, is incidental to this Untold Tale
from the Korean war.
But then ... we were never angels.
Golden Bond
by
Birchard Lee
Kortegaard
"Til Death Do Us Part"
Youth consumed by war and pride
Children never young
Not wise not strong not right not wrong
Yet brave your song was sung
To The Confederate States of America, from a
great grandson
"You murdered him! Shot him like he
was a dog!
"You son of a bitch, you must be
crazy!!"
The major's face was pale from shock
and horror. Knuckles white from the strength of his grip
on the .357 magnum.
Watching him ... waiting ...
I reckon if the fucker was going to
shoot me, he'd a done it by now ...
I turned a little and spat in the
dust.
"Yes, sir!
"But you can see the piece laying by
the bastard, sir. "
The major didn't even glance at the
Soviet automatic. Or the shattered head of the dead
Korean in blood-spattered, baggy white civilian
clothes.
Looking steadily at me, regaining self
control by visible strength of will, "Sergeant, you
may not be crazy. Or a son of a bitch.
But you are a murderer."
-----------------------------
Moments before, as the major and his
driver climbed back up the ditch bank towards his jeep,
I'd pulled out my backup. A Tokarev T33 I'd taken
from a dead NK at Yongpo.
Showing the Korean that it was at
half-cock, I tossed it a foot away from him.
His eyes widened in surprise.
I clicked on the safety of my carbine,
and pointed it at the sky.
His eyes narrowed, in understanding. He
tensed, but quickly relaxed again.
His upper lip curled slightly, then the
expressionless mask fell back into place. I lined my
carbine on that upper lip and clicked the safety back
off.
His mouth opened in sudden realization,
just as I fired full automatic into it, blowing off the
back of his head.
It was just bad luck that the major had
looked back at us a second or two before I fired.
Now he was looking only at me, revulsion
and contempt engraved deeply in his face.
"You're going to hang for
murdering this civilian, you sick piece of
crud."
-----------------------------
The North Koreans were pros. A third of
them fought in the Chinese civil war, and whipped the
rest into fighting shape long before they crossed the
38th parallel. They wiped out 5 ROK divisions in as many
weeks, and took out our 24th without a deep breath.
In the Pusan perimeter, only 70,000 NK
assaulted over 90,000 US and ROK troops, in excellent
defensive positions, and came within a hair of wiping us
out. In spite of our overwhelming air superiority.
Near Masan, 7500 NK with 25 tanks
attacked 20,000 US troops with 100 tanks, and almost
broke through. To a cataclysmic bloodbath at Pusan.
In part, this early NK success was owing
to our forces being garrison troops, unprepared for the
savagery of combat.
In part, it was because the NK were the
reverse. Prepared, veteran, resolute and ferocious.
If that kid was NK, he would have handled
a rear echelon major like a panther would handle a pussy
cat.
But, maybe he really was a civilian.
Maybe sole support for a sick mother. And a dozen
siblings.
I really didn't know. I never could
know, for sure.
Slinging my carbine, I came slowly to
attention.
-----------------------------
"Sir! If you say so, sir.
"Only, he for sure didn't look
like a civilian, to me. Fact is, I think he was NK.
"Sir, I couldn't chance a NK
loose in a jeep with just the two of you.
"Anyways, your own driver can see he
had a piece."
The driver was staring wide-eyed, half
out of the ditch, completely confused. Unlike the major,
he hadn't heard me throw the Tokarev to the Korean
and then watched me shoot him. But he could see the
weapon lying there now.
For all he knew, the Korean could
have hidden it during the search. Maybe.
My point man, Jensen, silently rose from
the hillside edge of the ditch. Looking bored.
"That's the way she went, sir, I
seen it. The fucker pulled a hideout. Sarge only just
beat me to it, shootin' that sonabitch.
"Prob'ly some of the other guys
seen it, too."
The rest of my squad stood up, by ones
and twos. Expressionless.
For minutes the major looked at us. His
surprise at seeing them materialize out of empty ground
gradually changing to a deep sadness.
Finally, without another word, he went
back up to his jeep, his driver scrambling along
behind.
Slowly, they drove away.
-----------------------------
-----------------------------
Moving out that morning, after over a
month of steady combat, we'd hoped for an easy
patrol.
-----------------------------
Eleven days after the September 15th
Inchon invasion, US forces punched through what was left
of the North Korean lines around the Pusan perimeter. A
single tank battalion broke out and moved 106 miles in
eleven hours to link up with Seventh Division, securing X
Corps' right flank near Seoul.
Bypassing most of the stunned,
disorganized remnants of the North Korean army.
Of the 70,000 NK attacking the Pusan
perimeter, only about 30,000 got back to North Korea.
Almost all, over the eastern roads our generals neglected
to block, but chased all the way by the ROKs.
The ROKs did most of the NK roundup, but
our battalion did our own clean-ups. Ever since a mortar
platoon of 5th Cav was captured, tied up, and murdered by
NK. The platoon hadn't even put up a fight, because
they thought the NK were ROK support troops.
My squad was making an off-road sweep
north of the old perimeter, kicking out stragglers in our
communications area. The ones we found had usually thrown
away their weapons, or were easily disarmed. We just
searched them, then walked them to a collection point, a
jerry-rigged corral of barbed wire.
But some NK units fought determined
guerilla actions.
We were always very, very careful.
-----------------------------
Half into our patrol Jensen had been
circling a little rise on the left, and when he dropped
to one knee, we all did. He crawled further up to where
he could look into the road-side ditch, his head masked
under a clump of brush.
I crept up beside him and eased my head
under the other side.
A jeep was stopped, half on the road. A
major and a PFC were standing in the ditch about thirty
feet away, next to a Korean in baggy white civilian
clothes, lying on his stomach and elbows. They had our
divisional patches, but had spotless starched uniforms
and I didn't recognize either of them. I figured the
officer had to be rear echelon.
He was vaguely covering the Korean with a
hand gun, while the trooper was searching the man,
tossing what he found on the ground.
An American watch. An American lighter.
Some Korean looking piddly crap. Money, miscellaneous
items ... could be from anywhere. A beat-up map the Major
looked at, then dropped on the pile.
A coil of communications wire.
A gold wedding band.
-----------------------------
Jensen lifted his eyebrows at me in a
question. Motioning him and the squad to stay concealed,
I stood and jumped down into the ditch, waving casually
to the startled major.
"Thought I heard a motor up this
way, sir. We're rounding up NKs back at Tabu-dong.
Got one for us?"
The major explained that this man seemed
to be a civilian. When the major's jeep sharply
rounded the curve he'd startled the guy, causing him
to fall awkwardly into the ditch. They stopped to check
him out, and he apparently had hurt his back.
He looked healthy enough otherwise.
Young, sturdy, tough faced. Hammered down and hard.
Why aint he in the ROKs? ...
Why didn't the NK draft him
themselves, or shoot him ?
The major was having him searched, before
bringing him to the hospital at the refugee camp in
Taegu. They hadn't found any weapons on him, and
every Korean had stuff like some of what he was
carrying.
But not like all of it.
Strolling over, I picked up the lighter.
Its enamelled logo was the 34th Infantry Regiment, 24th
Division.
Showing the lighter to the Korean,
"Chonan? Kum?", where the 34th
had been overrun. Some of them taken prisoner, and
murdered. The man blinked, but his expression was a
mask.
"Taejon?", where the 24th
Division was about finished off. Where we had just found
7,000 murdered South Koreans. Plus more murdered GIs.
Another blink.
Know what I'm thinking about,
don't you?
"Sir, if you drop him off at our
collection point, the ROKs can find out how he got this
stuff."
The major, skeptically,
"They can't give him much
medical treatment there, Sergeant. Plus, he might need a
lot more of it after the ROKs talk to him, from
what I've heard."
The wedding ring had a nick and long,
jagged scratch. I held it where the Korean could have
seen the scratch, but he didn't look at it. He
didn't blink.
You know that scratch is there. You
know how it got there.
Picking up the coil of wire, I motioned
him to put his hands behind his back. A blink, this time.
He tensed, but didn't move.
You don't like getting your hands
tied. Why? Are you just scared?
Maybe you seen some of our guys tied
up? Seen the wire tear their wrists when they tried
jerking loose, when the burp guns started in?
Leastways, thinking you couldn't
take these guys if your hands was tied?
I lined my carbine on his nose. His eyes
flicked towards the safety, then back to mine. Flat.
Unblinking. Like the eyes of a snake.
You're thinking in gook, but you
know I been reading your mind. I'm thinking English
but you're reading where my mind is headed.
You're deciding what to do.
My reactions were on full instantaneous.
As his eyes had touched the safety, I'd flipped it
off.
You ain't scared. I'm just a
problem you got to solve.
-----------------------------
"What the hell do you think
you're doing?" the major barked at me.
He felt guilty about causing the poor guy
to have an accident. For a fact, Korean civilians had
enough problems without troopers making them leap into
ditches. Or sticking rifles in their faces.
"Back away from that man." The
major took a step towards me. Impatient, becoming angry.
Outraged that I would terrorize the helpless man he'd
unintentionally injured.
"Sorry sir."
Backing away, carbine steady on the
man's nose.
"Just thought I better tie him up,
if you're taking him with you. Just the two of you,
it'd be safer."
The Korean's mask seemed to slip for
a second. A flash of ... something.
Understanding? Hatred? Fear?
Pain from a hurt back?
The major studied me. Uncertain.
Finally,
"I don't know how bad his
back's hurt, but tieing his hands could make it a lot
worse. And I'll be sitting right behind him with my
.357."
Major, if that kid's NK, inside of
two miles he'll have your .357 stuck up your
ass.
"Yes, sir!"
-----------------------------
I didn't know what to do.
Just little things, but the guy could
easily be NK. Behind our lines, in civilian clothes.
North Korean troops had dressed like
civilians before, and mixed in with groups of real
civilian refugees. And then tossed grenades at
unsuspecting troops at road blocks.
Still, there were a hell of a lot of
genuine civilians, and we'd only found a few we
really wondered about. The ROKs sorted them out for
us.
The pathetic things he was carrying might
have been found, or traded.
What bothered me, was the 24th Division
logo. And the wire.
And especially the wedding ring.
I aint sure about this fucker. They
should of sent a ROK with us.
-----------------------------
The major turned away, beckoning his
driver to follow,
"Give him back his stuff, Sergeant,
and help him up to the jeep."
They started climbing out of the
ditch.
"Yes, sir!"
Time had about run out.
-----------------------------
I drew my Tokarev, showed the Korean it
was at half cock ... if he's NK he knows it's
loaded and ready ... I lobbed it carefully to where
the Korean could grab it, safetied my carbine again and
pointed it at the sky.
He tensed ...
There's your chance, fucker
...
... the major heard the automatic
land!
It wasn't quite an even chance. With
my squad concealed behind me, it was no chance at all,
except maybe to take me down with him. But he didn't
know about my squad. If he's NK, he's got to
think he can pop the other two guys easy if he can put me
down first.
At least he could die fighting. Hands
free. Facing his enemy.
He didn't move.
If he's NK, what's he waiting
for? ...
Maybe he isn't NK! Maybe he's
just a scared shitless apple knocker! Trying to figure
what dumb ass thing I'll do next?
Maybe he isn't NK ... Hiding
behind the refugees' tragedy ... Faking an injury
until he gets a chance to make his move.
Maybe he didn't tie prisoners'
hands behind their backs with that wire ... Before
they were lined up and sprayed with burp guns ... Like
happened to hundreds of ROKs and GIs.
Maybe he didn't take that lighter
from a tied-up 24th Division soldier ... Before he
shot him through the head ... Like happened to dozens of
them.
Maybe he didn't cut that ring off
a tied-up soldier's finger ... Nicking and
scratching it with his trench knife ... After cutting the
soldier's throat.
The major had turned, was looking at
us.
There was no real proof the Korean
wasn't a civilian ...
But he's too young ... and too
hard! ... the ROKs would have drafted him.
And he understood what I was asking,
about the lighter. He knew what I was wondering, about
the wire ... and he checked the safety on my
carbine.
He knew all about that ring!
Maybe he figures making his move in
the jeep's a better bet? ...
An NK in that jeep, with a couple of
Headquarters guys ... !
Looking at that tough young face.
Watching the upper lip curl in ... amused contempt?
Helpless terror? Embarrassment? ...
No way I can be real sure.
The major started to shout something
...
Time's up!
I'm sure enough.
I lined my carbine back up and clicked
off the safety ................................
-----------------------------
-----------------------------
As I walked over to recover my automatic,
waving my squad on, Jensen drawled
"I reckon that major is pure
disappointed in our character.
"Shucks. "
My dirty, dog-tired, battle-worn squad
laughed.
Grimly.
-----------------------------
Stowing my Tokarev, I looked down the
road after the jeep.
Biggest trouble with this
officer-enlisted crap, you can't never talk things
out like men. We could of talked, I could of leastways
got him to secure the fucker.
I kicked at the pitiful pile of things
the Korean had carried ...
The major figures I wanted to kill the
guy. Keerist! All the choice he left me, the major might
as well of shot the fucker hisself!
My thoughts followed the jeep, estimating
they'd have driven about a mile ...
If the guy was NK, about now he'd
be pointing off somewheres with one hand and taking away
the major's .357 with the other.
About now he'd of blowed the
major's head off, and be making the driver
stop.
About now he'd blow the
driver's head off too, and take his grease gun, and
make tracks.
I looked back at the body. ROK graves reg
could clean this one up ...
Well, fucker, that's two of us you
didn't get to murder, anyways.
Spotting the wedding ring, I picked it
up.
Battalion Intelligence can probably
get this back to the wife, from the inscription.
-----------------------------
With the thought, my blood froze. My feet
turned to ice, my face felt stiff and numb.
The inscription! I never had time to
check it!
What if it's in gook?
Even in English I ain't real sure.
It could mean almost anything if it's in gook
!
-----------------------------
Slowly, I stood up very straight. A little dizzy, the
blood draining from my head.
Trying to bring my reactions back under
control, I set my jaw ... of course it's in
English ... it has to be in English.
-----------------------------
Slowly, I climbed out of the ditch.
We could of talked, leastways we'd
of worked out to check the inscription.
-----------------------------
For a minute I just stood quietly. Not thinking of
anything, but not having will or energy to move.
After a little longer, slowly, I put the
ring in my pocket. Not looking at it.
Intel can read what the fucker says
when I turn it in.
-----------------------------
I spat back towards the ditch.
Slowly straightening up, I unslung my
carbine, and slammed in a new magazine. Gradually
building up to normal speed, I moved to catch up with my
squad.
-----------------------------
Time to get back to the war.
-----------------------------
-----------------------------
Epilogue
The CCF killed my point man, Cpl. Robert
E. Lee Jensen, north of the Chongchon. I went down a few
minutes later, but the Chinese took a few other men in my
company prisoner and they carried me to a field hospital.
Minus my left leg and part of my face. When those of us
who survived the POW camps were released after the war,
my wife reminded me she hadn't married me for my
looks, and today we have five grandkids.
I never found out the background of the
Korean, but if I had it to do over again I wouldn't
shoot him. I would have my squad tie him hand and foot in
the back of the jeep. We wouldn't disobey the
major's orders, we just wouldn't hear them.
Still, I have no regrets. The inscription
on the ring was two names bonded together by hearts. The
names were in English.
Souvenirs ... First short
story of Korean War series
©Kortegaard Engineering
(korteng@msn.com)©
History 
On Line
Causes of the Korean Tragedy ... Failure of Leadership, Intelligence and Preparation
The Foundations of Freedom are the Courage of Ordinary People and Quality of our Arms
