K-9 Korea

by J. Rachel Reed

  Copyright © 2017 by J. Rachel Reed

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, website, or broadcast.

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  ISBN 978-1-62157-557-3

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  CONTENTS

  FOREWORD

  PROLOGUE

  1War Dogs

  2Harlan

  3Prinz

  4The Call

  5Getting In

  6Secret Deployment

  7The Mission

  8New Blood and Undying Loyalty

  9Blind Sam

  10Down Time

  11The Demonstrations

  12Short Timers

  13The Great Escape

  14Calling the Pack

  15Home

  AFTERWORD

  NOTES

  For Steve

  Soldier, Dog Lover, and

  the Best Daddy That Ever Lived

  FOREWORD

  On graduation day, the new graduates of the 8125th Sentry Dog Detachment stand ready for their assignment.

  Even after fifty-nine years of separation, the men, more like brothers than friends, longed to be together again. Their time in Korea had been difficult and they hadn’t always enjoyed each other’s company, but time spent together in hell had bonded them like nothing else could. They had survived “The Forgotten War” and come home to a largely uncaring world—no hero’s parade, no fanfare. But in many ways, they had never returned—they had left half of themselves in Korea.

  Fickes strummed on his ukulele and sang, “Has anybody seen my gal?” The ladies in the room, wives and widows of the men, sang along. In another corner, Hatch finished telling an off-color joke. Everyone laughed; some slapped a knee and others wheezed from laughing too hard, likely the effect of many years of smoking. Their familiar interactions illustrated a kinship that had lasted through the years. Their time apart had not diminished their brotherhood.

  Their songs and jokes were relics of that long-past time when distractions were a necessity; even in the worst situations of war, their camaraderie had always been a great comfort. And in those distant days on faraway soil, even the dogs had enjoyed the music and laughter. It had provided a welcome break in the monotony for both man and canine alike.

  The fifty-ninth reunion of the 8125th Sentry Dog Detachment in Korea met, with the painfully apparent absence of some beloved members, as it had for the past nine years. There were no schedules or tours. The men, greying versions of their younger soldier selves, sat in their hotel suite soaking up the fellowship they had been deprived of for too long. Of the roughly sixty men who had served with the 8125th in Korea between 1954 and 1955, thirty-eight remained. Many had already passed away.

  For many years I had been researching the role dogs play in war, and it was these stories of bravery and loyalty that kept me scouring news footage and archives with fervor. But it was when I stumbled on a small blurb about a group of Korea Vets, Army dog handlers from the 8125th, holding an annual reunion in Colorado Springs, that I found the best untold stories I had ever known. Fred Batson was pictured in the Colorado Gazette story, and his daughter Rhonda Batson was quoted in the text. A preliminary search for Fred Batson yielded nothing, but I was able to find Rhonda. I reached out to her, and she offered to connect me to Fred. I jumped at the offer and called him right away.

  This is how I became the honorary oddball member of the group. During our introductory phone call, Batson asked me if I would be interested in coming to the next year’s reunion and listening to their “old stories.” Of course, following old soldiers around and listening to them talk about the dogs they loved in war sounded like my idea of a perfect evening, but greater still, the mystery of the unit’s story was a puzzle I felt compelled to solve. I wondered why I had never heard of the unit in all of my previous research. I couldn’t understand why prominent war dog histories had made no mention of sentry dogs in Korea. The men of the 8125th had become ghosts, and the dogs were invisible. I would be chasing shadows, but shadows that I knew needed to be caught.

  So I came (in retrospect, a bit naïve), my iPad in hand, along with an empty notebook, and a brand new pack of pens. I was ready to hear anything, and I was going to do my best to capture every detail. I had no idea that the joy on the surface of this reunion of veterans masked a seething tragedy—one each of the men felt keenly.

  The question that had weighed heavily on their hearts since their return to the United States in 1955 was “Why?”

  Why did their country forget them while they were away? Why did the Department of the Army tell them that their dogs—not just dogs to them but beloved fellow soldiers, their most loyal companions, their greatest friends—would return home with them at war’s end when it was all a lie?

  The intervening years had brought no good answers, but these reunions had made life easier for the men. Every man there had returned home to a seemingly indifferent nation. Every man there had been forced to leave his dog behind. Yet these reunions transcended that pain, if only for a short time, by becoming the glue which held them together.

  Their canine partners had been more than just tools of the trade. Soldier and K-9 were equals, and their bond went much deeper than anyone outside the division could understand.

  By end of the evening, in our little hotel suite overlooking the Colorado River, I had recorded the men’s recollections as best as I could, working carefully to get every last detail since I had no way of knowing when or if I would see the aging group again. I had resigned myself to the bitter conclusion that the dogs had all been lost. Time had forgotten them and history had recorded it inaccurately. Their tragic story was not unlike that of the Korean conflict as a whole, with the unit’s contributions relegated to a single sentence, if that, in the voluminous history of America’s wars. Worse still, the dogs, once promised a return home at the end of the rotation, never made it back. At least now we had the opportunity to set the record straight. The dignity earned by both man and dog had been denied far too long, and the weight to tell that story now rested on my shoulders.

  I packed up my things, reluctant to tear myself away from this wonderful group of friends. The men, the spouses, and the widows had all been generous in pouring out their hearts to me; their faith in me, to get their story out to the world, was immense—how could I not deliver what needed to be told? The men and dogs of the 8125th served their country with unwavering devotion. What set their story apart, however, was their loyalty and devotion to each other. The men had formed a lifelong fraternity, and each dog and man team had formed such a unique bond that it could, in many cases, be described as life-changing.
Aren’t we as a society better, stronger, when we have these best examples of humanity to rest our hopes on? And aren’t we better when we can look at the failures of humanity and vow, “Never again”?

  I knew I had my own duty now. If I followed my heart in writing this story, then it would honor the valiant efforts of real men and their beloved canine partners. If I wrote this story from my gut, the world would understand a great injustice so that it might become a part of our collective memory and never happen again.

  PROLOGUE

  When I first met the men of the 8125th at their fifty-ninth reunion, they welcomed me by throwing an ID badge around my neck and hugging me like the prodigal daughter. They had made my badge to match their own. Each man carried a picture of his dog to identify him. My dog was Chief. Of course, Chief had been Wooden’s dog, but he was a symbol of the power, ferocity, and loyalty that all the dogs possessed. He was also their symbol of loss. In a way, Chief was America’s dog. He stood on the edge of the night and watched. He had died a hero’s death, a super hero who made sure that someone’s beloved son made it home alive. I took my badge in reverence.

  It was Harlan’s first time at a reunion too. He had been looking for anyone associated with 8125th, hoping to find the guys he had served with, but had found the guys from this later rotation instead. I thought I might have a fellow freshman to tag along with. Although he made me feel beyond welcomed, he also proved to be more senior than new guy. His stories about his time in Korea before the other men had arrived provided missing pieces to puzzles long unsolved. He gave some history on certain dogs and explained why many things played out the way they had for the other guys. His shenanigans were relatable, too, as soldiers seem to find the same ways, even across the ages, to entertain themselves and blow off steam. Another common thread between Harlan and the other men was his deep admiration for his dog, Greta—the same undeniable bond between soldier and dog that the rest of us can never comprehend, although we admire it.

  Simpson told me about Broadway and Blind Sam, and I felt an instant love for Broadway, even though I hadn’t met him yet. Simpson had pulled me aside and in a whisper, with tears in his eyes, told me, “One of the dogs lived a happy life with friends. One of the dogs lived!” I was pleasantly shocked. I wondered how these two men kept the secret of such a noble act for nearly sixty years. Simpson had never told a soul, only revealing it to me when he knew that Broadway couldn’t be harmed by it, but would be honored instead. I found myself in a puddle of tears, admiring the love this group of men and dogs had shared.

  I left the men of the 8125th on the last day of the reunion, vowing to remain in their lives forever. Their story had to be told. Their work had to be honored. The dogs needed a voice. History would mark their time with respect, and the dogs would live on in our collective memory.

  1

  WAR DOGS

  WORLD WAR II

  For as long as dogs have been man’s best friends, they have accompanied men everywhere, even into war, bringing their own special set of skills to the fight. In the Stone Age, historical record shows, mastiff-type dogs fought alongside their human counterparts in Tibet. The ancient Persians, Greeks, and Babylonians all employed war dogs in battle.1 More recently, in American history, dogs made their presence known in each one of our conflicts. During the American Revolution and the American Civil War, dogs took up residence in camps and followed soldiers across land for food and companionship. In World War I, dogs served their military masters by delivering messages across battle lines and by staying in foxholes to comfort shell-shocked warriors. Yet it wasn’t until the horrors of war came to our shores on Pearl Harbor Day that Americans began to consider dogs as both loyal companions and effective combat tools.

  In the spirit of fully giving everything for the war effort during World War II, many American dog enthusiasts approached the Department of Defense about the possibility of developing war dogs for the coming combat needs. Kennel clubs across America understood the depths of canine talents and abilities. They had witnessed their obedience in the show ring and their demonstration of instinct in hunting trials that made America’s canines an obvious asset to the U.S. military. Authorities on dog obedience and professional dog handlers met with the power players of the dog world, such as Harry Caesar, director of the American Kennel Club (AKC) in 1942, to develop a game plan for pitching our nation’s first official Military Working Dog program. With the enthusiastic support of dog lovers President Franklin D. Roosevelt and his wife, Eleanor, and an overwhelming response from Americans willing to give anything to the war effort, Dogs for Defense (DFD) was established in January 1942.

  Initially, Dogs for Defense was made up of an entirely voluntary force. Recruitment posters went up around the country touting the benefits of canine soldiers. Ads in major newspapers, magazines, and newsreels had a clear message: Dogs bring a capability to the fight that cannot be matched by man or machine. This was especially true of sentry dogs that could guard people and property by utilizing their alert barks, growls, and hackles, and had the ability to unleash a deadly attack when necessary. Further, their keen senses and highly developed perception at night could replace the efforts of six armed men.2 As a result of this media blitz, Dogs for Defense was able to entice loving dog owners into donating their dogs to the cause. The thought of America’s sons being freed up to do more valuable work was an idea fully supported nationwide.

  As dogs began pouring in, however, a major problem arose for Army officials. There were no canine training facilities established, and no standard of training for the dogs. This was fine for many of the jobs for which dogs were needed, but for sentry dogs a specialized training was critical. These dog soldiers would require a natural prey-drive and aggression for protection and detection, while also possessing the smarts to temper those innate instincts, which were not always part of a donated dog’s personality. Further, a soldier would have to be trained as a handler alongside his canine partner to tap into the dog’s natural capabilities.

  Realizing that the United States could effectively employ sentry dogs for the purpose of homeland security, and knowing this would require specialized training, Lieutenant Colonel Clifford Smith, a high-ranking officer in the U.S. Quartermaster Corps, discussed ways to make this training a reality with many of America’s leading dog experts. On March 13, 1942, with authorization from his chain of command, Smith notified AKC Director Harry Caesar that Dogs for Defense would be run under the authority of the U.S. Quartermasters who would, from that time forward, be responsible for canine recruitment and training. This marked America’s first official involvement in a military working dog program.

  There was still no military breeding program in place, and the need for dogs (especially specific dog breeds notorious for aggression) was growing.3 By the end of 1942, the call had been sent to America’s dog enthusiasts and patriots: the Quartermaster Corps hoped to have 125,000 dogs in their ranks as quickly as possible.4 Front Royal, Virginia, once home to cavalry stables and a prominent race track, became the first canine training and reception center for military working dogs. The U.S. Quartermaster recognized the facility at Front Royal as an institution with a renowned ability to handle horses, and believed that would easily translate into handling dogs. Subsequently other facilities popped up around the country, with the Marines and Coast Guard creating their own separate training centers to accommodate their individual needs.

  Americans continued to answer the call by sending their beloved pets by the thousands, thereby creating another unexpected problem for Dogs for Defense. These families had raised their dogs from birth and saw them as family members. It was, for many, as if they were sending their own sons into battle. In the early stages of dog donation, no clear guidelines had been established about ownership of the dogs, and this started America’s war dog program down a slippery slope. This situation, created by the indelible human-canine bond, would plague the nation’s military throughout this and subsequent wars.

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sp; Mail flooded into the reception and training centers from across the country as people inquired about the welfare of their donated dogs. Trying not to reveal matters of operational security, the Department of Defense (DOD) sent return letters simply stating that their dogs had been received and were being cared for. This was the only official correspondence between the DOD and donating families. Many of the handlers, however, became incredibly attached to the dogs and wanted families back home to know that their dogs were loved and highly valued. Often service men would write to donating families, even from overseas, and keep them apprised of their dog’s situation.

  At the end of World War II, the U.S. military had not accounted for the relationships forged between soldiers and their dogs or the bonds between donating families and the dogs they had given. Many families back home expected that if their dog survived the war, it would be returned to them. Likewise handlers, not knowing what the regulations for returning dogs would be, hoped that they could take their military working dog home at the end of their service together. Then there was the occasional instance when a dog survived but had no one home looking forward to its return and no handler capable of keeping it. Americans overwhelmingly stepped in, just as they had to donate dogs to the war effort, to fill this need for loving adoptive homes.

  By late 1945 Dogs for Defense had received over 15,000 applications, more than the number of dogs actually available.5 Because DFD was begun by some of this country’s most devoted dog lovers, the organization remained committed to the dogs they recruited. Dogs with no home were offered to Americans who were capable of caring for them.6 Often this meant dogs with special needs arising from combat fatigue and aggression training would go to those experienced with the breed or with so-called “problem dogs.” Any living creature that survives war will not return unscathed; many canines experienced severe post-traumatic stress and could not overcome their fearfulness of everyday situations. Some dogs had been trained as sentries and were therefore more aggressive than when they had left. In some isolated instances it was in the interest of the dog’s welfare that they be humanely euthanized. For good measure, DFD also created a desensitization program before dogs were placed in civilian homes.