The Frozen Hours

by Jeff Shaara

  With the election of Dwight Eisenhower in 1952, the new president makes clear that he wants nothing to do with the deadly drudgery of the unwinnable war he has inherited. Events take a dynamic turn when, in March 1953, Stalin dies, throwing the Soviet Union into political chaos. Without the Soviets to back up their threats, the Chinese begin showing flexibility. It is South Korean president Syngman Rhee who now slows efforts at peace. Rhee has greater ambitions than presiding over half of Korea, though the Americans are adamant that the boundary must remain intact. The alternative is more bloodshed and a far longer war, which no one in the West will accept. Rhee threatens to continue the war against North Korea on his own, a threat that is laughably toothless.

  The last great fight takes place in spring 1953. Known as Pork Chop Hill, the fight symbolizes much of what has taken place for the prior three years: a meaningless battle over meaningless ground that takes the lives of far more soldiers on both sides than any victory could justify. It is the American general, Maxwell Taylor, now commanding the Eighth Army, who orders the Americans to withdraw, thus conceding the hill to the Chinese. The propaganda value of such a grab has become utterly irrelevant to the Americans, who only wish the fighting to stop. On July 27, 1953, the truce begins.

  One bright moment during the protracted agony of the truce is the delivery, by the North Koreans, of the 113 corpses buried by Smith’s Marines on their evacuation from Koto-ri.

  Predictably, the Chinese trumpet their supposed victory, while in the West, the war is as quickly forgotten as the media, and the fighting men themselves, will allow. To this day, the 38th parallel is a military hot zone, two mighty armies facing off over a no-man’s-land, where a single spark might ignite the war once again.

  Despite Chinese claims of overwhelming and lasting victory, a casual observation of the state of affairs for both North and South Korea might tell a different tale. South Korea is one of the most vibrant economies in Asia, with strong financial and cultural ties to the West. The South Korean people enjoy one of the highest standards of living in all of Asia. In contrast, North Korea is possibly the most repressive and isolated society in the world, where the starvation of the citizenry is an acceptable condition of militarism.

  If there is an honest victory to be claimed in Korea, it is by Mao Tse-tung, who demonstrates his willingness and his ability to confront the West militarily, and survive in the process. If there is defeat, it comes to the American methods of fighting a war that secured victory in World War II. By 1945, the Americans create the largest and most destructive fighting machine the world has ever seen, capable of not only defeating but annihilating any enemy. By the 1950s, that machine has been rendered weak by the nation’s conscience, the shocking realization that the nuclear capabilities now in possession of a number of nations are capable of destroying all of humanity. The restrictive philosophy of “limited war” now governs American leadership’s hesitation about ever using its nuclear weapons again. That policy is tested severely once more, in Vietnam, a decade later. While fierce debate rages (then and now) about the wisdom of tempting a nuclear holocaust, the unwillingness thus far of the two superpowers, the Americans and their Russian counterparts, to risk a war that could erase humanity, goes beyond philosophical debates. As has happened in the American Civil War and World War I, the technology for mass destruction has far outpaced man’s ability to maintain the peace. To this day, Korea remains an open sore, a war that had no end, where men with guns watch each other across walls of barbed wire.

  GENERAL OLIVER P. SMITH

  “This campaign is perhaps the most brilliant divisional feat of arms in the national history. Smith made it so, through his dauntless calm, his tender regard for his regiments, and his unshakable belief that rest when needed, rather than precipitate haste, was the only thing which would bring his men through the greatest of combat trials. In battle, this great Marine had more the manner of a college professor than a plunging fighter. But our services have known few leaders who could look so deeply into the human heart….His greatest campaign is a classic which will inspire more nearly perfect leadership by all who read and understand that out of great faith can come a miracle.”

  —BRIGADIER GENERAL S. L. A. “SLAM” MARSHALL—MILITARY HISTORIAN

  “The performance of the First Marine Division…constitutes one of the most glorious chapters in Marine Corps history.”

  —ADMIRAL JAMES H. DOYLE

  “They have gone. We could not stop them.”

  —GENERAL SUNG SHI-LUN

  With the Chosin Reservoir campaign concluded, a great many civilian and military observers invite Smith to voice his displeasure with his former commander, Ned Almond, but Smith chooses what many describe as the high road, and rarely speaks out negatively about the trials he endured serving under the thumb of Tenth Corps. Smith says, in part, “I did not desire to enter into any controversy, and declined to discuss the matter.” However, one of Smith’s most trusted staff officers, his G-3, Alpha Bowser, writes, “I feel to this day, and will feel until I go to my grave, that if the enemy had possessed good intelligence and good communications [Tenth Corps’ orders] would have resulted in the First Marine Division, and most of the Seventh Division, never returning from that place.”

  Though many have labeled the sharp disagreements between Smith and Almond as the typically tiresome interservice feuding, most impartial observers concede that the clashes between Smith and Almond had much to do with Almond’s fanatical loyalty to Douglas MacArthur, and his belief in MacArthur’s infallibility. Orders from Tokyo rarely took into account actual conditions in the field, and the complete failure of MacArthur’s intelligence arm to present an accurate picture of conditions caused orders to be passed through Ned Almond that took no measure of the quality and disposition of the enemy they faced. Smith’s recognition of this very likely saves the lives of most of his division and a sizable percentage of the army troops under his command.

  Smith continues in command of the First Division through its next major engagement, Operation Dauntless, which begins April 21, 1951. Once again, the Marines and one division of ROK troops are ordered to push northward, attempting to reclaim territory in central Korea now occupied by the Chinese, territory seized as part of their overall success throughout the Korean winter. As before, the Marines and Korean troops easily advance, only to be surprised by a sudden massive onslaught from hidden Chinese positions. Though the Marines hold well and inflict significant casualties on the Chinese, the ROK unit collapses completely. The resulting breach in the position creates a crisis for Smith’s regiments. But their position, though bloodied, holds. Once more, the Marines cause enormous casualties to an enemy who outnumbers them, blunting the Chinese offensive.

  Just prior to March 1, 1951, Smith receives word that he will be replaced in command, though he is allowed to continue throughout the April offensives. On May 1, with the Marines’ position secure, Smith is relieved, replaced by Major General Jerry Thomas.

  Upon leaving his command, Smith is awarded South Korea’s highest military honor, the Korean Order of Military Merit, presented by President Syngman Rhee. Smith leaves Korea for Hawaii, where he is awarded the Navy Distinguished Service Medal. He also receives confirmation of his Navy Distinguished Service Cross, the medal Ned Almond had attempted to give him at Hagaru-ri.

  Expecting to be called to Washington, a custom for commanders returning from a war zone, he is instead ordered to Camp Pendleton, California. Smith begins to understand that disagreeable currents are flowing through the capital, and he writes to his wife, “The atmosphere of Washington has not changed. All hands are still spending a lot of their time fending against the other fellows. There is still the search for the hidden meaning behind the words.”

  As Smith is never a self-promoter, he is confronted by the egos and sensitivities of his peers, including his superiors, notably Lemuel Shepherd. Shepherd is enormously popular, as well as ambitious, and anticipates being promoted as commandant of t
he Marine Corps, replacing the soon-to-retire Clifford Cates, the highest-ranking Marine. But as Smith’s accolades pile up, including prominent mention in stateside newspapers, it is clear to Shepherd and every other high-ranking officer in the Corps that Oliver Smith is the newest and most recognized Marine hero. Shepherd begins to feel that Smith is jockeying for the job of commandant, something Smith denies. But the fragility of the egos around Smith prove ugly, and he is rarely invited to speak, and thus be celebrated, at official military or governmental functions. Rather, Smith is excluded from official Marine Corps operations and policy discussions, and the reputation he earns in Korea fades into history. Historian David Halberstam describes Smith as “one of the great, quiet heroes of the Korean War.”

  Smith’s wife, Esther, joins him at Camp Pendleton, where Smith is instrumental in creating the Marine facility at Twenty-nine Palms, now the nation’s largest Marine Corps installation. While at Pendleton, Hollywood approaches him, enlisting Smith’s input into what becomes the film Retreat—Hell!, which is released in 1952. The film is well received, and Variety describes the film as “a top-notch war drama.” Smith quietly acknowledges that the title, attributed to his now-famous quote, is a bit more graphic than what he had actually uttered. Hollywood ignores the comment.

  After two years at Pendleton, he is named to command of the Atlantic Fleet Marine Force, in Norfolk, Virginia. Still considered a threat to the ambitions of other higher-ranking Marine officers, Smith does not seek any further advancement, content to spend his remaining time in the Corps with men his junior. Those relationships become some of the most important of his life, and he is surprised at the impact he has made on so many subordinates. He retires in 1955, and while attending the obligatory farewell dinners, Smith is astounded by the outpouring of affection he receives from junior officers, who are quite clear just what his influence has been, and how he should be remembered. He tells a friend, “From a purely personal standpoint, what has given me the greatest satisfaction has been the discovery, sometimes inadvertently, that I have enjoyed the respect and confidence of those who have served under my command.”

  He and Esther settle in Los Altos, California, an idyllic retirement for a man who has endured unimaginable pressures as a combat commander. “Retirement has some compensations: no deadlines to meet, no speeches to write, no wondering when some untoward incident will upset the apple cart, and time to do some of the things you have not had time to do while on active duty.” But the pleasant retirement with his wife and closest friend is not to last, as Esther dies in 1964.

  Contenting himself with gardening and the occasional visit from a military historian, Smith dies in his sleep on Christmas night, 1977. He is eighty-four. In his home office, on the wall behind his desk, is a map of the Chosin Reservoir.

  “I know of no officer in the U. S. Marine Corps who has contributed more to the splendid reputation of that service than General Smith. He is without a doubt, one of the ablest generals of his time.”

  —ADMIRAL JERAULD WRIGHT

  “There was a magnificent leader, that O. P. Smith.”

  —GENERAL MATTHEW RIDGWAY

  PRIVATE FIRST CLASS PETE RILEY

  He continues to serve Fox Company, and in January 1951 is promoted to corporal. Promoted again to sergeant in 1952, he serves until February 1953, when a vehicle accident causes severe injury to his back. Riley is discharged and returns home to southern Pennsylvania.

  Unknown to Riley, his friend Hamilton Welch recommends him for a Bronze Star, which Riley receives in 1955.

  In 1956, Ruthie gives birth to their second child, a daughter, Annabelle. Their son, Peter, graduates from Cornell University in 1969, completes a doctorate at Stanford, and is today a prominent physicist.

  Riley finds employment with a major fruit processing plant, remains on that job for twenty-six years, retiring in 1979. Always active in veterans’ reunions, he and Ruthie settle in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, where he becomes a licensed battlefield guide for the National Park Service. He retires from that activity in 2005, and he and Ruthie enjoy a peaceful life to this day.

  In 2007, Riley fulfills a lifelong dream when he satisfies the necessary requirements and finally receives his high school diploma.

  SERGEANT HAMILTON “HAMP” WELCH

  Welch returns home to Corning, New York, but finds little to keep him there. He follows Pete Riley’s advice and allows Ruthie Riley to open doors into a social life. Settling in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, Welch finds employment at a lumberyard and eventually lands a position as a park ranger at Harper’s Ferry National Military Park. At Ruthie’s urging, Welch begins a relationship with Doris Brown, and the two are married in March 1957. They have three children.

  Welch retires in 1985, devotes time to fly-fishing in the streams across Pennsylvania and beyond. He dies of heart disease in 2004, at age eighty-one.

  PRIVATE FIRST CLASS JOE MORELLI

  The young man serves Fox Company throughout the remainder of the war and is discharged from the Marine Corps as a corporal in 1954. He returns to his family’s home in New Jersey and settles in New Brunswick, where he applies to and attends Rutgers University. He graduates in 1959 with a degree in political science and remains at Rutgers as an instructor and then a full professor until his retirement in 1997.

  In 1957, Morelli marries Gina Costello, and they have six children. He dies in 2011, of cancer.

  PRIVATE FIRST CLASS SEAN KILLIAN

  Killian recovers from his damaging case of frostbite, which leaves him with a severe limp for the rest of his life. He returns home to New York, eventually settles in Vero Beach, Florida. He and his brother open a hardware store, which offers him a moderate income for most of his adult life.

  In 1955, his wife, Colleen, gives birth to a daughter. Colleen dies of cancer in 1981.

  Killian retires, sells the business in 2000, and lives today in Stuart, Florida.

  PRIVATE FIRST CLASS HECTOR CAFFERATA

  Cafferata is sent to a hospital in Japan where he recovers from the severe damage to his feet from his barefoot combat experience on Fox Hill. The wounds to his hand from an exploding grenade are not reparable, and Cafferata endures crippled fingers for the rest of his life. His actions on Fox Hill are considered extraordinary. During the night of November 27, 1950, Cafferata fends off nearly a full battalion of Chinese soldiers, killing a good many of them. By recovering and throwing the grenade that damages his hand, he likely saves the lives of several of his comrades, all without the benefit of his shoes or coat.

  He is medically discharged from the Marine Corps in September 1951. For his extraordinary actions on Fox Hill, Hector Cafferata is awarded the Medal of Honor by President Harry Truman in November 1952.

  He dies in 2016, in Venice, Florida, at age eighty-six.

  GENERAL SUNG SHI-LUN

  Despite the lessons he absorbs from his failures against the Americans and Allies during the Chosin campaign, Sung reluctantly follows instructions from Peking, that the strategy of all-out confrontation should continue. The Chinese launch several offensives against Allied positions in the South, absorbing an astonishing number of casualties. Sung continues to lead his troops in what soon become hopeless assaults against an increasingly better-equipped enemy. The resulting stalemates and the slow churn of victories for the Allies provide momentum that leads eventually to the protracted peace talks.

  In 1954, Sung maintains his rank, is widely regarded as one of China’s finest military tacticians, which he does not publicly dispute, though he is quietly grateful he is never again called upon to lead an army in the field.

  He retires from the army in 1969, returns to his home in Shanghai, avoids the purge of Mao’s Cultural Revolution, which removes so many prominent military officials from their positions, including Sung’s friend and mentor, Peng Dehuai.

  In 1989, during the violent protests that take place in Tiananmen Square, he bravely speaks out against his government’s oppressive tactics. “Since the Peopl
e’s Army belongs to the people, it cannot stand against the people, nor kill the people. It must not fire on the people and cause bloodshed.” His protest is ignored.

  He dies in 1991, at age eighty-four, and is buried in Shanghai.

  MAJOR DMITRI ORLOV

  Though Sung Shi-lun harbors nagging suspicions about Orlov throughout his presence with the Ninth Army Group, Sung is never made aware that his suspicions are accurate. Orlov the “observer” is a far more influential member of Stalin’s military, and is in fact not a major, but a major general in the Soviet army. Orlov returns to Peking in late December 1950, where he quietly supports Sung’s fading reputation, which adds considerably to Sung’s longevity in the Chinese military. Orlov returns to Moscow in February 1951 and reports to Stalin on conditions and tactics of the Chinese army, which does nothing to bolster Stalin’s enthusiasm for joining in the war as allies of the Chinese.

  But Orlov’s observations about the inherent weakness of Chinese efforts points to the utter lack of air support, something Stalin begins to take seriously. Though Soviet MiG fighters have been deployed to bases in Manchuria as early as November 1950, their pilots are primarily North Korean and Chinese. Orlov’s observations convince Stalin to discreetly assign a larger number of Soviet pilots to the air war, though the Soviets do not officially reveal their involvement.

  Orlov continues in service to the Soviet army until Stalin’s death in March 1953. Though Orlov attempts to keep clear of the political turmoil that follows, he is considered Stalin’s man, and is thus forced into retirement. He lives out his life in Ukraine, with his wife, Anya, and dies in 1985, at age eighty-one.