The Frozen Hours: A Novel of the Korean War

by Jeff Shaara

You might notice that I do not use the term “police action” to describe the Korean War. That is the label attached to the conflict by an American government deeply fearful that expansion of the confrontation in Korea might very well erupt into World War III.

In 1945, with the dropping of the atomic bombs on two Japanese cities, World War II concludes and the Koreans ecstatically welcome their liberation. But the nation suffers from fragmentation, with no official government and no cohesive political infrastructure.

Gradually, Joseph Stalin withdraws direct Soviet support for Kim and Kim begins to seek another ally who would support his goals. He thus forms an alliance with the Communist Chinese, who are now led by Mao Tse-tung.

In March 1950, the American intelligence community concludes that the North Koreans are preparing an invasion of the South.

On June 25, 1950, the North Koreans open a massive artillery barrage across the 38th parallel,

The vote is unanimous in favor of supporting South Korea only because the Soviets, who could have simply vetoed the measure, are not in attendance that day.

time. No one officially entertains the idea that Kim’s only real ally is Red China.

Douglas MacArthur devises a new and audacious strategy to break the siege. Ignoring his advisors, and the strategists in Washington, MacArthur plans an invasion of his own, an amphibious assault against the western coast of South Korea, at the port of Inchon.

They’re just boys, so many of them. There wasn’t time to season them, and Litzenberg has to know that. I just hope to God the veterans lead the way.

The majority of the men of the Seventh Marines were veterans, three battalions drawn together quickly after the North Korean invasion.

In the peacetime years most of them had grown soft, family men who now left behind wives and young children, the old uniforms too snug around thick middles.

Few of these men hesitated when the orders came, some of them welcoming the chance to leave the boredom of civilian life. Some had it better, good jobs, a pleasant life that erased many of the awful memories of the war. But they all responded.

Lest any of you forget, we are taking casualties this very minute. Men are dying so that I can be on the cover of a magazine. I take no pride in that.”

From the time Douglas MacArthur had claimed the liberation of Seoul until the city was actually cleared of fighting, the Marines suffered more than seven hundred additional casualties.

Choose carefully what you wanna argue about. Best to let ’em have their way more often than not. When it matters to you, really matters, well, then okay, stand up.

MacArthur was adamant that there was little if any chance of the Chinese or the Soviet Union coming to the support of the North Koreans.

Sung had served with Peng during the Long March, a year-long military struggle that had become celebrated by every schoolchild in China. Then it was civil war, the beleaguered army under Mao fighting for survival, escaping destruction from the far superior arms and equipment of the Nationalists. The march had taken Mao’s troops nearly five thousand miles, allowing them to regroup, resupply, and eventually make war once more against the disorganized ranks of Chiang’s army. When the tide turned for good, Mao’s success had elevated him to supreme leadership over the entire Chinese mainland.

No one in China was allowed to forget that Mao’s glorious triumph had been accomplished by an army that had labored so long under the boot heels of the wealthy.

And with the wars now past, the old veterans, warhorses like Peng Dehuai, understood that survival meant loyalty to Mao.

The utter collapse of the North Korean army was a surprise, to be sure, but no one had expected that the Chinese would move into Korea to stand alongside Kim Il-sung as an equal partner.

We do not fear the puppet army of South Korea, nor do we fear the possible loss of Pyongyang. The greater danger is that those who pull the strings are using this conflict in Korea as a pretense for a far more insidious plan. General MacArthur, who commands the puppet forces of the United Nations, has been indiscreet in his belligerence to Chinese sovereignty. Chairman Mao is convinced that General MacArthur and those who support him from above wish to engage the Chinese people in a war.”

“Soviet assurances are like rivers of mud. Soil yourself in it if you wish, but do not expect to drink the water.

Chiang Kai-shek sits in his counterfeit palace in Taiwan, alive only because the Americans allow it. Now it is Syngman Rhee, kept alive by fat American artillery. There is no justice to what they do, and that is why we will prevail.

Near the town of Unsan, far to the north of Pyongyang, the ROK units were quickly routed, while the American Eighth Cavalry Regiment was surrounded on three sides. In fighting that lasted all that night, the Americans were finally forced to flee into the hills, most of the cavalry units cut off from any support.

Eighth Cavalry’s Third Battalion fought a brutal struggle for its very survival, the enemy forces having severed any avenue of escape.

For men too accustomed to pursuing a demoralized and defeated foe, the shock of t...

The enemy had left their dead and wounded as well, descriptions reaching Eighth Army HQ, passed on back to Tokyo, that the assaulting troops were not North Korean. They were Chinese.

They carried gloves now, every man wondering just how he was supposed to pull the trigger of his weapon with thickened fingers.

The roar of the planes surprised them both, a pair of Corsairs rolling up over the hill from behind. Riley absorbed the sight, the raw power rolling past, the planes banking to the right, sliding down toward a deep draw in the next hill. “God, I love those things.”

Devotion by Adam Makos

The American Marine is a rapacious beast, whose lust grows ever stronger as he embraces the pleasure from the punishment and torture he inflicts on the innocent citizen of Korea.

They took heavy casualties against an enemy that wasn’t supposed to be there. General Gay commands the First Cavalry, and I can smell the rats surrounding him. The army always has need of a scapegoat, and Gay’s troops took the worst of the assault from the enemy. They lost an entire battalion, for God’s sake.

“Six. But she’ll be sixteen before you know it. Seems it’s always been like this. I’m off in who-knows-where, and their lives just march on.” He stopped, was never comfortable talking about these kinds of feelings. “Sorry. What’s up?”

But Almond himself had his own agenda, and Smith was well aware that military considerations, including the physical suffering of his men, were secondary to Almond’s sycophantic need to please Douglas MacArthur.

No need to be stingy with the clips, either. They’ll give us turds to eat, but they ain’t gonna let us run out of ammo.

Before the men could enjoy their Thanksgiving dinner, it had frozen solid.

With disaster spreading out beyond the mountains, no one at Tenth Corps thought to inform Smith that the army he was supposed to support, to link with for the last triumphant blow against the enemy, was no longer there.

The planes had come every day the weather allowed, teams of two or four or six, swooping low to target anything that could be his army.

imparted this lesson to me, and I shall impart it to you. ‘Enemy advancing, we retreat; enemy entrenched, we harass; enemy exhausted, we attack; enemy retreating, we pursue.’

“I want to see tomorrow.”

“I cannot order Litzenberg and Murray to withdraw out of Yudam-ni and return here, without Tenth Corps approval. But that is exactly what we must do. Our best hope, perhaps our only hope, is that General Almond can be made to understand that.”

The Chinese were in strength, surrounding every position the Marines now occupied. With nightfall again settling over the Chosin Reservoir, every outpost, every headquarters, every frontline platoon commander was keeping his men on the alert, waiting for the inevitable attack.

These men are like so many others. They were found nearly unconscious, their hands frozen to the steel of their weapons. There is no remedy but to sever their fingers. I suppose the military prefers men to remain loyal to their rifles, no matter the conditions. Their digits are still attached to their weapons, if that pleases you.”

With darkness settling over them one more time, the men of Barber’s command were poised for the march down off Fox Hill. Of the 240 men who had begun the fight, barely eighty had survived without wounds.

Not everybody here has to be buddies. And not every officer is a nice guy. I’m not sure what this particular bug is about. Maybe I should keep it that way.

Killian looked at Welch, then lay back, closed his eyes. After a long moment, he said, “I don’t wanna go home, Sarge. I know I’m not all that busted up. But you guys are the whole thing, you know? I got nothing back home. I couldn’t hardly get a job before, and now I’m a gimp. Everybody in this place says how great it is that I’m not dead.” He paused. “Up on that hill…I kinda felt like it was the right place to cash it all in. Like it was my time. I ain’t never done anything in my life that felt as good as that. When those Shambos were close enough to smell, God, Sarge, it was fun. Now, I have to go home and be…normal.”

Well that just hits you in the feels.

Welch had learned that Fox Company had barely sixty effective men, but Lieutenant Abell was anticipating a hundred new faces.

Almond looked like he was about to break down and cry, as though there was some kind of gooey sentiment attached to such an offer. I suppose that’s how he thinks. It’s all so simple. Bombs and big guns, and the enemy will melt away. Victory, just like that. Have none of them learned what kind of enemy this is? I wonder how many of these newspaper people think the same way.

“We’re not doing either one. Where the enemy is blocking our path, we will confront him. As you know, we are surrounded, and so we will have to fight our way out. I have issued attack orders to all my commanders. It just happens that this time, we’re advancing in another direction.”

He actually said that which is pretty cool.

“Retreat, hell. We’re just attacking in another direction.”

According to historian David Halberstam, “No one knew how to end it. The war had settled into unbearable, unwinnable battles. It had reached a point where there were no more victories, only death.”