On 60th anniversary of armistice

By Dan C. Pak

July 27, 2013 marks the 60th anniversary of the armistice agreement which ended the Korean War.

In early 1953, I was assigned to the 15th ROK Infantry Division for staff duty. The division, known as the Victory Unit by Presidential Unit Citation, was engaged with the North Korean Army troops deployed along the rugged terrain on the east coast of the peninsula.

They were survivors of General McArthur’s Inchon landing. The Chinese Communist forces occupied the majority of the rest of the frontline opposing the United Nations forces.

Hill 351 stood at the center of the division’s combat front. Commonly called “Myohyong Goji” (Anchor Hill), it was so named because of its unique topography resembling the shape of an anchor. Some of the most vicious fighting of the war had taken place at the hill and many lives from both sides were claimed there. Each morning at the command briefing, the number of casualties suffered by the Division the previous day was reported.

The armistice talks dragged on for two years. At last, it was announced that the agreement was reached and signed. The directive from the ROK Corps stated that all combat actions shall cease effective at 21:00 hours, or 9 p.m., July 27.

As the designated hour was approaching, both sides continued to fire barrage after barrage against one another. Up until the last minute of the ceasefire, the flash of guns kept lightening up desolate fields and the roar of the guns echoed through the dark valleys.

At precisely 9 o’clock in the evening, all firings stopped.

An eerie silence suddenly engulfed savage landscape. No one spoke a word. The silence was surreal. Three years of war abruptly ended, yet no one was in the mood for celebration. The atmosphere was subdued and gloomy.

Momentarily, several rounds of illumination bombs were bursting in the air one after another above Hill 351. Through the lens of binoculars, bald clay on top of the battered hill emerged under the slowly descending flare against dark sky in the background.

As if on cue, a bugler started to play taps. The mournful sound drifted through the damp air. It was a fitting tribute to the soldiers fallen for the cause of freedom.

I thought of Captain Kim, a member of Division G-3 operations staff. A few days earlier, he was sent to Battalion CP on an inspection tour. He did not return. It was reported that he took a direct hit from enemy artillery at a platoon outpost and that his body simply disintegrated. The ceasefire came a few days too late for him.

After the death and destruction of men and property throughout the land, the country still remained divided roughly along the 38th parallel as it was before the war. Nevertheless, we repelled the communist aggression with the help of our Allies. The price was high. The lesson we learned was that freedom is earned only through great sacrifice.

Across six decades, the scene in my memory revives on this anniversary day. The shooting stopped but constant provocations by the North continue to threaten the uneasy peace in the peninsula.

General Sherman was right when he declared, “War is hell!” The Korean War was no exception. We know what the living hell means; we were in the thick of it. The Korean War was the single most tragic event that permanently disrupted the lives of the millions from my generation.

Upon reflection, a simple truth emerges: Violence begets more violence and everyone loses. War should be the last resort, not the first choice. The unfinished business we left off calls on future generation to the task of unifying the country by peaceful means if at all possible, not by force of arms, no matter how daunting the task might be.

The writer is a Korean War veteran and retiree from an American firm. He wrote a book “6 25 50: A Generation Comes to America" (2008) in paperback and two more last year in e-book format.