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They are members of an Elite Corps, our nation's Medal of Honor recipients. They gain membership through extraordinary acts of heroism that most of them label "just doing my duty." For many, prior to receiving their commendations, the ultimate dues is death.

"Since 1863, the Medal of Honor--the nation's highest award for valor in combat-- has been awarded to 3,432 persons, most of them posthumously," according to Parade Magazine. At the time of Parade's Fourth of July 2000 feature, there werel54 surviving recipients. As members of the Medal of Honor Society, they gather annually, as they did in September 2000 in Pueblo, Colo. At that gathering, a sculpture was dedicated depicting Pueblo's four awardees. The monument will eventually honor all 3,432 Medal of Honor recipients, with each name inscribed on granite plates.

Present at the Pueblo gathering was ROA member CAPT Thomas J. Hudner Jr., USN, of Concord, Mass. He is one of the 131 who earned the Medal of Honor during the Korean War.

As a special salute during the 50th anniversary commemoration of the Korean War, this Medal of Honor feature section in The Officer showcases the heroic actions of service members in several Korean War engagements, resulting in Medal of Honor recognition for three military officers, including Captain Hudner, for their valiant efforts in the "Forgotten War."

Corsair Down at the Reservoir

Rescue Attempt at Chosin Earns ROA Member His Medal of Honor

ROA Life Member CAPT Thomas J. Hudner Jr., USN (Ret.), of Concord, Mass., was a Navy pilot in Korea, a lieutenant j.g. with Fighter Sqdn. 32, attached to USS Leyte (CV-32). "On 4 December 1950, we were to launch an armed reconnaissance mission around the Chosin Reservoir," Captain Hudner recalls.

"For seven days now, the Chinese had been attacking the Americans and other allies from every direction, by day when weather conditions made air support unlikely, and always at night when they had no air attacks to fear. The only means of escape was down a narrow mountainside road, one side of which was up against the mountains and the other bordering a steep drop-off into the rocks and trees below. The whole area was covered with snow whose depth varied considerably, which in the reservoir area was anywhere from 10 inches to as much as 24 inches deep, because of the winds and the nature of the terrain.

"But the worst condition was the cold! During the day it was around zero Fahrenheit and at night down to as low -35 F....

"We pilots were pretty bushed; we had been flying with little letup for several days. But we were all aware of what those poor bastards on the ground were going through, and a little tiredness was nothing compared to their fatigue, hunger, cold, and desperation to reach safety."

"In our flight were Dick Cevoli, our XO and the flight leader, with some World War II combat experience; on his wing, George Hudson, our LSO; Jesse Brown, the section leader; and me, 'tail-end Charlie.' ... A two-plane section with Bill Koenig and Ralph McQueen on his wing made up the flight...," Captain Hudner notes.

"The elevation of the area we flew over was anywhere from 5,000 to 6,500 feet, and we flew about 1,000 feet above the ground. The Corsair divisions flew independently of one another, each spread Out loosely to avoid running into anyone. There were virtually no navaids ashore during those days....

"About 30 minutes into the recce route came a call from Jesse, to the effect, 'This is Iroquois 1-3. I'm losing power and am going to have to crash land,' ... What caused his loss of power is a matter of speculation; we could only surmise that he was hit in his oil system by a lucky shot from small arms fire....

"The intense impact caused his plane to buckle at the cockpit at about a 30-degree angle. The canopy had slammed shut, and we were certain from the condition of the plane that he couldn't possibly have survived the crash.... Then we saw that Jesse had opened his canopy and was waving to let us know he was alive."

Describing ENS Jesse Brown as "respected by all the officers and men in the ship," Captain Hudner writes: "Jesse Brown, from Hattiesburg, Miss., ... was the Navy's first-known black pilot, a position achieved only after a long, tough period of flight training during which he was harassed by some flight instructors determined that he wouldn't join the fraternity of naval aviators; by shore patrolmen who accused him of impersonating a midshipman and who made slurs about him and his fiancee Daisy (whom he eventually married ...); and by restaurant managers who refused him service...."

"We couldn't understand why Jesse didn't get out of his airplane," Captain Hudner continues. Smoke started to seep out from under the cowling, and still he seemed to just sit there....

"Knowing that help was on the way but that time was becoming critical, I decided to make a wheels-up landing and pull him out of the cockpit and wait for the helicopter.... I let down, fired off my rockets and all my ammunition into the hillside, and slowed down to 85 knots IAS....

"I hit HARD. The ground under the foot of snow was like cement, but I stopped maybe within 100 feet, about 100 yards from Jesse's plane....

"I tried to get up on the wing, but the snow caked on the soles of my boots made them like ice, so I couldn't get any footing. The downward slant of the gull wing made it even more difficult....

"The reason he hadn't moved was that, where it had buckled, the side of the fuselage pressed his leg (at the knee) against the hydraulic control panel we straddled when our feet were on the rudder pedals. In trying to reach into the cockpit, I couldn't get a grip on his leg."

Making Brown aware of his presence and reassuring him that help was on the way, Lieutenant Hudner pulled his own navy, wool watch cap over Brown's head and used his scarf to wrap Brown's stiff, bare hands. The lieutenant interrupted his repeated efforts to free Brown in order to "scoop snow into the cowling in hopes that it would at least have a moderating effect on the smoke."

"During this time, we spoke a little, but it seemed an effort for him to talk, and at times he seemed to be unconscious or, at least, in shock and unwilling or unable to talk. But his calmness, for whatever reason, inspired me to do anything possible to pull him free," Captain Hudner says.

Forty-five minutes after Lieutenant Hudner's crash landing, the helicopter arrived, piloted by Marine lstLt Charlie Ward. After the two lieutenants had worked for about 45 minutes without success, Brown said that if "he didn't get out of this, to tell his wife Daisy how much he loved her. I told him that I would," Captain Hudner recalls.

With dusk approaching, Lieutenant Ward pulled Lieutenant Hudner aside to tell him they would soon have to leave, since his helicopter wasn't equipped for night flying. Lieutenant Hudner had to decide whether to leave Jesse. He walked back to the smoking Corsair to check on Brown and to say goodbye, uncertain whether Brown could still hear him.

In his book Breakout: The Chosin Reservoir Campaign (New York: Fromm International, 1999), Martin Russ quotes Lieutenant Hudner in that farewell scene: "I spoke to [Jesse] anyway, in case he could hear me. I told him we would be back. There was no response. He may have been dead at that time. I like to think he was. If I got any satisfaction out of any of this, it was that we had remained with him until the end. One of the worst things I can think of is dying with the knowledge that you are all alone. At least Jesse wasn't alone. Just being with him, giving him as much comfort as we could, made the whole effort worthwhile."

Lieutenant Hudner spent the night with the Marines at Koto-ri, extremely tired but sleeping poorly because his thoughts were of Jesse. He spent 5 and 6 December grounded because of bad weather at Yonpo, a Marine air base at Hamhung.

Back on the Leyte by 7 December, he was called to the bridge by the commanding officer, CAPT Thomas U. Sission, who was prepared to launch a helicopter with a flight surgeon to the crash site to extricate Jesse's body. Lieutenant Hudner explained that it would be much too dangerous because the crash site lay in enemy territory, so an alternate flyover plan was launched.

Captain Hudner writes, "Jesse's body was still in the aircraft--but stripped of all clothing. It was evidence of how desperate the Korean natives were for clothing. ... The Corsairs and Skyraiders, whose pilots all knew Jesse, dropped napalm on both of our aircraft with a prayer for their friend."

"And, in a Valkyrian tribute to a fallen comrade, cremated him in a blaze of napalm," author Martin Russ adds. "The site is at Latitude 40 degrees 36' N; Longitude 127 degrees 06."

In a book that Captain Hudner recommends, The Flight of Jesse Leroy Brown (New York: Avon Books, 1998), author Theodore Taylor writes: "Almost half a century later, the rust-encrusted hulks of the Corsairs flown by Brown and Hudner can be seen near the village of Somong-ni by the U.S.A. spy satellite that regularly passes over North Korea, reminders of a fierce war that has never officially ended."

"Leyte's last day on the line was 20 January 1951. By this time, enough carriers had been recommissioned so that she could return to AirLant where she was needed in the Mediterranean. The Cold War was in full swing, and there was great concern about Soviet skullduggery," Captain Hudner notes.

"For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life" on 4 December 1950, CAPT Thomas J. Hudner Jr. was awarded the Medal of Honor. It was presented by President Harry Truman at the White House on 13 Apr11 1951.

"The Rose Garden was filled with reporters," the captain recalls, "not for the presentation ceremony itself, but for a chance to get to the President," making his first public appearance since announcing that he had fired GEN Douglas MacArthur as commander in chief of the United Nations Command.

"Daisy Brown was there. It was a poignant ceremony--one of great jubilation for my family but, only four months after Jesse's death, it must have been a heart-wrenching experience for her. She was a lady who expressed happiness for me while grieving for her husband who was so devoted to her," Captain Hudner says.

In 1973, it was Captain Hudner's turn to stand alongside Daisy Brown at a ceremony in Boston Harbor, as the USS Jesse Brown (DE-1089) was commissioned into the U.S. Navy.

Captain Hudner reports that Daisy Brown later remarried but was widowed a second time. She still lives in Hattiesburg, where she and Jesse grew up together and where she taught school until she retired. Jesse and Daisy's only child, Pamela, also lives in Hattiesburg with her two children.

As the Major Leads Them

250 Untrained Men Take On 4,000 Chi-Com at Chosin

CAPT William J. Waylett, USNR (Ret.), of West Palm Beach, Fla., is an ROA Life Member who includes among his friends Medal of Honor recipient Col Reginald R. Myers, USMC (Ret.), of Jupiter, Fla. Myers was a major during the Korean War, serving as executive officer with 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines, 1st Marine Division (Reinforced). In tribute to Colonel Myers, Captain Waylett submits the following account, as told by the colonel, describing 29 November 1950 action at the Chosin Reservoir, for which then-Major Myers was awarded his Medal of Honor.

"We arrived in Hagaru-ri, North Korea, on my 31st birthday, November 26, 1950," Colonel Myers recalls.

"The ground was so frozen that it was necessary to use dynamite to cut through the top layer of the ground. After all of the troops had settled in, we sent out our South Korean agents to reconnoiter the area and report what they found. They reported that at 7 p.m. on Monday evening the Chinese troops would attack us. Where did the Chinese come from? We had no idea that Chinese troops were even in the area. They weren't supposed to be there. The 5th and 7th Marines were in defensive positions on the Yalu River, holding that. We found out later that the Chinese had managed to work their way around our regimental defensive positions and attacked at 9 p.m. instead of 7 p.m.

"I was ordered to retake East Hill, a critical position that governed the only road exit from Hagaru-ri. The Army unit defending the crest of East Hill had been attacked and had fallen back to the bottom of the hill. I had no Marine rife [rifle?] company or unit of any type in my area, so as I walked toward East Hill, I formed my own combat element from support Marines, such as cooks, truck drivers, maintenance personnel and administrative personnel, recruiting Marines along the way. I ended up with about 50 hard-charging Marines that were raring to go and anxious to get into the fight.

"The slope of East Hill was very steep and covered with deep snow. The temperature was about 25 degrees below zero and the ascent was very difficult. I led the way as my Marines and I struggled up the hill. We finally reached the top of the hill and accomplished our mission. We had retaken East Hill.

"We dug-in for the night. The next morning, a Chinese machine-gunner started laying grazing fire across the top of the hill. This continued all day, but we refused to leave our positions on top of East Hill. Of course, the Chinese were well dug-in, too, so we called in Marine air to drop bombs and napalm. We called in artillery, lobbed grenades into their positions, and assaulted them time and time again to assure that they did not retake the top of the hill.

"Little by little, my force dwindled due to casualties. But we were stubborn and would not leave the top of the hill. I set up a reverse slope defensive position just below the crest of the hill and we repulsed Chinese attempts to retake the hilltop.

"We remained in our reverse slope positions until we were relieved by a reinforced Marine rifle company I was proud of my Marines. They proved that a Marine, whether a truck driver, a cook, a clerk or whatever, was foremost a fighting combat rifleman. I was proud and honored to be with them.

"Later in that week, the 5th and 7th Marines marched into Hagaru-ri. As they came into our area, they brought their dead and wounded and marched in singing "The Marine Corps Hymn"--ready to continue the fight. They honored us, their Corps and the country by being true Marines living up to the philosophy that had been bred into them at boot camp."

In a closing salute and comment, Colonel Myers adds: "God bless our Corps and country. Semper Fidelis. Freedom is not free."

The Medal of Honor citation describes Major Myers' action of 29 November as follows: "Assuming command of a composite unit of Army and Marine service and headquarters elements totaling approximately 250 men ... Major Myers immediately initiated a determined and aggressive counterattack against a well-entrenched and clearly concealed enemy force numbering an estimated 4,000. Severely handicapped by lack of trained personnel and experienced leaders in his valiant efforts to regain maximum ground prior to daylight, he persisted in constantly exposing himself to intense, accurate and sustained hostile fire in order to direct and supervise the employment of his men and to encourage and spur them on in pressing the attack. Inexorably moving forward up the steep, snow-covered slope with his depleted group in the face of apparently insurmountable odds, he concurrently directed artillery and mortar fire with superb skill and, although losing 170 of his men during 14 hours of raging combat in sub-zero temperatures, co ntinued to reorganize his unit and spearheaded the attack which resulted in 600 enemy killed and 500 wounded. By his exceptional and valorous leadership throughout, Major Myers contributed directly to the success of his unit in restoring the perimeter."

ROA Member in Thick of Action

Stretch Lands Scooter's Bravery on Hill 200

This is the story of Stretch and Scooter, comrades in arms in Korea. Each pays homage to the other; each thinks the other "the greatest."

Asked to submit an account of his "most memorable moment" in Korea, ROA Life Member COL Richard E Walther, USA (Ret.), of Pittsburgh, Pa., aka Stretch, writes that it "was when my friend, lLT Lloyd L. "Scooter" Burke earned the Medal of Honor. I was with him as the artillery observer. I have never in my lifetime experienced such bravery?' Colonel Walther was a first lieutenant, serving as forward artillery observer with the 5th Cavalry Regt., 1st Cavalry Div. For eight months he served with G Co., 2nd Bn., before returning to the 61st Field Artillery Bn. (105mm).

In a 1992 letter to Stretch/Termite 39er, Scooter writes: "You are the greatest! Thank you for keeping in touch ... since that night 41 years ago.

"If we were on a hill tomorrow or today in combat, I would want you as my FO Fire for effect!!! In my view, had you not stayed on Hill 200 that night with your planned fire concentration, the [enemy] would have overrun it. That, in my book, is the true story of a hero. I hope your [three] children and your [seven] grandchildren know what a heroic job you did in Korea those 41 years ago. I for one respect and admire your courage and tenacity and just plain GUTS. You're my HERO....

"God bless you and keep you,"

The letter is signed "Fraternally, The Scooter."

The battle that forged the bond between the two men occurred near Chong-dong, Korea, 28 October 1951. It pitted 35 "completely beat" soldiers of the 5th Cavalry Regiment, 1st Cavalry Division, against 300 Chinese. According to a recent New York Times article, when Hill 200 was taken five hours later, "the bodies of 250 Chinese soldiers were found-- 100 of them killed by Burke?"

The Medal of Honor citation records the action as follows:

"Intense enemy fire had pinned down leading elements of his company committed to secure commanding ground when Lieutenant Burke left the command post to rally and urge the men to follow him toward three bunkers impeding the advance. Dashing to an exposed vantage point, he threw several grenades at the bunkers, then, returning for an Ml rifle and adapter, he made a lone assault, wiping out the position and killing the crew. Closing on the center bunker he lobbed grenades through the opening and, with his pistol, killed three of its occupants attempting to surround him.

"Ordering his men forward he charged the third emplacement, catching several grenades in mid-air and hurling them back at the enemy. Inspired by his display of valor his men stormed forward, overran the hostile position, but were again pinned down by increased fire. Securing a light machinegun and three boxes of ammunition, Lieutenant Burke dashed through the impact area to an open knoll, set up his gun and poured a crippling fire into the ranks of the enemy, killing approximately 75.

"Although wounded, he ordered more ammunition, reloading and destroying two mortar emplacements and a machine gun position with his accurate fire. Cradling the weapon in his arms, he then led his men forward, killing some 25 more of the retreating enemy and securing the objective. Lieutenant Burke's heroic action and daring exploits inspired his small force of 35 troops. His unflinching courage and outstanding leadership reflect the highest credit upon himself, the infantry, and the U.S. Army?"

At the time of the battle, the Times article notes, "Lieutenant Burke was preparing to return to the U.S. after 13 months of combat in the Korean War. He had received the Distinguished Service Cross for leading his company through a roadblock in November 1950 when Chinese forces poured into North Korea across the Yalu River. He had also [been awarded] a Bronze Star and earned two Purple Hearts."

He was a veteran of World War II--serving as sergeant with the combat engineers in Italy--and of the Vietnam War. "He arrived in South Vietnam in July 1965, as a battalion commander in the 1st Infantry Division," the Times reports. "On his 10th day in combat, he was hit by a Viet Cong grenade and suffered a fractured left leg and shrapnel wounds, ending his career as a combat officer."

Sadly, COL Lloyd L. Burke, 74, died in his sleep 1 June 1999 at his home in Hot Springs, Ark., after returning from Memorial Day ceremonies in Indianapolis, Ind., where Medal of Honor recipients were recognized.

RIP, intrepid soldier, Scooter.

COPYRIGHT 2001 Reserve Officers Association of the United States
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