K-9 Korea

by J. Rachel Reed

  Stewart had one of the more difficult dogs. He spent many sweaty, wide-eyed hours getting close to Duchess. Oddly, when he did finally get the choke chain on, she could be as gentle as they came, and proficient at the job of obedience. Still, he learned never to turn his back on her because of her reputation. Later he would remember that once, when a dust storm kicked up across the Colorado desert, he kicked Duchess out of her dog house and climb inside to protect himself. He felt it was justified for all the times she had spun and bitten his leg.

  Obedience was their first work together, and the dogs had already been put through rigorous training. It was the men who had to learn to consistently give the command and expect one hundred percent compliance. Sometimes, the seasoned K-9s would take advantage of their rookie partners and pretend that they were also newbies. This is where extreme patience came into play for the handlers. The dogs were never to be disciplined with force or aggression. Neither were they ever given food rewards or toys. The best and most consistent way for the dogs to learn their jobs was with praise and affection. This was one of the hardest aspects of aggression training with the dogs. When a dog lashed out at a handler—and it happened fairly often with some dogs—the handler had to reward the behavior, against all instincts. The ultimate goal of the praise-reward system was to have the dog trust only its handler. No one was supposed to give praise to a dog that wasn’t his own.

  Aggression training consisted of work with a leather collar and leash and the “game” of running away. The men would take turns donning a bite-suit—a super heavy insulated cotton duck pants and shirt combination, which offered no protection for the head and neck—and acting as bait for the dogs. Sometimes the aggressor would poke at the dog with a stick or move suddenly towards the handler. The aggressor would repeat the behavior until the dog showed some sort of irritation with the action, which would be the root of aggression. When the slightest irritation did arise, the handler would praise the dog. Broadway referred to it as “making the dog feel like the big man on campus.” As the dogs began to become more agitated over time, the handlers began tapping into their natural prey drive and encouraging them to take down a fleeing man. The dogs could never be outrun. For the handlers, the key was controlling the instinct they had uncovered. In time, and with training, the dogs eventually learned to release bite pressure when the assailant stopped struggling. With precise timing, the handlers were able to tell the dogs, “off,” and the dogs would release completely. This was never perfect, as some dogs began to really enjoy their work and had a hard time releasing. Sometimes the man in the bite suit would be taken down like a running deer and shaken like a rabbit.

  Peterson’s dog, Wolf (tattoo #E374), never made a distinction between his handler and an assailant. Peterson described his difficulty simply: “Well it took a while to get a hold of that one.” Wolf was ferocious, and Peterson never knew when he might turn and get him instead of the bad guy. This extreme aggression, however, was preferential in the Army’s criteria for a sentry dog. Peterson just had to learn to live with and manage Wolf. Through training, he was able to foresee the potential for a bite and do whatever he could to avoid it. But Peterson saw the wounds inflicted by Wolf as just another part of the job description. His perpetually bandaged legs and arms drew excessive mockery from the other guys. Peterson would laugh it off. “The Army wants ’em mean, and I’m here to serve.”6

  Many of the dogs, not naturally prone to being aggressive toward people, would only associate the game with the suit. Fickes’s dog, Duke, known for his gregarious love of people, didn’t have much of a heart for sentry work. The others often called him a “pussycat.” But with training, Fickes was able to prove that he could attack. When the suit went on, Duke would get after it. One day Fickes came around the corner with Duke and discovered someone had left the bite suit on the ground. Duke flew into a rage at the site of the thing, grabbed it up, and shook it with vigor. Fickes marveled at the animal’s raw aggression and rage. He thought to himself, “Now if I can just get the enemy to wear the suit at all times, I should be safe.” Fickes ultimately trusted Duke, however, because he saw the dog’s desire to please him. “He’s not a dumb animal,” he told the guys. “In fact, truth be told, Duke is more soldier than I’ll ever be.”

  Chan and Prinz went through all the same training as Fickes and Duke, but with a different result. At the end of training, even after Prinz was deemed fit for duty, Chan found himself afraid of his dog—not his aggression, but his half-hearted at attacks. Chan was never sure if Prinz would protect him from a real threat. Prinz, however, enjoyed the game and looked forward to the time spent with his handler every day. He worked hard to make him happy. And Chan returned daily, so Prinz figured he must be playing the game right.

  Over the course of ten weeks of training, the men and dogs worked very closely together, spending very little time apart. The men would occasionally get town passes and take a few hours away from the dogs. Falge and Benevenga liked to go ice skating at the Broadmoor Hotel, and many of the guys cruised around town to mingle with the local ladies. Bar-hopping was pretty popular for the soldiers at Camp Carson, but many bars discriminated against them. Hatch once found a local Colorado Springs bar with a sign in the window, reading, “No soldiers, niggers, or dogs allowed.” The married guys like Jellison and Talley preferred to stick together in their down time. They tried to stay out of trouble and avoid the reputation soldiers could get from too much leisure. Garfield, however, cared very little about reputation. The guys always knew he was up for anything if the mood hit them.

  On August 16, 1954, fifty-one men were awarded the Primary Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) 3458, making them Military Working Dog Handlers. Although they were carrying out Military Police duties in their sentry work, they were not actual MPs. They were, instead, a select and specialized group of men who weren’t acting alone. Their dogs were their partners, working alongside them in dangerous situations. In the long training hours spent together, the men and K-9s had bonded, learning every nuance of their counterparts. The dogs knew their handlers by the slightest expression, inflection of voice, or flick of the wrist. The handlers knew their dogs through grooming, working, and feeding, and could detect even the slightest sign of trouble. They trusted each other. The men had seen that the dogs were willing to lay down their lives for the handlers without hesitation. They felt the same way, now, about their dogs.

  Soon enough, orders came down for the 8125th to head to a “secret location in the far east.” The men were told to pack up their equipment for mobility. The dogs were listed on their orders as their primary equipment. The Army viewed the dogs differently than the handlers did—the handlers saw their dogs as partners. The Army saw the dogs as tools for accomplishing a mission.

  6

  SECRET DEPLOYMENT

  Everything was loaded onto a train bound for the West Coast. The men had received pre-deployment vaccinations, and the dogs had, too, which was odd. The men bold enough to inquire learned that men and dogs were being vaccinated for diseases virtually unheard of in the United States. These inoculations were particular to Third World countries and specific to Asia. That was far from promising. Up until that point the men had been hopeful that their mission might take them to Germany. Upon embarkation, many still wondered if they might be bound for Japan, but occupation and reconstruction there had ended two years before; Japan had very little need for sentries. It was a long shot, but one that many of the guys were clinging to.

  The dogs had special wooden crates for shipping, just like the ones the Army had built to bring them to Carson from their respective homes. The crates were small, and the 90 to 100 pound dogs barely had room to turn around. Each crate was stamped with the dog’s serial number, but no name. They were loaded onto a train car together so the men could easily gain access to them and relieve them at each stop. The dogs’ car was closer to the cargo area than the passenger cars where the men traveled. As they rode west through the Rockies, ma
ny of the men wondered if their dogs were well and worried about them overheating in an unventilated boxcar, baked in the late August sun. They all agreed that they would get to the dogs as soon as possible, but that would be several hours away, in Billings, Montana.

  When they finally pulled into Billings, the men were eager to get to their dogs, their minds full of the task at hand: feed, water, and walk. If they could get some exercise in for the dogs’ tired minds and cramped bodies, too, that would be optimal. As they approached the platform, however, ready to get to work, they saw what might be a potential problem. The area was full of people, waving flags and holding welcome signs. Someone had alerted the sleepy town of Billings that some celebrities were coming to town—the dogs.

  A reporter from the Billings Gazette met the awe-struck passengers as they stepped off the train. Pad and pen in hand, he wanted to know about their mission, their objective, their training. The guys were trying desperately to get to the dogs and make sure they were okay, but the reporter was persistent.

  “Can I meet your dog, soldier?” he chirped.

  The guys agreed that as soon as they made sure the dogs were comfortable, they could meet—though they knew the reporter had no idea what he was in for. The reporter followed behind, bouncing with excitement. But as the doors to the boxcar were flung open, the reporter stopped dead in his tracks. The blood-curdling snarls and snaps told the reporter these were not sweet puppies, but war machines. He stepped back gingerly and let the GIs get to their K-9s.

  The water placed in the crates for each dog had carried them through, and the dogs were all well—and thoroughly irritated. They relieved themselves all around the train station as civilians looked on, awestruck by the simultaneous power and gentleness of the dogs. Some of the bystanders who asked to pet the dogs were met with a tail-wagging, generous response. Other dogs weren’t approachable, and the threat of snapping jaws kept onlookers at bay. The single guys couldn’t help but notice all the fresh-faced bobby-soxers who showed a keen interest in their dogs. The ones with aggressive dogs used it to their advantage, flexing muscle over agitated dogs and preening for the ladies. Some of the guys may even have agitated their dogs for just that purpose. Those with the more docile dogs also capitalized by encouraging the dogs to stand for petting and hugs. Prinz and Duke loved the attention, and Chan and Fickes were grateful for once for their dogs being the docile house pets they were at heart.

  There was some time left before the train departed after the dogs had been tended to, and the civilian crowd pushed the handlers for a demo of what the dogs could do. Paulus and Poole had exceptional dogs and loved to show them off, so they agreed. Fowler also joined in, using whatever dog was nearby. He had the uncanny ability to “get in” on all the dogs. Slaughter’s dog, Jet, was a showboat as he always kept his beautiful coat immaculate. The crowds were thrilled with the prowess of these military working dogs and a sense of pride seemed to waft over everyone there. This was heartening for the men. Already in their relatively short military careers, the men had often experienced apathy among civilians for their Army mission. In this little town, though, the people were thrilled by what handlers and dogs were doing for their country. Besides, a lot of folks there agreed, it’s hard not to love a beautiful dog.

  After the demo, the men still had some time to kill before the train moved on. Some girls offered to show them the highlights of Billings. They were excited to spend some time with pretty girls, not knowing when this opportunity might arise again, but they couldn’t take the dogs with them. They debated putting the dogs back in their kennels prematurely, but in the end it was a sacrifice most of them made. This was the first time any of them had left their dogs for a significant amount of time since training began. Many of the guys were unable to enjoy themselves, because they were too worried about their dogs. Fowler told some of the guys he felt like he was “leaving part of myself behind.” Several came back to the train earlier than necessary to check on the dogs.

  The next morning, the train rambled westward. Conversation about their ultimate destination was on the forefront. Chan was sure they were going to Japan. Hatch hoped the same. Their orders were “top secret,” however, which, as the men talked it over, implied somewhere less benign. They knew they would have another chance to stretch their legs, dogs and men together, at the Seattle pier, before boarding a ship bound for somewhere in the Far East. The dogs would have to be boarded with all the accompanying supplies. There were barrels of horse meat, veterinary supplies, and training aids to labor over. The men had also seen what was brought from the armory; each would be issued a .45 ACP M1911. They tabled their thoughts about going where a pistol would be necessary and talked instead about their dogs. Although Hatch was bemused and Falge said he was a little apprehensive, both agreed they were probably making more of the situation than necessary. All the men in ear shot agreed that the dogs had their backs.

  Chan loudly announced, “Anyway, I’d rather have the dog than the pistol any day.”

  “Why’s that Chin?” Hatch chuckled.

  Chan shot back, “Cause the dog don’t miss!”

  A few days later, the men and dogs arrived at the Seattle Port of Embarkation. Just like at Billings, reporters crowded around the men, and the dogs were taken out of their kennels and brought around for photo opportunities. The next day they would be boarded onto the fantail of the ship, in the same crates they had been in throughout their Army careers, and sent to their destination. There would be no downtime in Seattle for the men, although the reporters would go on to describe this moment as “leisurely.”1 Really, the media wasn’t much interested in the handlers. The men’s names had to be withheld from the public because of the mission’s top secret classification, and they really weren’t the “human interest” story the media wanted, anyway. The dogs were the stars of the show. Camera bulbs flashed and popped as the handlers lined them up, put them in a “sit and stay,” and posed.

  The Army’s Public Relations Department relished the attention because, in spite of the viciousness they had encouraged in the dogs, it was beneficial to them to put a benevolent face—or snout—on the mission about to be undertaken. Further, it was a historical point of interest that these were the first “K-9 warriors” through Seattle since World War II.2

  Once packed back into their cramped quarters on the fantail of the USS W.H. Gordon, the dogs yipped and whined.3 The salty air and smell of the sea were very different from their last home in Colorado, and they called to each other for acknowledgment and affirmation that the security of the pack was still intact. Prinz settled easier than most. His good nature made him consistently even-keeled. Chan was in and out of the dog’s area throughout the loading process, and he walked by Prinz’s kennel often. Prinz reveled in his familiar scent, and he felt settled knowing his beloved handler was nearby. He shifted his weight inside his box, spun, and lay down with his back to the door. No need, he thought, to be on guard as long as Chan was on duty.

  The men look across the ocean, anticipating the journey of a lifetime.

  Above deck the men were finally settling in, too. Chan and Broadway had KP duty once again and had loaded 200 pounds of potatoes for fifty-six men. At least they would have enough to eat. Besides eating, there were other ways to combat boredom on the ship. One of their favorite amusements was to let the sailors aboard get too close to the dogs. This turned the necessary exercise time for the dogs into a sport for the handlers. It didn’t take too long for the sailors to figure it out, though, so the men had to devise new entertainment.

  Chan pours water out aboard ship to bring to the thirsty dogs below.

  The handlers still did not know where they were going, but there were plenty of rumors and whisperings of where they were headed. Benevenga was the only one who was completely certain they were going to be assigned duty in Japan.

  A couple days into their voyage, Paulus burst into the berthing area. “I just heard a sailor say we’re headed for Sasebo, Japan!”


  “Hot damn, I told you,” Benevenga blurted.

  Fickes was excited. “I bet Chin can get us some girls!”

  “That’s Japan. I’m Chinese.” Chan was not amused.

  Someone asked the question, “What are the dogs gonna do?” The question was glossed over and eventually lost in the collective sense of relief that they weren’t going to Korea.

  Later, Broadway heard Lieutenant Word tell one of the men that they were headed to someplace that started with a “K.” Thinking of his Bluegrass home, the soldier joked, “Oh, we’re going back to Kentucky!”

  Chan sat down to compose a letter. With fresh news in hand, he felt like he could finally tell Mary Jay something substantial. Of course he had kept her apprised of Prinz’s training at Carson, but nothing with detail. He remarked that Prinz was a sweet dog (hoping that she wouldn’t read between the lines to see “kind of hopeless as a sentry”), and that he was coming along.

  Dear Mary Jay,

  Today we boarded a ship in Seattle and we are headed to the Far East. I’m not supposed to discuss our exact destination, for matters of operational security, but I can tell you that we will be in a nice place where Prinz will live a life of doggie luxury. I was wondering, can you send me a picture of you?

  Pete

  Two days into their voyage, the men were called together for a briefing. They learned that although they would be stopping in Japan to resupply, the men and dogs would not be going ashore. Instead, they were moving on to Incheon, Korea, where rioting had become a problem after UN resolutions and sanctions had left the country bereft of aid. Because of the conflict, many in that country were homeless and starving. The country had been looted and burned; stripped of all natural resources which could provide for a hungry people. Further, American military posts were being invaded and robbed of all resources by desperate Koreans. And although some pockets of hostility from the enemy remained a problem for the United States military personnel there, it was the dogs’ role to control riots (just their presence was threatening enough to many Koreans) and to protect property that proved an invaluable asset to our nation’s interests.