When the Burza arrived, the majority of the Campbell’s crew was transferred to the Polish ship, but Sinbad remained on the damaged cutter. When a sailor attempted to take the dog to the destroyer, the captain waved him off explaining that the dog had to be on the cutter to assure that it would not sink. Only when the tug arrived and latched on to the Campbell did Sinbad finally head below deck to his bunk.
When the Campbell made it back to the United States there was a huge contingent of press waiting on the dock. When the captain was asked how the ship managed to do so much damage to the German wolf pack and survive ramming what had now been identified as U-606, the ship’s leader pointed to Sinbad and explained, “The dog inspired us and pulled us through.” In a feature story, Life magazine summed up the furry hero in these words, “A liberty-rum-chow-hound, with a bit of bulldog, Doberman pinscher, and what-not.”
Already well known before this battle, Sinbad now emerged as such a huge celebrity that while the Campbell was being repaired, the dog went on a nationwide recruiting tour. It was estimated that thousands joined the military thanks to meeting the once-unwanted mutt. Sensing a public relations gold mine, the Coast Guard quickly tossed together a book describing his exploits, Sinbad of the Coast Guard.
Sinbad, even with his star status, was on the deck of the Campbell when it put back out to sea. By the time the cutter arrived in New Orleans for shore leave, the mascot had been elevated from Dog 1st Class to Chief Dog. It would be a short-lived promotion. At a public ceremony to honor his new rank, Sinbad broke away, ran through the legs of several members of the press, raced down the dock, and disappeared into the city. When he finally returned several days later, he was booked for having been AWOL, had his rank reduced, and was confined to the brig until the cutter was again at sea.
Yet even though he was back to just being a Dog 1st Class, Sinbad remained a part of the Campbell’s crew until the end of the war. And with the dog on board, in battles in both the Atlantic and the Pacific, the ship’s luck held firm as it was never damaged so badly it was sunk. Those who sailed on the Campbell swore it was the dog that kept the ship afloat.
Two years later, while the canine was still on active duty, Hollywood made a film about Sinbad’s war exploits. The tie to the original stories of Sinbad the Sailor tales was obvious in the title Universal Pictures chose. Dog of the Seven Seas, while not a hit, was one of the most unusual releases of the year and served as a platform to keep Sinbad’s name in the press.
Two years later, in 1949, the ship’s captain decided the dog was too old for life at sea and Sinbad was sent to the Coast Guard’s Barnegat Light Small Boat Station. He would remain there until his death on December 30, 1951. The next day, on New Year’s Eve, Sinbad was buried with full military honors at the base of the station’s flagpole. The obituary that ran in newspapers around the globe noted that while Sinbad had never again risen beyond Dog 1st Class, he had earned the American Defense Service Medal, American Campaign Medal, the European-African-Middle Eastern Campaign Medal, the Asiatic-Pacific Campaign Medal, the World War II Victory Medal, and the Navy Occupation Service Medal. Few sailors could claim all those ribbons.
In the end, Sinbad was not a war dog that ever saved a life and didn’t actually provide any vital function to the ship on which he served. All he did was offer friendship, loyalty, and a sense of security. It was the latter that might have led to the Campbell becoming one of the US Coast Guard’s most valuable ships. From sinking subs to successfully guiding nineteen convoys across the Atlantic, there was one constant. While the human crews rotated, a once-unwanted dog remained in place as an unsinkable symbol of the bond of the men who served on the sea.
NINE
VALUE
You must look within for value, but must look beyond for perspective.
—Denis Waitley
If not for the successful television series M*A*S*H, the Korean War might well be almost forgotten today along with the more than thirty-three thousand who died in what was officially called a “conflict” or “police action.” Often referred to as the forgotten war, more than six decades later few know how it started or why and yet the deep wounds between north and south still fester. What happened in Korea changed the world in a dramatic way as it revealed then and continues to expose the fragility of peace in the nuclear age.
In the final weeks of World War II, just two days after President Harry Truman ordered the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, the USSR finally declared war on a now-completely crippled Japan. The reason for Stalin’s declaration was not to enter into the fighting but rather to claim some of the spoils. And what happened with Russia’s entry into war on August 8, 1945, continues to resonate. Due to Soviet influence, Korea, which had been under Japanese rule for decades, was split into two separate nations with neither the north or the south recognizing the legitimacy of the other. With the American eagle anchored in the south and the Russian bear in the north, the cold war was birthed even as the celebration of the conclusion of World War II continued.
In an effort to keep a watchful eye on Russian influence, the United States, which already had a large military presence in occupied Japan, stationed troops in South Korea. For several years those who drew this assignment were little more than policemen. They kept their comrades in line and attempted to prevent theft of supplies from American bases. They were not very successful. In a nation racked with poverty and hunger, goods continued to disappear from warehouses at an alarming rate. A frustrated US decided that if humans were unable to stop the theft then they would put that task in the paws of man’s best friend. On orders from the Pentagon a hundred dogs were called into active sentry duty. With the canines acting as living burglar alarms crime was all but eliminated.
As thousands of homesick men fought loneliness and boredom, the sentry dogs also soon served as morale officers and friends. As the bond between GI and dog grew, another alliance was being forged that would lead to the sentry canines being completely wiped out and war once more threatening to erupt across the globe.
An alliance between communist Chinese forces and North Korea helped turn the tide in the Chinese civil war. In late 1949, when the forces of Mao Zedong drove the armies of Chiang Kai-shek from the mainland and established communist rule in China, it shook both Washington and London. Stalin and his confederates now controlled almost half the globe and were still looking to expand. The first real test of Western resolve came in Korea.
Emboldened by Mao’s success, North Korean leader Kim Il-Sung planted and supplied more than ten thousand guerrilla fighters in South Korea. Though half were either killed or captured within a year, this underground army sowed seeds of fear among the South Korean population as it exposed the weakness of the fledgling democracy. As citizens voiced complaints about the US-backed government, Kim became convinced he had broad support in the south and leaned on the USSR and China for weapons. Those requests were granted and, behind a curtain of secrecy, North Korea prepared for a full-scale invasion.
The Chinese, who feared the large American presence in Japan, fully supported Kim’s plans. By pushing the United States out of Korea, Chairman Mao could then turn his attention to expanding Chinese influence into Southeast Asia. Also, most Asian military minds believed that a North Korean invasion would reveal that the Americans had little stomach for another large war.
On June 25, 1950, in an attack for which the US and its allies were not prepared or expecting, seventy-five thousand North Koreans pushed into the south. It was the sentry dogs that alerted the American military when the communist soldiers were in Seoul, but the alarm was sounded too late. With only small numbers of Americans on the ground and with a poorly prepared and disorganized South Korean military, unsure of what to do, there was no time to mount a resistance. Leaving the dogs behind, the US hurriedly retreated further south. While this move saved human lives, it left the trained canines in harm’s way. Within hours almost all the American dogs had been apprehended and executed. Those that wer
e not captured starved to death. Though thousands of Americans remained in South Korea trying to hold the remaining ground and repel the unexpected attack, there were no military dogs left to fight with them, and this would open the door to thousands of deaths that could have been prevented. Worse yet, in 1950, as the military moved toward the technological age, there were no field dogs ready for action.
Within days of North Korea’s initial attack, the United Nations met and agreed to support the troubled South Korean defenses. By August the first combat-ready American troops deployed from Japan and entered the war. Under the command of General Douglas MacArthur they were eager for action but poorly trained and ill equipped. Yet thanks in large part to strength in numbers and superior aircraft, the US troops quickly pushed the North Koreans north, and over the next two months the war dramatically turned. But on November 26, when a quarter of a million Chinese soldiers joined the fight, the conflict became bloody and the outcome once again grew uncertain.
As it was so different from World War II, the Korean conflict offered challenges unlike any Americans had ever faced in combat. As jets roared overhead, men hid and fought in trenches much as they had in World War I. The armies advanced and retreated on a daily basis. Ground was given up, recaptured, and then given up again. On top of that, the enemy was illusive and hard to spot, and roads were heavily mined. At times, guerrilla fighting meant small forces could hide while inflicting major damage. Then, a few miles down the road things became conventional as waves of motivated attackers charged United Nations’ positions. On top of not being able to predict the enemy’s moves, radical weather changes made Korea one of the most inhospitable places on the planet. The Allies had to be on watch for every kind of military tactic as they fought in rain, snow, and heat. Because of all of these often-conflicting issues, morale quickly flagged and some questioned the value in waging this action.
As the fighting intensified, World War II veterans pointed out that many of the deaths they witnessed were unnecessary. In the fight against Japan and Germany, scout dogs had saved countless lives simply by alerting units to enemy presence. Now, while fighting on unfamiliar ground, the Americans were at a distinct disadvantage simply because there were no dogs to warn them of possible dangers. Without “dog sense,” many suggested, the enemy could sneak up using both surprise attacks as well as well-positioned snipers to pick off men one by one. Thus, vets argued, men were getting needlessly killed on what should have been routine and somewhat safe scouting missions. Sadly, for a while no one listened to this wisdom.
Men dying one at a time rather than in waves had the most devastating effect on morale. When someone was taken down by trip wire, a mine, or a sniper in a tree without a single American shot being fired, it created a sense of helplessness that swept over entire combat units. These deaths also began to cause men to question why they were in Korea. Grumbles of “This isn’t our country” and “We weren’t attacked” were passed among the soldiers. As the enemy grew more determined and the war stretched out, tired men who had lost many friends were growing more discouraged each day. They felt they were dying and no one was noticing or even cared.
To a certain degree this was true. Back in the United States the news media was not reporting the conflict in Korea as they had with World War II. War stories were not the top headlines. With television in its infancy and newsreel budgets dramatically cut, the general public rarely saw film of battles. And then there was the problem of what could you say about a war where there were no real fronts and no defined objectives. It was all but impossible to describe the kind of action in a way the public could understand. Even as casualties mounted and the price of war personally hit home in more American families, the news coverage did not expand.
As a determined enemy fighting on their own land dug in, the Americans needed a leader who could provide real hope and a battlefield advantage. Many of the top brass kept pointing to new technology as the answer while others suggested it was time to dust off atomic bombs, but a few quiet voices, mainly belonging to boots on the ground, kept pitching a much simpler suggestion that had already been fully tried and tested in combat. In this case the soldiers barked and wagged their tails.
At the end of World War II, the American military had cut back on funding dog-training units. It appeared the armed forces no longer saw canines as valuable partners in combat action. By 1951, only one active duty scout group remained. Those heading the 26th Infantry Scout Dog Platoon, located at Fort Riley, Kansas, were likely not thinking about Korea or combat duty. Essentially they had become an Army public relations unit with a primary mission of conducting dog demonstrations and making television appearances. But with the war stuck in the Korean mud, a call was sent out from Asia begging that dogs be trained for combat duty.
Though the location of the action was far different from Pacific Islands or Europe, the training was similar to what dogs received in World War II. At Fort Riley the four-footed soldiers were taught the skills to recognize anything and everything that might be dangerous. This included hearing weapons being readied for action, the sound of enemy vehicles, and the noise made by artillery shells or aircraft; smelling, hearing, or sighting snipers; and spotting mines. In these areas a dog’s sense of sight, smell, and hearing were far superior to a man’s. But while the handlers understood this, many officers couldn’t bring themselves to trust the dogs even in training exercises. Thus, the canines were only going to be as useful as those in charge of the military units allowed them to be.
At Fort Riley one dog stood out as possessing skills beyond the rest of his class. York was a solidly built, athletic German shepherd. Tan and black, with a large head and expressive eyes, the canine was one of the few dogs that didn’t favor just one of his senses. He seemed to equally rely on his eyes, ears, and nose. Perhaps this was the reason that in every possible combat situation test results proved him to have no weaknesses.
Those at Fort Riley believed that the future of dogs as military partners hinged on how their star pupil York would respond under fire, and the trainers had complete faith in him. Thus, in May, when the 26th Infantry Scout Dog Platoon received orders to embark for Korea with its six dogs determined ready for combat, the canine that was number one in his class was marked for the toughest assignment.
On June 12, the tan-and-black York was assigned to the 2nd Infantry Division of the United States Army. The 2nd made up almost one-third of the American soldiers stationed in Korea. Formed in World War I, the division had been a part of some of the toughest battles in the fight against the Nazis in World War II. Many of those men were still with the 2nd when the Korean conflict broke out and were the first to be deployed directly from the United States to combat. Experiencing the most intense fighting of the police action, nineteen members of the 2nd would so distinguish themselves in combat that they would be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. But in spite of unparalleled valor, the unit’s morale was suffering under the enormous toll suffered in the conflict.
The 2nd had been losing men at an alarming rate outside normal battle conditions. On seemingly routine patrols soldiers were dying due to sniper fire, mines, and surprise attacks by enemies that had managed to steal behind American lines. Thus, even though many of the officers were skeptical, York and his handlers were assigned to lead these patrols. Here is where the validity of military dogs in modern warfare would either be proved or shown as an outdated tool to be relegated to history books. Hence, there was a lot riding on the German shepherd’s broad shoulders.
By going ahead of the forces, York and those with him were targets. Often working in the open in areas that offered no cover, York was being asked to sense men who were completely hidden from view while also noting trip wires and mines.
Padding along dusty roads and through bombed-out villages, York’s head was up as his gaze constantly shifted from side to side. As the men around him looked on, the dog’s pricked ears stood high when he noted something suspicious and his focused eyes d
irected the soldiers to the problem. Trusting York’s senses did not come easily for men who had never worked with a trained dog. When they noted nothing in the direction where York was looking, some grew impatient and moved forward only to have gunfire prompt belly flops onto the hard ground. After only two or three missions, when the dog stopped so did the men.
In his first few months of service, the German shepherd had to deal with the unrelenting heat and by November he was dealing with Arctic cold. He worked in every kind of condition and never once lost his focus. Therefore, York became a thorn in the North Koreans’ side. Using his vision, sense of smell, and hearing, he was exposing men that had remained hidden in the past. He was also detecting mines that humans were missing. By Christmas it was estimated the dog had likely prevented hundreds of deaths.
In the rolling terrain, the 2nd was assigned the task of taking hilltops. The job was daunting and the cost in lives was enormous. The North Koreans and Chinese were dug in and well armed in spots that presented panoramic views of the landscape below. While bombing and artillery helped keep the enemy entrenched, it didn’t drive them out. The only way to accomplish that was by charging through waves of fire. In those kinds of fights the dog was kept behind the lines. But at night, when the enemy’s eyes were impaired, York would quietly lead men up the sides of those hills. Largely using his sense of smell, he would point out enemy positions and allow the unit to engage in unexpected assaults that wiped out entire squads. This made the task of taking the cliffs much easier the following day.
When the sun shown and the Americans advanced, the German shepherd went forward to define probable points where the enemy’s position was the weakest as well as nose out other areas that were well fortified. He was also able to help determine supply routes and sense out movements along those lines so the North Korean and Chinese convoys could be taken out before they reached their destinations. This enhanced the American war efforts to delay the enemy resupplying its frontline divisions.
In the Line of Fire Page 12