come from the bottom end of Australia. The major premise behind training a man to fight hasnât changed much since Alexander the Great and probably even predates that: do as youâre told and never question a superior. In the history of warfare humans have achieved the most valiant as well as vainglorious outcomes by not being required to think for themselves. History is redolent with fools in command, field marshals, generals and brigadiers who have managed to send legions of men to their deaths on the principle that the greater force knows better than the individual soldier, and that dying needlessly is a peculiar privilege granted to the lower ranks.
It worked at Gallipoli when young Australians, untested in war, set out to prove their valour at a time in our history when fighting and dying for King and Empire was regarded by society as the highest possible ideal. In the Second World War Australians no longer felt the need to establish our fighting credentials, although this time Australia itself was threatened and it became necessary to defend our country against a possible invasion from the Japanese.
Korea was different â it was a conflict where the North, under a communist regime championed by Russia, and the South, ostensibly an elected democracy under the watchful eye of America, were separated by the 38th parallel with the United Nations acting as referee. When, in a deliberate act of aggression, the North invaded the South, the communist troops proved far too strong for the poorly equipped and under-trained South Korean Army. Within a week the South had lost almost half its effective fighting force. With the Americans and Russians already deeply committed to the Cold War, the Americans were not prepared to allow this to happen and called on the United Nations to intervene.
The UN Security Council met and decided that the time for a diplomatic solution was over and the North couldnât be allowed to ride roughshod over their southern brothers. They called for member nations to volunteer to send troops, the aim being to drive the communist army out of South Korea. Our government, an early and eager participant, sent in the RAAF 77 Squadron with their Mustangs as well as two naval ships, HMAS Shoalhaven and Bataan . After some little hesitation they decided to add an infantry battalion of around 1000 men to our contribution. At the time the 3rd Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment (3RAR) was stationed in Japan as part of the occupation force. The men in Japan were a mixture of World War II veterans holding most of the rank and pretty well-trained recent recruits to the Australian Regular Army, but the battalion was only at half strength. The war in Korea was going badly and men were urgently required at the front, and there simply wasnât sufficient time to train an additional 1000 recruits required to bring 3RAR up to full strength and provide a pool of reinforcements. The government hit on the idea of recruiting ex-army civilians, preferably with combat experience, whoâd served in World War II and would only need a short refresher course to be combat ready. They called us âK Forceâ. This, of course, meant that those of us who joined K Force were somewhat older than the Regular Army recruit.
When I arrived at Puckapunyal for the first time in late 1944 I was a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed eighteen-year-old anxiously waiting to turn nineteen so I could get into World War II before it ended. The huge military camp teemed with thousands of Australian and American troops with rows of ribbons on their chests that spoke for themselves. These were warriors, hardened in the furnace of war, while my ribbon-free chest testified to my status as a neophyte â the original virgin soldier.
At night the mess halls and canteens seemed to vibrate with light and raucous laughter as men threw back beers and competed with each other to talk of their experiences. I listened silently as they
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