Return To Heartbreak Ridge

        Return To Heartbreak Ridge is the story of a sons' search for his fathers' past, and a series of letters received from Korean War Veteran SFC Seymour "Hoppy" Harris, a gunner with Company H, 23d Infantry Regiment, 1951. It is a complex story.

        Warning: Strong language, pejorative terms, and honesty.

        Random Thoughts

        Dear Hal,

        Just some random thoughts.

        I'd like to have a count of the number of times Howe Company machine guns saved the day, but no mention is ever made of them.

        And you can believe Howe Company's mortar platoon saved the day a good many times, but they never receive one bit of credit.

        And I'll tell you the 4.2 inch mortars never got the credit due them. Those guys were out of this world. Get on target quick and could really lay in on. The were really something else at Heartbreak.

        I remember stopping near their position on Heartbreak one day and here they stood. C-rations in hand just staring at us. You'd have thought we were from outer space. I said in passing, "You guys are doing a hell of a good job. For godsakes keep it up!"

        Now that may sound like a little thing, barely worth mentioning, but you can bet those guys appreciated my words. They were looking at us probably thinking they were glad they were not in our shoes. They were pitying us, and more than likely we were looking at them as a bunch of deadbeats. Walking by hardly glancing their way, as if they didn't exist.

        Hal, there is a mutual admiration of one soldier to another, whether they show it or not. Artillery, mortar-men, tankers, infantry, we all admired one another but didn't show it. Why, I wouldn't know. That's just the way it was. We were clannish, I guess. Maybe a little paranoid.

        And we all hated the rear echelon bastards although we all knew deep down in our hearts we couldn't have gotten along without them.

        But the bottom line is everyone had a job to do and they did it. They were where they were because of the luck of the draw. And no matter what your job, you wanted credit for what you did. You wanted to feel important, have a feeling of self worth. But it seldom came.

        I'm going to shut the fuck up right here. I don't know what I'm trying to say anyway.

        Your Friend

        Hoppy Harris

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        Copyright 1995, by Hal Barker (hbarker@kwp.org)

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