Nonfiction Unraveling the War That Began with a Big Hype Between the U.S. and North Korea: "The Coldest Winter: The Korean War" (Gamers' Book Guide, No. 48)
Note: the original Japanese article can be found at:
https://www.4gamer.net/games/991/G999112/20251023023/
Writer: Madakai Ongorō | 2025/10/23 08:00 (UTC)
“Book Guide for Gamers” is a biweekly series that broadly introduces books of interest to gamers, as well as literary works that deepen understanding of game themes—regardless of genre. The articles vary in style depending on the theme and author, ranging from casual introductions to deeply researched, comprehensive explorations.
Whether it’s an action game like Metal Gear Solid or a real-time strategy (RTS) title such as Age of Empires, depicting “killing” as a central theme is by no means rare. In fact, the same can be said for movies and novels—enjoying someone else’s death from the comfort of an air-conditioned room, finding satisfaction in the hero’s triumph.
But turn that perspective around, and mass murder committed by bloodthirsty invaders becomes heroic resistance against uncivilized natives, a noble endeavor to expand frontier settlements westward. When someone close to us dies, killing is always wrong. Yet as the subject grows larger, it transforms from a necessary evil into justice’s hammer—and ultimately into a grand historical achievement.
Still, military commanders are flesh-and-blood humans. What thoughts go through their minds when issuing orders that lead to mass slaughter? How do they make decisions caught between political demands and personal ethics?
It is precisely such dilemmas that war simulation games—especially strategy or operational-level strategy titles—allow players to experience vicariously. As a member of the generation directly impacted by the 1980s surge in this genre, I have deeply internalized through gameplay not only the agonizing position of military commanders but also the sheer absurdity of war.
From that perspective, what I’d like to introduce today is David Halberstam’s nonfiction work “The Coldest Winter: American and the Korean War.” What lessons can we draw from this conflict—the quintessential limited war shaped by politics, which has remained in a state of suspended ceasefire for 72 years? Let’s explore this definitive overview of the Korean War alongside related works.
The Coldest Winter: The Korean War [Two Volumes]
Author: David Halberstam
Translators: Ko S. Yamada, Yuhei Yamada
Publisher: Bungei Shunju Bunko
Publication Date: August 3, 2012
Price: ¥1,174 each (tax included)
ISBNs: 978-4167651824 / 978-4167651831Purchase Links: Honya Club.com
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Bungei Shunju BOOKS “The Coldest Winter: The Korean War” Introduction Page
This monumental work, which Halberstam—America’s most prominent journalist and Pulitzer Prize winner for reporting on the Vietnam War—considered his life’s masterpiece, took ten years to complete after extensive research spanning many years. Tragically, he died in a traffic accident just days before final galley corrections were made, making this book effectively his ultimate legacy.
Through shifting perspectives—from the grand strategy of the White House and Mao Zedong’s inner circle down to the intimate view of individual soldiers—Halberstam weaves together testimonies from diverse figures, creating a narrative with the rich texture of a historical novel.
The Korean War was fundamentally a war of miscalculation. Kim Il-sung confidently assumed that America would not intervene and secured Soviet approval before launching his invasion southward, expecting mass uprisings across South Korea to collapse the southern regime easily. Meanwhile, Douglas MacArthur prematurely concluded that China wouldn’t enter the conflict, extended his frontiers all the way to the Yalu River, and suffered a devastating counterattack by massive Chinese forces—forced into a humiliating retreat.
The 38th parallel itself was a product of wartime compromise. Roosevelt’s desire to draw the Soviet Union into war against Japan led to ceding North Korea to the communist sphere; meanwhile, Truman’s administration, focused on defending Japan as part of an anti-communist front, recklessly excluded the Korean Peninsula from America’s defense line in the so-called “Acheson speech.” In short, initial American resolve—unwavering determination to defend South Korea at all costs—was entirely absent.
This dynamic bears striking resemblance to today’s ongoing war in Ukraine (Russia’s invasion of Ukraine).
Additionally, this conflict was an asymmetric war. The U.S. military held overwhelming superiority in air power, naval strength, and ground firepower, while the Chinese People’s Liberation Army could deploy seemingly endless human resources. In response to North Korea’s armored blitz that drove South Korean and American forces into a defensive pocket at Pusan, MacArthur executed the daring amphibious landing at Inchon.
Inchon Harbor has one of the world’s largest tidal ranges—up to 10 meters—with shallow surrounding waters making it highly unsuitable for landings. Yet MacArthur dismissed advice to attack safer southern locations like Gwansan and instead launched a surprise assault in September, swiftly recapturing Seoul and shattering North Korean forces, pushing them all the way back to the 38th parallel. He even boasted he would end the war by Christmas and return home.
It was here that MacArthur’s military genius truly shone. During World War II’s Pacific theater, he bypassed heavily fortified Japanese strongholds like Rabaul and Truk Island—opting instead for “island-hopping” assaults on lightly defended rear areas—to minimize casualties while leaving the isolated Japanese forces to starve. Such tactics were only possible with absolute command of sea and air.
But MacArthur was also excessively self-confident and egocentric. Surrounded by yes-men in Tokyo’s Dai-ichi Life Building, he refused to see the war on the Korean Peninsula any way other than his own vision. The title “The Coldest Winter” refers precisely to MacArthur’s miscalculation—the brutal winter campaign of 1950 that followed his overconfidence. Ignoring political warnings to halt at the 38th parallel, he recklessly advanced toward the Yalu River despite inadequate winter clothing—only to be met with devastating counterattacks by Chinese forces.
The burden of MacArthur’s failure fell upon Matthew Ridgway, a stark contrast in character: an airborne infantryman who avoided grand speeches and embraced blunt realism. His integrity is best illustrated during World War II in Italy, when he rejected a secret offer from Italian officers promising to turn on the Germans if Allied paratroopers were dropped near Rome. He didn’t blindly believe them; instead, after assessing the strength of German forces stationed in the capital, he calmly and rationally declined.
Had it succeeded, Ridgway would have become an instant hero. But had it failed—precisely as happened a year later with Britain’s 1st Airborne Division at Arnhem—the elite paratroopers would have been annihilated.
The People’s Liberation Army excelled at elusive tactics—avoiding roads exposed to air attacks, blending into terrain and infiltrating enemy lines, then striking in unison when opponents grew anxious and retreated. This was starkly demonstrated on November 30, 1950, along the “Goat Track” (a pass known as the “Whipping Ground”), where the U.S. 2nd Infantry Division suffered relentless encirclement—like walking through a line of whips.
From such lessons, Ridgway—who was himself an airborne veteran—took a pragmatic approach: rather than retreat blindly, he resolved to hold positions even if surrounded, relying on aerial resupply and air strikes for survival. This strategy bore fruit in the Battle of Chipyong-ni (Chip’yŏngni) in January 1951. Ridgway rejected a withdrawal request from the 23rd Infantry Regiment, ordered long-range artillery to fire nonstop—ignoring even when barrels overheated—and filled the hillside with corpses of People’s Liberation Army soldiers.
This halted the Chinese winter offensive. UN forces centered on America retook Seoul and advanced northward—but failed to deliver a decisive blow. The war became a seesaw struggle, continuing until the armistice in July 1953. The frontline ended up almost unchanged from its pre-war position. So what was the purpose of such massive casualties by both sides? What justification could there be for three years of war?
For an accessible entry point into understanding the overall picture of this conflict, I recommend “Illustrated Guide to the Korean War” (2011) by Tsunehiko Tanaka. Part of Hogetsu Shuppan’s “Owl Books” series, it features abundant battle maps with clear geographical context and offers balanced, accurate military assessments—due in part to its author’s background as a defense university professor formerly serving in the Japan Self-Defense Forces. Most importantly, unlike Halberstam’s work—which omits post-stalemate developments—it thoroughly covers this later phase, offering excellent balance.
On the gaming side, “SGS Korean War” (Avalon Digital, 2022) stands as a definitive strategy game based on the Korean War and is playable in Japanese—highly recommended. It allows players to experience the war across multiple scenarios and campaigns spanning its entire duration; units are generally at the regiment or division level, with some battalions for armored forces. Air units are also included, incorporating tactical elements such as combat modifiers depending on tanks or anti-tank weapons. From short mini-scenarios lasting just a few turns—like “Inchon” or “Pusan area”—to year-long mini-campaigns, the game includes randomized events through card play that can lead to unexpected outcomes—a fun and engaging twist.
The works listed so far examine the Korean War from a strategic perspective across both sides. But how does one process—or even digest—the tragic fratricidal conflict between Koreans, which caused 990,000 civilian casualties including injuries? Is such digestion even possible? From that unanswerable cry of anguish have emerged numerous novels and films. Among them, I’d highlight the South Korean film “The Battle of Hongeup” (2011), set on a crucial hilltop where both sides fought fiercely until the war’s final stages.
Repeatedly ordered to retake hills lost to enemy forces—despite the staggering loss of life—the brutal military command shows utter disregard for human lives. A captain, unable to bear such orders, shoots his own company commander in an effort to protect his men. Later, he himself is fatally shot by a skilled enemy sniper while trying to pass on final words to a comrade.
“We may have already been dead long ago,” the dying man says. “After all, we’ve killed so many—we deserve to be cast into hell.”
This line left a deep impression on me.
“But since there’s no worse hell than this one… maybe that’s why we’re still alive here.”
The work challenges us: What real value can such a hill possibly have? How little do the lives of soldiers truly matter in exchange for its capture? It asks, from the perspective of an ordinary soldier, about the gravity and meaning behind military commanders’ orders. I strongly recommend watching this alongside “The Coldest Winter” when you get the chance.
Bungei Shunju BOOKS “The Coldest Winter: The Korean War” Introduction Page
■■Takami Otoguro (Translator, Writer) ■■
A translator and writer whose primary focus lies in fantasy literature and video game translations. A true war gamer at heart, having experienced the 1980s tabletop wargame boom firsthand during his “middle school delinquent” phase, he has since lived through historical battlefields across time and space—both real and imagined. His recent publications include The Cases of John Santstone [Vol. I & II] (co-translated, Atelier Sado) and Necronomicon: The Cookbook – Recipes and Rituals Inspired by Lovecraft’s Stories (co-translated, Graphic-sha).