Throughout American history the idea of “never surrender,” even under seemingly insurmountable odds, became ingrained in our national consciousness. It was borne on the battlefield most certainly, and carried forward in our wars. This idea was based partly on the idea that truth, justice, and God were on our side, and partly because we were an independent, freedom-loving people who detested oppression. If the world put forth dictatorships, fascism, Nazism or any sort of totalitarinism, America would fight to make things right, would not forget her friends, and would never surrender. 1781: The Battle of Yorktown was the climax of the American Revolutionary War. The combined forces of General Washington, Rochambeau, de Grasse, and Lafayette all converged on the largest grouping of British troops in America. But our best general, Washington, was struggling. He was fighting a losing cause, many said. The British were the greatest force in the history of the world and they had never been stronger than they were in 1781. How could Washington win? How could this surveyor, this tobacco farmer ever have let himself dream that this undeveloped country called America could consolidate its states and have them be different yet still be the same under this thing they called their Constitution? For over six years Washington had been fighting, freezing, sweating and dying with a rag tag group of mostly disgruntled, complaining “patriots.” While Washington fretted on the eve of Yorktown, the British were living it up in New York City, they occupied America’s best port, and ruled its citizens.
But, Washington, on that still night before the battle, got down on his knee and prayed for guidance and a way for America to become, to survive. If this nation was to be a nation, a nation founded under God, and bound toward being free, then this must be the start. Six years or six hundred, it made no difference. Freedom was the point. A country where freedom and democracy, real democracy, could take hold and blossom. A country that would protect those who were less fortunate and help the weak; a place that would be for those who in the future would need an America. Washington knew on that night before Yorktown that something bigger than him, much bigger than him, was at stake. He knew he would not give up because giving up was giving up on America, democracy, and freedom. No, this would be the fight and these men would be the men. He got up, brought his horse about, and led his men to the breech. And on that day in 1781 the Battle of Yorktown was fought and won by America. And as America that day, so was blessed the world.
GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA, July 2, 1863
Joshua Chamberlain was shocked and afraid because he knew the battle he was in with his men at Gettysburg was more than a battle in a war, it was the battle for the war and the country and all time. His position in that battle was the fulcrum upon which a part of the fate of America rested.
He was facing the seventh charge of a Confederate enemy whose previous six charges had decimated his Union ranks, had killed, maimed and disheartened. His Maine volunteers could not withstand another, he knew, because they had no ammunition, no heart. All was gone. And spirits were broken—or dangling on that last summer wisp of a miracle. The 20th Maine had to hold the line, moreover, beyond reason, they had to win this battle…Should Chamberlain bring out the white flag? As quickly as it came he dispelled that sickening thought. They could not surrender. There was no alternative but to find a way. There was not another day to win or die on, this was the day. As sure as the powder still stung his nostrils, as sure as wounded still begged at his leggings, this was forever and this was now. With many a Maine brethren gone, the last healthy men, whose wives and children he knew, looked into his eyes for his truth, and he told them what that truth was: they would charge—charge the enemy and they would do it now. It had never been clearer and it had come by itself but it had come altogether from the woods, hollows, hills and heavens around Gettysberg that this had to be done and they had to be the ones to do it.
“Charge! Charge, Men, Charge! Fix bayonets, fix them!” And they did it, they did it with urgency and assuredness, and they did it quickly and courageously, because they knew too.
Behind Chamberlain, they rushed; rushed into the Confederates stronghold, they brought hearts forward and voices high, from Maine for one and for all, and if anyone believed in angels, they saw them that day—leading their way.
It was no matter they lacked shot, they had bayonets, but more than that, they had the truth. And that was the only power that could win that hill. And his men followed, roaring down the line into the shocked enemy’s lair—and as they drove—wildly fighting in a spirit mixing heaven and hell, they beat back the Confederates, won the battle, and saved the nation.
1914: World War I—some who won combat in our nation’s great history began their wars by thinking they would refuse to fight in one, even when told to do so. One such man was Alvin York, born in the mountains of eastern Tennessee. Young Alvin was known as a hell-raiser and nuisance child—but then after the death of a friend, he swore off liquor and became devoutly religious. He believed in all Christian rules and lived these virtues, friends attest, as much as any man they met. He would hurt no man, touch no liquor, nor turn a card—on that you can hang your hat.
When notices came from Washington D.C., notifying him to report to his draft board, he ignored them, because he knew he might be asked to kill. Four times he tried to say no, but all four times he was told that he had to sign up anyway. Well, soon Alvin York was drafted, because others around him were going and he thought something had to be done. And, some of his friends had already gone, some had died.
Fast forward to the Battle of the Argonne Forest in France—Alvin, now Sergeant York, had been in a trench with his men for months. Bullets and shells had killed many, but dysentery, disease, and a strange gas that blistered the lungs had killed more. Sergeant York was tired and lost. More lost than he’d ever been. This was a no-mans land, how could hell be worse. Rats, filth, decaying limbs, soulless eyes, where all hope was gone. But they lived, awoke, and pushed forward, inches at a time, trying to break the other before they broke all the way. Why didn’t someone give in? Why didn’t some side give up, Alvin thought? They could all just go home. But then what, then what?
Sergeant York was called on that day to take a patrol and capture German machine gun enplacements. He did as he was told but soon found in the course of this mission that he was alone and staring at an entire German machine gun platoon with just a rifle and a pistol. If there was a time to give up, this was it. It was over. He would lay down his arms and give in. It is easy to surrender, he thought, easy to die, either one would work fine right now, he felt, as sick and as lost as he’d been. Death may even be a better way.
But just as quickly as he thought of that he pushed it out of his mind. Everything he had been in the past was knocked out of the way to make him what he had to be at that very instant—an American with a job to do. Instantly, York “took them on,” by himself. He killed six Germans sent to draw him out, then positioned himself at the end of their trench and began shooting them as they stood in line.” Upon taking these men out, he and his patrol came upon a group of officers who promised that if York wouldn’t shoot, they would tell all the machine guns on the top of the hill to surrender. The officer kept his word and that day, 132 Germans surrendered to York and his crew of seven. An entire company of men were captured by York’s patrol. For this, York was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. And from there the war was won, and America was moved into a world where they would be looked upon by other nations as something special, but also something to fear. As the love of freedom, equality, opportunity and God was a thing not shared by all.
1944: D-Day, The Rangers of the Cliffs
James Rudder and his men were not in a position to surrender on D-Day. They were only in a position to die. And die, many did. They died when their landing craft capsized and their gear pulled them to the bottom of the ocean. They died when they stepped off the craft and German bullets cut them to pieces. They died when mortar rounds exploded under their feet, and they watched as their own entrails tangled behind in the Czech hedgehogs that littered the beach. But Rudder had a job to do and he was going to do it because there was no turning back. The ocean was behind them and guns in front. They had to go up the cliffs. That was their goal. He had told them, his men, they would succeed. So he had to keep going. Up, up the cliffs, and take out the huge artillery pieces that ruled the Western coast of France. Yet everything he saw this day told him that could not be done. Nothing but withering, ceaseless fire was coming down from on top. How could they ever scale to such a place–to even get close to the guns? Already, half of his 3 companies were dead and he was only 20 feet out of the water up the beach. He buried his face in the sand and in a split second he saw more of his men go down. In a split second he knew who they were, knew how they loved their families, saw those families shedding tears, all because they believed him, how he had told them every second they could succeed. How many lives were changed, he sweated, how many died for this impossibility? But he brought his mind back to the focus that had made him the best of the best, the leader of Rudder’s Rangers, and saw around him his men. And, far from slowing down and dying, far from representing defeat, the few men that he had left were speeding ahead. One his men, and one he thought would not lead, was astonishingly already half up the cliff on a too-short ladder, machine gun in each hand, shooting Germans above his head. And others on the ground on each side, sending grappling hooks skyward—shot out of mortar tubes—had their hooks stick in the cliff tops and these men were climbing the ropes. They were doing the impossible. Germans cut lines but not all, and with intense fire still raining, they pushed further into it. And so did Rudder—hand over hand, knot over knot, past the rock, past the shrapnel, past the smoke; he did not feel, he simply climbed, his nails splintered; muscles tore, blood streamed, his helmet was shot from his head—but he kept going.
Tooth, nail, claw, one by one, the Rangers got over the cliff. They rolled into craters, slid under bunker windows, unstrapped weapons, and started giving back what they’d been getting. And now the heavy tide began to turn. Now the Rangers had room, and all they had ever needed was a little room.
They were stronger on top. Where was that pulled from? Some Rangers said the Rangers who died sent their last breaths into the Rangers who lived so they could fight on and clear the machine gun nests on top. And they did clean them up, and drove on to their objective. They found the big guns, perfectly camoulflaged, and dropped the thermite grenades into each of their gears, melting them, destroying them, shutting them down once and for all. Mission accomplished.
In the electric flashes of that day, Rudder looked out over what was left, out over the Pont du hoc. His men had taken the cliffs and then taken the guns. Who could ever had done such a thing? How did they do it? He had trained them all, hand-picked them all, but he couldn’t figure out for sure what it was that carried them, really carried them, to their success.
Years later he felt he knew why—The American personality. The people who came to American came to American for freedom, for a chance to prove themselves. Just give them a chance and they’ll show you what the can do. And boy oh boy, if you ever try to take the American way of life they love away from them, they have a fighting spirit you can’t stop. That is what it is to be American and an American fighting man. That spirit inherent was what Washington prayed for at Valley Forge, what Pioneers braved 80 below winters for, it is what still flows in the blood of babes just born. A never surrender attitude.
1950: “Bill Barber” and the Frozen Chosin
In 1950, Bill Barber saved the lives of 8,000 Marines because of his five-day holding pattern type stand with 220 men against a force of 1,400 murderous Chinese regulars. It is considered one of the greatest holding actions in Marine Corps history. Barber had been told to fall back and withdraw because everyone thought his men were going to all die, outnumbered 10 to 1 and already battle weary—but Barber risked his command to save the 8,000 coming through the pass.
On the 3 day of the fight, and each day was like walking into a propeller—not only was it one of the coldest winters in Korean history, but the Chinese brought great havoc in the tough defensive position the Marines had to hold. Barber was severely wounded in the leg but had men carry him on a stretcher up and down the line while men fought hand to hand against a determined, pathological enemy. At one time the perimeter broke, but Barbers men shored it up in time and killed all the enemy that had infiltrated in, some by knife, some by literally choking the combatants to death.
After 5 days they were able to fall back and make it out of the Chosin reservoir area.
When their time to leave did come, 82 of Barber’s 220 men were able to walk away. Over half were dead or wounded, and 40 were too frostbitten to walk. They had killed 1,000 enemy troops.
Because they never surrendered, 8,000 Marines lived. That war was also called a draw, and America is paying the price for it today with the evil that still lives on the Korean peninsula.