How Captain Edward R. Schowalter Jr. Held Hill 605 in the Korean War

Nov 22 , 2025

How Captain Edward R. Schowalter Jr. Held Hill 605 in the Korean War

Blood soaked the frozen earth beneath Hill 605. Shrapnel hissed past Edward R. Schowalter Jr.’s ear as enemy grenades landed within feet. His left arm torn open, blood pulsing hot, but his voice cut through the chaos—calm, commanding. “Hold this line! We don’t break. Not today.”

That was April 22, 1951. A moment carved into fire and fury on the Korean Peninsula, where a captain chose grit over defeat, and sacrifice over silence.

Born to Fight, Raised to Lead

Edward Robert Schowalter Jr. came from a Midwestern heartland, a place where grit was ingrained, and faith was the backbone of every man’s courage. Raised in Topeka, Kansas, his upbringing was steeped in a quiet but unshakeable belief—that honor meant everything. Church pews gave him the discipline; the farm fields taught endurance.

“I always carried Psalm 23 in my heart,” he once reflected—“Even in darkness, the Lord was my shepherd. That gave me purpose beyond survival.”

Schowalter’s values were steel-hard traditions: lead your men with your life and never let them see doubt.

The Battle That Defined Him

April 22, 1951 — a day seared into the Korean War’s brutal chapter. Captain Schowalter commanded Company A, 31st Infantry Regiment, on Hill 605 near Changbong-ni. Enemy forces swarmed in waves, relentless and numerous.

The Chinese threw everything: hand grenades, sniper fire, mortar rounds. In the maelstrom, Schowalter was struck by grenade fragments, his left arm mangled but still firing. Twice wounded, he refused evacuation.

“We are holding this hill,” he snarled through gritted teeth, rallying his shattered unit.

When the enemy surged for a breach, Schowalter crawled across open ground under heavy fire to repair a severed telephone line—restoring communications critical for artillery strikes. Despite the pain, he organized defenses, called in mortar fire, and led counterattacks.

His air was ragged; wounds deep. Yet he stood, bleeding, eyes burning, because soldiers live by the example of their leaders.

“I would rather die a captain than live a private,” he grunted.

His relentless leadership stalled the enemy advance, buying time for reinforcements and earning his men a lifeline.

Medals for a Warrior’s Heart

For this grueling valor, Edward R. Schowalter Jr. received the Medal of Honor. The citation—unflinching and precise—praised his "conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty." The commanding general noted,

“Captain Schowalter’s actions preserved the integrity of our lines and saved countless lives.”

He also earned the Silver Star for earlier Korean War battles. Fellow officers spoke of Schowalter’s fierce will. One recalled, “You didn’t just follow him—you’d run through hell with him.”

Such praise came not from bravado but respect forged in the crucible of combat.

Enduring Legacy: Courage Beyond the Hill

Schowalter’s fight wasn’t just for a piece of ground. It was a stand for every brother-in-arms relying on each other to live. His scars—visible and invisible—tell the unvarnished truth of battle’s cost.

He embodied a warrior’s creed: Sacrifice is the currency of freedom. Leadership means bearing wounds for your men. Faith sustains when the gunfire fades.

Looking back decades later, his story screams a simple truth from across generations:

“Be faithful in small things, for in them your strength is found.” — Luke 16:10

In a world quick to forget the price of peace, Edward Schowalter stands as a testament. Not to glory or medals—but to the raw, red reclamation of humanity through courage and unwavering resolve.

The battlefield claims many. Few give back like Schowalter—turning scars into stories, blood into a beacon. His legacy is the fierce whisper in the wind, the steady hand when hope seems lost.

We owe these men more than words. They demand remembrance in action, honor in life, and faith that outlasts war itself.