Story by Matthew Kim, photograph via War History Online

Seventy two days had passed since Han Joon-ki last saw ammunition other than his own being blown up. Back then, it was United Nations peacekeepers destroying railroad tracks in a bid to halt North Korean advances. Now, as Han pulled in for one more night of resupplying troops on the frontlines of war, twenty American soldiers armed with guns stood beside the tracks, smoking cigarettes and playing cards. The steam locomotive Han had brokered for four years worth of savings became yet another casualty of a war that seemed all but forgotten to the outside world. Han would later learn his train was targeted out of fears it might fall into the wrong hands should it set forth on another supply mission. Until then, the heavyset coal-burner sat amidst the twisted metal, leftover ammunition shells, and furtive undergrowth that became Imjingak Park, undisturbed and unexhausted of the energy it possessed.

Though na ture afforded what little resistance it could to the once fierce muscles of the iron monolith, the wonders of time took its toll on the body that desperately desired to be run again. Sheets of metal came undone during thunderstorms, rivets clanged off as their holes eroded, and the story of a breathing joy whose strength refueled those in hard times ground to a halt. Years of service turned into decades of negligence.

The silence was broken only when a group of soldiers and civilians seeking to preserve the monuments of the Korean War came to inspect it. The train seems to serve as a time capsule of the society in which it was born--the only hope in the face of inevitability. It was forged in fire and destroyed the same way.

Over time, the world around it has changed dramatically. South Korea has become home to an ever-developing multitude of industries, a hub of engagement, and a melting pot of ideas. The United States has continued to maintain a strong military presence left over from war with North Korea. Even so, the large steam locomotive’s remains have been largely unaffected by the myriad of contractions and conversions happening around it. The undergrowth still snakes along broken railroad tracks and unfinished footpaths, herds of Siberian musk deer still clash with their counterparts, generations of farmers still toil in the low lying rice paddies, and the sun still shines upon the flora and fauna. And despite the coal to fuel one body having run out years ago, the story of a divided people united by one language on one peninsula continues to chug on.

At the foot of a hill and a series of winding ramps sits a different locomotive. Though frayed at some ends, the structure remains fundamentally intact. New and refurbished, its pitch black paint commands over the surrounding valley. The wheels remain locked midway through a rotation pointing to our northern neighbor, as if to beckon the completion of the tracks. The sign under it echoes the same sentiment: let me run again.