This Kind of War: The Classic Korean War History

by T. R. Fehrenbach

  The maps issued to the Marine Brigade, as all the maps used by the United Nations in 1950, were based on old Japanese surveys, and inaccurate. The Marines did not know exactly where they were. Conferring with Captain Sweeney of Easy Company, Captain Zimmer of Dog called the ridge "Red Slash Hill." From the Marine attack position a fresh, gaping landslide scar could be plainly seen in the reddish earth near the center of the ridge.

  Andy Zimmer told Sweeney, "I'll take the area right of that red slash." Sweeney agreed. Each company would attack with two platoons forward at 0800, after the air and artillery preparation.

  There were only 120 riflemen available to send forward in the first assault wave.

  Now, far out in the Sea of Japan, the Navy carriers Badoeng Strait and Sicily turned into the wind and launched a total of two squadrons of eighteen Marine Corsairs. The gull-winged planes, clumsy under heavy bomb loads, could carry no napalm because of a shortage of fuel tanks.

  For ten minutes, artillery of the 24th Division burst on the rear approaches to Obong-ni Ridge, and along the reverse slopes of the ridge itself. Then, when the artillery pounding ceased, the Marine air swarmed over the hill, blasting Obong-ni's spine. Dirt, dust, and flame spurted up in great gouts all along the ridge. To General Church, watching, it seemed as if the ridge were floating away in smoke.

  Then, their bomb load exhausted, the Corsairs roared away. At 0800, the four thin platoons of Marines went forward, across the valley and toward the ridge, one thousand yards beyond.

  Several war correspondents, watching from the attack positions, asked officers the name of the objective. None seemed to know, and one correspondent wrote "No Name Ridge" on his release.

  The Marines splashed across three rice paddies and skirted a cotton field, and they drew fire, not from the ridge, but from automatic weapons on their flanks. The fire grew heavier, and now gaps opened between the attacking platoons.

  In spite of the fire, the platoons reached the slopes of Obong-ni. Here mortar shells crashed down on them. And here the ground steepened sharply,forcing the Marines to climb slowly and painfully toward the crest.

  Only one platoon, 2nd Lieutenant Michael J. Shinka's 3rd of Dog Company, made the top. Just to the right of the big red slash Shinka found a small rain gulley leading upward, and through this his men crawled, bent over, panting, to the crest. Shinka reached the top of Obong-ni with only two-thirds of his original thirty men—while the other platoons, faced with steep ground and heavy fire, stalled halfway up the slope.

  The twenty men atop Obong-ni had no protection to either flank. They found a line of empty foxholes dug by the NKPA, and poured into them, just as a hail of machine-gun fire whipped at them from enemy positions to their right. And then hand grenades soared through the air from enemy holes down on the reverse slope.

  The Marines could handle the resistance below them on the slope, but they couldn't stop the enfilading machine-gun fire from their right. Any man who came out of a hole was hit. Within minutes, Mike Shinka had five men down.

  There were no Marines supporting him, either to left or right. He realized the ridge was too hot. He shouted to his platoon sergeant, Reese, to get the wounded down, and ordered 3rd Platoon back down the hill.

  Pulling the wounded men on ponchos, the Marines slithered back down the gulley to a position halfway down the hill, where they had reasonable cover. Shinka raised his company CP by radio.

  "We can reach the top and hold it," he told Zimmer, "if you can get that flanking fire off our backs." Shinka, counting, saw he had fifteen men left out of thirty. "Give me an air strike and more men, and we can make it."

  "I can't give you any more men," Andy Zimmer said. "But the air strike is on the way."

  All of the platoons of Dog and Easy had been stopped along the ridge, and Dog's reserve had had to be committed to assist the platoon on Shinka's flank. Waiting for the Marine Corsairs to return and plaster the hill, Shinka and the other platoon officers did their best to coordinate a fresh attack.

  The Marine aircraft buzzed over Obong-ni once again, blasting the snaky spine with high explosives until the ground trembled underfoot. When they finished, American tanks moved out into the open valley east of the ridge line and hurled shells into the sides and crest of Obong-ni.

  The decimated Marine platoons went up the hill again. Again the enemy fire blazed up, much of it coming from the Cloverleaf hill complex on the north. North Koreans rushed back into their holes along the top of the ridge, which they had abandoned under the air strike, and rolled hand grenades down the front slope.

  Again Mike Shinka and platoon were the only Marines to make the crest. Shinka arrived this time with nine able-bodied men. They saw moving men on the ridge to their left. The platoon sergeant, still on his feet, called, "Easy Company?"

  A blast of automatic fire answered him.

  "Son of a bitch!" Sergeant Reese yelled, and returned the fire with a BAR.

  Again Shinka's platoon was in an untenable position, enemy fire chopping at it from left and right, and from the reverse slope of Obong-ni. Reese fell shot through the leg; another man took a bullet in the stomach.

  On the crest a bullet shattered Mike Shinka's jaw. Choking on his own blood, he bent over and hawked to clear his throat. He was unable to use his radio. He motioned his men to get back down the ridge slope.

  As he checked the ridge to make sure no wounded Marine had been left behind, a new bullet took Shinka in the arm. The impact knocked him rolling down the slope.

  As Shinka and his bloody survivors crawled back to their covered gulley, a storm of fire shattered the entire Marine attack against Obong-ni. By 1500, of the entire 240 men who had been committed against the enemy, 23 were dead and 119 wounded in action.

  They hadn't taken Obong-ni Ridge—but a lot of them had died trying.

  At 1600, Colonel Newton's 1st Battalion relieved the battered remnants of 2/5 in front of the ridge.

  In command of the l8th Regiment, NKPA, holding Obong-ni Ridge, Colonel Chang Ky Dok knew his situation was increasingly desperate. During the day he had suffered six hundred casualties, forcing the 16th Regiment, which defended Cloverleaf, to reinforce him with a battalion. His ammunition supply was dwindling at a frightening rate. He had no medical supplies, and his wounded were dying from lack of attention.

  He knew he could not withstand another day of American air and artillery pounding and a fresh Marine assault up the ridge. Because he had a captured American SCR-300 radio, tuned in on Marine frequencies, he knew that the 1st Battalion had relieved 2/5 along the front of Obong-ni, and he knew approximately where the companies of 1/5 were located, for the Marines talked a great deal over the air.

  At last Colonel Murray had realized that Cloverleaf had to be taken before his Marines could assault Obong-ni, and late in the afternoon the 2nd Battalion, 9th Infantry, had pushed the l6th Regiment from that supporting position. The American 19th and 34th regiments were pushing attacks north of Cloverleaf against the right flank of the NKPA salient with some success.

  About to be flanked, Chang Ky Dok requested permission to withdraw west of the Naktong. The request was denied.

  Colonel Chang, as all senior commanders of the Inmun Gun, was a veteran of Soviet schooling and the North China wars. He knew his only hope was to shatter the American attack before it started on the 18th. He was short of men, short of food, and, worst of all, low on ammunition. But he could still place superior combat power against the thin Marine lines in front of him at places of his choosing.

  As dark fell 17 August, he chose to attack.

  A and B Companies, 1/5 Marines, had relieved the decimated 2/5 during the late afternoon of 17 August and continued the attack. They had taken two of the knobs of the Obong-ni ridge line, and with dark, they buttoned up for the night. They adjusted artillery on likely enemy avenues of approach, and in front of their own lines they strung wires to trip flares. They expected a strong enemy reaction by night—but they did not realize that the enemy, m
onitoring their radio, knew exactly how they were positioned.

  At 0230 a green flare rose high over the dark and blasted mass of Obong-ni, and the night exploded into a continuous flare of light and noise. Enemy squads rushed down upon the Marines, hurling grenades and firing automatic weapons furiously. As each squad dashed forward a little way, then hit the ground, fresh squads repeated the attack.

  Screaming and firing, the North Koreans pushed into A Company, passed through, and slammed against B Company's perimeter. One platoon of Able was isolated, but the separate platoon positions held together. Finally, Able was forced to retreat off its knob, moving back down the slope into a saddle.

  Against Baker's perimeter the North Korean attack broke. For three-quarters of an hour it was touch and go, violent, close-in fighting raging over the ridge knob. Then, gradually, the North Korean assault faltered.

  Within two hours, it was growing light, and the assault ended completely as the sky brightened to the east. In the early, shadowy daylight the Marines counted almost two hundred North Korean corpses sprawled in front of the two companies' positions. The number of wounded who had crawled or been carried away could only be estimated—but the 18th Regiment was shattered beyond repair.

  But the cost had not been light. Half of the Marines who had watched the evening sun go down were no longer on their feet.

  With daylight, those who were took up the attack once more, following the path of the enemy's withdrawal. Soon, a machine gun held up Able's advance.

  Captain John Stevens of A called for an air strike on the gun's position. But the gun was only one hundred yards in front of his men, and Battalion HQ refused to allow the Corsairs to strike so close to its own troops. Stevens argued. He said he couldn't go forward against the dug-in fire, and he would lose men trying to withdraw. He said his own men were in holes. Finally, Battalion agreed.

  The Corsairs, piloted by men who were also ground officers, took no chances. One plane marked the target with a dummy run; another whistled in with a 500-pound bomb. The hillside surrounding the NKPA machine gun blew up with a tremendous wave of sound.

  Stevens' Marines pushed into the smoke and falling rock and earth. They found the gun destroyed, and gunners dead of concussion. One of their own men had been killed, too—but a few minutes later they had the hill.

  While 1/5 mopped up on part of the ridge line, Colonel Murray sent 3/5 into action on its north. The 3rd Battalion moved in rapidly, almost without opposition.

  Behind Obong-ni, hundreds of defeated and demoralized North Koreans were streaming westward toward the Naktong. Now the artillery forward observers and the tactical aircraft overhead began to have a field day. Forced into the open by advancing Marines, dozens of enemy troops were brought under fire and killed.

  By afternoon, 18 August, it was obvious to all that the NKPA 4th Division was in full flight. Marines and soldiers pushed westward, converging on the river, while artillery fell continuously on the Naktong crossings. Early on the 19th, Marines and troops from the 34th Infantry made contact on the river-bank; by that evening patrols could find no enemy east of the Naktong. The first battle of the Naktong Bulge had ended in complete American victory.

  Less than 3,000 men of the NKPA 4th Division went back across the river. Its regiments had only from 300 to 400 effectives each. Behind them, they had left more than 1,200 corpses for the Americans to bury. Almost equally important, the 4th Division had left its guns: 34 artillery pieces, hundreds of automatic weapons, thousands of rifles. For all practical purposes, the "Seoul" Division had been destroyed.

  The fire brigade had arrived. It had been burned in the flames, but the fire was out.

  It was a bitter moment for Major General Lee Kwon Mu, Hero of the North Korean State, when, on 19 August 1950, he received from Kim II Sung the order, published several days before, that designated the 4th a Guards Division for its heroic accomplishments at Taejon.

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  13

  Death on the Naktong

  If the enemy gets into Taegu you will find me resisting him in the streets and I'll have some of my trusted people with me and you had better be prepared to do likewise. Now get back to your division and fight it!

  I don't want to see you back from the front again unless it's in your coffin.

  — Remarks made by Lieutenant General Walton Walker, commanding Eighth United States Army, during the September crisis, 1950.

  AT THE SAME TIME the Naktong Bulge was threatening the existence of the Pusan Perimeter, serious trouble for the Eighth Army continued to develop elsewhere. The 1st Cavalry Division holding the Taegu front was in heavy combat; the line sprang leaks in the far south. And on the east, where the ROK divisions were fighting, in the Kigye and P'ohang-dong areas, the entire front seemed ready to collapse.

  Because the east was mountainous, and because he did not have troops and artillery enough to defend everywhere, Walker gambled in the east. It was assumed that the North Korean 12th Division marching down the coast would not be able to cross the mountains in sufficient strength to budge the ROK's.

  But the NKPA came across the rugged terrain, surrounded the ROK 3rd Division, and threatened Yonil Air Base. By 11 August, fighter planes flying out of Yonil in support of ground action were beginning their strafing runs almost before their wheels had retracted.

  On 13 August, Far East Air Force decided to abandon the field, even though it was surrounded by United States infantry and tank units. The Fifth Air Force withdrew, although there was no fire on the airstrip, and actually it was never brought under effective enemy fire. The planes were vitally needed during the seesaw battle the ROK's and the NKPA waged about the area, and when MacArthur heard the news via United Press, both he and his chief of staff, Ned Almond, were much upset. MacArthur immediately notified FEAF that he intended to hold Yonil and did not want the planes returned to Japan. Nevertheless, the two squadrons of F-51's flew back to base at Tsuiki on Kyushu.

  The embattled ROK 3rd Division fought its way to the seacoast, where on 16-17 August it was evacuated under cover of American air and the U.S. Navy. It was landed farther south to continue the battle.

  P'ohang-dong fell to the enemy.

  But the ROK's were able to fight the NKPA advance to a standstill. General Walker's estimate that the enemy 12th Division could not cross the mountain barrier had not been wholly wrong. South of the mountains, the 12th Division men were exhausted by the arduous passage; they had left their artillery behind, and their supply difficulties became crucial. For five days after 12 August the division received no food supply and was forced to forage off the countryside. Stretched too far, the North Koreans at last had to retreat north under heavy ROK pressure.

  During each of the critical days, Walton Walker spent his time with frontline units, leaving the staff work to his chief of staff, Colonel Landrum. Walker felt, rightly, that he could influence the action more by keeping his finger on the pulse of the engaged units than by monitoring reports at his Taegu HQ.

  Defending a front of tremendous width, with its artillery batteries often firing in different directions, 1st Cavalry Division repulsed crossings over the Naktong again and again. Counterattacking on Hill 303 near Waegwan, the 5th Cavalry Regiment came across a group of American soldiers, twenty-six mortarmen of the Heavy Weapons Company, who had been captured earlier by the NKPA. These men lay packed shoulder to shoulder, their feet, bare and covered by dried blood, thrust out stiffly. They had been shot in the back by Russian-made submachine guns.

  Each man's hands were bound tightly behind his back with cord or telephone wire.

  And along the Perimeter front, as the battle increased in intensity and bitterness, worse atrocities were discovered. American soldiers were found who had been burned and castrated before they were shot; others had their tongues torn out. Some were bound with barbed wire, even around the head and mouth.

  As the evidence of battlefield atrocities continued to mount, General MacArthur sent
warning messages to the North Korean High Command, threatening them with criminal accountability for these acts. There is no evidence that such acts of barbarism against U.N. soldiers were ever countenanced by NKPA commanders in fact, orders were issued by the Advanced General HQ of the North Korean Army to prevent the unnecessary slaughter of prisoners of war. But the fruits of the long, brutal Japanese occupation could not be undone in a day; the Korean population, used to cruelty, lacking Western standards of conduct, could hardly be expected to behave other than according to its own lights in desperate situations.

  When the tide of combat turned against them or when small units were isolated and in danger of losing their POW's, the vindictiveness of the North Korean soldier could not be restrained. Men accustomed to torture and summary execution all their lives, both from Japanese and Communist rulers, could not be expected to behave with nicety toward foreign captives. Nor did they.

  As the pressure on Taegu increased, and its population rose by more than 400,000 refugees, the ROK Government fled south to Pusan.

  General MacArthur requested General Stratemeyer of FEAF to divert his heavy bombers to "carpet bombing" of enemy ground troops. Ninety-eight huge B-29's lumbered over the battlefront, unloading almost a thousand tons of general-purpose bombs on 16 August. It was a desperate measure, opposed by the Air Force, for bombing tactical troop dispositions from 10,000 feet had to be a hit-or-miss affair. There was never any evidence that the bombing was effective, and it was not repeated.

  In the Sangju-Taegu Corridor—the "Bowling Alley"—the 25th Division's 27th Infantry Regiment, attached to the 24th Division, fought desperately night after night to stem enemy advances. Colonel Michaelis' Wolfhounds were able to stop the NKPA because the ROK 1st Division held the hills surrounding the Bowling Alley, channeling the enemy attack into American guns.

  And the destruction wrought against both troop units and supply lines of the NKPA by tactical air was continuous and ruinous. During this period FEAF unquestionably influenced the decision on the ground to a greater extent than at any other time during the Korean War. During July 1950, air strikes had been uncoordinated and haphazard, often damaging friend as much as foe; later, the enemy plan of maneuver was such that air could not be decisive.