This Kind of War: The Classic Korean War History

by T. R. Fehrenbach

  Muñoz and Long had no time to celebrate their easy victory. Now, bloody, exhausted survivors of K and L companies straggled in, and learning what had happened to his front, regimental commander Colonel Sloane moved his remaining companies from the east to the west side of the Ch'ongch'on, to reinforce his intact 2nd Battalion. Then Sloane ordered all his units, including 2nd Battalion, westward down the river, forming them again approximately two miles downstream.

  They held the west side of the river; across from them the 23rd Infantry held the eastern bank.

  The day passed swiftly with the moving about, but without significant action. No one knew what was happening elsewhere in the division zone.

  Then, not long after dark, a strong enemy column from the north burst into the 23rd's perimeter. The regiment's CP was overrun and the Headquarters Company shattered. Its 2nd and 3rd battalions retreated several hundred yards downriver before they were able to get hold of themselves once again.

  Sloane, learning this, immediately realized the Chinese might wade the Ch'ongch'on from the east and take Fox and George in the rear. He called Major Barberis, the 2nd Battalion C.O., and told him to move his battalion to the east side of the river, onto the ground where the 23rd had been.

  The river was not deep, but it was swift, and Sloane ordered Barberis to move his men across on all available vehicles.

  Barberis relayed the message on to Fox and George, dug in on high ground about six hundred yards west of the river. Fox left its holes, beginning to trail down to the river, while George remained on the high ground, covering, and How, the Weapons Company, kept its mortars emplaced to support in case of trouble.

  Precisely at this moment, from three sides, rifle fire blazed up at George's hill. Unseen in the dark, Chinese skirmishers had crawled less than fifty yards from George's foxholes.

  Muñoz had positioned the company for all-around defense. His 1st Platoon faced toward the Ch'ongch'on; his 2nd was on the crest of the rise, looking north. The 3rd Platoon, Sergeant Long, was on line with the 2nd, to its right. On a slightly lower rise, some hundred yards distant, a platoon of Easy Company had been stationed to protect the company's west, or left, flank.

  The first fire fell on the left, on Easy's platoon, then bounced all along the line, around the hill. A blaze of gunfire and sound came from F Company, nearing the river. They had been hit, too. The Chinese seemed to know the location of each of George's strongpoints.

  Then, weirdly, the bugles began to blow. Having pinned the enemy, the Chinese were talking to each other. The shrill sounds, riding the cold night wind, puckered Muñoz's boys a bit. Second Lieutenant Danny Hernandez, his 2nd Platoon leader, ran over to where Muñoz stood.

  "Captain, the Chinese are all over us!"

  Coolly, the short, dark Muñoz said to him, "Let's see what happens."

  Suddenly a red flare soared high over the ridge, rising from the west.

  "Well," Muñoz said, as calmly as he could, "here they come!"

  He was right. The Chinese attack, perfectly planned, coordinated, and executed, burst against George's hill. The hill slopes flamed and roared with the sounds of firing.

  "Notify Battalion we're under attack—" Muñoz said. But his radio operator could no longer raise Battalion; they were across the river and out of range.

  The firing slackened momentarily, and Muñoz got to one of Lieutenant Haywood's supporting tanks. He contacted Regiment, and ruined whatever peace of mind Colonel Sloane had briefly enjoyed, over the tank radio.

  Then the enemy brought their small 57mm mortars up on the fingers of the ridge, firing into George's positions. With a mighty rush forward, Chinese burst over the lower parts of the hill and leaped into the holes of the 1st and Easy's platoon. In a wild melee, the two American platoons disappeared.

  George's rear was now unprotected.

  Meanwhile, George's 2nd and 3rd platoons had not yet been engaged. Up on the crest, they could see and hear the uproar in the other platoon areas, but could not tell what was happening.

  Then men ran toward Long's 3rd Platoon, shouting, "GI's! GI's! Don't shoot, GI's!"

  Long figured that stragglers from the overrun platoons were trying to join the men on the crest. He shouted, "Don't shoot—don't shoot!"

  His men couldn't have shot anyway, because so far they had seen nothing in the dark to shoot at. But now, oddly, Long thought he heard the same voices that yelled not to fire yammering in unmistakable Chinese.

  While Long strained his eyes into the night, a bugle rapped sharply. Tatatata—tatatata. Whistles blew.

  One of Long's men yelped: "I can see 'em! I can see 'em! Here they come!"

  He hadn't told William Long anything—Long could see them, too. Hunched over, moving up the hills with their centers of gravity low to the sloping ground, the Chinese were coming silently through the night.

  Long and his men opened up. Immediately, grenades burst among his holes. Under heavy pressure, Long remembered what Captain Muñoz had told him—if he got in heavy trouble, to join up with the 2nd Platoon, because in the final extreme the 2nd Platoon's area was better for last-ditch defense.

  Under Long's shouted command, his men dashed to their left, along the ridge toward Danny Hernández's platoon. Just as they joined, fire from a machine gun tore through 3rd Platoon's line, knocking many of Long's men down.

  Now all Muñoz's men were together, what was left of them, but the Chinese kept coming. Three big waves of Chinese boiled up out of the dark, hammering at George's men with rifles and submachine guns, hurling dozens of grenades. Muñoz's men needed grenades now, badly, but they didn't have them. As the Chinese poured up the fingers and fell into their holes, they needed bayonets—but they didn't have these, either.

  Captain Muñoz, meanwhile, was on the phone, talking to Kavanaugh of Fox Company. "I'm being hit heavily—I'm in danger of losing the hill—can you help?"

  "God, Frank, I need help, too!"

  Fox was waist-deep in Chinese, trying to fight its way to the river.

  The mortars of How, the Heavy Weapons Company, had been throwing up a continuous curtain of fire in support of the beleaguered riflemen. Now the tubes ran out of ammunition. The mortarmen dropped thermite grenades into their tubes, and ran for the protecting tank platoon that was covering by the river.

  Muñoz, down in the ravine beside his CP, could see the action on the hill in silhouette. He could see the dark shadows of hunched-over Chinese coming over the ridge, only to be chopped down. But others jumped the crest and tumbled into the foxholes of his men. He could hear screams and shouts, punctuated by the occasional blast of a grenade.

  From the positions that had been overrun, Chinese machine guns began a crossfire over the remaining company area. Now Muñoz's men were pinned down.

  Muñoz realized the battle could not go on much longer. George was being overwhelmed. The friendly mortars had ceased fire. The tank platoon, down by the river, could not support in the darkness.

  One of the tankers called to him; there was a radio message from his Battalion S-3, Major Woodward: "What's happening?"

  Muñoz filled him in. He told him the company was almost shot, and the position ready to give way.

  "Okay, Frank, bring your men back across the river—tell Fox to do the same. The 23rd Infantry's on line behind you, somewhere—be careful!"

  Muñoz passed the word to Kavanaugh at once.

  "I'm with you!" the Fox Company commander said.

  But Muñoz never gave the order to pull out; he had no need to. The platoons on the hill had thrown their last grenade; most of the small-arms ammunition was gone. Sergeants Long shouted for his men to try to roll off the hill back into the protecting saddle, and under heavy fire the survivors scrabbled down.

  Only some twenty minutes had elapsed since the first shot, but George had lost more than seventy men.

  Several men did not get off the hill one private named Smalley and two ROK KATUSA's were swarmed upon by Chinese, who put rifles in their back
s and forced them to surrender.

  In bits and pieces, Fox and George companies straggled to their vehicles waiting behind the hill. The supporting tanks and Quad .50's threw up a hail of fire now, to keep the Chinese off their backs. But the enemy did not immediately pursue. They paused to reorganize on their newly won ground.

  Behind Fox and George the river was fordable by vehicles only. Ice-rimed and swift, it was four feet deep, with enough current to sweep a wading man from his feet. Muñoz ordered all the wounded who had been salvaged, some thirty to forty, to be put on the tank decks. Then, the tiny column started to move back to the Ch'ongch'on. As they moved out, mortar shells began to whistle down on them.

  One tank, sighting the enemy tubes up on the hill, fired a 76mm shell into them and put them out of action.

  In the darkness, all was confusion and terror. Trying to round up his men, Muñoz heard sobbing sounds coming from a wood shack—there were a number of shabby Korean dwellings scattered along the river by the crossing site. Muñoz went into the hut, saw an American soldier sitting on the floor, tears streaming down his stubbled face.

  "What're you doing in here?" Muñoz shouted.

  "I don't know—I don't know!" the soldier sobbed.

  "Come with me."

  "Captain, I don't want to go out there—"

  Muñoz grabbed the man, dragged him to his feet. He was rough and impatient. "Get your ass on one of those tanks!"

  Outside, another enlisted man, shot through the foot, was whimpering with pain. "Hang on, you'll be all right," Muñoz told him. The soldier shut up.

  Muñoz still had ten to fifteen POW's they had captured earlier. Not knowing what to do with them, he had forced them into one of the Korean huts. Now, pulling out, an H Company officer shouted to Muñoz that they'd better kill these prisoners right away.

  On this, Frank Muñoz put his foot down. When the company pulled back, the POW's were left unmolested in the hut.

  Under scattered fire, seeing Chinese crawling over the small ridges like ants in the gun flashes, the column ground slowly toward the river. Suddenly, a rocket launcher flared in the night, and the lead tank stopped, started to smoke. The men riding it leaped off; the crew bailed out, and both groups dashed wildly toward another vehicle.

  The stopped tank caught fire, its engine flaming up with a loud whoosh. In this light, and behind the cover the steel hull afforded, Muñoz gathered five or six of his men. "Stay here! Fire on the Chinks! We'll cover the others; then they'll cover us—"

  There were two more tanks, and most of Fox company, still behind. Now, under the covering fire Muñoz's small party threw against the hills, the others streamed through. But they did not stop to cover Muñoz's withdrawal—they kept on going.

  Bullets whined off the damaged tank as the Chinese in the ridges kept up a steady fire, and the gasoline in the tank engine blazed up so high Muñoz began to worry that the tank might explode.

  "Let's get out of here," he said to the men around him. "Stay close to me—there's safety in numbers!"

  But one of the men, First Sergeant Lester Heath, had been shot in the foot, and crippled. He could barely walk; he could only hobble along, leaning on Muñoz's shoulder.

  The little party could not run for the river; hampered by Heath, it moved along at a snail's pace.

  The Chinese rushed. Firing coolly with his .45, Muñoz knocked five of them down, while the other men used carbines and M-1's. There was no hope of bringing out the dead, Muñoz knew—but he was not leaving any wounded behind. They brought Heath out.

  For this action Frank Muñoz would be decorated.

  By the time Muñoz and his party reached the river, the Quad .50's had burned up all their ammunition, and could be used only to ferry men across. The tanks, also, took the wounded across the icy river, then returned to carry more.

  From the other side of the river, an artillery battalion was firing now in support, but the fighting was so confused in the dark, and so close-in that the howitzers could not be effective.

  Having made the east bank, both the tank officer, Lieutenant Haywood, and Kavanaugh of Fox Company returned to scour the hostile side for wounded and stragglers. The tanks made several trips, and gradually the remnants of the 2nd Battalion formed west of the river. Muñoz and his men were brought across—but many men, despairing of crossing on a tank, waded into the Ch'ongch'on and splashed to safety. In the ten-degree weather, most of these men immediately became weather casualties.

  On the east bank, trying to reorganize his company, Frank Muñoz could at first find only twenty men. And it was here he first discovered that his own trousers had been cut by bullets in two places. He had neither heard nor felt the bullets' passage.

  At daylight, after losing two more tanks to enemy action, Lieutenants Kavanaugh and Haywood finally came back across the Ch'ongch'on. They were the last men to cross, except one.

  Captured up on the hill, Private Smalley had been ordered into his sleeping bag. There, exhausted, he had fallen asleep under Chinese guard while the battle raged. At dawn, a slender Chinese officer shook him awake. Speaking perfect English, the officer began to question Smalley and the two ROK soldiers who had been taken with him.

  Smalley refused to open his mouth. Seeing his example, the two KATUSA's were silent, also. At last the Chinese officer snapped his fingers. While Smalley watched, horrified, the Koreans were marched a few paces away and shot down.

  Then the officer said to Smalley, "We know all about you." And he did—down to Smalley's unit, and who commanded it. "Now go back and tell your commander not to use fire bombs—napalm—against us. Your outfit is over there"—he pointed to the river—"take off!"

  Fully expecting a bullet in the back, Smalley ran for the river. Though he was forced to hide twice to avoid Chinese patrols, he reached the Ch'ongch'on and splashed across.

  During this time the Chinese released many such prisoners as Smalley, undoubtedly for propaganda reasons. In Private Smalley's case the propaganda backfired. Finding Captain Muñoz, he said bitterly: "I saw what they did to those ROK's. Gimme a machine gun!"

  During the day, George and the other units received dry clothing and hot food. But the 9th Infantry was rapidly becoming disorganized. The night before, 2nd Battalion had been its strongest remaining force. Now 2nd battalion could account for only nine officers and slightly more than two hundred men.

  During the day the Chinese lurked in the valleys, burying their dead, cooking their rice. Frank Muñoz and Company could use the respite, but there were limits to what it could do, even with a few hours.

  So far, however, there had been no talk of retreat.

  While the left and middle of the 2nd Division line had undergone their nights of fire, and were getting chopped up badly, on the right, or eastern, flank sheer disaster had struck, as yet unknown to either division HQ or Eighth Army.

  The II ROK Corps, guarding the 2nd Division's right, had come under the heaviest attack. Badly trained, weapon-poor, the frightened ROK's had been split apart, and were fleeing southward in complete panic.

  There were KMAG officers with the ROK's, and as many of these as possible were flown out by American liaison planes. But the complete picture of the disaster was slow in coming through the American staffs in the west.

  On the 2nd Division right, Colonel Peploe's 38th Infantry had been strung out south of the Kunu-ri-Huich'on road, in contact with the ROK II Corps. Very soon, the Chinese were all over the Rock of the Marne. Again, this action followed that in the middle of the line—Chinese units prowled down the natural corridors by night, slashing through to the American rear. In some areas they collided violently with American companies on line; in others there was no contact.

  There was massive American weapon power among these hills. There were regiments, battalions, a whole division. But only companies fought, and each company fought alone, out of sight, often out of knowledge of any other American unit. The battle boiled down into how long individual companies, singled out
and enveloped on all sides by overwhelming numbers, could hold out.

  It was weird fighting, such as the United States Army had not seen since the days of Fort Phil Kearney, the Washita, the Little Big Horn. And what the Army had learned on those fields had long since been discarded on the battlefields of Europe. Unable to maneuver where its wheels could not go, unable to emplace and effectively use its big guns, unable to see or communicate in these hills, the United States Army was being bitten to death rather than smashed down by numbers.

  While on 26 November Colonel Peploe was having trouble finding out what had happened to his front-line platoons, he soon learned what had transpired in the ROK sector, on his right flank. A little past noon, an entire ROK regiment, the 3rd, came wheeling across his lines, causing great confusion among American riflemen unable to tell friend from foe.

  The ROK colonel, his own division dissolved, had sent his men retreating into the American sector in an effort to save them.

  Peploe called Major General Keiser at once. "I've got a whole ROK regiment coming into my area. What the hell shall I do with these people?"

  Keiser, along with Division HQ, was unquestionably suffering from a certain amount of shock. Against the 2nd Division's own abortive offensive, an enemy blow had landed with stunning speed and ferocity; communications were disrupted, and the inevitable friction of war was slowing Division's reactions. Keiser, worried with other problems, told Peploe, "Take command of 'em and use 'em, dammit!"

  This, Peploe was most happy to do. In these hostile hills friendly faces were scarce. He also adjusted his flank against the new menace.

  But Keiser, who earlier had pointed to Eighth Army's east flank and said: "Goddam it, that's where they'll hit! That'll be their main effort, off our flank and against ROK II Corps!" along with his staff was slow to react to the tidings of disaster. His own division was in deep trouble, the extent of which he could so far only imagine. His own running sores required such attention that the slings and arrows falling upon the ROK's seemed far away and hardly felt.