“Peggy, get Roger McCall in here,” he more or less yelled to his secretary. Peggy, recognizing the irritation in his voice, didn’t hesitate to call Roger. In two minutes, Roger was standing before the President’s desk in the Oval Office.
“Roger, at another time, I would offer you one of these,” he said holding up his drink, “but you are going before the cameras in an hour or so. This is a press release that the United States will affect a rescue mission of American personnel, military and civilians, from the Republic of Korea within forty-eight hours. At this time, the United States does not intend to enter into the current Korean conflict. Dress it up however you want. You can field any questions that you choose and ignore those that you choose. It is your call. Neither the House nor the Senate will support our entry into the conflict. The Republicans won’t support it any more than the Democrats. Anti-American participation seems to be universal. You can call the press conference when you are ready. Give yourself plenty of time. The wolves are always howling around feeding time.”
“Yes, Mr. President. Would you like to review it before I go on the air?”
“Hell no, Roger. That’s why you got the job. You don’t need me to do that. You know how I feel about it, but there is nothing I can do. I am not a dictator of America, let alone the world. That cesspool out there is your ballpark. Get on with it.” He waved Roger out with his drink in hand.
“Yes, Mr. President.” Roger had already drafted half a dozen versions to cover all contingencies. He walked into the press room and announced that there would be a press release at 20:00 hours regarding the Korean conflict. Turning on his heel, he left as abruptly as he came. He went to his office and pulled the appropriate dialogue. He simply wanted to review what he had already written, shave with an electric razor, and put on a fresh shirt and deodorant.
The Marine Expeditionary Brigade reached station north of the Island of Tokchok in the Yellow Sea. She moved to fifteen kilometers off the coast. Standing five kilometers off their portside were three North Korean destroyers of the Luhu Class, purchased from Red China in a sort of lend-lease program.
The USS Bataan, a Wasp Class Amphibious Assault Ship, detected the submarine laying quietly on the bottom just off her starboard bow, two thousand meters out. The Chinese-built North Korean submarine did not detect the USS Virginia lying three thousand meters off its stern.
At dawn, twelve V-22 Ospreys launched from the decks of the USS Bataan. Almost immediately, two Super Cobra helicopter gunships lifted off to form on the flanks of the Super Stallion formation. Five minutes later, two AV-8B II Harriers took off from her foredeck and streaked towards land. They climbed to fifteen thousand feet and began circling, providing fighter cover for the helicopters below should any North Korean hothead decide the Americans were easy pickings. Two more Harriers launched to provide cover for the amphibious group. Below the flight deck of the Bataan, 1200 Marines stood by in landing craft should it be necessary to fight their way in to rescue the Americans, mostly civilians. The next wave, composed of six Super Stallion helicopters, was lifted by elevators to the flight deck.
The first flight of V-22 Ospreys landed in the American compound and warehouse complex not far from the docks. Several American export companies had rented warehouses and a small office building close to the docks of Inchon. The Americans, mostly in an orderly fashion, put their children on the first flight. All twelve of the Ospreys were filled, carrying almost three hundred children. They lifted off without incident. The flight leader radioed in that all aircraft were filled and outbound. Fifteen minutes later, the second flight landed. Koreans, seeing the helicopters evacuating the Americans, began to climb the fencing and push against the compound gates.
The next two flights evacuated the women, of which there were about two hundred. On the third flight, many Koreans were inside the compound, pushing and shoving aside the American men. Those who spoke English demanded evacuation. Those who did not pointed at the helicopters and began shouting in Korean. The crowd was becoming more and more menacing. The American civilian men formed an impromptu cordon around the landing field. Several Koreans reached the helicopters and tried to climb aboard. Many of the American men were forced into fist fights with the Koreans in their attempts to restrain them. Since Korean males are required to study Tae Kwan Do through high school, very few of the Americans were a match in hand to hand combat, and quite a few were knocked flat or cold. There were about four hundred American men still to be evacuated. The air crews managed to kick a few off, but there were too many. The mob gained on the first two air crews; the Koreans fought back to remain on board. The Marine aviator flight leader in the first helicopter ordered weapons drawn. One Korean lunged for the crewman, who promptly shot him. Two more lunged at the crew member, but they were shot by the other crewman. General panic broke out. The aviator called to the gunships for assistance. The first Marine Cobra buzzed the now collapsed gate, but it did little except to cause the mob to duck for a few seconds. The second ship radioed the Bataan for instructions. The order came back from the Air Squadron Commander, “Do what you have to do to get the Americans out. If that includes the use of deadly force, so be it.”
Other air crews began to resort to their pistols for self-defense. The OV-22 flight leader radioed to the Super Cobras, “You have to get the mob pressure off of us. They are pulling Americans off our craft.”
The gunship section leader responded, “Roger, Evacuation Leader. Chicken Hawk II, take position on my port side. Fire upon my command.” The Super Cobras in tandem flew in low and hovered inside the gate. “Upon my command, spray a five second burst of .30 caliber.” Each sprayed a five second burst of 7.62x51 mm. machine gun fires into the mob as it poured through the gate. It was the evacuation of Saigon all over again in miniature. Screams and curses arose from the Koreans; some shook their fists at the Americans. The gunships rose up and began to circle again. The mob was delayed only momentarily. Another surge brought more Koreans into the fray.
The helicopter flight leader radioed to the Bataan. The Super Cobras landed again in front of the gate and, this time, held the position. The next flight of six helicopters carried two platoons of an armed Marine infantry company to restore order and ensure the evacuation. As they landed, the Marines deployed around the landing zone and set up a fire line. The mob was coming in from other gates and over the compound walls. When they saw the Marines, they only hesitated momentarily. The Captain in charge of the Marine landing party gave the order through a bull horn, “Pick your targets, fire at will.” Marines commenced sporadic rifle fire upon threatening Koreans, and those who were engaged in struggles with the Americans. After fifty or so rounds were fired into the crowd, a semblance of order was restored.
The Marine Captain ordered the platoon leader in the center of the line to have three squads get the American men loaded in the nearest aircraft and get them airborne. Quite a number of dead and wounded Koreans, men and women, lie on the ground. The Marines held their position, most in prone, in a circle around the landing zone. The civilians helped their comrades who were injured in fights with the Koreans. Several of them were dead. The Harriers remained aloft, just off the coastline, not wanting to provoke some hot-headed North Korean into a dogfight. The Harrier is designed primarily as a ground attack aircraft and has aerial combat as its secondary role. Still, with two sidewinder missiles, it is a worthy opponent for most aviators of other countries. As Chuck Yeager said, “It is the aviator, not the machine that wins the dogfight.” The Company Commander ordered the bodies of the deceased Americans loaded on the last flight out.
After four hours elapsed, all identified Americans in the compound were airborne. The Marines mounted their flight and looked down upon those they killed as they lifted off.
Chapter 16
After the first week of intense fighting, the North had captured about one fourth of the city of Inchon even though it was surrounded by the end of the week. Their mass of North Korean personnel was too large, although they suffered tremendous casualties. The North was advancing faster in other areas of the south. The North was moving mobile forces along the roads, bypassing intermediate towns and cities, aiming to control critical road and transportation junctions. Behind these mobile forces came a horde of infantry, moving much slower, but coming as a solid wave, combing the countryside and seizing control of the local population.
Rumors of North Korean amphibious assault at Inchon on the second day began to surge through the South Korean forces. Some units in Seoul panicked, fearing being cut off and trapped between enemy lines. Some turned and ran, first as individuals, then squads, then platoons. Officers at the company level attempted to restore order and discipline, in many cases, by on the spot executions. For the most part, they were successful, and the battle for Seoul continued, growing ever more costly.
The temperature was in the low nineties, and the humidity was approaching 85%. It was hot and sticky, even for the first week of June in the Seoul area. I’ve never been thirstier in my life, Timmons thought. Timmons and Matthews were drenched in sweat as they walked south out of Seoul towards the road to Inchon, joined by tens of thousands pouring onto the road. Ten miles later and still in the metropolitan area, thirst began to be a major factor for everybody. Stores and shops were inundated with thirsty people. Where no shop keeper was in attendance, the crowd helped itself to whatever was on the shelves and then some. Timmons ached all over. Carrying a suitcase in each hand, his shoulders felt like his arms were pulling them out of the sockets. At five feet ten inches tall and two hundred pounds, Timmons wished he was in better physical condition. Matthews appeared to be in somewhat better shape. Maybe that’s because he’s Army, and they have to do all that physical training stuff, thought Timmons.
“Wait a minute, Curt,” said Timmons. They moved to the side of the road where Timmons opened both his suitcases and started going through them, trying to decide what he could discard. Finally, he settled on two spare shirts, two pairs of pants, a windbreaker and all his socks. He put them in the larger suitcase and abandoned everything else. Matthews was wearing what amounted to a Class B uniform, with his tunic in his suitcase and a spare pair of lace-up shoes that the Army calls low quarters. Two miles later, Timmons was limping. They moved to the side of the road and stopped, where Timmons took off his loafers and socks to examine his feet. There were blisters on his heels, the balls of his feet and his little toes were swollen.
Others were taking breaks all along the road. As aircraft zoomed overhead, everyone looked up to see whose they were. Matthews was wishing he was in better physical condition and that he had his Battle Dress Uniform and combat boots rather than Class A and B uniforms. He would give his eye teeth for his pistol belt with a canteen on it. He would feel even better if he had a pistol to put on it. His service cap offered no protection or shade for his eyes. He wondered if he wouldn’t have been better off wearing a change of civilian clothes. Still, he figured if he was in uniform, and the United States did declare war, he would be treated as a Prisoner of War if captured, whereas in civilian clothes, the North Koreans could declare him a spy for execution.
Both men were hungry, in fact, ravenously hungry. Neither Matthews nor Timmons had ever gone twenty-four hours without eating in their lives. Now, they had a sampling of what much of the world suffers. By nightfall, they had covered a little less than twenty miles of the route to Inchon. The shoulders of the highway were crowded as darkness fell. A few fires were lit, but fuel was scarce. Some families had a cooking pot over their fire. They remembered stories from their grandparents of the 1950-1953 Korean War and had thoughtfully brought food with them. Food was in very short supply then for many of the civilians. A number of unattached young men had formed into loose bands, and they were looking for easy prey in terms of procuring food from some of those who had it. Timmons and Matthews witnessed one such loosely organized gang attempt to assault a family in the midst of the stopped refugees in the adjacent field, but a number of other Korean males joined in the defense of the family. The result was five severely roughed up young men. Two were beaten into unconsciousness, and three staggered off to lick their wounds; one had an obviously broken arm, another had blood running down his face from a club applied to his head. Timmons’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t swallow. It took several hours for him to fall asleep because of the aches and pains and thirst. Aircraft continued to fly over them, with an occasional air battle occurring, which woke many. Several planes went down in flames, but in the darkness, it was not obvious who the victors were. A few more hardy souls continued to march down the road in the darkness.
With dawn, the mass of people began to stir. With the sun halfway up on the horizon, many had resumed the march to the south. Matthews sat up, looked around, scratched his head and face, and noted the smell of urine and feces. He shook Timmons awake. Timmons groaned and rolled over. Matthews shook him harder this time. He sat up, looked around, and saw the mass of humanity moving, something akin to an ocean wave breaking on the beach. Oh God, he thought and then asked, “How close are we to Inchon?”
“Near as I can tell, about ten or twelve miles from the city. I don’t know where in the city the depot is located, however, and how far it is from the edge of the city. I only know that it is close to the port, so we need to find that out as we get closer into Inchon. I think it is really at some place called Ascom City, which is a part of Inchon. We don’t need to walk any extra miles because we don’t know where to go.” Timmons was so stiff he could hardly move. He looked around for his suitcase. Sometime in the night, someone had stolen it. Matthews still had his because he’d used it for a pillow. It’s just as well, thought Timmons, Because I couldn’t carry it today anyway. “OK, let’s go,” he said to Matthews. Matthews noted the loss of Timmons’s suitcase, but said nothing. He picked up his own and the walked back onto the road.
By ten o’clock, both men knew Timmons was in trouble. By noon, he was struggling from severe dehydration. Matthews half-carried him into the shade of some roadside buildings. He eased Timmons down against an outside wall and entered the building. It was deserted and had pretty much been ransacked of whatever was of value that could be carried. He found an empty plastic jug with a lid on it. He sniffed it, and near as he could tell, it once had bleach in it. He noted a small stream, more of a ditch with running water, out the open back door, took the bottle, and went down and filled it with water that did not appear too clean. OK, he thought, so there is probably hepatitis, typhoid fever, classical Salmonella, amebic dysentery, Shigellosis, toxigenic Escherichia coli, and God knows what else in this water, but we need water or we die anyway. He took it around to Timmons and made him sip it slowly. Timmons never knew plain water could taste so good. Over the next thirty minutes, Matthews and Timmons had consumed all four liters that the jug held. Matthews went back to the stream and filled the jug again. He noticed others drinking from the stream. Matthews pulled Timmons to his feet, and they rejoined the marching throng. Not having eaten for almost two days, the stomachs of both men were undergoing painful contractions. Matthews moved to the shoulder of the road, pulling Timmons with him. He opened his suitcase and took out his tunic. He stuffed his spare socks in the pockets, changed shirts, and walked back on the highway, abandoning the suitcase. The closer to Inchon they came, the more the sounds of battle grew in intensity. By nightfall, they were on the edge of Inchon, and it was painfully obvious that Inchon was also under attack.
With no major roads running south out of Inchon, some of its citizenry was pouring across the countryside in a southeasterly direction, towards Anyang and Suwon. They had not encountered any other Americans, or Europeans for that matter, since leaving Seoul. Matthews began questioning Koreans where the depot was located. All he got was shrugging shoulders and heads shaking no. They stopped at what passed for a gas station. Timmons slid down the outside wall for a rest. Matthews entered and, looking around, found what he presumed was a map of Inchon on the wall. He could recognize the harbor area, but the depot was not labeled. He took a stool and tried to smash the frame off the wall with no success. He found a tire iron and used it to pry the frame off. He folded the map and put it in his hip pocket, cursing because he did not have a compass. He knew from the rising sun which way was west to the harbor, but that’s all he knew. Hell, he thought, what good would a compass do me anyway? I haven’t read a map or used a compass since the Medical Department Basic Course with a one-hour lecture on it and a one-night practical exercise in the field at Camp Bullis. If I make it out of this alive, I am going to make damned sure my grandkids are in the Boy Scouts and learn this stuff! That is, if I ever have any or live to see them.
With Timmons in tow, he headed west down what he presumed was a main thoroughfare, since it was four lanes wide. No vehicles were in sight, and the masses of people from Seoul, now realizing Inchon was under attack, had begun to drift to the southeast across the countryside. There were still many individuals, and people in groups of two or three, on the streets. It appeared to Matthews that many of them were looters, or those who had opted to stay in their homes rather than flee the city. It was obvious to both of them that Timmons was near the end of his endurance. He needed rest, food, and above all, good water. Matthews stuck his head in the door of what appeared to be an apartment building. He knocked on the first door on the first floor, and when no one came, he went upstairs to the second floor. At the first door, he knocked and called again. No answer. He tried the knob. It was locked. He kicked it hard, and it broke open. He called a loud “hello.” Again, no answer. He entered and quickly sought the kitchen.
In the refrigerator, which was still running, he found several dishes, some rice, some summer kimchi, sauces and some kind of meat in a stew. He tried the water tap at the faucet. It worked. He filled the kettle on the stove and soon had boiling water into which he put a tablespoon of tea. He went downstairs and half-carried Timmons up. He sat Timmons at the table and gave him some of the cold rice and stew to eat with a spoon he found in a drawer. He poured them both a cup of hot tea. After they ate, Matthews rummaged through more kitchen drawers where he found several rather dull knives. He stuck one in his belt on his left side, and gave one to Timmons, who said nothing, but stuck it in his belt like Matthews did anyway. Since it was late afternoon, Matthews said, “Perhaps we ought to sleep here tonight and get a good night’s rest, then search for the depot tomorrow. We don’t know what the situation is here, and I’m not sure it is a good idea to be floating around here after dark.”
“Sounds good to me; we both know I am exhausted. It would do us both good.”
Matthews put a pan of water on the stove to boil and dropped in all the eggs he found in the refrigerator. He was thinking they would keep better this way, and they could carry them in their pockets if they had to. He didn’t want to take a chance on losing water or electricity or the bottled natural gas on the stove. They drank the rest of the tea, and Matthews made more. Then they both crashed on mats on the floor of the bedroom.
At dawn, both men awoke with the sun in their eyes. As they were drinking tea and eating the remainder of everything in the refrigerator, Timmons suddenly groaned and bent double. He pushed away from the kitchen table and bent over, made for the bathroom. He had got his pants down and squatted over the floor level toilet when he lost control. Fluid feces squirted from him and splashed his pants and the floor. The Asians don’t use a sit-down toilet as is universal in the west. Their classical toilet is an oblong depression in the bathroom floor, phonetically called a “banjo” in Korean. They believe sitting on a common toilet seat leads to the spread of enteric diseases. Timmons passed about a liter of fluid before he was finished. He wiped himself with toilet paper and weakly stood up. He rinsed his hands as there was no soap obviously available and dried them on a towel. He was still cramping. Matthews remained at the table, wondering when it would hit him.
A rumbling noise grew louder, proclaiming the presence of a heavy vehicle. Matthews looked out the window to see a North Korean T-72 tank rolling down the street, with infantry along each side of the street. No one else was present. North Korean soldiers were checking buildings as they progressed. Matthews went to the bathroom and said, “We have company. North Koreans are moving down the street with armor and infantry. They seem to be checking buildings as they come. They will be here in about five minutes. How are you feeling?”
“Shitty, thank you, doctor. What the hell are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if we should try and run, which with your condition would be rather futile, or just surrender ourselves and hope that they treat prisoners better than they did in the last war. I really don’t think we have much of a chance with your condition.”
“Do what you think will give us the best possible odds for survival, Curt. I’ll go along with whatever you decide.”
“OK, I think I will go talk to the North Koreans and see what they say.”
Matthews went downstairs and stepped into the street with his hands raised. Several North Koreans ran up to him. One of them butt stroked him in the abdomen with a rifle, which buckled him to his knees. He was about to deliver a butt stroke to the back of Matthews’s head when a shout from a Korean lieutenant stopped him.
Matthews looked up and asked, “Do you speak English?”
