Canvas of the Advance (2)
“Are you saying prepare for a landing at Wonsan?”
It was a perfectly reasonable question. But my thoughts were...
“No. Assemble off the coast of Wonsan and draw the enemy's eyes. Ramp up radio traffic to make it look like a massive landing operation is imminent, and pound their coastal positions with naval gunfire.”
I tapped the pencil twice on the Wonsan sea area with my pipe clenched between my teeth. Tap, tap.
“No actual landing. It's deception tactics.”
The tent fell deathly silent. Whooo. Only the wind whistling through the canvas seams filled the quiet.
The original MacArthur, drunk on the success at Incheon, had pushed the reckless Wonsan landing. He'd become obsessed with amphibious assaults. That had forced X Corps onto ships, circling endlessly along the east coast, missing the advance entirely, and the minefields off Wonsan delayed the landing indefinitely. I had no intention of repeating that stupidity.
A faint relief spread across Admiral Doyle's lips.
“Understood. We'll send out the noisiest empty wagons to tie down the enemy's east coast defenses at Wonsan.”
“Charles.”
Intelligence officer Willoughby flinched and looked up.
“Track the enemy high command still in Pyongyang and their reactions to the Wonsan deception in real time. I want a report within 24 hours.”
“I'll keep that in mind, sir.”
Willoughby bowed his head hastily.
I gripped the edge of the table and slowly rose. The old chair scraped dully against the floor. Screeech.
“That's the meeting for today. Chief of Staff Ridgway, issue detailed operation orders to each corps.”
Stale cigarette smoke hung thick under the canvas roof. The yellow glow of the incandescent bulb scattered dully against it.
Matthew Ridgway stubbed out the cigarette he'd been chewing on in the ashtray. Scritch. Periodic white noise from the radio filled the quiet tent.
Ridgway leaned over the large Korean peninsula map, sleeves rolled up.
“Three days.”
His low, gravelly voice struck the staff officers' ears.
The operations and logistics staff, navy liaison officer stared at the map with bloodshot eyes.
“In three days, at 0600 hours, Eighth Army and X Corps main forces will breach the 38th Parallel. ROK I Corps will break its current holding position on the east coast axis and advance north immediately.”
The operations staffer drew the Eighth Army's advance route thickly with a red grease pencil. The nib scraped across the paper with a rasping sound.
“Eighth Army advances straight up Route 1 through Kaesong toward Pyongyang. ROK II Corps covers the right flank, and the 24th Division handles rear security to maintain supply lines.”
Ridgway stroked his stubbled jaw. The rough texture transmitted to his palm.
“Almond's X Corps punches through on Eighth Army's right, driving toward Pyongyang in wedge formation. No division exceeds its daily advance objective.”
He tapped the Pyongyang-Wonsan Line on the map with his finger. Thud.
“Upon reaching the objective, dig in immediately and switch to night defense posture. Artillery lays down fire nets, tanks conduct reconnaissance by fire, then infantry rapidly secures the positions.”
The logistics staffer flipped through his binder and sighed. The pages fluttered.
“Ammo expenditure will easily triple normal rates. It's not enough with just the tonnage unloading at Incheon and Busan. We need to urgently repair the Kyungbu Highway and Gyeongui Line railway.”
“Mobilize all engineer units. Replace broken bridges with pontoon bridges, and throw in large Korean army labor battalions for rail repair.”
Ridgway lifted his mug and swallowed a gulp of cold coffee.
“If ammo and rations run out, soldiers fight with their bare hands. Every mile the supply line stretches, the defensive line thins by half.”
The navy liaison stepped forward. His stiff uniform rustled.
“The Wonsan Bay deception op starts tomorrow at 1800 under Admiral Doyle. Cruiser and destroyer squadrons already off Korea's east coast will conduct preemptive fire on coastal batteries, and some naval assets from Incheon will shift over.”
“Fake landing barges too?”
“Yes. Dozens of LVTs and landing craft will pop smoke, approach to two miles offshore, then wheel away in repeated feints. The radio net will spam fake encrypted messages mimicking landing force chatter. Implying landing's impossible due to mines.”
Ridgway nodded.
“Wonsan defense commander has to buy it completely. Fix every scrap of remaining North Korean forces on the east coast staring at Wonsan.”
He pointed with his pencil to the coastal city north of Wonsan. Hungnam.
“But detach the 1st Marine Division from the Wonsan deception fleet and form it as a separate task force. Hold off Hungnam, then land at the deception's peak.”
Staff eyes focused on Hungnam.
“Hungnam's a bridgehead bypassing the Taebaek Mountains' rough terrain into the Hamhung Plains. It'll strike the enemy's flank fixated on Wonsan.”
Ridgway signaled agreement to the operations staffer's words.
“Once Marines seize Hungnam, the east coast spine snaps. Link with ROK I Corps to lock down the right wing of the Pyongyang-Wonsan Line tight.”
Seal Wonsan completely with the navy, land actual Marines at Hungnam. If that worked, North Korea had no real ports left for Soviet resupply.
He glared fiercely at the Yalu River on the map. Beyond it, in the thick darkness, a massive enemy shadow seemed to lurk.
“The bastards massing at the Manchurian border could cross the river anytime. Our advance carves away the shields to meet their southward push.”
Ridgway dumped the dregs of his coffee on the floor and set down the mug. Clink.
“Transmit op orders to Eighth Army and X Corps HQs immediately. Prep time is three days.”
The dirt at the foot of Guwol Mountain south of Sariwon had frozen overnight, then thawed into sticky mud under morning sun. North Korean front commander Major General Kim Ung shook mud from his boot soles as he climbed the ridgeline.
October's biting wind sliced through his thin uniform collar, scraping his skin. His nostrils filled with the mingled stench of unwashed blood, gunpowder residue, and soldiers' rancid sweat.
Thud. Thunk. Picks and entrenching tools struck frozen earth at regular intervals across the slope.
Kim Ung halted at the ridge crest, looking down at soldiers digging trenches. Their uniforms were caked yellow with dirt. Shoulders hunched, bony wrists strained to swing pick handles. A sorry excuse for an army.
The elite divisions thrown into the Nakdong River line hadn't made it back over the 38th. US encirclement had closed faster than Pyongyang's ops staff ever calculated—brutally so.
What they'd scraped together around Sariwon was boys not yet sixteen and old farmers. Not enough guns even for those who couldn't sight a barrel properly. One Mosin-Nagant per two men. Ammo: five rounds per man max.
Thud, thud. Boots approached from behind.
Front HQ chief of staff Major General Ri Yong-ho halted, rubbing bloodshot eyes. He clutched a grease-stained yellow binder.
“Comrade Commander. Deployment status for the main defense line linking Sariwon and Wonsan.”
Ri Yong-ho's voice cracked. He thrust the open binder at Kim Ung. A crudely inked sketch distorted on the pages.
Kim Ung snatched it. Paper's rough texture bit his fingertips. His pupils hardened scanning the numbers.
Sariwon front: barely 15,000. Wonsan side: under 8,000. Tanks: a token few. AA positions marked with junk guns of mismatched calibers.
The red stamp from Pyongyang's hold order mocked him from the bottom.
“Block US armor with this?”
Kim Ung crumpled the paper, spitting low.
Ri Yong-ho averted his eyes, swallowing hard. His throat bobbed.
“Party Central's orders are clear: Force enemy bleeding south of the Daedong River, buy time to hold Pyongyang.”
Kim Ung hurled the crumpled binder at Ri Yong-ho's chest. It splattered into the mud. Splat.
“Buy time?”
He jerked his chin at the boy soldiers digging.
“How many hours can those meat shields delay US tank tracks? Pyongyang's fools haven't seen the napalm rounds per machine-gun nest.”
In actual history, the Battle of Sariwon: North Korea lost, but bought some time. But Kim Ung didn't know—their forces now were far short of that timeline's.