The Encirclement Gambit
There was no way to explain how the commander knew details that hadn't even made it into intelligence reports yet. Keep your mouth shut and listen. Let's take it slow for now.
Once Willoughby's report wrapped up, Almond leaned forward in his seat.
"General, X Corps's next objective should be the recapture of Seoul. I propose committing the 1st Marine Division and the 7th Infantry Division to advance east along the Seoul-Incheon Road and secure the city in the shortest possible time."
It was exactly as expected. Straight out of history. Almond was obsessed with Seoul. MacArthur had been too. September 25th—the political goal of retaking the capital just three months after the war began. The promise to return the city to Syngman Rhee. That obsession had forced the Marines into unnecessary bloodshed in Seoul's street fighting, buying time for a significant portion of the North Korean forces along the Nakdong River to slip away, even if they had to abandon their heavy equipment.
I recalled the paper I'd written back then. 'The strategic objective of the Incheon Landing Operation should have been to cut enemy supply lines and encircle and annihilate the main enemy forces on the Nakdong River front—not recapture Seoul. Seoul held symbolic value, but militarily, it was secondary.' Those were my words. And now, the chance to put them into action was right in front of me.
"Almond."
Calling his name shifted the air in the room ever so slightly. Almond looked up at me with eyes full of anticipation. The old MacArthur would have instantly approved: 'Yes, take Seoul.'
"The Marines will handle Seoul."
Almond's face lit up. But I didn't stop there.
"The 1st Marine Division. And the ROK Marines. Those two will push into Seoul."
Oliver P. Smith gave a slight nod. As the Marine commander, he had no issue with his unit taking the key mission.
But what I was really getting at started here.
"The 7th Infantry Division will not be committed to Seoul."
"......."
Silence fell. Almond's expression hardened. His eyebrows twitched. A murmur rippled through the staff officers.
"General, then where does the 7th go...?"
"South."
I traced a line on the map with my finger. From Incheon, heading south—through Suwon, Cheonan, Daejeon, straight to the Nakdong River front.
"The North Koreans pinned down along the Nakdong River. They don't even know their supply lines are cut yet. Or even if they do, they don't have the luxury to retreat immediately. This is our chance."
My finger swept in a circle over the Nakdong River front.
"General Walker's 8th Army pushes from the front, and the 7th cuts off their rear. Squeeze from both sides, and the North Korean main force is encircled."
Tension crackled through the room. The staff officers' faces changed in unison—some nodding, others frowning.
Almond spoke up. "General, may I offer my opinion?"
"Speak."
"We need to commit the 7th Division to the Seoul assault as well. Recapturing Seoul is the top political and military priority. We have a deadline promised to President Rhee, and for the diplomatic fight at the UN, we need Seoul urgently. Dispersing forces could delay securing the city."
Almond's logic was crystal clear. And the MacArthur of history had made the same call. Seoul, Seoul, Seoul. Crushed under the weight of its symbolism, he'd squandered the strategic opportunity.
But I knew how it ended.
"Almond."
I picked up my pipe again but didn't light it. I just clenched it between my teeth, chewing on it like a cigar. I needed time to think. Or more precisely, to figure out how to convince these men.
I'm a 2024 office worker. My military experience? Just mustering out as a sergeant in a search battalion. Everyone in this room are Pacific War veterans. They know war not from books, but from experience.
But I had what they didn't: knowledge of the future. I knew the outcome.
"The Marines are enough for Seoul."
I stated it flatly. The weight in MacArthur's voice turned the words from opinion to order.
"The enemy's forces they can throw at Seoul are limited. With Incheon breached, they can't pull main units from the Nakdong River front to defend it. At best, rear reserves and hastily formed units."
Historical fact. And information Willoughby hadn't confirmed yet. A dangerous tightrope. But I couldn't stop now.
"You don't doubt the Marines' combat power, do you, Almond?"
A touch of provocation. Almond's eyes narrowed slightly. Stroking this man's ego too hard could backfire. But outright defying MacArthur's decision? Not in Almond's nature.
Oliver P. Smith spoke quietly. "The 1st Marine Division is fully prepared for the push into Seoul. With ROK Marine support, I assess we have sufficient strength for the advance along the Seoul-Incheon Road."
Smith's calm voice eased the room's tension by a notch. This was the man. Speaking from judgment, not emotion.
I traced the Nakdong River front on the map again. "The issue is time."
All eyes followed my fingertip.
"Right now, the North Korean main force is tied down on the Nakdong River front. The 8th Army has their feet pinned from the front, and we've severed their supplies. But this won't last forever."
I slammed my palm on the table.
"Before they come to their senses and start retreating, we block their escape routes. The 7th moves south, secures the Suwon-Cheonan-Daejeon axis, and cuts all the back roads through the Taebaek Mountains. Link up with Walker's 8th Army, and the North Koreans on the Nakdong River are trapped in a sack."
I drew a massive encirclement on the map with my finger. An arrow south from Incheon, another north from the Nakdong River, meeting somewhere to form a noose.
Scritch.
"Encirclement and annihilation."
The words hung heavy in the room. The staff officers' expressions grew complicated. Encirclement and annihilation—the ideal tactic from every military textbook. But achieving it in reality? Especially at the operational level? Incredibly rare.
Almond's lips twitched. He was gearing up for a counterargument. But I cut him off first.
"Contact General Walker. The 8th Army launches a full counteroffensive the moment Incheon news hits the front. Simultaneously, the 7th mobilizes every available transport and races south as fast as possible. Objective: cut the enemy's retreat paths."
I grabbed a pencil and sketched arrows directly on the map. The 7th's axis of advance—follow the Seoul-Incheon Road to Suwon, then veer inland south of there to slice across the enemy's main escape route from the side.
In real history, they didn't do this. Or if they tried, it was too late. With the 7th tied up in Seoul, most surviving North Koreans escaped into the mountains to become guerrillas or fled north. The fallout lasted the whole war.
I'll stop that. Trap as much of the North Korean main force as possible here. That changes everything going forward.
"Intelligence officer."
Willoughby straightened.
"Yes, General."
"Compile the latest enemy dispositions on the Nakdong River front and have it on my desk in one hour. Focus on main division positions and projected retreat routes."
"Understood."
"And one more thing."
I stared straight at Willoughby. Through my sunglasses, his face was sharp and clear.
"Chinese People's Volunteer Army activity. Check for any signs of troop movements from Manchuria."
A brief silence settled over the room. The CPV. At this point, most staff thought the odds low. But I knew. In two months, 250,000 of them would pour across the Yalu River.
Scholars debated it—blaming UN forces crossing the 38th Parallel—but it was too early to bring that up. Still, plant the seed.
Willoughby looked puzzled for a split second, then nodded. "I'll confirm, General."
Almond added one last comment, a hint of dissatisfaction in his tone but no open defiance. "What about the Seoul recapture deadline, General? To President Rhee...?"
"Seoul won't slip away."
I cut him off. "The Marines will deliver it. I'm just not tying us to a date. Two months, three months—Seoul will be ours. But more important is nailing the enemy main force. A few empty buildings in Seoul pale next to trapping North Korean divisions. That's how we end this war."
Saying it sent a heat surging through my chest. Straight from my paper—the one I'd hammered out in impotent rage at my monitor. Now issuing from my mouth as orders.
Is this right? Am I right, or just some lunatic messing with history?
But I couldn't stop. Didn't want to.
Silence returned to the room. The staff glanced at each other sidelong. Almond glared at the map, lips pressed tight. Smith jotted notes, face impassive as ever.
I clamped the unlit pipe back in my teeth. It clicked against my dentures.
"Any questions?"