The second phase of the Chinese offensive was about to begin. The Chinese, who lacked tanks, air support, and heavy artillery, relied instead on surprise to defeat the Americans. CCF commanders displayed an extraordinary ability to move large numbers of troops on night marches undetected through difficult terrain. Chinese troops were masters of the art of camouflage and could stay completely hidden during the day. The official U.S. Marine Corps history of the war noted: “The Chinese coolie in the padded cotton uniform could do one thing better than any other soldier on earth; he could infiltrate around an enemy position in the darkness with unbelievable stealth.” While newspapers in the United States carried sensational dispatches about Chinese “human wave” attacks, the reality at the front was quite different. As marine historians noted, “The Chinese seldom attacked in units larger than a regiment . . . It was not mass but deception and surprise which made the Chinese Red formidable.” Despite limited food, inadequate clothing, and few other comforts, the Chinese soldiers proved tough, disciplined fighters, not the “laundry-men” that MacArthur ridiculed.
The gathering storm broke on the evening of November 25, when the Eighth Army was hit with “human wave” assaults. It proved a terrifying experience for the U.S. soldiers. Many units were overrun. Lt. Ellison Wynn of the 9th Infantry held out with his troops against overwhelming odds. When he ran out of ammunition, he began hurling rocks and cans of field rations at the enemy, until he was wounded by an enemy grenade. (Wynn miraculously survived the attack and was awarded a Distinguished Service Cross for heroism.) Overall, the Eighth Army’s exposed front line disintegrated into chaos. The army’s 2nd Division, 25th Division, and 1st Cavalry Division all took heavy losses in the Chinese attacks, as did three ROK divisions and the Turkish Brigade. MacArthur, finally conceding the dangers his troops faced, cabled the Pentagon on November 28: “We face an entirely new war.” The arrival of MacArthur’s cable, so different from the assurances he had given Truman six weeks earlier at Wake Island, shocked officials in Washington.
The Eighth Army was forced to fall back. General Walker had originally hoped to hold Pyongyang against the Chinese offensive, but soon decided to abandon all of North Korea. Pyongyang was evacuated by December 5, its huge supply dumps set on fire and hundreds of vehicles abandoned by the retreating Americans. By December 13, the Eighth Army had taken up new defensive lines south of the 38th parallel. They were back to where they had started in October.
However disorganized and disheartening the Eighth Army’s retreat, it was nothing compared to the plight of the marines and soldiers of x Corps to the east. For a month, General Almond had been pressing his field commanders to advance as rapidly as possible, hoping to beat the Eighth Army to the Yalu. On November 27, two days after the start of a massive CCF assault on the Eighth Army, Almond ordered the marines on the west side of the Chosin Reservoir and the army’s 7th Division on the east side of the reservoir to renew their offensive. Many officers, especially the marines’ battle-hardened commander Gen. Oliver P. Smith, were reluctant to advance any farther, without knowing the extent of the CCF presence. The marines’ supply line from the port of Hungnam was already stretched out and vulnerable to attack at many points. The farther the marines advanced up the western side of the Chosin Reservoir, the greater the risk they ran of being cut off by the enemy.
The Chinese struck X Corps on the night of November 27. More than 100,000 CCF troops had taken up positions in the hills overlooking the road that was the x Corps lifeline to Hungnam. On the east side of the Chosin Reservoir, the 3,200 soldiers of Task Force MacLean (named for its commander, Col. Allan D. “Mac” MacLean) found themselves cut off by the Chinese from any retreat. For the next four days they fought a desperate battle to break through Chinese roadblocks. MacLean was wounded and captured by the Chinese, dying a few days later in captivity. His successor, Lt. Col. Don C. Faith, was killed and posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor. The column of trucks carrying the unit’s wounded soldiers was mistakenly hit with napalm by U.S. aircraft. In the end, only about 1,000 of the task force’s 3,200 men escaped death or capture, and only about 350 of these were in any condition to fight. The pitiful remnants of the task force staggered or dragged themselves across the frozen waters of the Chosin to the marine stronghold at Hagaru on the reservoir’s southern tip.
The same fate threatened to overtake the 10,000 marines of the 1st Marine Division, about 2,000 U.S. soldiers, and a small unit of British Royal Marine Commandos on the western side of the reservoir. In an epic battle, starting on December 1, these men fought their way through the encircling Chinese army back to the coast. The battle of the Chosin Reservoir was destined to become the most famous battle of the Korean War. The fact that the marines and others made it out had much to do with the determination and the foresight of their commander, Gen. Oliver P. Smith. Before the Chinese attack, Smith had advanced cautiously, carefully stockpiling supplies along the road from Hungnam. When he began his retreat, he resisted suggestions that his men abandon their vehicles and be evacuated by plane from Hagaru. Smith reasoned that even if some of his men could be evacuated by air, the Chinese would soon be able to overrun the positions of those who guarded the airstrip’s shrinking perimeter. In the end, the only Americans to be flown out of Hagaru were 4,000 wounded men. The rest would have to walk to the sea. Smith shared the sufferings of his men in the bitter cold. His attitude was summed up in a famous remark he made on December 4, when he responded to a question from a war correspondent about the marines’ “retreat”: “We’re not retreating. We are just advancing in a different direction.”
By December 4, all the surviving Americans had made it back to Hagaru. Marine private Doug Michaud would recall later:
All the way from Yudam-ni to Hagaru-ri it was, “Five more miles, guys, warm buildings, hot chow. Just five miles guys.” . . . Hell, I thought, the war’s over at Hagaru-ri. No one suspected that it would get worse there.
From Hagaru, starting on December 6, the Americans fought their way off the plateau and down a long mountain road to the valley leading to Hungnam. By December 7, all the UN forces were out of Hagaru, and the rear guard blew up the bridge over the Changjun River south of the town to slow the Chinese following. But the road ahead was full of peril. It was hard and treacherous, every step of the way. Riding down the narrow, icy, twisting road, trucks and tanks skidded off onto the rocks below. The Chinese held the hills and seemed to lie in ambush around each new bend in the road. Somehow the exhausted Americans found the strength to fight on. Air strikes helped beat back the attacks, and supplies were parachuted in to the long column of trucks and marching men. But nothing could protect the men from the freezing cold. At night, temperatures dropped to 20 degrees below zero. A frozen weapon could cost a man his life, so the marines slept with their rifles pressed against their bodies. Cans of emergency rations and canteens of water had to be thawed over open fires so that the men could eat and drink. A lucky soldier or marine was able to take a turn thawing out in a “warming tent,” heated by little stoves, before being sent back to an icy foxhole or to trudge on down the road. Lives of wounded men were lost because doctors could not use blood plasma, which froze in the bottles and tubes. Frostbitten hands and feet were a constant danger. Marine private Jack Wright was ordered onto a truck when his feet froze. An older marine on the truck told Wright to take off his boot.
When I pulled the socks off, a layer of skin also came off. The old guy unbuttoned his parka and dungaree jacket and took my foot and placed it on his bare belly. That’s how one Marine will take care of another . . .
The Chinese also suffered in the intense cold. Marine sergeant Lee Bergee captured “several exhausted Chinese” wearing lightweight tennis shoes and whose feet had swollen to “the size of footballs” from the effects of frostbite. “Some of them,” he remembered, “had to have their fingers broken in order for us to take the rifles from their frozen hands.”
In December 1950, marines gather their dead for burial after an ambush during the withdrawal from Chosin reservoir.
To cut off the U.S. retreat, the Chinese had blown a 16-foot gap in a bridge that spanned the road at a place known as Funchilin Pass. The surrounding hillsides were so steep that there was no way for trucks or tanks to bypass the bridge. But U.S. engineers were able to bridge the gap with heavy steel spans dropped by parachute from the air. When the last American had crossed the bridge on December 11, the engineers blew up the bridge. That same day, the last of the weary marines reached safety within the U.S. Army’s perimeter around Hungnam. Master Sgt. Thomas Britt of the army’s 3rd Division was part of a task force sent out from Hungnam to link up with the marines:
Cold chills still go up my spine as I recall watching Marines, themselves frozen from head to foot, meticulously caring for their wounded and bringing back the dead bodies of their comrades. The Marines were battle-scarred, but still looked as if they could do battle. It reminded me of pictures I’ve seen of General Washington’s frozen troops at Valley Forge.
In the week before Christmas, 22,000 marines, 80,000 other troops, and 90,000 refugees were evacuated by sea from the port of Hungnam, which was then destroyed by naval gunfire. The marines lost more than 700 killed, nearly 200 missing, and 3,500 wounded in the withdrawal from the Chosin Reservoir. Thousands more were struck down by frostbite or dysentery. More than 10,000 Chinese attackers were killed.
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Extreme pessimism once again became the mood in Washington. It was feared that the Chinese might continue their advance and overrun the U.S. forces in South Korea. At a press conference on November 30, Truman made headlines (and shocked his British allies, who had not been consulted) by threatening to use atomic weapons in Korea if needed. Contingency plans were drawn up for a withdrawal back to the Pusan Perimeter, and even for a total evacuation. General MacArthur argued that the United States should be prepared to fight all-out war to salvage its position in Korea, even at the risk of involving the Soviet Union and China in a world war. He demanded that UN forces be reinforced with Chinese Nationalist troops, that the U.S. Navy blockade the Chinese coasts, and that the U.S. Air Force bomb Manchuria. Despite his careless talk about atomic weapons, Truman wanted to limit the size of the conflict. He feared, however, that the war would spread regardless of his intentions, confiding to his diary on December 9 that it seemed “like World War III is here.”
But the conflict remained a localized and limited war. For the next two years U.S. leaders searched for a way to bring the war to an end. All the while, the killing continued. From now on it would be a war to hold the line, until the diplomats could patch up some kind of mutually acceptable peace.
