Thank God I'm a Marine

[dhordubay]

Published in Leatherneck v. 34 no.6 June 1951 pp 24-27 59
1st Battalion, 7th Marines

by James Chandler

Last saw this in the LBJ Library at the University of Texas and would love to get a copy of the article.

[Baker1971]

Why the post Marine Friend ?

[m14ed]

I see what she posted,, i'm pretty fair finding information
on the internet...but that one has me lost...

I wish she would add part of a quote, or poem,

how about some more ammunition...

[USMC 2571]

I just found it. It's by 1Lt James B. Chandler, and it's about Korea, but it's FIVE pages long. PM me and I will copy and paste it into an email to you, OP.

[USMC 2571]

June 1951


Thank God, I'm a Marine!


Volume 34, Issue 6

Author:

James B Chandler


THE column moved, a broken shadow in the darkness, and took its place at the line of departure. Now it stood silent in the road, the point of a vast column to follow. The men of the point knew they would be the first targets for the enemy-the first to know where the enemy was hiding and awaiting his chance to kill. Silent prayers were said as H-hour approached. The first rays of dawn would bring bloodshed. Men would die. No one knew who . . .

Hagaru-ri had been defended by two rifle companies of the 3rd Battalion, First Marines, and Headquarters and Service and Weapons Companies of the 2nd Battalion, Seventh Marines. The third rifle company of the 3rd Battalion, First Marines, held Koto-ri, nine miles to the south of us. Two of the three rifle companies of the 2nd Battalion, Seventh Marines, had been attached to the 1st Battalion, Seventh Marines, defending north of Yudam-ni; the other company had been guarding a mountain pass eight and a half road miles northwest of Hagaru-ri. These elements had been attacked simultaneously by three enemy divisions and eventually had fought their way back to us at Hagaru-ri.

Casualties-both battle and non-battle-had made it necessary for us to form one under-strength company of what was left of our two companies at Yudam-ni.

During this fighting, the Chinese had cut all roads from Yudam-ni to Hagaru-ri, from Hagaru-ri to Koto-ri, and from Koto-ri to the bottom of the pass. One battalion of the First Marines held Koto-ri and another the bottom of the pass.

One company of Marines and one company of British Royal Marines had been able to fight their way to us here at Hagaru-ri. An Army convoy accompanying them, hindered by many trucks, had been decimated. Those who were left had retuined to Koto-ri.

We had received orders to jump-off in the fight back to Hungnam. The assault would begin on Dec. 6, 1950. My battalion was to be the advance guard followed by the convoy, other Marine elements, and some elements of the Army.

We had made every man available to our rifle companies which now numbered two instead of three, using personnel from Headquarters and Service Company, supply, cooks and bakers, artillery, engineers and our service battalion. Even with that influx of men our two companies were under strength. We were supported by artillery, air, tanks, heavy machine guns and 81-mm. mortars of our own weapons company.

On Dec. 6, 1950, we were up at 0300, burning documents we didn't want captured, and destroying all equipment we couldn't carry. The weather was bitter cold, somewhere below zero. A foot of snow covered the ground. We prayed fervently for a clear day. Without air support the odds against our getting through mounted greatly. We felt like weary, old race horses going to the post at 20-to-1 odds but there wasn't a Marine among us who doubted that we'd get through.

The men joked, cursed and laughed as they prepared themselves for the ordeal ahead of them. They were a mixture of "The Old Breed," Marines who helped to write the history of the First Marine Division in World War II, and new, young men carrying on the Corps' tradition-all battle veterans of Korea. They were cocky, confident and although they knew the Chinese were tenacious and canny fighters, they held them in contempt. They were men with faith-faith in the power of their supporting arms, faith in their own fire power as well-directed and commanded individuals. And above all else, they had faith in themselves. They were Marines.

The men had formed into their squads, platoons and companies; vehicles had coughed, come to life, and moved into line; tanks had roared into mechanical animation, spewing flames from their exhaust; the snorting, ungainly bulldozer had moved to the front.

At 0642 we moved out of our south road block of Hagaru-ri. We were faced with a road flanked by mountains occupied by two known Chinese divisions. All bridges of the road had been blown by the enemy, and wrecked trucks formed road blocks where the convoy had been attacked earlier. Our company speed had been set at four miles per hour to travel the nine miles to Koto-ri.

To our left was a large mountain. a valley, and then another large hill mass. We walked less than 50 yards out of Hagaru-ri when the first Marine fell dead, the Chinese pouring fire on us from a well-dug-in strong point. Our advance had been stopped almost before it had started. Bullets whispered by. Some found flesh and bit deeply, others dropped, spent, finding no human target.

The familiar cry of "corpsman!" split the air, and the docs crawled forward to care for the wounded.

Our heavy machine guns went into action, adding their horrible chatter to the din. One gunner dropped dead by his gun. Death quickly changed his features. The assistant gunner leaped into his place. Three tanks moved off to the right, roared on across a field, came up on the line, and started throwing machine gun and 90-mm. fire into the Chinese positions. The blast of their guns shook the ground. Lieutenant Austin brought his 81-mm. mortars forward and began firing.

Dawn had finally come and in its light the Chinese, running to escape the terrible fire, became easy targets for riflemen and machine gunners. Planes circled above. Controlled by our Tactical Air Support Officer, they peeled off to strafe, bomb, and drop napalm on the Chinese. Some of the enemy burst into flames and crumpled into black, unrecognizable masses. The enemy was now receiving the accurate, powerful fire power of well-trained Marines and their supporting arms.

Fox Company moved out along the defilade formed by the railroad tracks and the road. Quickly the Chinese dropped mortars on the Marines and, with each deadly puff of smoke, men fell wounded or dead.

I saw a radio operator and a platoon leader crawling back, both hit in the legs. I went forward to assist them. I spoke to the radio operator, "Miller," I asked, "do you need help?" His reply was typical, "Hell, no, Lieutenant, I got my airplane ticket out of here and I'll crawl to the airfield if necessary."

They were still evacuating our wounded by air, but eventually we would have to carry them with us. Lieutenant Sidor grasped me around the shoulders and I hauled him back to safety. He laughed for he knew his part in the fight was over, and he would fly over the tortuous and treacherous miles which faced us. He wished me luck as I passed him into the hands of the waiting corpsmen. He had what we called a "million dollar wound." Not bad, but enough for evacuation, probably to the States. Many of us were envious.

The Chinese had been blasted out of their holes, many of them lay grotesquely dead, frozen quickly into awkward positions. Our column and convoy started moving again. The attack to the sea was once more underway.

Some Marines would never see the sea, but their sacrifice would never be forgotten by their buddies. Our first obstacle in the path had been overcome. The troops and convoy gathered speed and the cold, miserable town of Hagaru-ri was left behind-left, too, were the many memories of freezing nights and days of combat.

We moved rapidly across flat terrain always keeping a wary eye on the high ground to our left flank. Our own 1st Battalion, Seventh Marines, was on our right flank, but the unit that was to have covered our left never arrived; it was from this direction that we received all of our attacks from the Chinese.

I moved through a little village and saw a dead Marine lying in the middle of the road. I remarked to Lieutenant Davenport that we should receive fire at any moment. My sentence was punctuated by the blast of a Communist machine gun. My draftsman fell with three bullets in his arm. Other men dropped and we dispersed quickly to the safety of a stream bed. Two Marines rushed over and joined Lieut. Davenport and myself. Two enemy mortars crashed in behind us and both men went down. I will never know why the lieutenant and I were not hit.

"For God's sake, don't bunch up!" I shouted. They have this place registered in!" We crawled forward, ever forward. Machine gun bullets clipped off the brush over our heads. The excitement and exertion made me perspire, but, as I huddled against the bank of the creek in the snow, the cold crept through, and my body shook violently. Men's mustaches and beards froze; little icicles formed in the hair. Tears, caused by the wind, turned to ice on our eyelashes and cheeks. We were cold, lying still-bitter cold-yet it meant death to move.

"Where in the hell is the air officer? Why don't they bomb the dirty B-?"

The Chinese were so well dug-in that our flat trajectory fire didn't even disturb them.

"There come the planes! Call them in, Johnny, and give these G- Dlaundrymen hell! They're cold and need a little fire. Give 'em hell!"

Five Corsair planes plunged earthward and .50 caliber tracers, rockets, bombs and napalm rained on the Chinese. Hands, arms and legs flew in all directions from a direct hit. Marines cheered but the pilots couldn't hear them. Chinese got up to run but were cut down immediately by rifle fire. Sergeant Westerdahl, one of the best shots in the Marine Corps, was having a field day.

Slowly, the Marines began to move -on toward Koto-ri. As Fox Company trudged on in the stream bed, more fire fell from the left. The strongpoint was close, very close, to the road. Word passed that we would have to assault it. The Marines waited grimly while artillery softened up the positions. Marines know assault; they were ready. Lieutenant Able jumped foward as the fire was lifted and Marines, bayonets fixed, followed him. They took the Chinese entirely by surprise and, after exchanging hand grenades, moved in rapidly, bayoneting and shooting the enemy as they huddled in their holes. Every Chinese was wiped out with the exception of 18 prisoners of war.

The Marines were magnificent as they spread destruction among the Chinese Communist forces. These fine, young men were a well-coordinated group of fighters taught to attack-or be killed. They had been like cornered animals; now they raged as animals. They killed quickly and efficiently.

Nightfall. We were still only half way to Koto-ri. The bulldozer pushed wrecked vehicles out of the way, combat engineers rebuilt bridges, made bypasses. We protected them as they worked. Darkness brought the expectation of a Chinese attack. All their previous attacks had been made in the dark, directed by flares, bugles and whistles.

It was black, pitch black, and with blackness all warmth left; the biting, vicious cold of night held every living thing in its grasp. The water the men carried had long since frozen in their canteens, food had frozen, and they munched a little on frozen candy and drank hurriedly from the stream. They moved like so many shadows in their green parkas, softly cursing the cold, Korea, the Chinese-and everything. They were tired, dead tired, and some of them hung onto vehicles letting themselves be pulled along, one foot listlessly following the other.

An enemy machine gun barked. Marines who seemed barely able to move, sprang into life, and dove into the ditches by the side of the road. They crawled out on either side to protect the flanks.

"Kane! Killer Kane, dammit, where the hell are you? Let's get some artillery on that damn gun!"

We waited, freezing in the darkness, and then heard the familiar words:

"On the way."

A 105-mm. whispered overhead and splashed its white phosphorous on the high ground to the front. "Come right 200 and down 200." Men shifted uneasily. Artillery is hard to control at night. Was the next shell going to fail on us?

It was right on target.

"Fire for effect!"

More shells whispered as the battery opened up, singing their song of death. Crash! Crash! went the high explosive shells.

The machine gun was quiet and the column moved on.

We moved into the area where the Army convoy had been hit. The bulldozer began clearing the road of smashed vehicles. The same driver had led that convoy all day. The man in that driver's seat had great stamina and no nerves. He was a great example to the other Marines. We waited in the cold and dark. Word was passed that the center of the convoy had been attacked and overrun by the Chinese. Later we learned that How Battery had brought their guns up quickly, fired point blank with a 2/5 of a second fuse into the attackers, and literally thousands of Chinese died, agonizingly burned by white phosphorous, or torn by shrapnel. It was a terrific fight, but once more Marine courage and coordination had won.

Two more bridges were repaired, the point received the word, "well done," and we were ordered into the town of Koto-ri. Marines, tired beyond belief and half frozen, moved doggedly into the protection of the lines of the 2nd Battalion, First Marines. There, haggard and with sunken eyes, the Marines sought the warmth of their buddies' tents and, after a cup of Joe, fell instantly into a deep sleep. They were safe for the moment and temporarily they could relax. The first elements of the Marines reached Koto-ri at 0545 (5:45 a.m.) exactly 23 hours after they had blasted their way out of Hagaru-ri. The roughest fight was over, but there was more to come.

The next morning I stared incredulously at Major Sawyer, our executive officer; I couldn't believe his words. The 2nd Battalion, Seventh Marines had been ordered back to Hagaru-ri, if necessary, to aid elements of the Eleventh Marines who were engaged in a fierce firefight with the Chinese.

"My God," I said, "how will the men ever make it?"

We formed up and I felt an overwhelming pride as we moved north over the ground for which we had fought so desperately. No sacrifice was too great for Marines to help Marines. Right there, as those tired, battle-weary, exhausted Marines marched from Kotori, I was witnessing the "esprit de corps," the spirit that makes the Marine indomitable. I knew that no Marine would let another Marine down. I thanked God again that I was fighting with the Marine Corps.

Luck was with us. The Eleventh Marines had fought clear, and our orders were changed. We were to guard the convoy about three miles south of Koto-ri until relieved. This job was accomplished without receiving any enemy fire, but it was heart-rending to see trucks, trailers, and other vehicles bringing in our dead. Other vehicles carried the wounded, men who had suffered through a cold, bitter night while their bodies were tortured with pain. Other Marines, those with frozen feet, walked stiffly on soles and heels they could not feel. It was a sad picture, but one of the utmost bravery. Not one dead or wounded Marine had been left behind, and those who were not hurt or casualties of the weather guarded their fallen comrades jealously.

Later some Chinese were spotted, moving along a ridge to high ground by the road. We took them under fire with 81-mm. mortars and heavy machine guns. The British Royal Marines, a fine, well-trained body of men, attacked the positions, supported by our tanks, and drove them off. A mutual admiration had already been formed between the Limeys and the Leathernecks. They spoke in the same terms of fearless gallantry. Our relief arrived and we moved back into Kotori for the night.

The next morning was warmer, a bit above zero, and we knew it was going to snow. We received our orders to move out to the pass. As we started to march, the snow fell. Heavily. Visibility became zero. No air support was possible. We knew the engineers wouldn't be able to drive down the pass to put in the all-important bridge the Chinese had destroyed. Without that bridge, no vehicle could leave the plateau. We faced another heartless night in the snows of Korea.

Slowly the men of our rifle companies slipped, slid and prodded up the slopes flanking the road so they could protect their road-bound comrades. They became a green shadow against the white until the falling snow covered them and camouflaged their movements. Those men lived in snow, fought in snow, and died in snow. At night, because of possible attack by the enemy, they could put only their feet in their mountain bags; the upper part of their bodies remained in the snow. They were dressed warmly: woolen scivvies (underwear), sweaters, wool shirts, field jackets, shoe pacs, windproof pants, two pairs of ski socks, and fur-lined, hooded parkas. But it seemed that nothing could hold out that damp cold. It crept in, took possession, and the whole body shook violently in protest against the freezing, grasping, overpowering clutches of winter. Warm-up tents with a stove were erected when possible, but few men, at a time, could leave the lines to use them. The weather was as great a foe as the Chinese.

About 1700 the enemy attacked our Fox Company in the waning light of early darkness. They used fast-firing Thompson submachine guns with which the United States had equipped the Chinese Nationalist Army to fight in World War II. At no time during this ghost-like encounter did the Marines see the white-cloaked Chinese. They fired at sound, voices, exercising good fire discipline and control. Our heavy machine guns, which had served so faithfully into Koto-ri, added their chatter of death to the small arms fire. Soon our 81-mm. mortars were landing in covered approaches and draws. The Marines who were on the ridge, although badly outnumbered, knew that the enemy was once again facing the coordinated and pre-planned defensive fire of trained and determined men. Grenades crashed in a flurry of exchange, then fighting quieted down. The Chinese had gone.

Volunteers quickly grabbed stretchers and started up the slope to bring out the wounded and the dead. This was an agonizing task, but a task done willingly because the men who were hit would freeze to death before morning if they did not get help.

I lost a good friend in that fight. They brought him down, almost unrecognizable in death. I felt like crying, but continual sudden death all around protected the heart with a certain callousness. It was a dull, aching pain, but I knew those brave Marines were now at peace, they had warmth, and the conflicts of the world would no longer disturb their lives. A quick prayer for a lost friend, and then back to the job. Work helped me forget.

The next day and night passed quickly, and certain Marine elements started down the pass. The engineers had repaired the bridge, and other Marines had established strong outposts along the pass to guard us on the way down. This was the final move, the move to the valley where the temperature would be 20 to 30 degrees higher, and we would know the warmth we had all but forgotten. Eagerly we awaited the coming of dawn.

With the first ray of light came the most bitter cold of the northern campaign. The temperature was more than 20 degrees below zero. Under these extreme conditions men had to keep their weapons operating and vehicles running. All food was frozen solid and candy was still the main diet of the fighting men. Canteens were carried inside clothing so that body temperature would keep the water from freezing. Fires during the night would have been disastrous, but, during the day, any stop of more than ten minutes would bring little fires all along the line. Men huddled around them while others watched, ever alert to the dangers around them. The position of a squatting Marine with hands extended over the fire soon bore the nickname of "The Hagaru-ri Clutch."

The movement down the pass, although tedious and bitter cold, was completed by the 2nd Battalion, seventh Marines, without enemy opposition. A fierce wind whirled the snow in vast clouds. Progress was painfully slow. The vehicle drivers were extremely cautious on the ice-covered road while navigating the tortuous hairpin curves edged with steep cliffs. Vehicles that broke down were destroyed and pushed over the side to enable the seemingly endless column to move on. The Marines manning the strongpoints for our protection shouted words of praise and encouragement to us. Every Marine knew that we had won.

The column continued like a huge snake winding, sliding, and crawling down and around the huge mountain, finally slipping into the valley we had left so many days before. We moved back through "Massacre Valley" where we had first fought the Chinese and where, though they had overrun our C.P. (Command Post), we had routed them and driven them back up to the plateau. Some unpleasant moments and memories were recalled, but they dimmed out in the experience we had suffered since. We moved on to the waiting Marine and Army trucks, and the trains efficiently run by Army transportation personnel. The trip to Hungnam was rapid. Warm, hot, fresh food was followed by sleep of exhaustion in warm tents. The situation, once so precarious, was well in hand.

The attack from Yudam-ni and Hagaru-ri to Hungnam will never be forgotten by the brave men who made it, nor will the sacrifices of those who dropped and died on the way. Those men are hallowed in our memories and revered by all Marines everywhere.

The job was well done. No wounded or dead were left behind us without evacuation or proper burial, and no usable vehicles, material, equipment, or arms and ammunition fell into Chinese hands. We simply destroyed what we could not bring, and we brought more than anybody expected us to. To the quick and the dead of that fight to the sea, the nation owes a tribute for their fortitude, courage, bravery, spirit, and sacrifices.

[USMC 2571]

Ahh, might as well post it here, long as it is, simply because I don't like asking folks for their private email addresses, as a matter of their own security and privacy, makes people nervous, so here is the article in its entirety, above.

[m14ed]

Thanks Dave.............................................. ...............................

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When you CLICK a username on Leatherneck
a TAB comes up to give you choices of what you want to do.

please note between two choices -
send a PRIVATE MESSAGE
and the SEND Email.



DAVE ,,I used your username for this.....
blister me back if it causes you trouble....

[USMC 2571]

That's Ed's longgggg way of saying I could have sent it to her via email or PM on the site. LOL. Yes, I am aware of those options but decided to post the article for all to see who might might be interested in a story involving the USMC from a past era.

[madsox]

I just read that article - thanks for posting it, Dave. That was a humbling experience, just reading about one "little" incident in the Forgotten War. An excellent reminder of where our Corps has come from. And there are so many more like that, from every year and place up to right now...

s/f!

[m14ed]

That's Ed's longgggg way of saying

I could have sent it to her via email ,
or PM on the site.

LOL. Yes, I am aware of those options
but decided to post the article for all to see
who might might be interested in a story
involving the USMC from a past era.

Yes sir , it IS a good article
and i'm very glad that you did post it
and worth the time
it took this morning to read it ,
before commenting
about features that - NEW USERS - may or maynot
know about....

[dhordubay]

I can't thank you enough for finding this. I am an inexperienced new user to this site so I tried to comply with your recommendations on posting etc. My profile gives all my information but I will try to determine what you meant by your comments. I see that others appreciated your posting. My husband and I really do as well. James Chandler was a colleague of ours at Peekskill Military Academy. He dedicated his life to his wife, children, Marines and teenage boys. He passed away of a heart attack on a bench at the Ranch Hope facility for boys in Alloway, New Jersey. His wife Peggy followed him in death about 10 years later. I have lost touch with his two daughters and his son, George but will be on a mission to find them. I have many military in my family and I am truly grateful for their service to our fabulous country. Very fitting to have this information for the upcoming Memorial Day Celebrations. I will forward this to active Alumni of Peekskill Military Academy closed in 1968 in Peekskill, New York.
Our deepest gratitude, Dotty and Joe Hordubay

[USMC 2571]

My one comment about your profile was that, like many of us, you need not put your last name, for security and privacy reasons. That was it! You're welcome about me posting the article for you. Glad I was able to find it.

[Baker1971]

Nice !!!

[USMC 2571]

Thanks, Jimmy---was going to just email or PM it to the OP, but I figured, hey, a forgotten era, the Korean War Era, might as well post the whole article. Those uninterested can skip it and those interested can read it, like anything else on any forum.