A thin veil of gray creased the blackness east of Inchon harbor and signalled the coming of dawn on September 15, 1950. Gradually the night rolled back until the insular mountains across the channel materialized in a blur of mist and shadows.
On the offshore island of Wolmi-do, some 300 North Korean marines and artillerymen greeted the pale light with a feeling remote from enthusiasm. At 0454 they had heard the familiar sound of enemy planes droning overhead—considerably earlier than on the previous few days. The Red soldiers were frightened. They suspected with good reason that something big was in the wind.
For weeks the Communist garrison had been building fortifications at a frantic pace. Wolmi-do, only a quarter of a square mile in area, was now laced with trenches and pitted by new caves and gun emplacements. Despite the hard labor during the hot summer months, the marines and artillerymen had not found the war too bad. All the fighting was 200 miles away to the southeast. There, according to the latest reports from Seoul, the victorious North Korean People’s Army stood poised to drive the United Nations forces into the sea. Occasionally enemy planes raided Inchon, but the garrison troops merely retired to deep caves during the brief disturbances.
It was a good war until September 10, and then the bottom dropped out. On that day the American pilots did not strike and vanish, as though in a hurry to get somewhere else. Formations of gull-winged planes streaked in from the sea all morning long and blasted the little island from one end to the other. For almost six hours the sky rained bullets, bombs, and fire, and the attacks did not cease until a large part of Wolmi-do was ablaze.
The next day passed quietly, so that some of the wreckage could be cleared away and unlucky comrades buried. But on September 12 squadrons of American planes repeated the pattern of devastation. These were aircraft of a different type, box-like and clumsy looking. Their appearance proved deceptive, however, for they wrought as much violence as the gull-winged machines. A few of the less timid Reds tried to man the light-caliber anti-aircraft weapons, but searing flame and thundering explosions sent them scurrying back to the caves.
Events of September 13 left no doubt in the minds of the gloomy North Koreans that Wolmi-do was receiving more than passing notice. Crouching in the damp recesses to escape the fury of the early-morning air attacks, they heard lookouts shout that enemy ships were approaching. The cries confirmed rumors that a great invasion fleet was on the way, and the luckless gunners of the 2d Battalion, 918th Coast Artillery Regiment, rushed from cover to their Russian-made 76 mm. field pieces.
Four enemy cruisers belched orange and black far out on the horizon. Seconds later the first salvos of six- and eight-inch shells shook the island with ripping detonations. The Communist gunners deserted their artillery and ran for cover. Lookouts screamed that enemy destroyers were heading directly for Wolmi-do—six of them, steaming closer and closer until at last it seemed they would ram the island. The little ships stopped 800 yards offshore and opened up with pinpoint accuracy.
Only with the greatest reluctance did some of the Red gunners respond to the exhortations of their officers and run back through the maelstrom to their weapons. Once steadied, they knew how to shoot. In the space of a few minutes they scored several hits on three of the enemy vessels. But retaliation was swift and overwhelming. Fire from the warships converged on the 76 mm. gun flashes, and in short order those Communist artillerymen who escaped obliteration dashed back to cover—this time to stay.
Impudent and relentless, the destroyers combed the length and breadth of the island with their five-inch guns. They not only smashed many gun emplacements and sections of trench, but also entombed a number of Red Koreans by sealing some of the caves. Then, with the day’s work accomplished in a most business-like manner, the six ships and their cruiser escort steamed down the channel and disappeared.
History repeated itself with deadly precision on September 14. Again enemy planes and ships closed on Wolmi-do while the defenders cringed in their caves. Only a handful of Communist artillerymen ventured into the open, and then merely long enough to fire a few erratic shots before retiring.
By evening Wolmi-do was a shambles. The repeated air and sea attacks had taken their toll both in manpower and real estate. Perhaps as many as 100 North Koreans had already been killed outright or buried alive. The survivors hurried back and forth through the debris to inspect their smoldering defenses, and what they saw was hardly encouraging. Radio Hill, over 300 feet high and covering most of the island, was burpt to baldness. (See Map No. 1.) The thick forest, which had concealed fortifications a few days earlier, was gone. North Point, the low projection that once housed a luxurious resort, was a pile of rubble. The shoreline industrial area, facing Inchon from the eastern base of Radio Hill, lay in ruin. Tracing the seaward (west) edge of the ridge, a barbed wire entanglement remained intact with 300 antipersonnel mines attached; but even at this late date it never dawned on the Reds to lay out similar obstacles on the gently sloping beach fronting the west side of North Point.
The 700-yard concrete causeway leading to Inchon was practically undamaged, as was a breakwater of equal length connecting Sowolmi-do, a tiny lighthouse station to the south. Most of the earthworks on Radio Hill and North Point were still usable, although cave-ins and the lack of concealment would now make control and communications difficult during an invasion.
Despite the fact that the Wolmi-do garrison had dwindled by about 25 per cent, on the night of September 14 it still possessed the physical means to put up a stiff fight. Ammunition and supplies, safely stowed in deep caves, were plentiful. Many of the 76 mm. guns had come through unscathed, and more were being hauled across the causeway from Inchon. A formidable arsenal of machine guns, rifles, and grenades was available for individual and small unit combat.
But though the means were at hand, the spirit was lacking. Only recently conscripted, the Red artillerymen and their comrades of the 226th North Korean Marine Regiment had little training and no experience. Their youthful officers and NCOs, for the most part, were equally unqualified. Almost everybody seemed frightened to the point of numbness by this lop-sided war that had struck with the ferocity of a tornado. So indecisive was the artillery commander, for instance, that the newly arrived 76 mm. guns remained scattered around the causeway terminus. And it really made no difference, since few gunners dared man them against warships.
The night of September 14-15 was quiet, most of the Reds being immobilized by the currents of tension and fear that permeated the blackness. One platoon of marines, led by a fanatic, remained in position on North Point—but on the side facing Inchon. More marines sat grimly on Sowolmi-do, perhaps taking heart from the periodic harangues of their officer, perhaps gazing longingly in the direction of the mainland. Of the rest of the garrison, some stayed on Radio Hill and many chose the false security of the caves.
The pre-dawn hum that broke the stillness on September 15 increased in volume until it seemed as though a solid cloud of enemy aircraft hung above the island in the darkness. At first light, Communist lookouts shouted that ships were standing in the channel—twice as many as before! Again the six destroyers approached, but the 76 mm. gun emplacements on Wolmi-do remained vacant and silent. Holed up in caves and a few trenches, the Red defenders gave the appearance of whipped puppies. This was not like the good old days when, as raw recruits, they had marched haughtily through Seoul and Inchon in the wake of the triumphant NKPA divisions. In their terror and disquiet, they realized that the war had moved to Wolmi-do—that the enemy ships were here to stay.
It would hardly have eased their anxiety to know they would shortly be face to face with one of the best infantry battalions in the United States Marine Corps.
At 0545 on September 15 the USS Toledo and Rochester commenced the pre-landing bombardment of Wolmi-do, along with HMS Kenya and Jamaica. Under a shield of eight- and six-inch shells, the destroyers Collet, Gurke, Henderson, Mansfield, De- Haven, and Swenson closed on the island for the third successive day to seek out NKPA shore batteries. (See Map No. 2.) Greeted by death-like silence, the smaller ships opened up at little more than small arms range.
After fifteen minutes of punishment, Wolmi-do lay under a pall of smoke. Marine Corsairs of VMFs-214 and -323 flashed through the overcast and struck with rockets and bombs. Simultaneously, Navy Sky- raiders of Task Force 77 pounded Inchon and interdicted all overland approaches. Wolmi-do, at the wrong end of a dead-end street, had now been prepared for the coup de grace.
By 0600—when the air strikes began— assault troops of the 3d Battalion, 5th Marines, were already boated in LCVPs. In contrast to their opponents ashore, the men of the “Advance Landing Force” exuded the confidence and be-damned air of seasoned professionals. Only ten days before, most of them had been yanked out of the Pusan Perimeter in South Korea, where they had just helped to destroy the 9th NKPA Division in the Second Battle of the Naktong. One unit, Company I, was brand new, having been absorbed at Pusan on the way; but even in this case the inexperienced infantrymen were welded tightly to a core of veteran officers and NCOs.
The 3d Battalion (3/5), with tank and engineer reinforcements, had been handpicked for the assault of Wolmi-do. On the success of its mission hinged the fate of the Inchon amphibious envelopment, General MacArthur’s decisive counterstroke against the NKPA. Not only did the island objective command the harbor entrance, but it flanked both mainland beaches marked for landings by the 1st Marine Division.
The Inchon attack itself had been scheduled for the evening tide of September 15 so that the Attack Force of JTF 7 could thread ten miles of treacherous channel approach during daylight. But to pave the way, Wolmi-do had to be neutralized beforehand—on the morning tide. Thus an “Advance Attack Force” of the APDs Diachenko, Bass, and Wantuck, led by the LSD Fort Marion, made an early morning passage in darkness with the fire support ships. It was from the APDs and LSD that the Marines of 3/5 took to their landing craft; and the Fort Marion further disgorged three LSUs, laden with armor of Company A, 1st Tank Battalion.
Air attacks ceased at 0615, as the LSMRs lumbered on station to the north and west of the island. Sheaves of rockets rippled from the squat ships and crashed into the target with an ear-splitting staccato. Three thousand of the missiles rained down during the next fifteen minutes. Mountains of smoke and debris shot skyward, and an observer might have expected the small land mass to capsize and sink.
Taking a southerly course, one of the LSMRs passed seaward of North Point and hammered the crest and slopes of Radio Hill with 40 mm. shells at point-blank range. This was the signal." On a perpendicular course, seven LCVPs darted through the rocket ship’s wake in the direction of North Point’s sloping waterfront—Green Beach.
At 0633 the boats hit and the ramps went down. Three platoons of Company H stormed ashore on the left, one from Company G on the right. Gull-winged Marine fighter planes swept down through the smoke to drop a curtain of machine-gun fire fifty yards ahead. The LSMR was still pumping steel and high explosive into the southern half of the island. At 0635, the remainder of both assault companies landed in the second wave.
Plunging directly inland, How Company attacked toward the Inchon causeway to seal off the sole escape route to the mainland. (See Map No. 3.) One platoon veered leftward to comb through the wreckage of North Point. George Company wheeled to the right and drove up Radio Hill.
Enemy resistance crackled sporadically, but those Reds who stood their ground were cut down methodically. Scores of others, dazed and trembling, who looked as though the world had come to an end, surrendered without a fight.
At 0646 the three LSUs of the third wave beached ten Marine tanks. With a roar the armored vehicles thrashed inland through the rubble to support the infantry. An engineer detachment fanned out ahead in search of land mines, but the way was clear.
The battalion commander landed from his free boat at 0650. Observing that the attack proceeded smoothly, he radioed the Advance Attack Force Commander on the Fort Marion that he was assuming control ashore. No sooner was the message transmitted than the United States colors unfurled from a shell-torn tree some 300 feet above the water of the harbor.
Company G had reached the crest of Radio Hill.
About the same time, the Marines of How Company emerged from the ruins of North Point and gained the terminus of the Inchon causeway. They looked queryingly at the random display of unused 76 mm. guns, then studied the 700-yard strip of pavement extending to the east. Beyond lay forbidden ground: Red Beach, heart of Inchon and target for the other two battalions of the 5th Marines on the evening tide.
The dense seaport remained quiet. At 0715, engineers crept out 25 yards on the exposed causeway and laid a field of anti-vehicular mines. From the edge of Wolmi-do Marine tanks covered the roadblock with 90 mm. guns. The link with the mainland effectively blocked, Company H turned southward to the wrecked industrial area.
Meanwhile, Company I had landed in battalion reserve at 0659. Believing they were far to the rear of the battle, the newcomers marched across North Point to take up defensive positions on the low promontory facing Inchon. The bypassed platoon of North Korean marines responded to the intrusion with a volley of hand grenades. Item Company hit the deck, and most of the missiles exploded short of the mark, sending up a shower of harmless dirt and rubble.
During the brief lull that followed, a South Korean interpreter crawled toward the promontory and shouted surrender instructions to the Communists. They answered by popping up from the concealed embankment and throwing more grenades. At this point a Marine dozer-tank rumbled onto the scene, skimmed off the crust of the low cliff, and heaped it on the enemy positions behind. Stubborn to the bitter end, all of the Red marines were buried alive.
High-pitched jabbering from one of the big caves indicated another large group of North Koreans in hiding. A tank nosed up to the entrance, fired inside, and hit the jackpot. Muffled secondary explosions shook the area as billows of smoke and flame mushroomed out of the recess. Almost miraculously, thirty NKPA artillerymen were able to stagger out of the inferno.
Half of Wolmi-do belonged to the Advance Landing Force by 0730. The battle proceeded on the level of a mop-up: much shouting, scattered rifle fire, and occasional bursts from automatic weapons. More of the enemy were killed, including some who tried to swim to the mainland. The majority of the survivors, however, preferred to surrender individually or in motley small bands.
Marines of Company H gradually filtered through the wreckage of the industrial area, while those of Company G invested the remainder of Radio Hill. At 0800, an hour and a half after the first wave hit the beach, the battalion commander declared the island secured. Later in the morning, a small tank- infantry force moved over the causeway to Sowolmi-do in the wake of a napalm strike by Marine air. The last Red hold-outs were killed or captured there in a short clash.
Thus ends the story of Wolmi-do. In successfully carrying out their first amphibious assault since World War II, the United States Marines suffered total casualties of seventeen wounded. The Navy paid with one killed and eight wounded. Enemy losses were 108 counted dead and 136 prisoners, besides some 150 others killed and wounded during the preliminary bombardments or entombed in the course of the battle.
These statistics are not impressive in themselves, except perhaps to those men who actually faced the bullets, flame, and razor-edged fragments. But Wolmi-do was the key to Inchon; and when the 1st Marine Division stormed the seaport on the evening tide of September 15, 1950, it initiated a rapid chain reaction which spelled doom to the North Korean People’s Army. Victory through sea power and “conventional” arms opened the door to success in the first major clash of the Atomic Age.