For 59 years I have celebrated the birthday of the Marine Corps in many places and under many different conditions. But the birthday I think I will always remember best was 50 years ago. I was then weapons company commander in 3d Battalion, 1st Marines, in North Korea, and we were at a place called Majon-ni, a road junction in the mountains about 25 miles inland from Wonsan. And that is where the closest friendly troops were—25 miles away.
Our battalion was out there alone, and intelligence told us there were 10,000 North Koreans around us. We had a fight every day and nearly every night, and we had taken more than a thousand prisoners, which was more men than we had in our battalion.
For the most part we were being resupplied by air. In those days resupply by air meant what could be kicked out of the side door of a Marine R-413. There were a few helicopters, but they were fragile and uncertain creatures, and their use at Majon-ni was limited to taking out our critically wounded.
That was quite something, too. They would be lifted in two litter pods, one on each of the skids of the helicopter, from the schoolyard that served as our battalion command post and aid station. The helicopters belonged to VMO-6—Marine Observation Squadron Six—and the squadron commander was my good friend, Major Vince Gottschalk. I remember his saying, "I'll take out your wounded but not your dead. There is nothing we can do to help the dead. It isn't worth the risk."
Getting a convoy through to us by road was a major operation. The mountains around Majon-ni looked like the Rockies in Colorado—rugged and beautiful. The foliage was turning bright yellow and red as the cold weather came on. There also were pine trees and clear mountain streams running over rocks. The road from Wonsan to Majon-ni was narrow, twisting, and doubled back on itself as it climbed up into the hills. We called it Ambush Alley. The worst place was about halfway to Majon-ni at a little cluster of huts called on the map Munchon-ni.
Able Company, 1st Battalion, 1st Marines, got through to us on 5 November after a two-day fight. The company commander was Captain Robert Barrow, the same Barrow who became Commandant of the Marine Corps.
To help open up the road, Colonel Chesty Fuller, who was then regimental commander of the Ist Marines, ordered his 2d Battalion to occupy Munchon-ni. Easy Company, 2d Battalion, started up the road to do this on the morning of 7 November. At the same time, Able Company started back from Majon-ni, having emptied their trucks of supplies and refilled them with prisoners.
About four miles short of Munchonni, Easy Company was caught in an ambush in a horseshoe bend in the road. On one side of the road rose a rock-faced cliff. On the other, the cliff dropped down to a mountain stream. Easy Company took a total of 46 casualties, 38 wounded and 8 killed. There also were six truck drivers wounded. Five of seven officers, including the company commander, were wounded. The more seriously wounded were lifted out by helicopter. Captain Barrow's company came down on Munchon-ni from Majon-ni, and the remainder of the 2d Battalion came up the road from Wonsan, and by nightfall the ambush was unplugged.
Even with the supplies brought in by Able Company, living at Majon-ni was a bit austere. In those days the company cooks still were used in a combat situation as stretcher bearers. We were living on C-rations, and there was not much cooking going on except for the little fires the men would build to keep warm-because we were getting into the Korean winter—and to heat coffee and roast potatoes dug out of the little patches of farm that the Koreans had in the valley.
Then, I think it was on the 9th of November, I remember my company chief cook—his name was Bandis—talking to me about the Marine Corps birthday dinner at Camp Lejeune the year before. He and his cooks had worked on it for 48 hours straight running, and he ticked off for me each of the items on the menu.
"We got to do something, sir, for the birthday," he said. "The least we can do is have a cake."
Now, among the items that had been kicked out of the doors of the R-4Ds, along with the C-rations, barbed wire, and ammunition, was some white cake mix. White cake mix. Sergeant Bandis fired up one of his field ranges, baked the cake in flat sheets, and iced it with strawberry jam.
We called our Marines out of the line, a squad at a time, fed them a three-inch square of cake, and read them the birthday message. I can still see that white cake in those dirty hands. It was more like a sacrament than a celebration. A sacrament of brotherhood.
That afternoon, the 3d Battalion, 1st Korean Marine Regiment, reached Majon-ni. Three days later, the 1st Battalion, 15th U.S. Infantry, arrived, fresh from Fort Benning. We turned the perimeter over to the Army and next morning climbed aboard trucks for the trip back to Wonsan.
Before November was over we would be in a much tougher fight than Majon-ni. We would be at the Chosin Reservoir. For many of those Marines the celebration at Majon-ni had been their last Marine Corps birthday—ever.
Each November I think about these things.
This is the true story behind the Marine Corps birthday celebration depicted in General Simmons's new novel, Dog Company Six. The article was adapted from a 1980 speech given to Westinghouse Corporation in Baltimore.