As the final month of 1950 approached, the 1st Marine Division found itself at a desolate mountain reservoir in North Korea. Snow blanketed the rugged terrain. Temperatures of 25 degrees below zero were routine. Worse, the Marines were surrounded, and the numerically superior force of Chinese soldiers was bent on annihilation. The lone avenue of escape was a treacherous, single-lane road leading to the port city of Hungnam—70 miles distant. The Korean name for the reservoir was “Changjin.” On the maps from Japan it was labeled “Chosin.”
Five months earlier, on 25 June, the North Korean People’s Army (NKPA) had invaded South Korea. The communist troops quickly captured South Korea’s capital, Seoul, and pushed South Korean and United Nations forces—essentially the U.S. Army’s 24th Infantry Division—into a defensive perimeter around the southeastern coastal city of Pusan. Even as additional U.S. forces were arriving in Pusan, South Korea seemed on the verge of collapse. Then, on 15 September, Americans landed at Inchon, on South Korea’s northwest coast. General Douglas MacArthur’s bold plan to recapture Seoul and sever the enemy’s lines of communication and supply was a surprising success. Within days, reinforced U.N. forces at Pusan counterattacked, breaking out of the perimeter. The momentum that the landing and the breakout created led many to believe the conflict would be short and U.S. troops would be “home by Christmas.”
MacArthur failed to decisively exploit this success, however, opting to send X Corps (the 1st Marine Division and the U.S. Army’s 7th Infantry Division, under Army Major General Edward “Ned” M. Almond) to the eastern side of the Korean Peninsula for two amphibious landings. On 26 October, Major General Oliver P. Smith’s Marines landed at Wonsan—to be welcomed by Bob Hope and his USO ensemble. The Army division put ashore to the northeast at Iwon on 29 October.
MacArthur’s plan was one of a grand “pincer” movement, with Almond’s X Corps sweeping north from the east to the Manchurian border (defined by the Yalu River), while the Eighth Army made a parallel sweep northward from the southwest. Those halves of the great pincer were separated by the large Taebek Mountain range; MacArthur made the Eighth Army responsible for the logistics—though not command—of the independent X Corps. Within the next month, frustrated small-unit commanders would see orders change several times as they witnessed the entry of the Chinese army into the war and as they experienced the rapid onset of a brutally cold winter.
A Gathering Storm
In early November, Chinese communist forces crossed into North Korea and engaged MacArthur’s troops, but then seemed to melt away. The U.N. forces continued their advance to the north. The Chinese reappeared, however, near the end of the month, and the Eighth Army was having trouble. Almond’s forces were redeployed in that direction to alleviate the pressure. Smith was ordered to attack to the northwest on 27 November. At the time the 1st Marine Division was arrayed around and between a few villages along the mountainous upper reaches of the narrow road that wound from Hungnam to the 10-mile-long Chosin Reservoir.
During its movement north earlier in November, the division had maintained a slow, methodical pace. Smith’s cautious advance aggravated Almond, but Smith had a sound rationale: It kept the division’s lines of supply and communication from becoming unduly overextended.On 27 November, the 5th and 7th Marine regiments—actually composite units called regimental combat teams (RCTs)—began their attack from Yudam-ni to relieve the pressure on Walker’s Eighth Army to the west; they quickly ran into their first heavy Chinese resistance just a few miles from the reservoir. The Chinese soon attacked all along the road to Hungnam, the Marines’ main supply route (MSR), severing it in several locations. The division maintained a defensive posture until 30 November, when headquarters gave the order to withdraw. Recognizing that his division was both surrounded and fragmented—the Chinese were inside Marine lines in areas between the four main villages along the MSR—Smith told reporters that the Marines would not be withdrawing, but rather “attacking in another direction,” given that it is impossible to withdraw when one is surrounded. (His statement was quickly embellished into a fictional quotation often rendered as, “Retreat, hell! We’re just attacking in another direction.”)
With a few U. S. Army and British Royal Marine attachments, the 1st Marine Division then began its inspiring 13-day, 70-mile fighting retrograde, or “breakout.” Most of the 20,000-plus men (along with their equipment and more than 1,400 vehicles) were successfully evacuated despite the odds against them. Nature cruelly battered them with snow, ice, and subzero cold as they traversed the narrow mountain road. The Chinese hurled against them a determined, numerically superior force, whose stated mission was the complete destruction of the 1st Marine Division. The Chinese not only failed in that mission—they were soundly defeated.
At the outset of the fighting, the Marines already had subunits in defensive perimeters around each of the main villages along their MSR: Yudam-ni, Hagaru-ri, Koto-ri, and Chinhung-ni (north to south). As they moved through those outposts they consolidated forces, evacuated wounded, and received supplies and reinforcements, all under a blanket of protective close-air support from Marine and allied aircraft. The final 35 miles of the trek—from Chinhung-ni to the port of Hungnam—were traveled rapidly with little enemy resistance. By the evening of 11 December the men of the 1st Marine Division were eating hot chow in Hungnam.
That the Marines managed a stunning breakout from the Chosin Reservoir death trap is well known, the stuff of legend. Yet often overlooked, outside the military classroom, is the fact that it had not been merely a mad, desperate dash to safety. Rather, the withdrawal comprised a series of attacks that in aggregate made up a well-planned, superbly led campaign. In two weeks’ time, a division of Marines had battled out of harm’s way. The enemy they left behind had been rendered ineffective as a fighting force.
What enabled the Marines to pull off such a seemingly impossible feat? The lore of Chosin Reservoir is liberally laden with tales of raw courage and selfless sacrifice—contributing factors, to be sure. But in the big-picture sense, the 1st Marine Division succeeded because it had been well-trained and well-led, and because its members remained dedicated to the mission and one another. It succeeded because it executed the key functions of warfighting extremely well. This is the story of that success, as viewed through the prism of just three of those functions: command and control, maneuver, and logistics.
Command and Control
The 1st Marine Division had many subordinate and supporting units, and fellow warriors from all U.S. services and U.N. forces contributed to the operation. MacArthur kept his Far Eastern Command headquarters in Japan, but Almond, the X Corps commander, was based in-theater and quite mobile thanks to the jeep and helicopter. Almond wore two hats, serving both as MacArthur’s chief of staff and as the commanding officer of X Corps—an unusual and unnecessary situation. Smith believed that Almond was a favorite of MacArthur’s, and that the loyal X Corps commander would blindly follow any orders from his legendary boss without question.1 MacArthur, for his part, had remained overconfident and in denial of the developing situation until the Chinese army re-entered the conflict with a massive onslaught in late November. His supreme self-confidence led him to question his civilian masters; President Harry S. Truman relieved him of command in 1951. While Smith saw Almond as a MacArthur “yes man” and an overly ambitious self-promoter, the aggressive Almond viewed Smith’s careful, measured style of leadership—and his cautious advances in the field—as indecisive and frustrating.
The helicopter—although at the time in Marine Corps service for fewer than three years—played a crucial role in Smith’s ability to exercise effective command and control on the battlefield. Smith used the helicopters of Marine Observation Squadron (VMO) 6—administratively part of the 1st Marine Air Wing but operationally attached to Smith’s division—to overcome the difficult terrain and the wide dispersion of his forces. He made frequent command-liaison movements by helicopter, enabling him to physically view his forces, gauge (and increase) morale, receive input and advice, and personally issue orders to subordinates. Smith physically located his command post so as to be as close to the action as prudence would dictate, moving his CP from Hungnam to Hagaru-ri on 28 November by helicopter, the only viable means to do so as the Chinese had severed the MSR. He fortified his position at Hagaru-ri as RCT-5 and RCT-7 conducted the breakout from Yudam-ni from 30 November to 4 December. His CP then relocated south (again via helicopter), first to Koto-ri on 6 December, then finally back to Hungnam on 10 December as the long column trudged the final miles down the mountain road. Writing to Marine historian Lynn Montross in 1953, Smith noted that “Subsequent to the Chinese onslaught of November 27th, the helicopter became a vital factor in the proper exercise of command functions.”2
VMO-6 helicopters also had made their mark in other ways, such as assisting isolated Fox Company in its renowned five-day defense of Toktong Pass, midway between Yudam-ni and Hagaru-ri. Fox Company’s radio batteries were short-lived in the frigid air, and without radio communication there would be no way to call for artillery fire, direct close-air support, or coordinate the airdrop of supplies. Sikorsky HO3S-1 helicopters, under fire, dropped batteries and supplies to the Marines at Toktong Pass. (Overall, throughout the campaign, the division was well supported with many radios, but communications wire and cable that had been installed north to Hagaru-ri was cut on 28 November and not repaired.3)
From Smith down, Marine officers enjoyed excellent command relationships and shared trust and confidence in their men, a trust and confidence that was reciprocated. The majority of the commanders were seasoned World War II veterans who genuinely cared for their men. That esprit extended to all reaches of the Marine air-ground team, including pilots, engineers, and Navy corpsmen. Smith and the other commanders had full confidence in their men; Marines in the lower echelons had faith in their leaders and in each other. Smith recalled, in an interview in 1973:
After the breakout to Hungnam had been completed, another [medical] screening was conducted. It was found that many men with toes or parts of toes absolutely black had never reported to medical installations during the course of the breakout, and had somehow made the march to the coast. They just didn’t want to leave their buddies.4
Just as the leadership and loyalty were strong, so, too, was the command and control outstanding in most every respect during the breakout. Transmitted orders from Smith and his unit commanders were frequent, short, and precisely written. Forward air controllers and tactical air-control parties for directing fixed-wing aviation support were well placed and efficiently employed. The division’s leaders had a plan, and they were determined to succeed.
General Sung Shih-lun led China’s 9th Army Group, probably a force of about 12 divisions. It had been tasked with annihilating the 1st Marine Division. Little is known to the Western world about the specifics of the Chinese army’s smaller-unit command relationships, but for the most part the troops displayed outstanding motivation, morale, and competency. The average Chinese soldier had little concept of rank structure in the sense that most members of a military force do, but he was obedient to obvious higher authority and dedicated to the communist cause.
While troops were well disciplined, the army overall was inflexible. Suggestions from the bottom up rarely were heeded; mission-type orders did not exist. Captured Chinese documents blamed “tactical rigidity and [a] tendency to repeat costly errors” on unsatisfactory communications technology:
Our signal communication was not up to standard. For example, it took more than two days to receive instructions from higher-level units. Rapid changes of the enemy’s situation and the slow motion of our signal communication caused us to lose our opportunities in combat and made the instructions of the high level units ineffective. Our radio stations were frequently interrupted. . . . We succeeded in the separation and encirclement of the enemy, but we failed to annihilate the enemy one by one. The units failed to carry out the orders of the higher echelon.5
The Chinese frequently used whistles, horns, bugles, or gongs to signal immediately before and during attacks. Puzzlingly, those attacks routinely were directed—again and again—at the Marines’ strongpoints rather than at their weaknesses.
A fighting withdrawal, an attack in another direction, a retrograde, a retreat, or a breakout: Call it what you will, there is no doubt that the 1st Marine Division’s determined movement from Chosin Reservoir to Hungnam will remain an inspirational and instructional campaign of significant interest for years to come. Part of the success has to be attributed to Smith’s thoughtful decisions as X Corps made its way northward during early November. He proceeded slowly—advancing at an average rate of just a mile a day between 10 and 23 November, staging men and stores along the way.6 This was to stockpile supplies (particularly at Hagaru-ri), preserve his fighting potential, and allow the busy 1st Marine Regiment to close the gap from the south and protect the MSR from Koto-ri to the coast.
Colonel Victor H. Krulak, G-3 of Fleet Marine Force Pacific, sent a message to Headquarters Marine Corps in Washington on 4 December that mentioned Smith’s keen foresight prior to the Chinese springing their trap:
Actually, the keynote of what they have done is this: they were not caught off base. They could forecast [the impending situation] in the 1st Marine Division. They expected exactly this to happen and they were ready for it. They were not surprised.7
Almond, however, had not seen the situation coming. When Smith approached him with a request for X Corps to construct an airstrip at Hagaru-ri “to bring in supplies and take out possible casualties,” Almond replied: “What casualties?”8 Undeterred, Smith directed his engineers on 19 November to begin construction of an airstrip capable of supporting C-47 transports. The dedicated engineers worked day and night scraping the frozen ground to build what soon became vital to the Marines’ ability to maneuver.
Once Smith was ordered to pull back, Almond directed him to burn or otherwise destroy the division’s equipment and evacuate as quickly as possible. Smith disagreed: “Now look. We are going to fight it out here; we need equipment to fight with, so I’m not destroying anything.”9 Almond conceded; the breakout began. Twenty years later, Smith reminisced:
How did they think we could operate with everybody trying to run to the sea coast? We had a definite plan. We had two regiments at Yudam-ni, and we were going to defend there until we got orders to come out and fight our way from Yudam-ni to Hagaru-ri and join up what was there and fight from Hagaru-ri to Koto-ri and pick up what was there, then fight from Koto-ri to Chinhung-ni. At each place you would get rid of your wounded and you would gain a few troops.10
After RCT-5 and RCT-7 made it to Hagaru-ri on 4 December, Smith wisely ordered a day of rest. The southward advance toward Koto-ri continued at dawn on 6 December and did not halt—day or night—except as enemy action dictated. “Since it was necessary to fight most of the way,” Smith said, “the speed of the column, under the circumstances, was less than that of a walk.”11
The Marines would position screening forces on the surrounding high ground to protect the column and call in close-air support (CAS) within a band approximately ten miles wide, but they would sometimes give up the high ground if it helped strengthen their lines and improve their overall combat power. They moved under the cover of almost-constant CAS. Although there were more aircraft on station during daylight than during the 16 hours of darkness, “night heckler” aircraft did provide some protection from nightly Chinese harassment, and napalm was the ordnance of choice around the clock. The Marines expertly integrated all available fires to support their maneuver, broke through the enemy’s frequent roadblocks, and protected each other despite the overpowering urge to succumb to the self-preservation instincts most were experiencing in the Arctic-like environment.
Overall, the Chinese battle plan employed Chairman Mao Tse-tung’s guerrilla warfare tactics: Bait your opponent into overextension, attack and fragment the thinly stretched force, and finally, destroy the fragments individually. Initial Chinese successes using that plan were tactically offset by their tendency to reinforce failure: They repeatedly attacked strongpoints, causing many offensive casualties and yielding few positive results.
The Chinese were excellent, at the outset, at stealth and surprise, moving quietly at night and hiding well during the day. That allowed them to cross the Yalu River and move south in great numbers undetected before the Chosin campaign. Later, their nighttime attacks minimized the effectiveness of U.S. daytime CAS and significantly limited the ability of VMO-6’s observation planes (OY Stinsons) to accurately conduct aerial reconnaissance. But their tactics degraded as the battle wore on and they became cold, tired, and hungry—and it became clearly evident in their performance:
There was no stealth in their approach; they came in erect, sometimes walking, sometimes at a slow run. In repeated attacks on the same position, their initial line of advance became a beaten path, and there was little or no variation in their application of fire.12
The Chinese relied heavily on roadblocks, but lacked substantial supporting arms (they had lots of mortars, but little artillery and no air support at Chosin). Thus unable to defend against the constant fire from the sky, they could not stop the Marines’ withdrawal. After the initial attacks of RCT-5 and RCT-7 on 27–28 November, near Yudam-ni, the Chinese chances of success lessened, as American forces were able to regroup. If the Chinese had won those first engagements, the outcome of the Chosin campaign may have been different. But once the breakout commenced and the 1st Marine Division gained momentum and consolidated its forces as it moved south, the scope of Chinese maneuver would not be enough to stop it.
The airstrip at Hagaru-ri was not yet complete, but on 1 December American C-47s began using it to ferry in supplies and reinforcements and to evacuate the wounded. Helicopters, so critical for command and control, also played a role in resupply and casualty evacuation. But the fledgling choppers’ minimal lift capability and the high altitudes in the theater made the larger-capacity fixed-wing transports essential. By 6 December, more than 4,500 casualties had been evacuated by air, and 600 replacements had joined the Marines at Hagaru-ri. Smith later wrote: “I think this is indicative of Marine Spirit. Everybody was put in the fight.”13 Not only did fresh troops join the battle, but the removal of casualties from the area made it much easier for those left behind to maneuver and to concentrate on their advance, undistracted by the need to care for the wounded.
As the evacuation of the wounded from Hagaru-ri was occurring, planes from the Far East Air Force dropped prepackaged loads—“Baldwins”—of weapons, ammunition, and supplies on a daily basis. The Marines at Koto-ri began receiving more supplies in anticipation of the column’s arrival there. The airdrops were not always on target, nor did the deliveries always contain exactly what the Marines on the ground needed, but they were adequate and arrived regularly enough to help immensely.
One particular airdrop briefly attracted worldwide media attention. Just south of Koto-ri, about a third of the way down the mountain, the Chinese blew a 24-foot section of bridge. It was at a critical location; with a sheer drop down the mountainside there was no way around the gap. The decision was made to airdrop sections of a treadway bridge. The drop was completed on 7 December, but it took until 9 December to get the sections to the gap. There, engineers repaired the bridge in about four hours. It was front-page news for many newspapers. The Washington Post carried war correspondent Marguerite Higgins’ account on 8 December under the headline: “16-Ton Bridge Is Air-Dropped To Help Marines Cut Way Out.”
Throughout the breakout, vehicles carried only drivers, gunners, and corpses. All able-bodied men were ordered to make the movement on foot—an order necessary to protect the column from close-in attacks, especially at night, and an order that was a source of pride for the men of the 1st Marine Division in years to come. The armor was almost always at the rear of the column, for fear that a disabled M-26 tank would block the entire division’s movement down the one-lane MSR. That planning paid off: On 10 December the seventh tank from the rear (out of 44 tanks) had its brakes lock. The stall facilitated a Chinese attack on the rear of the column.14 The Marines took casualties, but in the end held off the enemy, disabled the blocked tanks as best they could, and continued down the mountain. The next morning aircraft destroyed the tanks—as well as the recently repaired treadway bridge.
Cold-weather gear and equipment for the Marines—given the extreme climate—overall was satisfactory, with a few exceptions. Considering the lack of planning (or cold-weather training) prior to the campaign, the 1st Marine Division was about as well clothed and supplied as possible. Tentage was abundant, allowing for heating tents to be set up whenever feasible. Weapons worked, for the most part, in some cases simply because of the ingenuity of the average Marine when it came to maintaining the moving parts in below-zero temperatures.
A serious and consistent problem was with the footwear, the now-infamous “shoe-pac.” The boot worked well at Inchon and elsewhere, but in the cold of Chosin it became a genuine hazard. It consisted of a laced leather upper and a rubber shoe and sole. Foot perspiration that accumulated during marching or attacking would freeze during any period of inactivity, inviting frostbite if not remedied. (Of nearly 2,700 non-battle casualties during the breakout, roughly 2,000 were frostbite cases; of those, 95 percent were foot cases.15) C-rations were available, but many men suffered severe, even incapacitating, gastrointestinal problems from eating partially frozen food because of the rations’ tough-to-heat packaging. Canteens regularly burst as water expanded into ice, and canteen caps often cracked. But all in all, the 1st Marine Division’s logistics support was leaps ahead that of the Chinese.
The Chinese had a logistics capability—it simply was not adequate to sustain their army in the fight. Troops carried a variety of small arms and ammunition from a number of nations (including the United States), but they didn’t carry enough ammunition into battle. Generous with their use of automatic weapons in an attack—sometimes too generous—they often were forced to break contact when they ran out of ammo. Interrogations of civilians and prisoners revealed that the Chinese generally maintained supply dumps about 30 miles to their rear, but those were mostly for strictly “military” gear. Individual soldiers were expected to forage for meals once their meager rations had been exhausted.16
Although the padded uniform the Chinese wore was functional, many soldiers lacked gloves or mittens, and few had winter boots. Canvas gym-type shoes were common. All of the captured enemy soldiers complained of the cold, and most were extremely hungry. Estimates based on several sources (such as POWs and captured documents) put the enemy frostbite rate somewhere between 80 to 90 percent. Official reports contain numerous instances of Chinese soldiers being found frozen to death.
It’s a military maxim that logistics “dictates what is possible and what is not.” That being the case, enemy logistics dictated that if the 1st Marine Division were to be annihilated, the destruction would not come at the hands of the Chinese.
Glimpses of the Future
The Chosin Reservoir campaign had immediate and long-term significance in both civilian and military realms. On the U.S. home front, the withdrawal was an inspirational tale for news-hungry citizens of a nation at war. But with the euphoria over the amazing feat (and a subsequent successful amphibious evacuation) came the realization that the conflict would not be a rout—and that most certainly American boys would not be “home by Christmas.” In the framework of international politics, any hope of reuniting the two Koreas had vanished. MacArthur’s overconfidence and ambition had gotten the best of him, and U.N. forces were destined to settle for an ugly, prolonged stalemate and eventually, a peninsula that remains divided to this day. It can be argued that the campaign was an operational success, but a strategic defeat.
For the Marine Corps, the experience in some respects was one of affirmation. The ordeal had, for example, unequivocally validated the ethos of “every Marine a rifleman.” Any man at Chosin capable of walking had been expected to—and did—keep up the fight. Cooks and clerks and supply personnel grabbed rifles and put into practice the skills learned in recruit training.
Many Marines and military historians regard the success of the combined air-ground team as the hallmark of the campaign. While the Marines’ first use of close-air support had been in 1927 in Nicaragua, it can be argued that Chosin cemented the bond between the Corps’ air and ground forces, and was the “birthplace of the Marine Air-Ground Task Force.” Smith himself made the case in a 20 December 1950 letter of gratitude to the 1st Marine Aircraft Wing: “Never in its history has Marine Aviation given more convincing proof of its indispensable value to the ground Marine. A bond of understanding has been established that will never be broken.”
At the same time, any Marine who kept one eye on the future had gotten at Chosin a front-row view of another type of bond in development: that between the Marines and the helicopter. Primarily a transport in Korea, the helicopter would later prove itself a formidable weapon as well.
Chosin Reservoir and the remainder of the Korean War provided some answers to questions about what warfare would look like in the still-young Atomic Age. Prior to the winter of 1950, many people believed that tactical nuclear weapons were not only possible, but also probable, and that the conventional, limited war was passé. Korea set the tone for the Cold War and foreshadowed in some ways events to come in a decade ahead. Fifteen years after Chosin, the 1st Marine Division again found itself deployed in a shooting war in Asia—albeit in a place with a much warmer climate.
1. “Oral Reminiscences of GEN Oliver P. Smith, USMC,” Los Altos Hills, CA, 25 Aug 1971, interviewed by D. Clayton James, O. P. Smith’s personal papers, box 5, folder 19, MCU Gray Research Center USMC Archives, Quantico, VA, p. 8 (hereafter referred to as “Reminiscences”).
2. Personal letter from LTGEN O. P. Smith to Lynn Montross, 28 Jul 1953, O. P. Smith’s personal papers, box 2, folder 19, MCU Gray Research Center USMC Archives, Quantico, VA, p. 5.
3. First Marine Division Special Action Report, 8 Oct 1950–15 Dec 1950, O. P. Smith’s personal papers, box 1, folder 25, MCU Gray Research Center USMC Archives, Quantico, VA, p. 48.
4. “O. P. Smith Oral History Transcript,” Interviewed by Benis M. Frank, 1973, MCU Gray Research Center USMC Archives, Quantico, VA, p. 284.
5. Captured Chinese Documents Translation and Analysis, GEN O. P. Smith’s personal papers, box 10, folder 32, MCU Gray Research Center USMC Archives, Quantico, VA.
6. Roy E. Appleman, South to the Naktong, North to the Yalu (Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office/United States Army Center of Military History, 1992), p. 773.
7. Transcript of remarks by COL V. H. Krulak, USMC, G-3 FMF Pacific to BGEN Edwin A. Pollock at HQMC, 4 Dec 1950, Korean War history CD #14, MCU Gray Research Center USMC Archives, Quantico, VA, p. 1.
8. Reminiscences, p. 6.
11. Transcript of speech “From Inchon to Chosin to Hungnam,” delivered by MAJGEN O. P. Smith to the Kiwanis International in Los Angeles, CA, October 1951, in a USMC speech kit, O. P. Smith’s personal papers, box 22, folder 40, MCU Gray Research Center USMC Archives, Quantico, VA, p. 22.
12. S. L. A. Marshall, “CCF in the Attack (Part II),” Department of the Army/Johns Hopkins University Operations Research Office, 27 Jan 1951, O. P. Smith’s personal papers, box 19, folder 40, MCU Gray Research Center USMC Archives, Quantico, VA, p. 10.
13. MAJGEN O. P. Smith letter to MAJ Andrew Greer, USMCR, dated 5 June 1952, O. P. Smith’s personal papers, box 2, folder 19, MCU Gray Research Center USMC Archives, Quantico, VA, p. 3.
14. Extracts from MAJGEN O. P. Smith letter to CMC of 17 Dec 1950, O. P. Smith’s personal papers, box 11, folder 32, MCU Gray Research Center USMC Archives, Quantico, VA, p. 12.
15. S. L. A. Marshall, “CCF in the Attack (Part II),” p. 19.
16. 5th Marines Special Action Report, 8 Oct–15 Dec 1950, O. P. Smith’s personal papers, box 1, folder 26, MCU Gray Research Center USMC Archives, Quantico, VA, p. 42.