Commencing with the air-gun strike on Chongjin on April 13, 1952, the missions given the carrier airmen of Task Force 77 turned more and more toward strikes on industrial, military, and frontline targets, and less and less to interdiction and armed reconnaissance flights. This shift of emphasis and employment was heartening and pleasing to all hands, planners and pilots alike. To the carrier division commanders and their staffs, such attacks were more in keeping with the inherent ability of a carrier task force to employ surprise and concentration. To the pilots, such attacks were a happy respite from the dangerous and dreary interdiction and armed reconnaissance missions. As to accomplishments, the sudden onslaught of combined carrier strikes upon an oil refinery, a manufacturing installation, or a supply concentration point meant greater destruction and damage with less risk of damage or loss to our own forces.
Such employment also kept the enemy off balance. The initial strikes on the enemy’s hydroelectric plants in June, 1952, for example, encountered limited anti-aircraft fire; the same attack a few weeks later provoked AA fire of great intensity and accuracy. The intervening time had allowed the enemy, anticipating repeated attacks, to rush guns to that location for its protection. A few months after the Suiho attack, for example, photo analysis revealed that the number of heavy and automatic guns surrounding the dam had increased from 71 to 167. Meanwhile, the carriers had shifted their offensive power to other targets.
By thus avoiding a rigid and unchanging routine, the naval aviators were able to inflict heavier damage at lesser cost. Too often in the Korean war, the conflict became rigidly set in fixed patterns; the enemy could be fairly certain that our night flyers would appear over the coast a few minutes after sunset or three hours before daylight; he could be certain if he saw a colored-smoke rocket or our troops laying down their colored front-line panels that a close air support strike was en route; from previous attacks he could often anticipate the direction of dive-bombing approach and better emplace his AA defense weapons.
The final year of the Korean war saw a definite trend toward more flexible employment of the carriers. While the interdiction effort was to continue until the end of the war (the plan was to strike the rail lines and bridges at least once every three weeks), it received less emphasis and importance. Bridge and track-busting strikes were employed only to keep the enemy’s AA dispersed and his repair organization tied down.
In the final twelve months of the war, the carriers attacked a variety of targets from hydroelectric plants to zinc mills and developed a new type, deep-support air mission (termed the “Cherokee” strike).
The Attack on Suiho (June 23, 1952)
The ceaseless and long-since unspectacular attacks upon interdiction targets month on end had a welcome climax on June 23, 1952, when, as an explosive finale to the first two years of war, the Navy, Marines, and Fifth Air Force in Korea commenced a two- day series of attacks upon the thirteen major electric power plants in North Korea.
For twenty-four months, these hydroelectric power plants had been ordered spared from destruction.1 In the early months of the Korean war, this had been done partly in hope that the war would be won, North Korea occupied, and a costly and needless destruction avoided. After the Inchon landing, the hydroelectric power system had not been molested lest it give the Chinese Communists an excuse for entering the war. Later, after the Chinese Communists’ entrance, there was some thought that attacking the power plants might prejudice the course of the armistice negotiations.
By June, 1952, however, after nearly a year of wrangling at the truce table, it was clear that there was little immediate hope of either negotiating a cease-fire or of capturing all of Korea by force. Continuing to spare any legitimate military target in North Korea for fear of prejudicing the armistice talks was invalid.
The truce talks, in fact, were destined to drag on for another year. Key military leaders in the Far East had consistently held that the North Korean hydroelectric power plants were legitimate military targets and that their continued operation directly contributed to the enemy’s war effort. These power plants furnished the Communist radar network with electrical power; they operated the MIG-15 air complex near Antung. Many small, isolated, and underground factories in North Korea making war material used this electric power. Moreover, a large portion of the system’s electrical capacity was transmitted to Manchuria for such arsenals as the Anshan steel industry, the Antung aluminum plant, and the Fushun coal mines.
General Mark Clark has described before a congressional subcommittee how the authority to strike the North Korean power complexes was obtained:
“ . . . When I went to the Far East, I looked around to see what can I do on my own responsibility within my sphere of authority, what can I do in Korea over here to make the Communists realize that we are still fighting. . . . These hydroelectric plants which were turning out the power for Manchuria, for their industry, it seemed to me, should be destroyed. I was denied the right to hit the Suiho, the big one, so I sent a message to the Joint Chiefs of Staff just telling them that I was going to attack the following places, and I told them how I was going to attack them, with what kind of planes, with what kind of bombs, and gave them a certain number of hours notice that if they wanted to stop me, they would have time.
“I did not ask for permission. Much to my surprise, that came back approved and saying ‘We delegate to you the authority to bomb the Suiho Dam . . . ’.”2
The Navy’s part in the raid was laid on personally by Vice Admiral J. J. Clark.3
“I was aware,” said Vice Admiral Clark, “that General Clark had informed the JCS that he was going to bomb the hydroelectric plants. It happened that I was on a visit to Tokyo and sitting in the office of Rear Admiral McMahon (Chief of Staff, COMNAVFE) when the JCS’s approval despatch came in.
“I told McMahon that bombing the big Suiho dam was a job for the Navy, and he commented that the Air Force would probably be glad to have us. I told him to offer them 36 ADs, each of them loaded with five thousand pounds of bombs, and he wrote up a message to FAFIK (Fifth Air Force in Korea) to that effect.
“On my way back to the operating area aboard the Philippine Sea two days later, I decided to go directly over to Seoul and discuss the Suiho mission in person with General Barcus. In the interval, there had been a flurry of despatches between General Barcus and Admiral Soucek, and the Navy’s contribution had been reduced to only twenty divebombers.
“Later, I learned that the Suiho hop was almost cancelled at this stage because of the serious MIG interference potential near the Suiho dam. In fact, General Barcus had a despatch all written up ready to send to FEAF and to General Clark recommending cancellation of the strikes on Suiho.
“After going over the problem with General Barcus, I told them I didn’t see any reason we couldn’t hit Suiho. I said that we could get in and out of there without too much trouble. I noted that the strike plans called for only twenty Navy divebombers; I said that twenty wasn’t enough, that we ought to send as heavy a strike in there as possible and really clobber that dam. I offered him thirty-six divebombers and he accepted that.”
The location of the hydroelectric plant at the western mouth of the Yalu River meant that an attack upon it by the Seventh Fleet’s aircraft would require a long, cross-Korea flight. Unless skillfully planned and executed, this would give the enemy’s antiaircraft and fighter defenses an ample alert period. And like the Yalu bridge attacks, the necessity of avoiding Manchurian territory p edeter- mined the choice of attack courses.
The active planning for the strike, which had begun at Taegu at the JOC two days before the attack, made general target assignments and allocated forces, not only for Suiho, but for the twelve other hydroelectric dams in North Korea. Early in the planning it had been decided not to use B-29’s for the Suiho attacks. The “Superfort” bombers were not considered suitable because of the necessity for surprise, the heavily-defended nature of the target, and the need for pinpoint bombing (concentrating on the powerhouse, transformer yards, and penstocks on the North Korean side of the river, and not the dam itself). B-29’s had proved too vulnerable to MIGs in daylight attacks, and there was no insurance that they could make the strike without violating the Manchurian sanctuary in their bombing runs, or in having some of the bombs released at high altitude fall on the wrong side of the river. Instead, the fighter-bombers of the Navy, Marines, and Air Force were selected to strike Suiho, although there was some belief that if the B29s were unable to penetrate the alert MIG defenses, the Skyraiders of the Navy could not do it either. The carrier aircraft of the West Coast carrier, under Commander Task Force 95, who would join the attacks, had to be carefully coordinated with the others.
H-hour of 0930 for June 23 was chosen for the attack.
“The strike planning was done aboard the Boxer" said Commander Neil MacKinnon, Commanding Officer, VA-195,4 “under Commander A. L. Downing’s supervision. Although we had to anticipate the hop into that heavily defended area of MIG Alley would be rough, we still welcomed a change of pace from bombing the railroads.”
“Our attack plan was very tight,” said Commander Downing. “We had a plus or minus one minute to get on target and three minutes to attack and clear the target. Arrival too soon and killing time over the target would not be popular nor would a melee with the F84’s that were to follow us be a pleasant exercise.”
Early in the morning of the 23rd, H-hour was postponed on account of weather, the Fifth Air Force saying that a 48-hour delay might be needed. Shortly before luncheon, however, another message flashed into the Boxer, flagship of Admiral Soucek, then Commander Task Force 77. The weather outlook over the target was improving. Attack on Suiho was re-scheduled for 1600.
“When N-hour was being kicked around that morning,” said Downing, “me and my plotting board were in a sweat trying to figure out the new launch times so we could all arrive at the proper time over the target.”
During the morning, while this rash of despatches concerning the possible cancellation of the strike was being exchanged, the Bon Homme Richard and Philippine Sea joined with the Boxer and Princeton. For the first time in eighteen months, a full carrier task force of four carriers was again operating together. The attack from their decks was to be the biggest to date of the entire Korean war.
At 1400, with the fleet into the wind, launching for the Suiho attack commenced. Thirty-five AD Skyraiders from VA-65 (CO: Commander G. A. Sherwood, USS Boxer), VA-195 (Commander Neil MacKinnon, USS Princeton), VA-115 (Commander C. H. Carr, USS Philippine Sea) rendezvoused. Thirty-one of these Skyraiders each carried two 2,000-pound bombs and one 1,000-pounder; the remaining four, in addition to two 2,000-pounders, carried a survival bomb for dropping to anyone unfortunate enough to be shot down.
Shortly after the thirty-five Skyraiders passed the North Korean coast, the jet fighters joined up. These thirty-five planes were flown from VF-24 (CO: Lieutenant Commander William A. Jernigan, Jr., USS Boxer), VF-191 (CO: Commander John Sweeny, USS Princeton) and VF-112 (CO: Commander James V. Rowney, USS Philippine Sea). Twenty-four of the F9Fs were each carrying two 250-pound general purpose bombs, and all carried full trays of ammunition for their guns. (The jets not carrying bombs were the target combat air patrol planes which required extra fuel.)
The weather over Korea was improving to the naval airman’s advantage. The route and the vicinity of the target was still reported clouded, but the area near the Suiho dam was reported clear. This meant the pilots could use cloud cover for surprise before and concealment after the raid.
The attack group skimmed amongst the clouds and past the highest mountain tops of North Korea, then commenced a slow letdown to remain below radar detection height. The route chosen across Korea was over isolated territory in order to minimize the possibility of ground spotters detecting and reporting the group.
Already circling the Yalu in MIG Alley were eighty-four F86’s whose task it was to provide continuous cover for the naval group. Eight minutes before the scheduled time of attack, the Sabre pilots reported to Commander Downing that more than two hundred swept-wing MiG’s were visible parked on the airfields in the Antung complex. When would they come up?
At 1555, only five minutes from the target, the attack group from Task Force 77 commenced a high-power climb to reach dive- bombing altitude. If surprise had not been achieved, the MIGs from Antung and the guns surrounding Suiho would soon be working them over; but as the group came in sight of the huge dam, it was obvious that surprise had been achieved.
Commander Downing ordered the attack to begin. The Panthers commenced their flak-suppression dives. The ADs, meanwhile, reversed their course and commenced their runs. Downing led the Boxer divebombing planes in; on his tail was MacKinnon with the Princeton divebombers; and following him, Carr led the Philippine Sea’s ADs.
In less than three minutes, the entire Navy attack, having dumped ninety tons of bombs on Suiho’s installations, was up and away, streaking to the southeast.
“The majority of the bombs were on target,” said Vice Admiral Clark, “and poststrike photography showed no misses.”
Two or three secondary explosions were observed to follow from inside the powerhouse, and all of the pilots could see dense smoke and dust roiling from the powerhouse, thousands of feet high. Of the attack, Commander Downing said: “The bombing was excellent; the powerhouse looked like a volcano erupting.”
Despite the large number of enemy guns surrounding the dam, only five of the Navy’s planes were hit by anti-aircraft fire. Considering the concentrations of guns protecting Suiho, the flak-suppression efforts of the jets had been highly effective.
“It was obvious that we had caught them flat-footed,” said Commander MacKinnon. “I attribute our success to the excellent planning and leading by Commander Downing, to our mountain-top approach, and to the sudden, last-minute climb to bombing altitude. The strike, which we had anticipated would be a rough one, turned out to be a textbook hop. The timing was perfect; we hit every check point on schedule; and the bombing was excellent.”
“Although we only had one briefing with the strike leaders,” said Commander Downing, “the entire exercise went off as though we had been doing it for years. By my own timing, the last man was out of his dive and on retirement course in two minutes flat from the first flak suppression pass—a real tribute to the superb work of the flight leaders of the following elements.”5
As the naval aircraft concluded their runs, the U. S. Air Force’s attacking F84 “Thunderjets”—124 of them—appeared in a well- coordinated second strike. Interservice teamwork was excellent. If any reprisal was to come from the MIGs across the Yalu, surely the moment had come; but by now, the high- circling Sabres could see less than eighty airplanes instead of the more than two hundred observed a few minutes earlier.
Where were the MIGs? Had they assumed that industrial targets in Manchuria were to be hit and flown off to cover them? Or was an attack on the Antung air base complex itself expected and the planes hastily flown clear? Or were the Red pilots simply without orders, unready or unwilling to interfere?
Whatever their reasons, the expected stiff aerial opposition never materialized, and the remainder of the U. S. Air Force attack blasted the Suiho plant opposed only by the defending guns. Concurrent with the Suiho attack, twelve other power complexes in North Korea received similar treatment.
The next day, the Suiho plant was still smoking, and North Korea’s electric power was seriously reduced. The capital of Pyongyang was without power; factories on both sides of the Yalu were paralyzed, and lights all over Korea and Manchuria were going out.
The attack on the North Korean power plants had done several things, not the least of which was to rekindle enthusiasm among the naval airmen, sated by the monotonous routine of interdiction. The strike had shown the Navy’s flexibility to surprise and hit accurately a heavily-defended target. It had also shown the harmony of effort and precision which the U. S. Navy and U. S. Air Force could effect, which prompted Lieutenant General Glenn O. Barcus, Commanding General FAFIK, to say: “My hat’s off to the Navy for a terrific job. We must get together again sometime.”
The Cherokee Strikes (October 9, 1952 to July 1953)
As the interdiction campaign dwindled, and the carrier strikes such as those just described blasted the few industrial targets in Korea, it was appreciated that a more fruitful employment for naval air power ought to be found. Under the self-imposed ground rules, it was obvious the war might continue indefinitely unless some new way could be found to make the enemy return to and be more amenable at the truce table. October, 1952, had seen an indefinite suspension of the truce talks, a recess which would last for 199 days (until April 26, 1953).
But a new target system or even a worthwhile old one for naval air power was hard to find. “Strategic” type targets had never been plentiful in North Korea, even in peacetime. The few that had existed had been hit repeatedly. After two years of war, new or worthwhile strategic targets did not exist. “Maximum air effort” targets such as Chong- jin, Aoji, Wonsan, Suiho, and Pyongyang, were few and had been frequently hit. The transportation networks, in the waning interdiction campaign, had been demonstrated unproductive target systems. Standard close air support missions (which had been resumed on July 13, 1952) were often disappointing along the stalemated and stagnant battleline. The Communists were so deeply and solidly entrenched that strafing attacks and the delivery of light bombs and rockets had little effect.
What, then, could the carriers do?
The answer was found by Vice Admiral J. J. “Jocko” Clark, the Seventh Fleet’s commander.
“In May, 1952, shortly after I had taken command of the Seventh Fleet,” said Admiral Clark, “I visited Korea at the invitation of General Van Fleet, and remained with him at his headquarters for several days. He arranged trips for me to visit the battlefield. On May 30 I visited Major General J. T. Selden, commanding the First Marine Division at his headquarters south of Panmunjom. General Selden flew me up and down the front lines in his helicopter and then took me to individual command posts in the front lines by jeep.
“While flying behind our front lines, I noticed many concentrations of our own forces that were not underground. These included supply concentrations, personnel housing, medical centers, truck parks, and ammunition dumps. As I flew over these areas, it occurred to me that if the enemy had the same air power and air supremacy that we enjoyed at the battleline, it would be impossible to have so much of our material freely exposed and in the open. I then reasoned that the enemy could not fight a kind of war he was fighting and still have all his forces, supplies, and equipment underground. Some of his stocks of supplies had to be above ground, out of sight and out of range of our artillery.
“On returning to the Seventh Fleet on May 31, therefore, I asked Rear Admiral John Perry, Commander Carrier Division One, to obtain aerial photographs of the territory behind the enemy’s front lines which was out of reach of artillery.
“Later, after the photos had been assessed, Perry reported a multitude of worthwhile targets all along the front.
“In the pictures, many underground tunnels were visible, and in some cases, the enemy had even dug tunnels all the way through the mountains. Of course, these fortifications and the stagnant condition of the front lines made regular close air support strikes ineffective. But even though he might have a lot of his war supplies buried in the hills, a lot of it was exposed which would make excellent targets for the concentrated, surprise, and pinpoint attacks of naval aircraft.”6
This was the origin of what came to be known as the “Cherokee Strikes,” named in Admiral Clark’s honor because of his Cherokee ancestry.
“The decision to call the new system ‘Cherokee’ may have sounded whimsical to some,” said Captain Ray M. Pitts, operations officer of Commander Seventh Fleet, “but there was a definite reason for choosing it. We thought first of giving the system a name that would have tactical significance —like ‘carrier tactical strike’. But we decided against that for we wanted a name that would mean something totally different from ‘close air support’. You can’t hang an argument on a word like ‘Cherokee’.
“After Admiral Clark germinated the idea, the rest of the staff set to work to translate it into action.
“I made a trip through the lines in Korea to see if the general concept was worthwhile. First, I checked with the key officers of our First Marine Division. I also made a swing around several battalion command posts discussing the proposed ‘Cherokee’ system with them.
“Next I went to Seoul to the JOC to clear the concept with the Fifth Air Force on the working level. There was nothing in writing.
“Then I went to Tenth Corps headquarters and talked to them.
“Everybody was enthusiastic and thought the Cherokee plan would work and that it deserved a try.
“My own opinion was that the best place for our naval air power to destroy enemy supplies was at the front, not somewhere back in North Korea. At the front, every bullet, every round of artillery, every pound of supplies was twice as expensive to the Reds as it was crossing the Yalu. In my opinion, we could do more harm in a stalemated war by destroying the enemy’s logistics at the battleline.
“Upon my return, Vice Admiral Clark and I went over to Rear Admiral Hickey’s flagship. His operations officer and air intelligence officer (Commander R. P. Fuller) took a look at all the maps and photos I had brought back, and they agreed we had found a worthwhile new target system.
“That was how the Cherokee system got underway.”7
After the first few Cherokee strikes, however, there was confusion at the JOC and concern at Air Force headquarters. The Fifth Air Force in Korea looked on the new missions as regular close air support, while the Far East Air Force headquarters was concerned lest the new system jeopardize Air Force control of air power over the front lines.
Lieutenant General Otto P. Weyland, FEAF, despatched Vice Admiral Clark that he did not believe that the FAFIK controllers were capable of handling large numbers of strike aircraft loaded with large bombs on missions so close to friendly lines. He added that in recent months, there had been seven cases of unidentified but friendly aircraft inadvertently dropping bombs on the friendly side of the front. None of these were definitely attributable to the Navy, he said, but such accidents did emphasize the need for proper liaison and control.
“The initial confusion,” said Vice Admiral Clark, “was one of simple misunderstanding. My only objective in originating and planning the Cherokee hops was to utilize the striking power of the Seventh Fleet for the infliction of the greatest possible damage upon the enemy with the least cost to our own forces.
“The misunderstanding was due to two things: first, the basic difference between a ‘Cherokee’ type strike and a regular close air support mission; and second, the method of controlling them.”
The Cherokee strikes were different from close air support strikes in several respects. In the case of close air support, missions were not pre-briefed, the planes carried a standard bomb loading, and only eight planes could be handled over any particular target at one time. No flak suppression planes accompanied the close air support aircraft. Moreover, the close air support aircraft were required to remain on call for considerable periods of time. The flights checked in with the front-line control parties and were often controlled by the light “Mosquito” aircraft which spotted their targets and directed their attacks. Finally, close air support targets were those limited to the area between the main line of resistance and the bombline. Good visibility was required to identify targets and deliver close air support.
The “Cherokee” strikes, on the other hand, were heavy air power missions outside of the bombline. They were pre-briefed, prearranged strikes, carrying special weapons for the target selected. The number of planes over the target was unlimited because no individual control was needed. The target was selected from intelligence or photographic interpretation, and at the pre-briefing all pertinent information available was given to the pilot. The “Cherokee” strike aircraft used jet aircraft loaded with anti-personnel bombs for flak suppression. Artillery, when available, was also used to augment the flak suppression. The Cherokee strikes proceeded to the target as an organized unit, and the timing of the attacks called for delivery immediately upon arrival with a minimum of time on station.
The misunderstandings of Cherokee were satisfactorily resolved on November 17 at a conference between Eighth Army, Commander Seventh Fleet, and Fifth Air Force. It was agreed that close air support missions would continue as before, that the Cherokee strikes were different and would not interfere with them. However, the Cherokee strikes henceforth would be coordinated through FAFIK, would check in and out with the TACP of the Army Corps in the area, and would use “Mosquito” type aircraft to mark the targets. Eighth Army also agreed- to move the bombline position closer to the front lines on specific occasions to permit the naval aircraft to strike. In some cases, the bombline was moved as close to friendly troops as three hundred yards—a rare tribute to the accuracy of the naval airmen.
The use of the Cherokee strikes at the battleline reached its peak in November and December, with the Air Force joining the Cherokee campaign.
The opinions of the pilots of Task Force 77 with regard to the Cherokee program ran to each end of the enthusiasm-apathy scale. Those who were fortunate enough to see tangible evidence of their attacks could appreciate why the ground-pounders in the front lines were enthusiastic. Those who saw or heard no results of their work—and pilots often saw little because of the smoke and dust—were unimpressed. VA-702 recorded this opinion: “Much enemy flak was encountered on these missions and pilots usually considered a Cherokee strike as ‘hot’. The strikes are very effective in knocking out enemy artillery pieces.”
On November 22, the Essex and Kearsarge teamed up for two coordinated Cherokee missions in the Kumwha sector of the front witnessed by a distinguished group of observers: General Hoyt Vandenberg, Commanding General U. S. Air Force; Lieutenant General O. P. Weyland, Commanding General Far Eastern Air Force; Lieutenant General Glen O. Barcus, Commanding General FAFIK; and Lieutenant General James Van Fleet. This enemy sector had come to have the name “Artillery Valley” because of the intense AA fire which was frequently poured into UN lines. Lieutenant General R. H. Jenkins, Ninth Corps Commander, moved the bombline south about 5,000 yards to permit the TF77 aircraft to strike.
The first strike on “Artillery Valley” was credited with destroying three artillery pieces and five enemy bunkers, and damaging four artillery pieces and five enemy bunkers. The second strike destroyed twenty-five personnel shelters and damaged ten more. The front line controllers reported that ninety per cent of the Navy planes’ 1,000- pound bombs were on target.
“It was impressive to see those divebombers and fighters dive so steeply,” said General Van Fleet. “The heavy bombs they carried (2,000 lbs.) were really mountain busters, and even from our distance, the whole earth shook.”
After watching the strikes, General Van Fleet radioed the fleet:
“I witnessed two magnificent strikes totalling thirty-six aircraft at approximately 1500 today. Present were General Vandenberg, Weyland and Barcus. Congratulations on the accurate and breathtaking performance. Hope all pilots and planes returned safely. Van Fleet.”
“By a combination of Navy and Air Force Cherokee strikes and Army artillery efforts,” said Vice Admiral Clark, “the enemy’s gun potential in the Kumwha area was reduced to about 10% of what it had been.”
The new strike program steadily grew in porportion until more than half the naval air effort—approximately twenty-five hundred sorties per month—was being applied in behalf of the front lines, either close air support missions (nicknamed “call shot”) or prebriefed strikes (nicknamed “Cherokee”). The period from November 2 to November 25 was typical: Five-hundred twenty-two Cherokee missions, and two hundred twelve call-shot sorties.
The general Army opinion of the heavy Cherokee strikes continued to be excellent. The strikes, they said, usually demolished the targets. While the results were not always visible or measurable, the program was undoubtedly hurting the enemy and reducing his attack potential. In fact, several of the Cherokee missions had blunted and even prevented enemy attacks.
But the Army also recommended that the naval flight leaders, in addition to bringing in their own jet fighters for flak suppression, could also be requesting more friendly artillery to keep the Communists’ heads down. The Philippine Sea’s pilots were quick to recognize that when artillery fire could reach their Cherokee target, the anti-aircraft suppression effect was often superior to that of the jet fighters.
Lieutenant General James Van Fleet, Eighth Army’s commander, had an excellent opinion of the effectiveness of the Cherokee program. However, the General visualized them as having a potential for something more than defensive strikes in defense of a static front.
“The Cherokee strikes really clobbered the enemy,” said General Van Fleet, “and would have been better if we had just put on a ground attack with them. The Cherokee program was a system which, properly used, could have broken the sit-down; they were heavy strikes of concentrated effort delivered over a short period. If followed up by ground action, they might have caused a breakthrough or caused the enemy to react violently to restore his lines, consuming his reserves of manpower and ammunition until he was exhausted over a period of a week to ten days. Then the ground armies could have been released to produce a war of movement instead of a war of digging in.”
The Cherokee strike program continued for the remainder of the war.
Panthers Tangle with Russian MIGs
One of the most dramatic incidents of the Korean war happened on November 18, 1952, when U. S. Navy pilots encountered Russian MIGs.
On this day, Task Force 77 (under the command of Rear Admiral R. F. Hickey) was operating in far northern Korean waters, engaged in a two-day “maximum air” strike effort on targets in North Korea, principally against industrial targets in Chongjin, Kil- chu, and Hoeryong, a city on the Yalu River. On the previous day, Task Force 77 had launched five coordinated air strikes on Chongjin, and the coastal city had also been bombarded by the battleship Missouri and the heavy cruiser Helena.
On the 18th of November, as on the day before, the task force was operating southeast of Chongjin, (approximately ninety miles from Vladivostok) striking Hoeryong. The task force was in the same sea area that it had used on many previous occasions.
Cruising at thirteen thousand feet, from the task force composed of the carriers Oriskany, Essex, and Kearsarge, was a team of four F9F5 “Panther” aircraft8 from Oriskany's VF-781 “Pacemaker” squadron (Lieutenant Commander S. R. Holm). These four planes were assigned target combat air patrol (TARCAP) over the task force airplanes which were attacking the rail route to Hoeryong. Other jets were flying the customary CAP over the fleet itself.
The four-plane Panther TARCAP was flown by the following pilots:
Lieutenant Claire R. Elwood—Team leader
Lieutenant (jg) John D. Middleton— Wingman
Lieutenant Elmer R. Williams—Section Leader
Lieutenant (jg) David M. Rowlands— Wingman
Because of a fuel boost pump failure in Elwood’s plane, the four Pacemaker aircraft had descended from normal combat air patrol altitude to the 13,000-foot level.
Shortly after noon, various groups of unidentified aircraft crossing from northwest to northeast were detected on radar by the task force at distances from forty to one hundred miles.
At 1335, however, a group of unidentified aircraft, estimated at eight, was plotted on a direct approach toward the task force.
The Oriskany’s air controller alerted the CAP and ordered a vector and climb toward the unknown aircraft.
Because of his malfunctioning engine which forced him to remain at a lower altitude, Elwood detached his second section to make the contact. Williams and Rowlands continued the climbing vector. At approximately 1350, upon reaching fifteen thousand feet, Williams tally-hoed seven condensation trails high above him. The aircraft were MlGs. At the time of contact, the planes were approximately north of the task force, forty-five miles away. The fight which followed lasted a furious and confused eight minutes.
In a loose, abreast formation, the seven silver-colored MIGs passed high above the two Panther pilots, made a descending turn, and split into two groups—one four-plane group, one three-plane group—in an attempt to box in the two Navy planes.
“At this point,” said Williams,9 “we lost sight of the MIGs because their contrails had stopped. However, we continued our climb to 26,000, and upon levelling off, I spotted four MIGs making a flatside attack on us from the ten o’clock position.
“As the four came toward us and reached firing range, I turned hard left into them, spoiling the effectiveness of their run, even though neither Rowlands nor I were able to bring our own guns to bear.
“The four MIGs recovered to our right, in a sort of strung-out formation, with the fourth MIG especially far back.
“I continued my wrapped-up turn and came on around for a tail shot at this last MIG. I commenced firing from 15° off his tail.
“My first burst sent him into an uncontrolled spiral. Dave Rowlands followed this crippled MIG down to 8,000 feet, where he left it smoking in a deep graveyard spiral. Later, gun camera film confirmed the kill of this MIG.
“Meanwhile, the other three MIGs pulled up and away from me, and split into a pair and a single in an attempt to get on each side of me.
“The pair of MIGs then made an attack. I rolled into a sharp turn and got a head-on burst at the second one.
“I kept turning into subsequent attacks,” continued Williams, “and on several passes, I was able to reverse my turn in time to get a shot at an overshooting MIG. In one such counter, I scored some hits, for in the gun camera film which was later developed, parts could be seen flying off. Either by my gunfire or this pilot’s deliberate action, the MIG ran out his dive brakes and decelerated so rapidly that I had to pull away sharply. I only missed a collision with him by a narrow margin.”
As Rowlands rejoined the fight from below, a MIG promptly made a head-on attack on him. The dogfight became a melee. At some unknown time during the dogfight, the three other MIGs joined the battle.
“This MIG started firing at me from way out,” said Rowlands,10 “and then broke off his attack in a steep-climbing turn. By now, there seemed to be MIGs all around me.
“I countered each attack as best as I could. On one of them, I succeeded in getting a MIG in my sights and fired a long burst. He started smoking, but a split-second later, my attention was diverted by another MIG making an attack on me. He and I wound up in a tight-circle across from each other, and neither of us able to get on the other’s tail. Finally, the MIG simply leveled his wings and climbed very rapidly away from me.
Until now, despite all the flying bullets, the two naval aircraft had not suffered a hit. Both Williams and Rowlands were operating their engines at 100% power.
“At this point,” continued Williams, “I succeeded in getting another MIG burning. I stayed on his tail, trying to finish him off, when I spotted another MIG coming up my tail. As I rolled into a hard right turn, I felt my plane shake.”
A high explosive shell had struck Williams’ plane, severing the rudder control and knocking out the aileron boost. With the MIG still on his tail, Williams dived his crippled plane for the clouds, ten thousand feet below.
“The MIG stayed right behind me in a tight trail position,” said Williams, “and continued to fire at me even as we went into the clouds. My only evasive maneuver was a series of zooms—applying hard forward and back pressure on the stick control.”
Meanwhile, a third Navy “Panther” was climbing to join the fracas. At his request, Middleton was detached from his leader, and climbed to join the scrap involving his two squadron friends.
Upon reaching the fight, a MIG made a head-on run on Middleton. Simultaneously, Middleton saw Williams, the MIG, and Rowlands diving for the clouds. Rowlands, out of ammunition, had fallen in alongside the MIG, flying a loose wing position on it in an effort to draw him away from Williams.
“The most unbelievable part of the incident,” said Williams, “was the sight of Rowlands sitting so close on a MiG’s tail with the MIG firing away like mad at Williams.” While Middleton dove toward his team mates to render aid, another MIG attacked him, but his shots missed.
Following this attack, the enemy MIG reversed its course and apparently lost Middle- ton in the sun or became engrossed in getting ready to make an attack on Rowlands. In either case, Middleton was now in position for a full-deflection shot at his attacker. He commenced firing from far out, and continued firing as the MiG’s superior speed caused his Panther to tail-in behind. Middle- ton saw the enemy pilot bail out, and the MIG crash into the sea.
“After watching the enemy pilot land in the water,” said Middleton, “I orbited around him with my emergency IFF on as I was convinced he would be of more benefit
to us alive than dead.”11
“I am convinced that Middleton saved my life,” said Rowlands, “as the MIG he shot down was making a run on me.”
After reaching the safety of the clouds, the three Panthers were given a radar steer to return to the task force. All three pilots landed aboard Oriskany without further difficulty.
As the task force retired toward the south at the conclusion of the two-day effort, all ships in Task Force 77 were a buzz of activity and talk. Radar plots and logs were exchanged; Williams, Rowlands, and Middle- ton were pumped for observations, opinions, and comments.
That the MIGs were Russian ones from the Vladivostok complex there seemed little doubt.
“Every time we had taken the task force up that far north before,” said Vice Admiral J. J. Clark, Commander Seventh Fleet, riding the Missouri, “or even just a battleship, we got some kind of reaction in the form of airplanes rising up from the vicinity of Vladivostok. This was plain from many radar plots. Usually, they seemed to be just flying some sort of barrier patrol as protection for their own area.
“On this occasion, however, there were about sixty or more images on the radar scope at various times during the afternoon. The bunch which tangled with our planes were headed straight for the fleet, and only thirty-five to forty miles away when the initial contact was made. I can only surmise that they had orders to attack.”12
*This is the second of two excerpts from the full length book, The Sea War in Korea, being published by the U. S. Naval Institute this month.
1. The hydroelectric plants had been placed out of bounds early in the war: “Joint Chiefs of Staff in view alarming situation which CINCFE has reported, authorized him (MacArthur) to undertake the planned bombing in Korea near the frontier including target at Sinuiju, the Korean end of the Yalu bridges provided CINCFE at the time of receipt of message still considered such action necessary to the safety of his forces. He was not authorized, however, to bomb any power plants on the Yalu River . . . ”; JCS despatch November 7, 1950, to CINCFE (summarized by General Collins to a Congressional subcommittee).
2. Interlocking Subversion in Government Departments. Hearing before the Subcommittee on the Judiciary, U. S. Senate, 83rd Congress, Second Session, Testimony of General Mark VV. Clark, August 10, 1954, p. 1697. Also refer to General Clark’s book, From the Danube to the Yalu, pages 70-73.
3. Interview, February 1, 1956.
4. Interview, February 13, 1956.
5. Personal letter, February 23, 1956.
6. Personal interview, January 30, 1956.
7. Interview, February 15, 1956.
8. This was the F9F5’s first appearance in the Korean war. The Oriskany, in fact, had only been on the line for three days at the time of this incident.
9. Personal letter dated October 11, 1955.
10. Personal letter dated September 26, 1955.
11. The fate of the pilot of this MIG is unknown. “Due to faulty plotting,” said Admiral Clark, “the ships closest to this area regrettably failed to make a search for the MIG pilot. We didn’t pick him up.”
12. Interview, February 1, 1956.