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Sittings Ducks: Leading the Inchon Invasion

It was near the end of June 1950. Destroyer Squadron Nine, along with the light cruiser Juneau, was deployed in Japanese waters, while the major portion of the U.S. Seventh Fleet patrolled off Indo-China (later called Vietnam), where a combat situation was in progress between France and the local communist rebels.

Squadron Nine, Division One, looked forward to a flag-showing cruise at various Japanese ports. But on 25 June, just as Commodore Halle Allen and I were about to visit the local culture-pearl farm near Sasebo, news arrived of North Korean forces crossing the 38th parallel into South Korea.

We soon learned that the United Nations (U.N.) organization intended to counter this invasion with military forces. Hence, we also soon found our ships interdicting traffic routes on the coasts of Korea as well as conducting shore bombardment of industrial sites in North Korea. This action continued through July and August.

Then came news (secret) of plans for an amphibious landing by U.N. forces in the southern part of the peninsula near Pusan, as the North Koreans had overrun most of South Korea. However, General Douglas MacArthur, commander of the U.N. forces in the area, and military governor of Japan, proposed a strategy that would create an ambush by deploying U.N. forces in the rear of the enemy.

His alternative plan was to enter Flying Fish Channel on the west coast of the Korean peninsula with an amphibious landing at Inchon, the port for the capital city of Seoul. The enemy could be cut off from its line of supply and forced to retreat. This deployment was chosen over the frontal attack first planned, and on 10 September, aerial bombing of the approaches to Inchon began.

The hazards of approaching and attacking Inchon are considerable, if not miserable. The tides there reach 30 feet, with resulting tidal currents of 5 knots. The tides determine the date and hour of entrance to the port. An amphibious invasion could be attempted only a few days a month.

Another hazard was the pyramidal island of Wolmi-do guarding the inner harbor. Its location gave it command over the sea approaches in every direction. It had to be neutralized before a landing could be done. Wolmi-do was called “the cork in the bottle” for this operation.

As part of the plan to locate enemy gun positions on Wolmi-do, the destroyers of Squadron Nine would be sent in first, to tempt the gunners on the island to disclose their positions. The destroyers were required to enter the harbor at flood tide, anchor at the short stay, and be ready for anything. Thus they acquired the name they have held ever since: “The Sitting Ducks.”

On 13 September, the augmented Seventh Fleet navigated its route through the very limited waterway of Flying Fish Channel en route to Inchon-Seoul. In the lead was Destroyer Squadron Nine, composed of Mansfield (flag-Commander E. Harvey Headland), DeHaven (Commander Oscar B. Lundgren), Lyman K. Swenson (Commander Robert A. Schelling), Collett (Commander Robert A. Close), Gurke (Commander Frederick Radel), and Henderson (Commander William S. Stewart). The latter two were not regular members of Squadron Nine, but were added for this operation.

The six destroyers broke away from the other elements of the fleet and proceeded up the narrow confines of Flying Fish Channel that led to the port and planned landing beaches. They were in column, led by Mansfield. As the approach continued for about four hours, a Korean interpreter aboard Mansfield reported hearing a broadcast, warning the Wolmi-do defenders that we were coming.

The next hazard encountered was the sighting of enemy mines, not yet submerged by the rising tide. Henderson was detached to destroy these while the remaining ships advanced up the channel. Now the 350-foot mount of Wolmi-do appeared dead ahead, and soon the vessels all reached their assigned position in the inner harbor and anchored, without any exchange of fire. It was an eerie silence in a combat situation.

Collett and Gurke were the nearest to the fortified Wolmi-do, only some 700 yards away. With the hauling down of the flag hoist to execute the assigned mission, firing of the destroyers’ 5-inch guns commenced. At first the shore batteries did not respond—but only for a few minutes. Then the shore batteries concentrated their fire on the ships closest: Collett, Gurke, and Swenson.

Collett was hit five times, with five men wounded and her firing computer damaged. She moved out of range. Gurke was hit three times and sustained two men injured. Swenson was not hit, but Lieutenant Junior Grade David H. Swenson ’48 fell from a shell or fragment (See “The Pabst Blue Ribbon” p. 18).

Thus the “Sitting Ducks” accomplished their mission of causing the enemy to disclose their position and power. All this required less than an hour and, conscious of the now-falling tide, the destroyers began their retirement. Fortunately, none of the ships were damaged in its propulsion machinery.

As Mansfield, the first ship in and now the last one out of the inner harbor, passed close by the shore batteries, I cranked up flank speed. From the wing of the bridge, I actually saw shells flying over the ship. “Some kind of miracle,” according to some accounts of the action.

Upon reflection, one can deduce the ship was passing under enemy guns close enough to be below their depression limits. This is exactly what happened on Mansfield, to my consternation. Naturally, I felt defenseless in the midst of battle. (My guns’ firing was cut off by depression limits—to avoid blasting personnel nearby.) At this point neither the gunnery officer nor I recognized the cause. To
cease firing would have been my last
possible thought.

Not receiving any sensible response from the telephone talker, I went outside the pilot house and climbed above the bridge where the gunner director was located. By this time, the cause of our gun silence was understood. Then, to display some sort of counter battery, I ordered the 40mm antiaircraft guns to open up. These mounts were not restricted by depression cams, and with bright red tracers on all shells, a good display of offense was created, if not greatly destructive of enemy
gun positions.

Thus we exited the inner harbor, last in the column, without any damage to ship or personnel. I have been thankful to God ever since.

Besides events like the unexpected cease-fire of the 5-inch guns while under attack, there were other events that Mansfield encountered not reported in all battle reports. One was the boat tour of General MacArthur in his barge, circling the destroyers following the silencing of the enemy guns. We made no attempt at honors, such as manning the rail in this battle scenario. Another was an attack by an enemy YAK propeller plane on the cruiser Rochester, when its missile hit the aircraft crane on the stern, exploding and injuring two personnel. A second YAK plane strafed the Royal Navy cruiser Jamaica, killing one British seaman. This plane was shot down by Jamaica’s antiaircraft guns and recovered by our allied forces nearby, still in near-perfect condition. We understood it was the first YAK recovered by our forces, becoming a valuable object for intelligence study.

With the enemy now driven from the beaches, the Marine landing from LSTs and other landing craft proceeded, placing thousands ashore at the next high tide the following day. For the destroyers of DesDiv 91 and its two sister ships, our “Sitting Duck” episode was finished. We went on to other duties, primarily shore bombardments, such as the siege of Wonsan on the east coast of the peninsula. Except for short periods of three months for stateside repairs, the destroyers remained in Korean waters for the three-year duration of the war. I, for one, had 22 months in Mansfield, and eventually became “Papa Duck” as senior CO.

In retrospect, this operation of placing destroyers as targets to tempt the enemy to disclose its positions was an audacious undertaking. Its success (at the sacrifice of Lieutenant (jg) Swenson and injuries to eight men) was a great credit to the U.S. Navy’s aggressive spirit and courage.

By Captain Harvey Headland ’35, U.S. Navy, Retired