Lords of the Sky: Fighter Pilots and Air Combat, From the Red Baron to the F-16 (56 page)

In fact, the Air Force was so enamored of its long-range bomber nuclear strike capability that it tried to eliminate the aircraft carrier altogether. After all, who would need sea-based airpower during a nuclear war? For that matter, who would need an army, either? In 1947 a lecture had actually been given way back behind the lines at Maxwell Air Force Base titled “Protesting the Need for a Ground Force.”

The results of this mentality were all too obvious. One estimate put 80 percent of the U.S. Army reserves as effectively unusable. The fighting units in Korea lacked 60 percent of their assigned firepower, including support weapons and, most critically, ammunition. Almost all of it was World War II vintage, and men were lucky if it functioned half the time. Ironically, only five years after the surrender in Tokyo Bay, the U.S. government had to contract with a Japanese company to make land mines for the U.S. Army.

Even food was short. There wasn’t a single C- or B-ration in all of Korea, and American troops had to make do with leftover K-rations from World War II until the newer types could be flown in. Fortunately, airlift was a skill and capability the United States possessed far beyond any other power in the world. Several years earlier the USAF flew 1,783,573 tons of supplies into Berlin over the heads of the incredulous, angry, and embarrassed Soviets. So the airlifters again rose to the occasion and averaged about 200 tons per day into Japan, or directly into Korea.

Mothballed Sherman tanks were hastily rebuilt and shipped to Korea along with many M24 Chaffee light tanks—neither was a match for the heavy, Russian-built T-34. This was another area where close air support would make a lifesaving difference to the beleaguered infantry. While the
Valley Forge
was turning around and heading back to the South China Sea, the Far Eastern Air Force (FEAF), based in Japan, responded immediately with its F-51s and F-80 Shooting Stars. With about four hundred aircraft available, the FEAF rapidly deployed the 8th and 18th Fighter Bomber Wings, the 35th Fighter Interceptor Group, and the 51st Fighter Wing, among others.

While this occurred, elements of the 1st Marines sailed from San Diego on July 12, followed two days later by the rest of the division. While America reacted, KPA forces advanced nearly 100 miles and forced the retreating South Koreans and U.S. forces into the southeastern corner of the peninsula. Centered around the port of Pusan, the defensive pocket was roughly defined by the Naktong River and the mountains near Pohang. The port was one of the most developed in Korea, with four piers to accommodate two dozen deepwater cargo vessels. There were heavy cranes, beaches, and a Japanese-built railhead. If the UN forces were to remain on the peninsula, then Pusan, sometimes likened to a Korean Dunkirk, must be held. But unlike the situation in France, there was no question of air superiority once the Americans committed.

Gen. Douglas MacArthur, in command of all UN forces on the peninsula, ordered a withdrawal southeast toward the coast. He planned to use natural barriers such as the Naktong River and the mountains near Pohang to halt the North Koreans. This would accomplish several objectives. First, reinforcements would land at Pusan. This would make it impossible for the Communists to capture it, while it would also consolidate American strength for a breakout offensive. Second, a stagnation would further stretch the already tenuous North Korean supply lines and weaken them further. Third, air support from the carriers and USAF would finish clearing the skies, interdict where possible, and then dismember whatever infrastructure remained. MacArthur’s master stroke, which he’d seen from the beginning, was then to land an amphibious assault force at Inchon, near Seoul, some 200 miles behind the lines.

It was a good plan in many respects and, with hindsight, really the only way to quickly break up the Korean attack. Carrier-based Corsairs and land-based B-29s mauled enemy airfields while the Panthers, F-80C Shooting Stars, and Mustangs made short work of the Korean People’s Air Force (KPAF). More than ninety Il-10 Shturmoviks and seventy-nine Yak-9P fighters began the war, and in two weeks the KPAF lost twenty-four planes. By mid-July there was one Yak-9 and fewer than twenty IL-10s remaining.

Dunkirk had possessed no natural defenses, nor did the Allies have reinforcements and air superiority in 1940. Pusan had all of these. On August 1 the U.S. 2nd Infantry Division landed at Pusan, with a brigade from the 1st Marines following the next day. Two more light carriers, the USS
Badoeng Strait
and the USS
Sicily
, had arrived carrying Marine attack squadrons for close air support. Across the Sea of Japan, the fleet carrier USS
Boxer
docked in Yokosuka with 145 F-51 Mustangs and 70 USAF pilots.
^*

By mid-July the B-29s no longer needed an escort and could roam about at will. August brought ninety-odd Corsairs, Panthers, and Skyraiders from the newly arrived USS
Philippine Sea
along with 141,000 UN troops and several hundred tanks.
^*
Fighting had continued all around the Pusan Pocket, as it was called, with probing attacks and counterattacks. It’s interesting that, despite the preoccupation with nuclear warfare and, in the case of the USAF, the absolute and unfounded belief in strategic bombing, two piston-engine legends from the Second World War proved more valuable on the tactical battlefields. One of these was the F-51 Mustang and the other was the F-4U Corsair.

A variant of the beautiful gull-winged fighter so deadly to the Japanese, the Corsair was built by Chance-Vought and first flown in 1940. The philosophy had been to cram the biggest engine and most firepower into the smallest, slickest airframe. The distinctive gull wing was a design solution permitting the immense Hamilton Hydromatic 13-foot 4-inch propeller to clear a carrier deck. The prop had to be huge to transfer power from the
eighteen-cylinder,
1,850-horsepower air-cooled Pratt & Whitney radial engine. Featuring flush rivets, spot welding, and wing intakes (instead of air scoops), the Corsair could sustain 400 mph in level flight. Initially armed with six .50-caliber AN/M2 Browning machine guns, the F-4U also carried 150 pounds of armor plate and a bulletproof windscreen for the pilot. It was fast, tough, and the Japanese, somewhat prosaically, called it “Whispering Death.”

But it was tough to land on a carrier. The nose protruded 14 feet in front of the pilot, so keeping sight of the landing signal officer (LSO) was difficult at best. Also, to land on a carrier a plane must be nearly at stall speed, and the Corsair had a nasty tendency to drop the left wing and stall when it got slow. So the Navy generally turned the plane over to the Marines for shore-based missions, during which it performed brilliantly.

By the time the Japanese surrendered, the F-4U had flown 64,051 combat sorties and claimed 2,140 air-to-air kills. Seventy percent of all bombs dropped from U.S. fighters during World War II came off the Corsairs—15,621 tons. All told, 189 were lost in air-to-air combat for a 11:1 kill ratio. Nearly twice that number, 349, were lost during close air support or anti-ship missions, graphically illustrating the dangers of surface attack.

The Corsairs that arrived in Korea were F4U-4 and F4U-5 models with four 20 mm cannons and an engine that was truly a monster, a 2,850-horsepower Pratt & Whitney. Flown by Marines, it provided close air support that initially was superior in quality to anything provided by the Navy or Air Force. Part of this came from concentrating on a single mission. The Air Force was concerned with air superiority and strategic bombing, while naval air’s first priority was to protect the carrier. The Marines were different. They were amphibious experts, and their indigenous air support existed to protect the grunts. The pilots, like all Marines, went through the full gamut of infantry training before they went off to become aviators, and they generally understood the ground perspective better than their counterparts.

So by early August 1950, running out of supplies and time, all ten North Korean (NK) infantry divisions plus the 105th Armored Division were arrayed opposite the UN troops at Pusan. After building underwater bridges of rocks and trees, the NK 13th Division crossed the Naktong River 40 miles northwest of Taegu. Three F-51s from the 67th Fighter-Bomber Squadron had taken off from their forward base at Taegu. Flying north along the east side of the mountains, they circled over Andong at 10,000 feet with the morning sun behind them. The forward air controller passed a situation report, and it wasn’t good.

The North Korean 8th and 13th Divisions were coming down out of the mountains and heading south along the river. One of the chokepoints was near Hamchang, northwest of Taegu, and it was here that the Mustang’s bombs, rockets, and guns were needed. Staying east, they coordinated the attack among themselves, then followed the lead F-51 west into the valley. They were lucky—the flight lead was Maj. Louis Sebille, a sixty-eight-mission combat veteran from World War II
and
their squadron commander.

The Mustangs found a heavy group of North Korean trucks, armored personnel carriers, and troops scrambling up along the riverbanks. When the soldiers ran for the trees, the F-51s went into a wheel over the area and began sorting out targets for each pilot to hit. Major Sebille rolled in first on a 30-degree bombing attack. His plan was to unload the flight’s 500-pound bombs at the front and rear of the enemy concentration. Then, lighter and more maneuverable, they could reattack with rockets and guns.

But the World War II vintage equipment often malfunctioned, and this was one of those times. On his first pass only a single bomb came off, and the other one “hung.” Feeding in trim to keep the fighter level, he pulled up away from the explosions and watched his wingmen, Capt. Martin Johnson and Lt. Charlie Morehouse, blow huge chunks from the narrow road. Mud, rocks, and body parts cascaded through the air as Sebille arced around for another attack.

Suddenly the plane rocked, like it had been kicked by a giant foot, and the major angled away from the river, eyes glued to his gauges. It was instantly obvious that the big Merlin engine had been hit and was overheating. A weakness of the F-51 was its engine placement and the liquid cooling system’s vulnerability to ground fire. After all, the plane had been designed as a long-range escort and dogfighter, not to do close air support.

Johnson saw the damage to his leader’s plane and gave a snap heading toward Taegu. He might make it back to land, or at least bail out over friendly territory instead of here. Anywhere but
here
. Yet the Mustang banked back toward the Korean position, trailing glycol mist and black smoke.

“No,” Sebille replied calmly. “I’ll never make it. I’m going back and get that bastard.”

With that, the F-51 flipped over and dove down at the road. At 2,000 feet, six white smoke trails from the “Holy Moses” rockets snaked out from under the wings. These were immediately followed by bright ropes of tracers as he emptied the gun. Five-inch HVAR rockets plus several hundred pounds of .50-caliber bullets ate into the enemy column, shredding trucks and men. But the Mustang didn’t pull off and recover. It went straight in, vanishing in a tumbling wave of fire from the remaining bomb and burning fuel. Most of the column disappeared, too, leaving the surviving North Koreans stunned and shocked by the attack.

Maj. Louis J. Sebille died that day in an ugly Korean valley, leaving behind a wife and a six-month-old son. The USAF, rather unbelievably, was reluctant to recognize this man’s incredible sacrifice, as it resembled (they said) a kamikaze attack. That, of course, would send the wrong message to somebody. Appalled by that attitude, the 67th Squadron awards officer forwarded a mission write-up and proposed citation directly to the Pentagon.
^*
A year later, in August 1951, Gen. Hoyt Vandenberg, the Air Force chief of staff, presented the Medal of Honor to Sebille’s widow. Louis Sebille was the first member of the USAF to receive the award.

On the Pusan perimeter the fighting continued all through August. By the middle of the month the Navy had withdrawn to attack targets in the north, leaving South Korea to the FEAF. In response to intelligence reports, the USAF sent ninety-eight B-29s to carpet-bomb an area along the western bank of the Naktong. More than three thousand 500-pound bombs and a hundred fifty 1,000-pound bombs were dropped in a 27-square-mile area. Thousands of trees were turned into toothpicks, but no bodies were found, as the Koreans were already across the river.

A week later Chinese anti-aircraft artillery opened fire on a RB-29 flying south of the Yalu. Several days passed, then two Mustangs suddenly appeared and strafed the Chinese air base at Antung. A mistake, the USAF stated, the pilots had gotten lost—except the Yalu is impossible to miss, and since it roughly runs east–west, then a target
north
of the river is blindingly obvious. It was payback for the B-29 incident and a warning to the Chinese, courtesy of USAF fighter pilots. Nevertheless, the seesaw around Pusan continued until dawn on September 15, 1950.

On that morning 13,000 Marines and Army infantrymen came ashore at Inchon, 25 miles from Seoul and more than 100 miles
behind
the Korean lines. Operation Chromite was Douglas MacArthur’s finest hour; and he knew it. Against the naysayers on the Joint Chiefs of Staff and over the objections of the Marines, he’d done it. Inchon had no beach; it had seawalls and a North Korean garrison on Moon Tip Island in the center of the harbor. Most problematic were the 30-foot tides and the time of day which the high and low tides would occur. A dawn landing on September 15 was chosen over an evening landing or waiting another month for the same conditions.

But MacArthur was right—this time.

He knew such an assault on the Communist rear would immediately throw Pyongyang into a tailspin. It would also cut the North Korean lines of communication, obliterate their fragile supply system, and permit the Eighth Army to break out from Pusan. It could then push north, driving the Communists straight into the waiting Marines and Army 10th Corps, which had landed behind them—a nutcracker.