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| Ethiopian Korean War Veterans Stories Excerpts from the Book: PORK CHOP HILL The American
Fighting Man
in Action in Korea, Spring, 1953 by S.L. A. Marshall, The Battery
Press,
Nashville.
Araya Amsalu and Abebe Kebede
A project of Addis Ababa University Aluni Network Kagnew Shaleka Ready to go Into the Alligator’s Jaws (Page 201-211) THEY WENT SINGLE FILE, WITH THE COLUMN OF TWENTY- one men strung out over approximately 65 yards of trail space. This was their normal way of going when operating conditions, by their standards, seemed reasonably good. When fog, rain or dark cut the horizon to nothing, with
consequent risk
that the column might split through some follower taking the wrong path
at a trail fork, it was their custom to lock hands from front to rear.
Then, in the manner of a daisy chain, they would advance into enemy
country.
This practice, which western troops would be disposed to scorn as being
beneath dignity, they accepted gladly as an extra safeguard against
danger.
When close to the enemy, they linked themselves with wire to signal
what
came. Americans thought the night of 28 April formidably dark.
There was no
thickening of the atmosphere at ground level, but a heavy cloud wrack
had
blacked out the stars. Still, as the Ethiopian column began dogtrotting
downtrail, 2nd Lieut. Wongele Costa could see as far as the back of the
fourth man. That seemed adequate for the mission and he saw no reason
to
contract the column or restrict its movement. The ridges which bound the Yokkokchon Valley are
exceptionally rugged
and deeply eroded. From Second Company’s home on the big ridge to the
patrol’s
rendezvous at the extreme end of the forked, low-lying ridge called the
Alligator’s jaws the distance was 2,000 yards air line. But the trail
cut
obliquely across country, dipping into three draws and rising steeply
over
as many sprangling ridge fingers. The actual walk to the object
approximately
doubled the air distance. It is a matter of record that at 2028 hours, Wongele
Costa reported
by radio that he had arrived at the appointed ground on the tip of the
Alligator’s jaws and his men had already set up their weapons and were
ready to fight. He also said, “These are the first words said by anyone
since the start.” The advance had been without incident and is
noteworthy
only because of its express-like speed. We had witnessed the patrol
depart
the company lines at exactly 2,000. In less than a halfhour, in dark
and
over formidably rough country, they had progressed as far as average
infantry
can go in sixty minutes. They had come to a position which, so far as terrain
features were concerned,
was almost identical with the ground which brought disaster to a patrol
from Charley Company, 17th Regiment, several days later. Where they had decided to rig their intended deadfall,
the upper end
of the Alligator’s jaws tapered down to the valley floor. An irrigation
ditch looped around this extreme fingerlike projection of the ridge.
Atop
the finger, approximately 125 yards from the ditch, and rising not more
than 30 feet above the valley floor, was a last knob, shaped like a
camel’s
hump, with space enough to seat at least half the patrol. Here were the same simple terrain features which the
Charley patrol
tried to exploit toward rigging a secure ambush. The knob obviously
should
be manned since it dominated the trails around the base of the hill
along
which the Chinese patrols were likely to move after midnight. But a
ditch
is a dilemma in night operations. Used defensively for cover, it is
quite
satisfactory, provided one finds the right spot and the enemy does not.
Otherwise, the consequence may be a dreadful enfilade. There is no
final
answer to any of the most acute problems in minor tactics. Time and
luck
are the chief handmaidens of sound decision. Take the situation of an
infantry
company defending a strategically important bridge. No rule in the book
helps the commander to determine the moment when it is better to
destroy
the bridge than seek to save it. As for a ditch in night fighting, it
may
be either a lifesaver or a deathtrap. | Kagnew Shaleka Relaxing In deciding to base on the ditch at the Alligator’s jaws and use its walls to the fullest, Lieut. Wongele Costa took on the same setting that flummoxed the Charley patrol, then organized his ground according to an exactly opposite pattern. His assault group was put on the high ground. Ten men
were put on the
knob, nine armed with M1s one with a carbine. All carried four grenades
apiece. Other than arms, they carried one radio, a sound power phone,
one
red flare to signal for the arranged fires, one green flare to request
help from the main line and one amber star cluster to message that they
were returning. Each flare was handled by a different man: he would not
fire it except
on order from the patrol leader. It was an extra precaution taken by
the
Ethiopians while on patrol but not observed by our own troops. They
considered
themselves too weak in radio technicians and therefore put greater
reliance
on old-fashioned signals. Cpl. Raffi Degene was left in charge of the assault
group. They sought
rock cover and did not dig in. Wongele Costa then led the support party to the ditch, a
dirt-banked
structure raised a foot or so above the flat confronting it. The ditch
turned sharply at the point where he established the force. There were
but seven men to be deployed. The weapons available to hold the ditch
were
three M1s two BARs, two carbines and forty hand grenades. He split his
force in two wings, so that three men faced north on the right of the
turn
and four men faced west to left of it. In so doing, his thinking was that the two flanks would
be mutually
supporting along the ditch, if either got hit. The chance of enfilade
had
been reduced. The approaches to the hill were covered from two
directions. He did not calculate, however, that the group on the low
ground was
more likely to figure in an initial interception than the men on the
heights.
No trail led directly to the ditch position, though several paths
skirted
it and merged where the ditch rounded the finger end just north of the
assault position. Hence as Wongele Costa envisaged the main
possibilities
of his ambush, the Chinese might start climbing the Alligator’s jaws,
become
routed by the assault group, and in flight to their own country, be
taken
by flanking fire from the support. That was why he put both BARs in the
ditch. He had been ordered to take prisoners if possible. Because of
the
low visibility, he saw little chance of doing it unless the enemy
virtually
stumbled over his men. One BAR man, Cpl. Tiggu Waldetekle, was left in direct
charge of the
support. Taking along his runner and the two aid men, the leader then
moved
upslope to a point halfway between assault and support. He was
connected
with both groups by phone and with higher levels by phone and radio.
His
preparations complete, he waited. Until exactly 0300, the hill was absolutely quiet.
Wongele Costa had
just looked at his watch. His men had been on position six hours and 32
minutes. During that time, the only sounds he had heard were his own
voice
making the hourly report by radio to the company: “Everything
negative.”
But he knew that the men were awake and watchful. Cpls. Degene and
Waldetekle
had seen to that. At fifteen-minute intervals, The patrol was split, half of it deploying into a ditch,
the other half
holding the high ground. each junior leader made his rounds, crawling
from
man to man. Ile pressed the man’s hand. The man pressed twice in
response.
It was their way of assuring an alerted unity. | Kagnew Shaleka with allied Commerades  Both corporals had just crawled to his position and completed their hand check. Wongele Costa had called the company and his two assistants were already back with their men. As Waldetekle slid back into his position with the
support group, he
saw the men on the left, pointing vigorously out into the enveloping
darkness
with their rifles. It was the signal that they detected enemy movement.
He moved to them. Then he could sec a figure in clear silhouette
standing
not more than 20 yards beyond the ditch. Waldetekle backtracked along the ditch, then crawled
again to Wongele
Costa, saying nothing, but pointing with his rifle as his men had done.
The lieutenant sent Private Tilahullninguse crawling uphill to give the
same signal to Degene and his men. The whole alert had been carried out
soundlessly. All weapons were now pointed in the direction where the
one
Chinese had been seen. Then, for a few seconds, Wongele Costa waited,
confident
that his own presence and preparations had not been detected. Waldetekle crawled to him again, gesturing still more
vigorously with
the rifle. It was the sign that he had seen several other Chinese
moving
along the same axis. To Wongele Costa’s left, a shallow gully ran unevenly
toward the ditch.
Using hand signals, lie told Tilahullningusc to unpin a grenade, crawl
down the gully and bomb into the enemy group. It was done as directed.
Wongele Costa was still certain that the Chinese were unalerted and
wholly
within his field of fire. But he was bent on capturing prisoners and he
figured-wrongly, as developments were to prove-that one grenade would
hardly
more than momentarily upset them and enable the support group to bag
them
before they could recoil. Tilahullni nguse was 15 yards uphill from the nearest
Chinese when he
loosed his throw. As the grenade exploded, by its light, Wongele Costa
could see about twenty of the enemy. More than that, they were
deployed,
lying flat and with weapons pointed straight toward his support line,
which
so far hadn’t fired a shot. As the scene went dark again, the enemy opened fire
against the ditch
with grenades, rifles and submachine guns. Not more than five seconds
elapsed
between the explosion and the answering volley. Before Wongele Costa
had
time to shout an order, the left wing of the support group had joined
the
fight full blast, three rifles and the BAR. In this way began a duel almost without parallel in
modern war. The
opposing lines were just a little less than 15 yards apart. (The
distance
was tape measured on the following day.) At that range, as the shooting
began, the odds were four riflemen against twenty. Only Waldetekle’s
left
wing was free to trade fire with the enemy. His right flank weapons
were
interdicted from fire by the turn in the ditch. From its position on
the
knob, the assault group could not bring weapons to bear on the Chinese
without risking that the volley would slaughter the four Ethiopians who
were fighting. These things, Wongele Costa weighed within the first few
seconds while watching the fire flash. He made his decision. There was just time to call the assault group on the
sound power phone
and say, “Don’t move! Don’t fire! Now send a man down to the right
flank
of the support and give them that same message.” Then he turned to
Tilahullninguse
and his two aid men and said, “Follow me!” On hands and knees, lie
moved
down the gully which cut through Waldetekle’s position, stopping every
few feet to fire his carbine. The three men behind him did the same. Their entry into the ditch was timed precisely to save
the position,
though the re-enforcement did no more than plug the gaps cut into
ranks.
The ditch, which was running about one foot of water, was deep enough
to
provide full body cover for the line of riflemen. But to fire, a man
had
to come head and shoulder above the embankment, and Waldetekle’s
halfsquad
had chosen to face it, though bullets beat like hail against the bank.
A grenade sailed in, bounced off the bank and exploded as it struck
just
above Waldetekle’s elbow. His right arm was blown off clean just below
the shoulder socket. He uttered neither cry nor groan. The others
didn’t
know he was hurt until with his left hand he passed the BAR to Private
Yukonsi, saying, “Fire, and keep it low.” Thereafter, he continued to
give
orders. Yukonsi triggered the weapon for only a few seconds. Then a
burp-gun
burst hit him in the left arm, shredding it from wrist to shoulder. The
BAR was still in working order. Yukonsi handed it to Tilahullninguse
without
a word, then collapsed in the ditch unconscious from loss of blood. On
the extreme left of the line, Pvt. Mano Waldemarian took three bullets
through his brain. But in the frenzy of the action, no one saw him
fall.
Wongele Costa yelled to the two aid men to take over the grenading.
Then
he propped against the ditch bank and let go with the carbine, firing
full
automatic. During the remainder of the duel, he worked as a rifleman,
leaving
the directing to Waldetekle. The point-blank exchange continued for
another
fifteen minutes. Wongele Costa-a precise mantimed it with his wrist
watch.
But once all five weapons were brought to bear in volume, the enemy
fire
ranged increasingly higher, and there were no more casualties in the
ditch.
A messenger from the assault group came crawling down the gully. Word
of
the action had been sent the battalion commander, Lieut. Col. Wolde
Yohanis
Shitta. He was asking, “Shall I send help?” Wongele Costa replied,
“Tell
him no. Tell him I can hold this field with my own men.” The messenger
left and the lieutenant resumed fire.
| Eagle Eyed Kagnew Shaleka probing the enemy
line  Action was temporarily suspended when at last Waldetekle cried, “There’s nothing coming back.” Wongele Costa called, “Hold fire!” and then listened. It was true. Either the enemy had been wholly destroyed or its discouraged remnant had been driven off. There was not then time to look. The BAR had gone dry. The carbine was empty and the aid men had thrown their last grenades. By radio Wongele Costa called for flares over the
position, as had been
prearranged with the 48th Field Artillery Battalion under Lieut. Col.
Joseph
S. Kimmitt. Within the next minute he got four rounds. They lighted the
hill and the ditch bright as day, and, in so doing, diverted attention
from what had transpired in the foreground. As the lights came on, Wongele Costa glanced toward the
hill at his
back. Then he saw it: an entire Chinese platoon, deployed in skirmish
order,
was advancing up the nose of the ridge. The line of approximately fifty
men was in that second still upright and marching straight toward the
assault
group. In the next second, the line had gone flat, thereby foiling the
lights. The Chinese were still about loo yards short of the position on
the knob. “VT fire on White-all you can give me.” That was the
radio message from
Wongele Costa to the artillery. If the proximity fuse shells came in as
directed, they would just miss his own men and stonk the enemy in the
“white”
area. He got his barrage in exactly thirty seconds and it landed right
on the button. From his post in the ditch, he could see the rounds
exploding
into the enemy line and he could hear the outcries of the wounded. In
less
than one minute the formation was broken. Some of the Chinese ran for
the
base of the hill. Others ran forward looking for a hole or a rock. In that interval, Wongele Costa abandoned his position
on the left side
of the ditch. The casualties were carried to the position on the right
flank. But in the darkness, he missed one man, not knowing that
Waldemarian
was dead. So he called for lights again to assist the search. When the
flare came on, he could see Waldemarian in the ditch. He sat there in a
natural position, the rifle folded close in his arms. Wongele Costa
crawled
over to him, found that he was dead and so returned, carrying the body.
Thereby he simply followed the tradition of his corps. Fiercely proud
of
the loyalty of their men, officers of the Imperial Guard are likely to
say to a stranger, “Should trouble come, stay with me, I’ll be the last
man to die.” But in battle, it is the officer invariably who takes the
extra risk to save one of his own. There had been no letup in the VT barraging of the nose
of the ridge.
Costa simply had it shifted forward a short space to choke off escape.
Then Corporal Degene called him to say that from the knob, he could
hear
the Chinese reassembling on the other side of the finger, downslope 70
or 8o yards from his position. Wongele Costa again called the artillery, “Keep the
fires going on White.
But give me more VT and put it on Red.” Fifty-five seconds later, the new barrage dropped on the
far flank of
the hill. Thereafter, for 65 minutes, the fires were continued
unrelentingly
against the “White” nose of the hill and the “Red” slope. The patrol merely continued to hold ground. Degene’s men
neither shifted
position nor fired a shot. Unassisted, the artillery broke the back of
the Chinese attack. Wongele Costa and assistants had long since returned to
their position
between the two groups. The aid men had tourniqueted and quieted the
wounded.
They would have to last it with the others. At 0430 Colonel Shitta
called
the lieutenant to ask how things were going. Wongele Costa replied,
“The
only live Chinese in this valley are in our hands.” Said Shitta, “If that’s it, you might as well return.”
So Wongele Costa
got the patrol reassembled and on the trail. To the number of
twenty-two,
they had counted enemy dead in their foreground. They were confident
that
with the help of the artillery, they had wounded at least as many more.
Two badly shot-up prisoners had been taken. The wounded and dead were put in the van of the column.
Costa helped
bear Waldemarian’s body. They started uptrail and at last closed on the
company lines at 0535. They still looked fresh in the full light of a
lovely
dawn. There is but one note needed in summary. Wongele Costa
and his twenty
men were having their first experience under fire. Theirs was the first
patrol sent from the newly arrived Ethiopian battalion which had come
to
Korea boasting that it would outshine the old Kagnew Battalion, which
was
a shining outfit. But these men knew their ground, almost as a man knows
the palm of his
own hand. Following the method used by the old battalion, four
afternoons
successively, prior to the pay run, all members of the patrol had
marched
to the entrenched height on the Alligator’s jaws which overlooked the
flat
they had chosen to give battle. There they had spent hours studying the
distances, the relation of one slope to another and the likely
application
of weapons, according to the probable contingencies. The start of their debriefing followed the combat by
less than two hours.
Wongele Costa said, “Every detail of that ground had become part of a
print
in my mind. It was like moving in my own house. I could see in the
dark.”
Kagnew Shaleka: The fatigue is too heavy, the shoe is
too tight The Incredible Patrol(Page 233-249) LIKE, HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE OR THE SCREAMING EAGLES AT
Bastogne, it
was a classic fight, ending in clean triumph over seemingly impossible
odds. But unlike other great tales of scar which become legend, it went
unsung, though it happened almost under the noses of 163 war
correspondents
then in Seoul, forty minutes’ air flight from the fight. Held
spellbound
by the headline values of Operation Little Switch, they had neither
time
nor space for the reporting of epic courage. Such abberations are
common
in modern warfare. Homeric happenings go unreported. Sometimes the
bravest
meet death with their deeds known only to heaven. If another reason is needed for now unfolding the tale,
there is this,
that of all troops which fought in Korea, the Ethiopians stood highest
in the quality of their officer-man relationships, the evenness of
their
performance under fire and the mastery of techniques by which they
achieved
near perfect unity of action in adapting themselves to new weapons
during
training and in using them to kill efficiently in battle. They couldn’t read maps but they never missed a trail.
Out of dark Africa
came these men, thin, keen eyed, agile of mind and 95 per cent
illiterate.
They could take over U. S. Signal Corps equipment and in combat make it
work twice as well as the best-trained American troops. When they
engaged,
higher headquarters invariably knew exactly what they were doing. The
information
which they fed back by wire and radio was far greater in volume and
much
more accurate than anything coming from American actions. Their capacities excelled also in one diversionary
aspect of the soldierly
arts. There arc no better whisky drinkers under the sun. They take it
neat,
a full tumbler at a time, without pause or chaser, and seem abashed
that
Americans can’t follow suit. This unexampled skill might properly
become
a proper object for research by a top-level military mission. Their one lack was a good press. The Turks, the ROKs the
‘Commonwealth
Division and others in the medley got due notice. But the Ethiopians
stood
guard along their assigned ridges in a silence unbroken by the
questions
of the itinerant correspondents. They were eager to welcome strangers
and
tell how they did it. But no one ever asked If to our side, at the end as in the beginning, they
were the Unknown
Battalion, to the Communists they were a still greater mystery. When
the
final shot was fired, one significant mark stood to their eternal
credit.Of
all national groups fighting in Korea, the Ethiopians alone could boast
that they had never lost a prisoner or left a dead comrade on the
battlefield.
Every wounded man, every shattered body, had been returned to the
friendly
fold. That uniquely clean sheet was not an accident of numbers only. Knowing how to gamble with death, they treated it
lightly as a
flower. On night patrol, as lie crossed the valley and prowled toward
the
enemy works, the Ethiopian soldier knew that his chance of death was
compounded.
It was standing procedure in the battalion that if a patrol became
surrounded
beyond possibility of extrication, the supporting artillery would be
ordered
to destroy the patrol to the last man. That terrible alternative was
never
realized. Many times enveloped, the Ethiopian patrols always succeeded
in breaking the fire ring and returning to home base. If there were
dead
or wounded to be carried, the officer or NCO leader was the first to
volunteer.
When fog threatened to diffuse a patrol, moved hand in hand, like
children.
Even so, though they deny it, these Africans are cat-eyed men with an
especial
affinity for moving and fighting in the dark. In most of the races of
man,
superstition unfolds with the night, tricking the imagination and
stifling
courage. It is not so with the Ethiopians The dark holds no extra
terror.
It is their element Of this in part came the marked superiority in night
operations which
transfixed the Chinese. It hexed them as if they were fighting, the
superhuman.
The Ethiopian left no tracks shed no blood and spoke always in an
unknown
tongue. Lack of bodily proof that he was mortal made him seem phantom
like
and forbiddingly unreal. That may explain why, toward the close, everything done
by Ethiopians
seemed so unbelievably easy, even under full sunlight. We watched them
from Observation Point 29 through glasses on a fair afternoon in
mid-May,
1953, in as mad an exploit as was ever dared by man. Under full
observation
from enemy country, eight Ethiopians walked 800 Yards across no-man’s
land
and up the slope of T-Bone Hill right into the enemy trenches. When
next
we looked, the eight had become ten. The patrol was dragging back two
Chinese
prisoners, having snatched them from the embrace of the Communist
battalion.
It was only then that the American artillery came awake and threw smoke
behind them. They got back to our lines unscratched. So far as I know,
this feat is unmatched in war. How account for it? Either the hex was
working
or the Communists thought the patrol was coming in to surrender.
Kagnew Shaleka on the Move towards the enemy line This brazen piece of effrontery took place only three days after the fight of the Incredible Patrol. These were actions by men who had never previously been under fire. Ethiopia sent a fresh battalion every twelve months. Kagnew Battalion named after the war charger of King Menelik in the first war with Italy-had just sailed for Africa after little more than a year in line, with its men grousing, as soldiers ever do, because they had been held overtime. They were also piqued because the relief battalion was boasting that it was better before it had ever faced the enemy. Thereafter the war lasted just long enough for the new arrivals to supply a few items in solid proof that they might have cleaned it up, but for the papers signed in Panmunjom. My part in these things was that I was working over all
patrols along
our part of the front which had met and fought the Chinese. We were
trying
to get uniformity into our debriefing system so that all data would be
equally reliable and we could see where we were making our mistakes. My work was to get to the survivors immediately and draw
out of them
all that had happened. It necessitated ridge hopping by helicopter
through
the late dark or early light so that I could interview the patrol at
the
point where it reentered our lines. By dawn, the front was normally
quiet
save for the singing of larks, thrushes, thrashers and cardinals. It
was
a wonderful front for bird watchers. There were fifteen men in the Incredible Patrol under
the command of
27-year-old 2nd Lieut. Zeneke Asfaw. They were of the Third Company of
the new Battalion Kagnew, and the First Company of that command, under
Capt. Behanu Tariau, was garrisoning two outpost hillocks flanking the
narrow draw via which Asfaw’s party moved toward enemy country. The plan and scene were typical of many such operations
during the last
two years of the Korean war. Forming the right flank of the United
States
7th Infantry Division along the Eighth Army’s main resistance line, the
battalion held the crest line of a great ridge which rose about 300
meters
above the valley floor. Forward of the great ridge approximately 750
meters
were the outpost hillocks, Yoke and Uncle, each entrenched all around
its
summit, and with slopes well covered by wire entanglements. Yoke was just large enough to accommodate a platoon. As
with a hundred
other such small hill positions forward of the Eighth Army’s main line,
the twofold object in garrisoning Yoke was to parry any attack before
the
Chinese could reach the big trench, and, also, to lure the enemy into
the
open where he could be blasted by the markedly superior American
artillery.
It was wearing duty, for it made troops feel like the bait in a trap.
So
the garrisons were rotated every five days. Lieutenant Asfaw’s mission on the night of 19 May was to
descend into
the main valley about 800 yards to the right front of Yoke and in this
disputed ground attempt to ambush a Chinese patrol and return with
prisoners.
This was the more or less routine object in all patrolling. He started
his march at eleven o’clock, with his second in command, 21-year-old
Cpl.
Arage Affere, leading the column. In exactly thirty-five minutes, they
reached the bottom. The actual trail distance had been one and one-half
miles, partway uphill, where the route traversed two ridge fingers. But
they had done most of it at a running walk. At twenty minutes before midnight, having seen nothing
of the enemy,
Asfaw decided to halt. The patrol had come to a concrete-walled
irrigation
ditch. Where Asfaw stood, the ditch did a 9o-degree turn, with the
elbow
pointing directly at T-Bone Hill. To the youngster came the flash
inspiration
that here was the tailor-made deadfall. Three trails crossed within a
few
yards of the bend in the ditch. He could deploy his men within the
protecting
walls and await the enemy. Within the next five minutes he distributed
his men evenly around the angle with one Browning automatic rifle on
each
flank. It was done in the nick of time. There was the briefest
wait. At ten
minutes before midnight, Asfaw, straining to catch any movement in the
darkness, saw standing in the clear, 300 yards to his front, a lone
Chinese.
While lie looked, approximately one platoon built up on the motionless
scout and simply stood there, as if waiting a signal. It was a tempting
target; though too distant for his automatic weapons to have more than
a scattering effect upon the enemy force, it was still vulnerable to
the
American artillery fires which could be massed at his call. Asfaw switched on his radio to call Battalion. By some
fluke in those
first minutes as the game opened, it wouldn’t cut through. He spat in
disgust
at a technical failure which, seen in retrospect, was clearly a
blessing
in disguise. The whole pattern of this strange fight developed out of
the
accidental circumstance that during the next half-hour, the Chinese
felt
free to extend their maneuver, and Asfaw, being without radio contact.
had to keep telling himself that he had been sent forth to capture
prisoners. In that time, the body confronting him rapidly swelled
to two platoons,
but still did not move. That meant that close to 100 men would be
opposing
his group of 15. That was fair enough. So he crawled along the ditch
cautioning
his men to maintain silence and retain fire until he gave the word. It
was done. When at last the Chinese moved toward him, it was not in
columns, but
in V-shape like a flight of wild geese, with the point marching
directly
toward the apex of the ditch. All of this time Asfaw had been
concentrating
attention on the enemy directly to his front. Now as he turned his gaze
toward the files at the far ends of the V, he caught what all along his
eyes had missed. Five hundred yards to his left, another Chinese
company,
marching single file, had passed his flanks and was advancing directly
on Outpost Yoke. He looked to his right. Another body of the same size
had outflanked him and was marching against the ridge seating First
Company.
With that, he saw the problem as a whole. He was in the middle of a
Communist
battalion launched in a general attack. Its grand deployment was in the
shape of an M and the V-shaped body advancing on his ditch was simply a
sweep which tied together the two assault columns. By now they were within 200 yards of him and the column
on his left
was almost at the foot of Yoke. His radio was still out. To his
immediate
rear was an earth mound perhaps 10 feet high. Thinking that the mound
might
cause interdiction, he moved leftward along the ditch, whispering to
his
men to stand steady and testing his radio every few feet. The eight Chinese forming the point of the V were within
10 yards of
the ditch when Asfaw yelled, “Tekuse!” (fire). He already had arranged
it that the fire from his two flanks would cross so that both sides of
the V would be taken in enfilade. The eight-man point was cut down as
by
a scythe. It was a rifle job. The two wings which followed at a
distance
of 15 yards lost another dozen men to the BARs before the surprised
Chinese
could recoil and go flat. At that moment Asfaw’s radio sparked and he
raised
a friendly answer. This was his message as entered in the journal, “The
enemy came. I stopped them. Now they surround me. I want artillery on
White
Right.” “White Right” meant the ground to Asfaw’s left and rear.
Their ranks
being unable to use map coordinates, the Ethiopians achieved artillery
fire control by blocking out in colors the map areas where they were
likely
to need help. Thus, they simply called for fire on “Blue Left” or “Red
Right,” etc. In his own hour of emergency, Asfaw was ignoring the force
to his front, hoping that he would still be in time to shatter the
columns
moving against Yoke and Uncle. No sooner had he given the direction than he saw the
flattened company
in his foreground start skirmishers around his left flank. He felt this
was the beginning of an envelopment. Still, he did not amend his fire
request.
Instead, he shifted more of his men leftward in the ditch, figuring
that
with grazing fire he could slow the movement. As he said, “By then I
had
steadied and was enjoying it.” In three minutes, the American barrage fell right where
Asfaw had wanted
it. Illuminating shells from the 155s began to floodlight the valley.
By
their glare, Asfaw could see the killing rounds biting into the column,
killing some Chinese, scattering others. But he could also see figures
in silhouette moving against Yoke’s skyline and he guessed that the
enemy
had penetrated the works, which he reported on radio. So he was just a bit too late for a perfect score. The
smallarms fire
all about him had made imperceptible to him that the Chinese artillery
had massed fires against Yoke and the big ridge almost coincidentally
with
the opening of his own engagement. It was a real clobber. Within the
space
it takes to tell it, all wires were cut and the men were forced back
into
their bunkers. On Yoke, 2nd Lieut. Bezabib Ayela and his 56 men had
heard the first
volley of Asfaw’s skirmish. But it sounded far away. The impression it
made was swiftly erased when the enemy artillery deluged their own
hill.
Both of Ayela’s radios were hit and his field phone went dead. Ayela
moved
from post to post crying “Bertal” (standby), but for all the noise, he
had no forewarning of what was coming. Realization came when three red flares cut the night
above Yoke’s rear
slope. Ayela ran that way along the trench, knowing they had been
hand-fired
by the enemy. At the rear parapet, he could hear voices chattering from
downslope. Yoke’s rear was lighted by a searchlight beamed from the
battalion
ridge. Raising himself to the embankment, Ayela could see at least a
squad
of Chinese working up through the rocks not more than 30 yards away. Cpl. Ayelow Shivishe was with him and survived to tell
about it. Within
call of Ayela were thirteen riflemen and one machine gunner, covering
the
backslope, but all in the wrong spot to see the approach. Before Ayela
could either fire or cry out, he was drawn back the way he had come by
the sounds of shooting and a piercing scream right behind him. Two
squads
of Chinese had come up the side of Yoke, killed a BAR man, and jumped
into
the main trench. Ayela ran for them rifle in hand. In full stride he was
blown up by
a bomb-an ordinary grenade with TNT shaped around it, used by the
Communists
to clean out bunkers. Shivishe went flat in the trench and emptied his
M1 into the enemy group. He saw three men drop. Then he knew he had
been
wrong in wasting time that way. The hill was leaderless though no one
else
knew it. Shivishe ran the other way around the trench to tell Sgt. Maj.
Awilachen Moulte that he was in command. As he made the turn. the
Chinese
at the rear slope came over the parapet and were in the trench. But not
unopposed. The machine gunner, Pvt. Kassa Misgina, had heard the noise
and rushed to the breach. He cut down the first three men. Then two
things
happened right together: his gun jammed and an enemy grenade got him
through
both legs. Deep wounds, they didn’t jar his fighting rhythm. Misgina
passed
the gun back to a rifleman, yelling to him to get it freed. He then
grabbed
a box of grenades and, returning to the step where Ayela had been those
few seconds, resumed the fight to block the rear portal. Reasoning that
if he kept them ducking for cover they couldn’t rush, he stood on the
parapet
and let fly. None of this ordeal was known to Asfaw down in the
valley or to the
higher commands tucked away among the high ridges. But unlike every
other
actor in the drama, Asfaw alone could see all parts of the big picture.
From his place in the ditch, he had witnessed the enemy’s grand
deployment.
Also, he knew that the observers on the high ground had no such
advantage,
and due to the interposition of the lower ridges, could catch only
fragmentary
glimpses of the developing action. When his eyes told him that the
artillery
dropped on Yoke’s forward slope had effectively shattered the reserves
of the Chinese column there, his reason replied that the hills masked
that
fact to everyone else. Having already concluded that his task was to destroy
the Chinese battalion
by use of artillery, and realizing that he only was in position to
regulate
fires so that there would be no “overkilling,” Asfaw saw clearly that a
halfway success along either flank must finally doom his patrol. Driven
back, the survivors would converge within the draw which was his escape
route to the rear. There they would re-enforce the company which was
moving
around his left flank. From that side, the ditch provided no
protection. For fifteen minutes, he had watched the artillery stonk
the Chinese
on the lower slope of Yoke while doing nothing about the enemy column
attacking
First Company’s ridge. The reason was that the latter force had made
slower
progress and was still toiling toward the hill. During the same
interval
the Chinese platoons to his front had continued the crawl around his
left
flank and were now even with his position. He took another look at the
enemy’s solid column on his own right rear: it was just 50 yards short
of the main incline. At that point he gave his direction, calling for
the
fire to be placed where it would catch the attack head-on. It was
delivered
“on the nose.” The column attacking First Company began to dissolve and
recoil toward him.
Kagnew Shaleka on the Move towards the enemy line In this manner, while his withdrawal route was still open, he made his decision to fight it out on the original line. Here was a youth having his first experience under fire. But the role he had voluntarily accepted made requisite a sense of timing rarely found in a division commander. The Chinese nearest him continued to extend their outflanking maneuver; he but shifted a few more riflemen to the left to slow them with grazing fire. On Yoke, Sergeant Major Moulte’s first act after taking
command was
to run to Ayela’s body to make certain he was dead. Two enlisted men
had
been felled by the same bomb which killed the lieutenant. Moulte yelled
for stretcher bearers. Then, gathering six men and passing each an
armful
of grenades, he swung along the trench toward the front of Yoke on the
heels of the Chinese group that had entered the works after killing
Ayela.
It was a sneak movement, the men moving silently and in a crouch, with
one scout five yards to the front. Surprise was complete. Perhaps 35 to
40 yards beyond, the scout gave an arm signal, hand out, pointing the
direction
for the grenade shower. The explosions came dead center amid the enemy
group. Some Chinese were killed. Others scrambled for the parapet or
tried
to hide next the sandbag superstructure of the bunkers. Moulte saw at
least
six Chinese in clear silhouette as they climbed up from the trench
wall.
He was carrying a BAR. But he didn’t fire a shot. He said later, “I
don’t
know why; I just didn’t think of it.” (This same aberration occurs much
too frequently among GI fighters.) Ordering others in his party to
carry
on and hunt down the invaders in detail, Moulte doubled back to see how
things were going at the rear slope. By then, the wounded Misgina’s
machine
gun had become freed, and with that weapon, he was still holding the
portal,
supported by one BAR man. Looking downslope, Moulte counted ten dead
Chinese
in front of Misgina’s gun. Beyond them, he could count at least thirty
of the enemy among the rocks. They became revealed momentarily as they
grenaded upward. But the distance was too great and the bombs exploded
among their own dead. At that point the action was taken out of Moulte’s hands
for reasons
requiring a brief recapitulation. Because of broken communications,
Asfaw’s
fight had been underway thirty minutes before Battalion knew the patrol
was in serious trouble. Asfaw’s first radio message had gone to the
platoon
of First Company on Uncle and his call for artillery on Yoke had
perforce
bypassed Battalion because First Company’s radio went temperamental at
the wrong moment. As relayed from Outpost Uncle, the message taken by
Capt.
Addis Aleu, the battalion S2, was merely a brief warning, “Main
movement
against Yoke . . . fire White Right.” Then the Uncle radio cut out and
Battalion CP could only guess about developments. But from his hilltop on OP 29, First Company’s
commander, Capt. Behanu
Tariau could eyewitness the skirmishing on Yoke’s rear slope. He had
received
the relayed message that the patrol had engaged; it came to him from
Uncle
during the period when First Company could no longer raise Battalion.
Then
for fifteen minutes-the critical period when Moulte was rallying his
men
to repel boarders-his own radio cut out. His anxieties mounted because
of his helplessness. By the searchlight’s glare he could see Chinese
massing
againstYoke’s back door but he was in touch with no one. When quite
suddenly
his radio cut through again, he told and Lieut. William W. DeWitt, his
artillery forward observer, to hit Yoke directly with VT (proximity
fuse)
fire and illuminating shell. The order was passed upward to Lieut. Col.
Joseph S. Kimmitt: “Fire Flash Yoke Three.” Five minutes later Yoke was
under a fierce rain of hot steel. The effect of the fire was to drive
Moulte’s
men back to their bunkers for protection while transfixing the Chinese
in the open. There was thirty minutes of this. Then Tariau asked for a
curtain barrage on both sides of Yoke to box in the enemy survivors. He
pondered extending the barrage to across the forward slope, then
rejected
the idea, apprehensive that Asfaw’s men might be falling back on Yoke. On that score, he might have spared himself worry. Asfaw
was still sitting
steady in the ditch and enjoying it. By now the Chinese who had been to
his front had completed the half-circle and were spread across his
rear.
Their skirmish line, a lean 100 yards from him, had already been joined
by the first stragglers retreating from the fires on Yoke, Uncle and
First
Company’s hill. His big moment was at hand, when having nailed his flag
to the mast, he would now win or lose it all. To Uncle, he gave the
message,
relayed from there to Captain Tariau and from him to the artillery,
“Fire
Blue Right!” If his guess was right and the fire was accurate, Blue
Right would crush
the Chinese to his rear and fall just short of his own position. There
was a suspense of two minutes. Then the barrage dropped dead on target,
braying the enemy line from end to end. He kept the artillery on Blue
Right
for ten minutes; when it lifted, there was no more fire from his
foreground
or immediate rear. But it had been, and still remained, the closest kind of
thing. At the
moment when Asfaw asked for Blue Right, his own patrol was wholly out
of
ammunition, save for the cartridges in the magazines of three M1s The
fragments
of the two main enemy columns continued to drift back toward him. He
knew
that the patrol’s survival from that point on would pivot on the radio
and the accuracy of his call to the artillery. At last fortune rode wholly with him. The fight
continued on these terms
for the next two hours, with no firing from the patrol. There were
times
when the Chinese, rebounding from the two outposts, then regrouping,
got
within 50 yards of the ditch. Blue Right never failed him. There were
als0
times when he asked and got barrage fire on all four sides of his
patrol,
thereby to close the enemy escape routes leading to T-Bone Hill. By four o’clock in the morning the battlefield was at
last quiet and
Asfaw could see no sign of a live enemy. The patrol arose and
stretched,
satisfied that it had done a good night’s work. Asfaw radioed the
message,
“Enemy destroyed. My men are still unhurt. We have spent our last
bullet.”
Being now unarmed, the patrol expected a recall. What came back proved with finality that Ethiopians
prefer to fight
the hard way. This was Captain Aleu’s message to Asfaw: “Since you have
won and are unhurt and the enemy is finished, you are given the further
mission of screening the battlefield, examining bodies for documents
and
seeking to capture any enemy wounded.” That task, which entailed another four to five miles of
marching, preoccupied
the patrol for the next two hours. The light was already full and the
bird
chorus was in full song when I met them as they re-entered the main
line.
Asfaw went briefly into the statistics of the fight. On the ground
within
150 yards of the ditch he had counted 73 dead Chinese. On the slopes of
Yoke and within the trenches were 37 more enemy bodies. There were
other
bodies among the paddies forward of Uncle, still not counted. But
assuming
the usual battle ratio of four men wounded for every one mortally hit,
the score said that he had effectively eliminated one Chinese
battalion. As a feat of arms by a small body of men, it was
matchless. No other
entry in the book of war more clearly attests that miracles are made
when
a leader whose coolness of head is balanced by his reckless daring
becomes
attended by a few steady men. Victory came not because of the artillery
but because Asfaw believed in it, willed it, then planned it. But as the story unfolded, its significance transcended
the importance
of this one small field. On a vastly reduced scale, we had witnessed
the
prevue of great battle in the future, as it must be staged, and as its
risks, decisions and movements must become regulated, if the field army
is to endure against, and with the use of, atomic weapons. What we heard fired the imagination. Asfaw’s patrol
became a combat
team riding armored into enemy country, too small and elusive to be a
profitable
atomic target, large enough to block and compel the enemy to extend his
deployment. So doing, it would perforce make use of the most
advantageous
earth cover possible. Then, having developed the situation, from the
vortex
of action, it would call on the big lighting to strike all around. At
no
point would its force be any better than its nerve and its command of
communications. Done by an Ethiopian second lieutenant, it is a case
study for generals
pondering the possibilities of the war of tomorrow.
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