Just as DeHaven ceased fire (target destroyed), the other four ships opened. Firing deliberately, from ranges as close as 1,300 yards, under the muzzles of masked enemy guns, the destroyers commenced to probe.

For just eight minutes the Communist gunners held fire. Then they took the bait. A 76mm gun barked and flashed from a cave on the slope of Wolmi Do. Seconds later a high-velocity antitank shell hulled Collett.

"A necklace of gun-flashes sparkled around the waist of the island," reported the Associated Press man (Relman Morin) aboard Rochester. "The flashes were reddish gold and they came so fast that soon the entire slope was sparkling with pinpoints of fire."

Within the next few minutes intense automatic-weapons and mortar fire were directed at the ships above Wolmi Do (Mansfield and DeHaven) while Swenson, Collett and Gurke (off Wolmi Do or immediately downstream) came under hot fire from the 76mm guns on Wolmi and heavier weapons on Observatory Hill in Inchon.

Collett took the punishment. Five hits by armor-piercing shell, at close range, smashed into her hull. The wardroom was hit (this, a dud, came to rest on the transom), fuel lines were cut, the plotting room damaged and the main-battery computer put out of action, guns had to go into local control, and old-style pointer fire, telescope cross-hairs on the targets, kept the ship fighting. Three minutes after Collett took her first hit, Swenson, next upstream, came first under mortar and heavy small-arms fire, then from the 918th Coast Artillery's heavily revetted 76mm guns on Wolmi Do's northwest face. Gurke, below Collett, was straddled by an enemy salvo at 1330, then by another and another. At 1346, within the space of two minutes, three shells hit home: a 40mm gun was knocked out, a torpedo tube jammed, a stack punctured-all superficial to the ship's fighting power.

As the enemy showed his hand, the destroyers hit back. Between 1253, when DeHaven opened fire, and 1347, when Commodore Allen signaled retirement, they fired 998 rounds of 5-inch onto Wolmi Do and parts of Inchon. Now, with the hornet's nest buzzing, it was time to head downchannel, and in reverse order, under full power, the "sitting ducks" swept through the shell splashes, dueling the enemy with after mounts as forward guns ceased to bear. DeHaven and Mansfield, which had been above the coast artillery arcs of fire, ran the batteries at 25 knots, swamping small craft and sampans with their bow waves and nearly broaching Henderson as they raced by, fantails low, guns still blazing and black smoke pouring from stacks.

Although Swenson's bridge had rung up turns for 31 knots, 23 was all she could get in the muddy shallows. With Blue Beach two miles abeam at 1402, she came under fire—a departing salute—from the battery on Observatory Hill. A two-gun salvo hit close aboard, 25 yards to port. On the ship's 40mm director, a junior lieutenant two years out of Annapolis was ripped by fragments and fell dead. His name was David H. Swenson. He was the nephew of Captain Lyman K. Swenson, USN, killed in the South Pacific, the destroyer's namesake. ^note

The salvo that killed Lieutenant Swenson was the enemy's final blow. Now the reconnaissance mission was accomplished—"Successfully, the Navy will say," wrote a correspondent. "Gloriously is a better word."

Below Palmi Do the cruisers opened up with 8-inch and 6-inch guns to cover the destroyers' withdrawal. As they were anywhere from seven to ten miles from Inchon and Wolmi Do, and air-spotting arrangements had been badly muddled, the heavy ships' counterbattery fire, while loud and rapid, was far from precise or accurate. Then the planes from the fast carriers raked Wolmi Do again and the destroyers' dead (1 only, Lieutenant Swenson) and wounded (8) were transferred by whaleboat to Toledo, whose sick bay could best handle them. As the planes headed out to sea, the cruisers fired for another half hour and stood down Flying Fish Channel for the night.

Off the channel entrance with deep water and sea room, the fire support group took night dispositions and prepared to darken ship. In the twilight, while there was still light to come alongside, Admiral Higgins's barge and Commodore Allen's gig closed Rochester for conference with Admiral Struble.

Two matters dominated the discussion. Point 1-the 918th Coast Artillery had amply justified the apprehensions of Admiral Doyle and General Smith. Obviously Inchon was defended—Wolmi Do most evidently so—and those defenses were far from neutralized. A full day's work ("a real working-over," said Struble's report) would be required tomorrow for the destroyers, cruisers and Task Force 77's aircraft. And on that last subject, air spotting had better improve—communications between planes and ships had been terrible, and the pilots (theoretically supposed to have basic qualifications as gunfire spotters) were wholly unfamiliar with the process.

Point 2—mines—nagged at everyone who had seen those shapes between Pukchangjaso and Palmi Do, let alone those who, like Commander Lundgren, had actually observed piled mines ashore. Admiral Struble could well remember a conversation in Tokyo when MacArthur had said, "You're confident, aren't you?" and he had replied, "Yes the worst hazard, except for large Russian air intervention, would be mines." Now nothing could be done, mines or no, but to send an urgent dispatch telling the minesweepers to abandon their charges and hasten forward. Just before midnight the meeting broke up. By the time Higgins and Allen were back on their flagships, it was D-1.

In the morning, again screened with planes from the carriers (and this time with a fleet salvage tug in company), the cruisers and destroyers stood in toward Inchon. Out in the channel mouth, at eight bells, the formation hove to, colors at half-mast, Marine guards paraded on the cruisers, crew at quarters in all ships, while in Toledo the boatswain's mate piped the word, "All hands to bury the dead." After the padre's simple, immemorial sentences of committal, the volleys from the Marines and the poignant strains of "Taps," Lieutenant Swenson, in a sailor's shroud of canvas, was given to the deep. Ten minutes later column was formed and the force was steaming toward the enemy.

At 1116, as the destroyers picked their way up the Salee River, the cruisers opened fire. This time the spotters were on station and their radios worked. Even so—the In Min Gun still had plenty of fight—a shore battery promptly took on HMS Kenya, the inshore cruiser, prompting Captain Brock, her CO, to remark, "The enemy gunners were either very brave or very stupid . . . ." In either case they paid for their bravery (or stupidity) by a heavy air strike as the destroyers closed in. One Valley Forge pilot reported that there was no more vegetation left on Wolmi Do: "The whole island looked like it had been shaved."

There were no niceties today about destroyers opening fire. Again DeHaven opened the ball: at 1242 she took on one of the cave-mounted 76mm guns on Wolmi Do's southwest face. Four minutes later, Swenson's 5-inch mounts went to work against a target from yesterday—a gun emplacement on the west tip of the island. Reflecting her lack of familiarity with the target areas, Henderson, which had replaced Collett, waited until 1305 to be sure she had a target, and then joined in. For 75 minutes the destroyers hammered away, and it was 40 minutes before they drew a feeble reply. As they withdrew, the shore batteries remained silent; the five destroyers had fired 1,732 rounds at Wolmi Do—barely less than the number of 5-inch shells that hit Omaha Beach before the Normandy landings.