FORMOSA: Rough Week in the Strait

For the 100,000 Nationalist soldiers dug into the sandy soil of Quemoy Island, it was a grim week. While U.S. destroyers watched helplessly from outside the three-mile limit, Communist guns raked Que-moy’s yellow beaches, effectively preventing Nationalist transports from replenishing the island’s dwindling stocks of food, ammunition and medicine. Over the horizon, almost lost in the haze covering Formosa Strait, prowled Task Force 77 of the Seventh Fleet—the Sunday punch which the U.S. was holding back as long as the Communists refrained from all-out attack.

Sunday, Sept. 7—The U.S. undertakes to escort Nationalist supply ships to Quemoy. In broad daylight, two U.S. heavy cruisers and six destroyers wheel up to within three miles of Quemoy in a defiant challenge to the Red Chinese. Red torpedo boats, which had broken up Nationalist convoys, are nowhere in sight. From the bridge of the cruiser Helena, the Seventh Fleet’s Vice Admiral Roland Wallace Beakley watches grimly as two Nationalist LSMs unload 300 tons of ammunition and other supplies on Shatou Beach. Nothing happens. Several times U.S. ra-darmen see blips easing out toward the convoy from Red jet bases on the mainland, but each time, as if pulled by invisible strings, the blips finally scoot back inland. The U.S. seems to have called the Reds’ hand. No Communist gun has fired on Quemoy for three days.

Monday—The second convoy arrives. Four U.S. destroyers hover three miles offshore. Two LSMs reach the beach and begin unloading. Suddenly, at 1:33 p.m., the beach erupts in geysers of sand and water. One LSM, loaded with ammunition, is hit and explodes. The other hastily backs off without unloading.

Tuesday & Wednesday—Pleading bad weather, U.S. and Nationalist naval commands temporarily call off the convoys to consider new tactics. The Communist barrage has become steady, making beach and airfield almost unusable. In desperation, the Nationalists airdrop small quantities of medical supplies to Que-moy’s garrison. Admiral Beakley comes ashore to consider with Taiwan Defense Command’s Vice Admiral Smoot “what to do now.” Beakley admits: “We are back right where we started before we began convoying. They called our hand when they shelled the beach and got that LSM. The Chicoms’ guns can and will blast anything on the beach until they are taken out. We could take them out and so could the Nationalists. But the decision to do so is a grave one and not for military men.”

Thursday—The U.S. tries a third con voy. From the convoy leader, U.S.S. Gregory, TIME & LIFE’S Scot Leavitt reports: By 3 p.m. Destroyer Squadron 17 is in position off Quemoy, three of its ships 15 miles offshore, and Gregory just over three. “I don’t think they dare come near us,” says Gregory’s skipper, Commander Felix G. Young, who has served in destroyers for 17 of his 27 years in the Navy. “But I’ve been shot at by Germans and Italians and Japanese and Russians and Chinese Communists before. If we get into a scrap, they won’t be getting any virgin.”

The LSMs push on toward the island, at 3:30 report that two of their number had beached. In fact, the two lead LSMs are not on the beach but on a sand bar, 20 yds. of neck-deep water from shore. One of them drops its ramp, and an amphibious duck scurries out onto the beach. After a protracted argument between the LSM’s captain and the troop commander —”If you’re so brave, why don’t you take your damn ship closer to shore?”—50 Nationalist replacement troops struggle ashore through the swirling surf. Then a Communist shell smacks into the water close to the port bow. Within ten seconds, high explosives are whistling in at the rate of 10,000 an hour. In frantic haste, the two beached LSMs back off the sand bar. Miraculously, neither is badly hit. Twenty minutes later, all four Nationalist transports of convoy No. 3 are out of Communist range and on their way back to the Pescadores.

Aboard Gregory, Squadron 17’s commander swears softly. “I’ll tell you one damn thing,” he says. “Those Chinese have guts. I’d hate to have to gointo that beach knowing what was coming.” Beside him. on the bridge a Nationalist liaison officer, Lieut. M. S. Liu, silently watches the flight of the LSMs. “Does this mean the end of Quemoy?” someone asks him. “No, no,” he says quietly. “Not so, not so.”

Friday — Nationalist frogmen begin clearing away coastal mines and underwater spikes to open a new Quemoy landing beach sheltered by a sheer, soft. cliff. At Makung naval base in the Pescadores, Admiral Smoot holds a strategy session with a tight-lipped Chiang Kaishek. In three tries, U.S.-escorted cargoes have so far unloaded 300 tons of supplies, one amphibious duck, 50 Nationalist soldiers, one U.S. Marine attached to the Military Assistance Advisory Group. Nationalist Chief of the General Staff Wang Shu-ming (“Tiger” Wang), asked how Chiang feels about the convoy operations, shakes his head and says, “Not happy, not happy.” To the same question, a U.S. destroyer officer replies: “Put it this way—I’d hate to get paid by the ton delivered.”

Saturday—The fourth convoy tries—this time under the cover of predawn darkness. But Communist guns have been zeroed in. At 5:10 a.m. they begin a saturation barrage. After facing the bombardment for 23 minutes, the four LSMs flee with all but a smattering of their cargo still unloaded. At 4 p.m. the same four LSMs try it again. Same result. By this time the air is full of recrimination. Major General Kao Yin-fen, deputy commander of the Quemoy garrison, bitterly declares that so far the convoys “have subjected our troops to damage instead of giving them support,” argues that the Seventh Fleet should sail in and shell the Communist artillery bombarding Quemoy. U.S. naval men reply that naval gunfire is of limited effectiveness against well dug-in shore batteries, charge that Nationalist transports are inexcusably slow and sloppy in their offloading.

Sunday—The fifth convoy tries again in daylight—and succeeds. Under heavy Communist fire, a Nationalist LST puts ashore 17 amphibious ducks before fragmentation from near misses snaps the cable controlling her forward ramp doors and hole her sides. She is towed back to Formosa. In U.S. headquarters in Formosa, gloom remains heavy. Says one senior officer: “Even if we can improve landing methods and Communist artillery fire doesn’t increase, we can’t get ashore more than 80% of what’s needed.”