Bangkok Post

THE SHANTUNG INCIDENT
by Harold Stephens

On the morning of April 1, 2001 a U.S. Navy EP-3 spy plane operating on a routine surveillance mission above the Strait of Taiwan collided with a Chinese fighter jet. The fighter plummeted into the sea and the badly damaged spy plane was forced to make an emergency landing at Lingshui airfield on China's Hainan Island. The crew were immediately arrested and the plane searched and ransacked, triggering a major diplomatic row between the two countries. Although both Washington and Beijing agreed that the
collision occurred in international airspace, some 70 miles from Chinese territory, the incident reached an impasse. The US believes it had a right to fly in international airspace while the Chinese were upset that they were being spied upon. Even worse, a fragile relationship between the two nuclear powers was already at an explosive point over the United State's sale of arms to Taiwan and China giving assistance to Iraq in building fiber-optics capabilities in defiance to U.N. sanctions. For President George W. Bush the standoff over the air collision came even before he had time to get comfortable in the White House and craft a China policy, let alone consult with all his advisors. But even then, the president's advisors undoubtedly had no clear and concise advice they could give to the new president. However, had they turned to their history books, they would have noted that such a situation occurred once before between China and the U.S. years. It was a simple case of history repeating itself. And who knows, like before they might have advised military action.

I do remember the incident well, for I was a young U.S. Marines serving in China at the time.
Immediately after Japan's surrender ending World War II, two divisions of U.S. Marines left Guam on October 1, 1945, and proceed to China with the express purpose of assisting with the repatriation of Japanese forces. General Chiang Kai-shek, backed by armed irregulars, had been recognized by the U.S. as the Central Government. The Communists, however, held most of Shantung Province in the north and controlled the countryside to the outskirts of Tsingtao.

The Sixth Marine Division originally planned to land at Chefoo on the peninsula, but Communist troops had already seized the city from the Japanese, installed a party official as mayor, and were not sympathetic to the request from Admiral Thomas C. Kinkaid, Commander of the Seventh Fleet, that they withdraw before the Marines landed. To avoid a confrontation, the division landed on October 11 at Tsingtao instead.

The first order of command by the Marines was to establish aerial reconnaissance missions to monitor Japanese units moving toward the repatriation ports and to keep informed of Communist activity in eastern Shantung. One search pattern was flown over the mountains of Shantung Peninsula to Chefoo with a return leg that paralleled the northern coast before returning to Tsingtao. However, approaching winter created another problem: bad weather.

The hazardous nature of winter flying over mountainous terrain was vividly emphasized when on December 10, 1945 two F7F Tigercats aircraft and a SB2C Helldiver were flying reconnaissance north of Tsingtao and became disorientated in bad weather. All three aircraft were forced to land along the northern coast of the peninsula. The SB-2C aircrew survived and made their way back to Tsingtao overland. One F7F crash-landed in the sea near Wei Hai Wei. The body of one of the crewmen was recovered by the Chinese, but they were unable to locate the second.

The second Tigercat, which had been recording the movement of Chinese troops and was carrying valuable photo surveillance equipment, made its emergency landing on the beach at the end of the peninsula. Before he was rescued by the Chinese, the pilot, Lt. Bland, report to Division Headquarters in Tsingtao that the plane was still intact and should be flyable.

Division Headquarters, independent of Washington, made the decision to dispatch as quickly as possible the 29th Marines from Tsingtao to retrieve the aircraft and make an attempt to fly it back to Tsingtao. The site where it crashed was 500 metres inland from the beach. The terrain was flat with very little rise in the ground, and if it remained frozen, the plane should be able to take off.

If that was not possible, we were instructed to salvage the instruments and photo equipment and destroy the plane. Fox Company, 29th Marines was given the assignment. The men of the 29th were all seasoned veterans of the Pacific war, having fought at the battle of Okinawa only a few months before.

Now, fifty some years later, when news flashed around the world that another U.S. Navy spy plane had made a forced landing on Chinese territory, the Shantung incident immediately came back to mind. I was again in the 29th Marines. Would history repeat itself? Would Marines land at Hainan?

In Tsingtao, we got our orders. We were to board LST 755, a tank landing ship, the workhorses of World War II that were used to transport and land tanks and amphibious vehicles on amphibious assaults. The ships, 156.6 meters in length, could travel at 20 knots, but with their flat bottoms they were uncomfortable in rough seas. What made them unique was that they had both bow-doors and stern gates that could offload cargo and amphibious vehicles directly into the water.

We were told we would have three DUCKS aboard, all with 30 cal. machineguns mounted on the bows, to carry us ashore. Each man was issued rations and ammunition. Uniforms were utility with cold-weather parkers, leggings, steel helmets and field marching packs. Radio contact would be maintained between the LST and Division Headquarters in Tsingtao while constant ship-to-shore communications would be kept by radio. Our company runner, Dick Whitaker, was the radio operator. DUCKS, the amphibious landing craft that would take us ashore from the LST, were mounted

It was a nasty cold morning on December 17, 1945, when we boarded LST 755 in Tsingtao harbour. The rope flag halyard at the bow had to be thawed out before we could raise colours. Hundreds of assorted junks filled the harbour and badly rusted freighters were moored to the docks. A sharp wind blew in from the sea, and in spite of the Marines being unaccustomed to the cold winters of north China, they lined the railing and watched the shoreline disappear into the distance. My fingers were so numb I had a difficult time clicking the shutter on my Brownie box camera. But I did get shots of the harbour, and one with me standing side-by-side with my squad leader, Walter Seitz. A year later Seitz was killed on another rescue mission on the Shantung Peninsula. Below deck it wasn't much warmer.

We arrived at Peng Lai the following morning. Colonel Robb, our C.O., and a small landing party would be the first to go ashore. With Colonel Robb were Whitaker, the Colonel's driver, a LIFE photographer, an interpreter, two enlisted men and the DUCK crew. The interpreter, Lt. Wu, was to contact the Communists and offer them reward money for carrying for the pilot and crew member. He would also ask the Communists for a "guarantee of safety" while two other landing parties would go to the downed aircraft and see what cold be done. They carried a briefcase packed with Chinese money. As soon as the first DUCK was ashore, my platoon aboard the second DUCK was to escort aviation personnel to aircraft and stand guard.

About 500 yards from shore, Colonel Robb and his party were greeted by a rowboat manned by four soldiers. From the LST, with rifles ready, we watched the soldiers board the DUCK and place the rowboat in tow. Whitaker reported the soldiers were guiding them to an unmined stretch of beach, but he wasn't too pleased that they had left their weapons behind. The DUCK approached the beach and caused concern when it left the water and drove up the embankment. Suddenly about a hundred Chinese troops appeared from nowhere and came running to assume positions along the parapetted top of a 50-foot wall fronting the sea. We lost no time boarding the remaining two DUCKS and headed toward shore.

When we looked toward shore again, the troops had disappeared, only to reappear in a few minutes wearing Japanese steel helmets. This time our DUCKS was guided through the massive sea-gate. Our platoon with our aviation personnel aboard headed directly for the downed aircraft. The unarmed shore party headed off in the opposite direction toward the town, with the briefcase with them. We were fearful for their safety.

The plane appeared to be undamaged, but now the hardened ground began to thaw, making take off impossible. With us was Lt. Glenn Nelson, G-2 Intelligence Section, who was in command. He lost no time climbing aboard the plane with the aviation mechanics and a demolition man from headquarters. We took position around the plane. Several dozen Chinese troops arrived and were very helpful. They formed a cordon around the plane and kept the local Chinese from approaching closer than 500 metres.

Our instructions were that we had to complete our mission before nightfall and return to the LST. The men aboard the aircraft had to work quickly. Heavy cameras were removed from the bow of the aircraft and loaded aboard the DUCK. All navigation equipment was stripped and removed. Two of the DUCK's crew carried 5-gallon Jerry cans of fuel aboard the aircraft and returned with empty cans. The last marine to leave the aircraft was the demolition man. He had set a charge and timed it to go off soon after dark, giving us enough time to get back to the LST. We returned to sea-gate as quickly as we could.

Darkness was falling rapidly and still the other party hadn't returned. We had no alternative but to follow orders and return to the LST. We had no idea what had become of Colonel Robb and his men. We could see the silhouette of the spy plane standing defiantly on the shore as we returned to the ship. Back aboard the LST we stood at the railing searching the darkness. Suddenly the sky lighted up and then we heard the explosion. The F7F spy plane was afire. Only moments later we heard shouts coming through the darkness. The DUCK was coming. We gave a shout of victory. Before long we could hear their voices, more clearly now, and then their laughter. We knew that sound--drunken Marines. The LST opened the stern gate, lowered the ramp and the DUCK drove aboard.

Whitaker gave the account what had happened, and remembering he was Colonel Robb's runner, he went everywhere that the colonel went. Peng Lai was obviously anticipating the arrival of the Marine party. The streets through which they were lead were emblazoned with freshly-painted posters in English, decrying U.S. interference in Chinese internal political problems, and at the same time fervently wishing long life for Presidents Harry Truman and Mao Tse Tung.

They were taken to the office of the Mayor, Mr. Ba Nan Kong, and introduced to Brig. Gen., Sun Rai Fu, Commander of the Tung Pei Hai Military area, and Mr. Chang Hsao, editor of the local newspaper. A banquet hall where they were to dine was also plastered with banners, together with pictures of Mao, and a flaming red map of China. "According to the map," Whitaker said, "practically all of China was in Communist hands." Brig. Gen. Sun Rai Fu refused to accept the money offered by Colonel Robb for safe guarding the aircraft.

The dinner party at the Mayor's house was a full-blown 10-course affair with various wines, brandies and palate cleansers served by a battalion of waiters. The endless silverware was appropriate for each and every serving. After almost a week onboard the LST it was an exotic and unfamiliar treat. The Marines were completely baffled by the meal, and after months in the field, certainly not the most refined dinner guests ever to share the Mayor's table. The drinks were generous. A Mr. Chang became a bit loud and offered continuous toasts which only served to increase the guest's alcohol consumption. Whitaker admitted he tried to follow the Colonel's lead, as far as table manners, and thought he did fairly well for slightly tipsy 19-year old from Saugerties, N.Y. However, the Marine next to him, to everyone's dismay, drank the contents of his finger bowl, which he obviously though was just another exotic course.

"It was like something from out of a comic strip," Whitaker said, "although no 'Dragon Lady' ever appeared." LST 755 departed that same evening, December 24, 1945, for Tsingtao, with the sky over Peng Lai ablaze in a red glow for the burning aircraft.

We spent Christmas Day at sea. To brighten up morale, several men put on a skit, which ended abruptly. Howard Terry, a tough Marine veteran from the Pacific fighting, went drag with a mop for wig and a padding under his shirt for breasts. A sailor made a witty remark, Howard punched him out, and the fun ended in a brawl. No sooner was calm restored than an oil line broke and sprayed oil over our bedding. But Fox Company, 29th Marines, did have a Christmas feast, on December 27th.

China has agreed to let U.S. technicians come to Hainan Island to dismantle the U.S. Navy EP-3 spy plane and ship it out of the country. There will be no Marine landing party, but I'm sure the Chinese will host a gala dinner, with banners and posters, and bottles of Chinese wine and brandy, almost like the old days. But no charge to go off this time.

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