TIME Correspondent Dwight Martin was in Hungnam to view the lurid spectacle of allied evacuation. Martin's report:
IN a briefing room in a former Japanese housing development a mile or so from the harbor, a U.S. major went up to a tactical map and pointed to a series of diminishing arcs around the Hungnam area. Said he: "If they get to this first arc, they'll be able to hit us here with artillery if they have any real long-range stuff. We don't think they have." Then he indicated another arc closer to the port and said, "If they get to here, they'll be able to hit us with regular Chinese artillery." Somebody indicated a still smaller arc on the map and asked: "What happens when they get here?" The major cocked an eyebrow at his questioner, shrugged and replied, with an air of finality: "Then, we've had it." As it turned out, the Chinese had nothing heavier than mortars.
No Panic. While the infantrymen in the line drew back slowly before the Chinese assault, the evacuation at the dockside went on apace. There was no panic, no disorder. But the tempo of the operation stepped up sharply. At the docks themselves, U.S., Norwegian and Japanese merchant ships took on load after load of trucks, tanks, gasoline, rations, dismantled aircraft, jeeps, tents and kitchen stoves. The black, mud-choked roads within the dock area were jammed bumper to bumper with mud-spattered supply trains grinding and slithering down to the ships. The supply convoys passed acres of gasoline drums, quarter-mile-long warehouses piled high with C-rations, soap, lard, coffee and fruit juices. G.I. and Korean stevedores ate steadily all day long, casually hacked open 6-lb. tins of pork luncheon meat to make one sandwich, gallon tins of fruit juice for one swallow. Outside one warehouse, a black-bearded U.S. sergeant dug his plastic C-ration spoon into a 10-lb. tin of corned beef with the delicate disdain of an overweight debutante at a smörgasbord.
At another warehouse a steady stream of Korean women threaded their way through huge stacks of flour, rice and millet, emerged with 50 to 100-lb. sacks strapped to their backs or carefully balanced on their heads. There would be some later disappointment. Some of the women had taken their sacks from the wrong part of the warehouse and were heading jubilantly home to the kitchen loaded down with fertilizer.