We Would Have Followed Him Anywhere

"Of all the Marine Corps officers I remember, Lt. Carl Lindquist inspired me the most. I will remember him the rest of my life.” - Joe “Doc” Candilora, US Navy Corpsman, Korea, 1953.

On the night of July 24, 1953, just three days before the Korean War armistice was signed, 2nd Lieutenant Carl E. Lindquist, Jr. and the Marines of How Company, 3rd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment were hit by a massive Chinese attack.

In what would become the last major engagement of the war, the Chinese, in a desperate attempt to gain as much land as possible before the fighting ended, launched their biggest offensive in two years. Hoping for a propaganda victory back home and a better deal at the negotiating table, they hurled thousands of men against the Marine positions.

Attack on Hill 111

Beginning their attack with a devastating artillery barrage - according to eyewitness accounts “60-70 shells impacted per minute” - Chinese units stormed Hill 111 and the surrounding areas. The Marine positions, located near Panmunjom, the site of ongoing “peace” talks, were suddenly overrun by thousands of Chinese.

Lt. Lindquist, or “Big Red” as his men called him, was on Hill 111 during the devastating assault. In the frenzy of hand-to-hand fighting, bayonet charges, and exploding grenades, he lost contact with his men. The chaos, death, and destruction were so terrible that men simply disappeared in the carnage. Lt. Lindquist was one of them.

Marines heading to Hill 111. (Photo credit: USMC)

Missing In Action

No one knows exactly what happened to the 23-year-old officer on the fateful night of July 24, but according to a Marine from his platoon, Lindquist was with his radioman, or “RTO,” on a reconnaissance mission when the Chinese attacked.

The two men were holed up in a bunker when hundreds of Chinese rushed towards them blowing bugles, firing weapons, and lobbing grenades.

At some point during the onslaught, a Chinese soldier threw a satchel charge - a bag filled with dynamite - into the bunker. Seconds later a horrific explosion occurred, destroying the dugout and everything around it.

The radioman miraculously escaped from the shelter and made it to friendly lines. He reported that he thought his lieutenant had been killed in the explosion, but he couldn’t be sure. The Marine Corps, not having verification of Lt. Lindquist's death, listed the Summit, New Jersey, officer as MIA, Missing In Action.

Link’s Raiders

With the armistice signed just days later and access to Hill 111 restricted, the destroyed bunker was never searched. Some of Lindquist’s platoon members, however, began to think that maybe their lieutenant might have survived. It was highly unlikely, they realized, but without confirmation of his death, there was always a chance.

As the days and weeks passed, the Marines held on to the hope that Lindquist, one of the most respected men in How Company, was still alive and would eventually be released as a POW. They watched and waited  . . . and wrote a letter.

In a card addressed to the lieutenant’s wife, Betty, who had married Carl just eight months earlier, the Marines wrote:

Dear Mrs. Lindquist,

We, the men of the Second Platoon, How Company, know this is a time of anxiety for you and since we have not met you personally, we feel some hesitancy in intruding on upon your sorrow; however, we hope you will allow us to express our deep regret that your husband is reported missing.

Lieutenant Lindquist was one of the finest officers any of us ever worked for. We proudly called ourselves “Link’s Raiders,” and we would have followed him any place he chose for us to go. . .

Should God grant the safe return of Lieutenant Lindquist, we ask that you convey our feeling to him and ask him to contact us in order that we may wish him well.

We thank you.

Carl and Betty were married on November 8, 1952, exactly 66 years ago today. (Photo credit: Ron Lindquist)

A Terrible Emptiness

A year later, on July 26, 1954, Lindquist’s wife and parents were notified that the US Marine Corps had issued a “presumptive finding of death.” Carl Lindquist was presumed dead and moved to the KIA, Killed In Action, list. The family was devastated.

To this day, his remains have never been recovered.

Lt. Lindquist’s parents, Carl, Sr. and Mildred, died forty years ago. His father passed away in 1977 and his mother a year later. “My parents continued to pray and hope that Carl would come home,” said Carl’s younger brother, Ron. “They never gave up believing that he would return.”

Ron, now 85, realized at a young age how lucky he was to have Carl as a big brother. “He was my best friend,” he recalled recently. “He taught me to play sports and let me play often with him and his friends. I was the best man at his wedding.”

Ron has waited nearly 70 years for some type of closure on his brother.

With Veterans Day approaching, we salute our fallen brothers in arms and their families. They are a powerful reminder that freedom isn’t free.

Postscript

I met Ron Lindquist and his wife, Brenda, this April when the couple was in Seoul as guests of the South Korean government’s Ministry of Patriots and Veterans Affairs.

In a briefing given by members of the US Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency (DPAA) and ROK Ministry of National Defense Agency for KIA Recovery and Identification (MAKRI), Ron was told that the site of the bunker where his brother was presumably killed had been located on the DMZ.

It was the first time Ron had heard the good news, and the packed room was immediately abuzz with excitement and emotion. I’ll never forget the look on Ron’s face the moment he realized he might be one step closer to bringing his brother home.

Until US search teams are given permission to enter the DMZ, however, Ron’s long wait, like thousands of others who lost loved ones during the Korean War, will continue.

Lest we forget.