The following is a manuscript written by Ellsworth (Al) Johnson detailing his experiences with PATRICK in France and BLUEBERRY China, made available to us by his daughter, Nancy Moseler, to whom we are extremely grateful.

It is about 30,000 words or 70 pages and although it is reproduced in its entirety on this page, some may prefer to view or print it out as a Word document which may be downloaded here.

 

ONE SMALL PART
by Al Johnson

This story is dedicated to the men of O.S.S. Group "Patrick" and O.G. Commando Group "Blueberry"; both of which served their country well behind enemy lines. The story is as I saw and experienced it. There are probably many little instances that occurred, but were not recorded because of lapse of time or a lapse of memory. Also, this is dedicated to my grandchildren who kept after me to tell them what I had done during the second world war.

A special thanks is given to Larry Drew and Jim Gardner for their input into this story, and also to Roy Gallant who became a special friend while fighting in the field.

Chapter I

There are five of us in the belly of the B-24 Bomber, parachutes on, gear and side arms in place. Our rifles are secured in the containers in the bomb bay. We aren't the only plane heading for France; four other B-24's are in the formation. We are all at 10,000 feet headed for the drop zone into our assigned area at Eguzon, France, 400 miles behind German lines. Our assignment—to work with the French Underground, called the Maquis or F.F.I. [French Forces of the Interior]; first, to capture a hydro-electric plant, then to harass the Germans, and also to collect intelligence to be radioed back to London Headquarters. The French are expecting us because our contact has been there for several months making plans to receive us. His code name is "Hugh". It was the night of August 14th, 1944 and we had been sent to support operation "Anvil"—the southern invasion of France.

It seemed a tremendous assignment! All of this was heaped upon us at the last minute. We had taken our training well, had done all of the things required of us and had actually enjoyed the commando training, relishing our physical contact in simulated attacks. Now, as we were flying in, came the realization that we would have to put all of this into practice.

With time to think, my mind went back to Denver, Colorado. I was sitting in a holding camp awaiting assignment to an outfit, when a notice was placed on the bulletin board about a need for volunteers for a dangerous assignment. Waiting around was not very dangerous, and so the bulletin announcement sounded like something I should try. The list was long but I was friendly with the First Sergeant in the camp and he placed my name on the top of the list. This proved to be a big help. It so happened that only twelve were needed and because of the need for speed the first twelve were taken. We all had the same qualifications—we were medics. We had never heard of the O.S.S., but were interested in getting into an outfit that would see some action. After many questions were asked, we were taken into the squad leader's office in the barracks and were interviewed by an officer from O.S.S. We were told to get our things together and report in front, ready to be sent away.

It is interesting to look back to see how your life takes twists and turns. My disappointment at being a medic was great, but as I am flying along to meet the enemy I decided that I had had good training; not only as a medic to save lives, but as an underground agent to take lives, if necessary.

Upon being drafted, I was sent to Ft. Custer in Battle Creek, Michigan. All the men I went down with were immediately assigned to units of the army. I was put to work in the post office. It seemed like a good job, but it wasn't long before I discovered myself enroute to Abeline, Texas for basic training. The next six weeks were spent in hot, dry, conditions where I learned to march, eat, and think army. I enjoyed it. I had been born in an Army hospital and had spent the first years of my life with a father that was regular army. After these six weeks, I was sent to Ft. Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas, and ended up at the army hospital there. I found out through aptitude tests that I could apply for surgical training. This I did, and took advantage of all the training I could get. It paid off in the end.

I was disappointed enough at being a medic, and was certainly not going to allow myself to sit out the war in a hospital somewhere, while everyone else I knew was probably in a fighting outfit. If worse came to worse, I knew that surgical training would at least keep me out of a ward where I could expect to be no more than a bed-pan jockey. I also knew that I would continue to apply for something else until I could get out of this bad situation I was in.

Before any of us were accepted, our backgrounds were looked into. We had to undergo a thorough investigation by officers from O.S.S. We were asked questions about our character and background, and if we spoke, or could learn a foreign language. The questions were fired at us rapidly, and I tried to answer them as honestly as possible. Agents were also sent to our respective home towns to gather information about us. We also had to be cleared by the F.B.I. before we were allowed into the O.S.S.

After arriving in Washington, D.C., those of us from Denver were sent by truck through the back streets to a place called the "Gas Factory". This was an old, seemingly abandoned building, near the heart of downtown that was being used by the O.S.S. as its headquarters. Who ever thought anything important would be taking place in such an old and rundown structure? We entered an alley, and with the lights out on the trucks, we were secreted into the building by means of an outside metal stairway. Trying to keep twelve eager men quiet on metal stairs was not an easy task. We entered a long hall that had the smell of must and disuse. Guarded voices could be heard behind the closed doors that we passed. Soon we entered a large room at the end of the hall and stood in the dimmed lights of the bulbs dangling from the ceiling. We were briefed once again, as to what it meant to join the O.S.S., and asked if any of us would like to back out. They had to be kidding! Not one of us had even considered that possibility! This was too interesting to back out now. After we were sworn in, the same truck that brought us here was ready to take us to Area "F". This, we found out, was the Congressional Country Club, made available to us for our training.

The Congressional Country Club had a large club house that offered many of the original facilities that had been available to congressmen. There was a plush lounge area, fine dining rooms, a large ball room, and exercise and gym facilities on the lower level. The hand ball courts became a place that many of us frequented when our schedules would allow. Dress was informal and rank was very seldom shown, so I became familiar with officers and enlisted men alike. We were all treated equally. Calisthenics and daily 5 mile runs before breakfast, conditioned our bodies and minds to a fine point. This was all important for our future survival behind enemy lines. Weapons training and hand-to-hand combat were taught in the successive weeks and we, in turn, became experts in these fields. Now I was ready, and I had the added knowledge of medical training to go along with these skills.

The drone of the four engines worked its was into my very inner self and even though sleep was out of the question I became very relaxed. The planes' radio operator asked me if I would care to listen to the B.B.C. I accepted and listened to the London Philharmonic play very pleasing music.

Time slipped by and we approached the moment of departure. When the call came, we all assumed our positions on the floor of the bomber. In order to parachute from a bomber, the ball turret had been removed before take off leaving a large hole in the bottom about 60" in diameter. This was overlaid with a piece of plywood so no one would accidentally step into the hole and fall out. When the plywood was removed you could see lights on the ground below. It all happened so soon! The engines slowed and I could feel the plane descend. This was it! No turning back! My mouth turned dry and my pulse quickened. As I sat there waiting for my turn to leave the plane, my mind flashed back to the jump training I had received.

We were sent to Casablanca, North Africa by ship. The ship was the General W. A. Mann, a liberty ship built by Wm. Kaiser. The notable thing about this ship was that it rolled continuously. I believe it even rolled in port on smooth water. The trip was almost 30 days in length, as we had to zigzag in order to avoid being spotted by submarines. The entire convoy was slow, as we could go no faster than the slowest vessel.

After arriving, we were transferred by rail car to Guietville, Algiers in North Africa. This was the first week of April, 1944. It took us about 8 days—heading eastward across the Atlas Mountains, through Oran, Sidi-Bel Adess and finally arriving in Guietville, a small town just east of Algiers. All of us had looked forward to a short visit in Casablanca. This is the city we had heard of from the movie with Humphrey Bogart; a mysterious city that held all of the intrigue of the African coast—ancient houses and cafés with dark figures lurking in doorways—brightly lit cafés and people from all parts of the world mingling together over drinks and strange food. Boy, did we want to visit the heart of Casablanca! The city was off limits, but that would not have mattered to us. We all would have left our command and gone to town except for one thing, we were immediately shipped out and on our way to Algiers.

I remember arriving in Algiers. The town was laid out on a hillside that glided down to the sea. For protection, this was probably a common thing to do. Rows and rows of houses and buildings seemed stacked on top of each other, all gazing out to the Mediterranean Sea. A long wide stairway worked its way from the docks up through the city of buildings that reached the very top of the hill. It was a magnificent sight, that could only by appreciated first hand. It was unfortunate that I could not spend more time exploring this ancient city, but the training we were to go through prevented me from doing this.

The rail cars we used to get there were old 40 and 8 boxcars used during the First World War. Boy, it was a rotten trip! C-rations were issued us, but we supplemented our diet by the purchase of bread and wine along the way. An order had been issued that we could not leave the train at the little towns we stopped at. This order did not bother us as we made our way to the areas where we could bring the local cuisine. Guietville was to be our home until we learned to parachute. It was originally intended that we learn the art of parachuting at Ft. Benning, Ga., but because of the need to get us overseas the place chosen was a school run by Benning personnel. This provided the O.S.S. with the option of sending us to France or Italy from this point. There were Italian groups with us as well, and they stayed on after we were sent to England.

We were again put through strenuous physical training. We were housed in tents for the first time that many of us could remember. Local Algerians were hired to do the menial tasks of preparing our meals and housekeeping duties. We were in intensive training because time was moving fast and the war needed our expertise. New types of physical training were started and some of the more difficult ones involved the use of ropes. These were attached to high poles and we had to climb them hand over hand to the top. From there we scaled a wall and would be required to drop to the other side without breaking bones or damaging ourselves in another way. After all of this additional training was completed we were sent to a small field that seemed hardly large enough to accommodate a C-47 airplane; nevertheless, we became airborne and took off flying over the Mediterranean Sea. The area for our practice drops was close to the shoreline and it seemed we would land in the sea each time we left the plane. None of us ever did ditch in the water, but it was always on our minds. After our last qualifying jump we were awarded our wings and diplomas. Pride swelled in our breasts as the base commander pinned on our wings.

The wind from the slip stream rushed past my ears as my feet carried me out of the hole and into complete darkness. In my mind's eye I could see the training I had received in the English Commando School. There they taught me to exit a bomber through the hole left by removing the ball turret of the plane as we were doing in France. Normally, a paratrooper leaves from the side door of a C-47 with a tremendous snap of the chute and harness.

I took a quick look at my watch just before I left the plane and it read 1:20 A.M.—my entry into France on the night of August 14th, 1944. This jump reminded me of practice jumps I had made from a hot air balloon when we took the British Commando training at Ringway Field in England. At that time we were driven to a field that had large balloons attached by 1000 ft. cables to a truck containing a wench. This allowed us to be raised for jumping and could also be retrieved for the next "stick" to occupy and be raised for its jump. In the field were many sheep as well. We were jokingly reminded not to land in any of the sheep dung that covered areas of the ground. It was a beautiful ride, both up by balloon and down by parachute. No noise, no slip stream, just your own heart beat sounding like a sledge hammer vibrating inside your rib cage. Down I came, fully convinced I had taken the fastest trip to suicide! The chute opened and I was brought to reality and the present. As I grabbed my risers I could see the bonfires set in a pattern that allowed us to enter enemy territory. A certain agreed-upon-pattern had to be recognized before we were allowed to jump. The Germans would sometimes build fires in order to intercept a drop. We had to be on the alert for this. I slowly descended to the ground. The height was low, about 500 feet, so it was only a few seconds before I hit the ground. Flying at night, the distance can easily be miss-judged. This was the closest we could jump to the ground without all of us being hurt. It takes about 350 feet to open the chute with a static line, so you can see the remaining distance was speedily traveled. I went into the prescribed and well learned roll. When I had completely stopped I was startled by a figure standing over me. My instant reaction was to get out of my harness and pull my pistol.

"Just relax, you've come to the right place. I'm with the Maquis," the figure told me.

"I'm sure glad to hear you speak English," I responded.

"Are you all right?" he questioned me.

"I'm fine, thanks," was all I could respond.

"Let help you out of your harness so you can go help the others."

He explained to me that he was in the First World War and had stayed in France. He was an American and was working with the underground. I thanked him again, but I never found out what his name was, nor did I recall seeing him again.

After we were assisted by the Maquis, we assembled ourselves to see that everyone had arrived safely. We discovered that only three planes had dropped their cargo and men. This made it necessary for us to hide until the next night, in hopes the planes would return. This could have its problems. The Germans would be curious why three bombers came over so low to the ground. After all, if they were that low they should have crashed. We headed for a near-by woods and waited for the next night to close its darkness around us. We posted sentries around the woods and were assisted by the Maquis, who kept us well concealed. The next night, right on schedule, the two missing planes arrived. We were in place and had the same two bonfire patterns lit. It didn't take long before the rest of the group came down. It wasn't long after that before the French women in the area latched onto the parachutes. They used the materials for under clothing - a commodity sadly lacking in occupied France.

The Maquis were well organized. After all, they had been fighting the Germans for many years already. Our arrival had been the force to unite these people and provide them with weapons and materials to make their fight easier. All of our gear, weapons and supplies were loaded onto trucks. We climbed aboard and off we went into the darkness, headed for a small village by the name of LeBlanc. The trucks we were in had belonged to the Germans. Any needs like transportation or gasoline were stolen by the underground and put to good use.

We also discovered, in the very near future, that the helmets we were issued in England were a detriment to our cause. At night, when most of our travel took place, the helmet had the same silhouette as the German helmet and several times we were shot at by the locals. Fortunately we survived these encounters. The only solution was to purchase berets from the French. DuBois and Harnois, two of our men that spoke fluent French, made a trip into to town to purchase enough head wear for all of us. This did eliminate the problem. Probably some French woman used my helmet to cook beans in... I never did see it again.

The village of LeBlanc, France appeared before us. The city was probably no larger than one or two hundred people. With the lights out on the trucks we were going down country roads at a good clip, certainly not at a safe speed. But why be concerned? We had youth on our side and the French as our friends. It never occurred to us to be afraid. Even though the Germans were camped about 5 miles from us, we had the confidence that comes with being young and well trained. It wasn't long before we swung into a yard and we all got out of the three trucks. We had stopped between a small café and a house with a barn in the rear. The Maquis quickly escorted us into the barn and told us to bury ourselves in the hay. This was to be our temporary home until we could make plans to carry out our assignment. The café was a welcome sight. We knew it was a place we could spend a good many hours. We all had sufficient French money, but we found that the people were very generous and did not accept our money in payment for food.

"Get your foot out of my face, you dumb-bell. It's bad enough that I can't breath," someone complained. Sgt. Dolozal yelled back, "Keep quiet you guys! Don't you know we are close to the Germans? You'll have your chance to be heroes later. Now get some rest." Someone also piped up from the other side of the barn, "I'm sure going to find another place to stay than this barn."

"Shut up and don't snore", commanded Dolozal. This was the beginning of many sleepless nights in many strange places. We were to realize, as time went on, that the barn was to be looked at as a first rate hotel.

The assignment we were given back at Brockhall, Northhampton, England was to capture and hold a hydro-electric plant. I recall sitting in the main hall at Brockhall with those chosen to go into France. This group was called "Patrick". Code names were assigned to each operational group [known as O.G.'s] and ours was known as "Patrick". The officers and enlisted men were all present. A large map of the area surrounding the hydro-electric plant was displayed on one wall, and the meeting was called to order. Lt. Col. Serge Obolenski, our commanding officer, began to explain our operation. After a verbal explanation and a description were given to us, we were shown pictures of the plant we had to capture. The plant was located on a river that flowed near the city of Eguzon. The river was good sized and so the plant was also good sized. We would be jumping near here at a small town named LeBlanc. A minimum amount of information was given to us about the plant or the surrounding area. Some pictures were passed around but they did not do justice to the actual installation. Maybe this was wise, as we could have been discouraged before we started. I doubt there was one of us that could believe the enormity of the assignment.

I, for one, had never seen a hydro-electric plant and was overwhelmed at its size. I couldn't believe we had to capture it. Us with only 25 men, and at that time an unknown number of French Underground. Hey, we were to be 400 miles from any of our own troops. Well, I had volunteered for this, so I had to make the best of it. I wasn't really afraid as much as I was overcome with the size of the assignment.

We were sworn to secrecy and all leaves were canceled. Our job now was putting together all the things we would need for the operation. One thing needed for sure would be plastic explosives. This was something new the army was working on and we were given the privilege of using it in the field. Several of us were assigned the job of putting together the right sized packages. Working with this stuff proved to be a headache. The plastic explosive was really made up of nitroglycerin, and after working it into packages about the size of a pound of hamburger, it would enter our blood stream and give us a good headache. After a short break we could return to the job until it repeated the process. Hob Miller, Grant Hill, Roy Gallant, Bob Reppenhagen and myself, plus Rudy Dolozal were the ones that got to do most of it. Jim Gardner was away at radio school along with Chuck Cotureaux. Of course, Rudy was our demolition man and it was his responsibility to see that the packages were right.

Brockhall held a lot of memories for us. This is where we spent our time getting to know each other. This is where we worked together and played together. This is where we made bonds that would prove to be necessary when we went into combat. Brockhall was unique in that it was a large manor house that was self-contained. It had its own chapel and cemetery adjacent to the manor. Other out buildings contained a horse barn and storage sheds. They reminded me of country homes in films about England. We were not allowed to visit these areas but I did go through them one time with Capt. Cook. The rooms in Brockhall were all heated by individual fireplaces. One room was set aside for my dispensary and I spent many days there when I had patients in sickbay.

We purchased bicycles in the town of Whedon that provided us with our local transportation. Whedon was a small town about four miles from Brockhall and had several pubs and restaurants. With the help of the young ladies in town we were able to enjoy our evenings. I became friendly with one family and before I jumped into France I gave my bicycle to the man of the family. I knew I would not need it and even upon returning I knew I would be heading home and somewhere else to jump into.

CHAPTER II

After securing ourselves in the small village of LeBlanc, a patrol was sent out to reconnoiter the hydro-electric plant near the city of Eguzon. It wasn't long before the patrol returned and told the rest of us that a small company of Germans, in charge of a Lieutenant, was guarding the place. Our information also told us that the place was surrounded by booby traps, placed there to help the Germans. Fortunately, this bit of information was incorrect. We found that the Germans felt they were secure at that point in the war, and we were most happy to discover that obstacle wasn't present. False information like that could keep the Maquis at bay, as they were constantly harassing the Germans. With inadequate weapons it was not possible to do much damage. With our arrival, heavy weapons were brought into play.

It was now time to take action, so we moved to the Mouhet area, which was well situated for the Maquis Headquarters. This was located in a large woods about 10 miles from our objective and about one quarter mile from the road leading to Paris from Limoges. Since this road was put out of commission by the Maquis, any German movements were compelled to use side roads and detours, which the underground had purposely provided so that ambushes would be set up. This whole plan was carried out within a ten mile radius of our camp.

A meeting was called with the underground soon after our arrival, and plans were made that within two days the Germans would be attacked in their bivouac area. We had a total of about 200 French, including our 25 men. We were about 10 miles from Eguzon, and had to circumvent the city of Argenton which was held by the Germans. This whole area was infested with Germans, small groups of them ... enough to keep the local citizens in line. Because of this we could not travel in a convoy, but had to make our trip in crowded trucks down back roads and cow paths that could be found. Passing through small villages was like a circus entering town. It was obvious the French knew our intent. Since many of the citizens, both male and female, were in the underground, it was understood that the people in the country would know of our work. This had its disadvantages. One distinct plus was that we received information useful to our London office on troop movements and strengths. Sometimes, the desire, on the part of the French peasantry was too great and information from one area did not confirm information from another. It was our duty to accept all and glean what we felt to be true.

When we finally all arrived, we located ourselves in and around the dam, making sure we were not seen. Because there were people that collaborated with the Germans, they knew we were on the way. What we did not want them to know was how many of us there were and where we were located. Our point of arrival, of course, was at the bottom of the hydra plant. From this point we could look up and see the massive structure looming above us. A road wound its way to the top and proceeded across it, finally disappearing in a cover of trees. The road presented the only clear way to the top. Going up the embankment would have been futile. A sensible means had to be thought of in order to take the plant without the loss of lives or the loss of the installation. Even a small number of Germans could have presented a formidable defense if we were to storm the fortifications. This would only constitute foolishness. The base of the plant contained the barracks and administration offices. This was our area of concentration.

Our problem was now complicated because a Captain Clavel, who was commanding the First Regiment of France located at Eguzon, planned to oppose us. The Petan Government had sent him there to aid the Germans in holding the city, as well as the dam. Col. Oblinski, under a flag of truce, invited the Captain to a meeting. Col. Oblinski said he had orders from General Koeing to the F.F.I. to take the dam as well as the city, and hold it; and would attack with a sizable force of paratroopers and underground. Seeing an American Colonel had a lot to do with Captain Clavel changing his mind, and he agreed that his objectives were the same as ours. It's surprising how weak some of the French had become under their German captors. Colonel Oblinski then suggested that Captain Clavel tell the Germans to leave the dam without a fight. The German Lieutenant must have been impressed, because it wasn't long before they all took off in trucks and cars, leaving behind most of their equipment and personal items. The hydro-electric plant was now in our hands, even though Eguzon was still held by the Germans. The capture of it would come later.

Many of us thought the barracks of the Germans would be a good place to stay. Whoever it was that boasted about staying in a better place than the barn, must have felt good about the barracks. It did look good, better than where we were staying back a LeBlanc. Well, it didn't take long to discover that the German forgot to take along their bedbugs. The place was crawling with them! So, back to our good ol' barn in the nice clean hay and straw.

Before leaving, I made a tour of the office area. Here I discovered a German official stamp with a Swastika and also a sheet of German stamps, unused. These I pocketed, along with a small German banner.

The French that had originally operated the hydro-electric plant were happy to get back to their jobs and take over operation of the plant again. Captain Clavel provided guards for the operation and we left knowing the dam would be secure.

After this, many small incidents took place in which we set up ambushes to slow down German movements and activities in the area. There were always German troops going from one place to the other and the underground would make it difficult for these movements. We were invited to participate whenever we had the desire. This was a constant harassment for the Germans, but the French were enjoying their new found source of ammunition and friends from America. Also, we were constantly sending messages back to London headquarters about these activities so the Allies would have a track on the movements of German troops in the area. A big push was on to withdraw Hitler's troops back to Germany. Also, the fact that the Southern invasion had taken place was another reason the Germans were on the move.

The French captured very few of the enemy. There was no place to keep them and no reason to feed them. By and large the French had had enough of the suppressive yoke of the Germans and were willing to offer a little retaliation of their own. Whatever information could be squeezed out was taken and then the captives were liquidated. On one occasion Captain Cook who headed a squad of men, including myself, stopped at the Maquis headquarters. We were on a reconnaissance patrol. The Maquis had a German officer in camp who had been questioned extensively. The German was surprised to see us and when he did he pleaded for his life. Captain Cook did what he could to prevent the French from doing the very thing the German officer knew would happen. It wasn't long before we heard a shot. War is such a crazy waste of everything.!

At the time we were there, we were told of a party of Germans that were in the area. Capt. Cook said, "It would be nice to get this patrol so I can question them. Maybe we can get some information from them that can be used by London."

Rudy Dolozal piped up, "We're ready if you are!" "O.K.," yelled Cookie, "Take the squad and hop in the truck." With this we were immediately shuttled off to the area.

Captain Cook was a man of great energy and drive. He was not a demanding person, but one that caused you to be very loyal to him. He did not waste a lot of words; when he spoke you knew you had to respond without question. He was eager to find these Germans. Word was given to us on a possible location and we were dropped off on a road across from a Chateau. I believe the name of it was Lussas Les Chateau. The road was not a heavily traveled one and I suppose the Germans were also looking for us. It was more comfortable to be the hunter than the hunted. From this point we spread out through the field surrounding the Chateau following hedgerows and trees. Some areas were quite open and at any time I expected the hear gun fire. None came.

Several of our men went around the left side toward the main entrance of the Chateau. Roy Gallant, Grant Hill, and I took the right side in order to circle the back. There we found several buildings which we approached cautiously. Down a small lane we heard some excited talking and we immediately investigated. Several children were there and one of them was on the ground. I thought he had been hurt but upon a closer look it proved he was having an epileptic seizure. Roy, who spoke fluent French, questioned the children as to what had happened. They responded in unison saying that the Germans had just been there and had gone down the path. I couldn't leave the boy with the seizure so I bent down to help. He had swallowed his tongue, but with Roy's help I was able to pull it out. I placed a small piece of wood, that I found near by, in the boys mouth between his teeth. This prevented him from biting his tongue. Feeling the boy was all right, we picked up our weapons and pursued the Germans down the path. It was soon obvious that we were too late to catch them, so we returned to the Chateau and found Captain Cook and the rest of the squad. The Chateau was occupied and the lady of the house invited us in for a meal. This was certainly a strange experience to have happen to you when you are in a foreign land and fighting the enemy. It was like taking a break in reality, or maybe what I was doing was not real. It was hard to imagine that people had to go on living, even though their world was being turned upside down. I wondered, at the time, how I would have reacted had I been in the spot she found herself. Who knows, her husband could have been part of the underground force...maybe the same one we were working with.

CHAPTER III


Things were beginning to jell. German troops began moving out of Eguzon early in the morning. It was now about the 16th of August. At that point no attempt was made to stop them, however, Cpt. Cook with several men, including myself, set out to block the road between Argenton and Eguzon. Trees were felled and one bridge was blown. This was to prevent the Germans from returning in case an attack was planned before they reached Chatearoux.

On August 18th, I went out with Capt. Cook and seven other men to set up an ambush. We were told there would be a movement of Germans. We were accompanied by a large number of Maquis. We had chosen our ambush location in a nice secluded area. Plenty of trees were located behind us and the road provided unlimited visibility in both directions. After setting up we sat down to await the arrival of the enemy. We covered an area about one-half mile long. The French Marquis comprised the greater number of the troops. We, being only seven in number, were interspersed along the line of underground fighters. We all carried small weapons. No guns larger than a 30 caliper machine gun were used. This was to be a hit-and-run operation. When the Germans arrived in the line of fire, we would use every available weapon on them and immediately withdraw into the woods and disappear.

The first day passed without activity. We had with us some K-rations and so we were not at the point of being starved. None-the-less, the inactivity of being in one place and waiting for something to happen, tended to work on our nerves. All of this was to end shortly. The next day around noon the local inhabitants found out where we were hiding and came out in number, including women and children. They brought with them large loaves of bread and bottles of wine. I remember one woman in particular pushing a wheelbarrow with a barrel of wine bouncing jauntily along. They also brought with them the information that the Germans had taken another route. What started out to be a fire fight, became a welcome party. They were anxious to see the Americans. For some, we were the first and only Americans they had seen. Groups of people like this got to be one of the problems we had to put up with.

We were constantly plagued with informers. The FTP, or French Communists, were informing on us, as well as various citizens that felt the Germans would prevail. It was next to impossible to ferret out all of these people, even though the F.F.I. (French Forces of the Interior) or Maquis were doing the best they could. Because of the loosely knit underground it was always a problem to keep things completely controlled, and so we had to live under the specter of betrayal.

With this ill-fated ambush past and the fact that the Germans were leaving Eguzon, we made our move to take over the city. When we first took possession of the city of Eguzon, the French forces led by Capt. Clavel, placed their heavy weapons squad, together with a heavy mortar, in the camp to strengthen the defenses and to keep the French units under control. Eguzon was a key position to control. It was on the main route of the Germans, as they pulled out of France on their way back to Germany.

On August 20th plans were completed for the defense of Eguzon. Capt. Cook set out with the demolition squad, who with Rudy Dolozal in charge, blew up two bridges near the city of Crozaunt. One of the bridges was a triple span constructed of stone and cement with steel reinforcements. Blowing this bridge was a spectacle that delighted the local population. They knew for sure they would be secure from the return of the Germans.

Having taken the city of Eguzon, Commandant LeClair of the Maquis, Capt. Clavel of the first French Regiment, and we Americans continued to organize and strengthen the defenses of Eguzon. It was decided that the First French Regiment would continue to hold the near perimeter posts around the transformer, dam, and turbine equipment while the Maquis would hold the two outer perimeters. One was a distance of about a mile and a half, and the other one about a 10 mile radius. This was done to prevent any German troops from coming too close to the vital installations. With all this area to cover, it was found that we did not have sufficient troops. More Maquis were required and so word was put out for additional volunteers. During the next week 600 additional men were added.

During this time of building, contact was established with a Capt. Edward at Freseline, about ten miles to the south of us. He was in charge of the Maquis in and around the Creuze region. He helped enormously in cutting roads in that region south and east of Eguzon. In the west, Capt. Richard organized the cutting of roads in the region of St. Benoit and Pressas. This extended the whole perimeter of defense to about 20 to 25 miles of the installations.

In the meantime, Chateauroux was liberated and the French Maquis staged a parade in celebration on the 28th of August and invited us to take part in the event. The various companies of the Maquis, as well as the Americans, took part in a parade. A wreath was laid at the grave of the Unknown Soldier at Argenton, as well as at Chateuroux, amidst great cheers and acclamation from the crowds. Many speeches were made by the local dignitaries and much expression was given by the women and children.

Before the speeches were finished word arrived that large columns of Germans had moved from Bordeaux, through the city of Chatallerault, west and north of Argenton and were located west of Poiteirs extending to the city of Meziers, supposedly heading northeast. The Germans had moved into Chatallerault and had shot the mayor and several officials. Hearing all of this, we immediately returned to LeBlanc. This was still our base of operation. Soon after arriving, Capt. Cook took me and several other men and set out to reconnoiter the roads leading form Tournon to LeBlanc and Tournon to Lureil. Not seeing any sign of Germans, we had stopped for a moment. At this time four of the men decided to take a short run toward the city of Yzeures. This was just a small town and not very far away. They were in a German jeep. We had decided to return to LeBlanc when the men returned. It looked as if the Germans had continued on, or had taken another route. Well, it didn't take but a few minutes before we saw them reappear in a cloud of dust. They had run smack into a road block of Germans. Their jeep slowed long enough to yell at us to follow because the enemy was "thicker than fleas on a dog". We followed in hot pursuit. Eight of us were no match for the number of Germans they reported seeing. From what we could gather, the Germans would not use the road leading to LeBlanc. It was decided they would use the road between Tournon and Lureil, and so an ambush was planned two miles east of Tournon.

A message arrived for Lt. Col. Oblinski saying that the Germans had given the citizens of Tournon and ultimatum stating that hostages would be shot if the road was not cleared by 9:00 that evening. Oblinski immediately sent a letter to the Germans demanding their surrender, and that we should have their answer within 12 hours. Our demand was delivered to the Germans by a local priest. It was felt this would be safer than sending one of our officers. Whoever we sent would not be allowed to return. Nevertheless, the following day the priest returned saying the Germans would respond with force. We had now committed ourselves. We immediately boarded trucks and sped as fast as possible to the chosen site on the road, about a mile west of Lureil. I could feel the adrenaline speeding into my system. The truck I was in was rumbling along at a speed that made me feel exhilarated. Something was up and I was a part of it.

Almost before we came to a complete stop some of the men were jumping to the ground. It felt good to get some of the men out of the trucks - we were packed in like sardines. It was late in the afternoon, but still light enough to see that the left flank was covered by the Maquis. They had two Bren Guns, one placed on a hill and the other covering the road on which the Germans were expected to approach. Of course interspersed between and around these guns were many of the underground with a variety of weapons -- those supplied by us as well as those taken from the Germans. Capt. Cook took our squad about 150 yards further on to the left of this road. We were equipped with two bazookas and one Bren gun; besides the rifles we all carried. At this point Capt. Cook took me with him and we moved down a slight incline along a hedgerow toward the road. It was as if we were on a Sunday afternoon stroll - talking of various things such as the growth of the brush that formed the hedgerow and remarking at the beauty of the fields that made up the area of ambush. Hedgerows were a common thing in France. They provided boundary lines between farms and provided wind breaks against the elements. It was just a pleasant walk and we were having little to no realization of what would take place with in a few short hours.

Lt. Col. Oblinski had taken some men and had covered the right flank. He had with him a Bren gun and several rifles. We had also brought a 3" mortar, and this was placed on the east side of the road to cover the approach of the Germans. Interspersed among us were the Maquis. It was difficult to determine the exact number, as they come from all walks of life and from all directions. As soon as the call went out, the underground responded in force. By the time we came on the scene, many had been there for some time waiting our arrival.

Capt. Cook and I waited. This was always the most difficult part of any ambush. It was approaching 2300 hours, or about eleven o'clock. Suddenly we heard the rumble of trucks and the familiar sound that comes from the movement of troops. At this point a remarkable thing happened. One man came into view riding a bicycle. He must have been the advance scout. It was obvious the Germans planned to sacrifice him to warn them of any resistance. I can see it all yet. The French underground had bazookas supplied by us, and one of them must have thought it would be a good way to start things off. As soon as the shell hit the man on the bicycle, the Germans deployed. The information given to us had led us to believe that we were to encounter a small force of about 100 men. This was far from the truth. What we found out later was that this small German unit was a vanguard of two German divisions. No wonder the answer to our request for them to surrender was ignored!

They drove up in trucks, deployed in perfect formation, and attacked simultaneously from the front and rear trying to destroy our rear line-up. This is where Capt. Cook and I were located with our squad. From our vantage point, Capt., Cook and I were vulnerable. Down the hedgerow that we had walked some three or four hours earlier, we could now see the faces of the enemy. It didn't take long to decide we were in a bad spot. At this time, the Germans had not yet seen us.

"Come on Johnny", yelled the Captain "We're in a bad spot."

"You're telling me?" I yelled back. "You can stay if you want, but I'm leaving."

At that point we both started back up the incline along the hedgerow and back to where the rest of the squad was located. Our return was hastened because the Germans had seen us and they began to fire a 20 mm. cannon after us as we retreated. Casually walking down three or four hours before, now became a run for our lives. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see the shells bursting behind us. I don't know which one of us came in first but we were breathing hard from the run. At about this same time, the Germans came up in great force around Col. Oblinski's right flank, coming to within 15 to 20 yards of the command post. There were a number of our men here, as well as many Maquis. Hand grenades were thrown at the enemy and several were killed, as well as many wounded. This stopped the German flanking movement and they withdrew.

Lt. Dumont, with his squad covering the right flank of the ambush, was in a small clump of woods bordering the road. On his left were small numbers of Maquis extending down to a point which traversed the road. Directly to Lt. Dumont's right was a mortar squad. At a little after 2300 hours Lt. Col. Oblinski's men began firing. Just prior to this, we in Capt. Cooks' squad had already made contact with the enemy and were laying down a barrage of bullets. About 20 minutes after we had opened fire, Lt. Dumont began laying down a mortar barrage, trying to stop the Germans from overrunning our flank. Upon seeing what was happening, Dumont's forward observer quickly returned to the mortar squad and stopped them from firing, because they were operating too close to where we were. We thought the Germans were doing the mortaring, and it wasn't until later that we found out our own men were responsible. It was so dark, and with so much confusion going on, it was not a bit surpassing that something like this could happen.

We were doing the best we could against great odds, and were hoping the call to withdraw would some soon. Compared with the two divisions facing us, we were a small handful of people. We had to remind ourselves we were not here to win the war by ourselves, but merely to harass and delay the Germans on their return to the Fatherland.

Not making it known to Lt. Dumont, the Maquis forces on his left flank withdrew, taking with them two of his men. These two had been guarding the entrance to the woods. The reason they did this, we found out later, was that they were told that Lt. Dumont had been killed along with the rest of his men. During the time that Lt. Dumont was guarding the right flank on top of the road, Capt. Cook and I, along with our squad, were holding the left flank parallel to the road. A hill of considerable size separated the two squads. Our men were placed at about 150 foot intervals with Maquis filling the gaps in between. We were equipped with one bazooka and one Bren gun. The rest of us had rifles. A farm house was located about 100 yards down the road from where we were, and it was discovered shortly after this that the Germans were making a flanking movement behind that farm house. This put us in a bad spot. Cpl. Harnois, our Bren gunner opened fire on them and was able to break up the encirclement. The Germans realized we had positions on this flank and soon withdrew.

It was now completely dark and at this point Capt. Cook and some of the men withdrew to a point about 300 yards to the rear. In the darkness, and with the rain beginning to come down, three of us became separated and lost contact with the main body of the squad. To make it worse, we were not told of the re-assembly point four miles to the south, at a farm house near a small village. Roy Gallant, Tom McQuire, and I walked what seemed like several miles, but was not very far. We could still hear faint sounds of firing. It must be that some of the Maquis had not given up as yet. In walking, we discovered we had crossed the main road the Germans had used when they ran into our ambush. We were now considerably to the left of the area where we made contact with the enemy. Suddenly, out of the gloom a large woods appeared ahead of us. We were miserably wet and tired. Everything looked fairly safe and so we laid down on the soft, wet floor of the woods and it wasn't long before we were asleep. It was now somewhere around 2:00 in the morning. After about three hours sleep I woke up to see a silvery gray light in the east. I shook the other two men and we prepared to leave and try to find the rest of our outfit.

It was a good thing Roy was with us because he spoke French. If it wasn't for him, Tom and I would have had a great time trying to make ourselves understood. We moved out to the road again and found the farmhouse that had been seen on our entry to the woods the night before. This was the same house that Harnois had driven the Germans away from during our firefight. The farmer saw us coming and immediately directed us to the barn. He told us to bury ourselves in the hay and he would get us something to eat. Having had no food since the previous day, this sounded like something we could use and we eagerly awaited his return. When he did return, Roy asked him if he had seen any Germans. He said he had not seen any since yesterday but that we should hide just to make sure.

That same morning Capt. Cook and two men set out looking for us. They had returned to the battle site, thinking that we may have been killed. No Germans were encountered, but they did find an abandoned car. This they took, and as we were just finishing our bread, wine and cheese we heard a vehicle drive up. When we heard this we poked our heads up cautiously and peeked out of the hayloft window. We could hear English words spoken and so we knew someone had come to find us. We surely were happy to see the captain and the men he had with him.

CHAPTER IV

When everyone was finally assembled back to Eguzon a message was waiting for Col. Oblinski that told him he was relieved of his duties there and that he was to move on another area. Capt. Cook then took over command and we worked with the F.F.I. commanders in the area, a Major Hugh and a Major Franck. From there we went with Major Franck back to LeBlanc, so we could be within striking distance of Eguzon if the need came to ward off any further attack by the Germans. Patrols were sent out, but by this time the long German column had passed.

For the next two days, beginning on the 7th of Sept., Capt. Cook, and seven of us in his squad, reconnoitered the area near a secondary highway leading up to the city of Chatearoux, which the Germans had been using for their retreat. We were informed by a local farmer that the Germans had been bivouaced with in a few hundred yards of this highway. We scouted in both directions trying to locate them. The surrounding woods and highway were littered with a lot of equipment belonging to the Germans. I remember going through a wooded area and seeing a mound of dirt, just freshly laid with a German rifle stuck in the ground supported by its bayonet. On the top of the rifle was a German helmet. This must have been a casualty resulting from the battle we had had with them two weeks before.

Our work seemed to be coming to a close in this assignment. Several patrols were conducted around the areas of Eguzon and Chateuroux, but no sign of the enemy showed up. The French were stronger now and were certainly better equipped. With the Germans out of the area, or at least on the run, the local population felt it was necessary to make examples of those women who had fraternized with the Germans. In the city of Argenton, we saw women taken to the public square to have their heads shaved. This was done to signify to the rest of the people their disgrace for the things they had done to their countrymen.

Plans were now underway to get out, so a small field was chosen that could be reached by a C-47 airplane. We radioed that we would be in a field just north of the city of Chateauroux on the 13th of September. Early that morning we set out to capture this small field. As was often the case, some little pockets of Germans were left behind. This small air field was still being used by the Germans for pilots that had to have their planes re-fueled, and also to have a place for minor repairs. We chose the date well. We never knew if it was by shrewd calculation or just plain luck, but there were no German planes on the field at the time. We only had to hold the field for a short period and we were hoping the rest of the operation would go as well. After encircling the control tower and the barracks, with the help of the underground, we advanced. Surprise was on our side. Before the small German element involved could make a move, we had secured the field and were now awaiting the arrival of our plane. You could see the surprise on the face of the airfield commander. He probably thought he had seen his last days. Whether or not he knew about the Americans in the area, or whether he figured he would be over run eventually, we will never know. All we wanted to do was use his field for a short time in order to get out. What happened after that was his problem. What the underground did we no longer had any control over since as soon as we left the ground things were out of our hands.

Well, it didn't take long before we heard the drone of the plane's engines, and soon after that the wheels set down on the grassy field. All we took back with us were our weapons, so loading was no problem. As you might expect, there was nothing less than a Major in the group picking us up. It seemed that everyone that wanted a visit to occupied France, looked for the opportunity to get there. The Maquis had brought with them many bottles of champagne. These were opened as a celebration of our leaving them. A jovial mood was in the air by the time we were ready to take off. Down the field we rumbled and became airborne in a state of rollicking laughter. The pilot, in a mood of generosity, give us a bird's-eye view of the bombed areas that the Eighth Airforce had given to many of the cities. We had a terrific trip back! The navigator was in no position to tell us where we were. Finally, Capt. Cook took our land map and directed us toward the coast of France. From there we could tell we were heading for the coast of England.

We had to stay under the coastal radar as we were an unscheduled flight. Outside of one small contingent of the Eighth Airforce, very few knew of the existence of the O.S.S. so the pilots could not submit a flight plan. If anything would happen, no one would admit to having known about us. We were taking the chance of being an unidentified aircraft, and therefore being an enemy plane. Coming in over the channel, we were between one and two hundred feet off the water. It seemed the waves could be touched by our hands if we could reach out. We were fascinated by the closeness of the water. While in this state of fascination, we sighted the White Cliffs of Dover. As they moved towards us the song written about them came to mind. We soared higher and higher to avoid crashing into them and rode over their tops as gracefully as a gull when approaching an obstacle. Good, we hadn't been detected by English radar and no fighters had intercepted us. As soon as we were over friendly soil, our pilot radioed Harrington Field that we were on the way. Our mission accomplished, we felt we had done the job assigned us and we were ready for whatever came our way next.

CHAPTER V

We arrived back at Brockhall and things sure looked good to me. I had been through quite a bit. More that I thought I would ever do in the short time I had been around. I am sure most of the men felt the same way. Could we ever go back to being the same men we were when we first came into the service? This was something that entered my mind as we all gathered in the main hall of the Manor Brockhall for our debriefing.

Our squad tents were still pitched, and we found our old bunks ... the same ones we had occupied before we jumped into France. After our debriefing, we were allowed to go out on short passes. The debriefing consisted of trying to remember all of the things that happened to us during the time we were in France and especially while under fire. Trying to put everything into the proper perspective was not an easy task. We were all glad when this part was finished.

A place we visited often before we jumped into France was a little pub called the "Spotted Cow". It was just down the road from the city of Whedon, and a short distance from Brockhall. We could get there by walking through fields. This was by far the shorter distance. This had become a regular hangout for us prior to our jump, and now we were eager to go back and let our English friends know that we were all right. It was a quiet place and typical of the setting one would expect of an English Pub. The mane must have had some significance to the locals, even though it seemed a strange one to us. Darts and cribbage were the evening's entertainment, and a good many times I was beaten by the men who played it on a regular basis. This always cost me a pint of Bitters, but I was happy to pay up ... it made the old boys at the pub feel good.

After our debriefing period, we were also allowed passes to Northhampton. This was a fairly good sized city about 9 miles from Brockhall. Some of us that had already been debriefed were allowed to go in for the evening. On one occasion several of us hopped the truck for Northhampton, and spent the evening at a movie, and then stopped off at the USO club for a cup of tea and a sweet roll. When the call came that the truck was ready to return, I failed to exit the USO on time and watched as its taillights became smaller and smaller. I was left alone and nine miles from camp. Well, I'd been alone before and I did know the direction back to camp.

I set out on foot, but I knew it would be a long walk! As I left the city of Northhampton, the fog began rolling in. Now England is known for its fogs and this one was as good as they come. It was soon evident that I was not alone. I heard, in the distance, a faint clipping of heels as they beat a tattoo on the black topped highway. As they approached me I imagined all sort of things that could take place. Jack-the-ripper had returned - the hounds of the Baskerville would soon be heard - Sherlock Holmes would soon be approaching. Out of the fog a silhouette was beginning to form. The sounds became louder and suddenly, "Even'n mate. Some what of a fog you know?" "Miss your truck?" And with that he was off before I could acknowledge his presence. Interesting people these English.

I knew I had to be back by reveille at 6:00 A.M., but it was around 12:30 when I passed through the gate by the guard house leading to camp. I was plenty damp, because of the fog, but no worse for the 9 mile walk. I would certainly would make sure to catch the return truck next time!

After we had settled in for a few days, we were given a seven day leave. We could go anywhere we wanted to. Some of the men went to Ireland, but I chose London. It had always looked good to me. I thought it would be nice to see the city that we had heard so much about. Even the train ride was a novelty. The passenger coaches had doors that opened to the platform. Each door was an entrance to a compartment that would seat 6 people in comfort. We traveled with about twice that amount in each compartment, together with many standing in the hallway that connected each compartment. This caused the conductor to do a lot of pushing and shoving to make his way between compartments to collect tickets. Getting on the train in Northhampton brought us to London in about an hour and a half. Most of the riders on the train were in uniform. I had two months pay on me and I could live well.

Seeing the city of London was more of a shock than anything. The Germans had done their job well - London was a shambles. Not only had Jerry bombed the city by airplane, but recently had used the V-2 rockets. As a matter of fact the V-2's were still being used while I was there. I suppose these were the beginning of what we now know as missiles. They appeared to be a long tube with fins on the rear to guide them, and when they stopped running and the motor quit, you had to wait just a short time before the explosion could be heard and felt. Just about every building was demolished or in such bad shape that it could not be used, or even identified as a building.

"Here comes one now", someone shouted. It could be heard a good distance away. I ran out of the hotel I was staying in, and because it was night, you could see the flames shooting out of the back of it as it threaded it's way to the end of its flight. The engine stopped and you could see the V-2 stop in mid air and slowly make its descent to the ground. Each one was provided with a certain amount of fuel that would carry it to various parts of London or the surrounding area. The V-2 were in constant use now, and even when we returned to Brockhall we would occasionally see one go overhead. The city of Coventry was north of us and the Germans were trying to put out the power station there. We were told none of them reached that far. The irony of it all would be to be hit by a V-2 rocket after having been through France and returned safely.

Leaves go too fast! When all of us were back at Brockhall we could feel something in the wind. We knew our tour of duty was not over. We also figured with the movement of the war in Europe that we would not go back there. That left only one place and we figured we would all be heading for the Pacific. This soon became evident when it was announced that we could either volunteer for China or be sent back to the regular army. With the choices given us, everyone volunteered to go and so we readied the camp for departure.

We not only had to make the Manor ready but had also to do something with the mascots. We had a dog and a cat. They blended well with each other, but we were not certain about us. The dog was trained to bark at airplanes when they went overhead. You could see him running across fields, looking up and barking until the plane was out of sight. The cat, on the other hand, was taught to parachute. Several of the men had fashioned a parachute out of items we had around. By dropping him from the roof of Brockhall, he would descend gracefully to the ground with claws extended and with what appeared to be a smile on his face. As soon as the ground was contacted he would take off and hide. His parachute was a give-away and he could always be recovered. He seemed to enjoy it as he never left camp. His name was "Geronimo".

Brockhall had to be put back to its original condition so the owners could take possession again. It had only been loaned to the O.S.S. as a staging camp. The tents we occupied were 8-man squad tents ... these had to come down to be stored. A large center pole held up the structure. It was a difficult thing to get someone inside to drop the pole and get out before the entire tent came crashing down around him. The fastest, and by far the safest method, was to tie a rope to the center pole and the other end to a jeep. In a very short time all of the tents were lying on the ground ready to be rolled up and stored.

Some of the men were exceptional thieves. As with any old manor house in England, the owner had accumulated memorabilia in the form of swords, guns, and war items from all parts of the empire. When we took over the manor all of these items were placed in the attic. With this knowledge came the desire to relieve the owner of his possessions. The fact that items were missing did not turn up until we had docked in New York. Lt. Bates took possession of these items at that time and returned them to the owner without delay. Many years after the war it was discovered that these items never arrived at Brockhall. Somewhere in shipment someone must have discovered their value and kept them for their own.

Around the first week of November we were ready and were shipped off once again, arriving at Liverpool to board a ship for the States.

The ship we were to board was the S. S. Marine Raven, and we were to travel unescorted. We were assured that the German U-boats were no threat, and besides we were told the ship could travel at speeds that would probably outrun any submarines. There was no reason to worry, so we put our lives in the hands of the Merchant Marines and boarded without incident. We were additionally informed the trip back home would take only 5 days. I am sure the captain and crew knew we wanted to get home as quickly as possible, thinking we had served our time overseas and this would be the end of our combat service. We didn't have the nerve to tell anyone that we had all volunteered to go to the Pacific Theatre and jump behind Japanese lines.

Things started out fine, but two days out of Liverpool, we ran smack into a typhoon or gale, whatever you wanted to call it. Whatever it was brought high winds and heavy seas that you couldn't believe. Everyone was asked to stay behind closed doors so as not to be washed overboard. Staying inside a closed ship was not the finest way to travel. For two days we pounded into seas that looked to be 20 to 30 feet high. I, for one, had to see the size of the waves for myself. They really fascinated me! With the proper evasive action I was able to get on deck several times during the blow to see just how bad it was. I couldn't believe my eyes!

The days were boring, so the Merchant Marine provided the troops with movies. These were held in the dining room. In order to see the picture properly, all the windows and doors had to be closed or darkened. With the roll of the ship and the darkness of the room, it didn't take long before most of the people watching the movie became sick. Doors flew open and the occupants left, emptying their stomachs. It was enough to make the strongest sailor woozy.

Well, believe it or not we all survived the trip. It took us seven days to make the crossing. The two extra days were spent in the storm. It was daylight and we were entering the harbor of New York.

"Now hear this", came the announcement over the loudspeaker. "We will be passing the Statue of Liberty. I will be on the port side. Only half of you can stand on the side. If you all do, the ship will capsize". Fortunately I was on the port side and could see the grand lady as we slid past. We had fought for liberty and she had represented it. We were thrilled! We pulled up to the dock and an army band greeted us. We sure felt important as we came down the gang-plank to dry land. The good old (two-and-a-half ton) army trucks were waiting for us and we were spirited away amid the music, shouting of the crowds, and just plain feeling good. On arrival at our camp, we were fed a good meal of steak, potatoes, and all the trimmings, plus apple pie and ice cream. It was great to be home and to be an American!

CHAPTER VI

We were not given any leave in New York City, but were shipped back to good old area F outside of Washington. Things looked the same at Area F, but we were not the same. We had entered the O.S.S. as young men, green in many areas of our lives, and were now returning as men who had gone through some experiences that we hoped we would not have to duplicate. We had lost some of our friends. The Swedish group had left England for a drop into Norway after we had returned to Brockhall. They had all been killed. I had lost a fellow medic that I had trained with and had been in France with. These were difficult things to understand, but we accepted them as normal.

We stayed at the Congressional Country Club for about two weeks, going into Washington just about every night. It was now the first of December, 1944, and we were finally given a 30 day leave so we could visit family, and prepare ourselves for our next assignment in China. Snow had come down in abundance and even in Washington there was plenty of it on the ground. Van Timmeran and I decided to hitchhike back home. This saved us considerable cash and besides the trip could prove interesting. We traveled by truck. Truckers were about the only people that had access to gasoline as goods had to be shipped. I am sure the truck drivers felt they were contributing to the war effort by giving servicemen a lift.

I was beginning to change, and 30 days at home became a long time. All of my friends were in the service. Being at home for that leave was an awkward time, not only for myself, but for my family as well. Being in the O.S.S., there was very little I could tell them about what I had done. I suppose it made a wall between us. There was nothing I could do about it. Because Van and I lived fairly close to each other we were able to do some things together. He was married and so it posed somewhat of a problem for him also. It was a very frustrating leave and also a time of great transition for me. I had left home as a boy and had now returned for a leave as a man. The reality of another stretch behind enemy lines faced me, and I was unable to say anything to the people I loved. I am sure father was proud of me, but how could anything be exchanged? -- I was sworn to secrecy.

The leave was finally coming to an end and it was decided we would return a week early. Christmas was not yet here, but we felt that going back early would ease the pain back home. By going back early we were certain we could make it back on time. We were traveling by truck and we were certain we would have no delays. The snow was heavy and the travel through Ohio was bad, as the snow was causing problems. We were stuck a few times which caused a few delays. None-the-less, we did arrive with only a day to spare. Finally Roy, Jim, Bob, Hob, Grant, Doolie, and all the rest arrived and we were ready for our next assignment. It seemed we were a group destined to be on the move.

While waiting for our orders to move, we visited the little bar, not far from Area F, called Cabin John. It was a place we went to often. It was near the camp and was a place we could meet and go over thing we would do when we got back from this war. We were full of life and had a reckless attitude about everything. We felt that very little could stop us. No matter what we planned in life we would be able to accomplish it. Pitfalls seemed small ditches we could hurdle without effort. Mountains seemed small mounds easily overcome. It was obvious we were still at a point where we were naive. That we understood so little was to be expected as we were young and pliable. The days dragged by and finally we received notice that we were to pack up and move out. We were booked on a fast train out of Washington, and on our way to the west coast. We arrived at Grand Central Station in Washington and entered the doors of this magnificent place. It was so large and had an air about it that made you feel important. The high ceiling and pillared supports made you think you had entered one of the movies seen as a child back home. We moved through the great cavernous halls, carrying our duffel bags, and were escorted through gates to a waiting train.

After arriving in Chicago, we were transferred to the Silver Streak, a fast luxurious train, that brought us to Denver, Colorado. From there we were transferred to a train that took us the rest of the way to Los Angeles. What a contrast! The train we were now on was something out of the wild west days. We crossed and went around the Rocky Mountains, as the case required, an in order to keep warm, small coal burning stoves were at each end that provided very little heat. The seats were also something that defied description. They were little more than wooden benches. Camp Pendleton was our destination and we were very happy to get there. This would end the torture we experienced in travel. We spent 30 days there in our preparation for our exit to the South Pacific.

Hot dog! I could spend a good amount of time in the city of Los Angeles. I thought for sure I would see a lot of movie stars. I may even go visit some of the U.S.O. clubs that everyone spoke of. This was good dreaming because the command there sure had another idea of what we were going to do. Our time was spent in physical training. We did not walk or march to any place on the base. We ran and we ran. It got to be something that we were noted for. Our outfit, being about 50 in number, stood out like a neon light. We ran everywhere and at the same time called cadence so that we were in step all the time. We had excellent military discipline. It wasn't long before the other outfits picked up the idea and were also running instead of walking. Of course, this did not make us too popular with the rest of the camp. Not everyone appreciated our dedication.

It was soon discovered that few had ever seen paratroops on the West Coast. The South Pacific was an area that did not use this type of fighting personnel. The way we wore our pant, bloused over our boots, led many to believe we were pansies. A number of incidents came to a head when our men ran into men from other branches of the service, in town, and had head to head run-ins with them. Everyone in camp soon learned that we were everything we said we were. It wasn't long before things got back to normal and we were viewed in the proper light.

The days went by and it was soon announced that we would board a train and head for San Diego. Here our movements were expedient and we were deposited at the docks ready to board a ship. It wasn't long ago that I had boarded a ship in Newport News, Va. heading for Africa, and now the same thing was happening to me in San Diego. I felt I was spending as much time on the water as I was on land. Maybe I was really a sailor and didn't know it. The bunch of us must really be without common sense. Volunteering for the Pacific theater? After all, how many G.I.'s would willingly go into two wars. We had lucked out in France. Supposing that everything turned out bad over here. I wondered if I had said the proper good-byes. Probably not. How can a young man with the promise of adventure and a good fight expect to feel the reluctance of family and friends to let him go? Ahead was where the excitement was. Seeing the possible disaster was not even anticipated.

The ship we were to enter was a beauty! It was a converted cruise ship, renamed the S.S. General W.A. Mann, which still had the appearance of luxury. I learned that it carried 5,000 men. Wow!, all those troops and we were not to have an escort! Here again were told that we could outrun any enemy ship that we might encounter. If I remember correctly, we were told the very same thing every time we go on board a ship. I wondered sometimes if they really didn't care.

A band was there to see us off, and as they played some stirring martial music, we were escorted aboard and we found our assigned spot below the water line. A daily routine took over. We were awakened at 6:00 A.M. and prepared for breakfast. The size of the ship and the number of men on it meant that we were fed only two meals a day. It took most of the day to feed everyone. The ship's cook kept up a constant meal pattern. Our group was fed about 7:00 A.M. and then again about three in the afternoon. Several hours in between were spent in calisthenics and activities to keep us in shape. Showering and shaving and other personal duties were done in between time. To fill in free time we could go to the ship's library and get books, or go to the movies that were being shown. Most of the movies we had seen several times before on other troops ships, but we watched them anyway. There was always a card game going on during this time and several dollars changed hands. We really had it made! We were the only outfit that had seen combat duty, and because of this we were not required to serve in the kitchen. Naturally, we assisted every time the kitchen help came to get supplies. Our bunks were located right next to the hold that stored the canned goods. In the process of passing the supplies to the mess sergeant, we would divert cases of spam, vienna sausages, and fruit cocktail. These were hidden under our bunks to be consumed later. With only two meals a day, it was nice to have a midnight snack. We knew we could not get one in the kitchen. After all, we were taught to live off the fat of the land.

The ship used a zigzag pattern in sailing and it wasn't long before we came to the area of the equator. In crossing the equator, there is a ritual that is followed for those that have never done this before. It is an old nautical custom. Before the official ritual, everyone is considered to be a "Pollywog". After the ceremony, everyone becomes a "Shellback". This ritual requires that everyone crawl, on hand and knees, through an open-topped tube of quite some distance. This tube was watched over by the ship's crew. They, of course, were all Shellbacks. Whenever, and at each crew member's discretion, any head appearing above the tube would be flogged by the Shellbacks, using a pillow or some other soft instrument. To say the least, the force of the flogging would send you to the deck. If you managed to crawl the entire length of the tube without being hit, when you emerged from the end of it, you were hit by a spray of water from the ship's fire hose. This was always unexpected and you came out gasping for air. Lying exhausted and wet of the deck we were told that we were now Shellbacks and were issued a diploma to prove it. At least we knew we would not have to go through that ritual again!

Zigzag we did - going far to the north and far to the south until finally one morning we sighted land. We had arrived off the coast of Australia. After all this time we had the opportunity to see dry land. This is all we did too, just look at it. We were anchored in the harbor of Melbourne, just long enough to take on food and fuel. The next morning we were under way again. The next time we would see land was when we arrived in India.

The trip from Australia to India is quite a distance, especially since it was necessary to travel alone and in waters that were not completely clear of enemy subs. As you might know it was necessary, at one point in our trip, to re-fuel. This was an interesting experience. When we were getting low on fuel, a tanker was called out from one of the islands and they met us on the high seas. We were not told from which island the came, but early one morning we were met by a dirty looking vessel that was to give us fuel enough to reach our destination. Both ships pulled alongside each other and lines were shot from one to the other across the waves. We were riding the swells together and a heavy hose was pulled over. This fed us the necessary oil to replenish our empty tanks. Entertainment was limited on the ship, and as we had seen the films that we had on board several times, we were ready for a change. The tanker had several films they had seen over and over again, so we made an exchange. It was almost like an exchange of books in a library, only we shouted our request across several hundred feet of water. After deciding on the ones we wanted, the films were placed in a bag and with the use of one of the lines that fed us the fuel hose, we received new films. This was accomplished with loud shouts of praise and hoots of welcome from both sides. Having been confined aboard ship for such a long time, little things like the two ships meeting on the open water became a monumental experience.

Chapter V11

Boat traffic became evident. Some were Navy ships in the process of entering the harbor or leaving for extended duty. Others were like ours, ships laden with cargo for military use. Many of them were of a local nature - independent owners, either carrying a form of cargo or people to be deposited at stops along their way to many destinations. Some were fishing boats, intent on providing food for the local population. In the distance you could see land rising from the water. We felt good. We were sick of boat life and travel on the high seas. A cruise ship we were not. Through all the boat traffic we could see one in particular heading our way. It didn't take long before we were boarded and a harbor pilot came on deck to take us into Bombay harbor. Thirty days had passed since leaving San Diego and we were happy to be at the end of our trip. It seemed I was putting as much time on the water as some sailors. Maybe I was really in the Navy and didn't know it.

We stayed on board the ship that night, tied to the dock. The army moves at its own pace. I always had difficulty appreciating the pace at which things were done. Waiting became the normal thing to do. Whenever an order was given, we were expected to obey. Our training always taught us to give an immediate response to orders, but we also knew that we would have to spend time waiting to allow the execution of the orders to catch up with the command.

Anyway, the next morning right after a good breakfast, we were marched down the gangplank and into waiting trucks. The O.S.S. had a way of being there when needed. Our outfit was the only one that got off that morning. The army was slower than we were. We knew we had to get to China, but we were to discover that it would take a long time to accomplish that. Many routes, many methods, and many days would separate us from our final destination.

The trucks finally brought us to the train station and we were placed in regular passenger cars. Unlike the ones in North Africa, these had real honest seats and toilets at one end, just like back in the States. The English, having been in India many years, had Westernized many comforts and we were happy to take part in this.

Ah! what luxury! Comfortable seats to sit on, and they would even serve as beds when we became too exhausted to do anything else but sleep. It seemed our outfit was destined to be put into situations that were inconvenient and cramped and generally relegated to places that were out of the ordinary and not what we would expect. We lived our lives on the edge of everything and so this was nothing to be concerned about.

The trip would take us five days to cross over to Calcutta. The people were so poor, and there were plenty of them. We watched them at every stop.

"Don't allow the locals to board our train", spoke our Captain. "These people will take anything and everything they can get their hands on."

When the train stopped, a guard was posted at each end of the car. This did not stop the locals from offering us every type of fruit, vegetable and assortment of artifacts that were made by the local artisans. Gems and stones of all sorts were available. I didn't buy any because I was not sure whether they were the real thing , or just cut glass. After all, we were not the first Americans to travel the width of India, and I am certain these people sold the good stuff to the first troops to come along.

Beggars were in abundance and little children, in tattered cloths or naked, asked for a few handouts. We had been issued a goodly ration of chocolate and cookies when we started the trip, but they did not last long. The children tugged at our heartstrings and so we gave generously, until we ran out. As soon as we were offering something on one side of the train, another unfortunate child on the other side climbed up trying to reach in a window to steal whatever he could touch. It didn't take long before we developed a hard attitude toward the beggars.

Many times, as we ghosted through the towns, we could see the women washing garments at a stream of water. Occasionally a pump or artesian well would come into view. This was used by the population for bathing, drinking and washing. Sometimes all three at the same time.

The days became routine. Villages, towns and cities all looked alike. There certainly was a contrast between India and the United States. In India people were everywhere. It didn't appear that much of the country was unpopulated. I suppose that is what made the country and the people so poor ... there were so many of them.

All of us traveling this route had difficulty accepting the fact that the Brahma bull was seen everywhere. He invaded homes, bazaar stalls, and everything that seemed to take his fancy. It would seem to be good source of food. But we had to understand that this was the Sacred Cow of India. This was the re-incarnation of friends and relatives. Who, in their right mind, would devour their sister, brother, father or mother.

The five days on the train seemed forever, but finally we came into the station in the ancient city of Calcutta. This held much mystique. It was larger that Bombay, but unfortunately it would be almost a year before I would be able to spend any time in it. The famous Bazaar in Calcutta was one place I did not want to miss. It would have to wait though, as we had a mission to perform first. This mission was to formulate, train, and equip a detachment of 20 Chinese Commando Units that could work behind the Japanese lines. Meetings had already taken place in January of 1945, just two months before our arrival, between Col. Cox, of the O.S.S., General Wedemeyer and General Chaing-Kai-Shek. These three agreed that well trained Chinese, with the help of combat veteran Americans, could work effectively behind Japanese lines to extract intelligence and thwart the work of the enemy. It was interesting to learn that the army high command kept fighting us, thinking that the regular army troops could do this job. We were specialized in this field and had the know-how to carry it off.

Here again we were shuttled off by truck. A day's drive ended in the city of Agra, home of the Taj-Mahal, and at Camp Kanchupara, where many outfits were waiting assignment as replacements to other army units. Being O.S.S., and nobody knowing about us, we had to travel as detached enlisted men. This made us vulnerable to being drafted by any army unit that needed a replacement.

We all piled out of the trucks. I had on the usual back pack, M-1 rifle with cartridges , and a side arm. As I landed on the ground I felt my back snap. All the jumps I had made, all the physical training I had endured, all the exercises I had gone through to this point, and now my back gives out on me. I hobbled into the barracks, chose a cot, and dumped everything on it. Boy, was I angry! Everyone was ready to help though, and so I took charge. I had my two medical kits with me and in these were some 2" wide adhesive tape. I removed my shirt and tore off two pieces of tape about two feet long. With the help of Rudy Dolozal and Roy Gallant I was able to ease the strain on my back muscles. The tape acted as an additional muscle support. It worked fine but it did take a long time for me to heal. The pain is still with me after 50 years. I suppose the logical thing would have been to report to sick call, but by doing this I would have been left behind when our outfit finally moved out. After coming this far I was not about to leave my friends.

Everytime a request came through for a specialized replacement, Captain Cook had to literally fight headquarters to retain our outfit intact. Radio operators and medics were especially needed, and so were in great demand. To get out of there was vital, and to do so as soon as possible.

To get to Kunming became a challenge for us. We had to cross the "Hump". This referred to the Himalayan Mountain range that separated China from India, and was located in the country of Burma. The trip over and back was made daily by C-47 airplanes. Dozens of them were used to fly equipment and men back and forth. To get a seat on one of these required a pass. A pass was issued only to those that qualified. To qualify you had to be important or have an important mission. We had an important mission all right, but as we had only a Captain as our leader, and we were traveling as detached enlisted men, it put us way down the list as qualified. We had about as much chance to fly as it did to see snow in New Delhi.

We spent cautious days in camp dodging replacement attempts, while Captain Cook tried every angle to get us out of there. Finally word came that the British had a convoy of trucks and jeeps going to Kunming. They needed drives and would we like the job. It didn't take long before we were all packed and ready to go.

I was assigned a jeep. Perfect. I was sure exited. The only driving I had done prior to that was in my father's old model A Ford. I had not driven since I was in the army, except to receive my license when I was back home for my 30 day leave. The police at home were very generous in giving out licenses to servicemen. I did not take an exam, but I did drive around the block. The driving exam was short because gas was rationed, so the police were generous. Now was my golden opportunity to apply my talents as a driver.

We were off and running. Our column left around the 3rd of April 1945, and it would take us until the 15th of April to arrive in Kunming. We tried to average 100 miles a day. The afternoon of the day we left brought us very near the Taj-Mahal, in the city of Agra. I could see it on my left as I was driving along, standing majestically in the open, it's gold dome reflecting the sun's rays. I guess everyone had heard of the Taj-Mahal but none of us had ever seen it. The movies did not do it justice. It was massive. It was well fenced and secured, but we were on the road and could do little more than look as we sped past.

Leaving Calcutta took us over the Bramaputra River to the Ledo Road. The Ledo Road led us from Agra about 400 miles from where we would actually enter the Burma Road. This was at the city of Lashio on the Burma border, then into newly recaptured Burma. Going over the Burma Road we had to cross the Chindwin, Iriwaddy, Salween and Mekong Rivers.

The days on the Burma Road were hot. The road went through and around mountains, and we followed each other like a line of ants looking for a picnic to attack. The climate was tropical, and we followed the road that had been used from ancient times. Travel had to be cautious because the Japanese had not been driven out very many months before. There was always the possibility that there could be some straggling units left in the area. We traveled with our weapons ready, just in case.

The Burma Road had been literally hacked and chewed out of the Himalayan Mountains. The Chinese and Burmese, who built the road, had no modern equipment. They would chisel and blast with black powder, removing the stones and gravel by hand. Hundreds and thousands of them worked back-breaking hours to accomplish this feat. Many times, during our stay in China, I would witness this very thing. The road was just wide enough in spots to allow the passing of two trucks, but in other places, especially on curves, room for one truck is all that you could expect. At these times it was a matter of who would bluff the other into stopping or pulling off to let one of them pass.

Some areas we drove through were very picturesque, but we saw no towns or villages. They must have been located in the hills and wooded areas. Occasionally we would see a Burmese family or individual as we drove past. I am sure they kept to themselves.On one occasion we took a lunch break along the road near a spot that was blanketed with orchids. By the time I left there my jeep was well decorated with them. The only bad part was that the orchids did not last long after picking.

Sleeping at night in a tropical zone proved to be a challenge . Mosquitoes and biting bugs ruled the night. To survive, we slept on the roofs of the trucks. This got us up far enough to minimize the fight against the stinging, so we could get some badly needed rest.

Our travel took us to a place on the road that I'll never forget. We had left Leingling and were now beginning to ascend mountains where the road virtually clung to it's side. It was a steady climb upwards. Hairpin turns were traversed and looking back I could see the trucks appearing and disappearing behind outcroppings. The next stop we were heading for was called Paoshan, China. It was 60 miles by crow flight, but about 125 to 150 miles by road. The view from the top of the mountain we just crested was spectacular. We could not stop to take in the view and so had to push on. I could see the road now take a steep downgrade. It was necessary to put the jeep into a lower gear and creep down without plummeting off the side. Finally we arrived in the foothills of this mountain and saw before us the Salween River. Straight before us was a high ravine. We crept slower along the road, and to the left of us was the edge of a drop going down several hundred feet. We stopped. Just ahead was a bridge. I said to Jim Gardner, our radio man, "They expect us to go over that?" He responded by saying he doubted we could fly over. It was judged to be several hundred feet long and swayed in the breeze that constantly moved through the ravine. When we first arrived we could not tell what the cables, that suspended the bridge, were made of. It must have been used by the Burmese and Chinese for years. It appeared to have vines and bamboo woven together. It was soon discovered that the Japanese had strengthened the bridge by using steel cable. Outside of driving around the mountain, and that was impossible, it constituted the only means of crossing. The local people assured us that the Japanese had sent tanks and trucks over regularly when they occupied the country. We had few options at this point.

Looking down we could see the Salween River raging below as it cascaded between the rocks. The Salween River Bridge looked weak, and I was certain it would collapse the minute we used it. A group of Burmese were on hand to assist us in the crossing. They were all smiles - bobbing and swaying in good oriental custom. It was also pointed out that only one vehicle at a time could use the bridge. This made me feel better. Boy, could we get ourselves into something! As each vehicle would enter the suspension, it would sag. The trucks and jeeps appeared as though they were going through a tube, something like stuffing sausage. It took us all of that day to cross, and it was done without difficulty. Finally, when all of the vehicles had arrived on the other side, we drove a few miles further on and camped for the night. We had found an area along the side of the Salween River that provided us with enough parking space to accommodate the entire convoy.

We had been issued a good supply of army rations, but when possible we would stop at an army camp or outpost to get a good hot meal and a shower. Believe me, it was not very often. The only camps we found were manned by Army engineers who maintained the road. Otherwise sleeping and eating were up to us.

We were finally getting near our destination. The hills and curves were getting monotonous, but we had acquired some skill in driving the road. We had scheduled the trip to make 100 miles a day. After all, it was 1200 miles from Calcutta to Kunming and we figured 12 days was long enough on rations and stale water.

One of our men, unfortunately had developed a severe pain in his side. He was running a fever and was nauseous as well. After examining him I determined that he had appendicitis. What to do! We had a Burmese interpreter with us, so I asked him if and where the nearest hospital was located. I was told the Chinese had provisioned a hospital up one of the side roads. This was known as the Bhamo Hospital. We could take him there. It was maybe 10 miles into the mountains to the west of us. They assured me it was staffed by some American and British missionary doctors. It was a good place they said, and they would be happy to show me. I discussed the situation with Capt. Cook and we loaded the patient aboard my jeep. Capt. Cook provided four more men to go along with me in another jeep just in case we ran into some unfriendly forces. It was a wild ride! The man was ill and the road was rough. It was pockmarked from disuse, and rock strewn from the constant erosion of the mountain. We had to make time, but the man was so ill I wanted to make his trip as easy as possible. We had to get to the Bhamo Hospital and back in order to catch up with the main body again. They couldn't afford the luxury of waiting for us. We found the hospital without incident and after checking in with the missionaries, we returned as fast as possible. I don't know what happened to the poor fellow. We never did hear from him again. I suppose he was sent with the first army unit that came along. The rest of the trip consisted of driving the 100 miles a day. We finally arrived in Kunming no worse for the wear. The motor pool as waiting for our arrival and so we deposited the vehicles with the supply Sergeant and reported to headquarters.

Many months prior to our arrival, the Chinese Government had been preparing for us. A small town just north of Kunming about 10 miles, had a place set aside just for our use. It consisted of several buildings on three levels of ground. The buildings were made of clay brick walls and straw thatched roofs. We were motored out there by truck within hours of our arrival. Just before entering the camp, we made a sharp left, and went a short distance, coming to a stop on a flat surface surrounded by high cliffs. We did not stay here. This is where the officers were billeted. They got out of the trucks and the rest of us proceeded another quarter mile further up the hill. We took another sharp left and ran down a slight incline to the parade area. As I was walking up the incline, on my right was a building that would house the clinic and dental office. I was impressed. I knew I would spend some time there. Going a little further I came to the kitchen and mess hall and just beyond that were the barracks. We all headed for this ready to deposit our load and look around. It was quite impressive. A small creek ran through the edge of the parade ground, with a sheer cliff skirting the far edge and extending the full length of the camp. The road we had come from continued on to the west and went out of sight.

CHAPTER VIII

Our assignment in China was completely different from that in France. In France we jumped into an existing underground network that was already functioning. What we became was the catalyst, providing the means and the technique to make it operate effectively and gathering the intelligence necessary to help the Allied invasion forces. In China we had to start from square one to recruit, train and operate an underground espionage group to function behind enemy lines. Because of the nature of the oriental people, we could only be considered advisors. This put us at a distinct disadvantage, in that any work we did would have to be approved by the Chinese Government. Chaing Kai-shek wanted all the glory and credit for everything that went on. We, on the other hand, were wanted and needed, because we provided the intelligence and material necessary to shape the troops and provide the fighting forces.

A commando unit consisted of 181 men. This amounted to 154 Chinese personnel and 19 Americans and eight interpreters. Of the 19 Americans in the unit, two were furnished by S.I. (Secret Intelligence) a division of the O.S.S. These two, one officer and one radio operator, would precede us into the field to prepare for our infiltration.

Our first responsibility was to recruit troops. Because of the nature of the operation, we insisted on having above average men. They had to be the largest ones we could find, as the average was small. They had to have average intelligence, or above average, as we had a lot of technical information to get across. I think we nearly failed in both fields, but we took the best of the recruits we could find. Of the 20 units originally requested, we needed five commando units right away. Needless to say, a goodly number were interviewed before we came up with enough. These five were the only ones that ever materialized and were made ready for the field.

The Chinese officers that were already chosen, had been hand-picked by Chiang Kai-shek to fill his purposes. We found out later, after the war had ended, that many of the officers and men were Communists. Before we left China we were to see a different side of these troops.

Nevertheless, we had our troops assigned to us and we began to train them. One of the first people I was introduced to was my interpreter. He was a medical student and was to be my personal interpreter for the duration of the conflict. We became very close friends. His name was Chang Chin Yin. Through him I would bring to the troops all of the shots and medical necessities required to make them healthy. This became my first item of concern; their physical health. All of the troops were given a good going over by Dr. Hamlin, who was assigned to our command unit. He did not jump with us however; this was my responsibility when we went into the field.

After checking the Chinese, we found that good food and exercise would go a long way to improving their health. Instead of the usual one meal a day they lived on, we fed them three meals. Included in their diet were vitamins and meat. After their diets were corrected, we went after their teeth.

I was asked to assist here and found to my great dismay that these poor people needed a lot of work. Tooth extraction was one of the first priorities. These were the easy ones. A little Novocain and out the tooth would pop. I found by working with these people that they would complain and carry on about little things like tooth work, but would not say much, or show little pain, when they were hit by a bullet. This I thought was a marvel. In some cases, when working on the Chinese, we had to hold the patient down in the chair. Drilling and filling teeth was my greatest challenge. All of my training, back in the States, was done with the latest equipment. Here, we were using equipment that operated without electrical power. Our foot became the power plant, and that was not the most reliable. Believe me, our feet and legs became mighty tired when they had to be continually pumping at a rapid speed. Occasionally you would slow down from sheer exhaustion. This posed a problem for the doctor because the drill would slow down. Everyone became edgy at those times and I would have to double my effort in order to complete the ordeal. I was always happy to know that none of my buddies required the services of this equipment.

After getting our command