Chapter 6

The question now was which way to go---up or down. Remembering that the Kachins were hill dwellers, I decided to go north up the path. I couldn't travel fast enough. I stumbled along up the mountain for an hour or so, passing familiar objects of Kachin life along the way. As I rounded a bend in the path, I suddenly came upon a typical Kachin village. Saved at last! I took two steps and then I froze in my tracks. There, hanging on the end of the closest building, was one of the small Japanese flags that every "Son of Nippon" carries. I didn't know what to do. However, I don't recall seeing a thing happen. I passed out as soon as I lay down in the underbrush.

The next thing I knew I was being carried by some little men. I didn't care who they were---Japs or Kachins---just as long as someone took care of me. I don't know how far they carried me, but it seemed to be quite a distance. We finally came to a halt at a little cave which was just above and to one side of the path. It seemed to be a girl's voice that gave all the orders. I went out cold again as soon as they laid me down.

It was late the next afternoon when I was awakened by a young native girl who was trying to feed me some rice and curry. I ate everything they brought on this time, as weak as I was. I was famished, and malaria or no malaria, I was going to eat. The large meal made me sleepy, so out I went again. I woke up the next morning just in time to see the same native girl giving a young Kachin boy some sort of instructions. I saw the boy start up the hill, and thinking no more of the scene, I began to look away, when all of a sudden I saw a larger man, a Jap, step out in front of the boy. It all happened so quickly that it's hard to describe. The young Kachin, who couldn't have been over twelve years old, whipped out his Gurkha knife, slashed the Jap a mortal blow, and disappeared over the hill. The Jap went down without a murmur. Presently natives carried the body away and hid all signs of a scuffle and then moved on.

No one visited me during the daytime and I was told that the Jap patrols were out looking for the crew of the plane that had been found. I was thirty miles behind Jap lines and was in the hands of a system similar to the underground in France. However, Miora Misko, the young native girl, who spoke very plain English, stayed with me 'way into the night, talking about all sorts of things. The daughter of a Japanese Army officer and a Burmese woman, she had gone to college at Myitkyina and had taught school for a few years. It was she who had sent the boy for quinine. He returned the next day and she started me off with two tablets about every four hours. She made me some clothes out of an old parachute, and gave me a little shoulder bag for carrying my belongings.

After ten days, things began to pop. Miora said the Japs knew I was in the neighborhood and were beginning to close in. I was feeling a lot better, so she told me that I must move on. My guide was the young boy who had massacred the Jap. The first night we stayed at Walabum. Word of my coming must have been sent ahead, for they had everything ready for me. They had my escape well planned with runners ahead and behind us all the time to give warning if Japs were approaching. All we did was step off the trail twenty or thirty paces and hide in the brush until the patrols passed. It all went off so smoothly that it was hard to believe it was a game for life or death.

Around noon the next day, the going got real tough and I sat down on the path exhausted. As my little guide stood there trying to persuade me to move on, a native came running down the hill with a bamboo tube in his hand. He handed me the tube and when the liquid touched my lips I tasted something very familiar and delicious. This water was mixed with D-ration chocolate! I felt like a new man---I knew that an American was near.

The native pointed to me, holding up one finger, and then pointed toward the hill and held up another finger. I practically flew up the hill and there saw a white man sitting by a brook washing his feet. I gave a yell and ran forward to meet him. It was Kimble.

He had barely escaped from the doomed plane. When he ran back to jump he found the door closed. He tore his hands to shreds trying to find the handle but finally succeeded and toppled out backwards, He pulled his rip cord and hit the ground seconds later, with the ship crashing on the mountain at the same time. His face was banged up and he had a terrible cut on his leg. His experience with the natives followed right along the lines of mine.

We sat and talked a while, wondering what had become of our other two comrades. Then we noticed that the natives were getting rather impatient and we pushed on feeling jubilant at our reunion.

The next day we arrived at the mighty Mali River, which was much higher than the natives expected it to be from the heavy monsoon rain. Around noon of the following day another small party joined us, and much to my delight, Lindegarde was with them. He had really had it rough. He had been punctured in the crotch by his fall, and had been in the jungle for nine days. I thought the leeches had done a job on me until I saw him. That night Kimble and I picked forty-five maggots out of his cuts.

Lindegarde, Kimble, and I lay around resting while the natives built rafts out of long pieces of bamboo. On the morning of July 5, three rafts were completed. The river didn't seem to be going down at all and the Japs were closing in behind us, so we decided to try to cross the river. We had crossed the worst part of the current when we lost control of our little craft, so we all jumped overboard and swam to shore. In swimming ten feet to shore, we were carried more than thirty yards down the river.

The next day at about noon we came to Supka, an English first-aid station. We met some swell Englishmen there and became very good friends with a Captain Walker, who said he could spare a jeep for us. He had sent a radio message to American headquarters giving our present status. Arrangements were made for a small plane to pick us up in two days at a little strip called Tingpai, which was about fifty miles up the road.

It was about an hour and a half's flight to ort Hertz in the little plane, and as I looked down at that winding, turning, climbing, descending road, I gave a sigh of relief that we did not have to hike it to Fort Hertz. At Fort Hertz there was a C-47 waiting to take us back to Chabu and a good meal. Now that we were so close to home it seemed as if the C-47 were standing still. It was only another hour and a half, but it seemed more like twenty-four hours before Chabua's runway lights came into view.

We were a sight to behold as we stepped off the plane to be greeted by our comrades. We all had heavy beards and our hair was over our ears. I was still wearing the outfit that Miora had made for me, and Lindegarde was really sharp with his ripped khakis exposing his leech-bitten legs. None of this mattered though, because we were so happy to be back.