A SMALL BOOK ABOUT SOOK

BEFORE THE GREAT EROSION

or

"I Was Here When Things Were Tough"

Yeah, I was here when things were rough,
When the Hump was really tough.
Before this place got growin' pains,
All we flew was one-winged planes.

From Sookerating to the fabled Kunming,
Our lives depended on that one good wing.
The engines rattled; the gas was poor;
And the Japs were tracking on our spoor.

Tali reached to twenty thousand,
Jungles crawled with death and poison.
Thunderstorms outstretched the sky;
Upside down the route we'd fly.

Mosquitos buzzed like thirty-eights;
K-rations, scorpions, graced our plates.
Monsoon muds were dark and deep,
In the days of disappearing jeeps.

To Commanders glowering and gruff,
Ten tons a trip was not enough.
Thru driving rains and lightless skies
We drove our planes with sleepless eyes.

At last one morn the skies were clear,
From every throat went up a cheer;
Tali with its tops unfrozen;
It had come, --- THE GREAT EROSION!

--Anonymous

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Over The Hump

ROCKIN' THE RIDGE

by F/O C.R. Call

O'er the barren hills of China
By the yellow Yang't'ze,
Over brooding, Jungled Burma
From the mountains to the sea.

O'er the rugged Himalayas
From Assam to Yunnan-yi:
There's an epic being written-
Written by the A. T. C.

To a struggling, gallant nation
Goes a giant helping hand-
'Oil-oil for the lamps of China'-
Guns for every soldier's hand.

From this sunny, steaming valley
Climbing upward to the sun-
Cross earth's mightiest natural barrier
Wings destruction-ton by ton.

'Mid the stirring tales of valor,
Deeds of daring-Men who jump
Into danger-May we mention
Just a bit about the 'Hump'?

When you're four miles nearer Heaven
And the sky is thick and black
And the thunder-heads are building
All the way to Hell and back.

Cyclones screaming 'cross the ridges
Like a dying banshee's wail-
And your props are gleaming crescents
Framed by devil's fire and hail.

Down below just matted jungle,
Towering, wind-swept mountain crags-
Lurking death to the careless pilot
Who forgot to check his mags.

High above in the seething darkness,
Raging elements hold sway,
Snow and sleet and slashing lightning,
Jarring down-drafts all the way.

To a pilot's straining senses
As he hunches o'er the wheel-
Vertigo!-Believe those gyros
For you cannot fly by feel

Compass spinning like a dervish-
Radios dead-and-frozen loop-
Thudding ice against the cowlings
As you plow on thru the soup.

Air-speed dropping-low fuel pressure,
R.P.M. all shot to Hell-
Engines popping-temperature rising,
Everything just going swell.

Then at last-a hole beneath you
And an Airfield's welcome light,
Down you roar upon the runway,
Vicious cross-wind from the right.

Home to bed and welcome slumber,
Then-O death, where is thy blight?
By the shoulder rudely shaken
"Sir-you've just been called for flight!"

THE MISTAKE

Maybe I'm wrong in telling you this,
But blueprints and pilots don't mix.
'Cause someone got a bug up his ass
And designed the C-46.

It's a Curtis MISTAKE or a lunatic's dream--
Sure those lines are neat and nice,
But who gives a damn for those beautiful lines
When you hit a cloudful of ice?

They say it's made to soar like a bird--
Yeah, those blueprints talk a sweet dish.
But that stuff was made for magazines,
For the ship acts more like a fish.

They say it's the largest twin-engine ship,
And that you couldn't ask for more.
But ask the guy who's been sweatin' a few,
He'll tell you it ought to have four.

They'll tear it apart and build it again;
They'll swear it's licked (the designer thinks);
So you will take it up and try it again,
And you will find that the Commando still stinks.

When something goes wrong and that Hump looks too near,
And you feel kinda close to heaven,
Then you'll curse the ship for the mess you're in
And pray for a C-47.

--Anonymous

[This was written when the C-46 was a "Plumber's Nightmare", but the boys who fly 'em now will swear by the old Charlie 46.]

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THE TOUGHEST OF THEM ALL

beermug Three friends were sitting 'round a bar,
Each one smoking a black cigar,
Each one guzzling down a beer,
Each one's eyes were filled with fear.

For each had decided to go to war
To keep the Japs away from his door.
But each had by some unearthly chance
Joined a different service branch.

The Marine rose to unsteady feet,
His eyes were filled with much conceit.
"When the war is over, we'll meet again,
I'll tell you stories of real he-men."

The Sailor smiled, "Of real men you'll learn
From me upon my safe return."

The Soldier, he didn't say a word,
He looked as if he hadn't heard.
"I'll neither brag nor boast, my man,
Until I'm sure I'm back again."

And then they made a farewell bet,
One they'd surely ne'er forget,
The one whose story was the best
Would have his beers paid by the rest.

The war is over and they are back,
Drinking beer in that same old shack.
The Marine with ribbons on his chest,
Stood right up before the rest.

"I saw my action in Far South Seas,
I shot the Japs right out of trees,
Disarmed them like so many fleas,
Now beat that story if you please."

The Sailor rose with a great big smile,
Then laughed him at the Marine a while.
"Friends, I really saw the fight
In Italy, England and the Reich.
I killed Germans to my delight,
Far more than I care to recite.
For if I told of every fight,
You'd surely lose your appetite."

The Soldier didn't say a word.
He looked as if he hadn't heard,
Then hit the bar with quite a slam
And simply groaned, "I was in Assam."

triune The Marine jumped up, and the Sailor, too.
"Brother, we owe the drinks to you."
For each had heard and knew too well
"Here sits a man returned from HELL!!!"

---Anonymous

"TELL 'EM IT'S A MILK RUN"

This is not a fancy Masterpiece
Of Art that's real confusing.
It's just a little of the truth
I've tried to make amusing,

You're on the way to Operations
With your flight gear in the bag,
And you'll find the shuttle ride
About the roughest you will have.

Now you'll find your clearance
In the weather-man's shack,
And oh! all the things
He's put on the back.

Yes, the things that are on there
Can never be too right
When you're starting on flight
In the dead of night.

So it's back to the department
Where you started from
To get the final O.K.
That will start your run.

Now don't get too disgusted,
As the worst is yet to come
To hustle after your parachute
And don't forget your gun.

Out to the ship you hurry.
If you're late they'll always gripe.
But what the hell do you find there
But a damn big load of pipe.

Now out here in the revetment
Your checklist is run through.
It won't be very long, brother,
You'll be up there in the blue.

You've completed the final check,
So your co-pilot calls the tower,
And if you're really lucky,
You'll be off in another hour.

After a fashion they answer
And say to please stand by.
Now you may think you've had it,
But don't you start to cry.

There's a five-minute separation
And you're twenty down the list.
So you may not have to go
If things keep up like this.

But in a few minutes they're ready
And give you another call,
Saying, "I can let you out, brother,
If you'll get on the ball."

So you rush to the turning circle
And check the left and right,
Then take off down the runway
In the middle of the night.

All the way over the Himalayas
From OH to Roger Queen,
The weather's getting rougher,
About the worst you've ever seen.

But the purr of those P and W's
Bring music to your ear.
So long as everything goes alright,
You've nothing at all to fear.

But when the going gets the roughest
And you'd rather go home if you could,
Someone will soon tell you, "Soldier,
You ain't ever had it so good.

Then at your final destination,
Your clearance is taken to Weather.
Then it's down to get your 'eggis'
And you'll find there's nothing better.

While you're waiting for the shuttle,
You stand around and talk,
Then after thirty minutes,
You'll find you have to walk.

Now after Dumbo's been unloaded,
And you're on the long way back,
You can lean back in your seat
And use it as your sack.

You know it won't be long now,
Though the weather up there's brisky.
You hurry back to good old Sook
And get your shot of whiskey.

You've made lots of trips on the Charlie,
Where the weather's cold and breezy,
But you can't compare the weather there
With the build-ups on the Easy.
milkcarton

Now your time is up for rotation
And your work has all been done.
You can tell the boys who come here,
It's just a Teek Milk Run.

---F/O George A. Mayer


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