Well now. That's a heck of an opening line, don't you think?!
But before we go any further, it's important that we come back to the topic of "Unfair" that was brought up in the first post on this airplane.
Unfairness is a powerful toxin. Think back to that moment you first experienced it—something was taken from you, a promise unkept or perhaps an outright fallacy grafted upon your reputation—where you three? Four? Yeah. You experienced it early (we all have) and from then on, things were just a little different, tainted, perhaps. Right?
However, I want you to decide right now to bear with the fullness of this story as its reconciliation is at once beautiful and startling. It will not disappoint, and you'll never suspect where it ends. Never.
Ok?
Good.
Look above. You'll notice that I've been at work but not quite finished. The challenge has been to really understand the color, "Olive Drab." Sure, there is/was a formula, but that's just a recipe. Differences in pigments, sun, oil, rain, storage...it's like buying two Big Macs from two different McDonalds. They won't ever be the same.
But, I do understand the markings. In a word, Basic. Chris' A-36 was one of 40 that had been shipped straight from the Group's home airfield at Waycross, Georgia. No personal, group or squadron livery were applied - just "star'n bar" and serial number, 42-84030. "030" was a workin' bird, not a peacock.
Why so bare? Well, they simply hadn't had the time. When the 529th arrived at their Dinjan, India base on October 11 (1943), mission planners were already hovering over maps trying to figure out where to hit first. The Squadron had only four days to get ready; October 16 was showtime. The push to perform was so intense, the Squadron hadn't even logged any orientation flights! Remember, they'd just "gotten off the bus" from eight thousand miles away...
Oh man...you know where this is going already, don't you. (sigh)
Anyway, 12 airplanes (3 Flights of four) made up the attack force with a mission to bomb Japanese placements near the town of Sumprabum, Burma. Fast at low-level and easy to control, the A-36 was pretty-well suited to provide the kind of close-air-support needed to aid the fevered and splintered jungle-fighting below.
There was "good" reason for the urgency to get into action, however; arriving in-country was a big deal. Not only was it the Inaugural act of the unit, it was part of a bold push to support the beleaguered British ground forces and establish the Americans as the strong players in the Theatre. Remember, this was back in the days when the British had an Empire and Japan wasn't just expanding their empire, they were taking British (and French and Chinese and Dutch and American...) property.
The CBI was so much more than a battle ground. It was the entitled land of tremendous ego, power and investment! That the Japanese—upstarts and newcomers to the Industrialized World—could flip their middle finger at so much of the world establishment was an outrage.
Understand this—the 529th wasn't just off to bomb the enemy. They were there as an opening round of violence to punish the Japs and return something far more valuable than all-the-tea-in-China: Pride.
It should be no surprise that the Mission attracted its share of big-shots. The leader of the first Flight was Brig. General William Old, one of the architects of American air power in the CBI. The second Flight was lead by Colonel Harry Melton, a West Point grad with a slew of missions under his belt. The third Flight was lead by—well, his name isn't important right now.
So, the three Flights took off toward the target, setting up a course that shot almost straight east-southeast toward Sumberbohm—some hundred and sixty miles away—where the Japs would soon learn who the real Boss was.
Ok. If you've ever flown in a small airplane, you know that the machine, especially at altitudes below 20,000 feet, is subject to the lifts and sinks of air currents. Like a boat on water. For a flight of four, flying in formation (about 10 feet apart) is not as easy as driving four cars down the freeway. It's focused business. Drift a little this way or that and a collision can happen. Or you fall away and expend precious fuel and focus to get back into place. It's complicated, but the pragmatic, hammered-home truth is that being IN Formation was good. Out was bad. And follow the leader.
I hope this aspect of Aerial Discipline is fully appreciated because what happened next is a moment of supreme...unfairness.
Taking off into the vast, cloud packed aerial sea, General Old's and Colonel Melton's Flights found each other. Chris's Flight, lead by Major Nameless, however, somehow missed the others. It wasn't for lack of trying; the Major wanted nothing more than to find the rest. Not only for the effectiveness of the mission but getting lost with "The General" up front could not help the Major's career, 'know what I mean?
So, the third Flight weaved, searched, looked, circled...and in that process of never-finding the rest , three terrible things happened.
1. The bomb-laden airplanes burned a prodigious amount of fuel. So much fuel, they soon reached the point where they could not return to base.
2. Chris's wingman caught a glimpse of the other Flights and peeled off to join them. Without letting the rest know. Ugh. (This was verified after the war).
3. The Flight Leader doomed the flight with a single act of arrogant insecurity.
Here's how it went down.
But one last time, hold that thought because you need to now take another look at the map above. Notice the green hills? That's not the picturesque stuff of New England. They're the Kachin Mountains and that green is a canopy of jungle. Underneath are the rocks that cut their way North to the Himalayas (home of Mt. Everest). Parachute into there? You'll die. Ditch your airplane in there? You'll die burning (or at least have your bones crushed into shards). And the enemy is down there. Somewhere.
And, remember this is before GPS and maps of the area were not the rich photographic imagery that anyone can instantly click-to today. The map looked more like the map below. It doesn't tell you much, does it?
Umm...yeah. Being lost over Northern Burma in 1943 meant you knew only one thing—you were in trouble.
Back to the Flight.
Chris, following a gut feeling, tucked up on the wing of Major Nameless, got his attention, and flying wingtip to wingtip, rising and falling in the mountain-heaved air, pantomimed with his hands that he knew where they should head.
"I can do this. I can get us home!" Chris shouted through leather-gloved gestures. "Let me lead!"
The Flight Leader then made a most regrettable decision. Lost, embarrassed, pressured, he chose to honor his one last vestige of Control; he reached around with his left hand and flicked the Major's insignia on his collar. In other words, he pulled Rank.
Oh. No. Major Nameless let pride prevail over facts...ugh.
He also sealed their fates. While there remained debate as to exactly where they were on the map, one fact could not be argued—they needed to find a flat place to put their airplanes down. All things considered (namely the rocky peaks below) the first smooth spot to be found was the only option. And there it was—a rice paddy at the foot of where the peaks and hills transitioned into a giant, ancient valley.
One by one, the three pilots resigned to their plight. Chris and another pilot picked a rice paddy while Major Nameless chose a sandbar in the narrow nearby river. All three bellied-in in a strap-straining grind of metal and dirt...close your eyes and see if you can imagine the chaos of neck-snapping deceleration, the howls of bending metal, the slurp of mud... then the sudden silence of halt while the hot engine sizzles the wet away...
It had to be horrible. First mission. Got lost. Someone wouldn't listen. Ditched on the enemy's door.
Ok. Take a deep breath.
The photo above is Chris Morgan, circa 1943. Have a good look as this will be the last we see of his fullness of face and healthy glow. In three days, he will be captured by the Japanese and experience the wrath of these cruelest of captors.
And all because Major Nameless...
Stop right there. If you're like me, you're fu'll of vinegar for the Major and every other lump-head "Leader" that's lead you astray. Bastards; every one of them. Right? And this story won't get better.** But, the very reason I get to complete the tale at all is because I promised Chris that we wouldn't dwell on the pain. Or the suffering. Or the stupid things people do.
Like I wrote, you cannot guess where this story is going.
Never.
So please. Stay with me on this.
I won't lead you astray.
(wink)
*The names of every man mentioned in this story are known. A good researcher can probably have them in an hour or two, too. But for this particular telling, it does no good to name them.
**Actually, it does. It just takes...well, you'll see.
