The United States Army's China Air Task Force, supporting Chinese Army ground elements on the Salween River Front, continues to harass Japanese lines of communications and installations in Northern Burma and Yunnan, a Chungking communique announced this week.
Between Feb. 11 and 17, P-40's operating over Burma, strafed tugs and barges near Bhamo, ferry installations and trucks near Lungling, and military stores in the vicinity of Lameno. An enemy motor convoy near Wan Dah Lai-Kam was also attacked, and barracks at Laochai were strafed.
In the Kengtung area, on Feb. 18, seven trucks, loaded with troops were strafed and destroyed, causing heavy casualties. Here, barracks and other installations were also damaged by strafing.
Lashio, staging point for enemy action in northern Burma, was again attacked on Feb. 19, by P-40's, which concentrated their action on the Namtu Mines, causing severe damage. This action was followed by strafing the Lashio-Salween Road, destroying 10 cars and trucks.
Combat reconnaissance planes on Feb. 21, trucks and river traffic at Bhamo and Mangshih. The following day, trucks were strafed at Linmlinme.
B-25's, with P-40 escort, attacked Mangshih, concentration point for enemy troops and material, on the afternoon of Feb. 28, scoring many hits in the target area and starting two large fires.
One pursuit ship was lost during these various missions. However the pilot is known to be safe, while all other aircraft returned without incident.
Assam Flight Leader Looms |
As Theatre’s Tough Luck Titlist
Capt. Wynn D. Miller, flight leader at an Assam air base, is a leading candidate for the title of this theater's tough luck guy.
Ever since last July, Miller has been waiting in Assam for a crack at Japanese bombers. After months of "on the alert" Wynn was given
Miller came back even more eager to meet the enemy bombers, but none came. Early in December, the motor in his fighter plane failed while escorting bombers over Burma. He had to parachute and it took him 18 days to plod 280 miles out of the jungle.
Back Miller went to Assam, certain that he'd get an opportunity at those bombers. Last week, just after he had left the base to bring back new fighter planes, the Japs attacked. Again he had to content himself with reading how his pals drubbed the enemy.
Hiccups Spare Chicken’s Neck
By Cpl. LEE KRUSKA
Members of this bomb squadron see something significant (and it bodes no good for our little yellow opponents) in the fact that the initials of their commanding officer, Maj. James A. Philpott, spell out JAP. The major, one of the ranking flyers in the USAF, and the remainder of the pilots and combat crews (who, incidentally, recently observed the first anniversary of the Tenth U.S. Air Force) promise them "plenty of hell, too" before this man's war is over . . .
Maybe Lucy, a buxom little hen owned by S/Sgt. Rufus Kramer, doesn't know it, but a bad case of hiccoughs saved her life. It happened at a recent evening chicken fry. Just as the sergeant and three friends, William Hoover, Walter Kjosa and George Kenny, were preparing to place the prospective little victim on the chopping block, they noticed the symptoms of the ailment appear and graciously spared the little hen's life (but temporarily). They wonder whether the hiccoughs were inspired by the chicken's fright at her impending sense of doom.
When the Zeros start a'coming,
To the country called Assam.
It's time we men in the Ferry Group,
Lay down our tools and ran.
We're not afraid, oh no, not us
We're brave, from country free;
But when the Zeros start a'coming
We all say, "It's time for tea."
A plane is never overhead
Than eyes are skyward turned,
And even though it's our DC-3
We all say, "It's time for tea."
Before we got here, we all told
Of deeds that we would do.
Now that we're here, it's time to see
But no, "It's time for tea."
Oh, if the Zeros never came
How happy we would be.
We'd never have to worry about
Us going out for tea.
I'd like to finish this poem
But I can't for the life of me
I just heard a plane fly overhead
So you see, "It's time for tea."
- T/Sgt. STEVE ROLL
(Dear Editor-This is just a poem,
not the truth)
The sky was black and the evening was chill
As before the campfire we gathered.
The natives were huddled all quiet and still.
Across where the oxen were teathered.
We sat on in silence as flames leaped high,
Each man with his memories walking,
'Till the laugh of the jackal meandering by
Set all of us laughing and talking.
Some talked of their hobbies; some of their sports
Tennis, badminton, and swimmin'
And after much banter and icy retorts,
The talk somehow drifted to women.
"There's a dame out west at Oregon State,"
Said the lad with the freckled nose,
"Kathryn's too long, so I'm call her "Kate."
And boy! She's got these them and those.
The others all grinned as each understood
That the "them" referred to her knees.
But try as they would, not one of them could
Understand what was meant by the "these."
The problem went round in humorous vein
As each feigned complete innocence.
"The Chaplain might tell you," said Freckles again
"How'd he know?" The mirth was intense.
"In Brooklyn's a dame I haven't known long,"
Said the lad with the soup-ladle thumbs.
"I said she's from Brooklyn, but don't get me wrong;
She isn't just one of "Dem Bums."
She doesn't say 'Joisey,' nor even 'yo-all.'
When she talks all the rules are complied with
But boy! She was born with more on the ball
Than her dear old grandmother died with."
"Now I know a gal," said the boy we call Tex,
"Who's really a honey, believe me.
Her father's a preacher, but man! How she necks!
Just with me - and she wouldn't deceive me."
Our faces were blank as we pondered his youth.
Was Tex, then, so woefully stupid? Continues...
But no one exploded his evident faith -
'Twould only be frustrating cupid.
Thus hours pass swiftly, and embers burn low.
And memories fade with their light
And Yankee boys gather wherever they go
To tell of the love ones and sweethearts they know
"Round campfires cheery and bright.
- Capt. THOMAS H. CLARE
Praise the Lord and don't pass the "Spam,"
Seems to be the lament of our boys in Assam.
Poor fellows who face each closing day
With "Spam" served any old way.
Say they in voice raised on High,
Our mess is lousy with the "Spam" they fry.
The reason we survive, the most of us think,
Is due to the beer they give us to drink.
Ours is really a terrible lot,
For look at the things we haven't got.
They try to tell us in a consoling way,
That is offset by the Per Diem they pay.
These notes are heard clear over the hump -
By the boys who have taken many a bump.
And eke out each glorious setting sun,
With a bowl of rice and a Chinese bun.
Funny their cry rings out so clear,
To their down trodden friends who are so near.
Give us Thanksgiving again by Dam,
By sending over a can of "Spam."
- Members of the "Wrecker Squadron"