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During the 1990s, a few years before my father, Dave, passed away in December of 2000, he wrote a 35-page autobiography. Excerpts from it will be published here, as companions to the diaries my mother, Dorothy, kept in 1945 and 1946—the year she met Dave. My dad was born in 1927, in Hamilton, Ohio. The family eventually moved to the south side of Chicago.
Part 15
Lord Louie
Following the escapade in Darjeeling, I was back in Burma once again.
By this time in late 1944, the war was beginning to wind down. Our last jump was into the area around Mandalay, in the south central part of the country. Nowhere near the “flying fishes” depicted in the popular song.
Our OSS company was now supplying close support for the 14th British Army. ours had a contingent of 200 Kachins who would scout and clock the roads ahead of the British troops.
Cartoon drawn by one of the OSS-101 (101st Airborne) team members.
Normally, officers and the enlisted men do not share facilities, but things were different here. The OSS, at least in the fields, didn't stand on ceremony anyhow. I was known as “Doc,” and Lieutenant Martin was just plain “Bill” to all of us, regardless of our rank. Dysentery affected all of us equally, too.
On one particular day, Bill and I happened to be in camp with the Brits. “Heading over to the latrine,” Bill said. “Me, too,” I replied. Shortly after we walked in, and were sitting down, a British officer stepped inside. He stopped in his tracks, looked at the insignia I was wearing, and then pointed directly at my face.
“Get out!” he ordered. “This latrine is officer country.”
Nearby Bill was another Brit, also an officer, who turned and looked at me.
“What's your name, rank and organization, son?”
I told him, and explained that I was with the OSS. He listened, and then turned to the other Brit.
“This OSS member will stay. You are dismissed.”
As he was leaving, he shook hands with Bill and me, and wished us good luck. After Bill and I left the latrine, we wondered who that guy was. So we asked a nearby NCO.
“Oh, that was just Lord Louis Mountbatten,” the NCO replied. “He's on an inspection tour of the 14th Brits.”
Bill and I looked at each other. We were quite aware of who “Lord Louie,” was. For starters, Mountbatten was the Supreme Allied Commander of Southeast Asia, the uncle of Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, and second cousin once removed of Queen Elizabeth II. He would later join with Gandhi in gaining India's independence from Great Britain. In 1979, his life would be taken by IRA terrorists.
Supreme Allied Commander Louis Mountbatten, in 1943
Besides that humorous incident, Lt. Martin and I had been through a lot together. On one mission—our second, I believe—Bill and I, our Sergeant and radio operator were called on to hurriedly organize a group of local Kachins to assist us. But before we could even make contact with them, we got boxed-in atop a hill by Japanese forces that had taken over the valley below. It would be three days before the enemy finally moved out, and the four of us could leave the hillside cave we'd hidden in to avoid capture.
We proceeded to fulfill our mission and were no worse for our experience. We were paid in silver Indian rupees. Our informants and village friends received their payments in opium. Most times, we would get both for every one of our airdrops.
August of 1945 found our team still patrolling the fields of Burma, when we received word of the Japanese surrender on our shortwave radio. Oddly enough, the news at first did not even register. But within two weeks, our loyal group of Kachins were disbanded. After being given our remaining pay by the Army, we built an airstrip in the jungle. A transport plane flew us out.
After arriving back in our OSS base at Assam, our group was broken up. I wasn't to see Lt. Bill Martin again until 46 years later. Bill continued to serve, being wounded in Korea, and eventually retiring with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel.
I was shipped to Fort Hertz, an outpost in northeastern Burma. There, I was given a number of psychological tests, both the written and field type, designed to determine my suitability for future government employment. That employment being a job with a transformed OSS, a new thing to be called the Central Intelligence Agency, or CIA, as we now know it.
The first field task I was faced with was to cross a narrow river with the use of just two short pieces of wood that they had laid conveniently near the riverbank. Confronted with this challenge, I decided to simply wade across, on foot.
For the second test, I was placed within a dry field. In the center of the field was a large puddle of water, which I was to bridge over with the materials they'd provided. Rather than do that, however, I chose to walk around the puddle instead.
Watching me through all this was a supervising officer, clipboard in hand, taking notes. When I'd completed the field tests, he approached me.
“I can see that you're not a team player,” he said. “You did not take to the tests in good spirit. I'm sorry, but you are not suitable to be considered for this group. You'll be sent back to Assam and OSS-101.”
I had used my good, practical senses but they were not what the CIA wanted, apparently.
It was time to move on.
* * *
End of Part 15
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