John Carmichael Part 2

THE TAJ MAHAL

The next day we flew into Karachi, Pakistan. This was the largest airport we had landed at yet. Karachi is a large city, and we had good accommodations here. We didn't get to lay over here, or go into the city, for the next morning we took off and flew into central India to Agra, and stopped there, for one day, for a rest stop. While we laid over, we had a chance to visit the Taj Mahal. This is one of the original Seven Wonders of the World. It was absolutely beautiful. Sully and I had to leave our boots outside, at the base of the stairway, as every one did, and walk in our sock feet throughout this Tomb. We were not too sure about this, as Sully and I had very nice, and highly polished, engineer’s boots. Everyone had to do the same; but they didn’t have as good of footwear as we did. Practically all of the footwear we saw, were ragged and very much worn sandals that belonged to the native people there. We could just picture ourselves having to walk back in a pair of those sandals. Our transportation there, was a horse drawn buggy, with a driver, and the streets were of dirt.

This tomb was built in the years 1630 to 1648, by Shah Jahan's orders, for his favorite wife. I walked inside to see the actual tombs, which at one time were heavily jeweled. The precious stones had all been pried out and stolen from the walls and on the two tombs. Shah Jahan is buried in a tomb, a floor beneath and directly under his wife’s tomb, so he could always gaze upon her even in death. The architect, who designed the Taj Mahal, had to have been a genius, as it is a beautifully designed and constructed monument. It is hard to imagine how such an elaborately designed, large marbled structure was built back in that period of years, and where the stone was brought in from. The tombs and the Taj Mahal were three hundred years old at the time we were there. It must have been a tremendous effort for so many laborers to move such massive weights of stone, and put them in the exact places. Every large section was cut to fit perfectly in its place, and all the stone had to be highly polished, with the designs engraved in them.

I climbed the spiral stairs, inside one of the four corner towers. We had to squeeze by others that were coming down the same staircase. It was very narrow, and there were a lot of people there that day, both tourists and natives. There is an elongated pool in the center of the divided walkway, from the front entrance to the tomb. It just adds to the beauty of the whole tomb, which is reflected in the water. Our good boots were still where we had left them, untouched. I am not sure that they would have still been there, if we had to leave our boots outside the Washington Monument. We never had anything stolen from us while in the C B I Theater of war, by any of the native people. There was severe punishment for stealing, and other crimes in India. After our tour of the tomb, we wandered about town for awhile, and then returned to our overnight quarters. After all, we didn't want to miss chow call.

SYLHET

Next we flew into Sylhet, Bangladesh, where we were to stay for a few days. While we were in Sylhet, we had a chance to go into the town. Eight of us got a ride on a truck that was going our way. The town was a typical small Indian town, with dirt streets, and small shops. There were a lot of beggars, mostly children, and a few deformed adults sitting on the streets. We heard that due to the class system in India, if your father was a beggar, you would probably be a beggar. Also, some children were purposely crippled, and the more disfigured they were, the more bak-sheesh, (money, or gifts), they might get, by begging. This must have been true, as we saw quite a few, disfigured beggars while in India. One of them didn't have legs. He moved around on a pad that had small wheels under it. One of them walked on his hands, as he had no legs. This was not as prevalent in the small towns, as later we saw a lot of this in Calcutta, a much larger city. While in Sylhet, some Indians rode around town on the backs of elephants, trying to find someone to hire them for big jobs, such as clearing forestlands. I read in a magazine just recently, that the Indian elephant can be trained to work; but the African elephant cannot be trained to work.

We became rather hungry, and went into an eating place and asked what they might be able to cook for us. We were lucky enough to have one of our cooks with us, and he went into the kitchen to oversee the preparation of our food. We decided on fried chicken and fried potatoes. They had to go out and catch and kill some chickens and dress them in our cook’s presence. He had them remove the skin and wash them thoroughly, in clean water, and he saw to it that they used new flour and cooking oil. They peeled fresh potatoes also. We paid him a good amount of money and he was happy. It was probably as good a business day as he had seen, in one day of operation, in a while.

While we were staying at Sylhet, we were surprised as some GI’s, driving a jeep, stopped in our camp. They had been hunting, and had a Bengal tiger stretched across the back of the jeep. He was so large his head and front legs were hanging off one side of the jeep, and the rear legs and tail were hanging off the other side. It was a huge cat. There were five hunters and it took all of them to load it on the jeep. They estimated that it weighed well over 500 pounds. I believed them, as it was the largest tiger I had ever seen. At that time the Indian farmers were having some trouble with them. They had killed both children and adults on some farms. They also were killing quite a lot of their livestock. I remember the movies where the rich Pasha’s and Sheiks rode on the backs of elephants in their protective baskets. Only the rich Pashas and Sheiks, and their guests, ride on the elephants. The poor peasants called threshers, walk, and with their bamboo canes, they beat the tall grass and reeds, trying to flush the tigers out, so the hunters could shoot them. After this we were a bit leery of walking around the camp at night, without our pistols buckled about our waists.

On a practice flight while there, we were shooting landings on this short landing strip, and as we approached the airstrip our right landing gear would not come down and lock into position. This was an unexpected emergency that I had trained for in school; but never expected to happen. Lt. Cox called me forward and told me what was happening. I opened a hatch in the floor, behind the pilots’ seat, and climbed down in the belly of the plane. There was an auxiliary hydraulic hand pump there, and I had to pump very hard to get the gear down. I was fortunate to have a gallon can of hydraulic fluid sitting near the hydraulic pump. I don’t know who had put this extra fluid there before we left the states. I can only imagine that someone had noticed that the hydraulic reservoir was a slight bit low, and had put the fluid there rather than find the leak and repair it. They say there is always a reason for everything, and I guess this was it. It could have only been noticed at the factory, by an inspector, who had not located the bad part, although I had not seen the wet fluid on the under side of the plane, and I inspected it daily on a preflight inspection.

We had lost a lot of hydraulic fluid from this leak. The right engine cowl flap cylinder was leaking badly. The cowl flaps allow for more engine cooling. When open, the air passes through and around the engine, thereby allowing for extra cooling. When closed, the hot air is trapped inside the nacelle and keeps the engine warmer, especially in higher altitudes, where the temperature is so cold. We could not see this from inside the plane, as it was inside and on the under side of the nacelle. The nacelle is the radial engine covering. The fluid was going out from the under side of the wing. If I could not have fixed this, we would have lost a plane, as we did in Louisville, and this was a new plane.

There is no way of knowing whether we would have come out of a crash landing alive, on this short landing strip, surrounded by a thick jungle. If we had to land with the wheels up, we would have skidded right into the jungle and into the trees. Well, I had a good round of approval from my pilots. They bragged on my performance after we landed. It wasn't because I was so smart; but I was very lucky. None of us had ever had this experience happen before. I had the ground maintenance crew install a new cowl flap cylinder, and everything was back to normal. You can bet that I always had some extra hydraulic fluid aboard after that, although I never had another occasion to need it.

AGARTALA

We didn't stay at Sylhet for many days, and moved over to Agartala, in Bangladesh. Each of the four squadrons was based at a different location, and supplied the men and planes in different areas of Burma. Agartala had a much larger airfield than Sylhet, although heavy jungles surrounded it. We had our “Basha's” about three miles from the flight line. I have not figured out to this day, how they had constructed just enough of these huts, (or Basha’s,) to house all of the personnel that we had, without knowing that we would be stationed at these bases. It always seemed that there were just enough huts, or tents, to house us all, and they were not just recently built. No matter which base we moved to, the huts or the tents were already there and they were not new.

Some days we were flying, away from our base, as many as twenty hours. Our Squadron set a tonnage record each day for hauling supplies and equipment to these forward bases and airfields. We set and broke our own record for 54 straight days. No other outfit ever exceeded our record in the whole war, either in Europe or Asia. At first the ATC was doing well to deliver as much as five tons a day. By the end of the war our Group was delivering several thousand tons of military supplies and foods a month. We did tow some gliders, filled with ground troops to some forward strips. We had to pull them behind us from the ground, not like they show in the movies, with a dangling towrope. Of course we didn’t have a load on the plane at the time. We used pure power from our big engines.

Some days we had to wait quite awhile for the shuttle truck to pick us up and take us to camp, after our day’s flights. We were not eating too regularly and sure were not getting enough sleep, or rest. One night, all of the enlisted men gathered in the center of the camp, and enjoyed fresh cooked venison sandwiches. The cooks had been hunting and killed a deer, and they sat there and cooked for us until everyone had at least one sandwich. That was about the best tasting sandwich that I had while I was stationed in India, except when we flew the meat run out of Calcutta. We usually had powered eggs, and greasy half fried canned bacon and weevilly bread for our breakfast. We just picked out the weevils, that we could find in the bread, and ate the bread anyway. We usually had canned “C” rations, or Spam, baked or in sandwiches. It is hard to believe that the U.S. could not do better on the food we had to eat.

If we were away from our base during the day we usually had either “K” rations, or cold “C” rations, and sometimes we would open a five gallon tin of Australian rations, and enjoy some of their canned beef, inside. These were the rations we hauled for the British troops and they had much better food than we had. I have always had trouble with my stomach, since I returned from my hitch in Burma, and the service. The third night, after my marriage I got very sick at my stomach and my brother and my wife Mozelle, had to rush me to the Clifton, Texas hospital. The doctor said it was an intestinal problem that I had acquired in the CBI area. I have always had a stomach disorder since, and still have to take high priced pills to keep the ulcers away. Before I went into the service, I could eat just about anything that didn’t try to run away.

Some of the pilots were buying old rebuilt British motorcycles from some of the British troops at Meiktila, a forward British base, where most of the wrecked motorcycles and disabled vehicles of all types, were taken. These men were taking parts from some of the best ones, putting them all together to make usable motorcycles, and selling them to us or anyone who would buy them. Cox and Starky bought one together, and Sully and I bought one together. We only paid one hundred rupees each for them. That was only thirty-three dollars American money, as it took three rupees for the equivalent of our dollar. We would park them at the flight line, while we were flying, where we parked our planes for the night. The other three would leave me to service the plane, and go on to the camp area. I'd stay with the plane to refuel it and add oil as needed. I never had any repairs needed during that time. I usually kept the motorcycle so I could get to camp. Sully was always fortunate enough to catch the shuttle truck, as it was usually there for him to go on to the camp, along with the pilots. It usually took at least an extra hour to service the plane.

We flew steadily for a couple of months, and put in a lot of flying hours into the combat zones. We were very tired as we were without sleep for near twenty hours a day on many days. We had very few days off to rest. The enlisted men flew many days more than the pilots, as they had to have time off from such a nerve wracking task. It did get a little harrowing, flying into the combat zones, near where the fighting was going on. We didn’t count as much as they did, as they were not expendable. When our pilots were off duty we flew with other pilots on many days. Our planes were not armed so we were really sitting ducks if we ever flew near the Japanese planes. We were very fortunate not to get too close to where they flew. The bases that we supplied were not too near the Japanese lines. We flew in to many of the bases where General Chenault and his Flying Tigers had flown from.

SULLY AND I ARE HOSPITALIZED

Sully was unloading his pistol one night so he could clean it, and as he slid back the loading mechanism, to eject the bullet in the chamber, it slipped and shot a hole through his left index finger. He was sent to the hospital to be treated, and for recovery. A few days later, I had to remain at the line to service my plane, and was late starting to the camp. I started to leave on my motorcycle, and my hat began to blow off. I grabbed at my hat and at about that time, I crossed a hump between two sections of the concrete taxi strip and flipped the motorcycle over and over me. One end of the handlebar pushed into my left chest, and caused a very bad bruise. I could not turn the handlebars loose, and the motorcycle kept landing on my right knee. It turned over me, and I turned over it three times. I couldn't move, as the shock and pain were so great.

The men in the control tower, across the runway, saw what had happened to me, and they sent the ambulance to pick me up and take me to the medic's basha. I had a lot of people there watching the medics. I think the most of them were there to partake of the Johnny Walker whiskey that the medics got out for me, to ease the shock. I didn't get but one drink of it; but that bottle of whiskey sure was emptied quickly. Everyone that came in to see who got hurt took a big drink of it. Major Cox was the first to take a drink, as he took one look at my knee and grabbed the bottle. He almost got sick. I had a lot of blood on my pants leg and it had torn a large hole in my pants, exposing my knee and the cut, and blood on my knee. I had a compound fracture of the right patella. I also had badly bruised my chest, where the handle bar had punched into me, as I couldn't let go of the handle bar. I could have possibly been killed if I had let go, as it would have thrown me away, and in front of it, and I might have been in a worse predicament.

Our flight surgeon came in and took one look and turned around and left. He didn't think I was one of his flight crews, so he turned around and left me there, unconcerned that I was bleeding, and in great pain. The surgeon for our ground maintenance squadron came in, and he didn't hesitate to start getting me cleaned up and sewing up my knee. He gave me a shot of morphine to help deaden the pain, which it didn’t help very much. When the flight surgeon found out I was one of his men, he realized the mistake he had made. He rushed back to the medic’s basha, and tried to take over. When he found out that I was Lt. Cox's crew chief, he really was in a hurry to make amends for walking out on me. Major Cox gave him heck, in a big way. He told him regardless whose outfit I belonged to, that he should have started to treat me anyway. We all were there for the same purpose, and belonged to the same group. I am sure that our surgeon had a high esteem of himself, as he always acted as if he was a bit superior to the enlisted men, rarely ever speaking to us. He had been recruited from a lucrative practice after the war started. They sent a medic with me, and flew me to the hospital that night.

The doctor on night duty had the nurse attend me, give me a shot of morphine, and put me to bed until morning. When I awakened the next morning, I was so sore and stiff, I could barely move. I tried to lift my body; but could not, as my left rib cage and chest was so sore, I almost screamed. I heard a familiar voice, and I called his name. It was Sully. I found out I was in the same ward that he was, and only a few beds from him. When he saw me, he almost flipped. He said, "You had to follow me in here, didn't you? You just couldn’t stand it that I was getting a little rest, and you were having to fly.”

The surgeon sprinkled Sulfa on my knee and wrapped a cast of gauze and Plaster of Paris around my leg from above my knee to my ankle. My chest was taped up so tightly I could hardly breathe. I had bruised my breastbone and ribs, badly. I was to be in the hospital for fifty-eight days before I would return to my outfit. In a few days, after my soreness lessened, they removed the cast, and again sprinkled Sulfa on the wound and put a new cast on my knee. They then issued me a pair of crutches to use. In this way I could get to the latrine and to the mess hall. There were no flexible leg braces at the hospital in those days. Just a Plaster of Paris cast, that was stationary, and unbendable, from above the knee to my ankle. There was a special ward set off to the side, with quarantine for several men, who had fooled around and caught elephantiasis. It was highly contagious and they were isolated from the remainder of the hospital. They really suffered, as this disease was very painful.

The Red Cross had a lady representative at the hospital. She was located in a separate building, with lounge chairs and writing tables and chairs. She was a very nice person and tried to be helpful in furnishing us with writing paper, and cookies, and table games to play. She also made cold lemonade and hot coffee, and would even write a letter for us, if we couldn't write. There were several there that couldn't. Some of them just didn’t know how to express themselves in a letter to their loved ones, and family. She was very knowledgeable, and knew how to say things that were not too shocking. Some had such bad injuries, they didn’t want their wives or girlfriends, and families to know how badly they were crippled, so they would not be too worried about them. She was a good audience for some of the men, and was always happy to talk with all of us or read books for us.

I had some good news while I was in the hospital. I was promoted to Tech/Sgt., on February 1st, l945. That was as high in rank as I could go as an enlisted man, and still draw flight pay, for flying. I had advanced in ratings from a PFC to a Tech/Sgt. in eleven months. I outranked Sully, as the radio operators only ranked as high as Staff/Sgt.. While Sully was in the hospital, one of the surgeons wanted to try to do an operation on his finger. It was an operation that some surgeon in the states had performed with success. He would take a tendon from a big toe, and insert it in his finger. In this way, the finger would bend as it did before. As it was, the finger would remain straight and stiff. He said the toe would bend naturally, and it could do without the tendon. Sully wasn't about to let that surgeon practice on him, in order to get experience for his return to private practice in the U S. All he wanted was someone to experiment on, as the more surgery he did on the soldiers, the more qualified he would be for private practice. He was always eager to do surgery on anyone. I am glad that my little sewing job had been done by our own surgeon.

While I was in the hospital, they had put a substitute crew chief flying with my plane, as well as a substitute radio operator. The plane was grounded several times, with engine troubles, and flew very little. It got a very bad reputation. I had always considered this substitute crew chief as being very competent. He turned out to be a poor substitute. I think he was uneasy about the sudden responsibility that was thrust upon him, and being unacquainted with all of the pilots. By the time I was released from the hospital, our outfit had moved to Chittagong, on the shore of the Bay of Bengal. Cox could not take our motorcycle with him to Chittagong, so he sold it and gave Sully and me the money. We no longer needed it, as our Basha’s were near the flight line, and we could walk to our planes. He got back what we paid for it. I have never ridden a motorcycle again, nor have I ever wanted to ride another one.

A WAR UNHERALDED Part 3