The hut is crowded with at least sixty officers as well as some non-commissioned officers. I immediately notice General Joseph Stillwell, standing on the stage, is engaged in a quiet discussion with Chinese General Huang Weili. Stillwell, I understand, is about sixty four years old, but his skin is ashen and his uniform, which is drenched in sweat, hangs on his almost skeleton-like body. I assume he is fighting one of the various jungle diseases we all must cope with at one time or another.
There is a large map of the area on an easel and the city of Myitkyina is circled with red ink. To the north and east of it is a black star. Our location is about twenty nine miles of jungle and difficult terrain to the south and east of Myitkyina and is also marked with a black star.
General Stillwell finishes his conversation with General Weili and turns to address us. The room quickly grows silent. I can almost hear the beads of sweat hitting the floor at my feet.
Stillwell gulps down a few mouthfuls of water, picks up a pointer and begins his address.
“Gentlemen, if you look at this map you can see the location of our new forward airfield.” He points to the black star representing our present position. “From this new airfield we can better supply the front lines of our ally, Generalissimo Chiang Kia-shek, who will be commencing a major new offensive momentarily. The objective is the critically important river and rail port city of Myitkyina, which lies in the direct path of the critical overland supply road we are constructing, the Ledo Road. Once Ledo Road is open we can more completely supply and more effectively support our Chinese allies. This new land route should eliminate the need to fly supplies over the ‘hump’ and it will accelerate the defeat of Japan in China.” Stillwell pauses as he takes a long drink of water.
“We’re bringing together units of several different armies for this assault. Colonel Hunter will be leading ‘Merrill’s Marauders,’ along with British, Australian and Indian Gurkas.”
He points to a spot on the map above the objective. “The main Chinese assault will commence at this point about forty eight hours from now. We will delay by roughly two days in the expectation that General Honda will commit most of his reserves to repel the Chinese assault. At that point we will launch our own effort through the back door and catch Honda in the middle.”
“This operation will require an unprecedented level of co-operation between the various units and nationalities in the field.” Stillwell points to a British Major.
“Lovell, I understand you’ll be coordinating the Gurkas personally. We cannot afford any of the communication breakdowns we have occasionally experienced in the past.”
Lovell stands in response. His neatly pressed shirt is drenched in sweat. Perched underneath his left arm is a baton. Of course, he is wearing shorts along with socks pulled up to his knees. It looks like a bad idea to me, as shorts in the jungle are an open invitation to insect bites and the diseases they bring.
“No Sir, I have seen to it that we have appropriate translators where they are needed and they are all very adequately rehearsed in battlefield procedures.”
“Excellent, Major.” Lovell returns to his seat as Stillwell resumes the briefing.
“General Weili,” he looks in the direction of General Weili, who in responds with a smile, “will be acting as the field commander of the Chinese assault.”
Stillwell hands the pointer to a nearby lieutenant and walks to the center of the stage.
“So gentlemen, if there are no further questions, you all have your sealed orders to review. Good luck!”
A sergeant off to the right side of the stage suddenly barks out: “Dismissed!”
That’s my cue to get over to Stillwell’s office. My squad is assigned to General Weili, which means we are going to be very close to, if not in, the front lines. Not something I cherish as I was never supposed to be going face to face with any Japanese, at any time.
When I arrive at General Stillwell’s office I find General Weili, a pair of Chinese Colonels who I recognize and several of Stillwell’s staff. After reporting in, I slip into a corner to observe.
“General Weili, I understand you have some concerns with respect to the interaction between our interpreters and your own troops,” says Stillwell.
Weili is a very broad-chested man who appears particularly imposing due to the incredible number of medals and ribbons that adorn his uniform jacket. He is unusually tall for a Chinese and must weigh a good two hundred twenty pounds. Weili rises from his seat and straightens his uniform jacket.
“General I realize we need interpreters to coordinate between our front line positions and your artillery and air cover. And let me make clear the fact we all admire the brave Japanese/Americans who fight alongside us in this war against oppression.” Weili dips his head in my direction, which makes me uncomfortable in this room full of officers.
“The fact remains, General, that many of my men are unlikely to take orders from a non-officer. It is of no matter that your men are Japanese by heritage. We recognize they are Americans and our friends. However, what my men understand best is rank.”
“Though I personally like and admire your Sergeant Kida, he is, after all, only a sergeant. I would find it highly regretful should there be an incident that could have been avoided if he were, instead, an officer? After all, it is completely within the realm of possibility that he may find the need to give instruction at times when delay could mean defeat. I am particularly concerned of the need to quickly and effectively communicate with your Army Air Force when in the field.”
General Stillwell appears genuinely relieved to learn Weili’s’s concern is so simple.
“General Weili, it is my distinct pleasure to advise you that Sergeant Kida has just received a field commission to the rank of lieutenant.’
Weili raises his right eyebrow and replies: “That would be First Lieutenant Kida?”
Stillwell smiles. “Yes, of course, General.” He turns and looks directly at me.
“Lieutenant Kida?”
I snap to attention. “Yes General?”
“You have just been awarded a field commission to first lieutenant. Congratulations! Now get yourself over to supply and pick up your lieutenant’s bars. You and your squad are flying out of here with General Weili within the hour. Better tell your corporal he’s just moved up the ladder. Oh, and you need to pick yourself a new corporal.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you!” I hold my salute.
“Good luck, Lieutenant.” He acknowledges my salute and turns to continue his discussion with General Weili
I find my heart is racing as I quickly slip out and make for the Quartermaster. Apparently I impressed Weili somewhere along the way. Captain Sterling’s words regarding first impressions come to mind.
A week later I am in the forward command post behind a major Chinese push to take Myitkyina. The Chinese ranks are spread pretty thin and my orders direct me to remain in the command post and coordinate the U. S. Army Air Corps support. I am observing a formation of four P-38’s flying overhead when I hear the unmistakable sound of incoming artillery fire just as a Chinese soldier is working his way up the hill to me, bicycle in tow, no doubt recovered from the Japanese. Out of breath he approaches me, his breathing so heavy it makes understanding him a little more difficult.
“Sir,” he says, “I have an urgent message for you from Battalion.” He hands me an envelope the contents of which are written in Chinese so it takes me more time to digest.
“Thank you. Please wait while I write a response for you to take back. Why not go get yourself something to drink.” I speak in Chinese, of course.
“Yes Sir, thank you.” He slowly turns and leaves our little dugout, but is instantly thrown back, right on top of me, by the force of an exploding shell. I find myself covered in his blood and reach over to pick up the field phone.
“This is Lieutenant Kida. Can you hear me? I need to speak with General Weili. Can you hear me?” I duck under an adjacent table as another round of shells beg
in landing nearby. Just as the shelling moves on, another messenger arrives.
“Sir! A message from General Weili! The phone lines have been cut and the General was fearful you had been overrun.”
I realize I am still holding the phone, drop it and take the message. I interpret the message and conclude Weili is feeling some hesitation as the Japanese have counter-attacked with more success than anticipated. The message also states tanks with infantry support following behind are driving towards my position.
I decide to contact the flight of P-38’s that are still in the area and grab a walkie-talkie.
“P-38’s, P-38’s, this is Lieutenant Kida. I am right below you. Do you read me? Over.”
Buddha is obviously smiling on me as they respond to my call.
“Lieutenant, this is Red Sky. We read you, over.”
“Red Sky, this is Lieutenant Kida. Can you observe any Japanese activity ahead of our position? We are marking ourselves with yellow smoke as I speak, over.”
“Lieutenant, I see your position. Give me a couple of minutes, Sir, over.”
“Roger, Red Sky. Will wait, out.”
The squadron makes a sharp left turn and flies over our positions revealing they have expended all their bombs and rockets. In less than a minute, I have my reply.
“Lieutenant, this is Red Sky. There’s about a dozen Nip tanks bee-lining for your position. They’re not more than three miles out. About a mile behind ‘em must be four, maybe five hundred infantry. We’re plum out of the heavy stuff, but we still have plenty of ammo left for our fifty cals and enough fuel to hang around maybe twenty more minutes. What’s your pleasure?”
“Red Sky, I understand your situation. I would like you to take a couple runs at the tanks, then circle as if expecting more air support. This might make them stop and wait for their infantry to catch up. Or at least put a little fear in them. Maybe give them something to think about. I just need to buy some time, over.”
“Roger, Lieutenant. We’re goin’ to buy you some time. Out.”
Through my binoculars I watch the P-38’s swoop down on the tanks. They begin to swerve left and right in evasive maneuvers, obviously fearful of being bombed. I take the opportunity to pen a response to General Weili, grab the nearest soldier and hand him the message.
“Take this back to our division reserves and give it to General Weili. Be quick as we are in danger of being overrun!” The mention of Weili gets the response I need. The soldier grabs the message and runs out.
While I am observing the P-38s as they aggressively dive towards targets that are now partially obscured by smoke and dust a Chinese Colonel leading about seventy soldiers comes running towards me from the rear. I salute, though he is more pre-occupied with the approaching tanks to respond.
“Colonel, it appears a column of tanks has penetrated our right flank and is less than three miles away. Significant infantry is somewhere behind them.” I intentionally keep my voice calm as I speak to him in Chinese.
The Colonel is a bit winded and takes a long drink from his canteen. I find myself wondering if it is only water. He quickly climbs the three steps to our makeshift observation platform and motions for me to join him. Once alongside him he points to the P-38s, which are circling in the distance.
“Lieutenant, are those planes attacking the tanks?” His voice is shaky, at best.
“Yes, I directed them to strafe the tanks and remain above them as long as their fuel holds out. I think this may distract the Japanese long enough for us to regroup. Since the tanks have outrun their supporting infantry, there is a reasonable likelihood they will stop and wait, which will buy us some time.” My intention is to calm him down and decide on a defensive plan for repelling the tank assault.
The colonel scans the horizon with his binoculars. “The tanks have stopped! I cannot see their infantry from this vantage point, but the fact is your ploy has worked, so far. Good job Lieutenant!” The Colonel wipes the sweat from around his eyes and returns the binoculars to a case he has strung across his left shoulder. We climb down from the observation post and return to the relative safety of our dug-out.
“Since you say significant infantry is behind those tanks, let’s use this time to fall back while we still can. General Weili is committing our full division reserves to support us, but they cannot arrive in time if those tanks and infantry continue their assault.”
The Colonel starts to give the orders to withdraw but before he can get the words out of his mouth the sound of incoming artillery instinctively sends me diving to the ground. Exploding shells land all around us when I see the Colonel blown, literally, into pieces. At the same moment searing pain rips through my head knocking off my helmet. I pick it up and realize it is full of holes. I am confused, everything seems to be happening in slow motion and I feel something warm dripping across my eyes. I pass out before I can even bring a hand to my face.
I awaken to discover I am in a field hospital with bandages wrapped around my entire head, save for my eyes, nose and mouth. I try to lift myself so I can determine if my arms and legs are still there, but the pain forces me backwards.
“Easy Lieutenant.” It is a female voice with a decidedly British accent. “You took some nasty shrapnel to your head. You’d better not move too quickly or you could give yourself vertigo!”
“You’re British?”
“Yes Sir, but you need your rest now.”
“Please, tell me where I am. Is this a POW hospital?”
The nurse laughs and responds “No, Lieutenant, this is a field hospital in Myitkyina. We captured the town a few days ago.”
She pulls the blanket up to my chin before continuing. “You’ve been unconscious for about a week. I must say we’ve been very concerned about you. The Doctors removed quite a bit of shrapnel from your head and I’m afraid it will be some time in recovery before you will get your balance back.” She pauses to take my temperature. Once accomplished, she looks at the thermometer and smiles her approval.
“In a week or two they are going to place you onto a plane and eventually you will be loaded onto a hospital ship bound for Pearl Harbor. The war is over for you, Lieutenant. At least for the foreseeable future. Now close your eyes and get some rest. I will have a hot meal brought around for you in a short while.” My worst fears are alleviated as I can lift my arms and legs. Sleep comes easily.
I have been in the field hospital nine days since I first woke up and tomorrow I have a plane ticket out of here. A hospital ship will be my next stop and will sail me to Pearl Harbor for continuing rest and rehabilitation. I am concerned how my head will react to flying as the relentless headache I have is barely touched by the medications. I am also having some problems with hallucinations, so when I see General Weili walk up to my bed, I am dubious that it truly is him.
“Good evening Lieutenant,” he says in English.
I blink a couple of times as I try to focus on him. Realizing it really is Weili, I attempt to sit up, but the convulsing rush of vertigo violently flings me back into the bed.
“Now, now, Lieutenant. Do not get up. They tell me you have a serious head injury.” Weili reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bottle of sake and slips it under my pillow.
“We captured this,” he points to the bottle of sake, “when we took the city. I thought you might appreciate it.” Weili is smiling.
“I have something else for you too.” He reaches into another pocket and pulls out a medal with a large blue ribbon attached to it. He bends down and pins it to my blanket.
“I am awarding you the Chinese equivalent to the Bronze Star. Your quick thinking with those P-38’s saved the day. The tanks did stop and by the time they realized they were not coming under a full air assault our reserves, along with our reserve artillery, were in position and we destroyed the entire tank column and most of the supporting infantry. Thanks to your quick thinking we did not lose any ground and dealt the enemy a blow from which they could not recover.”
&
nbsp; Weili, who had been leaning over me while speaking, stands upright, straightens his jacket and salutes me.
“Perhaps we will meet again when this conflict is over. That would please me very much.”
Without saying another word he walks out of the tent. I will never see him again.
Ken suddenly sits forward and turns to face Gary.
“So, Gary, the Army sent me to Honolulu to recover. That battle ended in August, 1944, and by the time I arrived here it was nearly Christmas. As it turned out, I would not be sent back as the war would be over before I fully recovered.”
When I was discharged I had a pretty nice bankroll. I never spent much money, had no family to support and after about a year in various hospitals, I had a pretty good amount of cash available. I bought an air conditioning company that was for sale. As part of the transaction the owner, a Japanese/American, stayed on for almost a year teaching me everything. I quickly found I had a knack for engineering and spent two long training periods at the equipment manufacturer’s New York factory. That experience made me decide I would always rotate my employees through the factory training program. And speaking of employees, I inherited two Koreans who were excellent technicians. My knowledge of the language grew rapidly with our interaction.”
“Hah! A funny story about the name I chose. Originally I was going to name the company ‘Ken’s Klimate Kontrol.’ I had seen many American companies spell words like that. But one of my staff advised me about an organization by the name of the Ku Klux Klan and that people might look at my company’s name and draw an improper conclusion. So I chose Ken’s Climate Control. Later I added the words, ‘All Islands.’ That is the story of our family business in a nutshell!”
“Gary, your grandfather is looking very tired. Why not join us for breakfast and he can finish his first life story in the morning. There is still a little more, you know, such as how we came to meet.” Sun smiles at the sight of the two men enjoying each other’s company.
Chameleons, a Novel Based Upon Actual Events Page 24