Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Introduction
CHAPTER 1 - Hollandia: “Looks Like We Walk Home.”
CHAPTER 2 - “I’ll Form My Own Intelligence Unit.”
CHAPTER 3 - Recruitment and Training
CHAPTER 4 - The First Mission
CHAPTER 5 - “God Bless You, Brave Soldiers.”
CHAPTER 6 - “. . . The Entire Shoreline Was Ablaze.”
CHAPTER 7 - Final Operations in New Guinea
CHAPTER 8 - “. . . By Far the Best Show I’ve Ever Seen.”
CHAPTER 9 - The Rescue at Cape Oransbari
CHAPTER 10 - “Maybe We Can Save the World.”
CHAPTER 11 - Samar/Ormoc Bay
CHAPTER 12 - “Only an Act of God Is Going to Get You Out.”
CHAPTER 13 - First In, Last Out
CHAPTER 14 - “If I Don’t Make It, It’s Up to You.”
CHAPTER 15 - “I Wouldn’t Trade the Whole Damned Jap Army for One Alamo Scout.”
CHAPTER 16 - “It Would Have Been Near Suicide.”
EPILOGUE
APPENDIX A - Alamo Scout Team Rosters
APPENDIX B - Glossary of Terms
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY
Acknowledgements
INDEX
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First published by NAL Caliber, an imprint of New American Library,
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First Printing, February 2009
Copyright © Larry Alexander, 2009
Maps courtesy of Dan Morris
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
Alexander, Larry, 1951-
Shadows in the jungle: the Alamo Scouts behind Japanese lines in World War II/Larry Alexander.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references.
eISBN : 978-1-440-68735-8
1. World War, 1939-1945—Campaigns—Pacific Area. 2. United States. Army. Army, 6th. Special
Reconnaissance Unit. 3. World War, 1939-1945—Regimental histories—United States. 4. World War,
1939-1945—Reconnaissance operations. 5. World War, 1939-1945—Military intelligence—United
States. I. Title.
D767.A66 2009
940.54’2599—dc22 2008024558
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This book is respectfully dedicated to the Alamo Scouts,
unsung heroes of the war in the southwest Pacific.
INTRODUCTION
The Best of the Best
In late December 2006, an eighty-five-year-old man left his favorite restaurant and headed for his parked car. He had just enjoyed his dinner of crispy-fried filet of sole, half of which he had eaten and the other half of which the restaurant staff had dutifully wrapped “to go.”
When the elderly man, aided by a cane, arrived at his car, he slipped the key into the passenger-side door lock, opened the door, and placed his doggy bag on the seat. Then he closed the door.
That was when the mugger struck, a hard blow on the right side of the man’s head that broke his glasses’ frame and cut him above the eye. Somewhat softened by the bill of his baseball-style cap, the blow nonetheless staggered the elderly man. He felt himself falling, but was able to catch himself by bracing his arms on the cane.
Blood clouded the vision in the man’s right eye, but from his left he saw his attacker’s feet on the sidewalk before him, and in one swift motion he brought the cane up between them. The mugger yelped as the cane connected with his testicles, and he stumbled back. With the advantage now on his side, the old man reversed the cane and, using the curved handle, swung it like a baseball bat against each of the mugger’s shins. The cane connected with a resounding crack and the mugger hit the pavement like a felled ox. The old man swung the cane again, this time taking aim on his attacker’s knees, and heard the pop of wood striking bone. He delivered another blow to the man’s crotch.
By now the mugger was rolling on the ground, howling in pain, his arms shielding his head in anticipation of being hit there. Instead, the elderly man brought the cane down two more times, once to each side of the rib cage, cracking bones with each swing. He then leaned back against his car and waited for the police.
When a female officer arrived, having been called by a witness walking her dog, she took in the scene. Paramedics were tending to a young, tough-looking man writhing in agony on the sidewalk, while at the ambulance another medical worker was bandaging the forehead of the elderly man with the cane. The officer walked up to the victim-turned-victor.
“You did this?” she asked in disbelief, pointing to the thoroughly whipped thug.
“No,” he replied. “My cane did.”
The police officer was obviously surprised, but had she known the old man, her reaction might have been different. For, sixty-two years earlier, the man, a World War II veteran, had been an Alamo Scout, a decorated member of the U.S. Army’s smallest elite fighting force, trained not just in the skills of jungle survival, intelligence gathering, and reconnaissance, but to respond automatically and with deadly force when attacked.
The mugger, although he may never know it, had been fortunate.
* * *
It was just after eight a.m. on Wednesday, October 10, 2007, when the taxi rolled up to the main entrance of the Renaissance
Hotel in Denver, Colorado. After paying off the cabby, I entered the hotel lobby, where the first thing that greeted my eyes was a table festooned with a red, white, and blue banner proclaiming ALAMO SCOUTS ASSOCIATION.
I smiled. I had arrived.
A little over a year earlier, I had been somewhat in the same shoes as the police officer who responded to the mugging. Like her and many other Americans, I knew little or nothing about the Alamo Scouts. I had come across their name once or twice over the years in the course of my reading but was not really aware of who they were and what they had done.
Now, I had traveled nearly two thousand miles to meet them and get their stories down on tape, for they were to be the subject of my next book.
After the release of Biggest Brother, an account of the famed World War II paratrooper Dick Winters, in 2005, I wasn’t sure there’d be a “next book.” I had not written Biggest Brother as a means of securing a second career as an author. Instead, I had done it as a tribute to the life of a man whose story I felt Americans needed to know.
However, after a while, my passion as a writer began to get the best of me and I sought a subject for a second book, fueled perhaps by the many e-mails and phone calls from readers who enjoyed not just Biggest Brother but my style of storytelling, and encouraged me to write again. So how could I not? Besides, I’ve had a lifelong fascination with books and had dreamed of being an author ever since I was twelve years old and my grandparents bought me my first typewriter.
So I began searching for a topic that, if not new and untouched, had at least not been plowed over in countless previous books.
That’s how I stumbled across the Alamo Scouts Web site. This site, at www.alamoscouts.org, contains a wealth of information on the unit, and includes photos and personal stories, and the more I read, the more I was in awe of these men and their deeds.
The site led me to the only book devoted to the unit, Silent Warriors of World War II: The Alamo Scouts Behind the Japanese Lines, by Lance Q. Zedric, published in 1995. Zedric had begun the book as a college thesis, and had the good fortune to link up with the surviving Scouts and preserve many of their stories.
After looking over the Web site and the book, I contacted Russ Blaise, the executive director of the Alamo Scouts Association and the son of the late William F. Blaise, a Scout with the Sumner Team. Russ was more than agreeable to the idea of a new book about his father’s unit, and with his valuable assistance, and the support of Zedric, who is now the Alamo Scouts’ official historian, I was off and running.
With Russ’s invaluable help, I began making contact with surviving Alamo Scouts, conducting both telephone and face-to-face interviews and obtaining much-needed documents and notes. The work went smoothly, not just in putting together the story of the Scouts but in finding the trivia and detail I needed to help bring those stories to life. But something was missing, and it proved to be the personal touch. I needed to actually meet some of these men.
Getting together with Jack Geiger of the Lutz Team proved easy. He lives in New Jersey and we were able to meet personally on two occasions, and his assistance proved vital in putting together the story of his team and its men.
But I needed more of that one on one, which is what drew me to Denver to attend the Alamo Scouts reunion and meet the men I had been researching and reading about for the past year.
* * *
The Alamo Scouts were conceived by Maj. Gen. Walter Krueger in late 1943, in response to a desire by his commander—Gen. Douglas MacArthur—for a reliable reconnaissance unit whose information he could depend on for its accuracy. Suspicious and vain, MacArthur distrusted the Office of Strategic Services for his intelligence, because of the OSS’s close ties to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, whom MacArthur viewed with extreme skepticism and disdain.
The Scouts were an all-volunteer organization formed under the leadership of Col. Frederick Bradshaw. He laid out a six-week training program that was intense and rugged, designed to weed out all but the best candidates. Men were dismissed not just if they failed to make the grade physically but also based on their personalities. Bullies, loudmouths, and individualists didn’t last. The men had to like each other and trust one another, because their lives depended on mutual trust and teamwork. They also needed good survival instincts and keen senses. In once instance, Scouts located a Japanese camp by following the scent of a can of sardines opened by an enemy soldier.
For those who graduated from the Alamo Scout Training Camp, life off the line was as good as Krueger could make it. They had first-class accommodations insofar as food, tentage, and other amenities, such as shower facilities, refrigerators, and radios, could be obtained. Hotel Alamo, the men dubbed their camp.
Bradshaw, through Krueger, also made sure the men had the very best in equipment and weaponry. Whatever a man wanted, he was given.
But it was in the field where the Alamo Scouts proved their worth. Working in teams of six or seven men, they operated miles behind enemy lines on missions that sometimes lasted up to seventy days. Moving silently among the Japanese in their camouflage uniforms and painted hands and faces, and communicating mostly by hand signals, they collected data on possible invasion beaches, tides and currents, troop numbers and locations, enemy morale, defensive positions, the availability of roads and fresh water, and other much-needed information. And while their main mission was to collect intelligence and not fight the enemy, they were sometimes called upon to perform raider duties, such as destroying enemy supply depots, and rescuing civilian hostages and prisoners of war from the Japanese.
Between December 27, 1943, and September 2, 1945, 325 officers and men would graduate from the Alamo Scout Training Camp, but only 138 would be assigned to one of the twelve Alamo Scout teams. Yet the Scouts, as a unit, never numbered more than 78 men—65 men and 13 officers—on active duty at any one time.
By the war’s end, the Alamo Scouts had conducted 108 missions, all of them fraught with danger. Working miles behind enemy lines, they are credited with killing more than five hundred Japanese soldiers and taking about sixty prisoners, and while they suffered a dozen or more men wounded, no Scout was killed in combat.
In the course of their work, the Scouts were awarded forty-four Silver Stars, two with Oak Leaf clusters; thirty-three Bronze Stars, eleven with Oak Leaf clusters; and four Soldier’s Medals. Three men were recommended for the Distinguished Service Cross and two teams, under Lts. William Nellist and Thomas Rounsaville, won Presidential Unit Citations for their part in the POW rescue at Cabanatuan in January 1945.
After the war, the Pentagon ordered that the missions of the Alamo Scouts be classified, and the Scouts were basically told to go home, resume their lives, and shut up. That, along with the fact that the unit was deactivated without fanfare, ceremony, or any degree of recognition, left a bitter taste in the mouths of many of the men who so proudly wore the Alamo Scout patch.
Around 1988, most of their missions were declassified, and the rest were done so a few years later and finally the veterans, now men into their sixties, received the coveted Special Forces shoulder tab.
By the time I caught up with them in Denver, they were all old men, gray-haired and, in some cases, in poor health. Indeed, only seven Scouts were slated to attend the reunion, and only five actually showed up.
Just as it was difficult for me to imagine the Dick Winters I know today as the twenty-three-year-old paratrooper who jumped out of airplanes in 1944, so too was it hard for me to picture these aging men as the soldiers who crept so close to the Japanese that an enemy soldier actually pissed on one of them without seeing him. But the youthful gleam in their eyes as they spoke to me about those days told me differently.
I wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea of meeting the Alamo Scouts there in Denver. Although they knew I was coming, I felt less like a visitor and more like an intruder to these men who played such a key role in General MacArthur’s victories and who, now in their twilight years, were gathering to share
their memories and relive the days of their youth with their comrades.
I fretted needlessly.
The first Scout I caught up with was Terry Santos, who declined to join a team back in 1944 and returned to his original unit after Alamo Scout training. Terry was lead scout on the Los Baños internment camp raid, helping to free over two thousand civilian prisoners, and he won a Silver Star for knocking out three Japanese machine-gun emplacements.
Still spry at eighty-six, Terry was talkative and outgoing. He seemed to have a drive that made him the obvious leader of the group at the reunion, taking charge of meetings and allocating responsibility for activities.
Wilbur Littlefield, one of the surviving team leaders, soon arrived from Los Angeles. I had interviewed him on the phone and now had the chance to meet him and talk further. He made me feel at ease and seemed to enjoy reliving his experiences with me.
Aubrey “Lee” Hall was there, too. As a temporary member of the team led by John Dove, he took part in a perilous mission in New Guinea. I had interviewed Lee on the phone prior to meeting him, and I had the chance to continue our discussions in Denver.
Likewise, Bob Buschur and Conrad Vineyard, two Scouts who never had the chance to serve on teams, were most helpful, as were the families of the deceased Alamo Scouts Irv Ray, Harold Hard, Bill Nellist, John McGowen, William McCommons, and Zeke McConnell.
I went away from Denver not just with a wealth of information and a further appreciation of what these men did but with a group of new friends.
Only about a tenth of the 325 men who qualified as Alamo Scouts are known to remain. Many have passed on, some taking their untold stories with them. It is because of this, plus their decades of government-enforced silence, that so few people are familiar with their names and deeds.
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