Lost In Shangri-La Part 7

"It was as plain as day that he was worried about us and had come back to see how we were. He hovered over us like a mother hen. I woke up McCollom. He took a good look at Pete and said, 'Holy smoke! We've got a guardian.' "

Later, when she compared notes with McCollom and Decker, Margaret learned that whenever one or the other woke that night, he saw Chief Pete/Wimayuk Wandik watching over them.

Chapter 13

COME WHAT MAY

BY NOVEMBER 1944, Earl Walter and sixty-six jump-qualified members of the 5217th Reconnaissance Battalion were sweating out the war in "strategic reserve," stuck in steamy but peaceful Hollandia, Dutch New Guinea. The closest thing to excitement came when their battalion was renamed the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion (Special), known as the 1st Recon. The new name did nothing to change their idle fate. Neither did Walter's promotion from lieutenant to captain. Earl Walter and sixty-six jump-qualified members of the 5217th Reconnaissance Battalion were sweating out the war in "strategic reserve," stuck in steamy but peaceful Hollandia, Dutch New Guinea. The closest thing to excitement came when their battalion was renamed the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion (Special), known as the 1st Recon. The new name did nothing to change their idle fate. Neither did Walter's promotion from lieutenant to captain.

As months pa.s.sed, Allied forces under General MacArthur kept busy retaking the islands of the Philippines-one after another, from Leyte to Luzon, Palawan to Mindanao. As the fight progressed, paratroopers from the 503rd and 511th regiments carried out their dangerous and heroic missions on Corregidor and Luzon.

All the while, Walter and his men yearned to get out of the heat of Hollandia and into the fire of war. Their battalion's devil-may-care motto was Bahala na! Bahala na! a phrase from the Tagalog dialect of the Philippines that can be translated as "Come what may!" The more time pa.s.sed without a mission, the more it seemed like a taunt. The problem, as Walter and his men saw it, was that nothing came their way. a phrase from the Tagalog dialect of the Philippines that can be translated as "Come what may!" The more time pa.s.sed without a mission, the more it seemed like a taunt. The problem, as Walter and his men saw it, was that nothing came their way.

While awaiting orders in Hollandia-some eighteen hundred miles southeast of Manila-Walter's men pressed him for news. With families and roots in the Philippines, they wanted the honor and the satisfaction of driving the enemy from their homeland. They craved payback for more than two years of j.a.panese occupation. They wanted revenge for the Bataan Death March of 1942, during which j.a.panese troops killed or brutalized thousands of captured Filipino and American soldiers along a forced hundred-mile march to a prison camp. Newspapers had detailed the atrocities, fueling a combustible mix of fear and hatred of the j.a.panese, perhaps nowhere more so than among the men in Walter's unit. One of them, Corporal Camilo "Rammy" Ramirez, had experienced the horrors at Bataan firsthand before making a daring escape.

Walter tried to boost morale and conditioning, leading grueling runs around Hollandia to keep his men's legs strong for parachute landings. Yet privately, Walter feared it was a waste of time. He worried that he'd spend his life saying, "Nothing much," when asked what he'd done in the war.

"My men would come to me and say-I was a lieutenant then-'Lieutenant, when in h.e.l.l are we going to get to the Philippines?' " Walter recalled. "And I'd say, 'As soon as I can get us there.' " One hindrance, at least from Walter's perspective, was that the j.a.panese were retreating faster than expected, potentially making unnecessary his unit's unique language, intelligence, and parachute skills.

Walter proposed one combat task after another to his superiors, to no avail. Showing some moxie, he tried to cut through the U.S. Army bureaucracy by drawing up plans for a behind-enemy-lines parachute drop. He shared the plans with an acquaintance-a lieutenant who happened to be the son of General Courtney Whitney, who oversaw guerrilla resistance in the Philippines and was MacArthur's closest confidant.

When that gambit didn't spark a response, on March 13, 1945, Walter took the next step and wrote a blunt letter directly to General Whitney. In it, Walter complained about being idle and fairly pleaded for combat duty in the Philippines. If that wasn't possible, he wrote, he wanted to be rea.s.signed to a fighting unit in Europe or anywhere at all before it was too late and the war was already won.

"As you know, Sir," Walter wrote the general, "I came to this theater at my own request, in fact I worked hard for the a.s.signment, but now I find that my efforts were in vain." After making his case, he acknowledged that he'd violated protocol and jumped multiple levels in the chain of command by sending the letter. "In closing may I add that I admit I have stepped over the line but I am afraid this is a trait I inherited from my father."

Whitney seemed to admire Walter's pluck. He responded two weeks later with a letter filled with praise and encouragement. The brigadier general gently explained to the young officer that matters more pressing than personal ambition-however courageous or well-intentioned-took priority in the effort to reclaim the Philippines. Whitney urged Walter to keep his men ready to invade j.a.pan, and offered flattery and morale-building suggestions. "The work of the Battalion and the preparation of your parachutists for active service has been brilliant," the general wrote. "Your leadership in this latter field has been cause for much satisfaction on the part of every staff officer of this Headquarters... . My advice to you is to do all possible to keep your men in trim and keep patient a little longer. I am sure that your desire for an opportunity to employ these men in the manner for which they have been trained will be fully satisfied in the campaigns which yet lie ahead."

Whitney's letter cheered Walter. He wrote the general in response: "I took the liberty of reading it to my parachutists, and to the man they were overjoyed, and their morale has climbed to a new high. They are all very anxious to do their part, and the work given us, no matter how difficult, I can guarantee will be a complete success. The men will be kept in trim and when our turn comes we will be ready. Thank you for giving the hopes of my officers and men a new foundation and I can easily say for all, you can count on us for anything."

General Whitney returned his attention to the war. Weeks pa.s.sed with no further word on a role for the 1st Recon, and Walter's excitement ebbed. He grew frustrated to the point of distraction. He became convinced that his father had followed through with the threat he'd made at the submarine landing site. Earl Senior, Walter believed, had voiced concerns about his son's safety, and by doing so had sidelined the paratroopers of the 1st Recon.

"I was an only son, an only child, and I think my dad worried," Walter explained. "My dad was strong enough in the guerrilla movement, and known well enough by people in the Army, that when he said, 'I don't want you using my son overtly,' they listened."

Whether his father had such power is unclear. No records exist to confirm that Earl Senior raised objections to his son's partic.i.p.ation in risky duty. But the fact remained that in May 1945, as Captain C. Earl Walter Jr. approached his twenty-fourth birthday, the war seemed to be winding down, and he and his unit were men without a mission.

THE MEN WHO SERVED under Walter in the 1st Recon had a right to be equally upset. Perhaps more so. Every soldier of Filipino descent had followed a difficult road to service in the American military. under Walter in the 1st Recon had a right to be equally upset. Perhaps more so. Every soldier of Filipino descent had followed a difficult road to service in the American military.

The roots of the tangled relationship between Filipinos and Americans dated back nearly fifty years, to 1898 and the Treaty of Paris, which marked the end of the Spanish-American War. The treaty gave the United States control over the Philippines, much to the chagrin of the Filipino people, who ached for independence after three centuries under Spanish rule. But America was feeling its imperialist oats as a world power. President William McKinley declared in his famous if sometimes disputed quote that it was the United States' duty to "educate the Filipinos, and uplift and Christianize them."

Within weeks of the treaty, American and Filipino patrols traded fire on the outskirts of Manila, triggering a forty-one-month clash that became known as the Philippine-American War, the most overlooked conflict in United States history. Before it was over, the United States had suffered more than four thousand combat deaths. The Philippines lost perhaps five times as many soldiers, as well as more than one hundred thousand civilians who died from famine and disease. President Theodore Roosevelt declared victory on July 4, 1902, and the Philippines became a U.S. territory, though skirmishes continued for years. Atrocities by American soldiers were whitewashed, and Roosevelt's secretary of war congratulated the military for conducting "a humane war" in the face of "savage provocation" by "a treacherous foe."

The next three decades saw an influx of Filipino immigrants to the United States, with a majority of the newcomers heading to California and Hawaii. At the same time, a mutually beneficial trading relationship developed across the Pacific. One resource the Americans especially valued was hardwood, which is how C. Earl Walter Sr. came to manage a lumber company in Mindanao. But for many Filipinos, the United States was hardly welcoming. Anti-Filipino sentiment ran high, and Filipinos experienced racially motivated attacks and legal restrictions against owning land. Antimiscegenation laws in western states prevented them from marrying white women. For most, economic opportunities were limited to field work, service occupations, manual labor, and jobs in canneries and factories.

Meanwhile, the drive for independence for the Philippines continued. In 1934 President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed a law establishing a ten-year transition period, at the end of which the Philippines would have its own U.S.-style democracy. Until then, new immigration by Filipinos would be severely limited, and repatriation laws would pressure Filipinos living in the United States to return to the islands.

Then came December 8, 1941. One day after Pearl Harbor, j.a.pan launched a surprise air-and-land attack on the Philippines, centered on the island of Luzon. The outnumbered Filipino and American forces, under General MacArthur's command, quickly withdrew to the Bataan Peninsula and the island of Corregidor, at the entrance to Manila Bay. The U.S.-Philippine forces surrendered in April 1942, and with help from none other than Colonel Ray Elsmore, MacArthur escaped to Australia to begin plotting his return. Surviving American and Filipino troops and the Filipino people weren't so fortunate; they suffered through the Bataan Death March and a brutal occupation.

News of the attacks on Pearl Harbor and the Philippines made Filipinos in the United States eager to fight the j.a.panese. By then, more than a hundred thousand transplanted Filipinos lived in Hawaii and on the U.S. mainland. But they were in a strange limbo. They were legal U.S. residents, but they weren't eligible for citizenship, so they could neither be drafted nor volunteer for military service.

Individually and through their representatives in Washington, Filipinos pet.i.tioned Roosevelt, his secretary of war, and members of Congress for the right to fight. Some wanted to serve for practical reasons, such as the opportunities and benefits they expected would come to veterans after the war. But more spoke of vengeance. Although the United States had been attacked by air at Pearl Harbor, the Philippines had been invaded. Sounding like a colonial recruit in the Revolutionary War, one Filipino volunteer declared, "Life is so small a property to risk as compared to the fight incurred for the emanc.i.p.ation of a country from ... foul, ignominious, barbaric, inhuman treatments."

Within weeks of the j.a.panese invasion, Roosevelt signed a law that allowed Filipinos to join the U.S. military. This led to the creation of the 1st Filipino Battalion, which from the outset was expected to help in the battle to retake the islands through overt and covert action. By May 1942, more than two thousand men of Filipino descent had volunteered. So many new recruits volunteered that the battalion was upgraded to the 1st Filipino Regiment. Soon after, the U.S. Army created a 2nd Filipino Regiment. Eventually, more than seven thousand men of Filipino descent served in the two regiments. Roosevelt rewarded their fervor by making Filipino soldiers in the U.S. military eligible for citizenship, and several thousand took the oath.

An American reporter who caught up with the Filipino-American troops a few months after their induction described them with unreserved admiration: "The men of this Filipino regiment are taking the business of sudden death seriously. Their American officers have commended their amazing conscientiousness and ardor, and have encouraged them to add a purely Filipino fillip to the orthodox warfare methods. In simulated jungle fighting, these sons and grandsons of guerrilla warriors ... like to creep close to the enemy with bayonets tightly gripped in their mouths, and then jump at him, wielding their bayonets as if they were their native bolos."

In spring 1944, the 2nd Filipino Regiment was merged into the 1st Filipino Regiment and sent overseas as the 1st Filipino Infantry Regiment. Its members made it to the Philippines in February 1945. In one battle on Samar Island, the regiment reported killing 1,572 j.a.panese soldiers while losing only five of its men. In May 1945, while Walter and his men were still in Hollandia awaiting an a.s.signment, the 1st Filipino Infantry Regiment moved into heavy combat against the j.a.panese on Leyte Island.

A FEW WEEKS before the crash of the before the crash of the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special, Walter was invited to lunch by his former military school teacher, Lieutenant Colonel John Babc.o.c.k. In the officer's mess hall, Babc.o.c.k listened as Walter told him about the Filipino paratroopers he'd trained for behind-enemy-lines missions. Walter poured out his exasperation at being stuck in New Guinea, unable to find a way into action.

Babc.o.c.k had taught cla.s.ses at Black-Foxe Military Inst.i.tute for six years before joining the Army Air Forces, so he knew when a boy became a man. Walter's transformation couldn't have escaped his notice. Walter still had the slim-hipped, broad-shouldered build of the All-American swimmer he'd been at school. But the cla.s.s-cutting, undisciplined boy who sold half-price notebooks to cla.s.smates to finance visits to strip clubs had become a sober, determined captain in the airborne infantry. If he listened closely, Babc.o.c.k also must have recognized that Walter was determined to prove to his father, and to himself, that he could lead troops into danger and back out again.

Babc.o.c.k and Walter left the lunch with a promise to meet again. But before they had the chance, Babc.o.c.k became involved in planning the rescue of survivors from the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special crash. He learned that Colonel Elsmore believed that no paratroopers were available in Hollandia. crash. He learned that Colonel Elsmore believed that no paratroopers were available in Hollandia.

"When Babc.o.c.k heard that," Walter recalled, "he said, 'I've got just the people to go in there and get them out.' "

A PARACHUTE DROP into Shangri-La wasn't a combat posting or an intelligence a.s.signment, at least not in a conventional sense. But compared to endless, apparently pointless physical training in Hollandia, it more than fit the bill. When Babc.o.c.k told him what was happening, Walter leaped at the opportunity. He didn't know what his father would say about the mission, and since the elder Walter was somewhere behind enemy lines in the Philippines, the younger Walter wouldn't worry about asking. Babc.o.c.k relayed word of Walter's interest up the chain of command. into Shangri-La wasn't a combat posting or an intelligence a.s.signment, at least not in a conventional sense. But compared to endless, apparently pointless physical training in Hollandia, it more than fit the bill. When Babc.o.c.k told him what was happening, Walter leaped at the opportunity. He didn't know what his father would say about the mission, and since the elder Walter was somewhere behind enemy lines in the Philippines, the younger Walter wouldn't worry about asking. Babc.o.c.k relayed word of Walter's interest up the chain of command.

A series of hastily arranged meetings followed, during which Walter met Elsmore and other senior officers coordinating the search and rescue effort. The meetings were straightforward enough, devoted largely to making certain that Walter understood the situation and the dangers that he and his men would face.

When he'd absorbed the warnings, Walter returned to the tents occupied by his unit. His men gathered around him, the tallest among them a full head shorter than their captain. Even before he began to speak they bustled with excitement, sensing that-at least for some-their months of waiting were over.

When they settled down, Walter explained the situation. Word of the crash had spread throughout the sprawling base, but news of survivors was still trickling through the unreliable pipeline of fact, rumor, and gossip. Walter announced that the paratroopers of the 1st Recon had been chosen for a special mission-to protect survivors of the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special crash on the ground and eventually lead them to safety. He needed ten volunteers to join him, including two medics. But before taking names, he delivered a four-part warning. crash on the ground and eventually lead them to safety. He needed ten volunteers to join him, including two medics. But before taking names, he delivered a four-part warning.

Captain C. Earl Walter Jr. (back row, center) and the members of the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion outside their "Club Bahala Na" in Hollandia. (Photo courtesy of C. Earl Walter Jr.) First, Walter told them, the area they'd be jumping into was marked "unknown" on maps, so they'd have nothing but their wits and their compa.s.ses to guide them.

Second, the two medics would parachute as close as possible to the survivors, into a jungle so thick it would be what Walter called "the worst possible drop zone." He and the eight other volunteers would drop onto the floor of the Shangri-La Valley some twenty to thirty air miles away. There, they'd establish a base camp with the goal of eventually leading the medics and any survivors from the crash site down to the valley.

Third, if they survived the jumps, their band of eleven men would confront what Walter described as "a very good possibility that the natives would prove hostile." Their squad would have the advantage in terms of weapons, but they could expect to be outnumbered by hundreds to one in any confrontation.

Walter saved the worst for last: Fourth, no one had a plan, even a rough one, to get them out of the valley. They might have to hike some one hundred and fifty miles to either the north or south coast of New Guinea, through some of the most inhospitable terrain on earth, with crash survivors who might be hurt and unable to walk on their own. Complicating matters, if they hiked north they'd go through an area "known to be the domain of headhunters and cannibals." If they hiked south, they'd pa.s.s through jungles and swamps occupied by perhaps ten thousand j.a.panese troops who'd been hiding since the Allies captured New Guinea's coastal areas.

Walter didn't mention it, but if they did have to trek their way to the coast, he'd choose to face the j.a.panese rather than the headhunters. Death seemed a strong possibility either way, but at least they'd go into the fight with a clear idea how j.a.panese soldiers would react to a group of American paratroopers. Also, unlike the natives, the j.a.panese wouldn't have home-field advantage. Maybe best of all, being horribly outnumbered by j.a.panese troops while leading his men in jungle warfare would mean that Walter had followed in his father's footsteps.

As Walter stood before his men, he recognized that each one had his own reasons for being there, whether revenge, patriotism, opportunity, or all three. One quality he knew they had in common was desire. All had volunteered for military service, after which they'd all volunteered for reconnaissance work and paratrooper training. Now Walter was testing them again.

When Walter finished his litany of warnings, he waited a beat, then asked for volunteers. As Walter recalled it, every member of the parachute unit raised his hand. Then each one took a step forward. Walter swelled with pride.

"Bahala na," several said, voicing the battalion's motto. Come what may Come what may.

Chapter 14

FIVE-BY-FIVE

AFTER ANOTHER FITFUL night, the survivors awoke at dawn-Thursday, May 17-still weary, cold, wet, and hungry. Knowing that more search planes would return to the spot where Captain Baker tossed out the life rafts as markers, they ate some of their remaining candies and talked about being rescued. Unaware of the technical limits, McCollom predicted that the Army Air Forces would use a helicopter to pluck them from the jungle and whisk them back to Hollandia in no time. The only obstacles he antic.i.p.ated were the trees, but he considered that a minor inconvenience. "We can clear enough s.p.a.ce for it to land," he told the others. night, the survivors awoke at dawn-Thursday, May 17-still weary, cold, wet, and hungry. Knowing that more search planes would return to the spot where Captain Baker tossed out the life rafts as markers, they ate some of their remaining candies and talked about being rescued. Unaware of the technical limits, McCollom predicted that the Army Air Forces would use a helicopter to pluck them from the jungle and whisk them back to Hollandia in no time. The only obstacles he antic.i.p.ated were the trees, but he considered that a minor inconvenience. "We can clear enough s.p.a.ce for it to land," he told the others.

They spotted the first plane around nine that morning-a C-47. For the first time, Margaret, McCollom, and Decker could see what the For the first time, Margaret, McCollom, and Decker could see what the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special must have looked like from the natives' perspective before it crashed. must have looked like from the natives' perspective before it crashed.

When the plane was over the clearing, a cargo door opened to deliver its payload: wooden supply crates attached to big red cargo parachutes. Margaret watched as the first chute blossomed in the sky like a huge, upside-down tulip. The crate swayed in the breeze before landing about a hundred yards from the clearing. McCollom and Decker plunged into the jungle to retrieve it, while Margaret stayed behind on the relative high ground of the little knoll. She kept busy by taking note of where subsequent chutes and boxes landed.

The two men took a while to drag the crate out, but when Decker and McCollom returned, they bore a prize more precious than food: a portable FM radio that could be used to transmit and receive messages. It was almost certainly a rugged, waterproof thirty-five-pound two-way radio the size of a small suitcase. Developed by Motorola for the Army Signal Corps, the device could be carried on a soldier's back, hence its immortal nickname, the "walkie-talkie." Its design was a milestone that contributed to a revolution in portable wireless communication, but to the survivors its value was immediate and immense.

"McCollom swiftly set it up," Margaret told her diary. "The plane was still circling overhead, and Decker and I were in a true fever as we watched it and then McCollom."

Holding the radio's telephone-like mouthpiece near his lips, McCollom felt emotions welling up that he'd suppressed since crawling out of the burning plane. For the first time since the death of his brother, he found himself too choked up to speak. He had to swallow hard, twice, before his voice returned. "This is Lieutenant McCollom," he croaked finally. "Give me a call. Give me a call. Do you read me? Over."

The answer came back swiftly and clearly. "This is three-one-one three-one-one," said the plane's radio operator, an affable New Yorker named Sergeant Jack Gutzeit, following Army Air Forces protocol by identifying himself by his plane's last three serial numbers. "Three-one-one calling calling nine-five-two nine-five-two"-the final serial numbers of the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special.

Using radio lingo to describe the strength and clarity of a signal, Gutzeit said: "I read you five-by-five"-a perfect connection.

Tears flowing, Margaret looked at her two comrades. Her companions. Her friends. She saw that McCollom and Decker were crying, too. They were still marooned in the jungle, but they no longer felt quite so alone. Now they had a lifeline to home, or at least a lifeline to a Brooklyn accent aboard a U.S. Army plane circling overhead.

Regaining his composure, McCollom briefly described the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special flight, the crash, and the aftermath. In doing so, he delivered the heartrending news that Gutzeit would need to relay to his superiors, for dispersal through the ranks and beyond: no other survivors. flight, the crash, and the aftermath. In doing so, he delivered the heartrending news that Gutzeit would need to relay to his superiors, for dispersal through the ranks and beyond: no other survivors.

The first hopes dashed would be in Hollandia, among the friends and comrades of the twenty-one lost pa.s.sengers and crew, including Ruth Coster, awaiting word about Helen Kent, and James Lutgring, praying for the safety of his pal Melvin Mollberg. From there, word would spread via Western Union telegrams to blue-star families throughout the United States. Formal letters of sympathy would follow.

A U.S. ARMY flight surgeon aboard the plane named Captain Frank Riley asked McCollom to report their condition. Margaret and Decker knew that their burns had turned gangrenous, and their other injuries were infected or nearly so. Margaret described herself and Decker in her diary as "almost too weak to move." flight surgeon aboard the plane named Captain Frank Riley asked McCollom to report their condition. Margaret and Decker knew that their burns had turned gangrenous, and their other injuries were infected or nearly so. Margaret described herself and Decker in her diary as "almost too weak to move."

McCollom wasn't sure what to say, so he looked to them for an answer.

"Tell 'em we're fine," Margaret said.

Decker agreed: "Tell 'em we're in good shape. There's nothing they can do, anyway."

McCollom followed their orders. Only later would they reveal the full extent of their wounds.

The plane, piloted by Captain Herbert O. Mengel of St. Petersburg, Florida, continued to circle overhead. Radioman Jack Gutzeit told the survivors that a plan was being drawn up to rescue them, but nothing was firmly in place. First, they intended to drop medics by parachute as soon as possible. In the meantime, he a.s.sured them, "We're dropping plenty of food. Everything from shrimp c.o.c.ktails to nuts." Whether Gutzeit was exaggerating about the delicacies wasn't clear, but the survivors never found shrimp in the jungle.

WHEN THE PLANE flew off, the survivors saw that the natives had returned. flew off, the survivors saw that the natives had returned.

"There on the knoll across from us were Pete and his chums," Margaret wrote. "They were squatted on their haunches, grinning and watching us like an audience at a Broadway play." She counted her blessings, with a touch of condescension: "The natives, who might easily have been head-hunters, stood about and watched us with childish pleasure."

The natives made a small fire to warm themselves in the morning chill, and they sat around it, contentedly smoking stubby green cigars. Margaret, McCollom, and Decker looked on with envy. They had cigarettes in their pockets, but McCollom's lighter was spent and their matches were wet. His spirits lifted by the conversation with the men on board the C-47, McCollom told the others, "I think I'm going over and borrow a cup of sugar from the neighbors." He cadged a light, then shared the flame with Margaret and Decker.

"The natives smoked on their knoll and we smoked on ours," Margaret wrote. "No peace pipe ever tasted better."

Margaret began to fantasize about "the luscious Spam and K-rations probably awaiting us within a stone's throw." Despite her hunger, she told her friends, there were certain foods she wouldn't savor: "One is canned tomatoes and the other is raisins," she said. "When I was little I ate myself sick on both, and now I can't stand the sight of either."

McCollom answered: "I could eat the tomatoes, can and all, if I could get 'em."

He rose and marched off in search of the supplies. Margaret appreciated McCollom's endurance and leadership. She was even more impressed by the man shadowing him through the jungle.

"Decker was emaciated, his eyes like burnt holes in a blanket," she wrote. "We knew he was hurt, but just how gravely we were not to discover for a few more hours. How Decker got to his feet I shall never know. But he did, and staggered uncomplainingly after McCollom, determined to do his share of the work."

Although McCollom explained during the radio conversation that there were only three survivors, the C-47 had been packed optimistically, with supplies for two dozen. Their orders were to drop the supplies, and Captain Mengel and his crew had no intention of disobeying. The sky over Shangri-La filled with cargo parachutes.

While Decker and McCollom went off in search of supplies, Margaret worried that the natives might collect boxes of rations she saw falling on the other side of a nearby hill. "I decided to scout that situation," she wrote. "It was excruciating to stand on my burned, infected legs. So part of the way I crawled on my hands and knees. When my infected hand hurt too much, I would sit down and bounce along on the ground."

When she reached the other side of the hill, Margaret was stunned to see a split-rail fence that she thought looked straight out of the Old West. Just beyond it was a native compound. She wrote: It was an odd and fascinating New Guinea housing project, with one large section and several smaller ones mushroomed around it. The huts were round, with bamboo sides and thatched roofs, and seemed to be at least semi-attached to each other. As for the roofs, they were alive with natives, all craning their jet-black necks for a better look at me. I could see a large-sized hole in one thatched roof. A hunch and a sinking feeling hit me simultaneously. I knew that one of our packages of supplies had gone through one roof. I was right, too, McCollom discovered later. I wondered if the natives were angry about this, or if they might go on the warpath because one of their houses was damaged. But they just stood and stared, entranced by the free show I made. So I decided to leave well-enough alone and go back to my own knoll.

THE CRATE THAT crashed through the roof did no harm beyond requiring new thatchwork. But another crate, dropped without a parachute, permanently embittered one resident of Uwambo toward the sky spirits in her midst. crashed through the roof did no harm beyond requiring new thatchwork. But another crate, dropped without a parachute, permanently embittered one resident of Uwambo toward the sky spirits in her midst.

Yaralok's daughter Yunggukwe, a girl on the cusp of womanhood, had recently become the owner of her first pig. This milestone, and the possession itself, was of immense importance to a Yali girl. So great was the pig's value to Yunggukwe-emotionally as well as, eventually, gustatorily-that its worth could only be exceeded by two pigs.

That morning, she tied her pig to a stake outside her hut, thinking it would be safe there. But when the supply plane roared over Uwambo, the pig had nowhere to run. To save parachute cloth, some of the boxes containing unbreakable items such as tents were pushed freefall out the C-47's cargo door, and such was the case with a crate dropped this day.

There was no evidence of intent, but no pinpoint bombing raid during the war found a mark more squarely. It landed on Yunggukwe's pig, killing it instantly and striking with such force that the animal shattered into pieces. Yunggukwe never received an apology or compensation, and she neither forgot nor forgave.

"That was my own pig that died," she said angrily sixty-five years later.

MARGARET CRAWLED BACK to the clearing just as McCollom and Decker returned from the jungle, "grinning like apes." In their arms were half a dozen cans of the only food they could find: tomatoes and tomato juice. to the clearing just as McCollom and Decker returned from the jungle, "grinning like apes." In their arms were half a dozen cans of the only food they could find: tomatoes and tomato juice.

"Come on, Maggie," Decker said. "Be a big girl now and eat some tomatoes."

She forced down four mouthfuls before quitting. Watching Decker and McCollom gorge themselves on the fleshy fruit, she grew so angry she demanded that they return to the jungle to find her something else to eat. They headed in the direction where they thought the parachutes landed, but turned up only a half dozen "jungle kits" filled with Atabrine pills for malaria, ointments for wounds, water purification tablets, and bags to collect water from streams or lakes. Also inside were jungle knives, mosquito nets, bandages, and gauze. The only food in the kits was chocolate bars. Margaret felt only slightly better about the chocolate than the tomatoes. "By this time I was almost as sick of candy as I was of tomatoes," she wrote.

Again Margaret marveled at Decker's fort.i.tude. Determined to do his part, he gathered the water bags and went to fill them in the icy stream. "He was gone so long I began to worry about him," Margaret wrote. "It took every ounce of his strength to get back to our knoll, and when he reached us he just sagged gently onto the hard earth."

McCollom, meanwhile, was worried about his companions. He decided the time was overdue to tend more thoroughly to their wounds. On McCollom's orders, Margaret rolled up her pants to expose the wide rings of burns around her calves. Left untended for four days, they oozed pus and reeked of dying flesh. The burns and cuts on both her feet had turned gangrenous, as had part of her hand.

"Decker and McCollom looked at me, and I knew they were alarmed. Suddenly I was in terror, lest I lose my legs," she told her diary. She fought to remain in control, fearing that letting down her guard might trigger a spiral into panic. She helped McCollom to apply an ointment they'd found in the jungle kits, after which he wrapped her wounds in gauze.

Crew members aboard a C47 prepare to drop supplies to the survivors of the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special crash. (Photo courtesy of C. Earl Walter Jr.) crash. (Photo courtesy of C. Earl Walter Jr.) Even without looking in her little mirror, Margaret knew that she was filthy and unkempt, almost unrecognizable from the eager, take-charge WAC who cared about her appearance and spent nights tailoring her khakis so they'd fit her pet.i.te figure. Decker, in what was becoming his usual blunt way, didn't hold back.