Battle Against Boredom
Chinese locals dressed in traditional attire, along with a few Republic of China soldiers, all seem interested in activities of the photographer of this street scene. The muddy, puddled street suggests that this was taken in Chungkind (Chongqing), or perhaps even in Peishiyi village. It was one of the many photographs depicting typical life in China that my father sent home during his service. J. H. Mills Collection
Expecting to be in the midst of the action following their move from India to China, aircrews of the 3rd Bomb Squadron flew only four missions against the Japanese drive before their evacuation from Kweilin (now Guilin) in mid-September 1944. At Peishiyi (Baishiyi), their new base, missions were limited by “unflyable” weather and shortage of supplies of all kinds, including gas and bombs required to attack the enemy. With no missions to give them focus, squadron personnel were unprepared for the monotony that became their humdrum existence. Under these harsh conditions, how did they battle the boredom as they waited to resume operations?
Early October had been spent preparing for the Chinese-American Composite Wing’s first anniversary, celebrated on October 8 (see “Chinese-American Composite Wing’s 1st Anniversary,” Oct. 9, 2024). All officers and enlisted men reported to the dispensary early on the ninth for tetanus, typhoid, cholera, and smallpox vaccinations. By the following day, "The arms of all personnel beginning to take the effect of itching and sore due to shots taken yesterday morning," wrote Lt. Paul L. Young, squadron intelligence and historical officer. Every time the men were given injections, they had to take the rest of the day off. My father, then Sgt. James H. (“Hank”) Mills explained, "They gave us twice the normal dosage each time because they said since the serum was made in China it wasn't as good as if it was made in the States.” Because of the unhealthy conditions that prevailed, immunizations were administered semi-annually. Capt. George C. Cunningham and S.Sgt. Paul E. Haines were noted as "sick in quarters”, both suffering from bouts of malaria, and Haines then spent a few days in the hospital for treatment.
Later that day, representatives from the 3rd and 4th Bomb Squadrons volunteered to study the feasibility of establishing an Officers Club on the base. Capt. Louis F. Graves Jr., squadron navigator—still waiting for transfer back home—was appointed to the court martial board. The 1st Bomb Group's public relations officer organized a contest to determine a moniker, and "Gambay Group" was the favored option. Gom bey, an often-used toast equivalent to "bottoms up,” in this case had a double meaning that warned the enemy that the fate of their shipping or other targets would also be "bottoms up.”
That evening, officers of the 3rd and 4th Bomb Squadrons hosted a reception to welcome Lt. Col. David J. Munson, the 1st Bomb Group's recently-appointed commanding officer, and Lt. Col. Austin J. Russell, new executive officer. At the party, "Chinese version of our 'Tom Collins' (Chinese gin, lemon powder, and water) flowed freely and a fried chicken dinner was provided," wrote the 3rd squadron historian. Capt. Thomas S. Simpson commented in his diary that Munson was “not a bad sort of a guy but far from Branch.” (He was referring to Lt. Col. Irving L. "Twig" Branch, the previous commander who was a favorite among his men.) He exercised restraint this time. “Gin galore but I stayed sober remembering yesterday. Sang all the old songs and a few fairly new ditties I’d never heard before. ‘Please Don’t Tear Our Back House Down’ went over big.”
He wrote again on the following day: “Even the transports haven’t landed here in three days—the ceiling has been so low. Strictly weather for ducks. Half day and I’m now sitting in my room writing this and listening to records.”
With weather conditions curtailing missions, many of the men relied upon reading and rereading the books and magazines in circulation to fill their leisure time, while others engaged in the seemingly endless games of poker, hearts, and other card games. On movie nights they usually went to see whatever film was featured, regardless of what was showing and how many times they had seen it before. There were generally two showings, one in the officers' hostel and one at the enlisted men's mess hall. "It, well, it was something to do," commented Maj. Thomas F. Manion, Group adjutant and historian. Maj. Don Hummel, CACW intelligence and historical officer, wrote that overcrowding often made it necessary for the men to view the films "on the hoof.” The audience gladly stood in the jam-packed hall "while having their morale boosted by strictly Grade E movies―the only type that seemingly could get to us over the 'HUMP'―no doubt because of their feathery lightness of artistic and entertainment content.” He surmised that their enthusiasm was motivated primarily by the opportunity to view the female form on screen. On non-movie nights, the enlisted men's mess hall doubled as a reading, writing, and recreation room since there was no additional space available for such activities.
During this time of operational inactivity, my father and others sometimes ventured into town, as well as nearby villages. He remembered that he most often went with SSgt. Ewell F. Wilkerson and Sgt. John P. Barge to escape the tedium of chow served on the base. The most conveniently located was Peishiyi village, described in the Group history as having “a long street about one mile long, with only a few turns, many shops, and admiring youngsters generally giving a ‘Ding How’, all along the way.”
Hank was surprised by the clothing typically worn by the younger children, whose pants had the seats conveniently removed. Even more astonishing to him were the practices of adults, who also relieved themselves when and where they felt the need without constraints caused by western concepts of modesty.
Under the tutelage of the two Chinese mechanics who taught him some expressions, Hank learned enough of their language to make himself understood when conversing with the locals. He still remembered their names many years later: Ma Tien-you and Ho Gui-hung. "They were always teaching me Chinese words. I used to go into villages and dicker with them and buy stuff.” He still remembered some phrases: "Nee jee mengsa si shi ma. That means, 'What is your name? Nee jee . . . you . . . jee is possessive. Mengsa is name. Si shi ma is question mark. Well, I used to could talk that stuff. Those Americans would go with me in those villages, and I could talk with those Chinese.”
Impressed with his ability to communicate with the locals, Hank's buddies would ask, "Where did you learn to speak like that?”
"I'd tell them, 'I just picked it up.'"
Sharing the opinion of most Americans, Hank liked the Chinese people, who were generally pleasant, friendly, and hard working. When the Chinese encountered an American soldier (called meg-wa-zen), their usual reaction was a greeting of ding how ("very good"), accompanied by a big grin and a "thumbs up" gesture. Maj. William B. McGehee, Wing adjutant, wrote in a letter to his hometown newspaper: “So far, I like China better than any place I have seen. There are more people here than in India, it seems, and just as much poverty, but not nearly as much begging. The people here are far more industrious than the Indians; are much friendlier, and have a good sense of humor, which was something I had not seen before I got here.” The shouted greeting of dinghow meant “of the best,” or very literally “You’re o.k.,” he explained. “It really makes you feel good, for it’s such a definite reflection of what they are taught at home by their parents. The U. S. is really building up a tremendous amount of good will everywhere I have been, especially here.”
Despite often-harsh conditions, Hank had good memories of his time in China and of the Chinese people. "They thought Americans were the greatest thing in the world.” His recollections included dealing with shopkeepers. "The main thing I remember is when you went to a Chinese business, the first thing they did was bring you in and made tea. You drank tea first. Then you discussed business. You haggled. They'd start out with double what they would expect to get. You'd start out with about half of what you expected to pay, and you met as close to the middle as you could."
"Things were cheap,” he recalled. “I bought some Chinese embroidered silk bedspreads. I sent one to my mother and one to my wife. They were pretty.” He also sent home other beautifully-embroidered articles, including silk scarves, handkerchiefs, and a child's cape and shoes, as well as hand-painted silk fans. "I've seen children working in those places. They didn't have any child labor laws. All children worked.”
Although locally-produced goods were relatively inexpensive, prices of most imported products were greatly inflated. A GI could buy a one-dollar Brownie camera for twelve dollars in American money, and a ten-cent pocket comb cost him two dollars and fifty cents. A bottle of good scotch could be purchased for $250. If he wanted a simple but well-prepared restaurant meal, he must be prepared to pay two to four dollars or even more for it.
During the month, a cholera epidemic in Peishiyi village killed twenty-five, including soldiers of a Chinese battalion stationed there. Houseboys were hastily inoculated to protect them against the disease. The thoroughly-immunized Americans were unaffected, although hardly any of them escaped colds and respiratory infections prompted by exposure to the damp chill, and some suffered from malarial relapses. Names of several of the officers and enlisted men appeared on morning reports during this period as “Dy to sk in qrs” followed a day or two later by “Sk in qrs to dy.”
The rain stopped for long enough to allow the first glimpse of blue sky in more than a week. T.Sgt. Robert N. Solyn was ordered to Chengtu for “dental treatment” in mid-October, according to the squadron’s monthly historical report, although hospital admission records indicated health issues involving “Male Genital Organs, disease of (non-venereal).” T.Sgt. Jack Holmes returned from treatment for an ulcer on his cornea. SSgts. James E. McCann and William G. Duffin returned from the hospital to duty. A one-ball alert was sounded at 1110 on the fourteenth, sending alert crews to stand by their planes to take to the air if necessary, but no enemy planes appeared.
The following day, "the sound of four engine bombers flying over our field” caused great excitement. A formation of B-29s was returning from southern Formosa (now Taiwan), and one of them landed to refuel. It was one of 104 China-based Superfortresses that had taken part in a successful raid against an aircraft plant at Okayama. Men poured onto the field from every direction to get a look as the big bomber pulled into position. The monster's 1,000-gallon requirement severely taxed the resources of the gasoline-depleted field, and the laborious process of hand-filling the tanks was not completed until after darkness had fallen. Overnight, its 90,000-lb. weight sank into the water-logged field, requiring all the CACW's resources in weapons carriers and six-by-sixes to pull its wheels out of the mud and onto the hard strip the following morning. "All hands were on hand to watch the B29 taking off from our field and were amazed at the short run made," wrote Lt. Young.
Shortly after its takeoff, the men experienced another one-ball alert. Fighters took off but were called back after forty minutes. Once again, no enemy planes appeared. Later that day, Capt. Graves was transferred to 1st Bomb Group headquarters in preparation for his return home.
On the afternoon of October 16, the enlisted men gathered at Group to hear the articles of war, as well as a "Sex Morale" lecture. Because of its high incidence among the local population, warnings were issued frequently against exposure to venereal disease in its many and varied forms. Films that illustrated affected genitalia, both male and female, accompanied the lectures in an effort to discourage unprotected sexual contact. Those who ignored the warnings were urged to seek immediate medical care. "A pretty nice PX ration was distributed immediately afterward and was welcomed by everyone.”
When the skies briefly cleared on the next day, the squadron commander, Maj. Chester M. Conrad, ordered the squadron's eight planes currently in commission out for formation flying. While taxiing into his parking space, Lt. Frank P. Pulaski applied the brakes but slid across the slick, muddy ground into a small pile of bombs. The propeller of his left engine was damaged slightly.
Hoping to be on his way back home by this time, Capt. Simpson had noted in his diary about two weeks previously: “Found out my application to go home had been not favorably considered at this time by 14th A.F. Have to wait for the letter to return and then I’ll be put in as ‘war weary.’ Hope to God it goes through as such.” Approval had been granted three days earlier to leave Group in preparation for his return to the States, and Simpson logged this practice mission as pilot of a B-25J as he waited for orders. They finally came through and he started his journey home about two weeks later.
With few exceptions, life for the men stationed at Peishiyi continued along the same monotonous routine through the end of the year. Read more in The Spray and Pray Squadron: 3rd Bomb Squadron, 1st Bomb Group, Chinese-American Composite Wing in World War II.