And a new day will dawn for those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter
-- Plant and Page
The origins of the Jungle Training Detachment began in December 1943 when Richard Graves recruited six other ranks in response to a request by the United States Army. Their Air Force, having insufficient knowledge of the jungle and a complete lack of rescue equipment, required expert instruction in junglecraft training. Their mission came at the request of General Headquarters, Southwest Pacific Army Forces, to establish a regimen to effectively expose and train United States Army soldiers and airmen in bushcraft and survival. There never seemed to be a proper paper trail during their operational ventures and few records remain of their jungle adventures beyond training. Only a forty-page file of the unit’s activities was officially collected and it lacks details of the detachment missions – ‘imperfectly recorded’ seems to be an understatement. Instead, it is filled predominantly with gracious commendations from American Air Force units and inquiries by Australian Headquarters regarding the origin, necessity, and whereabout of the detachment. Only a handful of men were ever selected for the Jungle Training Detachment, scattered across American Air Force posts throughout the South Pacific, and they quietly returned to Australia at wars end into obscurity.
Among the few joining the unit was Richard Jillett, a 23-year-old jackeroo from Brisbane who was a simple gunner at the time who had left his job on the family estate, which he worked full time after leaving high school at seventeen. He did attend technical school for wool-classing to benefit his work droving, but the years before enlisting he spent working the land at Gartmore. For a year, he served with the 41st Battery, 11th Field Regiment in the Northern Territory where most of the days for the gunners in the barren scrub consisted of salvaging materials, constructions, drilling, and air raids. When he heard of Graves’ program in its quiet beginnings, he pursued the adventurous sounding opportunity. It also came with a tempting promise of more pay with an immediate promotion to Acting Sergeant.
He met with Graves for an interview who was impressed enough to accept him into what was to become an adept and exclusive unit. Coming from the 11th Field were Bert Dunstone, and Ray Edwards (both of 41st Battery) and Mike Nugent. The four gunners left their units on October 12th, 1943 to train with the 1st Australian Division Training School for a week, then a two-month detachment to the 1st Australian Infantry Battalion, and finally to the LHQ Camouflage Development and Training Center in January 1944. From his own 111th Anti-Tank Regiment, Graves recruited Warrant Officer T. W. Scott and a sixth man, Donald Riordan, from the 34th Battalion [1]. In those first months, the record keeping for each man suffered as they moved about somewhat unofficially and unrecorded. The four gunners were all noted as serving with the 11th Field upon its conversion to 57 Anti-Aircraft Regiment and subsequently transferred to the 9th Field Regiment, but this was only on paper. In reality, they were moving about as sergeants within the units of the American 14th Anti-Aircraft Command in Townsville. For two months, they trained the coastal defense gunners in jungle training, survival, and camouflage.
NEW GUINEA
The small party moved to the coastal city of Port Moresby in March 1944 and their mission of training continued with the 40th Anti-Aircraft Brigade. This March 30th record of their first deplanement in New Guinea was buried among other vague notes of transfers and detachments to Australian and American units and not properly recorded until October.
The jungle training scheme became so effective that as early as June 1944 it was extended beyond the initial thirty days and by July, Graves requested that a total of two officers and 38 other ranks fulfill the small unit and be carried supernumerary to the Australian Headquarters, New Guinea Force, until the end of October. He chose Captain W. M. Gillespie of his former regiment to be second-in-command and began touring depots in New South Wales to select his reinforcements from the ranks.
Such requests for extensions became frequent and granted without difficulty. A book Graves had recently published on bushcraft helped validate his expertise in the field, but it was a close friend with contacts in General MacArthur’s headquarters who finalized the project through his connections. The first weeks spent in New Guinea gave the original members of the detachment time to perfect their syllabus and become confident instructors before returning to Australia to train the thirty-two new recruits of the Jungle Training Detachment. In July, with their postings to the detachment apparently solidified, record keeping began to more accurately reflect some of the group’s activities and the handful of men were all noted as joining HQ New Guinea Force (from whatever respective units were last known to be recorded) and all officially promoted to acting sergeant to date from February 10th, 1944.
By the end of the month, the two officers and forty other ranks of the fully formed and trained detachment proceeded to Nadzab for a three-month tour with the United States 5th Air Force. The training program was immediately a success. The week-long cycles of classes covered knowledge of water, fire, shelter, food, jungle travel and navigation. It was completely immersive and drastically different living for the American airmen who were accustomed to cots and mosquito nets for jungle living. The local program was quickly overbooked due to its popularity and Graves began sending detachments to other air bases across the Western Pacific area.
Not all but some of the men were sent out in groups of three to United States Air Force units requesting their services. Along with Sergeants Colless and Eglon, Jillett ran the school for the Far East Air Force Combat Replacement and Training Center back in Port Morseby beginning August 23d to fulfill their needs for instruction. Representatives from all tactical units learned ‘the feels to be found in jungle areas, escape procedures, how to contact the natives, poisonous feeds and camping technique.’ It was possibly the last time the detachment operated exclusively within its tutorial role.
They soon found there was a greater need beyond the classroom in which they would excel in the thick, steamy jungles: evacuating stranded airmen in the Markham, Ramu, and Sepik River valleys. These remote areas were far removed from Allied aid and among the harshest environments of the Pacific War. For downed aircrews who were often injured, disoriented, and without supplies, even with jungle training, survival became a desperate challenge. With no clear trails and little chance of rescue by conventional means, they were at the mercy of the jungle where steep escarpments, fast-flowing rivers, trackless swamp, and dense foliage swallowed entire aircraft from view.
These valleys faced near-constant rainfall that turned trails to mud and flooded every low-lying crossing. Mosquitoes carried malaria and dengue; leeches clung to any exposed skin; jungle rot set into boots that never dried. For isolated airmen faced with these hazards, the small parties of the Jungle Training Detachment meant salvation. Once downed crews were located, it was up to land parties to travel from the nearest possible points and evacuate them. “We owe a great deal to the Australians,” was the simple and poignant note in the historical report of the 5276th Rescue Composite Group.
A month later, after Sansapor was taken, two flights of the 2d Emergency Rescue Squadron transferred to the new base there under the 13th Air Force. Sergeant Jillett, still with Les Copping and Mike Nugent, were part of this detachment of the squadron on the northwest tip of New Guinea. Bill Eglon joined them shortly after the move. The organization set up the Rescue Office which directed the work of the squadron flights. They defined their responsibilities as providing adequate rescue coverage for all air operations in the combat zone for 5th Air Force, 13th Air Forces, Royal Australian Air Force, and United States Naval Air Forces. After traveling across New Guinea and operating in some capacity with all of those organizations since March, Dick Jillett was well acquainted with the commands, duties, and the jungle. He spent three weeks in Sansapor before returning alone to base, leaving the other three Australians with the 13th Air Force units.
Soon after, Graves requested an extension for the Jungle Training Detachment. Though no one in headquarters could determine how he was able to arrange it, Graves was able to extend the tour of the detachment by another ninety days and increase the number of other ranks to total fifty. Not only was the old Lieutenant a master of the jungle, he worked the system to get what he needed approved without encountering major inhibitions from bureaucracy.
The Jungle Training Detachment, which quickly became referred to as some derivative of Jungle Rescue – Jungle Rescue Unit, Jungle Rescue Team, or Jungle Rescue Detachment, among others – never existed as a unit itself as its men were noted only as ‘supernumerary’ to HQ New Guinea Force and First Australian Army. Only living from extension to extension (many of these written by ranking United States Army officers) did they remain together throughout the next year, ultimately under command of Captain Gillespie once Graves left due to deteriorating health and lingering wounds from the First World War.
The pilots who had once scoffed at air-sea rescue in its infancy now demanded its protection on all strikes where feasible. The morale value offered by the service was immeasurable – to know that rescue planes hover near to save his life; to know that rescue planes and boats vigilantly patrol the seas to snatch him from the greedy waves; but especially to know that land parties will penetrate even into enemy territory to lead him to safety grant the pilots a greater certainty of return and survival when they embark on their own grim tasks.
Still, in many circles even by 1945, air-sea rescue was still a new concept and little known as to how to equip or staff. The Jungle Training Detachment furnished parties for the Philippines where they found the environment quite different from their previous duties throughout the theater. While major battles had subsided in some areas, Japanese forces remained entrenched across the archipelago. The natives were intelligent and generally loyal to allied forces. Guerillas were scattered throughout the island chains – many were personnel remaining from the fall of Bataan and Corregidor. Downed flyers often found themselves harbored by these survivors rather than stranded alone in unforgiving jungle, and the American rescue groups used Catalinas more than rescue parties on land.
The jungle of Leyte bore little resemblance to the ones Dick had come to know in New Guinea. There were still mountains and forests, but the terrain and climate less punishing. There was a human presence on Leyte with paths winding through coconut groves and rice paddies and local guerrillas moving almost freely between villages. Owing to the skills passed on by Jillett’s team—and the strong guerrilla networks on Leyte—a downed flyer was more likely to make his way into a village than left marooned on the wing of a B-25 half-submerged in a New Guinea swamp.
These Catalinas did, at times, deliver the Australians as well as Netherlands East Indies forces into the Philippines to work ashore. A four-man team of Jillett, Banks, McBride and Sacre departed from their base to the Philippines on April 4th. There were up to a dozen men of the Jungle Training Detachment operating out of Leyte. Some had been there since October and several faces had passed through and back to New Guinea before Dick arrived. He only stayed for ten days before once again returning to base. It was his last post outside of the core detachment and soon their days dwindled.
Once the Far East Air Force Combat Replacement Training Center marked for closure on July 9th, they no longer required the Australian training unit and by August they were preparing to disband. Graves, who was still around and aware of their operations, organized a break up dinner before the soldiers took leave in early September. He proudly gathered all of the commendations he received from various headquarters and issued copies to his men. They had little else to show for their influential and varied services across the Southwest Pacific where some had gone incredibly far and remote places never to be recorded or remembered except by those who participated and whose lives were spared because of the rescue unit’s services.
CHAIL-LI
The formation of the Canadian Army Special Force came about to answer the call for recruits for the war in Korea – to bring the ‘soldier of fortune types’ out of civilian life and organize a brigade at minimum. Within a week of the announcement, recruiting stations flooded with men eager to join the fight in Korea. Having emigrated from Australia a year after his discharge from the Australian Imperial Force, Dick arrived in Canada via New York in 1947. He intended to see the world before he settled down again. After working as an assembler for six months, a salesman for another six months, and an assembler again until the formation of the Special Force, he eagerly approached the recruiting office within the first week of the announcement. He was among many Second World War veterans, near thirty years old, who had varied backgrounds but were all unsettled in civilian life.
Each regiment formed a second battalion for the Special Force and Jillett found himself assigned to that of the Royal Canadian Regiment. He trained with 2 Platoon, A Company as a Bren gunner and rifleman under the demanding instructors of 1st Battalion. He made lance corporal before reverting to private to join the scout and sniper platoon of Headquarters Company. The platoon commander was Ed Mastronardi, a naval veteran of the Second World War who had received his commission in the Army and volunteered for Korea. As the battalion intelligence officer and with reputation for being very good tactician and field man, he was given the Scout Sniper Platoon as well. Their responsibility was to seek out the enemy, make contact and estimate their strength, and draw fire if necessary. He ensured that all of his men were intrepid types, trouble makers, and with service in the Second World War. Where most of them wore a campaign star or two for European service, Jillett instead held a Pacific Star earned through his unique assignment with the jungle rescue detachment between New Guinea and the Philippines. His adventurous spirit and experience in survival and tracking made him an ideal member of the platoon where they soon referred to him as 'Kangaroo' and 'Aussie'.
In April 1951, after training in Fort Lewis since November, the battalion departed for the Far East. While sailing across the Pacific, they continued training and classes where they learned about the tactics used by the communist forces. It was difficult to visualize wave after wave of soldiers clambering over the bodies of their comrades like a sea of ants, especially as they enjoyed the mellow journey bathed in sunshine. Thirteen days after leaving Seattle, they spotted the Korean coastline and as they neared Pusan, which was engulfed in a dirty haze, the putrid smell of the city wafted out to greet them. After the docked and navigated through the throngs of beggars and orphans in the dilapidated port city, the battalion rode in open trucks under drizzling rain for an hour to reach their staging area.
For ten days, they trained on the outskirts of Pusan to shake the effects of the sea voyage. After a larger field exercise and hard marches, they left the broad valleys for the rugged terrain surrounding the 38th Parallel. The battalion entrained for a hot, dusty ride north. Their coaches were fitted with three tiered bunks which they made as comfortable as possible. The signs of war became more severe as they moved north. Buildings were riddled with bullet holes, shell holes pocked along the road and hills, scrapped hulls of tanks and vehicles sat abandoned in ditches, bridges and tunnels were blown, and Taejon was completely destroyed. Dick found the steep, sharp ridges rivaled New Guinea in severity, but these were not covered in dense rainforest – if they were not blown apart from previous months of fighting and reduced to splintered stumps and shell holes, they had sparse covering of young trees and brush only just recovering from Japanese deforestation. After several days of traveling, the men made their new camp just east of Seoul and south of the Han River, tested weapons and closed their first night with high spirits.
They had their orders to join a United States tank-infantry task force which was to spearhead an offensive past the Parallel. The Royals were to mop up in their wake and relieve the armor and infantry as soon as possible. Nine months after enlisting in the Special Force, Dick was finally about to face the enemy in Korea. With great anticipation – both from veterans of the rank and those unbaptized by combat – the battalion moved up to the start line on the morning of May 24th. They advance hastily in pursuit of the tank-infantry force ahead of them and were soon near exhaustion from carrying their complete combat load of weapons, ammunition, digging tools and full packs. To their disappointment, there were no enemy in sight – not only were they seeking them out to finally meet their opponent, but it would have given them reason to drop much of their heavy pack load. By the second day of no resistance whatsoever, the battalion began to discard anything they could sacrifice from their load and what was not loaded onto vehicles was soon scattered in their wake as they raced ahead. They ultimately advanced six miles without seeing a single Chinese soldier.
The morning of May 30th dawned with a driving rainstorm. The battalion objectives in the Chorwon Valley were the village of Chail-Li and before that a terrain feature before the village – the rocky summit of Kakhul-bong, marked on the map as Hill 467. A Company was to take the village while D Company spearheaded the attack to Kakhul-bong. Artillery barrages from two medium regiments and a field regiment laid down fire to soften the objectives before A Company was off and quickly engaged. At 0730 hours, D Company was half way to their objective when they began to catch mortar fire, and in another twenty-five minutes as they approached the slopes of Kakhul-bong, light machine guns began shooting them from above.
With the rest of Ed's snipers, Jillett covered their advance. He peered through his sniper scope and binoculars as artillery and machine gun fire forced down the company as they neared the peak. Over the course of an hour, three platoons were pinned down by machinegun nests and were too close to call artillery support. Air support was impossible because of the overcast skies. Wind driven rain and mist obscured the dim figures slipping and sliding in the mud and there was little he could do to pick off the Chinese machine guns that made their assault impossible. In another ten minutes after their last report, D Company expressed the impossibility of withdrawing and that they were taking casualties. A platoon finally wrapped around to the peak and by 0930 the company was looking at taking the hill.
*
Following their first action around Chail-li, the regiment pulled back briefly before advancing into the broad Chorwon valley – a rugged landscape of ridges and rice paddies that would define their next months of fighting. The battalion was the first to probe into enemy lines, and from mid-June onward, they explored positions daily. Small parties of scouts and snipers ranged far ahead of the line, moving quietly through no-man’s land, waiting patiently for any spark of activity.
Their style differed greatly from that of the Americans. When a platoon from the 25th Infantry Division arrived to relieve one of their forward outposts, they came in a great cloud of dust, marveling that only a handful of Canadians had been holding the line alone, resisting the temptation to fire at the Chinese. The Canadian section leader, in turn, was equally amazed that the Americans would announce their presence so carelessly.
Patrols became routine, if no less exhausting. Artillery and air support depended on dry weather, and when rain came, a troop from 57 Field Squadron, Royal Engineers, followed the tanks to build bridges over flooded streams. Summer heat thickened, the nights were no relief, and heat exhaustion was a constant danger in the steep, broken terrain. Even with a light load, a single patrol could empty a man, and at least a full day of rest would be required before they could go out again.
Chinese prisoners were notoriously difficult to capture. They vanished by day and reoccupied positions by night. Their discipline was maddening. Patrols often found trenches and dugouts freshly abandoned, only for the same ground to be reoccupied after dark. After several failed ambushes, it was decided to mount a nighttime raid to seize a prisoner. In days of preparation, the battalion placed outposts and listening posts, patrols pushed further and further into no-man’s land, and two companies patrolled out to a location codenamed Regina. There, after D Company met the Chinese in hand-to-hand combat, they determined the area was heavily occupied.
SONG-GOK SPUR
Six hundred yards beyond the Royal’s main defensive line, the Song-gok Spur jutted into the Sami-ch’on Valley like a finger pointing at the Chinese lines. Narrow, exposed, and flanked by enemy ground on both sides, its only lifeline was a thin ridge leading back to Hill 187. At the very tip was the ‘Pimple,’ a small knoll where four men kept watch for any sign of Chinese movement. They lasted only a few days before the Chinese killed them and left a sign nailed to a stake as a warning to the Royal Canadian Regiment: “Hill top is your grave. Surrender is the way for life.” After that, the occupying platoon under John Woods refused to man the Pimple directly, choosing instead to booby trap and eventually mine the position.
Having been reassigned from the Scouts and Snipers, Jillett rejoined his original “Flying Deuce” 2 Platoon, A Company – now under command of Lieutenant Ed Mastronardi, who had also transferred over from the Scouts and Snipers. Through October, a series of small operations – Snatch, Commando, and Pepperpot – came and went without much to show for 2 Platoon. Most of their days were spent wiring the perimeter, setting booby traps, and enduring the creeping cold of the Korean autumn.
A popular and effective trap was simple: pull the pin on a 36 grenade, drop it into a C-ration tin, and tie the grenade pin to a length of wire staked by salvaged wood from a beer box. A careless step or a snag was enough to lift the grenade free, with devastating results. It was during these days in late October, as the weather suddenly turned sharply colder, that Jillett was wounded – but so slightly that he stayed on duty without reporting to the field ambulance.
By the end of the month, after the casualties suffered on the Pimple, 2 Platoon rotated with 3 Platoon to take over defense of the Spur itself. Dick Jillett was used to working alone or in small groups, but for an entire platoon to be so far out on their own was unnerving. More ominous still was the state of the unit: only twenty-eight men instead of forty, and no sergeants to steady the sections – only two corporals, George Janes and Jack Argent, and a lance corporal, Harry Sillaby, who led Jillett’s section. When they returned to their trenches on October 30th, they knew they were meant to die there if it came to it.
*
For the entire day of November 2nd (the Lieutenant’s birthday) A Company was shelled with artillery and mortars. They had gotten word in the morning that something was building, but they had no idea where the Chinese would hit. The puppy adopted by the platoon, Sport, lay quietly. There was a feeling throughout 2 Platoon all day that something big was going to happen. It began when the Chinese rolled tanks into the valley and shelled the Spur with high velocity rounds – a distinctive ‘fsssh’ before impact. It was enough of a barrage that the men pulled back onto the rear slope to wait out the barrage while they waited for an available air strike, but they were not the priority that day and it never came.
This was followed by an eerie two-hour lull after dark. The lingering cordite still stung at Dick’s eyes and lungs after the shelling stopped. From their section position at the tip of the spur, he heard movement and hushed voices moving up from the left, but the assailants remained hidden. Only a series of mines blowing off on the nearby slope to the left of the Spur indicated there was a mass movement swooping along from the south. Just before 2100 hours, the Chinese fired three red flares at the Canadian lines and stormed forward to the sounds of whistles and horns. The Flying Deuce remained resolute as they braced for the incoming attack wave. One Chinese approached the line and in perfect English said, “Canada boy, tonight you die!” to which Mastronardi famously retorted: “Come and get us, you son of a bitch!”
The first wave tackled the first barbed wire fence, hacking through with machetes and swarmed through the booby-trapped area. Those blown up by mines became human planks for the following troops to cross over. As they were about to cross the second wire, the platoon opened up. They were baffled by Chinese soldiers who tripped flares and instead of ducking, stayed upright beneath the illumination.
The Bangalore carriers who made it to the line wiggled their way forward to blow enormous holes in the wire. Mastronardi called in artillery that broke up the attack and forced the Chinese to withdraw before midnight. The platoon was aware the attack had been too light for it to be the ‘main attraction’ even though they were astonishingly outnumbered on their isolated spine of rock. When they had a moment to check themselves, Red Butler began to panic when he found his right thigh had a lump that was warm, damp, sticky and felt numb. “I think I’m hit!” he announced before realizing that what he was feeling was an orange he had squished in his pocket.
Another hour of silence preceded the resumption of the attack at 2230 beginning with a trundling like that of a tank. It began blasting to the right of Sillaby’s section before the rocket team ran out to meet it. Burgess and MacDougall had lugged the cumbersome weapon all over the place only to miss their shot at what turned out to be a self-propelled gun. When they were wounded, a party had to run into the valley to rescue them. The calamity was enough to cause the gun to retreat.
With the same pattern of three flares and noises of horns and whistles, the Chinese assaulted the spur once more. They began assembling on the Pimple directly before Jillett’s slit trench. “They’re coming in on me!” Corporal Sillaby yelled out. “It’s a big one…they’re really going to come in!” They covered the Spur with torrential fire from four machine guns, forcing Jillett and the others down for cover while the Chinese began navigating down into the depression between the Pimple and the tip of the Spur. Behind Jillett, a silhouetted figure opened up with a burp gun, its distinctive muzzle blast indicating it was an enemy weapon. He spun with his rifle but just before he pulled the trigger, the figure yelled at him, “Hey, hey, hey! It’s me! It’s okay Aussie, it’s me!” He had nearly shot Mastronardi, dashing around in a shredded battledress and blasting a captured PPSh over the trench at Chinese coming from the Pimple (footnote 2).
As the wave of attackers approached the Spur across the dip, Lieutenant Mastronardi stiffly held his hand raised. “Hold. Hold. Hold. Wait…” He dropped his arm when the Chinese broke out of the gloom. “Fire!” They unleased with an eruption of Bren gun and rifle fire, and a steady stream of grenades which they pitched down the slope across the wire. They succeeded in blasting pockets of Chinese soldiers apart before they made it up the forward slope, but the wave became so thick that they began breaking through the wire. Rumors throughout the allied regiments speculated that the fanatical Chinese were running high on opium – it seemed to be the only explanation for how they could push through such an onslaught. In reality they were well indoctrinated, respectably brave, and kept moving unless they were dead. They had no fear in battle. The attack showed no sign of letting up and the Lieutenant was ready to bring artillery down on their position, but his request was denied and he was ordered to hold at all costs.
Those that made it through mixed with the Canadians in the trenches and across the crest of the ridge. In hand-to-hand fighting, men tackled each other to the ground to fight not just for their lives, but for the survival of the platoon. Privates Arney, Butler and McLean were all seen at one point or another leaping onto Chinese and beating them to the ground. Arthur Berry jumped on the back of one and tackled him to the ground before cracking his head over with a 36 grenade. James Johnson, a troublemaker who had arrived in handcuffs three days prior, dashed between sections to strip the Brens (which were delivering constant terrific fire), clean the parts in gasoline, relubricate and reassemble before limping off on wounded legs to help the other sections.
The final attack came before three in the morning – three red flares, whistles, horns and cheers before the enemy hurtled toward the battered platoon. The Chinese had two tanks, medium and light machine guns, mortars and artillery in support. It was the heaviest assault of the night with wave after wave of Chinese pouring in, favoring white phosphorus grenades at close contact. They carried bamboo bangalores to blow gaps in the wire for more men to stream into.
Eventually they ran dangerously low on ammunition, their mortars out of action, and most of the Brens rendered useless despite Johnson’s best efforts. They had thrown almost all 350 of their grenades on hand. Brigadier Rockingham called Mastronardi with a stern request to hold as he was the ‘cork in the bottle.’ The Lieutenant, who had ten wounded, but all still fighting, responded he was doing his best. To assist, the Brigadier ordered the entire Division’s artillery at the hand of Mastronardi, giving the Lieutenant command of three regiments of artillery – a total of 72 guns.
They began to evacuate after three in the morning when the brigadier radioed Ed and requested they withdraw. He agreed and requested the artillery box them out while they retreated across the narrow ridge over 600 yards to their company lines. They would not leave any weapons or wounded behind. “Nobody goes until I go,” the Lieutenant ordered, “We all go together!” As it was nearing first light, they knew they had done their job to hold the Spur. An airstrike could come soon after dawn.
While one section went back to a ridge between the platoon position and A Company, the stretcher bearer, Jim Sharp, organized the wounded in the middle of the remaining sections and the able men to form around and protect them. Those wounded in the upper body helped those wounded in the legs. As they evacuated, Privates Baker and Campeau from Janes’ section covered them with their Bren until a Chinese shot Campeau with a blast to the chest.
After routing a Chinese machinegun nest with Corporal Sargent, Mastronardi called for the artillery and they scrambled through the wire, which despite the number of gaps from the Chinese and piles of bodies to climb over, still snagged at their battledress and cut and scratched them before they were out of the position. Shells from the Commonwealth smashed a mere fifty yards to their back and sides in the box pattern requested, walking with them fifty yards at a time at the Lieutenant’s request via Kirkpatrick’s radio.
Except for Private Campeau, no man remained behind even though half the platoon was wounded, and they retained all their weapons and equipment to make the 600-yard sprint to friendly lines. The Sergeant Major was waiting for them and the wounded quickly ferried down to the aid station. The artillery pummeled their position gratuitously until letting off and for the next few hours, they listened to the Chinese recovering their wounded.
*
The Flying Deuce returned early in the morning to recover Joe’s body. Dead and dying Chinese littered the area. Seven were inside the platoon wiring, others were hanging over the wire. In all, forty-two bodies were recorded at the position and an aerial observer spotted a litter train over a mile long. On searching the bodies of Chinese, they found several with opium seeds in their pockets. The prisoners taken stated they had been part of a full battalion assaulting the lone platoon.
The Canadian’s bedrolls and parkas lay untouched. Their two-month-old mascot pup Sport greeted them, alive and well. He had become separated from Red Butler on the way out when he was caught in the artillery barrage. The platoon found Joe’s body, still holding his rifle with fixed bayonet, riddled in the chest by a blast from a burp gun. They wrapped him in a poncho and carried him back on a stretcher.
Against all odds, the understrength platoon had held against hundreds of Chinese. Their performance was simply fantastic. The Lieutenant finally sat down and cried – not for any losses, but for pride. “Where do you get such men?”