Most Army Finance Department officers will never be required to evacuate their office under crisis conditions. Their work is exacting, governed by rigid accountability rules that leave little room for error even in peacetime. Professionally, it is the equivalent of evacuating a bank branch during civil unrest – removing the vault, reopening in another country, and meeting every legal standard the following morning.
Such a scenario remains hypothetical for most. Few will ever evacuate a finance office at all. Fewer still will move an active account across international borders during a diplomatic emergency, act without higher headquarters guidance, prepare for the possible destruction of government currency, or reestablish full operations in a foreign capital within days. Events of this kind occur rarely enough to mark an entire generation of Army finance history, not a single career.
That Captain Thomas navigated such an evacuation successfully placed him far outside the ordinary experience of his branch, but it was not the first time. For most of those who wear the diamond insignia of the Finance Department – whose service unfolds far from the infantry line – Thomas had once served with the infantry in Korea where he survived the long days and nights east of Chosin.
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Well before that – nearly a decade earlier – Wesley E. Thomas enlisted into the Army Finance Department at March Field, California. The Louisiana native had just completed high school, and with considerable exposure through both parents working in an insurance agency, he was quickly classified as a clerk-accountant. A year later he attended the Army Finance School in Maryland, graduating with honors that December – the day following the attack on Pearl Harbor. Advancement followed rapidly. By mid-1942 he was believed to be among the youngest technical sergeants in the Army, and by August of that year he had been promoted again to master sergeant. Before long he was appointed a warrant officer, and by the time he finally departed the United States for overseas service, he held the rank of chief warrant officer.
For thirty-five months he served as a chief clerk, coordinating the activities of the pay and allowances, accounting, and commercial accounting sections. He hired and supervised civilian employees, handled all administrative correspondence, and bore responsibility for the interpretation and application of military law and financial regulations. He also served as an accountable officer, acting as agent for the payment of isolated troops and distant contracts – duties that placed personal responsibility for government funds squarely upon him.
He was at first only outside of the continental limits for a month, posted near the end of January 1945 to Goose Bay with the 1383d A.A.F. Base Unit. The sandy plateau had been transformed from a remote and undeveloped wilderness into one of the largest air bases of the war – the largest in the western hemisphere – and subsequently led to the population of the area. That only lasted until February when he returned to the States bound for India.
The 1333d A.A.F. Base Unit at Chabua had similar origins, growing out of the Hazelbank Tea Plantation into a major staging point for the Air Transport Command Route Able. It had become one of the most important bases in Assam as the origin for a large number of flights over the Hump and as the home base for the 10th Air Force B-24 bombers. Wesley’s clerical duties kept him bound to the office, however, and though he still experienced the Indian swelter and wicked monsoon season, he was spared the harrowing flights in aircraft. From there, he went to Chengkung Airfield in China in the last days of the war – enough to earn him a second battle star for the China Offensive which closed on September 2nd.
He was caught in between ranks in the post-war years. In the great demobilization, he managed to stay in the service but was reduced back to master sergeant until applying for a commission to second lieutenant. He began his ‘competitive tour’ for the purpose of gaining that commission in the Regular Army and in 1949, went off to Japan.
CHOSIN
For his years in finance during the war, Thomas had remained dedicated to his branch and took great pride in his role. He was most capable with a ‘high degree of self-assurance’ and was a ‘very accurate junior officer’ by the time he was commissioned and shortly thereafter made first lieutenant. However, this did little to prepare him to lead an infantry platoon. He first joined the 1st Battalion, 17th Infantry Regiment in Japan as their supply officer, but as the 7th Division was stripped for reinforcements for the emergency in Korea, he soon found himself as a platoon leader with K Company, 31st Infantry Regiment. The company commander, Captain Robert Kitz, found him to be of high moral character and otherwise physically and mentally qualified, but without proper infantry training was a ‘square pig in a round hole.’
As the military situation developed, there was no time to provide adequate training prior to the Division’s commitment to combat, and by September as they steamed toward Inchon, Kitz had placed Thomas as assistant executive officer and in charge of the company mess and supply. In rating his performance later, Kitz found the limited options on the Army form to be unfair for Wesley who, having ‘never performed duties commensurate with his rank’ during his Korean tour, ‘displayed emotional stability’ and ‘his actions as an individual in close infantry combat proved him to be quite courageous…under extremely adverse conditions.’ The Captain insisted in his addendum to the report that ‘the circumstances surrounding his tour of duty with the infantry should be explained in greater detail than is possible on DA FORM 67-2.’
The 3d Battalion, under command of Colonel Reilly, saw little fighting in late September after landing at Inchon. K and L Companies went into action first to relieve E and F Companies at Hills 113 and 92 along to Suwon-Osan Road. North of Osan-ni, they spent the day of the 27th waiting while airstrikes and napalm and artillery blasted the railroad tunnel under the hills. K Company took Hill 113 with only light resistance and by nightfall, both companies held Hills 113 and 92.
With the North Korean forces routed and little left to do in the Seoul area, the Division moved south to Pusan over poor, dusty roads to sail out and around the peninsula bound for the east coast of North Korea. They landed at Iwon on November 3rd and, as the weather quickly turned bitterly cold, marched north into the Highlands, following narrow-gauge railways and frozen streams through abandoned and scarcely populated hamlets and mill towns.
They stumbled on a new enemy in that first week of November. The 3d Battalion stayed in a valley south of the Fusen Reservoir, a well-developed area of North Korea that served as an industrial base for hydroelectric plants. It was quiet during those days, except on November 8th when I Company walked right into an entrenched enemy. They broke the still air with gunfire and though both sides were equally surprised to find each other in the remote hills, the enemy troops in khaki quilted uniforms put up a significant fight.
It was mainly I Company with support from mortars who faced them, and only later on walking through the battle area did Wesley see nearly 300 bodies across the abandoned positions. Thin blood trails weaved into the woods where many of them had been dragged away, and after that, it was mostly quiet again.
They only ran into their new adversaries a few times as the month went on and very few traces remained of their marches or encampments. They were not North Koreans, Mongolians, or Russians, though their equipment was all of Russian origin, and intelligence had no indication that, as they would all discover later, China had entered the war.
As the battalion worked their way north along the railroad, they circumvented a mountain tunnel blown shut and trudged into a small canyon town on the other side. The dull brown late-autumn landscape was soon quilted in snow and without an adequate supply line, in a few days the battalion was snowed in and without food.
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There was hardly a chance to resupply before moving into the Chosin Reservoir area, save for their Thanksgiving meal a few days prior, and by 1600 hours on the 27th, K Company was establishing their perimeter on the beach at the inlet. Their section faced east, back toward the Fusen which was several miles east across hard mountain terrain. The company command post sat in a hole behind some abandoned houses and the kitchen alongside in a pyramidal tent. The cooks were already preparing chow for the morning in anticipation for an early departure for a planned attack north, but a change in those orders delayed the proposed attack until the 29th.
Around 2200 that night, Captain Kitz received a flash red alert and doubled his guards accordingly. Wesley waited for something to come of the warning and three hours later, the firing began. In one of the platoons spread out between the low hills, Lieutenant McFarland reported that the gunfire actually came from behind him, and soon it grew louder, closer, and more serious. The cooks emerged from their tent behind the ROK troops who attempted to run before Captain Kitz stopped them, but in moments they were mixed in with Chinese infiltrating the perimeter.
The Captain decided to pull back toward the lake, but as the company began to consolidate, A Battery of the 57th Field Artillery began shooting into them thinking they were also Chinese. K Company was trapped between their own friendly fire and the assaulting Chinese troops until they made it into the Battery positions and clarified who they were. Wesley was wounded for the first time that night – shot in the leg at the back of his knee. Over the next few hours that left leg stiffened considerably, limiting him to hobbling and limping around. The intense cold fortunately reduced the swelling and bleeding significantly, but it soon became miserable to move about and kneeling was nearly impossible.
The shooting died down by daylight. The Company had ended up mixed with the field artillery in B Battery positions and after a headcount appeared to have only sixty men left. Of the battalion, they had been the hardest hit, and reorganized under sniper fire to occupy the low ground. There was another battle that night with mortars, machineguns and 40mm fire. The house near the company command post set alight from white phosphorus and cast its warm orange glow against the hard, moonlit ground.
Their casualties were light the second night, and relieved to hear that 1st Battalion, 32d Infantry were joining from their position over the bridge. The reduced regimental combat team was then two infantry battalions and two field artillery batteries that had been significantly reduced in the two nights of fighting. That night was quiet as the Chinese reorganized, but the evening of the 30th began with an early battle and their most desperate at the inlet. The Chinese hit them with everything small, medium and large. The artillery were low on shells and had to hold much of their firing. The .50-calibers and 40mm were equally low and rifle ammunition and grenades had become scarce.
The Chinese did not withdraw in the morning as they typically did, but stayed among the low ground of the perimeter. Under more miserable weather and snow came the order to withdraw south. The men gathered what equipment they could carry and what had to be abandoned was thrown into holes scraped into the frosty ground and burned. Trucks were unloaded and the wounded stacked on instead. Weapons and equipment were destroyed, vehicles stripped and broken down.
With the Chinese coming in from everywhere and American aircraft strafing across their positions from above, they began the disorganized march out. They were first delayed by a drop of napalm that landed too close, setting some of the most forward men alight. There was nothing to do for their agony other than plead for someone to shoot them.
The next delay came at the first blown bridge and the trucks of wounded had to turn off the road into a ravine and over a stream. The bumpy detour was excruciating for the wounded who were getting bounced around as the trucks rolled over frozen clumps of grass. It took the halftracks of the 15th AAA Battalion to pull the trucks over the lumpy ground and by the time they made it over, it was dark again.
About three miles out, they reached the hairpin turn around Hill 1221. Everyone was optimistic they would wrap around to meet the rest of the regiment or Division, but instead they faced the most impassible roadblock and no safety until Hagaru-ri miles away. The Chinese had laid a murderous trap and had fire coming down from the surrounding hills crossed with more fire coming up from terrain below. The convoy was trapped and the wounded were getting shot apart in the trucks.
After four days under fire in the cold, the men had become hard to handle. Worse were the ROK troops who were useless and cause for further casualties while the American troops attempted to direct them. Lieutenant Thomas was still within sight of Kitz when the Captain took groups up into the hills in a banzai attack to clear the road. With limited movement from his shot knee, Thomas remained to guard the trucks when he was shot a second time in his right forearm. The bullet passed straight through, initially leaving a tingling feeling down to his hand. Though there was limited bleeding and it did not appear to have hit bone, there was enough damage done to inhibit use of his hand which made normal shooting difficult.
By that time, darkness had fallen and the survivors had to abandon the trucks along the road. The mortally wounded were left to slow deaths, freezing, shot or captured by the Chinese. Many of those on foot resorted to crossing over the ice which began to break in several places. Captain Kitz was one who fell through and managed to crawl out.
After miles of walking on his wounded leg, Thomas made it in to Hagaru-ri near midnight with 210 survivors under Captain Kitz. Everyone’s feet had frozen to some extent and were severely dehydrated from subsisting on nothing but snow. The cold had delayed most wounds from bleeding profusely as the blood flow, especially to extremities, was slower and restricted. Still, he was in need of a transfusion and nourishment.
Hagaru-ri was heavy with activity as the remnants of the 31st RCT arrived. Airlifts of wounded to Japan were off quickly – those who were taken to the warm sterile comforts of a Station Hospital did not see the subsequent fight out to sea by the provisional battalion. Wesley spent over a week in the hospital before flying back to the United States for recovery for the next five months. When he left, with some limited use of his right arm and hand, he was assigned, ironically, to the Infantry Training School at Fort Benning as an instructor in the weapons department.
CAIRO
Typically far from the point of crisis, the work of any Army finance office is exacting and governed by strict accountability with no tolerance for imbalance. Every dollar issued, every voucher paid, and every instrument transferred must be traceable at all times. Core records – the cash book, cash blotter, check register, and agent officer ledgers – were not administrative formalities but the legal foundation of the office itself. They documented the movement of funds, the settlement of agent accounts, and the government’s outstanding obligations. Their loss, compromise, or destruction without proper accounting could expose the Army to financial and diplomatic risk and leave accounts legally indefensible.
The finance officer commanding such an installation bore personal responsibility for its accounts. Accountability was not abstract: incomplete vouchers or missing records could render subordinate officers personally indebted to the United States, sometimes in substantial sums, through no fault of their own. A finance officer’s decisions, particularly under emergency conditions, carried direct consequences for the officers and civilians who depended upon the integrity of the system.
In mid-1956, the United States Army finance presence in Cairo existed to support American military personnel, attached units, and designated agents operating across the eastern Mediterranean and Near East. The office functioned as a Class B (Class II) installation under the Chief of Finance – empowered to hold and disburse government funds, supervise subordinate agent officers, and maintain full fiscal accountability on behalf of the Army. Though modest in size, such an office carried obligations equivalent to those of a bank branch operating in a foreign capital. Unlike combat units, it could not simply displace or suspend operations when conditions deteriorated – yet it was precisely this that would be demanded of Captain Thomas in the final days of October 1956.
Wesley took command of the Cairo finance office in the spring of 1956, an otherwise routine assignment that quickly slipped into emergency as the city became the epicenter of Egyptian sovereignty and the Suez Crisis bloomed. On October 29th, a call from the American Embassy at 1100 hours informed him that evacuation of all dependents was imminent. He immediately advised all personnel and issued orders.
Anticipating that evacuation of the office itself would follow, he directed that a complete and current list of serial numbers for all currency on hand be established and maintained. Should circumstances require the destruction of cash, the government would need exact proof of what had been held and disposed of; without it, Thomas himself could be held accountable for any apparent loss.
He turned next to the accounts of his agent officers. All paid vouchers were ordered processed as expeditiously as possible, without audit, to reduce outstanding accountability. If evacuation came suddenly with vouchers unprocessed, those agents would appear to owe funds personally. Clearing their accounts was not merely procedural – it protected subordinate officers and preserved the integrity of the system under which they operated.
Within forty-eight hours, the full evacuation he anticipated arrived. On the morning of October 31st, Embassy officials notified him that the finance office was not considered essential to embassy operations and was to be included in the evacuation. Traffic and communications in Cairo were already collapsing under the strain of the crisis. There would be no resupply, no secure couriers, and no further guidance. He now had only hours to shut down an active financial command without losing funds, records, or continuity of operations.
Thomas issued his instructions: suspend operations, balance the account, and arrange and pack all accounting documents necessary to complete October reporting and to continue operations from a new location. All U.S. dollars and dollar instruments were prepared for transfer to the Finance Officer in Rome, the funds moved under State Department courier. Personnel were instructed to prepare to depart with the final convoy scheduled to leave Cairo at 1330 hours.
Before departing, he arranged with the Military Attaché for supervision of the indigenous civilian employees remaining in Cairo and for the safeguarding of office property and retained records. Those employees were instructed to complete a post-audit of vouchers processed between October 29th and 31st and to serve as personnel of a Class B Agent Office established under the Attaché’s authority, ensuring that obligations in Cairo were neither abandoned nor left unsecured.
In the space of two hours, he managed to carefully close out his office while evacuating the city. Within seven days, Thomas had arrived in Rome. Despite the loss of local infrastructure and the complete disruption of communications, his office was operational within the week, maintaining uninterrupted financial support for Army agents throughout the Mediterranean region. As later noted, “the timeliness and competence with which this act was accomplished could have been expected only from one of much greater experience and rank.”