In 1943, at a meeting of allied leaders, it was decided to use the new B-29s against Japan, and General Chiang Kai-Shek, leader of the Nationalist Chinese Armed Forces, agreed to build four bases in the Chengtu Valley.  These bases were far enough from any Japanese-held territory to make them relatively safe from attack by Japanese bombers.  By the time the B-29s were available, the four bases were ready to receive them in China.
     Not having heavy equipment such as bull dozers, earth movers, and rollers, hundreds of thousands of Chinese laborers built those huge runways virtually by hand.  They moved the earth in baskets.  They broke rocks with small hammers.  They used crude rollers pulled by hundreds of laborers.  Those brave men and women got the job done, making it possible for us to bomb the Japanese Islands with the long-range B-29.
     Of course, China is separated from India by the highest mountain range in the world.  The hump route has the reputation of producing the worst flying conditions anywhere on earth.  All hazards feared by the most seasoned pilots will be experienced sooner or later over those mighty Himalaya Mountains.  Many brave pilots and crews had for some time been flying over the hump from India to China in C-46s and C-47s to carry equipment and supplies to Chinese forces and such outfits as General Chenault's Flying Tigers.  No provision, however, had been made at that date for ferrying fuel for raids on the Japanese homeland.  Thus we found ourselves ferrying supplies of fuel over the hump.
     Some B-29s were temporarily converted to makeshift tankers by the installation of 600 gallon fuel tanks in the bomb bays.  Because it was at least a five hour flight each way from our base in India to the one in China, under the best of conditions, it was impossible to leave more than a few hundred gallons.  Under worse conditions, we sometimes used so much fuel getting over the hump that we had none to leave and occasionally had to take on some of the precious supply, already there, for the return flight.  After several months of preparing for missions by this method, the C-109 Provisional Unit, a Tanker Unit, took over the task of ferrying fuel for the 444th Bomber Group.  You will learn later how I became involved with the C-109s for a brief period.
     The Chinese Base assigned to the 444th Bomb Group was just outside Kwanghan.  The first B-29 from our squadron to fly over the hump to Kwanghan was piloted by Major Hanson, an old timer with a lot of flying time in his log book.  His course took him over a part of Burma still held by the Japanese.  His crew returned with some exciting tales about mysterious China and the bullet hole, made by a Japanese Zero, in the fuselage of their B-29.
     With mild dread I looked forward to my first trip over the hump and my first contact with possibly the oldest and most exotic civilization in existence.  The possibility of enemy attack, heavy icing conditions, parachuting over those awesome mountains, or getting lost and crashing into a 20,000 foot peak did not seem to be too high a price to pay for a chance to experience some of the intriguing culture of ancient China.  Early one morning, our turn came.  We took off for China, the start of one of the most spine-tingling chapters in our adventure.
     After a five-hour flight, the Chengtu Valley appeared.  It was nestled between two high mountain ridges, and the sky was clear.  I discovered that the summer weather in the Chengtu Valley was usually quite nice, a welcome relief after the almost unbearable heat at Charra.
     At last we spotted Kwanghan and the 444th Bomb Group's China Base.  We were soon on the ground, being transported to Hostel #3 and checked in.  We were delighted to find that the kitchen boasted two cooks who were said to have formerly worked on a luxury ocean liner.  So every flight over the hump, to what seemed such a small remote village, meant real food, for a change.  Just imagine, three really fresh fried eggs per serving for breakfast.  One morning, I managed three delicious servings.  One night, part of the meal was huge bulky rolls and thick slices of onions, which were as sweet as any Vidalias that I have ever eaten.  Believe it or not, I made a meal of onion sandwiches, which seemed to fill a spot which had been empty since leaving the States.
     After lunch on my initiatory arrival in Kwanghan, some of us went to the gate of the hostel and found rickshaws lined up, ready to take passengers to town for sight-seeing and possible shopping.  We all jumped at the opportunity.  We had flown into China that morning on the most modern and rapid means of transportation, and now in the afternoon we were about to board one of the most ancient vehicles known to man.
     The jinricksha, also called rickshaw, was a small, two-wheeled carriage drawn by one man.  Two of us entered each vehicle and we were soon speeding toward the town of Kwanghan, being pulled by a young man who ran the several miles to town.  This feat was a spectacular demonstration of strength and stamina, since the roads were not paved and were covered by very coarse gravel.
     In due time we arrived in the ancient village, which was much like I expected from pictures I had seen and articles I had read.  It certainly was nothing like any village that I had ever seen in the United States.  As we walked along, adults paid very little attention to us, in fact, appeared to ignore us, but a company of children seemed fascinated with the rich, white bird men and followed us all afternoon.  Running through some streets was what seemed to be an open sewer, an impression confirmed by partitions to screen a person relieving himself.  There was no lack of things to buy in the markets.  Fresh meat was openly displayed, hanging from hooks, with no type of refrigeration.  Needless to say, the flies were feasting.  We were interested mostly in souvenirs and gifts for loved ones back home.  Some of us bought handmade jewelry or fancy work of some kind.  I remember buying a pair of tiny shoes, well made of rabbit skin decorated with embroidery, for the infant daughter whose birth had not yet been announced to me.
     There were no prices on the items, and the merchants, when asked, would, without displaying any emotion, write a number on a piece of paper.  It usually was a multiple of 100.  The inflation at that time was about 900 to 1, and I understand that in another year it was at least ten times that.  The price they were giving us was in Chinese units or yuan.  The merchants were open to bargaining.  The children with us, displaying a great deal of emotion, let us know if the prices were reasonable.  Too high a price would bring scornful yells of what sounded like, "boo-hao."  When we refused to pay the price, the merchant would quote a lower figure.  When our aides were satisfied with the price, they would smile and say, "ding-hao."  Those youngsters helped us to go home with some real bargains.
     After a few hours, we were back in the jinrickshas on our way to hostel #3.  We spent the night in an army tent to which we had been assigned, very comfortable in the arctic-type sleeping bags we had been issued before leaving the United States.  No one explained why we needed sleeping bags suitable for extremely cold weather in India and China.
     The next day we enjoyed an uneventful return trip over the hump to India.  On a clear day, which happened occasionally, the views of the mountain peaks and valleys were spectacular.  Occasionally a building or two could be seen, built on the side of a mountain.  The whole scene gave one the feeling that a flier, forced down in that area, might never find his way home.
     As has been mentioned before, the weather was, more often than not, frightful.  One particularly tough trip for "Little Mike" and crew involved us in some of these frightful conditions.  "Little Mike," named for the baby son of one of the pilots who shared the air craft, was the plane we flew more than any other.  As we started our climb over the foothills, we flew into the soup, and soon ice started forming on the leading edge of the wings.  Icing is a double hazard because it increases the already heavy load; it also decreases the lift because it changes the shape of the airfoil.  By the time we were at our flight altitude, Howdy had the engines on full military power, which was to be used only in times of emergency and for no more than 5 minutes.  We were so close to the tops of the clouds that at times we caught glimpses of blue sky above.  We could go no higher and were barely holding our own.  We hardly dared breathe for fear of causing the huge plane to stall and go into a spin.
     One procedure for ridding the wings of ice was to fly at a lower altitude where the temperature was higher, but that was impossible on the hump route because of the towering mountain peaks below.  After thirty minutes on full military power, we broke into the clear and the ice started to melt.  When we landed at Kwanghan, water was still dripping from the wings.  The next day we flew Little Mike back to India, and all four engines were changed before it flew again.
     The Chengtu Valley was quite often under heavy cloud cover during the winter, making landings and takeoffs rather nerve tingling.  One day we took off from there in the rain.  Except for flight instructions, there was very little conversation as we climbed through heavy soup.  The usual playful repartee didn't seem appropriate.  Finally we broke out of the heavy clouds into brilliant sunshine at 20,000 feet and we all started talking at once.  Even at that altitude we could see the tops of mountains poking their way through the clouds.
     Hundreds of brave young airmen gave their lives during World War II delivering desperately needed cargo and personnel on the hump route to war torn China.  The CBI has been called "The Forgotten Theater," but those who died there must never be forgotten.

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Copyright © 2004, Harry E. Trask.  All rights reserved
Posted 3 September 2004

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