DOB records in the United States, drivers license and place of employment - Ohio University, show 1936.

WWII --  December 7, 1941 - December 31, 1946

Korea -- June 25, 1950 - July 27, 1953

1998

MAGAZINE ARTICLES

Fort Benning

Burmese Bando: Fighting Reduced to its functional essence

By Duvon G. Winborne, Ph.D

Page 22 states

"Moreover the innovations he made by incorporating Western Boxing methods into traditional martial arts were stunning. As an Olympic silver medalist ...."

see http://www.ibof.com/ibhfoly.htm   for a list of ALL medalists in boxing. GYI does NOT appear on the list.

        "Gorkhali Ayo!"
         Gurkha Soldiers in the Battle for Imphal, 1944
                   by Manahadur Rai (M.  Gyi),
                      as told to Marty Kufus

[Ed's Intro: M. Gyi (born Manbahadur Rai) grew up in Maymyo, headquarters of the 10th Burma Gurkha Regiment, near Mandalay.  He
continued a family tradition by serving in the 3110 BGR in the China- Burma-India (CBI) theater of World War II.  Dr. Gyi is now a professor
of communications at Ohio University. He founded the American Bando Association in 1965, partly to honor the Allied soldiers who fought in
the CBI. (Bando is an ancient Burmese martial arts system.) Dr. Gyi's contribution to Command is based largely on entries he made in his wartime diary.  His recollections provide a new perspective on a pivotal battle previously chronicled in English from a solely Anglo-American perspective. The photo, maps, and OBs in the piece were also provided by Dr. Gyi.]

         My Family Both my grandfather and granduncle joined the lst Burma Infantry Regiment in 1890.  They were members of the Rai tribe
from eastern Nepal.  The Rais are descendents of a Tibetan tribe which migrated from that region several thousand years ago.  When Burma was
taken by the British in 1886, many men from the Rai tribe were recruited to serve in their army.

         From 1890 to 1915, both my grandfather and granduncle were assigned to numerous expeditions against the rebellious tribes in Burma.  They also fought for Great Britain in Egypt, Gallipoli and Mesopotamia during World War 1. My grandfather, with the 2110 Burma Gurkha Regiment (BGR), died of wounds he suffered in August 1915, at the Battle of Hill Q on Sari Bair Ridge.  My granduncle, though seriously wounded, survived.

         My father and my uncle joined the 10th BGR in 1923. They also were assigned to numerous operations against the rebellious tribes on
the frontiers of northern Burma, northeastern India and southwestern China. They became acquainted with the languages and customs of the
mountain people of Arakan, Naga, Chin, Kachin, Shan and Yunnan regions.

         In 1936, both my father and uncle became Viceroy's Commissioned Officers (VCOs), with the rank of Subadar (Captain).  My family was very
proud when my older brother was graduated from the Indian Military Academy (IMA) in Dehra Dun in 1939, and became a jemadar (Lieutenant).

         My childhood was filled with the sounds, sights and smells of soldiers.  But their tales of battles against the Pathans, Afghans,
Nagas, Germans, Turks and others did not inspire me.  Their daily military drills and inspections bored me, and their

         [ picture
         Dr.  Gyi presents a highly polished kukri whose slender design was favored by the Rai tribesmen in the 10th Gurkha Regiment.
         Also displayed is a symbolic arrangement of kukris, representing a Gurkha patrol, along with two commando daggers,
         representing a British officer and NCO.  Some of Gyi's kukris are, according to animistic belief, "spirited" with the souls
         of the enemy soldiers they killed.]

monthly rituals with kukris, the curved swords of the Gurkhas, terrified me.

          I never wanted to become a soldier or an officer like the members of my family.  My father realized my strong educational interests and so sent me to a prestigious school in Darjeeling, India. My youthful ambition was to attend a medical college in Delhi, and maybe later study at Cambridge or Oxford in England.  But the war shattered my dreams.

I Join Up

         For the first time in my life, I witnessed my father, my uncle and my brother weeping openly. They had just heard the announcement that
the British surrendered Singapore to the Japanese.  The date was 15 February 1942.  Several of our relatives were in the 2nd and 9th Gurkha
Regiments in the British garrison defending Singapore.  We had also heard numerous reports of Japanese atrocities.  We wondered whether we
would ever see our relatives again.

         It was my brother who vigorously urged me to enlist, as his own regiment was being ordered to move south to defend Rangoon, the capital
of Burma.  That city fell on 9 March 1942.  On that day I decided to join a field ambulance unit.

         The British were desperate.  Any loyal and able-bodied man from the military families was recruited without rigorous screening.  I was
immediately assigned to the 47th Field Ambulance Unit of the British 17th Infantry Division, then defending the city of Prome.  These British, Indian and Gurkha troops were trapped by the Japanese 33rd Division. (Later, the Gurkhas would face this same division in the battle for Imphal.)

         Gallantly, the British 17th Division fought its way out of the encirclement, but the situation continued to deteriorate on all  fronts.  Chinese divisions under the command of US Lt.  Gen.  Joseph Stilwell, defending the Burma Road, collapsed under the assault of the Japanese 56th Division. British General Alexander, with his headquarters at Maymyo, ordered a general retreat.

         Maymyo and Mandalay fell to the Japanese on 30 April. Thousands of Allied troops withdrew to the safety of Imphal on the northeastern frontier of India.  Hundreds of wounded, both native and European, had to be left behind.  Countless civilians, young and old, collapsed from exhaustion, starvation and disease.

         This overland retreat to India through the jungle-covered mountains of Burma was the longest and most humiliating defeat in the annals of British military history. Over 100,000 died during the long march; most of them were refugees. The screams of starving children; the groans of the sick, wounded and old; the pleas of hundreds of wounded soldiers we had to leave behind on jungle roads they still haunt me in my dreams.

I Join the Infantry

        Gen. William Slim took over command of the British 14th Army, and he systematically reorganized it to meet the Japanese threat. Thousands of recruits - Indians, Gurkhas, Sikhs and others - joined newly formed infantry divisions. I joined my brother's unit, the 1/10 Gurkha Regiment, in May 1942.

  In June, I was transferred to the new 23rd India Division. Over 80 percent of the men in this division were recruits, inexperienced and untrained in jungle warfare.

  There were many teenagers in our unit. Some were only 16 years old, and I was one of them. The British were desperate to strengthen the
defense forces with young and loyal soldiers. Our Gurkha drill sergeants were extremely stern and demanded total obedience and discipline. Total
commitment to duties, courage under fire, and unquestioned loyalty to Great Britain were indoctrinated in us. There had been a growing
anti-British senti ment throughout India that had been further inflamed by propaganda from Japan, along with many nationalistic Indian political
parties and the pro-Japanese Indian National Army led by S. Chandra Bose.

        The main objectives of these anti-British groups were to weaken the support for the Allied cause and pave the way for the Japanese
invasion of India. The Japanese 15th Army had sent probes against the Allied defenses in northern Burma and into India. A major Japanese drive
toward Delhi was anticipated.

        I was assigned to the 3rd Platoon/C Company, 3110th BGR, in the 37th Infantry Brigade.  In our brigade, there were two other Gurkha
units: the 313 Queen's Own Gurkha Rifles, and the 315 Royal Gurkha Rifles.  Our brigade was segregated from other Punjab, Patiala, Mahratta
and, Rajputan units.  All non-white troops lived in "basha" (bamboo or canvas barracks), while the British officers and NCOs lived in separate
quarters made of brick and wood. But even though there was segregation between the different races, tribes, classes and castes, we all felt we
had one purpose: defeat the Japanese. Tragic Fate of an RAF Pilot

         During one of our patrols across the Yu River, a branch of the Chindwin, we saw buzzards circling above a small clearing along a jungle trail. Lt. J.F. Burns, who was the leader of the patrol, ordered me to investigate the area.

         After crawling and running from cover to cover, I saw a human figure tied to a tree.  I circled the area several times to make sure the Japanese had not set an ambush.  I approached the figure and became sick.  The naked body had several deep wounds from swords and bayonets.
I vomited as I signaled the patrol.

         Lt. Burns shook with anger when he saw the figure.  He walked away into the bushes after ordering the men to remove the body.  Young Gurkhas stood and stared at the mutilated corpse.  I covered my nose with a handkerchief and removed the wires around the neck of the dead
man.  Lt.  Burns suddenly reappeared and pushed me away.

         "It may be booby trapped," he said.  The corpse fell forward and two grenades rolled down from behind the back.  We scattered for
cover.  The grenades exploded, but none of us was injured.  Quick thinking by the young British officer had saved our lives.

         We dug a grave and buried the body parts; Lt.  Burns said a short prayer.  We left the area for fear the Japanese were nearby.  We
learned later the mutilated body was that of an RAF pilot who had parachuted after his plane was shot down.  He was captured by the
Japanese and tortured to death.  They left the disfigured body as a stern message for the British.

Hand-to-Hand Combat

         During another patrol in the same area, we collided with an advancing Japanese reconnaissance team on a narrow tiger trail that wound through tall elephant grass along a sharp bend of the river. After a heavy rain the roar from the rapids could cover the sounds of Dakota and Spitfire aircraft; neither the Japanese nor our men had heard or seen each other approach.

         Suddenly we stood and stared at each other in disbelief - only a few yards apart.  Then the Japanese officer drew his samurai sword and
charged, screaming, "Tsukkome! (Charge!), Banzai!  Banzai!" We Gurkhas yelled back, "Gorkhali ayo! (The Gurkhas are coming!)" Swords, bayonets and kukris clashed furiously.  Yells, screams and groans from the combatants now drowned the roar of the rapids.  After a few minutes of fierce fighting, the Japanese ran off, leaving 15 dead.

         We lost six, including a British NCO from the lst Seaforth Highlanders.  Another suffered a bayonet wound in the arm.  The surviving members of our patrol quickly collected maps, letters, photos, a radio and other items from the blood-drenched bodies of the Japanese. We carried our fallen men on our backs.  It took us over two days to return to base.

         I was hospitalized with malarial fever, two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder.

My Brother's Visit

         My brother visited me at the field hospital.  I confided in him the terror of my first experience in close combat, and my nightmares
about the RAF pilot. He encouraged me, saying that the spirits of the 10th Gurkha Regiment would always give us courage and protection.  He
instructed me to repeat after him the Gurkha proverb, "Kaphar hunu bhanda mornu ramro." (It is better to die than to be a coward.) I repeated the proverb several times more as a prayer, hoping to calm my fears.

         The most interesting news from my brother was about our uncle. He had joined the 77th Infantry Brigade under Maj.  Gen.  Orde Wingate.
This unit came to be known as the "Chindits," a guerilla force.  Its 3,000 British and Gurkha troops used "long range penetration" tactics to
destroy Japanese communication and transportation lines in the occupied territories in northern Burma.  My uncle was assigned to take charge of
an ammunition and supply team consisting of some 25 mules.

         "I don't understand how or why our uncle got promoted to command the mules," my brother joked.  "He doesn't even speak their language." We laughed together.

Kukri Training and the Death Ceremony

         During the previous months and years, we had been intermittently drilled by Gurkha NCOs on the various uses of the kukri. But now, after I left hospital and my platoon was put under the leadership of a Gurkha jernadur, Bakhatbahadur Rai, we began training several hours each day with the sword.  With kukris we cut bamboo trees of all sizes to strengthen and toughen our hands.  The bamboo we cut we also used to build our living quarters, shelters and latrines.

         We learned how to cut, slash, chop and thrust while jumping into trenches, running up and down hill, and crawling into bunkers.  We trained in parrying bayonets and blocking long swords. Our jemadur told us that all of the Gurkhas in our brigade were being given similar
training.

         One evening our battalion commander, Lt.  Col. Cosens, somberly told us the British POWs from Singapore were being brutally treated by
the Japanese.  Thousands had died in slave labor camps from disease, starvation and torture.  More than 200 Australians, British and Americans were beheaded, and many Gurkha POWs had also been shot, bayoneted and beheaded.

         I wept.  I knew then I would never see my relatives again. Many men in our company remained silent with anger and hate.

         At midnight, Jemadar Bakhatbahadur led us several miles along a jungle trail into the Valley of Caves.  These natural caves were located
to the northeast of Shunagu.  When we got there, we were surprised to see a large gathering of other Gurkha soldiers from other battalions of
the brigade.

         A Subadar from the 315 Royal Gurkha Rifles led us in a sacred blood oath ceremony. (This was done in great secrecy.  The British
disapproved of our traditional "pagan" customs and rituals.) In a priestly voice, he called on Shiva (the destroyer of evil), Kali (goddess of destruction), and Yama (the king of death).  We raised our kukris and cut our fingers and smeared the blood on the blades.  We formed a long column.  One by one, each man thrust his kukri into a small flame placed before the Subadar.  He sprinkled the holy ashes on our heads.

         Steel and spirit became one in this way; our souls united with our kukris.  We made a solemn oath; the shame of Singapore would be avenged; the Japanese would be defeated.

         My father had once told me of such sacred ceremonies, always performed in great secrecy by traditional Gurkha warriors before going
into battle. I felt energized by the spirits.

The Japanese Enter India

         The Imphal plain nestles between two Himalayan mountain ranges that rise to 6,000 feet above sea level.  Imphal itself is a strategic border town near Burma.  It was a major supply depot for Allied forces in the CBI.  The town of Kohima lies about 60 miles to the north of Imphal.  Three all-weather roads led to the Imphal plain from Burma: Tiddim Road to the south, Tamu Road from the southeast, and Tamanthi Road from the northwest.

         There were six military airfields in the area: one in Kohima, one near Kangla (headquarters of the British IV Corps), two in Imphal, with the remaining two at Wingjing and Palel, south of there.

         In February 1944, the chief of staff of the Japanese Imperial Burma Area Army planned the invasion of  India, codenamed "Operation U-Go." There were three operational objectives: 1) secure the major roads and rail lines into Assam (which carried vital supplies to China); 2) deny strategic areas for the Allied forces' preparation for the retaking of Burma; and 3) establish a staging area for the Japanese advance on Delhi.

         The Japanese command had supreme confidence in the invincibility of its soldiers.  Gen.  Kawabe boasted his forces would capture Imphal within three weeks of the offensive's start date.  He would make the conquest of India a birthday gift to the Emperor Hirohito.

         The Japanese 15th Army included the 15th Division, under Lt. Gen.  Yamaguchi; the 31st Division, under Lt.  Gen.  Sato; and the 33rd Division, under Lt. Gen.  Tanaka.  Two additional "mixed" infantry brigades, under Maj.  Gens.  Miyazaki and Yamamoto, were attached to the
31st and 33rd Divisions.  Other units supporting the Japanese were a division from the Indian National Army and a regiment from the Burma Independent Army, both anti-British, nationalist forces.  The combined enemy force totaled more than 100,000  men.

         The strength of these Japanese divisions varied from 15,000-22,000.  Each had three regiments with 2,600 troops in three battalions.  The Japanese didn't use regular brigades here, except for their special operations units, such as the 24th and 72nd Independent Mixed Brigades.  Three regiments were considered to make up an "infantry brigade group."

         The Imphal plain was defended by Gen.  G. Scoone's British IV Corps, which had the 17th, 20th and 23rd Indian Infantry Divisions; and
Maj.  Gen M. Stopford's XXXIII Corps, which held the 2nd and 7th (British) Infantry Divisions, along with six special operations brigades.

Assault on Imphal Plain

         By the middle of March, the Japanese had crossed the Chindwin River using boats, pontoons and rafts.  They entered India along three
main axes.  Their 31st Division attacked the British outposts around Kohima from the north.  The 15th

        Division blocked the roads between Kohima and Imphal.  The 33rd Division moved up from the south, along the Tiddirn and Tamu Roads, to
drive directly on Imphal.  The British were stunned by the speed of these advances.

        The Japanese had transported their artillery and equipment across rugged mountains and jungles using more than 2,000 mules and bullocks. Thousands of slave laborers were also forced to carry supplies and construct roads, bridges and fortifications.

        With assistance from native guides, Japanese light infantry regiments moved along jungle trails to surround British outposts on major roads. The Japanese 31st and 15th Divisions soon laid siege to Kohima.  The 77th Indian Division was trapped on Tiddim Road by the Japanese 33rd Division. Gen.  Slim, commander of the British 14th Army, decided to meet the Japanese assault by pulling back his forward divisions.  He called this a "defensive-offensive" strategy. His troops would withdraw and then redeploy around the Imphal plain in such a way as to force the Japanese to fight at the very end of their lengthy supply lines.  If his troops could hold out until June, the monsoon season would help defeat the overex tended invaders.

Battle of Fir Tree Hill

        On 22 March, the 37th Gurkha Brigade was ordered to break the Japanese resistance to the withdrawal of the 17th Indian Division along the Tiddim Road.  The 17th had abandoned thousands of tons of equipment and supplies, including several hundred head of cattle, at their depot. The Japanese, in turn, captured that booty while continuing their attacks against the retreating division. My unit marched along the Tiddim Road, which wound through hundreds of hills and ridges.  I wondered what the names were the British had given these hills.  I asked one English NCO who was in my column.  He pointed his finger at the horizon and said, "There is Left Hill, Right Hill, Lower Hill, Higher Hill, Steep Hill, Pimple Ridge, Nipple Knoll, Booby Ridge, and Baldy Ridge."

        I looked at him in disbelief.  I decided then that behind every stiff British upper lip there must also be a sense of humor.

        If a mountain didn't have a strange name, the British gave it an alpha-numeric symbol.  In this way some of the hills along the Tiddim and Tamu Roads were called "MS-I," "MS-2," "MS-3," up through "MS-555." Some of the ridges around Ukrul were identified as "M-33-z," "R-106-a," "BB-4-q," etc. Our battalion was ordered to "exterminate" the Japanese on a heavily fortified feature called "Fir Tree Hill." It had two ridges, "Left Hill," and "Right Hill." From those ridges the Japanese had blocked the Tiddim Road for several miles and were attempting to crush the 17th Division.

        In three columns, lst, 2nd and 3rd Platoons advanced halfway up the hill without opposition. Suddenly the Japanese opened fire with automatic weapons from two bunkers near the top.  Several men from 2nd Platoon fell.  Then jemadar Bakhat- bahadur Rai, leader of our platoon,
ordered the men to flank the bunker in front of us.  We crawled toward the summit.

        Three or four Japanese from an adjacent trench stood up and threw grenades.  The machinegun from the bunker suddenly turned on us,
wounding one and pinning us down.  Then one fleet-footed Gurkha, Narpati Rai, stood up with his kukri and charged, yelling "Gorkhali ayo!" and
jumped into the enemy trench.  Inspired by his daring example, we all fired our weapons and charged, while lst and 2nd Platoons rushed the
other bunker.

        Left Hill was secured.  Our platoon had suffered one dead and three wounded.  The other platoons had also suffered light casualties. The Japanese lost 32 men, most of whom we had cut down in their trenches with our kukris.  Our jemadar was very pleased with our first battle
performance.

         From the newly-won bunkers we watched the intense battle raging on Right Hill.  British tanks from the 7th Cavalry, along with our B
Company, cooperated in attacking the more formidable enemy positions there. The Japanese answered with mortars, heavy machineguns and grenades.  One tank was crippled by a Japanese soldier armed with explosives.  Then another Japanese team began moving to destroy the
other tanks, but they were cut down by the Gurkhas from the forward platoon.

         RAF planes, and artillery, had to be called in to help dislodge the well-entrenched Japanese.  Soon thick and dark smoke engulfed the
whole ridge.  Still the Japanese did not yield.

         After three hours of fierce fighting, Lt.  P.P. Dunkley, commander of B Company, led the final assault on the enemy bunkers.  The Gurkhas again shouted their battle cry as they engaged in hand-to-hand combat.  We wanted to help them, but our orders were to "hold Left Hill." So from our positions we shouted, "Gorkhali ayo!  Gorkhali ayo!" to give them moral support.

         The Japanese finally retreated off into the jungle, and Right Hill was secured.  There were heavy casualties on both sides there.  Our platoon was detailed to help evacuate the dead and wounded, because several members of the ambulance unit had been killed by Japanese snipers.  Bodies of the Gurkhas lay next to their fallen enemies.

         From one large bunker, I pulled out the body of a Gurkha who was covered by seven dead Japanese.  He had killed them with his kukri before he was bayoneted to death.  Many of the dead were our friends.

         Lt. Dunkely was awarded the Military Cross medal for his outstanding leadership in securing Fir Tree Hill. We were proud to see the Union Jack flying on the hill.  We saluted the flag and paid tribute to our fallen men.

         Lt. Dunkely became the pride of the 3110 Burma Gurkha Rifles. This young British officer had gained the love and respect of the Gurkhas serving under him. We made him an honored member of the Rai and Lirnbu tribes.

         The Battle of Nipple Knoll

         The next night a large force of Japanese troops counterattacked.  They quickly established roadblocks between MS-96 and MS-97.  Our 3rd Battalion, along with two companies of the 315 RGR, were isolated at MS-100 and came under intense attack.  The Japanese were repulsed, but they succeeded in capturing a small hill, causing serious problems for the left flank of our battalion.

         The British NCOs had named this hill "Nipple Knoll." Havildar (sergeant) Dilbahadur Limbu, of C Company, was ordered to retake it. The lst and 2nd Platoons were called into action, and my 3rd Platoon was to provide close support.  After repeated attacks, the enemy finally withdrew to the next hill.  The two attacking platoons lost more than half their men, and the Japanese losses were equally high.

         Our platoon moved in to secure Nipple Knoll.  We removed the  documents and papers from the Japanese bodies strewn around their perimeter.  We discovered their orders were to seize Tiddim Road, annihilate the still retreating 17th Indian Division, and attack Imphal from the south.

         That night the Japanese again counterattacked with great force. After firing mortars from a nearby hill, they attacked our positions in two waves, screaming, "Banzai!  Banzai!  Banzai!" Our machineguns, rifles and grenades repelled their first assault, but not before several reached our trenches.  They were immediately cut down.

         The Japanese withdrew, regrouped and attacked again, but we held our position tenaciously.

         Later that same night, the Japanese succeeded in surrounding our hill, isolating us from the battalion.  We could hear the movement of the enemy all around us.  They were preparing for a third assault. We were low on ammunition and the men were totally exhausted.

         "Men, draw your kukris.  We will kill as many of them as possible before they kill us," ordered the Havildar.  The thought of retreat or surrender never entered our minds, but I had serious doubts we could last much longer.

         To our great relief, D Company suddenly came to our rescue. They had silently flanked the advancing Japanese and then drove them off
the side of our hill.  Our platoon had suffered two more dead and four wounded.

         Havildar Dilbahadur Limbu was awarded a medal - of what type I cannot recall - for his leadership in the defense of the hill against superior enemy forces.

Dogged Defense

         During the first week of April, relentless assaults by the Japanese 15th and 32nd Divisions trapped the British garrison in Kohima. The British IV Corps based near Kangla, north of Imphal, was also isolated.  The Japanese expected an easy surrender from the British, as at Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaya and Burma.  But this was the new British 14th Army, led by the dogged and brilliant Gen.  William Slim. All of us soldiers in this new army were well-disciplined, and trained and equipped for jungle fighting.  We had no intention of repeating the "shame of Singapore."

         In mid-May, our battalion was sent to the Shenam Pass, southeast of Imphal.  It was a strategic area that controlled the Tamu Road.  The Japanese had made repeated attempts to gain control of this vital pass. The whole region was a tangle of high ridges and peaks covered by thick jungle.  I was amazed that men had been able to construct such a winding road through such rugged hills, some of which reached over 5,000 feet about sea level.

         I wondered again what names the British had given these hills. Interestingly, they had used mostly Mediterranean names, such as Cyprus,
Malta, Gibraltar, Sardinia, Crete East and Crete West, but there was also a "Penis Peak" and "Knipple Knob." Some others were called "Nippon
Hill," "Gurkha Ridge," "Scraggy Hill," "Flat Top Hill," "Pyramid Hill," "Lynch Hill," Garrison Hill," "Slim Peak," and so on.  The British indeed had a strange sense of humor.

         All these hills were infested with Japanese troops. After fierce fighting, units from our brigade succeeded in occupying some of the more important hills controlling Shenam Pass.

Defense of Scraggy Hill

         On 15 May our battalion was ordered to relieve the 3/3rd at Scraggy Hill.  During the previous week, there had been much fighting in that area.  Many of the dead had not been removed; they were scattered along the trails and hillsides.  The sight of vultures and crows tearing the flesh of rotting corpses, and the stench of decay made us ill. Breathing became difficult.

         We tried to clear the corpses from our defensive sector by dragging them down to a gorge some 100 yards away.  There were several
headless Japanese bodies. We found two heads covered with engorged leeches. Pieces of arms, fingers and intestines were swarmed over by
thousands of insects.  One Japanese had a kukri stuck in his helmeted head.  We found another with a kukri lodged between his legs.  We could
not count the number of bodies we removed from the perirneter.  Kukris, bayonets, swords, rifles, helmets, ammunition belts, boots and canteens
littered the trenches and bunkers.  It was a vision of hell.

         Darkness came quickly, and we had hardly finished consolidating the area when enemy shells began exploding around us, wounding several
men.  But where were they coming from?

         Our night patrol soon spotted Japanese firing mortars from the gorge where we'd just piled the corpses. They had established two batteries in the gorge.  Our company commander, Lt.  Miller, ordered us to silence them.  We crawled down the slope, into that unbearable stench.  We plugged our noses with crushed leaves and mud, and breathed through our mouths.  I wondered how the Japanese could endure the stench
of their own dead soldiers.

         We saw a Japanese recon team of five men moving past us up the hill.  We could also see flashes from the gorge as they continued to
launch mortar shells.  Men from the forward team flanked the enemy scouts and silenced them with kukris.  We moved farther down slope and
threw grenades into the ravine.  The Japanese quickly withdrew.

         Later that night the Japanese shifted their attacks to D Company, which was dug in next to us. They came in waves, firing at close range.  The Gurkhas from D Company didn't waver, even though many of them were wounded and killed.

         The determined enemy then staged another attack. This time they tried to overrun our position with two companies.  They screamed,
"Nippon banzai!" The Gurkhas, instead of remaining in the trenches, jumped up and attacked the advancing Japanese with their kukris.  We cut
down many of them in hand-to-hand fighting.

         The surprised Japanese, who had not expected such an instant counterattack, fled into the jungle.  One Japanese squad, though - in a
state of confusion - ran into our perimeter.  We cut them down with kukris.

         The next morning we cheered and applauded the forward platoons of D Company for their daring kukri charge, which we could now see had
killed more than 90 enemy troops.  These men were truly the pride of the 10th Gurkha Regiment.

Death of Lt.  Burns

         Unlike some other British officers, Lt.  J.F. Burns enjoyed mingling with the young Gurkhas.  Often he would join us at our mess and try our food.  He seemed to develop a taste for curried ahloo (potato) and rice.  With some difficulty, he attempted to learn the dialects of the Rais and Limbu tribes.  I translated for him on numerous occasions.

         He taught us how to build rafts, cross rivers and swim in a fast current.  Later, he trained us in reconnaissance patrolling and ambush tactics.  It was Lt.  Burns who had saved me and some other young Gurkhas from the booby trapped body of the RAF pilot.

         On the night of 20 or 21 May, A Company, positioned at Scraggy, came under heavy attack by an enemy unit from the 72nd Mixed Brigade.
We made a stubborn defense against waves of Japanese assaults.  During the action, Lt.  Burns was cut down by a Japanese sword.  The next
morning, this gallant young British officer died in the battalion field hospital.

         His spirit united with the souls of the fallen Gurkhas who had served him loyally.

Assault on Gibraltar Hill

         On 24 May, the Japanese flag was flying on Gibraltar Hill. They had counterattacked in force and retaken it from the 5th Battalion of the 6th Rajputana Rifle Regiment.  There had been intense fighting on Gibraltar.  The hillside was scarred with bomb craters, burning tanks, twisted cannon, fallen trees, smoldering logs and rotting corpses.

         Gibraltar Hill was more than 5,000 feet high and had three plateaus.  The Tamu Road was built along the south side of the hill. The northern and western slopes were steep.  The Japanese bunkers and networks of trenches were at the crest, in an excellent position to shell any British convoys on the road. The RAF bombings and our artillery barrages had not weakened their fortifications.

         The operational commander, Maj.  H.G. Edwards, ordered our company to retake the hill.  The Ist Platoon was ordered to advance from the south side; our 3rd Platoon was to provide close support, and the 2nd Platoon was put in reserve.

         As soon as the Gurkhas reached the second plateau, the enemy launched their mortars and grenades.  Nine Gurkhas from the 1st fell immediately.

         Most of the trees in that area had been blown down and burned by the previous artillery shellings.  There was little cover for the men.  The lst Platoon tried to advance, but was pinned down by automatic weapons fire.  We watched in despair when only four Gurkhas withdrew to take cover in a bomb crater.  The rest were all dead or wounded.

         Our platoon, under jemadar Bakhatbahadur, was positioned near the northern slope.  The jemadar sent six men to reinforce the remnants
of the 1st Platoon in the crater.  They were ordered to fire at will to provide cover.  Our platoon was then quickly organized into two assault
teams., Team 1 had 12 men under the jemadar, and would climb the northern slope.  Team 2 had 10 men and was to approach from the western
slope.

         We were about 100 yards away from the enemy.  The men in the crater split up into three fire teams, each taking separate positions  A thick mist had settled on top of the hill, concealing our advance. Our three fire teams intensified their cross fire, providing additional cover for us.

         When we reached the crest, we drew our kukris and waited for Team 2 to reach the ridge from the western slope.  The enemy trenches
were only a few yards away.

         The machineguns from the bunkers riddled the bomb craters, smoldering logs, and a burning tank, where the Gurkha fire teams were
positioned. From the trenches, the Japanese soldiers continued to throw grenades down the hill.

         Suddenly the jemadar stood up and screamed, "Gorkhali ayo!" We all yelled in unison, and followed him into the Japanese trenches. We
rushed through the maze of narrow trenches, thrusting, slashing and chopping at the surprised enemy.  Some tried to withdraw into the bunkers, but ran into other Gurkhas and were chopped down instantly.

         Then they counterattacked from the western slope. One Japanese commander, with his sword drawn, rushed out from the main bunker
screaming, "Banzai!  Banzai! Banzai!" His men, with fixed bayonets, also charged and tried to flank us.  We jumped out of the trenches to meet
them.

         The Japanese officer cut down one Gurkha, then another.  But then, just as quickly, the Jemadar sprang forward and decapitated the
enemy officer. Then the jemadar yelled, "Gorkhali ayo!  No prisoners!" And we responded, "No prisoners!  Gorkhali ayo!" The resultant
collisions were of steel against steel, steel against flesh, and flesh against flesh - it was a killing frenzy among fanatic warriors.

         Our Lord Shiva, goddess Kali, and Yama witnessed this brutal hand-to-hand fighting.  It lasted about 15 minutes.  Many Japanese escaped down the south slope, leaving 125 of their dead behind.  Our platoon lost two men killed and three wounded. Our faces and uniforms were drenched with blood.

         The jemadar lowered the Japanese flag on the main bunker.  Our platoon stood at attention.  Tears streamed down our faces.  On 24 May
1944, the 3rd Platoon of A Company of the 3110 Gurkha Regiment had secured Gibraltar Hill.

         Our commanding British officer, Maj. Edwards, said, "Bloody good show men!" He congratulated our platoon and declared that our performance was one of the finest examples of courage in the regirnent's history.  Later, our jemadar was awarded the Military Cross for his
outstanding leadership and courage that day.

Monsoon Season

         The Japanese made no major attempt to retake Gibraltar Hill, except for occasional shelling and probes by small units.  During June, our battalion left Gibraltar and moved to Recce Hill, a few miles down Tamu Road.  Other Gurkha battalions, the 313rd and 315th, were also moved to other hills.

         Monsoon season had begun.  The weather became extremely bad; it rained for five straight days. These torrential rains caused flash floods that washed away many bunkers, shelters and wooden bridges. Unpaved roads and trails on the hills and in the valleys became gushing streams.  Bomb craters became ponds and lakes infested with mosquitoes, insects, leeches and poisonous snakes.  Transporting supplies to troops in remote outposts became impossible.  Road crews were constantly repairing or rebuilding bridges destroyed by landslides.

         Many men in our battalion suffered from malaria, typhus, dysentery, carbuncles, pleurisy, pneumonia, foot rot, and other tropical diseases.  About ten percent of the men became totally incapacitated and had to be evacuated to Imphal for treatment.

         We knew the Japanese troops were also suffering from these same diseases.  Our intelligence reports indicated their field hospitals in Burma were overcrowded with wounded and sick.  Their long supply lines to India from Burma could not be fully maintained during the monsoons. Our Gurkha special forces had been attacking their supply lines across the border.  Also, the RAF planes bombed the enemy's railroad lines, convoys and supply depots.  Some of the Japanese units began to slaughter their mules to feed their soldiers.  Some raided villages for supplies.

         And we were only just moving into July, the height of the monsoon season.

Retaking Scraggy Hill

         The Japanese badly needed a victory.  They were determined to open the Tamu Road so their troops could advance northward and capture
the supplies they needed from our dumps in Imphal.  Throughout June and July, the Japanese continued to attack Gurkha positions along the Shenam Pass.  Several Japanese units from their 33rd and 15th Divisions succeeded in recapturing Scraggy Hill, along with some of the
surrounding hills.

         Battalions 313, 315 and 3110 were called into action. The 313rd was ordered to secure Crete West and Crete East.  The 315th was to retake Lynch and Flat Top.  The 3110th was assigned to recapture Scraggy, Pimple and Malta.

         B Company was ordered to take down the Japanese flag flying atop Scraggy.  They knew this would not be easy.  The condition of the hill was extremely poor.  The Japanese had removed the large trees from around the hill to reinforce their bunkers, machinegun nests and trenches at the summit.

         Scraggy was 5,000 feet high, and had five plateaus.  Every plateau was dotted with bomb craters filled with mud and water.  Some of the decaying bodies remained only half-buried in several craters. Vultures and crows perched on burned trees, waiting for their next meal. The hill looked dark and eerie, even during the day.  The stench of death made our men shudder.  How many men had fought and died already on this bloody hill?

         The lst and 2nd Platoons of B Company advanced in two separate columns.  I was placed in charge of the 3rd Platoon from A Company,
which was detailed to carry some 16 ladders for use in scaling the cliffs near the summit.  The rain from the previous night made the slopes treacherous to climb.

         The men were slipping and falling as they crawled up the muddy ridge.  A machinegun blast hit a Gurkha from the lst Platoon.  His body slid almost 200 yards down hill, and was soon followed by three more. The Japanese had our advancing columns in a crossfire, but we struggled through it to the next plateau, suffering more casualties as we went.

         Conditions on the third plateau were even worse. There were several sharp slopes near the top.  They were muddy and treacherous, with no cover for the men. One Gurkha scout clawed his way up to investigate the next ridge.  A burst of machinegun fire exploded his face and chest.  His body was thrown back, and it rolled down the hill and splashed into a crater already containing two decaying bodies.  I had serious doubts we could scale those slopes without being cut down. To our great relief, we were ordered not to advance further, and to secure the lower slopes.

         That night the Japanese shelled all our battalion's positions with their mountain artillery and mortars. At around 1:00 a.m. they made a series of coordinated attacks against C Company on Malta, B Company on Pimple, and D Company on Pyramid.  The Japanese also attacked the 313rd
on Crete West and Crete East, and the 315th on Lynch and Flat Top Hills.

         The battle raged all around us.  We could hear the battle cry "Nippon banzai!" reverberating through the hills, followed by the explosions of mortars and grenades.  Soon we heard "Gorkhali ayo!" to the left of us and then also to the right.  We also began shouting.

         The fighting went on for a few hours.  Then silence settled over the hills and the enemy withdrew.  The Gurkhas had successfullyrepulsed the attacks, but the Japanese flag was still flying on Scraggy Hill.

         The next day the rain came.  The assault on Scraggy was postponed for two days.  The men slept, ate and waited on the slopes, with little cover.  Our uniforms were wet and muddy.  Many suffered from diseases, exhaustion and foot rot.  Mosquitoes at night, leeches in the day, and the stench of rotting corpses challenged the fortitude of the young Gurkhas.  But we were determined to retake Scraggy Hill.

         On 23 July, three RAF planes strafed the top of the hill, dropped several bombs and then disappeared into the dark, rolling, monsoon clouds.  More rain would come soon.  Thick mist was beginning to  form on the mountain range.

         The orders came: take Scraggy before the rain began.

         The pioneer (demolition) platoon, under B Company, moved up the hill followed by my 3rd Platoon with the ropes and ladders.  We reached
the third plateau without much opposition, except for occasional shots from a sniper.  A Japanese sharpshooter moved from crater to crater,
taking our men out from the front and then from the side.  He killed four of our men before he was taken out by sniper hunters from the Pioneers.

         We crawled up to the fourth plateau without a single shot from the Japanese - probably because of poor visibility at the top.  Thick mist began to settle. The final assault would be difficult.  The slope was steep and slippery.

         We had to link five ladders to reach the rim of the summit.  We positioned three ladders approximately 30 yards apart.  The first assault team from the pioneers scaled the ladders.  A sudden loud blast of automatic weapons and rifles mowed them down as soon as they had reached the crest.

         A second team climbed the ladders, and also was hit, suffering heavy casualties.  Some of their bodies were hanging on the ladders; some slid down the slope.  The wounded painfully clawed their way back, helped by our men.  Suddenly the Japanese appeared on top of the slope and began throwing grenades down on us, killing more pioneers and men from my platoon.  We fired back as we withdrew to safety.

         A runner was dispatched to inform our commanders of the seriousness of the situation.  Soon the mortar teams from our battalion went into action.  Steady explosions of shells on top of the hill forced the Japanese back into their bunkers and trenches.  The ambulance unit was sent to remove the dead and wounded.  The pioneers had suffered some 80 percent casualties.

         How glad I was to see the 2nd Platoon from A Company and the lst and 2nd Platoons from B Company coming up the hill for a combined
assault! Under the cover of our steady mortar barrage and the thick mist, the platoons began to scale the ladders, which we repositioned farther apart.  This time we succeeded in reaching the top with only light casualties.

         We immediately fanned out and charged the two forward bunkers with grenades, then kukris, killing some 32 defenders.  Many Japanese
escaped to the main bunker at the summit.  Our men regrouped and quickly removed the dead and wounded.  Several jemadars and Havildars were among the casualties.

         Jemadar Kharkabahadur Rai, from 1st Platoon of B Company, took charge and divided the men into three assault teams.  I remembered this
tactic, which we had used on Gibraltar Hill.  Our team was assigned to follow the trench line, and the other two were to flank the bunkers on the summit.

         The heavy mist made visibility poor.  We could not see more than 20-25 yards.  We were ordered not to fire our weapons for fear of killing our own men.  We drew our kukris.  As soon as the mortar fire was lifted, jemadar Kharkabahadur yelled, "Gorkhali ayo!" and led the charge.

         Our assault team ran along the trench line.  The Japanese opened up with automatic weapons.  We jumped into a trench from which an enemy squad was firing.  They were quickly silenced.

         We advanced on to the main bunker.  The trench was filled with water and mud, slowing our movement.  We saw several retreating Japanese
in front of us.  Three of them slipped and fell in the mud, and were quickly decapitated.

         As we jumped out of that trench, we ran into a group of Japanese who charged us with fixed bayonets.  Several of our men fell to them.  As one Japanese soldier pulled his bayonet from a Gurkha's throat, I sprang and cut him down.  Then a Japanese and a Gurkha, locked in a life-or-death struggle, lost their footing and rolled on the ground.  I ran to them and impaled the enemy with my kukri.

         At another point, I parried a man charging with a bayonet and stepped in to kill him, but missed because of poor footing and accidentally cut the arm of a Gurkha next to me who was dodging an attacker of his own.  My attacker then hit me with his rifle butt and knocked me into the trench. I was unconscious for several minutes.

         As I was pulled out of the trench by my men, I heard the Gurkha victory cry.  The men from Companies A and B had finally secured the hill.  Many Japanese escaped under the cover of the heavy mist and smoke, leaving behind more than 100 dead.  Unfortunately our casualties had been equally high.

         Later, jemadar Kharkabahadur Rai from B Company was awarded a medal for his leadership and gallantry in recapturing Scraggy Hill.  The
men of the 3110th saluted him.

Action on Pimple Hill

         By the following day, all of the strategic hills around Shenam Pass had been cleared of Japanese resistance, except for one called Pimple Hill, adjacent to Scraggy.  A small force of Japanese held out there.

         My 3rd Platoon, now reinforced with many new and young recruits, was ordered to clear this little hill.  I had some doubts about my ability to lead and about the abilities of these untested Gurkha youths.  But I divided the platoon into three assault teams, and instead of advancing from one position, we ascended the hill from three different locations.

         The "Pimple" was about 2,500 high.  It had no steep cliffs or deep ravines.  As my column reached halfway up the hill, the Japanese fired from a machinegun nest.  We flanked that position and blew it up with grenades.  Farther up the hill, the Japanese fired from a small bunker.  It, too, was soon flanked and silenced.

         Several Japanese then crawled out of a tunnel and ran down the hill.  Our columns cross-fired and stopped their escape.  Then two stunned Japanese came out of a hole to surrender, raising their hands above their heads.  But as I approached them, another Gurkha rushed forward and slashed them with his kukri, killing them instantly.

         Then the Gurkha raised his kukri and yelled, "That is for my father in Singapore!" That soldier was only 16 years old.

         The small hill was secured, in a small action, by a small group of men.

Gen.  Slim's Visit

         On 27 July, Gen.  William Slim, commander of the victorious British 14th Army, visited our area. We cleaned and polished for this very special occasion.

         Lt. Col.  Cosens, the proud commander of our 3110 Gurkha Regiment, presented his battle-tested men to the visiting general.  We stood at attention with drawn kukris.

         Gen.  Slim slowly walked along the lines, looking at each man and his kukri. ]Fie stopped in front of my Jernadar, Bakhatbahadur Rai, leader of the 3rd Platoon of C Company, and congratulated him for his brilliant leadership during the battle for Gibraltar Hill.

         The general moved on and stopped before Jemadar Kharkabahadur Rai, leader of the Ist Platoon of A Company, and praised him for his
courageous leadership in retaking Scraggy Hill.

         Gen.  Slim's brilliant strategies, implemented by gallant and competent British commanders and their loyal Gurkha soldiers, had forever crushed the mystique of Japanese "invincibility" in Asia.

         We had avenged the shame of Singapore. Gorkhali ayo!

Fighting Nature, Insects, Disease and Japanese
The Chindit War in Burma

       by Manbahadur Rai (M. Gyi), as told to Marty Kufus

         [Ed's Intro: M. Gyi (born Manbahadur Rai) first saw combat in World War II as a young enlisted man in the 10th Burma Gurkha Regiment.
He is the author of Command no. 16's feature, "Gorkhali Ayo!  Gurkha Soldiers in the Battle for Imphal, 1944." The following account of his
later experiences as a medical orderly in the 111th Chindit Brigade is based largely on detailed entries from his wartime diary.]

         British Retreat From Burma

         The morale of the British troops in Asia was at its lowest ebb after their humiliating defeats by the imperial Japanese Army at Hong Kong, Malaya, Singapore and Burma.  The British forces in Burma  were forced to retreat into the hills of Assam in northeast India in April 1942.

         The Japanese soldiers we encountered were well-equipped and -trained and had mastered the art of jungle warfare.  They were disciplined with superhuman endurance and fought with ferocity and courage.  They didn't understand the meaning of the word "surrender," and would fight to the last man.  They prided themselves on being the "invincible warriors" of the emperor.  They had come - as they saw it - not as conquerors, but as liberators, with a divine mission to defeat the western colonial powers in Asia.

         The British defeat in Burma by the numerically inferior Japanese was the result of the Europeans' tendency to fight from static positions.  Their strategies were road bound and depended on surface lines of communication.  The highly mobile Japanese troops, guided by native scouts along jungle trails, would infiltrate the British positions, forcing them to retreat.  The British forces in Southeast Asia at first were not prepared or equipped for such warfare.

         British Gen.  Orde Wingate, a leader who had gained experience in guerrilla warfare in Palestine, Sudan and Ethiopia, was summoned in
the spring of 1942 by Gen.  Archibald Wavell, the Commander in Chief of British forces in India.  Wingate was instructed to develop a guerrilla
force to harass and destroy Japanese lines of communication in Burma.

         Burma is larger than France or Germany, and tropical rain forest covered most of its northern half.  Over 200 inches of rain fall during an average monsoon season.  High mountains, dense jungles and large rivers serve as natural barriers.  Large parts of the Japanese lines of communication (railroads, bridges, paved roads, depots) were unprotected or only lightly defended.  They had positioned only six divisions and five garrison brigades in northern Burma.  The Japanese were confident the British lacked the skills and will needed to infiltrate and engage in jungle warfare against battle-seasoned troops.

         But Wingate believed he could beat the Japanese at their own game.  He reasoned his long-range penetration force, at first codenarned
"Longcloth," could, with the use of radios and aerial resupply, move freely through the jungle and destroy the enemy's vital lines of communication, thereby isolating the Japanese in northern Burma.  That would facilitate the advance of US Lt.  Gen.  Joseph Stilwell and his
two Chinese divisions training in Ramgarh, India - their goal being the capture of the strategic town and airfield of Myitkyina.

         The overall Allied objective was to reopen the Burma Road, the vital link between China and her western allies.  Chiang Kai-Shek's armies were desperately in need of Allied support so they could continue their resistance against the Japanese.

The Chindits' First Expedition

         Wingate's force came to be known as "Chindits," an English mispronunciation of the Burmese "Chinthe," a mythological creature, half
lion and half eagle, symbolizing divine power over land and air.  Huge stone statues of Chinthe guard the entrances of all the major Buddhist
temples in Burma.

         Wingate believed the success of his mission would depend on close coordination between ground and air power, and the Chindits
symbolized this pioneering concept of guerrilla warfare.  Their objective was to infiltrate behind Japanese lines and destroy the railways, bridges and depots between Mandalay and Myitkyina.

         The Chindits' first expedition began on the night of 13 February 1943.  Wingate's 77th Infantry Brigade of 3,000 men and 1,000 pack mules was divided into a force of seven independent "columns." Most of the men in the brigade were middle-aged British and second-line Gurkha troops.  Kachins and Burmese from the Burma Rifles served as guides, scouts, stretcher bearers, foragers, spies and interpreters.

         The Chindits crossed the Chindwin River, infiltrated deep into Japanese territory, and succeeded in temporarily cutting the Mandalay
Myitkyina railroad. They destroyed bridges, attacked numerous depots, and ambushed many Japanese convoys.

         In March, they crossed the Irrawaddy River to disrupt the Mandalay-Lashio railroad.  The Japanese, realizing the seriousness of the Chindits' operation, attacked in force and tried to trap the brigade.  By April, the Chindits were forced to retreat with great difficulty back to India.  Most of their equipment had been destroyed or left behind.  Nearly all of their mules were lost.  Five hundred men were killed in battle; 400 wounded and sick were left behind to the mercies of the Japanese.  Almost all the survivors suffered from malaria, dysentery, typhus and other tropical diseases.  Many of them were unfit for further active military duty.

         The first Chindit raid was a military failure.  The damage inflicted on the Japanese was not great enough to justify such losses. However, the operation was hailed in Allied propaganda as a great victory:    British troops had boldly marched into the heart    of enemy territory, wreaked havoc on Japanese lines of communication, and fought their way back through some of the world's most treacherous jungle.  In truth, the Japanese had never expected such a daring plan to be initiated by the British. During their 1,000-mile march, the Chindits were able to gather a great deal of detailed information about the terrain, Japanese strongholds and troop dispositions, their jungle craft, the native tribes, the prevalent sicknesses and diseases, enemy medical and ambulance systems, their diet, supply and transportation systems.

The Second Chindit Expedition

         Adm.  Lord Louis Mountbatten, the Supreme Commander of Southeast Asia Command, decided Burma had to be reconquered by a land
operation from India.  The forces for an amphibious invasion in the south were not available.

         Gen.  Wingate, attending the Quebec Conference in August 1943, was able to persuade British Prime Minister Winston Churchill and US President Franklin Roosevelt to give him their support for a second Chindit expedition, to be codenamed "Operation Thursday."

         To carry out the plan, he was given six small infantry brigades organized as the 3rd Indian Division, but more commonly called "Special
Forces," or the "Long Range Penetration Force." Five of the brigades, each divided into two columns, were to be flown into the rear of northern Burma.  The sixth brigade was to march overland.

         An American Ranger force, the 5307th Composite Provisional Unit, codenarned "Galahad," was also trained under Wingate's direction
at Delolai, India. These three Ranger battalions came to be known as "Merrill's Marauders," and in fact became an American counterpart to the
Chindits.  The Marauders were assigned to attack the Japanese positions in the far north, while the Chindits were operating from the center of
north Burma.

         The most important component of these forces was the American Air Commando unit led by Col.  Philip Cochrane (who later served as the
inspiration for the "Terry and the Pirates" comic strip).  The unit provided C-47 Dakota transports, Waco CG-4 gliders, L-5 light aircraft, B-25 medium bombers, and P-51 Mustang fighters.

         During the first week of March 1944, some 200 US planes flew 600 sorties to transport 10,000 Chindits and 1,500 mules into the middle of Japanese-occupied north Burma.  Several gliders carrying men and mules crashed and many men died.  A few drifted into Japanese positions.
But the majority of gliders landed safely in preselected, isolated jungle clearings that were dubbed: "Broadway," "Piccadilly," and "Chowringhee."

         The Chindits' main body moved to Mawlu and established a strong defensive position to block the route between Mandalay and Myitkyina.
This Chindit stronghold came to be called "White City," because the jungle around it was strewn with hundreds of supply parachutes dropped
from US cargo planes.  Other columns were spread out across the Japanese rear areas to disrupt their supply lines and create confusion.

Wingate's Death

         On 24 March, Gen.  Wingate was killed in a plane crash in a remote jungle area of Burma.  His deputy, Brig.  Gen.  Lentaigne, replaced him.  Then the overall responsibility for the Chindit operation was given to Gen.  Stilwell.  He ordered the establishment of a new base, "Blackpool," at a point roughly midway between Hopin, Mawlu and Mogaung, to block Japanese reinforcements moving into the area.

         As ordered, Lt.  Col.  John Masters, commanding the lllth Chindit Brigade, quickly constructed Blackpool as close to Japanese positions as possible.  Soon, as expected, the Japanese attacked with fullforce.

         Days and nights of artillery and mortar bombardrnent were followed by repeated banzai charges.  The Chindits of the lllth were hard pressed, suffering mounting casualties and exhaustion.  The 319th Gurkha Regiment (319th GR) was transferred from the 77th Brigade to Blackpool to strengthen the defense there. But the early monsoon rain and continuous bad weather hampered all of the airstrikes and supply drops by the US air commando, effectively isolating the brigade.

         The battered Chindit brigade was forced to retreat to the mountains near lndawgyi Lake.  The wounded and sick were evacuated to India by US and British planes. Other Chindit units that hadn't been as hard hit continued to operate with Stilwell's forces, but Lt. Col. Masters had to take time to reorganize and rearm his battered command.

I Visit My Brother

         On 3 July 1944, 1 visited my brother at one of the large field hospitals in Imphal.  He was a jemadar (lieutenant) in C Company of the 1/10 Gurkha Regiment, 63rd Infantry Brigade.  On 26 May, during an assault on Gun Hill in Assam, he had suffered wounds to his arms, legs and back from an enemy mortar round.  I was happy to see him recovering well.

         He said confidently: "I will be returning to my battalion soon. I want to be there when we retake Burma from the Japanese."

         We talked at length about the activities of our father and three uncles.  We had not seen or heard from our father since 1942.  We heard rumors he had been recruited by the British Special Operations Executive (SOE), their counterpart to the American Office of Strategic Services (OSS).  We knew he was still alive somewhere behind Japanese lines.

         But the tragic news about two of our uncles was unbearable. Our first uncle, who was with the 3rd Column in the 77th Infantry Brigade during the first Chindit expedition, was killed at the Meza River crossing in May 1943.  Another uncle, with the 219 Gurkha Regiment, was killed in March 1944, at Hangman's Hill, part of the Gurkha assault on Monte Cassino in Italy. (Our remaining uncle, in the 219 Gurkha Regiment, would take part in an attack on a German panzer unit at the Passano Ridge in Italy and would be killed there in September 1944.)

         I confided to my brother that I had lost my desire to kill Japanese after witnessing so many deaths and so much suffering during the battles for Imphal.  I grieved every time I saw a dead soldier, his life snuffed out by a bullet, grenade, mortar shell, bomb, bayonet, sword or kukri.  I was sick of killing.

I Join the Chindits

         At my brother's convalescent barracks there were several wounded Gurkha officers from the Chindit brigades.  Seven of them were with the field ambulance and medical units.  They told us the second Chindit expeditionary force had been fighting behind Japanese lines for more than three months and they were in desperate need of medical orderlies for their dressing stations and field hospitals.

         Dr. C. Singh and Dr. A. Gupta, two of the Indian medical staff in my brother's ward, had been ordered to report to Blackpool.  With my
brother's blessing and the help of the two doctors, I got transfer papers from my 3/10 Gurkha Regiment, and was sworn in, with a "90 day contract," to the 136th Field Ambulance and Medical Unit of the 3rd  Indian Division on 9 July 1944. 1 was given the rank of havildar (sergeant) and assigned to the 111th Chindit Brigade.

         I felt then I had a new mission in life: not to kill Japanese, but to ease the pain of the wounded and honor the dead, friend and foe alike.

Into Burma

         Before dawn on 10 July, we left a small airfield at Lalaghat, south of Imphal, in a light aircraft bound for Burma.  It was piloted by an American named Tom Hall, from the Air Ambulance Corps, which was part of the US Air Transport Command.  Hall comforted us, saying there was nothing to fear; he had made many trips into Burma to evacuate the wounded to India.

         I was glad to hear our wounded soldiers were not being abandoned.  During the first Chindit expedition, many wounded Gurkhas, including my uncle, had been left behind.  He had been a platoon leader in Column 3, commanded then by Col.  Michael Calvert.  During the crossing of the Meza River, near the village of Tawma, a strong Japanese force tried to trap Calvert's force.  My uncle's platoon served as the rear guard, and nearly half those men became casualties.

         Calvert ordered the wounded be left behind, along with the mules, medical supplies and extra ammunition. The bodies of those Gurkhas, including my uncle, were never recovered.  I felt angry and confused about the abandonment of the wounded in hostile territory.  I made an oath to myself I would never leave any wounded man to die in Japanese hands.

         We flew for several hours over high mountain ranges capped by dense jungles and divided by winding rivers. The small plane bounced and
rolled with every gust of wind from the mountains, some of which rose to more than 7,000 feet.  I wondered how the Chindits could march, fight
and survive in such rugged terrain day after day, week after week, during the monsoon season. Finally, after flying over the large Indawgyi Lake, we landed at a small, flooded airstrip near the village of Mokso Sakkan.  Another small plane landed behind us.

         A section of Gurkhas from the 319th rushed up and unloaded the planes.  The Gurkhas were led by Jemadar Yambahadur.  There were also
some 20 mules led by Kachin tribesmen.  The hardy animals were quickly packed with the medical supplies, tents, blankets, two light machineguns and several ammunition boxes we had brought with us on the flight.

         Two Kachin scouts came running and warned us a large column of Japanese was approaching.  The two planes quickly took off and
disappeared over the mountains, while the Kachins took us onto a swampy trail to avoid the enemy.

         Monsoon rain began to fall, followed by loud thunder and lightning, slowing us down.  The nervous mules did not make a sound except for occasionally snorts; their vocal chords had been cut by the Chindit veterinarians several months earlier.

         We marched without rest for five hours through elephant grass that was 10 to 12 feet high.  There were needle-like thorns and sharp leaves that stabbed and cut our faces and hands, leaving open wounds. Thousands of flying and biting insects swarmed around every man and mule in the column.  We all slipped and fell several times in knee deep water.  Leeches crawled on us.

An Ambush

         We and the mules became exhausted after several hours of moving in this way.  The scouts took us to higher ground on a wooded knoll for
rest.  Two other Kachins, serving as rear guard, came and warned us yet another Japanese patrol was tracking us from the north side of the trail.  That force was only about 400 yards away.

         We Gurkhas and the Kachins quickly moved the mules deeper into the jungle, then came back to set an ambush.  The rain had stopped,
making Visibility better.  Two Browning Automatic Rifles (BARS) were set up behind large trees some 70 yards apart; three Gurkhas took a position to block the path.  I joined the rest of the men on top of the knoll.

         The Japanese patrol was vigilant as it moved up the trail.  As they came into full view, the Gurkhas fired.  The Japanese took cover in
the elephant grass below us, but did not return fire.  We knew several of them had been killed or wounded.  Our men kept firing until the
jemadar ordered them to stop.  We could see movement in the tall grass as the enemy tried to flank our knoll.  The jemadar repositioned his men
and waited.

         Suddenly the Japanese charged, firing their weapons and screaming at the top of their lungs: "Nippon Banzai!  Banzai!"

         The jernadar threw a box of grenades toward Dr. Singh and me. He yelled, "Throw them!  They are coming up!"

         I did not throw a single grenade, but took them from the box and passed them to Dr. Singh.  He threw them one after the other.  Many
Japanese fell before us, some only a few yards away, rolling in the bushes with pain.

         Unexpectedly, the other Japanese patrol came up from the south side of the trail and attacked our position. We were suddenly trapped.
The jemadar quickly repositioned his men again.  Four or five Japanese succeeded in reaching the top of the knoll.  The jemadar and his men
leaped up and cut them down with their kukris, the curved short sword of the Gurkhas.

         Dr. Gupta, a Kachin scout and two Gurkhas were killed.  Three other men were seriously wounded.  The jemadar ordered us to leave the
wounded and the dead and withdraw to where the mules were.

         One Kachin guide rolled a pasty substance in his fingers, spat on it and put it inside the mouth of each wounded man and said, "This
will make your pain go away."

         Dr. Singh and I quickly administered field dressings. One young Gurkha with a serious stomach wound requested: "Leave an ammunition box here.  We will hold them off."

         We wanted to carry the injured men on our shoulders, but we could not.  All of us were exhausted from the long march.  I looked at the dead and wounded men and silently asked for their forgiveness for abandoning them.  I saw a vision of my uncle who had been left behind during the first Chindit expedition.

         The Kachins led us deep into the jungle to escape the Japanese trap.  I had no idea where we were.  We became completely dependent on
the Kachin scouts.  We must have fled for hours. Darkness came, and the Kachins took us to a large rock formation where we settled for the
night.  We were completely spent.  The Kachins made a small camp fire, and we sat around in small groups, removing bloated leeches from each
other's necks, arms, backs and legs. Dr.  Singh had 20 leeches on his legs alone; I had 16 on me.

Blackpool or Black Hell

         "Where is our brigade?  We are to report to the brigade medical officer at Blackpool.  Where are we going?" Dr. Singh asked the jemadar
in Hindustani.

         The jemadar explained Blackpool had been abandoned several weeks earlier, after the Japanese had delivered a series of intense artillery and mortar bombardments, followed by furious infantry charges. The Chindits had tried to hold the position, calling in airstrikes, but the bombs failed to stop the enemy. They requested the other Chindit brigades come to their aid, but none had.  The other brigades were engaged in serious battles of their own against equally determined Japanese attackers.

         Casualties had mounted quickly at Blackpool, with no help in sight.  Bad weather made supply drops impossible.  Several attempts were
made, but much material landed in Japanese positions.  The enemy had succeeded in penetrating the defensive perimeter and established several
forward assault positions.  The Chindits counterattacked, but were forced back.  The brigade commander, Lt.  Col.  John Masters, finally decided to abandon Blackpool and withdraw with his survivors to Mokso Sakkan, more than 30 miles over rugged terrain.

         There had been much confusion when the brigade abandoned Blackpool.  Some of the dead were buried in the trenches they had been defending.  Many others were not buried at all, and the stench of rotting corpses settled across the whole valley.  Blackpool became a black hell hole.

         The Japanese tried to trap the brigade during its retreat.  The brigade was largely defenseless; it had abandoned its howitzers, mortars
and heavy machineguns.  Sick and wounded men were in the retreating columns, and under the orders of Lt.  Col. Masters, several Gurkhas with
severe inj'uries were shot in the head and buried in shallow graves.

         Jemadar Yambahadur and his platoon from the 319 Gurkha Regiment were assigned to serve as rear guard and pick up the sick and stragglers
who could not keep up with the main column.

         According to the Kachin scouts, they had contacted their relatives and friends serving in the American Kachin Rangers (AKR), asking them to come to Master's aid.  Two days later, a company of AKR, led by an OSS officer, marched more than 70 miles over Bumrawng Bum, a rugged and roadless mountain range, to provide assistance.  They set up several ambushes to delay the pursuing Japanese.  After several days of such constant harassment, the Japanese pulled back to Hopin.

Jungle Field Hospital

         One morning, after marching six or seven hours without rest, we came upon a small Kachin village of several rows of bamboo huts.  The
Kachin leader there, Duwa Naw, welcomed us and fed us boiled rice, bamboo shoots and python meat.  It all tasted wonderful.

         After lunch, Dr. Singh and I were led to a thatched hut where we found three seriously wounded Americans: two pilots and an officer from OSS Detachment 101.  They were under heavy sedation from opium. Dr. Singh examined their wounds and concluded they could not be saved.

         In another hut there were seven wounded Kachin Rangers.  They were also under heavy sedation.  Only two of those men could be saved.
As we unwrapped the blood stained bandages from one man, we found maggots in a wide and deep wound on the lower side of his back.  In another case, we found four bloated leeches inside a man's stomach  wound.

         To our surprise, in yet another hut we discovered two Gurkhas from the 316 Gurkha Regiment, one Lancashire Fusilier from the 77th Brigade, two Cameronians from the lllth Brigade, a Leicestershireman from the 16th Brigade, and two Nigerians from the 3rd West African Brigade.  These wounded Chindits had been brought in on bamboo stretchers by the villagers.

         These dying men had been left behind by their original units because of the seriousness of their wounds or because the ambulance units could not find them in the thick, tangled foliage.  They were all hopeless cases, with severe head, chest, stomach and spinal injuries. Morphine did not seem to help their sufferings.  Several pleaded to be shot.  Their haunting cries could tear at the hearts of the bravest soldiers.

         An elder Kachin nurse instructed me how to administer the native opium treatment.  He told me there were several types of opium. Some you smoked; some you drank or ate; some you rubbed on the skin and some you injected.  Opium has a powerful effect on human sensory perception, generating a euphoric state; it is also very addictive.

         He rolled the paste between his fingers, then diluted it with alcohol in an empty K-ration can, heated it and placed it in the mouth of each dying man.  This was against British medical practice, but Dr. Singh, who had been trained in England, did not intervene. He knew it would free the men's souls from their mangled bodies.  I felt these brave men should die with dignity and peace.  Several of them passed away before our eyes.  We dug shallow graves and buried them in a cemetery near the jungle field hospital.

The Kachin Rangers

         By late evening a group of Kachin Rangers came into the village.  They brought two Japanese tied to a bamboo pole.  Duwa Naw spoke Japanese fluently and interrogated the terrified prisoners.  He slapped their faces with the flat of his dha (long sword), causing profuse bleeding from their mouths and noses.

         I felt it was inappropriate to brutalize these prisoners, but they began to answer all of his questions without hesitation.  They told him the Japanese garrisons in Taungni and Mogaung were greatly in need of medical supplies and equipment.  The doctors could not provide adequate medical aid to the wounded and sick.  Their food and ammunition were also desperately low.  The Chindit columns in that sector had been destroying their lines of communication, and the Japanese wounded could  not be safely evacuated to Mandalay.  They said their patrol had been
ordered to capture any mule train carrying medical supplies, rations and ammunition.

         After his intense interrogation, Duwa Naw killed the two prisoners with his dha.  Then he ordered his men to throw the bodies into a large bomb crater behind a row of huts.  "There are over 100 Japanese in this hole," he boasted.

         We were told there was intense hatred between the Kachins and the Japanese.  The Kachins were loyal to the British and the Americans,
and a year or so earlier, Japanese soldiers burned several villages and shot the inhabitants as they tried to flee.  Women and children were bayoneted, and the old men were cut down with samurai swords.  From that time the Kachin strove to kill Japanese anywhere, any time, and any way they could.

         Duwa Naw said to Dr. Singh, "Please leave some of your medical supplies with us.  We are desperately in need of them, as you very well
know."

         Dr. Singh and the jemadar discussed the matter and decided to leave half of the medical and other supplies.  They also decided to leave 10 mules for transporting wounded.  The elder Kachin nurse in turn gave me a bag containing a large opium ball.  He said in broken English: "You give this to men in pain. This is more gooder than whiteman medicine."

         I thanked him for his generosity, and wondered how many more wounded men I would have to offer this paste to free their souls from pain.

         Then Duwa Naw explained: "Your brigade was driven from Blackpool.  They retreated to Mokso Sakkan.  They dropped off their wounded there to be flown back to Assam.  They then marched to Lukhren, fighting the Japanese along the way.  They were in Pohok several weeks ago, and fought the Japanese there too.  Last week, I heard they were marching toward Punga.  They are in desperate trouble.  There are a lot of sick men in the unit.  The men in your brigade are in terrible condition."

         We were amazed by his knowledge of our brigade's movements.  He continued: "I will send two of my scouts to guide you to Punga.  Your
brigade used many of my scouts.  They report back to me every week.  Now goodbye.  We will meet again soon after we defeat the Japanese."

         The Kachin Rangers had been trained by the OSS.  They had taken part in many invaluable support operations in northern Burma for Gen.
Stilwell and his Chinese troops, and for Merrill's Marauders.  They had also assisted the Chindits during their first expedition, and again
during the second.

         Various other Kachin units - Rangers, Levies and Burma Rifles - were trained by both the British and Americans.  Kachins killed more than 10,000 Japanese during the war.  They are rugged mountain tribesmen, known for their skills as jungle fighters.  They were fearless and tireless during military actions, and US military analysts ranked their AKRs above the British-trained Gurkhas in kill ratios.  I felt no jealousy, and was happy they were on our side.

Cave of Death

         The next day we marched more than 12 hours over hill after hill of the Bumrawn Bum mountain range.  On the second day we started down
into a valley toward the Namyin River.  The jungle became more dense. The tangled foliage and thick brush made our descent difficult.  The
monsoon rains brought out leeches and insects by the thousands, attacking and clinging to us and the mules.

         The slopes became more slippery.  One of the mules fell into a ravine some 150 feet deep and was impaled in a thick bamboo grove.  All 12 stretchers the mule had been carrying were shattered and torn, but the jemadar ordered us to load the broken pieces on to other mules.  "We can repair them," he said.

         By accident, the Kachin scouts discovered a cave about 10 feet high and 20 feet wide, hidden behind dense bushes and the thick bamboo
in the ravine.  The jemadar and his men went in.  After a few minutes they came back out and he said there were many dead and wounded Japanese soldiers inside.

         Dr. Singh and I entered the cave.  The stench was unbearable. There were several rows of decomposing bodies with thousands of crawling
maggots and insects. We covered our noses with our spare socks.  Deeper in the cave we found about a dozen Japanese soldiers barely alive.  They were in horrible shape, just skin and bones, lying among rotting bodies.

         The Kachin scouts said to Dr. Singh in broken English: "You no help them!  No help them!" Then they drew their dhas and ended the
miseries of the Japanese with quick strokes.

         I saw Dr. Singh begin to cry and I cried with him. We could not stay in the cave too long; the stench of death was overpowering.  I did
not count the number of dead in the cave, but there were many.  We realized the Japanese forces were facing enormous difficulties. They were being attacked from all sides; their supply lines were being repeatedly cut by the Chindits. Still they fought on with unmatchable tenacity.

         With the permission of the jemadar and Dr. Singh, I built a small shrine from loose stones in front of the cave.  I cut three bamboo trees and formed a pyramid with them over the stones.  I knelt and prayed that the spirits of the unknown Japanese warriors inside be freed to join their ancestors.  The Kachins looked on my ritual in complete amusement, but Dr. Singh and the jemadar knelt behind me.

         Chindit Medical Station

         Thunderous explosions from mortar shells alarmed us.

         "There is Punga," a Kachin scout said, pointing at a distant hill to the east of us.  Then there were more explosions followed by the sounds of BARS, Bren guns and carbines - British weapons.  It appeared the 111th Brigade was attacking a hill a few miles south of the small farming village of Punga.  This hill stood above Taungni, a strategic town with a railway station and paved roads connecting it to Mandalay in the south and Myitkyina in the north.        

We pulled at the mules and rushed toward the scene of battle.  It took about five hours before we were stopped by rugged Scotsmen from the
King's Royal Regiment who were guarding the brigade headquarters. They directed us to the main dressing station on the western side of the
hill.

         There we found several large canvas tents.  Men from the ambulance unit were bringing in the wounded.  They helped us unpack the mules, and the medical supplies were immediately taken to the surgical tent.

         Jemadar Yambahadur and his men went to look for their unit. Dr. Singh and I reported to Dr. Desmond Whyte, the battalion medical officer.  When we found him, his face looked drawn and tired, but with precision he removed several bullets from the thigh and hip of a young British officer.  A Gurkha medical orderly (MO) was fanning the flies and bugs away from the wounds.  Dr. William Baine stitched a wide and deep gash stretching from the left shoulder across the chest and stomach of a Gurkha from the 314th.  This young Gurkha had been slashed by the samurai sword of a Japanese officer.        

         More wounded men were laid outside the tent on the muddy ground.  The nursing orderlies quickly gave them morphine shots.  The dead were separated from the living and placed neatly in a row.

         Then Japanese artillery shells began landing near the dressing station.  The explosions ripped several medical tents.  The smoke from the shells was thick and blinding.  In the chaos, stretcher bearers tripped over each other, dropping the wounded.  Several medical orderlies and men from the ambulance unit were killed or injured.

         Dr. Whyte ordered his staff to move the entire dressing station.  The tents, supplies and equipment, the sick, wounded, dead  soldiers, and the mules had to be relocated to the other side of the hill.  The Japanese shells continued to come in, adding more confusion to the evacuation.  The dead were taken last.  Dr. Whyte instructed the MOs to place the round identity tags in the corpses' mouths, and remove the oval tags to be given to the Graves Registration Unit.

         During the previous days, the 314 Gurkhas had attacked the hill and cleared a path to the crest, but that night the Japanese counterattacked in force. They continued their shelling throughout the night.

         Explosions from Japanese artillery shells were extremely loud, shaking the whole hillside with every blast.  The enemy was also firing 150mm mortar rounds, each weighing 200 lbs.  The British called them "coal scuttles," because the thick black smoke from the blasts could blind a person for several minutes.

         One such shell landed in a shallow foxhole containing two men, ripping their bodies into small pieces.  Flesh, bones and blood showered neighboring men.  Several young Gurkhas suffered from "shell shock." They started shaking, mumbling, crying and urinating and defecating in
their pants.  One jumped out of his foxhole, screaming and running in circles. A Gurkha subadar (captain) chased him, knocked him out with a blow and dragged him by his feet to the dressing station.

         I had never seen a shell shock victim before. Previously I was told by my superiors that Gurkhas never suffered from it.  They were wrong.  I gave the young Gurkha some of the opium paste to calm him down. I also gave the same Kachin remedy to some other boys.

         There were more than 1,000 Gurkhas in the two Gurkha battalions, the 314th and the 319th, in the 111th Brigade.  More than half of them were under 18 years of age.  They had been recruited from various tribes in Nepal.  Many of them had volunteered for "90 Day Contracts." These young mountain warriors were assigned to various platoons and companies led by able Irish, Scots and Welsh officers. Without question or hesitation, the Gurkhas followed their officers if the commands were simple and direct.  But because of the language differences, the British officers had to make extra effort to avoid abstract concepts in their commands.

         The King Cobra

         At dawn, B and C Companies of the 319th were ordered to take the hill.  The Gurkhas in those units looked exhausted; they had no sleep the night before.  The enemy shelling had also stretched their endurance, but they were determined to secure the hill at any cost.

I saw Jemadar Yambahadur with the lead platoon; he was assigned to B Company.  I rushed toward him and knelt down, touching my forehead to his feet.  This native gesture was also against British military rules, but I performed it any way.  An image had suddenly flashed in my mind that it would be the last time I would see the brave jemadar.

Maj.  John Thorpe, commander of B Company, gave a signal and led his men up the hill.

         A British captain, Frank Blaker, about 20 years old, came to our dressing station and asked for MOs to be assigned to his platoons in C Company.   During previous actions he had lost several of his MOs.  I volunteered and was assigned to the 1st Platoon, under Jemadar Rahasing.
My section leader was Havildar Manprasad.

         C Company was ordered to detour about two miles and come up from the rear of the hill.  The monsoon rains had not stopped.  We struggled through deep and slippery ravines, and climbed through tangled  vines and thorny scrub.  Our movement was slow.  The trackless jungle became more dense as we tried to climb the steep 2,000 foot hill.

         One Gurkha slipped and fell into a snake pit.  Before he could regain his footing, a large King Cobra rose above him and struck him in
the face.  The man groaned and writhed in agony, but the snake continued to strike until he lay motionless.  The men behind me were horrified.
jernadar Rahasing rushed forward and chopped off the Cobra's head with his kukri before it could strike again.

         I wanted to attend to the victim, but the jernadar signaled me to move on.  The climb became more difficult.  At some places we had to crawl on our hands and knees and hold on to trees, roots, branches or vines to avoid falling.  Leeches, mosquitoes and other insects attracted by human sweat began to attack us.  A Gurkha next to me had about 20 tree leeches on his face.  With his hands busy climbing, he could only bite at the ones that attempted to wiggle into his mouth.

Attack on Hill 2171

     After five hours of strenuous climbing, we reached the edge of the second plateau, followed by 2nd and 3rd Platoons.  We discovered eight men were missing from our company.  No one could say if they had been bitten by snakes, or fell and died for some other reason, or simply lost their way in the thick and tangled bushes.

         A Gurkha scout crawled silently to Capt. Blaker and told him there was another ridge to climb.  He had spotted two machinegun nests, well hidden behind thick brush between the trees.  There were also two large bunkers near the top.  The enemy was well dug in. Capt. Blaker radioed for a mortar barrage to weaken the Japanese defense' and cover our movement.

         According to Blaker, our C Company was to coordinate its assault with B Company, which was approaching from the other side of the hill.  There was still a considerable distance for us to cover before we would reach our target.  The captain therefore signaled us to move onto a narrow but well-trod path made earlier by the Japanese.  It was the only direct route to the objective.

         Our mortar bombardment stopped, and soon we heard gunfire and loud yells coming from the other side of the hill.  B Company had begun its assault.  Realizing our company was behind schedule, Capt.  Blaker rushed up the ridge along the path, leading the column.  The Japanese
opened fire, and several Gurkhas from lst Platoon fell.  The rest of the men dove behind trees, rocks and bushes to find cover.  Some crawled through the underbrush to try to silence the machineguns, but they were stopped by Japanese grenades.  We were caught in a crossfire.

         When the firing stopped we could hear the wounded men groaning. I crawled toward several wounded and administered field dressings.  The men lay low and waited for orders.  The Japanese machinegunners were also waiting for us to rise.

         To our horror, Capt.  Blaker suddenly sprang up and charged at the concealed enemy position up the path, firing his carbine as he advanced.  A blast from a Japanese machinegun hit him.  He fell sideways, and Jemadar Rahasing shouted, "Sahib, stay down!  Stay down!"

         But Blaker stood up and charged again, firing wildly and yelling, "Charge!  Charge, men!  Charge!"

         Another blast threw him against a tree.  He dropped his weapon, clutched his chest and shouted, "I'm dying!  Come on C Company!  Take
this hill!" Then he collapsed, his body riddled with bullets.

         Inspired by the daring of this British officer, the Gurkhas sprang up, yelling: "Gorkhali Ayo!" ("The Gurkhas are coming!")

         With drawn kukris and fixed bayonets they charged. The Japanese continued to fire, and more Gurkhas fell, but they fanned out and rushed
through the dense trees and tangled thickets.  When they reached the enemy positions, they cut down the Japanese in their foxholes and trenches.  They succeeded in securing the second plateau.

         Capt.  John Sweetrnan immediately took command of C Company, and quickly reorganized the men surviving from 2nd and 3rd Platoons.
Then he ordered: "Men, we have to take the bunkers at the very top." 

         He led the renewed attack, and the young Gurkhas charged with him up the hill, again yelling, "Gorkhali Ayo!  Gorkhali Ayo!"

         The Japanese, realizing they were being encircled, at first fought furiously, but then fled along an escape trail back into the jungle.  B and C Companies linked up on the crest.  The Japanese flag there was lowered and the Union Jack was raised in its place.  I saw Sweetman cry as he saluted that flag atop Hill 2171.

Capt.  Blaker Gets the Victoria Cross

         Capt.  Sweetman placed me under the company's senior nursing orderly, and ordered us to organize the evacuation of the wounded and
dead.  I instructed the six survivors from lst Platoon to search for fallen men.  The foliage was thick; we could not see more than five or six feet.  We at first passed several wounded men without knowing they were there; their moans were our only clue to locate them.

         Jemadar Rahasing was dead.  A bullet had entered his right eye and exploded his head.  Havildar Manprasad was also killed, as were many
other brave young Gurkhas.  The 1st Platoon had suffered more than 60 percent casualties.  The 2nd and 3rd Platoons had six dead and 13
wounded.

         The medical unit ran out of its supply of morphine, and the injured were groaning in pain.  I gave them opium paste to ease their agonies.  It took our ambulance unit more than six hours to carry the wounded and dead down the hill. Two Japanese snipers harassed us along the way, killing and wounding several more men.  By the time we reached the dressing station it was midnight.

         Dr. Whyte officially pronounced Capt.  Blaker dead, and the Graves Registration Officer ordered us to wrap the dead in tent canvas and push them into a deep ravine nearby.  The men in our ambulance unit had no time or strength to dig so many graves.  I wept as we pushed Capt.  Blaker's body and the bodies of the fallen Gurkhas into the tangled jungle below.

         For his daring leadership and self-sacrifice, Capt. Blaker was later posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross, the British armed forces' highest award for bravery.  After the war, a unit from the Graves  registration Office searched for and found the remains of the soldiers in the ravine.  Tall bamboo trees had grown through and around the corpses.  I also returned to the site with some friends and built a small stone shrine there to honor and appease the spirits of the fallen Chindits.

Battle Fatigue

         The torrential monsoon rains returned with full fury, and the Japanese counterattacked to retake the strategic hill.  Their field guns began an intense bombardment that lasted all day and night.  When the shelling stopped, their infantry launched several suicidal assaults. The 319th repulsed every attack, but both sides suffered a heavy toll. More dead and wounded were taken down to the dressing station every few hours.

         Lt. Col.  Masters came up the hill to inspect the men in their defensive positions.  His rugged face turned pale when he saw the physical condition of the Gurkhas.

         The men were exhausted from continuous fighting and weakened by tropical diseases.  Fatigue had become so serious several men fell asleep while actually firing their guns.  It affected both sides.  Once, when our medical unit was searching for casualties in the thick brush around the hillside, we came upon three Japanese in deep sleep - only a few feet away from two Gurkhas who were also sleeping.  We also found two Japanese and a Gurkha sleeping in the same foxhole, all half-buried in mud.  They were too weak and sick to try to kill each other.

Ninety Days - HID

         Shortly before his untimely death, Gen.  Wingate had mandated that no combat unit should be expected to maintain itself in the jungle beyond 90 days.  After that, he said fatigue and sickness would weaken its men to the point the entire unit would become ineffective in battle. But the Chindits had been behind Japanese lines, marching, running, climbing, crawling, digging, hiding and fighting for more than 120 days. They each carried 60 lb. packs on their backs, and had walked an average of 500 miles over some of the most rugged terrain on earth.  The monsoon season added more miseries to their daily operations.  Yet they had  boldly assaulted the Japanese, achieving all of the second expedition's
assigned objectives at great cost.

         Wingate also maintained the Chindits would have to overcome three obstacles in fighting the Japanese: 1) Nature - the jungles, mountains, monsoons, flooded rivers, and mud; 2) Insects and parasites - including leeches, black flies, red ants, scorpions; and 3) Diseases, such as rnalaria, typhus, and dysentery.

         "If we can overcome 'NID,' then fighting the Japanese will be our least worry," he had summarized.

The Allied Medical Commission

         By July 1944, the 111th Brigade had suffered about 450 dead and 600 wounded.  Most had been evacuated to Assam, but a few of the most seriously wounded Gurkhas had been put out of their misery during the long retreat from Blackpool.  About 100 men were listed as missing; the remaining Chindits were in poor health.

         Lt. Col.  Masters ordered us to construct a medical examination center a few miles from Pohok, where an American field hospital had been established.  From 19 to 21 July, the Allied Medical Commission, made up of two English and two American doctors, and six nurses, conducted a
thorough medical examination of every man still with the brigade.

         They discovered all of them were suffering from malarial fever and amoebic dysentery.  Their weight loss averaged between 35 and 40 lbs.  Many had typhus, foot rot, tooth rot, septic sores, dengue fever, fungi, yaws, scabies, leech ulcers, insect bites and blisters.  Several suffered from meningitis, pleurisy, beriberi, pneumonia, anemia, tuberculosis, typhoid fever, pulmonary embolism, neuralgia, narcolepsy and other diseases.  There were also a dozen psychiatric disorders.

         The Commission concluded only 120 of the men were fit for further duty - eight British officers, 22 British soldiers, and 90 Gurkhas.  The rest were evacuated for hospitalization in India.  Some of the 120 "healthy" men from the battalion volunteered to retake Hill 2171 after the Japanese had counterattacked and reoccupied it.  But their offer was turned down by higher headquarters, and they were instead reassigned to different units.

Death of Dr. Singh

         Dr. Singh and 1 were transferred to a battalion medical unit in the 72nd Brigade of the newly arrived British 36th Division.  That unit was moving down from India to relieve the withdrawing Chindit brigades. Two Gurkha battalions from the division were attacking a mountain known as Hill 60, north of Sahmaw.  A strong force of Japanese was well deployed in deep trenches and tunnels securing the crossroads there. They made repeated banzai charges against the British and Gurkha positions at night.  It was like Hill 2171 all over again.

         Every night a Japanese suicide team attempted to penetrate our defensive perirneter.  On the night of 3 August, while operating on a wounded Gurkha, Dr. Singh was killed by a mortar shell that exploded near the medical dressing station.  I received minor injuries and was treated at the American 23rd Evacuation Hospital.  The death of Dr. Singh affected me deeply.

         Because of my brother's persistent requests, in October 1944 I was transferred to his 1110th Gurkha Regiment, which was then stationed
at Ranchi, in Assam.  I was assigned to D Company, under Capt.  J.F Russell and Lt.  John Willcox.  My brother was still attached to C Company.  The 1st Battalion was making preparations to participate in the attack on Mandalay in the early months of 1945.

         My brother said, "With my own eyes I want to witness the Japanese surrender of Burma." Tragically, though, he never lived to see that day.  On 17 March 1945, during the battle for Mandalay/Meiktila, my brother and his commander, Capt.  Arthur Wilson, were killed by a Japanese artillery shell near the village of Inpalet.

Fall of Myitkyina

         By the middle of 1944, the "invincible" Japanese army began to suffer defeat after defeat.  Their invasion of India ended in disaster for them.  Their supply lines had gradually been cut along all roads, rivers and railways.  The British and Americans controlled the sky.  All the major Japanese strongholds had been attacked continuously by the Chindits, Merrill's Marauders, Stilwell's Chinese divisions, and OSS Kachin Rangers.  But even though the Japanese in northern Burma were isolated, they continued to fight with tenacity, courage and self-sacrifice.

         Finally, on 3 August, Myitkyina fell to Stilwell's forces. Japanese Maj.  Gen.  Mizukami, commander of the defense there, sent a telegram to the Emperor asking for forgiveness for his failure to hold the town.  He then obeyed the bushido code by committing ritual suicide.

         American combat engineers completed the "Ledo Road" from India, connecting it to the old "Burma Road" into China.  Allied military
supplies started rolling into China soon after to support Chiang Kai-shek's armies. The fall of Myitkyina was in fact the beginning of the end for the Japanese army throughout the China-Burma-India Theater.

         The second Chindit expedition had been costly, with nearly 4,000 men dead, wounded and missing, and another 6,500 sick with malaria, typhus, dysentery and other tropical diseases.  But the Chindits had caused more than 15,000 Japanese casualties.  The entire operation had been a daring experiment, totally consistent with the tradition of the British pioneering spirit.  It was also a grand military adventure that uplifted the morale of the British forces after their humiliating earlier defeats in Southeast Asia.  The British Chindits beat the Japanese at their own game in the jungles of Burma.  Gorkhali Ayo!

         The Master Communicator

         Dr. U Maung Gyi teaches college because that's what he knows  how to do; he teaches martial arts because that's what he wants
         to do.

                          BY MARTY KUFUS

         The professor glances out the classroom window at the warm, spring sunshine bathing the Ohio University campus in Athens.  After
some preliminary remarks, he begins his lecture.  The topic: high-level diplomatic negotiations and the role of interpreters, the significance
of table size and shape, and the symbolism of seating arrangements.

         It can be a complex task just to seat diplomatic delegations, Dr. U Maung Gyi, Ph.D., explains to nearly 50 students.

         "It took a year for the United States and North Vietnam to agree on the shape and size of the table at the Paris peace talks," he says. Much of the dispute was over the recognition of South Vietnamese and Viet Cong representatives.

         On the other hand, Gyi continues, setting up a diplomatic meeting room can be relatively easy if the ViPs desire cooperations in a 1986 at meeting in Reykjavik, Iceland, between President Reagan and Soviet Premier Mikhail Gorbachev. They sat at a simple, square table, Gyi explains, and placed the interpreters on the sides "as significant partners in the negotiation process."

         Thirty years ago, Gyi himself spoke nine languages (including Hebrew, Japanese, Russian and Vietnamese) and was considering training to become a simultaneous interpreter in diplomatic affairs. He chose teaching instead.  His fields: international communication and the martial art of bando.

Professor

         Teacher, linguist, world traveler, war veteran, boxing coach, founder of the American Bando Association-Dr.  Gyi is one of those remarkable people who seems to have been everywhere and done just about everything.

         Having been graduated from the University of Rangoon, Burma, where he studied international affairs and law, Gyi completed graduate
studies in the mid-1960s at Georgetown University's law school and at the University of Maryland.  He then was hired by Ohio University in
1966. (He received his doctorate there in 1970).

         Gyi is a faculty member in the College of Communication.  His wife, Pat, whom he met in Washington, D.C., is an administrator in

         [ pic] Dr. Gyi, chief Instructor of the American Bando Association, with a ceremonial stick.]

OU's College of Osteopathic Medicine.  They have two daughters: one, an OU journalism graduate, is married and living in California; the other
is a high school student.

         Dr. Gyi is best known on campus for his formidable "Cross Cultural Communication" course in the School of Interpersonal Communication.  He also teaches "Communication and the Campaign," whose students are required to actually work on local and state political campaigns.  Drawing on his military experiences, Gyi even has taught "Cryptology and Military Communication Systems" to military-science students.  He has received the university's Outstanding Professor Award, and students once voted him University Professor, a prestigious award.

         But that's just the academic side of the house for this very busy man, whom a campus film identifies as the faculty member who "introduced self-defense" to Ohio University.

Bando

         During an initiation ceremony held in 1968 at Ohio University, Gyi and his senior bando students formally organized the nonprofit
American Bando Association (ABA) in honor of American veterans of Asian wars.

         A year earlier, Gyi had created a bando club and a boxing team for OU students and took on the duties of chief instructor of each. (He since has given instructional duties to people he trained.) Moreover, he has served as faculty adviser to various campus martial arts clubs, including tae kwon do and kung-fu.  Dr. Gyi also has been involved with local social issues: he was an early proponent of a program to aid battered women, and he has served as a peer counselor for Athens-area Vietnam veterans suffering from post- traumatic stress disorder.

         Today, the ABA has 25-to-30 training groups; its approximately 2,000 practitioners live mostly in the eastern third of the United States.  Bando, pronounced BUN-DO, means "way of discipline." American practitioners of this ancient Burmese martial system travel to Athens for seminars and training camps conducted by Gyi, whose ofticial title is chief instructor.

         ABA training comprises several subsystems, including kick boxing. Gyi, a veteran of numerous full-contact matches, notes with pride that
the ABA began its kickboxing tournaments 25 years ago-long before the sport achieved popularity in this country.

         Bando practitioners also train with wooden sticks of various sizes, and with bladed weapons such as the Burmese dha (long sword) and the Gurkha kukri (short sword). Gyi also has taught nine bando animal systems to his American students, but he modestly considers himself "personally good" in only one.

         "I have studied cobra for more than 45 years," Gyi says. "Even though I am in my senior-citizen age, I still practice ten-to-15 minutes a day: breathing, explosive locking, striking." These techniques mimic a deadly yet beautiful creature Gyi encountered innumerable times - including one near fatal bite - in Asian jungles.

Burma

        Dr. Gyiwas born and raised near historic Mandalay, Burma. All his male relatives had served in the British army. But Gyi's youthful instead, was to attend medical school in England and become a doctor. His father, U Ba Than Gyi, a military officer and bando master, encouraged him to pursue an education. Young Gyi attended a prestigious school in Darjeeling, India, where he also studied English. But world events soon dashed his dream of being a physician.

         During World War II, as the seemingly invincible Japanese army rolled across Asia, a teenaged Gyi served as a field medical orderly and
interpreter in the 10th Burma Gurkha Regiment. He also served briefly in British General Ord Wingate's famous Chindit guerrilla force. Meanwhile, Gyi's father performed missions in the China-Burma-India Theater of Operations for the British Special Operations Executive and American Office of Strategic Services.

         In post-war Burma, U Ba Than Gyi was instrumental in the creation of the National Bando Association. Its goal was to preserve and promote that indigenous martial system. He also instructed his son, who had trained in bando since childhood, to broaden his knowledge by studying the fighting arts of other Asian countries as his military assignments allowed.

         After the Korean War, Gyi even found time to represent Burma as a lightweight boxer in the 1956 Olympics in Melbourne, Australia. He won
six fights, but lost to a Czechoslovakian champion in the semifinals. (An avid fan today of televised boxing, he regards the sport as the West's greatest contribution to the study of unarmed fighting.)

Founders

         Gyi eventually left British military service. In 1960 he moved to Washington, D.C., where he worked as a government translator.  That same year, he began teaching bando at the American University.

         "I was the carrier of my father's message; it was my mission" he says.  "Me early sixties, from '62 to '65-that was the period of the founders of the martial arts and systems in America," Gyi recalls.  "I was a contemporary of men like Robert Trias (founder of the United States Karate Association); Ki Whang Kim (pioneer of tae kwon do in America), Peter Urban (American goju pioneer), Ed Parker (American kenpo pioneer), Bruce Lee (creator of jeet kune do), Tsutomu Ohshima (pioneer of shotokan in America) and Don Nagle (American isshinryu pioneer)."

         Although it was Gyi's goal to build a national, non-commercial bando association, he also was determined to foster good relations with other organizations.

         "I refereed at tac kwon do, issbinryu, kenpo and kung-fu tournaments," he says.  He also served as one of the first officers of the Professional Karate Association.  In 1968 he chaired a national rules committee whose work made possible the International Convention of Martial Arts in New York City.

         Gyi's skill and impartiality as a referee were widely respected.  In the early seventies he served as chief referee for national tournament bouts featuring such stars as Joe Lewis, Skipper Mullins, Chuck Norris and Mike Stone.

         In May, 1975, Gyi refereed the "Battle of Atlanta's historic, full contact karate match between Joe Corley and Bill Wallace.  A few months later, Gyi refereed a full-contact match between Jeff Smith and Karriem AHah that was the preliminary card to the Muhammad Ali and Joe Fraziers championship boxing bout.

         Even now, Dr. Gyi cannot stay out of the ring.  He continues to referee amateur boxing matches during "Friday Night at the Fights," a
popular fund-raising event that recently entered its 21st year at Ohio University.

Teaching

         There are some similarities in the teaching of college students and bando practitioners.

         "Both academics and martial system follow a curriculum," Gyi says.  And each requires an instructor to possess not only substantial
knowledge of the subject but good communication skills, as well. That's about where the similarities end.

         "At the scholarly level," Gyi says, "we don't have immediate feedback as to the effectiveness of teaching; it might be several months or years.  But in martial systems, you can see the effect in a few days or months.

         "In academics," he continues, warming to the subject, "we judge performance according to intellect and critical thinking.  In martial systems, especially when you're working on forms, it is rote memory and 'muscle memory.'

         "Is there critical thinking in martial systems?  Yes, particularly in freestyle sparring, in which a person must bring out combinations of techniques never used before in forms training," Gyi says.

         He laments what he sees as a problem today in the area of higher education.

         "Sadly to say, in our academic environment, self-discipline is decreasing," Gyi says.  "But in martial systems, people come to get more
self-discipline."

         Which does he prefer. teaching communication or bando?

         The professor pauses for a moment, weighing his response.  "I teach at the university level as my livelihood," he replies.  "But the
other, I do to honor my father.  It is my duty-and I haven't charged a cent in 25 years."

                            In America

.....    In post-Soviet years the British army, like other NATO forces, has been downsized.  As a result, fewer young Gurkhas are recruited from Nepal.  The training schedule for those who make the cut reportedly allows little time for the old-fashioned kukri.  The close-combat sword
system of their fathers and grandfathers is being de-emphasized in favor of modern weapons and high-tech infantry equipment.  This is not a
unique phenomenon: In the U.S. Army since the Vietnam War, bayonet and hand to-hand combat training have seen their ups and downs, too.

         Nowadays the kukri system seldom is seen outside the far-flung enclaves of present and former Gurkha soldiers and the thousands of retirees residing in Nepal and India.  Here in the States, the only known civilian group that maintains the authentic short-sword system is
the American Bando Association, Inc. (AB0, Box 2763, Atlanta, GA 30301).

         Formally organized in 1968 in Ohio, the ABA was until recent years somewhat secretive.  Lacking a commercial impetus it's nonprofit - the organization has a modest membership of fewer than a thousand nationwide.  It has a twofold mission: to preserve the Gurkha sword system and the multifaceted bando ("bon-doe") martial-arts system of Burma, and to pay tribute to the Allied veterans of Asian wars.  Some of the ABA's early members were East Coast veterans of the Vietnam War.

         The association's founder and chief instructor is Dr. Maung Gyi, a retired Ohio University professor of interpersonal communication. A former Gurkha soldier and an internationally known combatives instructor, Gyi was born "Manbahadur Rai" in Maymyo, a garrison town of  the 10th Burma Gurkha Regiment, near Mandalay.

         At the 1995 Soldier Of Fortune Convention and Expo, Gyi and a squad of his black-suited senior students - including an Army Reserve
medical officer, a Columbus, Ohio, deputy sheriff, and a University of Kentucky professor thrilled spectators with well-rehearsed kukri
demonstrations {Feat and Loading in Las Vegas," March 1996 SOF).

         In addition to performing noncontact "forms" and drills - stepping patterns with flurries of precise, multiple techniques using
highly polished kukris, the ABA members attacked blocks of wood, coconuts, and sand-filled containers.  The military precision of this
performance was the result of many hours of sweaty, no-frills training.

         In this martial organization, some of the best training occurs outdoors....