Richard Jernigan -> RE: Dispatches from Akune (Jun. 8 2013 1:39:22)
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Another border crossing operation involved highly instrumented planes and specially trained crews. They would cross the border into a Soviet satellite, or even into the Soviet Union itself, with the objective of activating the Soviet air defense system. The sequence of signals were recorded as the layers of the air defense system came up. The signals would be exhaustively analyzed and combined with other information to develop an understanding of Soviet machinery, tactics and strategy. A friend of mine was a pilot on these missions. He was a former fighter jock, with the risk taking personality that goes with that. The objective of the flights was to penetrate as far as needed to fully activate the system. There were two ways you could screw up. You could turn back too soon. Or as happened in one case to my friend, you could go too far and actually get shot down. He bailed out. On the way down he was tearing up alternate pages of his code book, and eating the ones between. A page got away from him and lodged in the vent at the top of his parachute. The resultant hard landing cracked one of his vertebrae. But he walked out of the Soviet Union, using his pocket Russian dictionary, and the gold coins he had been provided, to deal with people he encountered out in the country. As a child and teenager I also knew some of the Flying Tigers, and their commander, Claire Chennault. They were the volunteer force that went to China during WW II to train the Chinese air force, and to engage in battle against the Japanese in support of America's ally, Chiang Kai-shek. Talk about some wild and crazy guys... One day in the middle of winter in Anchorage, Alaska there was a knock at the door. Actually some pretty heavy blows. I answered the door. There stood an immense man, well over six feet tall, well over 300 pounds. "Is you Dad here?" he asked. I was reluctant to answer. "Tell him Earthquake is here." I did. 'Earthquake McGoon' was invited in, a glass of whiskey poured for him, and he was invited to stay for dinner. I remember two Earthquake stories from that evening. After WW II Earthquake flew transports for Flying Tiger Airlines during the Korean conflict. A missionary family had landed their Piper Cub inside a walled school compound. They were unable to take off, because North Korean forces were deployed along the outside of the wall with small arms. Earthquake heard their distress call as he flew over in a C-47. He told them to hold everything while he thought things over. Fixing upon a plan, Earthquake told the missionaries to fire up their Cub, and be ready to take off on his cue. Earthquake liked to drink beer, even while flying. There were quite a few empty quart beer bottles on board his C-47. He flew low along the wall and bombarded the North Koreans with beer bottles. They made a satisfyingly realistic whistling sound like bombs. The North Koreans took cover, and Earthquake told the missionaries to take off. They made it out OK. Earthquake eventually got shot down, but survived the crash. He was captured by communist forces. However they faced a problem. He refused to get up and walk to the prison. After a considerable delay, the enemy forces requisitioned a mule and several men to help. They loaded Earthquake onto the mule and took him to the prison. He was imprisoned for almost a year. Then he surprised everyone by walking into the Tigers' regular bar in Hong Kong. He had been taken from Korea to a prison in China. As Earthquake told it, he kept back a little of the rice his jailers fed him and made rice wine in a pot under his bunk. He decided to celebrate on his birthday and drank quite a bit of it. Late at night, when everybody else was asleep, he "walked out through" the flimsy outside wall of his cell, and escaped into the woods. It was a walk of 90 miles or so to Hong Kong. Later I heard from another of the Tigers that when Earthquake walked into the Hong Kong bar, nobody recognized him. "He had wasted away to about 200 pounds. No one had ever seen him that skinny before." One evening I was checking into the Marriott at the L.A. airport. There was a long line. The petite Asian woman ahead of me happened to glance behind her. She turned around, and said, "Richard?" "Yes." "I haven't seen you since you were a boy in high school." It was Anna Chennault, Claire's considerably younger Chinese second wife. Claire had passed away years before, but Anna was then the Republic of China's (Taiwan's) chief lobbyist in the U.S. We had a couple of drinks in the bar on the top floor of the hotel and reminisced. RNJ
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