25 JUNE 1945
Story by 2nd ERS Navigator, Lieutenant David A. Witts - "When the Operations Officer of the 2nd Emergency Rescue Squadron alerted our crew to stand by for a special secret mission, anyone with less faith might have thought of excitement. Subsequent events proved this to be the understatement of the year. Four hours later we were sitting on the briefing room table trading conjectures as to what the future had in store. Much incense was being burned for a vital mission to Sydney of Frisco or some such place when in walked two Australian Captains. The usual hypocrisies being exchanged we were promptly briefed for a flight to Brunei Bay, vitally strategic base on the west coast of Borneo. Even though the invasion of Labuan Island in Brunei Bay was then underway, this in itself seemed no occasion for lifting of eyebrows. The significance of the mission hinged on the fact that we were to carry VIP (very important persons.) Although their identity was not then disclosed, the request for us to leave our moldy flying suits behind in favor of less moldy khakis tipped the mitt that we would be hauling wheels of no trivial diameter. Route and code data being arranged, take-off was set for the following morning at 0600.

A five o'clock air raid found us furrowing mud en route to the nearest foxhole. Since the predecessor in my sack had been killed only a short time previously during an air raid, I harbored a sincere desire not to emulate his example and had departed that cot without bothering to disengage myself from the mosquito net. While waiting for the Nips to deliver their calling cards, we began giving way to indifference.

Take-off time was upped until 0800 for security reasons and that hour revealed a very eager crew lined alongside our Catalina watching the Engineering Officer personally supervise the pre-flight of the plane. Suddenly hitherto ignoble taxiway "C" of equally ignoble Morotai Island gave way to the coast of heraldry. A stateside staff car resplendent with 4 stars and flanked by lesser vehicles roared up to our astonished group. Immediately we snapped to such a twanging brace as a breakfast travesty constructed of pre-fabricated eggs and span could sustain. The convoy gushed Australian Officers who in turn went into catalepsy of attention. As the door if the staff car opened and the occupant turreted his bulk upon us, we recognized him from pictures to be General Sir Thomas Blamey, Commanding General of all Australian Military Forces and Second in Command to General MacArthur. The Australian Commander then proceeded to shake hands with seven gaping American flyers.

After an orderly had corralled and loaded a trailer full of baggage affiliated with his party, the General and his staff were hoisted and/or climbed aboard. As we began to taxi out of the revetment, an Aussie Lieutenant leaning into the prop-wash was pounding on the port blister and struggling with an unhandy round object. It seemed the General had forgotten his medicine bell. We had just set course for destination and commenced the climb to flight altitude when I ambled back in the blister compartment to see that all was well. While I was still in the rear, ogling the General's ribbons and destroying the airplane's center of gravity, Sir Thomas barked, "my case!" Whereupon a couple of Brigadier's began flailing assorted baggage and impediments and produced a handsome leather case complete with seals, locks, and bindings. One look convinced me that herein was contained before my bloodshot eyes the plans for the invasion of Japan, the date of VJ Day and interesting demobilization particulars. With cool deliberation the General selected a volume and began to read. Something about the cover rang a reverberating note. The cover displayed a tasty portrait of a pair of beauty contest legs. The title was Perry Mason's latest thriller, "The Case of the Lucky Legs."

About thirty minutes out of Morotai and 8,000 feet above the Molucca Passage, the starboard engine began to cut out. The prospects of a thousand mile flight on one engine and one probable held no appeal for us that day. We turned back. The weather at base, as always, was terrible so the only thing left to worry about was landing in a rainstorm with our over-loaded ship carrying, among other things, the top strats of Australian Military Personnel and 1800 gallons of gas. By this time indifference was giving way to reluctance. But we made it and the only thing that bounced was the medicine ball.

Take-off was reset for 2400 hours. The remainder of the day saw the Engineering Officer and ground crews assaulting the ship in spasms of flying parts and profanity. Shortly before midnight a somewhat casually indifferent crew again we took off and set course for the South China Seas. The chill gray hour that precedes the tropical dawn found us sneaking along the northeast coast of Borneo near the big Japanese base at Sandangan. I was on watch in the blister looking out on the endless jungle of North Borneo, thinking of five hundred other places I would rather be and twenty eight thousand other things I would rather be doing. This pre-dawn reverie was brutally disturbed by the swish of a flying machine past our tail. In the best of off-hand manners, I called the pilot over the intercom and asked him if by any chance he happened to be aware of the fact that there were other aircraft in the vicinity. In a reassuring manner he stated that we certainly were not in a Nip traffic pattern and therefore he must be one of ours. Whereupon I replied, "since you're so  damn smart maybe you can tell me why that meat ball was painted on his wing?" With this announcement both of us immediately decided the time for small talk had long passed, so we hit the cloud deck and left the decision to future historians.

By mid morning we had passed the Japanese garrison at Jesselton and were approaching Brunei Bay. Only those who have tried to explain to a Chinese laundry man not to starch the collars will understand the problems involved in receiving landing instructions from an Aussie controller over a tired VHF set. A mutual disagreement eventually being arrived at, we prepared to land in the waters of Brunei Bay. But putting a Mae West on Sir Thomas proved to require the joint operations of the Australian General Staff and our G. I. radio operator. The wing floats went down and we were on the final approach when the Aussie controller with sudden and disgusting clarity advised caution in landing because of floating mines and other debris in the Bay. Reluctance gave way to nervous apprehension. To everyones relief the ship finally rocked to rest without irritating a mine or surrounding a barrel. Our party was ceremoniously transferred to a crash boat sprouting still other dignitaries, and we were told to await further instructions.

Anchoring the good ship "Playmate 43", we proceeded to go ashore. There we bummed chow from a small band of Amphibious engineers who were participating in the invasion. The meal was uneventful save for the fact that while the cook was pulling lumber off a wood pile on which we were sitting, a Nip scurried out and ceremoniously began indiscriminate firing at those citizens present in the area. Whatever belief he might have held that he could live forever was quickly put to the acid test, but my appetite died with him. We stayed with the engineers just long enough to hear the usual stories of infiltrations plus some new and repulsive ones made possible by local geographical conditions. It seemed the Japs would lie for hours like rats in the swamp and suddenly rise up and begin tossing hand grenades carelessly about, or they would hide in the kunai grass and engage in the added un-pleasantries of sniping with their "woodpeckers". My supply of adventuresome spirit was now running very low.

After this unsavory conversation, it was with relief that we received a message to return to the plane, take off and land on the strip, which the Aussies had now thoughtfully re-aquired. We pulled anchor, skipped about the bay and took off. Soon over the island, landing landing gear was lowered and we were contemplating the experience of being the first Americans to land on Lebuan Island, when the engineer dropped into my compartment and in a panic-stricken voice croaked, "Lieutenant, Lieutenant, there is a snake in here!" I patted him on the arm and said "Take it easy Herrmann, we've been flying too much this month, you'll feel better when we get on the ground." He gazed at me with the eyes of a man who had just looked on things best kept from mortal view and weakly gestured toward the general direction of the compartment from which he had rapidly evacuated. To humor the man I wheeled in my chair and with praisworthy fortitude looked over the bulkhead into the engineers compartment. To my abysmal distress I found myself staring point blank into the dark eyes of a snake who was likewise peering over that same bulkhead into my compartment and was not six inches from my face. He returned my startled gaze with scornful contempt. Two compartments were now evacuated!

Before the wheels had stopped rolling, I was scrambling out the escape hatch seeking greener pastures. After we had parked, the Aussies clustered around the plane ready for conversations and cigarettes. Now only slightly unhinged by terror, I casually announced that there happened to be a snake in the plane, but quickly assured them from a vast storehouse of information about snakes I have known that it wasn't poisonous because of the fact that his head tapered into his body, unlike that of the rattler or moccasin.  These guys were from the "Rats of Tobruk" division and would take on the devil himself bare-handed and with handicaps. So one of the diggers picked up a stick, strolled into the ship and flicked Mr. snake outside, where no time was lost in clubbing it to a long overdue death. Apparently it had crawled aboard while we were anchored in the Bay. One of the Aussies gave me a sly grin and said "So she ain't poisonous, eh mate? That's a bloody coral snake, the deadliest of the tropics. You'd be good for about 30 seconds after that bloke had a go at you." This time I gave way.

In addition to being fine soldiers, the Aussies are very friendly, so they took us to view the spot of scenic interest on the island. This was a barbed-wire enclosure in which were detained the captured Nips. And standing guard over the men if Nippon were several of the towering, bearded, turbaned, Sikhs who had been Japanese prisoners since Singapore and were liberated only the previous day.

Because of their splendid stature, the envious Nips had accorded them particularly brutal treatment. Those that still lived had eagerly volunteered for this guard and requested twelve hour tours of duty. The Sikhs had their former torturers engaged in several interesting tasks: pulling up grass by the roots, doing close order drill ad salaaming to the guards. One splendid Indian had about ten Japs lined up and was explaining the proper execution of the command "count off." he would snap to attention, about the command, and then commence to count off: one, eight, five, three, seven, nice, etc. He would then face the members of his command and issue the order to count off. Even if the Nips had been able to speak English, the order in which the numerals were carelessly placed might have led to some slight degree of confusion. The first recruit would usually manage to shout, "One", but the remaining troops seemed unable to cope with the situation. Whereupon the Sikh gleefully proceeded to go down the line administering additional academic instruction with the butt of his rifle. This open-air lecture was a joy to behold.

By nightfall all the remaining Japs had been disposed of save about 300 who were hemmed up on the tip of the island. We were sitting around camp upholding our end in the exchange of lies with the Aussies when the Nips and hell simultaneously broke loose. A night battle in the jungle when

(See photo taken after the mission)

AIRCRAFT TYPE: OA-10A *
USAAF SERIAL NUMBER: Unknown
CALLSIGN:  "Playmate 43"   
CREW: (Pilot) 2nd Lt. Keith W. Parks, (Co-pilot) Flt Off. Vernon "Buzz" Grosvenor, (Navigator) 2nd Lt. David A. Witts, (Engineer) Tech Sgt. Paul A. Herrmann