THE CRASH IN THE NEW GUINEA JUNGLE

The story is true,  I am honored to bring this story to you. Little was known about this story until July 5th. 1981. It was recorded on tape, by the wife, Kathryn Bauer, wife of Henry O. Bauer and set in print by his nephew. Henry would never talk about this part of his life and it was mostly unknown for thirty Eight years.

The story is long and many parts were repeated a number of times, so they were removed so it could be placed on a Blog page.  The parts removed were about escaping contact with Natives ( Possibly head hunters )  Japanese solders and avoiding animals of the jungle.

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                             “THE CRASH IN THE NEW GUINEA JUNGLE”

                             By:  Kathryn J. Bauer - Wife of - Henry O. Bauer

This is a story from a tape that I made, so I could have a recording  of Henry’s voice and the story of his airplane crash  in New Guinea and how they survived that crash on July 23, 1943.

Henry had cancer of the larynx and was about to have surgery and would never have the use of his voice again.  I placed a recorder on a table between us and asked him questions about that crash and it took a long time  for him to tell me the story. 

Henry would never talk to us very much about this crash, so we never really knew the full story. 

He went into the V.A. Hospital in Boise Idaho, on November 19, 1980 and had surgery to remove his larynx. Something went wrong in the surgery and he was left with Brain Damage. He could not talk, eat , walk and would only recognize us if he was sitting up in bed. 

Henry was in the V A Hospital for three months, than moved to a Nursing Home in Mountain Home Idaho and was there for another six months.  He passed away on July 5th. 1981 and was laid to rest in the Mountain Home Cemetery at the age of Seventy One.   

Kathryn  J. Bauer

                                The Crash in the New Guinea Jungle

                                   A story on Henry R. Bauer USAF

     We boarded a ship near San Francisco and headed for Brisbane, Australia and arrived there several weeks later.  The following day, we flew to Fort Moresby, in New Guinea.

     A squadron of C-47's was flying supplies over the Owen Standly Mountains to a place called "Roosevelt Ridge," where the infantry was fighting the Japanese.  The only way to get supplies to them was to fly over and drop the cargo, then return to base.  The troops on the ridge called them, "The Biscuit bombers."

     C-47's are noted for their ability to carry heavy loads and fly very close to the ground when they drop supplies. Sometimes, drop areas are very small and there is a need to be accurate with the food and other supplies.  In New Guinea, the weather is always socked in with heavy clouds, and the planes have to take advantage of any clearing to get off the ground.

     On July 23, 1943, at 1800 hours, a squadron of C-47's was ready to leave on a mission.  Our plane was heavily loaded with gallon cans of biscuits, bully beef, ammunition and other supplies. Our pilot, a thirty-day wonder, had only been in New Guinea a few days and this was his first flight.  We had a crew of ten, with some of them Australians, who were on board to handle the cargo.  I was the engineer and this was my first flight.

    

     The flight was routine until we were almost to the dump site.  Then, our plane left the squadron to locate an advanced group of infantry and drop some supplies to them.  The country had deep ravines and razorback ridges; the most rugged mountains I had ever seen.  There were no mountains in Idaho as rugged as these.

     The Australians were trained in jungle survival and some knew the country quite well.  One of them told the pilot not to fly up this valley as there was no opening at the other end.  Of course, a private can't tell a captain anything and soon, a huge mountain loomed up before us.  The pilot tried to turn back, but the plane was too low and heavy.  An order was given to jettison the cargo, so all the dump men were in the back frantically throwing everything out.  The pilot tried to bank and climb, but the right wing hit a big gum tree and was torn off.

     These planes were originally used to carry paratroopers and they had parachute hookup rods inside along the top.  I was standing alongside the cargo and got a good hold on one of these rods and hung on.  The plane continued crashing down the ravine which was full of trees and brush that cushioned the crash somewhat.

     I saw the radio man standing in the radio room door as the cargo went crashing forward, and that was the last time I saw him alive.  The plane came to rest in a stream, nose down.  The fuselage had cracked open, and one of the men was thrown out, but luckily, he was not badly hurt. 

     Some of the cargo had struck me across my chest and ankles. I had a crease on my chest that I could lay my fingers in, and a deep cut on my knee.  When I wiggled my toes, I could see the tendons move, and my ankles were badly sprained.

     We scrambled out of the plane and up a bank, and I was the last one out.  As I was going up the bank, there was an explosion.  How I ever made it up that bank, I will never know.  It was so slippery I kept sliding backwards.  There were several more explosions of fuel and ammunition and then the plane started to burn.

     We took note of our condition. John Nicholas had a badly torn right hand and his middle finger was mangled.  He and I had the worst of the injuries, but the other survivors were in fairly good shape.

     When the cargo was thrown forward it, had crushed everyone in the cockpit. They were all dead.  I found the radio man downstream; apparently the explosion had thrown him out of the plane.  I removed his watch as we needed it for a compass.

     No one really knew where we were.  We could be in Japanese territory. The one person that knew, was dead.  The Australians found some tins of food that were thrown out of the plane and made some backpacks to carry them in.  We decided to follow the ravine down out of the mountains, so we started down the stream but didn't get very far that first day.  We had to do a lot of climbing straight up and down.  The stream got larger as we traveled along and sometimes it looked impossible to find a way out of there.

     My ankles hurt so badly that I had to crawl.  At times I would beat them with my fists until they were numb, so I could keep going.  Since the jungle got very cold at night, we would dig a trench large enough to lie in and cover ourselves with dirt and leaves to keep warm.

     A few days later, we came to a water fall.  Our stream had now turned into a river and was really turbulent.  We climbed for hours trying to find a way around it, but there was none. There was a ledge above and a whirlpool below, so we decided to dive to the edge of the whirlpool and swim to shore.  All but one man dived into the water and made it to shore.  This man stood on the ledge as he was afraid to dive.  We finally talked him into jumping, but he got caught in the whirlpool and couldn't make it to shore.  We went back into the water and caught him as he came around in the whirlpool and pulled him to shore.  We were lucky.  I don't know where I got the strength to help pull him out.

     After that, we were all so tired we made camp for the night.  Every-one was cold and wet. We still thought we were in Japanese territory and weren't sure if we should build a fire.  We decided to do it anyway and one of the fellows said, "Let Bauer make the fire, he can do it if anyone can."  I got one started and we all got dried out and warmed up.  We had lost one pack of food and had only one tin of bully beef left.  That was enough for five men for a few days.

     We considered ourselves lucky as the Australians had been trained in jungle survival.  They knew what berries and other things we could eat.  We cracked the shells off snails and ate them.  The only tool or weapon we had was my old rusty pocket knife.

     The Australians told us to urinate on our injuries to keep them from getting infected and it worked, but we sure smelled like outcasts.

     On the second or third day, a plane flew over.  We tried to get their attention, but they didn't see us.  We all felt so disheartened, as it was next to impossible to see anything in that jungle.  We learned later, that Col. Wyatt had flown over the crash site and spotted the wreck.  After he made several passes over the site and didn't see any sign of life, they returned to base and reported what they had seen.

     About the seventh day, our clothes and shoes began to rot.  We were getting weaker by the day from the lack of food.  One thing we had plenty of was water, that, and a strong desire to get out of that jungle, kept us going.  But the next five days were pure agony.

     The next day, we arrived at the mouth of the canyon.  It opened out onto a flat beach with the river running by.  Someone found a fish floating in the water so we divided it into five parts.  We saw some tracks in the sand but we didn't know whose territory we were in.  Hearing someone coming, we hid in the bushes.  That night we left the weakest people and went looking for food.  The next day the same person showed up again.  He could see our tracks in the sand and let us know that he was friendly.  He said that he was working for the government and had been trained in the infantry and assigned to the U.S.

     The government knew that a plane had gone down in the mountains and had assigned a native to watch the canyons to see if anyone came out.  Apparently, we had walked right past his camp.  He had a pack on his back and the first thing he took out was a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes.  They sure didn't last very long!  I often thought this would have made a good commercial for the Lucky Strike Company.  Lost in the New Guinea jungle and found by a bush native and the first thing he gives you, is a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes.

     This fellow also had some K-rations that he gave to us; we ate every-thing that he had.  He took us to a native village and sent someone back to get the comrades we had left behind.  We ate everything that was offered to us, taro roots and all.  I'm not sure, but I think this was our twelfth day, and our clothing was nothing more than rags.

     We were left at a native village while the fellow that found us set out for an American tracking station at Nassau Bay.  A few days later, an L.S.T. Boat came to pick us up.  They gave us some hot chocolate.  Boy!  Did that taste wonderful!

     We were sent to Doobadroo to get medical attention. There the medic asked us how we managed to keep infection out of our wounds.  I told him that we urinated on them.  He said he had never heard that one before, "guess I've learned something new!"  We all had jungle rot over our bodies.  The doctor put me on a gurney and with a scalpel, he removed every patch of yellow skin and smeared the treated areas with sulfa ointment.  The other men were treated the same.

     I heard later that John Nicholas had to have his finger amputated and that Bulterman was in such poor condition, he had to be sent back to the States.  One day the chaplain came to see me.  He said, "Bauer, I guess the Lord has something more for you and the other men to do here."  I knew that God was watching over us, or we would never have come back.

     A couple of the more experienced crew members were talking about the crash, and they said, "When you see a pilot come out to the plane with a little gray at his temples, you don't have to worry about the flight."   One day, the Squadron C.O., an old pilot, asked if I would ride with him over the area again. I spotted the wreck and said, "There it is, right there."  They took a bearing on it and reported the location to the Grave Registration Department.  We flew down the canyon that we came out of.  The C.O. said he couldn't see how anyone could ever get out of there.  I still can't believe that with all the equipment they had they couldn't get in there and get those bodies out.  Anyway, a few weeks later the jungle had grown over so much that the wreck could not be found again.  When I was released from the hospital, I didn't have any duty for some time.  An order was given to the mess hall that we could have whatever we wanted to eat and at anytime we wanted it.  I made a lot of trips to the mess hall as I just couldn't get enough canned fruit

    After I had gained a few pounds, I was asked if I wanted to go back to flying again!  I told them just because a smart-ass pilot wouldn't listen to anyone else, it wasn't the plane's fault.  I started to fly again, but the crash had done something to me.  Every time there was a horizon ahead of us and the nose of the plane was not above it, I would get real nervous.  Sometimes I would work on the plane all night just to keep my mind occupied and fly again the next morning.

     Sometimes, we had litters on the plane, to bring out the wounded.  After I would check the injured to see if there was anything I could do, then lie down and rest.  But I couldn't go to sleep.

    

     I would get bread from the mess hall and make sandwiches with canned bacon and cheese for the crew.  We had a small folding stove on the plane and the crew always thought the food tasted better than what they got at the mess hall.

     I came down with typhus, a high fever disease that burns you up, and I had dysentery at the same time.  A lot of the guys didn't make it.  I know I was so sick I didn't think I would live! I weighed 165 pounds when I first went over there and I  never weighed over a 140 pounds the rest of my life.  I suffered from malaria for many, many years after I got home.

     As my nerves were getting worse, they gave me leave for the States.  The return trip on the ship took twenty-eight days.  We landed at the same base that we left from near San Francisco.  I had six weeks of leave to spend with my family at Sacramento, and after that, my orders were to report to Sioux Falls, South Dakota.  The rest is another story.

Thank you for taking the time to read this!

Dec,27, 2012

By: Ben R.