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Kunming, Yunnan Province.
Sunday, 7th January 1996
Today was a “Red Letter” day (pardon the
pun). Capt. Dave and I launched the
inaugural flight for the Laotian Government’s air service into Red China, even
though it was my third trip to Kunming.
Carrying a dozen Laotian dignitaries and four flight attendants, our
load was light allowing was to quickly climb to 33,000 feet, as we intercepted
Airway B-218. We followed it northeast
over Luang Prabang and then over the Red Chinese border to Simao.
The weather that morning was clear, with
few clouds and had excellent visibility, allowing me to see the airfield at
Simao as we passed directly over it.
There appeared to be several rows of military aircraft lined up on the
taxiways, which gave me the desire to bomb and strafe them.
What
prompted this unreasonable impulse, dear reader, was pure frustration.
Upon passing over Simao, we had penetrated
Red Chinese airspace to the tune of 99 NM (113.8 SM). And would you believe, not once did Chinese
ATC answer any of our frantic radio calls to report our positions, either
before or after entering their airspace. Our VHF radio was out of the question, for the
Russian-Chinese VHF equipment couldn’t reach very far. Therefore we made these desperate radio calls
on our World War II HF radio; receiving empty static in reply. It “felt” as if the Chinese didn’t know we
were here, nor did they really care.
Until Mao
Zedong's death, our destination, Kunming, was generally thought of as a remote
frontier settlement. Ergo a perfect location
for the government to exile people who had fallen politically out of favor,
especially during the Cultural Revolution.
Prompting my sensation of empty
isolation, dear reader.
Adding to this impression was the terrain, for in southwest Red China is
where the eastern edge of the Himalayas ends, creating a rugged series of
barren mountain ranges running between 12,000 to 16,000 feet MSL.
Both the Chinese lack of interest
and the terrain, dear reader, gave me the impression that this southwestern
belly of Red China would be the perfect place for an invasion; justifying my
current desire to bomb and strafe Simao.
Even so, as I studied the beginnings of the Himalayas
on the horizon off to my left, a chill climbed my spine, driving these fleeting
thoughts of invasion from my grey matter.
The cause of this chill was a single phrase surfacing in my brain: “The
Hump.”
Since the invasion of Burma by the Japanese, and the closure of the Burma Road from 1942 to 1945, three squadrons of ATC (Air Transport Command) C-47 Sky Trains and C-46 Commandos hauled desperately needed war supplies to Kunming; supporting the Nationalist Chinese Army in its struggle against the invading Japanese.
These cargo squadrons were based at Chabua Airfield, and several
surrounding airfields, in Assam Province at northeastern India. From there they flew the roughly 500 NM (575
SM) to Kunming, China, winding through mountain passes between ranges of
mountains reaching altitudes of 14,000 to 16,000 feet MSL; ergo known as “The
Hump.” Unfortunately, these propeller cargo
planes couldn’t fly over the mountain tops, as their inadequate engines and
cargo loads prevented this.
In Yellow are the routes the Hump Pilots flew from Calcutta and Chabua. In Red is my route from Vientiane to Kunming.
Due to severe icing, violent turbulence, shifting loads, volatile loads, engine fires and failures, clouds with granite hearts, plus Jap fighters, approximately 700 Allied aircraft crashed attempting to cross “The Hump,” with the loss of 1,200 airmen. Towards the end of the war in 1945, a cargo propeller plane crossed “The Hump” every two minutes, and on a clear day these aircraft could follow “The Aluminum Trail”; sunlight glinting off the metal wreckage of downed airplanes. To this day 594 aircraft are still unaccounted for, along with 730 Americans.
Presently cruising at 33,000 feet, well above any weather or mountain
ranges, I said a little prayer for those missing airmen, and thanked God for my
737 providing two Pratt & Whitney jet-turbine engines strapped to my ass!
On a lighter note, Assam Province was famous for its tea plantations,
and those three cargo squadrons at Chabua Airfield, had a neighbor who would also
become famous: Academy Award winning British actress Julie Christie. For Julie was born in 1940 on a tea
plantation at Chabua, run by her father.
Upon crossing over Simao we turned right to a more northeasterly heading
for the 168 NM (193.2 SM) run to Kunming.
And, as usual, we were unable to raise Kunming ATC, on our World War II
HF radio, to make this position report.
Which got me to thinking about Greg “Pappy” Boyington; the ex-Flying
Tigers’ combat pilot that befriended my folks on the SS Brazil, in 1942, when they shipped home together to the States. “Pappy” had been based off and on at
Kunming with the Flying Tigers, and I wondered if he had experienced the same
radio trouble with the Chinese.
I’ll just bet he had, dear reader.
On the morning of 18th December 1941,
Japanese Kawasaki Ki-48 "Lily" bombers launched from
their base at Hanoi, Vietnam, and bombed Kunming killing nearly 400
Chinese. The Japanese had been bombing
Kunming off and on for the past three years with nothing in the way of
resistance. In contrast, on the
afternoon of this day something different occurred. Amidst the smoldering fires of Kunming, two
squadrons of Flying Tigers, of the 1st AVG (American Volunteer
Group), arrived in their Curtiss P-40s, having flown up from their base in
Burma. The Flying Tigers’ P-40s were
noted for their “shark’s mouth” nose art.
Two days later, 20th December
1941, ten unescorted Kawasaki Ki-48 bombers
of the 21st Hikōtai, came
back to bomb Kunming again, and were in for a nasty surprise. When they spotted eight Flying Tigers’ P-40s
already patrolling over Kunming, the Japs panicked and “pickled” their bomb
loads prematurely – then turned and fled south - whereby they ran headlong into
14 more patrolling Flying Tigers. Four
of the Jap bombers were shot down, the rest scattered and only one bomber made
it back to its base.
That was the last time the
Japanese attempted to bomb Kunming; as long as the Americans were based there, the
JAF (Japanese Air Force) wanted no part of Kunming.
The following year, on 4th July
1942, after flying their last combat mission, the 1st AVG was
disbanded and replaced by the 23rd Fighter Group of the USAAF, which in
time was absorbed into the U.S. Fourteenth Air Force operating out of Kunming until the end of the war.
The Flying Tigers’ combat record was far from shabby, in barely over a
year they had destroyed 296 enemy aircraft with the loss of 14 pilots in
combat.
In April of 1942, basically because “Colonel” Chennault wanted him to
become an Army pilot, and give up his commission with the USMC, Greg “Pappy”
Boyington decided to bailout. That’s how
he ended up on the last day of May, 1942, with my parents on the SS Brazil. Since America was now in the war, Greg
desperately wanted to get back to the States, take up his commission in the
USMC as a Marine Fighter Pilot, and get the hell into the “real” war.
Please note, dear reader, that at
this period Chennault had resigned his commission as captain in the U.S. Army,
and was a civilian mercenary in the employ of Chiang Kai-Shek, who gave him the
honorary title of “Colonel.”
When he boarded the SS Brazil, Greg had six “Kills” to his credit with
the Flying Tigers, making him an ”Ace.”
However, when he returned to the States, he discovered Chennault had
apparently blocked three of his “Kills.”
Instead of having $3,000 ($500 per “Kill”) bonus money in his bank
account, merely $1,500 had been deposited.
Chennault never paid the bonus money on site. A pilot had to “trust” it would be deposited
in the bank for him back in the States.
So what prompted Chennault’s tight
fistedness, dear reader, after Greg had stuck his neck out earning those six
“Kills” the hard way? It’s usually
what’s at the bottom of most aviation mysteries: a woman.
Enter Olga Greenlaw, the green-eyed, smoking-brunette wife of the executive officer – who solely
married him in order to experience China.
It was rumored Olga was a bit of a vamp-tramp, having several “liaisons”
with the pilots; eventually winding up as the “Old Man’s” (“Colonel” Chennault’s)
secretary-mistress. Even so, Greg “Pappy”
Boyington couldn’t pass her up; “nailing” her on three different occasions.
In Greg’s case, his Achilles heel came in the form of two elements:
alcohol and women. Throughout his time
on this planet, “Pappy” could never deal with either successfully.
Unfortunately, “Colonel” Chennault was one of those leaders who never
flew a P-40 in combat; rather he led safely behind a desk, on the ground, far
behind Allied lines. He was also jealous
of the abrasive Boyington; due to his fearless ability in the air and “Pappy’s”
knack for landing in the sack with his main-squeeze; Olga. Therefore, for each roll in the hay with
Olga, Greg was docked $500.
Oh yes, dear reader, members of that
“Greatest Generation” who won WWII, could at times be this petty.
Kunming’s history dated back 2,400 years; its modern prosperity however,
took place in 1910 with the arrival of the railway from Hanoi, Vietnam. The city is situated in a fertile basin on
the northern shore of Lake Dian, at an elevation of 6,200 feet MSL, this being the
6th largest fresh water lake in Red China. The city is also surrounded by mountain
ranges to the west, north and east, with peaks that can top out at virtually
14,000 feet MSL.
As we
closed on our top of descent point, at 81 NM (93.1 SM) from Wujiaba Airport, I
tried one last frantic call to Kunming ATC, praying some “Chink” would finally
wake up and give us a clearance for descent.
Much
to my surprise a very bored, and heavily-accented, voice at last replied in
something resembling English, telling us to change over to a VHF
frequency. Which I did, and, after a
number of calls, somebody at length woke up.
When I requested a lower altitude, he told me to “standby.”
By
this time our proper 3-degree descent profile is all screwed up, as we’re too
close to the airport and too high. So
when Kunming ATC ultimately cleared me to 4,000 meters, (13,120 feet), as I’ve
already reduced to our slowest, clean speed, I cut power, nosed over, popped
the speed brakes and dived comparably to a homesick banshee for hell.
Please note, dear reader, that in addition
to the Chinese controllers scarcely speaking English, they also hand out
altitudes and speeds in meters and kilometers per hour; anything to add to our
confusion since all our instruments are calibrated in feet and knots per
hour. Requiring me to keep a calculator
handy, busily making the necessary conversions, so I’ll understand what in hell the Chinese want my
737 to do.
In
time we changed over to the tower frequency and were cleared for the ILS
approach to Runway Two-One. The Chinese
don’t know how to radar vector us, so we’re required to fly the entire, antiquated
World War II instrument approach laid out on our approach plates. Upon reaching the Romeo low frequency beacon,
we’re cleared to 9,350 feet MSL, and turned right to track outbound on a 054°
magnetic heading; beginning this huge teardrop.
At 11.2 NM (12.8 SM) from the Kunming VOR we made a wide left turn and consequently
intercepted the Localizer; heading 213° magnetic inbound towards Runway Two-One. Intercepting the Glideslope at 8,860 feet
MSL, with full flaps and landing gear down, we settled into the “slot” at Vref
+10 knots (130 mph) and approached the runway’s threshold. Our Decision Height is 6,437 feet MSL (220
feet AGL) which means if we don’t have the runway in sight at this height, we immediately
execute a missed approach. Thank God
it’s a beautiful day, with clear, unlimited visibility, allowing us to always
have visual contact with the runway.
Kunming’s Wujiaba Airport, originally built in 1923, has an elevation of
6,217 feet MSL, with a single runway having a length of 11,155 feet, running
southwest to northeast (210°/030° magnetic), which is located 2.5 miles
southeast of downtown Kunming. They had
no ground control frequency, so when we got on the ground we were directed by
the tower as to where we should park; an immense, empty concrete ramp far from
the terminal. Aside from three other
parked aircraft, at quite a distance from us, the lack of aviation activity on
this airfield reminded me of Jose Marti Airport, at Cuba; another Communist aviation
ghost town.
After
we parked, and were instructed by the tower to shut down and remain in our
aircraft, I began busily running the securing checklist with my head down in
the cockpit. When I had finished and
resurfaced, looking outside, I was stunned. Nearly a hundred people had
gathered off our left side, fifteen of which carried this long, red banner in
Chinese, accompanied by a 53-piece marching band standing in formation, wearing
gaudy uniforms, striking up a military tune.
Where in the Devil all these folks had
abruptly materialized from, dear reader, was a total mystery to me.
By
this time our Laotian delegation was filing down the air stairs that had also
been driven up to our 737, and being met by the press with cameras, then
eventually greeted by the Red Chinese delegation.
Following all this pomp and ceremony, we flight crew were escorted off
our 737 to a vast hall. Where we all sat
down at gaily decorated, large, circular tables, along with the delegations,
and treated to a sumptuous banquet.
Afterwards they loaded us up on vans, and drove us 56 miles outside of
Kunming to the “Stone Forest,” or “Stone Garden” (Chinese: 石林; pinyin: Shílín). This is a fantastic part of the South China Karst, having tall rock formations that seemed
to rise from the ground, surrounded by pools of still water, in a manner
somewhat reminiscent of stalagmites, or petrified trees, thereby
creating the illusion of a forest made of stone.
If you ever get up to Kunming,
dear reader, you must check this out.
These incredible stone formations really blew us all away. All in all it was a most pleasant day in the
bowels of Red China.
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