Upon his arrival in Washington, D.C., Cochran first saw General Vandenberg, who he knew had submitted his name to Arnold for a project that remained a mystery to the candidate himself. Cochran was not happy about being called to the Pentagon, for he had just received orders to England. That was where the action was, Cochran believed. When Vandenberg was noncommittal and vague about the project, Cochran grew wary and decided not to accept the job.
After he was ushered into Arnold’s office, Cochran thought that he should be candid with the man he believed to be “right next to God.” Cochran stated firmly, “I don’t want any part of it.”1 Arnold may have been startled by Cochran’s frankness, but he did not let it show. Instead, he asked the young officer to give him some reasons for his opinion. Not a man to mince words, Cochran replied that he now had a great deal of combat experience, experience that would be useful in Europe, where he was presently slated to go. He did not want to be sent to “some doggone offshoot, side-alley fight over in some jungle in Burma that doesn’t mean a damn thing.”2
By then General Arnold’s patience was wearing thin. He halted Cochran’s discourse with, “I don’t know what kind of Air Force office I’m running here when guys come in and tell me that they are not going to do something!”3 Cochran immediately quieted, and the meeting continued in a more restrained tone. Still trying to get out of the project, which Arnold had still not fully explained, Cochran mentioned Alison, whom he praised highly and who, he assured the general, was really the man for the job. Arnold, whose nickname “Hap” belied a steely inner strength, was not about to let Cochran off the hook. Not unkindly, but letting Cochran know that he would make the proper decision, Arnold told him to “get out of here” and that he would soon know what his future assignment would be.4
Arnold saw Alison next and was offered complaints similar to those from Cochran. Alison, having just received command of a fighter group destined for Europe, did not take well to the idea that a great opportunity to participate in what most USAAF fighter pilots believed to be the big show would be lost. Again, Arnold had to calm one of his fliers. He told Alison to come back the following day.
As directed, the next day, August 30, two rather depressed men met in Arnold’s outer office and commiserated with each other over what the fates appeared to be doing to them. Both were still determined to get out of whatever job the general was offering. Soon, they were called into Arnold’s office. In addition to Arnold, Vandenberg and Maj. Gen. Barney M. Giles, chief of Air Staff, were present.5
“Boys, I’ve got a big job for you,” Arnold greeted Cochran and Alison.6
“That’s fine, General,” the pair replied cautiously.
Arnold told them about Wingate, whom neither had ever heard of, and what the British officer had done in Burma with his LRPGs. Continuing, Arnold described the Quadrant Conference and his talks with Wingate about the composition of an air unit to support the ground troops of the LRPGs.
Although Cochran was normally the loquacious one, it was Alison who interrupted Arnold with, “General, what are you going to give us to do this with?”
“I’m going to give you some L-5s [small liaison aircraft],” Arnold replied.
There was a brief pause, then Alison spoke again. “General, I’m a fighter pilot,” he said. “I have a fighter group at Hamilton, and in a few months I’m going to be taking it to England, and I expect to see some pretty exciting warfare. I’ve spent my career in the service learning to be a fighter pilot. I’ve had one year of combat experience. I like the business, and I believe that I can be of value to the Air Corps. If all you’re going to give me is some L-5s, you don’t need me, and I don’t want the job.”
Cochran jumped into the silence that ensued. “General, he doesn’t exactly mean that,” Cochran said.
“Yes, I do mean it,” Alison shot back.
“Now, wait a minute, boys,” Arnold said soothingly. “Here’s what I really want you to do.” Leaning back in his chair, he quietly but forcefully outlined his plan. Since returning from Quebec, Arnold had mulled over what would be needed to support Wingate. The light planes were only a starting point. Arnold had a much larger force in mind. As he discussed his vision of the project, Cochran and Alison quickly sensed their leader’s enthusiasm for this project. The “military entrepreneur” in Arnold, as Alison later described this aspect of Arnold’s personality, impressed the pair greatly.7
What Arnold wanted was not just to support Wingate, but to spearhead the operation. As he said, “The next time [Wingate] goes in, I don’t want him to walk. I want him to go by air. I want to demonstrate that we can use ships in the air just like we use ships on the sea. I want to stage an aerial invasion of Burma.”8 Although he never actually stated it, both Cochran and Alison believed the general meant, “Go over and steal the show.”9 Arnold then threw in a clinching argument, knowing that it would appeal to the creativity and resourcefulness of the two young officers. They would be given virtual carte blanche, a No. 1 priority, to obtain anything they needed to organize a force. If Vandenberg and Giles winced at Arnold’s munificence, they uttered not a word. In fact, neither spoke during the entire meeting.
By this time, Cochran and Alison had become fully absorbed in the concept the general was espousing. When Arnold asked which of them wanted the assignment, they replied almost in unison, “Can we both go?” Arnold chuckled his agreement. As to who would command the force, Arnold, believing Alison to be the ranking officer, named him commander. Alison protested, saying that his friend was senior by a few months. Arnold brushed off the protestations with, “Oh well, make it a co-command.”10
As was predictable, such an arrangement proved unworkable. Within a month the pair settled on a normal chain of command with Cochran as commander and Alison as deputy commander. Nevertheless, the two men thought so much alike and respected each other so much that at times they did operate, unofficially, as co-commanders, each making decisions for and about the force as needed.11
Arnold stated that the project they were undertaking, which was initially designated Project 9, was top secret and that Cochran and Alison could not tell anyone what they were about. He repeated, however, that they would be given a No. 1 priority to obtain men and equipment. Time was of the essence, Arnold emphasized, because Cochran and Alison would be expected to take just a few months to train and equip an entirely new kind of organization, move it to India, establish bases, and then lead the new organization into combat. Arnold closed the meeting with an airy, “To hell with the paperwork. Go out and fight.”12 Some months later Arnold conceded that these words may have been a personal whim because he knew a solid organizational structure was a prerequisite for modern war. He had every confidence, though, that Cochran and Alison would succeed at whatever task was given them.13
Though both had gone into the meeting wanting desperately to get out of the assignment, Cochran and Alison left it eager to take on Arnold’s challenge. They quickly set up shop in the Hay-Adams, a Washington hotel, and began assembling their unique organization.14 They had no table of organization, equipment prescribing numbers, or specialties of personnel and equipment. Project 9’s structure would have to be built from scratch. Making the force the right size was especially important. If it was too small, it would be unable to perform its mission; if it was too large, it would be unwieldy and, again, unable to perform its mission.
The mission, as Arnold saw it in a September 13 memorandum for General Marshall, was fourfold:
1. Facilitate the forward movement of the Wingate columns.
2. Facilitate the supply and evacuation of the columns.
3. Provide a small air covering and striking force.
4. Acquire air experience under the conditions expected to be encountered.15
From this somewhat amorphous mission statement a recognizable entity coalesced, but before they could finalize any kind of structure for their force, Cochran and Alison realized they must talk to Wingate. After all, they would be supporting him, and they needed to know how he viewed their role. Cochran flew to London, while Alison, a better administrator than his friend, stayed in Washington to contact people and obtain equipment.
Cochran’s trip began on an almost farcical note.16 Upon his arrival at Mountbatten’s headquarters, Cochran was ushered into a conference involving a number of British naval officers, including Mountbatten. Cochran was introduced, and the meeting began. Every now and then one of the conferees would look at him. He would smile or nod, and they would smile or nod back and resume their discussions. The session was almost over before Cochran and Mountbatten realized that the American was in the wrong meeting. This one had been concerned with SEAC shipping matters.
An amused Mountbatten invited Cochran home for lunch to make up for the misunderstanding. Cochran found himself in the company of several senior British officials and the Soviet ambassador to Great Britain. Following lunch Mountbatten sent Cochran to the War Office to see Wingate. The tiny, grim office where Cochran met Wingate was in stark contrast to the enjoyable luncheon surroundings.
This first meeting of the two men proved unpleasant for both. Cochran attempted to explain to the general that he had all kinds of aircraft to support the LRPGs, but it seemed to him that Wingate was not interested in what he had to offer. Rather, it appeared that Wingate was putting down the American and that he considered the offer standard American “hot air.” Although irritated, Cochran persisted in trying to find out what Wingate planned.
He received a typical Wingate peroration. Instead of a one-word or a one-sentence reply to Cochran’s questions about long-range penetration, Wingate launched into long monologues on not just LRP, but also on the effect of rainfall on Burmese monasteries, his battles with British officials in India, and bits and pieces of history having no relation to the topic being discussed. Wingate’s raspy voice and mumbling speech also made it difficult for Cochran to understand what he was saying. Cochran “sat there wondering what it was all about.”17
The meeting finally ended. It had not been an auspicious beginning to an undertaking that would require the pair to work closely together. Animosity crackled between them. Nevertheless, they decided to meet again the following morning, although both probably were not looking forward to it.
Remarkably, the next meeting, if it did not mark the complete resolution of all personal differences between them, saw Cochran and Wingate come to an agreement on how the Americans could help Wingate’s LRPGs. Again, Wingate delivered a lengthy discourse on a variety of subjects, but as he talked, a lightbulb went on in Cochran’s mind. Too, Cochran was now more familiar with Wingate’s speech pattern, and he could follow more closely what the general was saying.
What caught Cochran’s attention was Wingate’s description of how he had used radios in both Abyssinia and Burma to control his columns as they moved forward. “I began to realize,” Cochran commented later, “that what he was doing on the ground was what we did in the air, and how we vectored aircraft, and how we sent them out and followed them and brought them back.”18
With this as a starting point the two men saw that they could work together to conduct operations behind enemy lines. Cochran asked Wingate what sort of air support he wanted. As he had done at the Quadrant Conference in Quebec, Wingate emphasized the need for light planes to evacuate the wounded. He also stated that transports would be valuable to move heavier cargo. Cochran said that he could supply a fighter force to attack the enemy when the Japanese threatened the LRPG columns. “What about bombers?” Cochran queried. The RAF would supply those, came the reply.
Cochran wondered what kind of timetable they were looking at. Wingate’s response was not reassuring. He planned to attack in early February, after the monsoon season had ended in Burma. That was five months away. Cochran promised, nonetheless, that his planes would be ready. The meeting finally broke up, and the two parted. Each still had reservations about the other, but each realized that they could work together and that what they could accomplish cooperatively would be a milestone in tactical operations.
If the relationship between Cochran and Wingate had gotten off to a prickly start, the one between Cochran and Mountbatten went swimmingly. Mountbatten had been so taken with the airman that he invited Cochran to stay with him and his wife while he was in London.19 The SEAC commander even offered the American the use of his car. This proved useful on Cochran’s last day in London. An old polo injury had flared up in Mountbatten’s hand. Cochran drove him home to pick up clothes and then to the hospital for treatment. The admiral was hospitalized for several days, unable to see visitors.
Following his recovery Mountbatten wrote Arnold on September 10 about several matters pertaining to the establishment of the SEAC. The admiral also wrote enthusiastically about Cochran. He added, “If the other officer [Alison] you have chosen is as good we shall certainly be in clover.”20
En route back to Washington, Cochran’s flight was delayed in Iceland by weather. While waiting in the officer’s mess for the weather to clear, Cochran noticed a great hubbub. When he inquired what was going on, he was told that General Arnold was there and that he and the noted Arctic aviator Bernt Balchen, who was then in the USAAF, were going to give a briefing to all the stranded passengers.
In the briefing room Cochran sat across from Arnold, figuring he had nothing important to report to his superior. He did notice that every once in a while Arnold peered quizzically in his direction. Finally, an aide came over and told Cochran that the general wanted to see him.
“Cochran, what are you doing here?” Arnold asked.21
Cochran replied that he had been to England to see Wingate. This appeared to startle Arnold, for it had been hardly a week since he had appointed Cochran and Alison to the Project 9 job. He appeared pleased, though, that his choice was showing great initiative. Arnold mentioned that he had just been in England, also. “It’s too bad you didn’t get to see Mountbatten,” he continued. “I would have wanted you to see him, but he is in the hospital.”
Resisting a smile, Cochran declared, “Yes, General, I know; I took him.” He then described to the flabbergasted Arnold, who had been unable to see Mountbatten, how he had come to drive the admiral to the hospital. An impressed Arnold laughed and said, “You’ll do.” He then asked if the young officer wanted to fly back to Washington with him. Cochran declined, believing that it would probably take “forever” to return while Arnold stopped at other bases.
Upon his return to Washington Cochran rushed to meet Alison and, based on his talks with Wingate, discuss what they needed in the way of equipment and men. The trip back from London had given Cochran time to reflect on what kind of force would be most useful to Wingate. Given Arnold’s unspoken command to “steal the show” and what he had gleaned from his visit, Cochran began to visualize a much larger, much more combat-capable force than what light planes and cargo aircraft would afford. In the back of his mind also lurked the half-serious thought that if they kept enlarging the force, perhaps Arnold would become disgusted and they would not be sent to Burma.22 He also came to the conclusion that Wingate could exploit a so far little-used type of aircraft—gliders.
Meanwhile, Alison, in an example of how he and Cochran seemed to operate on the same wavelength, had reached the same conclusion concerning gliders. Also, while Cochran was in London, Alison had obtained an office in the Pentagon. The two now met there to flesh out their organization. Because they were virtually inventing their force as they went along, the number of planes, personnel, and a multitude of other items had to be carefully, but speedily, calculated. From the beginning, they knew their force was a single-purpose organization that would operate for only three to six months and would have a minimum of personnel and equipment.23
Their first consideration for aircraft was, naturally, light planes for the evacuation of wounded. Two types stood out, the L-1 Vigilant and the L-5 Sentinel, both built by Stinson and, later, Vultee.24 Powered by a 295-horsepower radial engine, the two-seater L-1 had outstanding short takeoff and landing characteristics. Well suited for operations from unprepared airstrips, it could take off in less than 250 feet and land in less than 150 feet. It could also be used as an ambulance plane.
The L-5 was newer and smaller than the L-1 but also a two-seater. Powered by a 185-horsepower radial engine, it was marginally faster than the older plane. Because of the smaller engine, however, it needed a longer takeoff roll. The Sentinel could also be fitted with a stretcher for medical evacuation.
Next to be considered was a transport to haul Wingate’s heavier equipment, as well as evacuate wounded. There really was no other choice than the ubiquitous Douglas C-47 Skytrain, known more commonly today as the “Gooney Bird.” This outstanding aircraft, which soldiered on in various air forces well into the last part of the twentieth century, could carry six thousand pounds of cargo or twenty-seven fully armed troops or twenty-one paratroops or up to eighteen stretchers.
Whereas the L-1s or L-5s could fill the low end of the transport spectrum and the C-47 filled the high end, Cochran believed he needed another aircraft type to bridge the gap between the two types of planes. On his way back from London, his plane had stopped in Gander, Newfoundland, where Cochran noticed a muscular-looking aircraft parked on the ramp. When he asked what it was, he was told it was a Noorduyn Norseman, used since 1935 by Canadian bush pilots flying in the interior of the country. It was powered by a 550-horsepower radial engine and could carry eight people or an equivalent load of cargo. Cochran remembered that plane and decided it would be perfect for his purposes. As it turned out, the USAAF had recently begun purchasing the aircraft, which the service had designated the UC-64A.
Because Wingate had stated that the RAF would supply the bombers when Cochran’s and Alison’s unit reached India, the two Americans did not list any of these types of aircraft for their organization. Cochran, however, had promised Wingate fighter support, and he and Alison initially chose P-38s. These twin-engine aircraft had long range, good firepower, and, given the terrain and distances involved, the safety of a second engine.25 This request was denied, however, and they settled on an aircraft with which Cochran was familiar, the P-47 Thunderbolt. In any event, the P-47s did not materialize either, and another fighter, the North American P-51A Mustang, had to be procured. An early version of what became one of the classic aircraft of World War II, the P-51A was powered by an Allison 1,300-horsepower inline engine, was armed with four .50-caliber machine guns, and could carry either two 500-pound bombs or two 150-gallon drop tanks.
The gliders that Cochran and Alison decided Wingate needed were of two types. The first, and most important, type was the Waco CG-4A. This fabric-covered wood and metal design could carry fifteen fully armed troops, including two pilots, or more than 3,800 pounds of cargo. Its unique upward-hinged nose provided easy access to the cargo compartment for jeeps, 75-mm howitzers, or other bulky items. The second glider chosen was the Aeronca TG-5. This small, three-place training glider saw little use with the unit.
Finally, Cochran and Alison decided that they needed an even more unusual mode of conveyance than gliders. Igor Sikorsky had only recently shown that the helicopter was a practical and useful flying machine, not just an interesting toy. His XR-4 had been demonstrated to government and military officials in 1942, and a production contract had been signed. Thirty XR-4s were ordered initially. The first three were designated YR-4As, and the remainder YR-4Bs. These aircraft were two-seaters and were powered by a 180-horsepower radial engine. Given the novelty of helicopters at that time, their performance was not the best. These early helicopters had a maximum speed of only 75 mph, a service ceiling of eight thousand feet, and a range of 130 miles; nevertheless, their unique capabilities would be useful in the Burmese jungles.
Large items such as aircraft were not the only equipment Cochran and Alison sought. Uniforms, small arms, medical supplies, and numerous other articles were added to their shopping list. Realizing that the standard USAAF uniform was not practical for jungle use, the two Project 9 leaders obtained the distinctive U.S. paratrooper jacket and trousers. With its many large pockets, this garment could hold a variety of objects such as first aid kits, extra ammunition, and food that would be handy in the jungle. For shoes, Cochran and Alison somehow arranged to get U.S. Marine Corps jungle boots.
Cognizant that their men would very likely be in close contact with the enemy on the ground, Cochran and Alison sought more and different weapons than was normal for a USAF unit of comparable size. Paratroop and jungle knives became standard issue. Waving their No. 1 priority wherever they went, they acquired some of the first M1A1 .30-caliber folding stock carbines made. All of the men, not just officers, were required to carry a pistol. Cochran also attempted to get Thompson M1 submachine guns for everyone, though it is doubtful that the unit actually received them all.26
Cochran and Alison probably went a bit overboard in their quest for equipment. If one or two items were sufficient, three or four were even better. One of the few instances in which they did try to cut back concerned typewriters. Cochran, a firm believer in fighting not writing, saw little use for the twenty-four typewriters his staff said were normal for an organization of Project 9’s size. He pared that number to three, but eighteen typewriters were sneaked back onto the equipment list. “That was the only equipment they ever got by me,” he later lamented.27
Armed with the following shopping list, the two men met with General Arnold on September 13, 1943:
• Thirteen C-47s
• Twelve UC-64As
• One hundred CG-4s [The TG-5s were not mentioned.]
• One hundred L-1s/L-5s
• Six YR-4s
• Thirty P-47s
Additionally, 87 officers and 436 enlisted men were requested to man the force.28
Arnold scanned the list then gave it to his staff for comment. No serious concerns were voiced, and that same day, Arnold forwarded the request to Marshall for his approval. This was received swiftly, and Cochran and Alison’s “Air Task Force,” as Arnold then described it, was in business.29
On October 4, 1943, the War Department directed the first personnel allotment for the manning of a “Provisional Air Commando Force.” This allotment consisted of 87 officers, 75 flight officers, and 361 enlisted men, the same number of people that Cochran and Alison had requested the month before.30 Almost three months later, on December 20, the War Department increased the strength of the Air Commandos to 127 officers, 60 warrant officers (the position of flight officer being eliminated), and 353 enlisted men, a gain of 17 men.31 Following its arrival in India and the addition of men from other units, the Air Commandos still numbered less than 1,000 men. Yet these few hundred were to do the work of what was normally accomplished by more than twice that many men.32
Obtaining the best equipment was one thing; obtaining topflight personnel was another. From the outset both Cochran and Alison realized that they would need the best men available and that getting them would require a call for volunteers. Cochran later wrote that “no limitations were placed in the selection of personnel. The personnel were chosen by their eagerness to fight and on their ability to make maximum use of the equipment at their disposal. As nearly as possible an attempt was made to obtain specialists in each field to head each department of the unit. These people were picked with consideration for their personalities as well as consideration for their technical abilities. Personnel were volunteers and leaders were chosen as nearly as possible from officers who had seen combat duty.”33 Cochran and Alison relied on personal knowledge or friendships with individuals to recruit men they knew would be good leaders of the various sections of their growing force.
To help with the growing administrative workload, Maj. Samson Smith joined as executive officer. Former Flying Tiger Maj. Arvid E. Olson came on as operations officer, and Capt. Charles L. Engelhardt, an old squash partner of Cochran’s, became administrative assistant. Later brought on as officers were Capt. Robert E. Moist as adjutant, Maj. Richard W. Boebel and Capt. Temple C. Moore as intelligence officers, and Royal Army Captain K. Richmond as liaison with Wingate’s headquarters.34
Heading the fighter force was Maj. (later Lt. Col.) Grant Mahony, a friend of Alison’s. A veteran of the disastrous early days in the Philippines and Java, Mahony had shot down four Japanese planes and had three more probables. He had also flown in China. Mahony’s deputy was Maj. Robert T. Smith, an American Volunteer Group ace credited with 8.73 planes. Following the Air Commandos’ arrival in India, Smith became a lieutenant colonel and commander of the bomber section and was replaced by Maj. Robert L. Petit, who had seen action on Guadalcanal.
The transport force consisted of three sections. The C-47 section was commanded by Maj. William T. Cherry Jr., with Capt. Jacob P. Sartz as his deputy. Cherry had been the pilot of the plane in which Eddie Rickenbacker was riding when it went down in the Pacific, leading to a rather celebrated stay on rafts for weeks before their rescue. In command of the gliders was Capt. William H. Taylor Jr., with 1st Lt. Vincent J. Rose as deputy. The UC-64A section was led by Lt. Col. Clinton B. Gaty, assisted by Capt. Edward Wagner.
The light plane force was led by Maj. Andrew P. Rebori, who had been recommended by Taylor. Not a highly skilled pilot, Rebori nevertheless possessed boundless energy, a loud, boisterous voice, and natural leadership. Four “squadrons” of light planes and helicopters commanded by Capt. Everett F. Smith (also the section deputy), Capt. Wilbur H. Edwards, Capt. William W. Arnold, and 1st Lt. William C. Lehecka operated under Rebori.
Other important members to the staff included Maj. Edwin B. White (supply); Capt. John H. Jennette (engineering); Maj. Ernest C. Bonham (communications); Maj. Robert C. Page (medical); 1st Lt. Charles L. Russhon (photo), who joined in India; and 1st Lt. Patrick H. Casey (900th Airborne Engineer Company, Aviation), whose unit was also added to the force in India.35
Alison recalled years later that when he and Cochran began drawing up the plans for their organization they thought, “This will be easy.”36 It did not turn out quite that way. Because of the secrecy surrounding their project, they soon found that just because they wanted something, not everyone was going to hand it over to them without question. “You can’t have it,” a supply or personnel officer would often tell them.37
“We need it.”
“What are you going to use it for?”
“We can’t tell you.”
This last statement was often greeted with gales of laughter, laughter that only grew louder when Cochran or Alison said, “Well, this is Project 9, and it has an A No. 1 Priority, given it by General Arnold.”
“He gives everybody an A No. 1 Priority,” came the reply.
If persuasion did not work and their requests did become stalemated, Cochran and Alison then resorted to typing a letter, having Arnold or Giles sign it, then taking this back to the reluctant party. This usually worked, and their organization grew. One particularly complicated issue, however, concerned the helicopters. The first YR-4s, of which there were only a handful, were still undergoing service testing at Wright Field, Ohio. Naturally, Materiel Command was not keen on letting an almost completely untested vehicle be sent into combat. The command was not sure helicopters could stand the stress of combat operations; they were not even sure they were safe to fly.
Talking with the helicopter project officer, Cochran told him that they needed the YR-4s and that they were going to get them. “It will have to be over my dead body,” the project officer retorted.
“Well, so be it,” the stubborn Cochran answered. “It is going to be over your dead body.”38
There the matter stood, with Materiel Command refusing to turn over the helicopters and Cochran refusing to take “No” for an answer. Some movement was made in late October when Cochran arranged for the training of eight pilots in YR-4 maintenance and flight and for the training of a warrant officer in YR-4 maintenance.39 On October 22 the Requirements Division at USAAF Headquarters asked the Allocations and Programs Division to initiate action to obtain the helicopters for Project 9. In turn, the latter division forwarded the request to the Munitions Assignment Committee (Air) for approval.40
Prior to the committee’s decision, however, Cochran left the United States for India to make preparations for the arrival of his troops. Before he left Cochran told Alison, who remained behind to supervise the movement overseas and to gather last-minute equipment, “John, don’t come unless you bring those helicopters with you!”41
To Alison’s dismay, Materiel Command continued to rebuff the requests for the helicopters. Finally, on November 10, after much discussion, the committee’s chairman, Brig. Gen. Eugene L. Eubank, directed Materiel Command to release the helicopters for use in Burma. Shortly thereafter four, and then six, of these precious aircraft were turned over to Alison.42
Meanwhile, the men newly recruited to lead the various sections of the Project 9 unit scattered across the country on recruiting trips of their own. Because of the overall force’s small size, the men they picked to fill out the sections would have to be able to do a variety of tasks. Noted as a very aggressive fighter pilot, Mahony picked out a number of like-minded individuals for his section. Among these were 1st Lt. Paul G. Forcey, who had served in the Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF) in Europe and Africa, and Capt. John A. Kelting, who had received the Silver Star and Purple Heart for combat in the Pacific.43
Captain Sartz proved so adept at getting volunteers that when he arrived at one field, the commanding officer refused to let him interview anyone and made it quite clear that Sartz’s presence was unwelcome.44 Several of the transport pilots had already served with distinction, including Capt. Richard E. Cole, who had been Doolittle’s copilot on the Tokyo raid. First Lt. John K. “Buddy” Lewis held another distinction: He had been an All-Star third baseman for the Washington Senators.45
Enlisted men made up the bulk of Major Rebori’s Light Plane Section. Most were sergeants, and more than 50 percent of these were college graduates. One had been with the Polish air force, another with the Chinese air force. Although many, for various reasons, had washed out of flight school, this did not prevent Rebori’s enlisted men from later becoming excellent, indeed daring, pilots. They had also been chosen as much for their mechanical abilities as for their flying skills. This was in keeping with Cochran’s determination that his men would have to master many different jobs.46
Perhaps the most energetic of the section leaders was Captain Taylor. On September 25, two days after being selected for the Project 9 unit himself, Taylor was at Bowman Field in Louisville, Kentucky, to recruit personnel. To ensure that he would get only the most enthusiastic individuals for his section, Taylor told potential volunteers that they should be “prepared for long, tough work” and to “entertain absolutely no consideration of gain in any form in recompense for their duty.”47 Over the next couple of days he personally selected seventy-five glider pilots and fifteen glider mechanics. He also obtained the services of another four mechanics from Sheppard Field, Texas. A quick stop at Maxton Field, North Carolina, netted six additional glider mechanics. All of these men were directed to report immediately to Seymour Johnson Field, in Goldsboro, North Carolina. There, the glider training began in earnest.
One of the men Taylor recruited was probably the best-known person in the force, Flight Officer John L. Coogan. Moviegoers knew him better as Jackie Coogan, the film star. He had been a glider instructor before joining the Air Commandos, and Alison considered him a first-class pilot, though a “little irregular and brash.”48 The ex-husband of the reigning sex symbol of the day, Betty Grable, the balding Coogan was a multifaceted individual, being an excellent musician, an amusing raconteur, and an outstanding swimmer. In addition to piloting a glider, Coogan also served as an assistant operations officer for ground operations and was in charge of the rope crew inspecting all tow ropes.49
It was at Goldsboro that Capt. Weldon O. Murphy, one of the unit’s medical officers, cast a perceptive eye at the growing conglomeration of Air Commandos. He wrote, “More deeply impressed than these physical elements was the character, as I saw it, of the various groups assembled. The quiet, self-assured arrogance of the fighter pilot; verbose, reckless demeanor of the glider pilot; sallow, resentful indifference of the C-64 pilot; questionable enthusiasm of the helicopter pilot; the reassuring stability of transport pilots; the efficient, regulation-offending activity of ground personnel. Common to the entire group was a great enthusiasm; overwhelming eagerness to be about the business of performing what had been told them was a dangerous mission.”50
Cochran and Alison had hoped that they could get their entire force assembled at Seymour Johnson, where they could train together. This proved impossible. It did not help that the force’s movement date was shifted forward from December 15 to November 1, which left hardly one month to accomplish substantive training. Too, some members were just arriving at Seymour Johnson as others were starting their trek to India. Nonetheless, most of the men were instructed in the use of small arms, such as the M1A1 carbine and the M1 submachine gun.51
Driven by the realization that they had little time to whip their men into shape, Captain Taylor and Major Rebori were especially active in making use of what time they did have. Hour after hour Rebori made his men practice short-field takeoffs and landings and flying just off the deck. To make sure they got the idea, he made them land between ropes that had been placed across the runway. Soon they were making takeoffs and landings in less than 600 feet.52
Rebori also devised a rack that could be mounted under each wing of his light planes. Special “parapacks” weighing up to one hundred pounds for the L-1 and seventy-five pounds for the L-5 could then be attached to the racks for the airdropping of supplies to ground troops. In addition, a wedge-shaped trough was designed for installation in the rear cockpit. Supplies loaded in this trough could be delivered by the simple expedient of banking the airplane sharply.53
Major Taylor, meanwhile, kept busy traveling around the country acquiring the latest equipment for his gliders, some of which was still being tested. He obtained brand-new automatic tow devices that used a gyroscope and were sort of a poor man’s autopilot, the latest aerial pickup (or “snatch”) equipment, the newest arresting chutes for his gliders, and more items to ensure that his men would have the best equipment to take into combat. Unfortunately, much of this materiel would not be received until the unit was overseas.54
Despite the lack of equipment for training, Taylor drove himself and his men relentlessly day and night. His section had only ten CG-4As assigned to it, and of these, just three could be kept in flying condition. Thus, most of the training had to be done on the small training gliders, the TG-5 and the Frankfort TG-1, a two-place craft. Only twenty-five men received pickup experience in the big glider, but all pilots did do at least two snatches in the TG-5. Each pilot logged a meager five hours’ flight time before shipping overseas.
Much of the tow work was done by Rebori’s L-1s. A couple of C-47s were borrowed from the 436th Troop Carrier Squadron and the 439th TCS to give the glider pilots some experience with the aircraft they would operate in combat. Two of the C-47 pilots, 2nd Lt. Patrick J. Driscoll and 2nd Lt. Vincent L. Ulery, proved to be so accomplished that they were asked to join the project. It appears that the two C-47s were primarily used to perform standard tow plane–glider takeoffs. Not until October 28, when the men were beginning to leave for India, was a C-47 obtained for pickup practice. Practice with the C-47s, unfortunately, lasted only about a week before being terminated because of the movement overseas. The light plane pickup operations were also discontinued on November 5.55
In the brief amount of time he had for training, Taylor focused on using the automatic tow device, the double tow, and flying in the low tow position. The double tow, where a C-47 pulled two gliders on unequal lengths of towline, caused some controversy when it was employed during the lift of Wingate’s troops into Burma. Taylor, however, believed that this method was the most efficient use of the transport–glider combination, no small consideration bearing in mind the small size of the force. He also preferred to use a low tow position for the gliders.
Taylor gave five reasons for using this position. First, the automatic tow mechanism required it. Second, it was much easier for the glider pilot to see his tug by looking up than by looking down, where the tow plane could be obscured against the ground. Third, flame from a C-47’s exhaust stacks, which would give a relative position of glider to tug, was easier to see from below at night. Fourth, there was less drag in the low position than in the high. Finally, with glider pilots looking up, they were less likely to see ground fire aimed at them and, thus, less likely to attempt evasive action that could prove disastrous.56
Given the harsh pace of training, accidents were bound to occur. One pilot was killed in a TG-1 during a snatch session at Wright Field. Several others were injured when they undershot their landing grounds. Three premature releases resulted in no injuries and minor damage to the gliders. On one of his visits to Goldsboro, North Carolina, Cochran, perhaps reflecting on these accidents, ruminated, “People that fly airplanes are fool enough, but anyone that gets into one of these gliders is a damn fool.”57 Nevertheless, both he and Alison flew in the gliders to get a feel for how they worked.
On September 17 General Arnold wrote Maj. Gen. George Stratemeyer, commanding general, USAAF, India–Burma Sector (IBS), CBI, notifying him that the “1st Air Commando Force” would be activated in the theater. Although hearkening back to the exchange of letters between Arnold and Kenney, this seems to be the first appearance of the name Air Commando. Arnold told Stratemeyer that the force would be assigned to Lt. Gen. Joseph Stilwell, commanding general, U.S. Army Forces, CBI, for administration and supply, but would operate under Mountbatten’s control. He directed Stratemeyer to provide the force with all necessary supplies. Arnold ended his letter, “It must be understood that the 1st Air Commando Force is set up for operations under the CinC, South-East Asia and, more directly, with Brigadier Windgate’s [sic] LRP groups. . . . This is the first time that such a composite unit has been organized and as we will all watch its progress closely, everything you can do to help pave its way will be appreciated.”58
A little over a week later, beginning September 29, a flurry of messages passed between Washington and India concerning Project 9. The most important of these related to the substitution of P-51As for P-47s. Stratemeyer agreed to the substitution, provided the fighters came with the project and did not have to be filled out of theater stocks. Arnold replied on October 2 that thirty Mustangs would be shipped to arrive by December 1.59
Another important topic discussed by Stratemeyer and the Air Staff in Washington pertained to the addition of an airborne engineer company to the Air Commandos. Cochran and Alison had discussed this matter at great length with the Air Staff, but the request had been turned down when Stratemeyer indicated that he could not grant a priority to an engineer company for movement to India. He did, however, offer to assign the 900th Airborne Engineer Company, Aviation to the project. At this time the 900th was the only such unit in the CBI. Its addition to Project 9 proved prescient, for the company provided major assistance to the force prior to and during Operation Thursday.60
On October 28 the first man left Goldsboro for India. The trickle soon swelled to a flood as men received their orders overseas. Morale was high, and most men were looking forward to the experience and perhaps seeing some combat. When questioned by those wondering about their priority status, the general attitude seemed to be, “Blow it out! I’m from Project 9!”61 Their exuberance occasionally got out of hand. One of the first group of light plane pilots were issued loaded small arms in addition to the rest of their equipment. While waiting in the Goldsboro railroad station for the train to take them to Miami, a few of the pilots decided to test their small arms prowess on various fixtures in the station. The following groups were not issued ammunition.62
Because of the urgency of the move, all men traveled by air. The scheduled route was Miami–Trinidad–Georgetown, British Guiana [now Guyana]–Belem and Natal, Brazil–Ascension–Accra, Gold Coast [now Ghana]–Khartoum, Sudan–Aden, South Arabia [now Yemen]–Masirah Island–Karachi. All aircraft assigned to this move navigated this general route. The unit’s C-47s, which usually flew the route in formations of five, were the only aircraft of the force to fly to India. The rest were either deck-loaded on escort carriers or crated for shipment.
Leaving Alison behind to supervise last-minute details, Cochran, accompanied by Major Page, the senior medical officer, and others, left Washington on November 1. On the 3rd, they boarded an Air Transport Command (ATC) C-54 for the flight to Karachi. Except for a five-day delay in Natal because of engine problems, the flight was uneventful. Cochran and his party arrived in Karachi on November 13.63 By mid-December, the remainder of the force had gathered in India. Assembling and testing the aircraft, and checking over all of the equipment would be tedious and time-consuming, but the men of Project 9 were ready to show the world what they could do.