out to be a reflection from a small, conical hill. I walked toward it, and later that afternoon I could see some figures. I did not think they were natives, but I could not tell if they were Japanese, Americans, or Aussies. I was so desperate by this time that I thought even if they were Japanese, I might steal food from their camp at night.
The next day I went on and homed in on this camp. I had been barefooted for three weeks now. I would put on my socks at night because the insects drove me wild. Without my head net, gloves, and socks, I would have been in terrible shape. Then I saw someone wearing an Aussie hat. But even that didn't convince me-maybe it was one of those tricky Japanese wearing an Aussie hat. I sneaked up closer and closer until I was about thirty feet from the campers. It was like playing hide and seek, when you come out from hiding and jump up to scare the seeker. I was so close to them that it was almost embarrassing to jump out and say, "Here I am”. Finally, I came out from behind a tree and saw that they were Aussies who had come down from their fortification for lunch. I just stood there and tried to think of something clever to say, like "Lafayette, we are here," or "Dr. Livingston, I presume”. But the only thing I could think to say was, "Well, here's another one of those bloody Yanks”.
The Aussies didn't say anything. They just looked at me in disbelief. It was kind of awkward. Later I learned that two weeks earlier, in a skirmish with the Japanese, they had lost a second lieutenant, about my size, and had similarly coloured hair. That was why they were so surprised to see me. Also, because I was all bandaged up and looked so much like him, they thought I was the lieutenant who had come back from the dead. They gave me some food, but warned me not to eat too much or I would get sick. Well, I did eat too much, and I did get real sick. After three weeks of not eating, you can't really eat too much. I wanted to let my squadron and the Fifth Air Force know that I was safe. The Aussies had a radio and asked if I wanted to send a message. Of course I did, and I composed a very concise message: "Captain Sullivan, 39th Fighter Squadron, arrived at this point, injury slight, please advise”. I thought that was a pretty good message. Well, the next morning I got a reply: "Captain Sullivan will proceed on when able!" I thought, "To hell with them; I'll stay here for the rest of the war, I'll never go back!" Then, on second thought, I decided that I had better return. (Some callous, headquarters type individual must have composed that thoughtless message, because no 39th Fighter Squadron person would have been so inconsiderate).
The Aussies offered to send a native back with me across the mountains. I thought it over and quickly decided against that plan. They also suggested I might go with one of their patrols that was going to cross the river, although some danger existed of running into the Japanese. I decided that I had had enough of the natives and would go with the Aussies instead. For the next two days I went with the Aussie patrol. I was feeling guilty about eating their food because everything they had had come in on their backs. They had no airdrops whatsoever, having lugged in all of their food and supplies over the mountains. The first night out we saw a big fire. The Aussies thought it might be the Japanese, who would sometimes advance behind the cover of a big fire. As the fire came toward us I was afraid I had gone "from the frying pan into the fire”. But, it was better to be with twenty other guys than to be out there alone.
The threat did not materialise, and I never learned who started the fire. Eventually we got across the big river. The Aussies were awfully nice to me. They even carried my gun. They realised I was very weak; I had lost nearly forty pounds as a result of my meagre diet. A couple of big Aussies on either side of me helped me along. Although they had said we wouldn't go too far, we walked about fifteen or twenty miles a day. Finally, we arrived at a camp where there was a small airplane. It was a type of Cub observation plane. A Lt Frederick, who wore glider wings said to me, “Captain, I will save you a bog walk if you’ll get into my little airplane”. I agreed and got in. Soon after takeoff I saw that even though the throttle was advancing, the engine wasn't reacting. Then the pilot announced, "I think we have to turn back”. But as he turned it back in a big chandelle, the plane began to lose power completely. We had been flying over some real tall trees for a long time, and I knew firsthand what tall trees could do if you had to crash land. Fortunately, the trees cleared out and the pilot made a pretty good crash landing. But the plane had non-retractable gear, and when it hit the grass, we flipped over on our back. I was hanging upside down by my seat belt, and so I just pulled the buckle and fell about four feet to the ground. The pilot was very solicitous, "Are you all right? Thank God, I am glad it wasn't the general”. (He had been flying an Aussie general around.) Then I remembered the international emergency signal and fired off three shots. I waited, and then fired another three shots. I waited again, but nothing happened. So we walked back to the airstrip. Meanwhile, the 39th had sent a C-47 to Dumpu, and from there I was taken to Nadzab.
The next day I was back with my friends, who were all glad to see me. One said, "I knew you'd make it," and in the next breath, "I'll bring your shaver back in the morning”. Needless to say, I was very happy to see them. I sent out expensive cablegrams, like first-class letters. I sent one wire to my friend Tommy Lynch, "Bring back my boots, you vulture!" It seems that he had taken home my favourite pair of brown boots. He never did return the boots. I