Marauders capture airstrip

17th May 1944: Merrill's Marauders end their long trek suffering from exhaustion and disease - but capture Myitkyina airfield

Weakened by poor rations on their trek across the Kumon mountains the Marauders had suffered heavy casualties, mainly from disease.

General Frank Merrill, with Japanese-American translators earlier in the operation. He was himself ill by May 1944 and had handed command to Charles Hunter.

In February 1944 the 2,750 men of the U.S. 5307th Composite Unit (Provisional) marched into the Burmese jungle. They were also known as 'Galahad Unit' and are better known today as Merrill's Marauders, after their commanding officer. They were a deep penetration force travelling across country, like the Chindits they were dependent on air drops for resupply.

While the British were heavily engaged in defending Kohima and Imphal from the Japanese incursion into India, the Chindits and the Marauders were striking the Japanese far behind the ‘front line’.

After their 1000 mile long trek over the outskirts of the Himalayas and the Chinese Kumon mountain range, the Marauders were in bad shape. The standard K ration had insufficient calories to sustain them on the prolonged, arduous march

The US K ration was very similar for ‘breakfast’ ‘dinner’ and ‘supper’ and was insufficient to sustain men on a demanding march.

Captain Fred O. Lyons¹ describes the conditions of the march … and the state they were in when they encountered the Japanese in the jungle:

Other illnesses broke out among the men- yellow Jaundice, malaria, stomach disorders - but we kept plugging on. Our goal was Myitkyina, and we hated to quit before we got there.  When our rest was over, we went back to the mountain trail to start our march for the final drive.  It seemed then as though I couldn't last another day.  As we'd reach the crest of one hill, maybe a mile high, we'd look down and see another valley a mile below, and another hill beyond.  Maybe the crest of the next hill would be only half a mile away, but we'd have two miles of walking before we'd get there.

 Driving, driving, driving ourselves forward, we inched up one hill and down another.  Going up, the blood pounding in my head from the strain of hauling on vines and helping pull a mule up the trail.  Going down, my heels pounded right up to my backbone, and every step was like beating an open wound.  I couldn't think of anything but "We've got to make it, there can't be much more to go."  Then would come another hill.

…

By now my dysentery was so violent I was draining blood. Every one of the men was sick from one cause or another. My shoulders were worn raw from the pack straps, and I left the pack behind... The boys with me weren't in much better shape... A scout moving ahead suddenly held his rifle high in the air.