Lost In Shangri-La Part 3

McCollom recalled that one of the plane's crew members carried a .45-caliber pistol. He'd also noticed that the plane carried blankets, jugs of water, and crates of Cracker Jacksize boxes of K-rations. The ready-to-eat meals might include entrees such as ham and cheese, or beef and pork loaf; hard biscuits or crackers; bouillon cubes; instant coffee; powdered lemon drinks; heat-resistant chocolate bars; hard candy; and small packs of cigarettes, books of matches, and chewing gum. Some K-rations might contain one of the greatest military luxuries of all: toilet paper.

But when McCollom and Decker reached the plane, they discovered that none of those items could be salvaged. The c.o.c.kpit and much of the cabin were still on fire. Fed by the plane's fuel, the wreckage would burn until the middle of the next day. The fire guaranteed that nothing would be left intact that hadn't already been destroyed by a series of explosions following a two-hundred-mile-per-hour crash into a tree-covered mountain. As McCollom surveyed the scene, he understood that in one sense they'd been lucky. On one side of the wreckage was a fifteen-foot boulder; if they'd hit the rock head-on, no one would have survived.

Another piece of relatively good news was that the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special's tail section, after separating on impact, hadn't caught fire or exploded. The tail rested at an odd angle by a ravine, jammed against a tree stump and swathed in vines at the edge of a steep drop. The jagged opening where the tail had torn away from the rest of the plane pointed upward toward the sky, like the hungry mouth of a baby bird.

McCollom climbed up to the tail's opening and pulled himself inside. He found a duffel bag with a bright yellow, self-inflating life raft, two heavy tarpaulins designed as covers for the open raft, and a few basic supplies. He tossed the bag outside and climbed out. He inflated the life raft and took inventory of the supplies. He counted several small tins of water and a first-aid kit with bandages, a few vials of morphine, vitamins, boric acid to disinfect wounds, and sulfathiazole tablets to fight infection. The only food was Charms, fruit-flavored hard candies made from sugar and corn syrup that were a staple of soldiers' rations. McCollom found a signaling mirror and, even better, a signal pistol he could use to draw the attention of searchers. There was just one problem: he couldn't find any flares.

McCollom and Decker hauled the life raft and the supplies over toward the ledge. Along the way, the raft snagged on something sharp and deflated. When they reached the WACs, they cleaned and bandaged their wounds and gave them shots of water to wash down the anti-infection tablets. McCollom put the flattened life raft under Laura Besley and Eleanor Hanna and covered them with a tarpaulin. As he tucked them in, Eleanor smiled. Again, she said, "Let's sing." McCollom gave her morphine, hoping it would help her to sleep.

The ledge was too small for all five survivors to stretch out, so Margaret and the two men moved a few yards away to another ledge. Exhausted, they wrapped themselves in the second tarpaulin. A pack of cigarettes had survived the crash in McCollom's pocket, so he flicked his lighter and they shared a few drags in silence. As darkness fell, they could see through the hanging vines and thick foliage that the plane was still aflame. They huddled together, bracing for a cold, wet night.

Several times that first night in the jungle, they heard a plane overhead and caught a glimpse of signal flares. But they had no way to let the searchers know they were alive under the thick canopy. Margaret wasn't even sure the lights were flares; they were so far off she thought they might be lightning. They talked hopefully about rescue. Privately, McCollom had already begun wondering if they'd have to hike all 150-plus miles back to Hollandia.

Now and then, in the inky black night, the jungle erupted with noises that sounded to the survivors like the yaps and barks of wild dogs.

THE NEXT MORNING, Monday, May 14, McCollom rose first and went to check on Eleanor Hanna and Laura Besley. As he knelt by the injured WACs, what he found didn't surprise him. He returned to the ledge where he'd slept beside Margaret Hastings and Ken Decker. Monday, May 14, McCollom rose first and went to check on Eleanor Hanna and Laura Besley. As he knelt by the injured WACs, what he found didn't surprise him. He returned to the ledge where he'd slept beside Margaret Hastings and Ken Decker.

"Eleanor's dead," he said quietly.

McCollom went back to the other ledge and carefully wrapped the body in a tarpaulin. They had no tools for burial, and no energy to try, so he laid the remains of Eleanor Hanna at the base of a nearby tree.

The silence was broken by Laura Besley, who'd sat next to Eleanor on the plane and slept beside her all night: "I can't stop shaking," she said.

Hurt and in shock, chilled and wet, thirsty and hungry, sore and tired, Margaret and Decker realized that they were shaking, too.

They couldn't do anything about Eleanor, and there was little they could do for themselves or each other. McCollom resolved to ration their water, so they each took a few sips with a vitamin pill and a few Charms to tide them over. Their shaking continued.

After their paltry breakfast, McCollom and Decker returned to the plane. Back in the tail section, they found two cots, another life raft, two more large yellow tarps and one small one, two compa.s.ses, a heavy cotton flying suit, more first-aid kits, a signaling mirror, and seventeen cans of water, each one containing about one cup of liquid. Decker dug into a tool kit and brought out a roll of black electrical tape and a pair of pliers. They carried their bounty back to the ledge.

Laura's crying and shaking continued, though she didn't complain of being in pain. McCollom gave her the flight suit for warmth and told her to lie on one of the cots. She was thirsty and wanted water, but each time she drank, she'd spit it up. She looked fine, and her burns seemed superficial. McCollom feared that she'd suffered internal injuries.

Margaret took a closer look at her legs and discovered rings of burned skin, three to six inches wide, around each calf. To her surprise, they weren't as painful as they looked. That wasn't the case with her bandaged feet, which hurt more with every step on the jungle floor. She worried that she wouldn't get far on burned feet covered by cotton bandages. Margaret asked Laura if she could borrow her shoes while Laura rested. Laura gave them to her.

In Margaret's diary, written in secretarial shorthand on sc.r.a.ps of paper and cardboard from their supplies, she confessed that she didn't want to return her friend's shoes. Later, upon rewriting and expanding the diary, she wrote: "Secretly, I wondered if-without shoes-I would ever be able to keep up with the others. I would have to give Laura's shoes back to her before we started down the mountain. I was frightened that I would never be able to make it through the jungle in feet covered only by half sox and a layer of cotton bandage."

The survivors had felt confident that search planes would be dispatched when the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special failed to return to Sentani Airstrip as scheduled. That belief had been confirmed the night before when they heard a plane flying somewhere above them. But McCollom knew they'd never be visible in their current location. Their plane was a demolished, camouflage-painted speck in a dense swath of trees and vines. Still visible on the detached tail section was a five-pointed white star-the signature emblem of a United States military plane. But the leaves and fronds overhead made it impossible to see except from a short distance. From the air, the star was as inconsequential as a flower petal in the ocean. failed to return to Sentani Airstrip as scheduled. That belief had been confirmed the night before when they heard a plane flying somewhere above them. But McCollom knew they'd never be visible in their current location. Their plane was a demolished, camouflage-painted speck in a dense swath of trees and vines. Still visible on the detached tail section was a five-pointed white star-the signature emblem of a United States military plane. But the leaves and fronds overhead made it impossible to see except from a short distance. From the air, the star was as inconsequential as a flower petal in the ocean.

Smoke from the wreckage might help to place the survivors' location, but only if searchers spotted it before the flames died. Complicating matters was the fact that although Prossen's flight plan listed his destination as Shangri-La, the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special had crashed into a mountain miles from the pa.s.s that led into the valley. No one back in Hollandia could have known that. Alone at the controls and consumed by trying to keep the plane aloft, Nicholson didn't place a Mayday call. In fact, no radio communication had been exchanged between the plane and ground controllers at the base after Prossen took off from the Sentani Airstrip. had crashed into a mountain miles from the pa.s.s that led into the valley. No one back in Hollandia could have known that. Alone at the controls and consumed by trying to keep the plane aloft, Nicholson didn't place a Mayday call. In fact, no radio communication had been exchanged between the plane and ground controllers at the base after Prossen took off from the Sentani Airstrip.

Decker's wrist.w.a.tch had fared better than his skull, so they knew how slowly time was pa.s.sing. At about eleven o'clock on Monday morning, less than twenty-four hours after the crash, they heard the distinctive sound of an airplane engine. McCollom grabbed the signaling mirror he'd found in a life raft and worked it furiously to flash s.n.a.t.c.hes of sunlight skyward. It was no use. The engine sound grew faint as the plane flew away.

Still, McCollom considered it a hopeful sign. "Don't worry," he a.s.sured his companions. "I don't know how, but they'll get us out."

Mist settled over the mountain by mid-afternoon, and with it came steady rain. They talked about their families, and Margaret dreaded to think how her father back home in Owego would take the news that her plane had crashed and she was missing. Margaret told her diary she felt relieved that her mother had been spared the anxiety of learning that her eldest daughter was lost in Dutch New Guinea. It was the first time she'd felt at peace with her mother's death.

MARGARET'S MIDDLE NAME was Julia, her mother's first name. Margaret's youngest sister believed that Margaret was their mother's favorite. In a school essay, Margaret described her mother as "the sweetest, kindest and the most lovable little woman who ever lived. My father, my two younger sisters and I all lived at home, and she was the very hub of our existence. At fifty-five she was a tiny woman, with silvery white hair, pink and white skin, fine features-much prettier than any of her daughters." was Julia, her mother's first name. Margaret's youngest sister believed that Margaret was their mother's favorite. In a school essay, Margaret described her mother as "the sweetest, kindest and the most lovable little woman who ever lived. My father, my two younger sisters and I all lived at home, and she was the very hub of our existence. At fifty-five she was a tiny woman, with silvery white hair, pink and white skin, fine features-much prettier than any of her daughters."

In the essay, Margaret described how she'd learned from a doctor that her mother was seriously ill and would live no more than a year. "Onto my shoulders, so unaccustomed to responsibility, was thrown suddenly the problem of deciding how this crisis should be met. Should I tell my younger sisters, my father and my mother's brothers and sisters? For days I debated the question pro and con, and finally decided to act in the way which would cause Mother the least unhappiness. I was sure she didn't want to die-not when she was having so much fun for the first time in her life. I didn't feel sure that I could rely on my sisters to act normally if they knew the truth, so I told only my father. To this day I don't know whether I was right or wrong, but the decision was mine to make, and I did what I thought best."

Her mother died three months later.

AT ABOUT THREE that afternoon, the four remaining survivors felt exhausted from their injuries, the lack of food, and the little sleep they'd managed the night before. They set up the two cots. that afternoon, the four remaining survivors felt exhausted from their injuries, the lack of food, and the little sleep they'd managed the night before. They set up the two cots.

Margaret and Laura shared one, pulling a tarp over themselves and hugging tightly to keep from falling off. Margaret lay there, trying to sleep while at the same time listening for search planes overhead. Laura couldn't stop tossing, so McCollom gave her morphine and tucked the tarp tightly around her. Margaret's eyes burned from fatigue, and she was eager to sleep, but even after the morphine Laura remained restless. Her squirms on the narrow cot kept Margaret awake.

Hanging in the air was a rhetorical question Laura had posed to McCollom as he'd tucked her in. Looking up from the cot, she'd asked: "Everyone else is dead and we're very lonely, aren't we?"

Eventually, Margaret drifted into a fitful sleep. When she awoke around midnight, she felt an unexpected stillness. Laura had stopped fidgeting. Margaret put her hand on Laura's chest. Nothing. She searched her friend's neck for a pulse. Again nothing.

Margaret screamed: "Please, McCollom, please come. Laura has died!"

Roused from much-needed sleep, McCollom suspected that Margaret was overreacting. Clearly Laura was hurt, and her inability to keep down water was a bad sign. But he thought her injuries weren't life-threatening. Decker was doubly sure, and he didn't hide his annoyance.

"Don't be a dope, Hastings," Decker replied. "She's all right."

McCollom walked to the cot and felt Laura's hands. Doubt crept into his mind. He searched in vain for a pulse. Margaret was right.

Without a word, McCollom lifted Laura Besley's body from the cot. He wrapped her remains in one of the tarps and placed it alongside Eleanor Hanna's body at the foot of a tree.

Even in their grief Margaret and McCollom knew how fortunate they'd been. Margaret had changed seats for a better view, and McCollom had boarded too late to sit alongside his brother. They ended up in the last two seats on the left side of the plane. They lived. Laura Besley and Eleanor Hanna, who'd sat across from them, died.

"I ought to have cried," Margaret wrote in her diary. "I ought to have felt some kind of terrible grief for this dear friend. But all I could do was sit on the cot and shake. I couldn't even think that Laura was dead. I just sat there and shook and all I could think was: 'Now the shoes belong to me.' "

The death toll had reached twenty-one. The survivors of the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special were down to three: John McCollom, a stoic twenty-six-year-old first lieutenant from the Midwest who'd just lost his twin brother; Kenneth Decker, a tech sergeant from the Northwest with awful head wounds who'd just celebrated his thirty-fourth birthday; and Margaret Hastings, an adventure-seeking thirty-year-old WAC corporal from the Northeast who'd missed her date for an ocean swim on the New Guinea coast. McCollom was the youngest of the three, but he held the highest rank and suffered the fewest injuries. Combined with his quiet competence, those qualities made him the group's natural leader. were down to three: John McCollom, a stoic twenty-six-year-old first lieutenant from the Midwest who'd just lost his twin brother; Kenneth Decker, a tech sergeant from the Northwest with awful head wounds who'd just celebrated his thirty-fourth birthday; and Margaret Hastings, an adventure-seeking thirty-year-old WAC corporal from the Northeast who'd missed her date for an ocean swim on the New Guinea coast. McCollom was the youngest of the three, but he held the highest rank and suffered the fewest injuries. Combined with his quiet competence, those qualities made him the group's natural leader.

Margaret Hastings after the crash. (Photo courtesy of B. B. McCollom.) The three survivors had known each other casually around the base, but were hardly close friends. As they rested in the shadow of their burning plane, they considered themselves no more than comrades and acquaintances who'd shared a horrible experience. For the time being, they'd follow protocol and call each other by rank, last name, or both, as in "Sergeant," "Decker," or "Sergeant Decker," as opposed to Ken or Kenneth.

But women in the military were still a novelty, and calling a woman by her last name didn't always come naturally. Unless McCollom was giving her an order or Decker was needling her, "Corporal Hastings" soon became "Maggie." The truth was, she preferred to be called Margaret-she hated the nickname Maggie. But she never complained or corrected them.

After wrapping Laura Besley's body, McCollom returned to Margaret, who'd remained fixed on the cot. He lit a cigarette and handed it to her. Then he sat next to her to share it. She wrote in her diary: "No night will ever again be as long as this one."

John McCollom after the crash. (Photo courtesy of B. B. McCollom.)

Kenneth Decker after the crash. (Photo courtesy of B. B. McCollom.) As the hours pa.s.sed, McCollom lit several more cigarettes, the smoldering orange tip moving back and forth between them in the darkness. He remained with her on the cot until dawn. They didn't speak.

Chapter 7

TARZAN

ON ONE TRIP between the rock ledge and the wreckage, McCollom climbed a tree and surveyed the area. He saw what looked like a clearing several miles away. Using a compa.s.s he'd found in the plane's detached tail, McCollom plotted a course they could follow to reach it. With his companions' injuries festering, and with little water and no food but hard sucking candies, they'd need to get to the clearing as soon as Margaret and Decker felt strong enough to hike there. between the rock ledge and the wreckage, McCollom climbed a tree and surveyed the area. He saw what looked like a clearing several miles away. Using a compa.s.s he'd found in the plane's detached tail, McCollom plotted a course they could follow to reach it. With his companions' injuries festering, and with little water and no food but hard sucking candies, they'd need to get to the clearing as soon as Margaret and Decker felt strong enough to hike there.

Plane crash survivors are usually told to remain with the wreckage to increase their likelihood of being found. But the usual rules rarely applied in New Guinea. McCollom recognized that if they remained where they were, hidden under the jungle canopy, they faced certain death. Even if they reached the clearing, the likelihood of rescue seemed slim.

NEW GUINEA'S JUNGLES were boundless cemeteries of unmarked military graves. In April 1944, when the wife of a missing Army Air Forces pilot sought information about her husband's prospects, an officer wrote back with unusual candor: "It is necessary to cross high mountain ranges on practically every flight made on the island. Thick jungle growth goes right up to the tops of the peaks and entire squadrons could completely disappear under this foliage. No matter how thorough the search is, the possibility of locating the plane is rather remote. We have had numerous other instances of like nature and no word has come concerning those crews or airplanes. The weather and terrain account for more [downed] airplanes than combat flying." were boundless cemeteries of unmarked military graves. In April 1944, when the wife of a missing Army Air Forces pilot sought information about her husband's prospects, an officer wrote back with unusual candor: "It is necessary to cross high mountain ranges on practically every flight made on the island. Thick jungle growth goes right up to the tops of the peaks and entire squadrons could completely disappear under this foliage. No matter how thorough the search is, the possibility of locating the plane is rather remote. We have had numerous other instances of like nature and no word has come concerning those crews or airplanes. The weather and terrain account for more [downed] airplanes than combat flying."

More than six hundred American planes had crashed on the island since the start of the war, some in combat but many from rough weather, mechanical failures, pilot error, uncharted mountains hiding in clouds, or some combination. Hundreds more planes from j.a.pan, Australia, Great Britain, New Zealand, and the Netherlands had crashed on New Guinea, as well. Some were located after they went down, but many were concealed by the emerald green rain forests. By 1945, New Guinea was home to more missing airplanes than any country on earth.

Two and a half years earlier, in November 1942, a severe downdraft struck an American C-47 delivering troops and supplies to another part of the island. The plane crashed into a mountain at nine thousand feet, into conditions almost identical to those encountered by the survivors of the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special. Search planes flew one sortie after another, but found no trace of the C-47, which was nicknamed the Flying Dutchman Flying Dutchman.

Seventeen of the twenty-three men aboard survived the crash, though some had severe injuries. When no rescuers arrived, eight men felt fit enough to try to walk out of the jungle. They split up, leaving the crash site in two groups of four. On the fifth day of their trek, the first group came to a narrow gorge with a fast-moving river. They couldn't cross, so they tried to ride logs down the rapids. Two drowned. The other two eventually met friendly natives, who guided them from village to village. After thirty-two arduous days, they arrived at an Allied base. The second group had an easier time. They received help from natives after ten days, and within a month all four were safely out of the jungle.

The reappearance of survivors from the Flying Dutchman Flying Dutchman triggered a new search for the injured men left behind, but that failed, too. As a last-ditch effort, a reward was offered to any natives who discovered the wreck. More than sixty days after the crash, a group of natives came across a cl.u.s.ter of decaying bodies and a lone survivor, a U.S. Army chaplain described in one account as "blind from malnutrition and so light that he 'felt like a baby.'" Around him was a bare semicircle of dirt-near the end of his ordeal, he'd sustained himself by eating mountain moss within his reach. The natives offered him cooked banana, but he died in their arms. They left his body, but brought back his Bible as proof that they'd located the triggered a new search for the injured men left behind, but that failed, too. As a last-ditch effort, a reward was offered to any natives who discovered the wreck. More than sixty days after the crash, a group of natives came across a cl.u.s.ter of decaying bodies and a lone survivor, a U.S. Army chaplain described in one account as "blind from malnutrition and so light that he 'felt like a baby.'" Around him was a bare semicircle of dirt-near the end of his ordeal, he'd sustained himself by eating mountain moss within his reach. The natives offered him cooked banana, but he died in their arms. They left his body, but brought back his Bible as proof that they'd located the Flying Dutchman Flying Dutchman.

Long after, searchers returned to the wreck and found a rear cargo door where the survivors had kept a makes.h.i.+ft diary written in charcoal. The first entries were simple reports with an almost military tone. Each entry was a few words long, noting when the crash occurred, when each group of healthy survivors left, how the remaining men had tried to launch a balloon to attract searchers, and what food they'd found and eaten. The rationing of one chocolate bar and a single can of tomato juice took up five days' worth of entries.

After a while, when food, tomato juice, and cigarettes were gone, the entries scratched on the cargo door turned personal, revealing hope, fear, and occasional flashes of grim humor. On Friday, November 27, 1942, seventeen days after the crash, an entry read: "Buckets full [of] water this morn ... still got our chin up." Two days later: "Boy we're getting weak." But the diarist added, "Still have our hope." The next day: "Still going strong on imaginary meals." On Monday, December 7, the anniversary of Pearl Harbor, the entry read: "Year ago today the war started. Boy, we didn't think of this then." Two days later, a month after the crash: "Just thirty days ago. We can take it but it would be nice if someone came." A week later, as thoughts turned to Christmas: "Running out of imaginary meals. Boys shouldn't be long in coming now-6 more shoping [sic] days." Six days later: "Tonite is Christmas eve. G.o.d make them happy at home." Six days later: "Johnnie died today."

The entries petered out after two more days, seven weeks after the crash. The final entry noted that it was New Year's Eve. The three remaining survivors signed their names: Pat, Mart, and Ted. Days later, the natives found the wreckage. The last man to die-the blind, malnourished, moss-eating chaplain, down to his last breaths-was Captain Theodore Barron, known to his friends as Ted.

AT DAYLIGHT ON Tuesday, May 15, 1945, the second day after the Tuesday, May 15, 1945, the second day after the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special crash, McCollom announced that he'd changed his mind. They couldn't wait for Margaret and Decker to feel stronger before starting their trek to the clearing he'd spotted from the tree. crash, McCollom announced that he'd changed his mind. They couldn't wait for Margaret and Decker to feel stronger before starting their trek to the clearing he'd spotted from the tree.

With soiled and soggy bandages on their burns, McCollom feared, his companions would get worse before they got better. Already they moved slowly, as though swimming through honey, a side effect of their injuries, sleeplessness, empty stomachs, and the thin air more than a mile above sea level. A native would have considered the rain forest a mess hall overflowing with fruits and roots, birds and small mammals, but for the survivors it was as mysterious as a menu in Mandarin. The only nourishment they trusted was their hard candy Charms.

McCollom a.s.sembled most of their supplies in one of the remaining yellow tarpaulins. He packed a smaller one for Decker and gave Margaret a pail that he'd found in the plane's tail. Rattling around in it were her day's rations: two tins of water and a few cellophane-wrapped Charms.

McCollom returned to Laura Besley's body for a grisly but necessary task. He unwrapped the tarp and removed the flight suit he'd given her for warmth. Just as Margaret had shortened her uniforms when she'd first arrived in Hollandia, McCollom used his pocket knife to slice twelve inches of fabric from each cuff so Margaret could wear the flight suit without tripping over herself.

When McCollom brought her the suit, Margaret knew that it came from the body of her good friend and double-date partner. But she was glad to have it, just as she knew that wearing Laura's shoes might be the difference between life and death. Margaret still had the rayon underwear she'd stripped off after the crash, intending to make bandages. Now she tore the panties in half and used the fabric to cover the burns on her legs, so the rough flight suit wouldn't sc.r.a.pe against her charred skin.

Later, writing in her diary, Margaret wished that before they left the crash site they'd said a prayer, built a cross, or laid some kind of marker for the twenty-one friends, comrades, and McCollom's twin. Even a moment of silence would have made her feel better about their departure. But at the time, their only focus was on reaching a place where they might be spotted from the air.

The detached tail section of the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special. (Photo courtesy of U.S. Army.) "LET'S GO," MCCOLLOM ORDERED his two-person squad. He took the lead, Margaret followed close behind, and Decker brought up the rear. his two-person squad. He took the lead, Margaret followed close behind, and Decker brought up the rear.

They first had to climb up from the ledge where they'd spent the previous two nights and make their way past the wreckage. The growth was so thick that they made the most progress by crawling on their hands and knees. In a few places, a wrong step would mean a fall into a rocky ravine. In others, it would mean a deadly plunge over a cliff. It took an exhausting half hour just to get twenty-five yards past the plane.

Margaret tried to tie back her hair, which fell halfway down her back. But it was no use. It kept getting caught in the clawing vines and branches that surrounded them. They repeatedly had to halt their crawl-march to untangle it. In desperation, Margaret shook loose her hair and declared: "Please, McCollom, hack it off."

The lieutenant used his pocket knife to saw through chunks of Margaret's thick hair, dropping the cuttings where they stood. After working his way around Margaret's head, McCollom fas.h.i.+oned what Margaret called "a rather sad, three-inch 'feather' bob." They started out again, but still the jungle tore at her.

"For goodness sake, McCollom, I've got to get rid of this hair!" she yelled.

McCollom cut it even shorter.

Margaret's burns made each step painful. Decker, worse off, still unsteady from his head injury, moved stiffly but never complained.

As they inched through the mud and brush on the jungle floor, the trio stumbled upon what Margaret considered a miracle: a dry creek bed, or gully, that formed a narrow path down the mountain. Calling it miraculous mostly reveals how difficult the jungle was by contrast. The gully angled sharply downward, in some places forcing them to climb, slide, or jump down the rocky slope. The footing was unstable even along the flatter sections of the path, with loose stones that slid out from under them. In other places they had to climb over boulders and old tree trunks. But it was a trail nonetheless.

"It is foolish to think that we could have cut our way out of that dense, clinging jungle with a pocket knife, our only weapon," Margaret wrote in her diary. "The gully promised two things: a foothold in the jungle, precarious though it was, and eventual water."

Even as they followed the creek bed, the survivors had to stop and rest every half hour. After two breaks they noticed trickles of icy water draining into the gully from tiny mountain creeks. At first, they were delighted. Margaret and Decker, aching with thirst, announced that they intended to fill their stomachs as soon as the water became deep enough to collect. McCollom warned against it, worrying that waterborne germs would torture their bowels. But they were too excited to listen. In no time, the tributaries grew larger and they had more water than they wished for. It rose over their shoe tops and kept rus.h.i.+ng into the gully, threatening to sweep them down the mountain with the swift-moving stream.

They navigated the rougher spots by sliding along on their bottoms, getting soaked in the process. In the steepest places, waterfalls cascaded from two to ten feet down. The jungle bordered closely on both sides of the gully, so fallen logs rested in some of the waterfalls. Whenever possible, they used those logs as ladders or poles to climb down. When no logs were available, McCollom led the way, climbing down the falls hand over hand, the water pouring over his head. He stood at the bottom, under the rus.h.i.+ng water, as Margaret made her way down far enough to stand on his shoulders. She slid into his arms, and McCollom placed her in shallower water past the falls. When she was safe, he returned to help Decker.

They came to a twelve-foot waterfall, too high and too steep to try McCollom's shoulder trick. Margaret and Decker rested at the side of the stream, while McCollom fought his way into the encroaching jungle to search for a way around. But the growth was especially thick there, so he returned with a new idea.

McCollom grabbed a thick vine that hung from a tree alongside the falls. After testing it with his weight, he held tight to the vine, took a running jump, and swung over and beyond the falls. When he cleared the cascading water, he let himself down at the bottom. He tossed back the vine and told the others to follow.

Margaret didn't hesitate. She grabbed the vine and launched herself into s.p.a.ce. When she cleared the falls, McCollom caught her as she let go of the vine. Next came Decker, who followed suit.

When he was safely beside them, the sergeant deadpanned with a western drawl: "d.a.m.ned if I ever thought I'd understudy Johnny Weissmuller." Decker's mention of the vine-swinging movie star who played Tarzan made Margaret smile, though she overlooked the obvious implication: that made her Jane.

As they trudged onward, Margaret felt worse with each step. She was cold, wet, and exhausted. Her whole body ached. Tears welled in her eyes, but it was a point of pride with her not to cry.

From time to time they heard search planes overhead. As the thrum of each plane's engines grew closer, McCollom frantically worked the signal mirror. But he knew that the foliage canopy made the effort useless. Still, the sound alone was enough to revive their confidence that the Army Air Forces wouldn't give up.

McCollom's plan was to hike until early afternoon, then set up camp when the daily mist and rain rolled in. But the jungle bordering the stream was so relentless they couldn't find a spot on the bank large enough to stretch out. They kept moving until they could go no farther, eventually settling on a location that was far from ideal.

McCollom placed one tarp on the sodden ground and draped the other tarp over them as a cover. They ate a few Charms, then bunched together to keep warm as they slept. McCollom slid between Decker and Margaret, so he could care for them both if needed. Decker thought McCollom displayed "the old mother hen instinct," but he appreciated it and kept quiet.

Their campsite slanted sharply toward the stream, and several times during the night the trio rolled in a heap down the bank into the icy water. Each time they dragged out the tarps and their soggy selves and tried again to sleep.

Also disturbing their sleep was something they'd seen earlier in the day. While walking through the stream, they noticed an unmistakable sign that they weren't alone: outlined in the mud was a fresh human footprint. Further evidence of the natives came as they huddled under the tarps: they heard strange barking sounds in the distance.

AS FAR AS the three survivors knew, they were the first outsiders to trek through this part of New Guinea's mountainous rain forest. But they were mistaken. That distinction belonged to a wealthy amateur American zoologist who seven years earlier had led an expedition to New Guinea in search of undiscovered flora and fauna. the three survivors knew, they were the first outsiders to trek through this part of New Guinea's mountainous rain forest. But they were mistaken. That distinction belonged to a wealthy amateur American zoologist who seven years earlier had led an expedition to New Guinea in search of undiscovered flora and fauna.

One unfortunate result of that 1938 expedition was an act of deadly violence. The question now was whether that legacy would threaten the three survivors of the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special.

Chapter 8

GENTLEMAN EXPLORER