Combat Reporter: Don Whitehead's World War II Diary and Memoirs

Appendix

Appendix Editor’s note: Don Whitehead and Thoburn Wiant, formerly members of the Associated Press staff in New York, joined the AP staff of war correspondents in the Middle East in October . The first two stories that follow were cowritten and carried both bylines. CAIRO, October 12—America’s armed forces are shoving aside the twin barriers of time and distance to pour a rising tide of men and materials into four vital fronts of the second world war: the Middle East, Russia, India, and China. America is on the move in Africa. That’s what we saw on a 10,000-mile journey by air from the United States to this city in the Valley of the Nile, about 150 miles from the Egyptian desert battlement. Tough, tanned Americans, fresh from battle training and technical schooling back home, are ripping apart jungles and establishing new bases in the blazing heat of the desert in preparation for the day when the United Nations forces will move to drive Marshal Rommel ’s armies from North Africa. The movement of men, munitions, tanks, and planes by land, sea, and air has not yet reached flood tide. The desert front is the immediate scene of action, nevertheless United Nations forces are keeping a wary eye cocked on relations between Berlin and Vichy, since there is more than academic interest in Vichy’s attitude. Speed has been the keynote of the American move into Africa. There are many little Americas in Africa—places which have conveniences such as electric lights, running water, showers, ice, and cold beer. These things might be classed by some as unnecessary luxuries, but they are permanent fixtures which demonstrate that the Americans have arrived. At one stop we looked with amazement upon what might have been an encampment somewhere in the United States, yet we were told that its site was wild and totally undeveloped only a few months ago. There 216 Appendix were rows of modern barracks, each with electric lights, running water, showers, and good beds, reminding us of college dormitories. Winding through jungles were miles of paved roads. Desks, chairs, tables, and even wastepaper baskets were made of solid mahogany—so plentiful that it was used also in floors, walls, and rafters. The men smoked American cigarettes and there was plenty of American food. The Army does everything to feed the men well, and it is a bit surprising to sit at a mess in a remote camp and be served a good steak, baked beans, green salad, coffee, and cake. We were impressed by the morale of men everywhere we went. We heard occasional griping, but the gripes mostly were those you would hear anywhere along main streets back home. What they want most is action. We found health conditions excellent, every safeguard having been taken on a past, present, and future basis. Before troops moved into any camp, medical officers surveyed the area for miles around and took every known precaution against malaria and other prevalent diseases. Long before a spade was turned, plans for encampments were blueprinted in the United States, but engineers often came up against problems not solved by blueprints. That is where ingenuity played a big part and when necessary they improvised, often using native methods such as constructing light, airy buildings of native materials which required no priorities. Not a nail was used in some of these structures. Sidewalls, supports, and roof poles were lashed with strong fibers obtained from the jungle. Roofs were thatched. But while they have Americanized their bases as much as possible, with movies for entertainment, most lads still look on Africa as a strange and awesome continent. They were hungry for news from home. These Americans are in Africa to do a job—but they want to get it finished. As one soldier put it, ‘‘I want to stick my feet under Mom’s table as soon as possible and have a mess of fried chicken, hot biscuits, country ham, four eggs sunny side up, and some of her good freckleface gravy. So let’s get going.’’ CAIRO, October 13—Incredible Cairo is living in the valley of the shadow of war, trying desperately to be gay and normal, succeeding only in being gay. Appendix 217 There’s a note of hysteria in the babble of voices, the constant blatting of automobile horns, the restless surge of humanity through the streets...