“Need you here to lead a unit to mount sabotage ops and intel gathering behind Jap lines in Burma. Get four or five guys you trust with your life and get here.” Signed, “Joseph Stilwell, Major General, Commander American Forces in China-Burma-India (CBI) Theatre.”
He picked up the phone and called Captain John Coughlin, his executive officer. “John, Carl here. Round up the other OSS guys, Sergeant Curl, Archie Ming and Bob Aitken and meet me in the company duty office in an hour.”
The duty office was a bare bones windowless room. A poster of Uncle Sam, a scowl on his face and pointing a finger at the observer ordering “I Want You!” hung on one wall. The other walls were bare. The floor was covered in dark linoleum that had seen better days. A small conference table with mismatched chairs commanded the center of the room. As the men filed into the empty room they saw Eifler standing at the end of the table with a sly smile on his face. Captain Archie Chun Ming, company medical officer, noticed the smile. “Our fearless leader is showing us his patented shit-eating grin. We’re probably in deep doo-doo.”
Coughlin laughed, “Christ, not again.”
Quiet, thoughtful Captain Robert Aiken, a member of the Army’s Hawaiian Intelligence Department silently took a seat, followed by Master Sergeant Vincent Curl. Eifler passed out copies of the telegram. Each of the men took a copy and gave it a quick scan. They looked at each other. Coughlin said, grinning, “When do we leave?”
Sergeant Curl said, “Fuckin’ Burma? It’s all jungle and swamps. They’ve got mosquitoes the size of dragonflies and spiders the size of dinner plates there. If the spiders bite you, your cock will fall off. It’s even more humid there than it is here, if that’s possible.”
Eifler said, “Well, I, for one, am bored shitless. Aren’t you guys getting tired of sitting around on your asses while there is a war on? Do you want to miss out on being a member of the soon-to-be famous “Co-coordinator of Information Service Unit Detachment 101.”
The room erupted in laughter. Even Aitken chuckled. “Heavens to Betsy, no!” Ming chortled, “But what happened to the other 100 Detachments?”
Curl said, “Shit, they’re probably chilled out on the beach at Waikiki, snortin’ down mai-tais and gettin’ laid every night.”
Eifler said, “O.K., get your gear together and meet me on the flight line at 07:00 tomorrow. “Dress is casual. Don’t bother with your long johns.”
From Chapter IV, World War II Black Ops, Vol. II