Halfway across the world, I walk into evacuated Rangoon in Burma and find the houses blazing along deserted streets.
The Japanese are 30 miles away.
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The one undismayed force in Burma were unforgettable heroes of the Flying Tigers on airfield north of Rangoon.
They were a new type of fighting man.
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The last American trucks to get up the Burma Road to China with military supplies.
I get a complete picture story on the Burma Road just as it becomes useless.
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The saddest flight I saw was the exodus of Burma's Indian artisians from Burma, suffering robbery and murder
by Burmese who had always despised them.
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Oilfields of Yenangyaung have not yet been blown up when I ride through ahead of Japs.
My best friend now is my jeep, obtained under lend-lease to China.
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A famous meeting at Maymyo shown (from left) Generalissimo Chiang, Madame Chiang, Author Clare Boothe,
General Stilwell, publicist Hollington Tong.
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We decided to clear out of Burma by going through the unexplored Naga Hills.
Here we get a 50-gal. drum of gasoline and inaccurate maps of the Naga country.
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Our two jeeps cross the Irrawaddy at Bhamo. Currents spin rafts around, nearly dumping jeeps in river.
The trick is to balance the jeeps in center of raft.
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We get a lift on the railway from Myitkyina to Mogaung.
Chinese characters were written by officials at Rangoon who lent us jeeps to drive to Burma Road.
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Kachin tribesmen, many of whom had never seen a wheel, let alone a jeep, admire it.
They told one another how it flew, swam, roared like a tiger when angry.
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The rains had come and made clay ox tracks all but impassable.
One jeep pulls other out of bog.
Behind is the green jungle of tigers, leopards, huge snakes.
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We have to widen this foot bridge to get the jeeps across, for river is too deep to ford.
The only tool used by Kachins is the dah, a big, broad-bladed sword.
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It takes 50 Kachin tribesmen all morning to haul my jeep up the slipping 20-ft. bank of this stream.
We travel from 6:30 a.m. to 4 p.m. in the driving rain.
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The track almost disappears in one of the steaming, malarial tropical valleys where vast herds of
wild elephants roam between 12,000-ft. mountain ranges.
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The final disaster comes when both jeeps skid down 200-ft. ravine.
It is impossible to get up the muddy hill so we have to abandon our jeeps, proceed on foot.
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The Naga head-hunters cheerfully help us out on a promise of getting paid in Assam.
Communication is hopeless until they recognize name of destination - Ledo.
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I cross an amazing Naga bridge of bamboo.
The curse of this trip is the plague of big purple leeches crawling up legs and down collar,
leaving running wounds.
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Trailed by head-hunter carriers, I come down the homestretch.
Here my film gives out so my photographic story ends just before I reach civilization in Assam.
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PHOTOGRAPHER IN BURMA
