Get to it David. My Dad was stationed in India, with the 412th. He seemed to get into more trouble than anything else. When he got to India one of his home town buddies was already there. Herbert, my Dad's buddy, spoke a couple languages and several dialects, and had made friends with the big shots in several of the local villages. They used to get Herbert and Dad to do animal control for them. Once they had a troop of some kind of monkey ripping up the village, they ate some fermented fruit and had them all drunk, the monkey's, that is. Dad shot one in the chest with an M1. He said it stood up and put a finger in the bullet hole, held it's bloody hand out, then fell out of the tree. He said it looked so like a human he could never hurt a monkey again. Another time they had a man killing tiger in a village and he and Herbert rigged up an ambulance with a twin 50 waist gun, a floor full of batteries and a couple headlights off a plane. Unfortunately, the rains had started up river, and they lost the ambulance in the river. He had to do 30 days in confinement for that one, and pay for the ambulance on the monthly deduction plan. He said he got off easy on that one because they never recovered the ambulance so they never found out about the machine gun mounted in the back. He also contracted Jungle Fever and Brain Malaria at the same time. He got a 10% disability for that, but after the war he never applied for it. He passed away in 2004 at 81. He was so healthy I thought he'd make it to 100 easy. Prostrate cancer got him. I still miss him every day, Joe.
