Action for Men, May 1960 — page 38: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

streets and attacked the Japanese with clubs, paving stones and knives. In the street fighting which raged for two days, 106 Japanese were killed or wounded. The uprising was put down, of course, but Jap morale was severely shaken. The 1943 Imperial B-4 Series of bank notes was withdrawn from circulation by Tokyo which promised to issue new notes of a distinctive and hard-to-copy design. EAMINGTON was jubilant by now. “We’re making real trouble for the en- emy, Miller, thanks to you. But I’ve got a job you can really sink your teeth into. You won’t be making queer Nip money any longer.” Lucky was puzzled. “I won't, sir? Then what will I be doing? I liked making money.” Major Leamington said: “You’re now a Jap publisher, my friend. You will edit and print a Nip newspaper, right down to the last curlicue on their blinking type. You will tell the enemy of the damnedest things that are happening on the home front—their women are fed up and cheating, their kids are roaming the streets, their savings are being confiscated by the government, cheery news like that.” He jabbed a finger at Miller. “D’you ever hear of the Osaka Shimbun?” “No, major, I haven't.” “Well, you’re now its editor and publisher. The paper you get out will look, feel, read and even smell like the real Osaka Shimbun. If the Nips read it and believe it, Miller, that paper will be the equivalent of winning a dozen major engagements!” On September 14, 1943, several ATC cargo planes set down at Parnamirim Air- field with many heavy crates bearing top secret seals. Military trucks and jeeps rushed the boxes to the hidden printing plant on the bank of the Jumna River. Here Lucky Miller and a dozen British and American enlisted men—former printers and machinists—set to work assembling the presses, linotypes, paper cutters, ink-mixing vats and other apparatus. But they had no Japanese type as yet. Leamington said: “There may be a supply of Jap type in New Dehli, owned by a little printer named Gabruhindi who has played around with Nip agents. We’ve suspected him but haven’t got any evidence. You’re not averse to forcible entry, Miller—the police records back home show that. And the printer’— Leamington shot an appraising glance at Ellie Cates—“likes European women. It shouldn’t be difficult for you to get him to hand over the type.” Ellie’s charms had softened up Gabru- hindi; the printer’s mallet, wielded by the girl, had done the rest. Now the oily little Jap agent was dead and all his oriental type font, from 8-point classified ad slugs to ban- ner headline letters, were in British hands. Gabruhindi’s type faces were sorted and put in order by the Russian girl, Olga. Lucky, listening to the radio as he tinkered with an electrotyping machine which had been rustled up by the “P Division” in Ceylon, was startled when the announcer said: “.. the escape from the Red Fort was led by one Fuyoki Ito, an enemy internee, known for his derisive pro-Axis cartoons and utter- ances. Disguised as a Buddhist monk, with cowl, gray cloak and begging bowl, the artist 38 walked from The Fort to freedom after sawing open a gate in a remote part of the grounds. Five other prisoners also vanished.” Lucky shrugged. Ito was a fanatic. But he had.learned much about Japanese art and engraving from the. man. The police prob- bly would find him within hours. That night he went to a lavish and dimly lit bar near the Kashmir Gate operated by an old associate who had once steered suckers his way ... for a price. Now Miller downed a number of gin-and-tonics and won- dered darkly how he had gotten mixed up with Major Leamington. Opportunity was passing him by. BE NXVIOUSLY, he looked at the signs of prosperity all around: black-marketeers swilling the best Scotch whisky; sleek Eu- rasion girls wearing expensive clothes and jewels; little beturbaned men with satchels running to and from the men’s room to show their wares: illicit gold bars, Italian and German bank notes, heavily discounted ; sulfa drugs and nylon stockings. Lucky sighed as he reached for his hat and went out into the night. To hell with the war effort and the major. He’d get back to his own profitable rackets damned quick. So engrossed was he in his thoughts of lost profits and missed opportunities in war- time New Delhi that he didn’t pay attention to the beggar following him. “Alms, sahib? Just a few rupees—an anna —for a blessing, sahib?” Absently, he dug in his pockets for a coin. He started to swear as wiry arms went arund his neck and he was dragged into an alley. Just ahead of him had been the dimmed lights of Chandni Chauk, the “Silver Street” ; but here in the damp and malodor- ous alley were just beggars in filthy dhotis, a snoring leper, and two ragged children cooking something over a fire kindled from cow dung. LUCckY’s assailant wore a Buddist cloak and carried a wooden begging bowl. Just before he raised the heavy bowl and brought it crashing down on Miller’s skull, Lucky recognized the man. “Ito! What the hell—” “You are a liar and a spy, Miller-san, one who plays tricks,” said the Japanese. “You fooled me in The Fort. I taught you Japa- nese art. Now I show you something else.” The blow on the head sent Miller sprawl- ing in the gutter which reeked of urine and the dung of sacred cows. Dazed and unable to move, the Englishman saw Ito- whip a long knife from the voluminous folds of his monk’s garb. The slash of the blade was quick. Ito’s victim felt his cheek rip open and become a dangling flap. Blood flowed into his mouth; Miller gagged. Ito bent down in a crouch and twisted the knife. What it did to Lucky’s handsome features was indescrib- able. The swindler and counterfeiter was found by police an hour later, weak from loss of blood. After two weeks of treatment, he was released from Hoogli Municipal Hospital. “Don’t worry too much about your looks, Miller,” the surgeon said. “We're learning more all the time about plastic surgery. Cor- rective operations, in time, may remove the disfigurement.” Miller nodded somberly and got into a car which Major Leamington drove off to the printing establishment. Lucky spoke just ~ once on the long ride. “Don’t try to pity me, sir. They’re my enemy now, too, the Nips.” He fingered his heavily bandaged face. “I'll fight them in my own way for you. You don't have to make me do it. I want to.” Between November, 1943, and March, 1944, more than 40 issues of the bogus Osaka Shimbun were printed under the direction of Lucky Miller. These were dropped or smuggled into Burma where they were avidly snatched up by news-hungry Jap troops. Each press run of 25,000 copies paid off in desertions, insubordination to Japanese officers, discontent in the ranks. A silent and dedicated man now, Lucky worked day and night, his mind seething with new ideas for improving his fake news- paper and devising other ways of harassing the enemy. He skillfully copied a Japanese censor’s “chop,” or stamp, and developed a photo- graphic method of producing letters from Japan which were dropped in the Burmese jungles and other theaters of war. These fake messages from wives and sweethearts were gloomy and defeatist in tone. They went into details about hardships and suf- fering at home. | The unwritten suggestion between the lines always was clear—desert! Day after day, Leamington and Miller pored over microfilmed copies of legitimate Jap news- papers, skillfully rewriting the news so that the sham Osaka Shimbun became an organ of despair and bitterness. “Here is a street map of Tokyo, major. I’ve marked the red-light district in pencil. Why not put it on the front page and tell those dirty fighters that the Yanks have bombed Yoshiwara out of existence? That'll make them sweat!” It was a real coup. Later a captured Japa- nese -officer, a Lieutenant Tosho who had been educated at the University of Kansas, told Leamington: “Morale is very bad among my men. In vain, we told them that the British are tricking them and not to believe stories like the annihilation of the Yoshiwara district of Tokyo. But they cannot imagine that a Japanese newspaper would lie.” He smiled wryly, but his eyes were hard behind their horn-rimmed glasses. ‘“Con- gratulations, gentlemen. You have hit upon a fortunate propaganda device. I admit I hate you for it.” BY August, the British estimated that 12,000 Jap soldiers had surrendered in the preceding months chiefly because of the faked newspaper, forged letters from home, simulated soldiers’ diaries and bogus com- munications from officers which reflected terror and demoralization. All were pro- duced by Lucky Miller, thanks to Gabru- hindi’s type fonts and the training he had received from Ito in The Fort. Elton Kingsley, a former operative for the OSS in the CBI theater, observed, the workings of “Project Bash,” as the British called it, and told this writer: “Whole forward units of the Japanese 18th, Division in North Burma threw down ‘their arms. We had intelligence intercepts, in- cluding a military order from the desperate Japanese command, listing the punishments meted out to troops who deserted, especially in battle. Miller’s skill with Jap type, plates, CconnicoooKSs