Excerpt from 
  The Grasshopper That Roared 
    by Lieutenant Colonel Jean L. Chase, 
    U.S. Army (1921--2008) 
       Hardcover; 6" x 9"; 256 pages; Illustrated; ISBN: 0-913337-54-4; 
      $30 Retail 

The corps artillery G-2 sent me to knock out a bridge on a lateral road. Our intelligence people reported the Japanese were using it at night to shuttle troops from one side of the battle area to the other. A small stream flowed under the bridge from a swamp and rain forest on the far side. Down stream, on the near side of the bridge, were several trenches and dugouts constructed into each bank. These were probably living quarters for the bridge security troops. The bridge span appeared to be about 20 yards long. The target was probably 5,000 yards beyond our forward elements. 

Having received some small arms fire on the way out I had climbed a bit higher. If you were shot down out there, it would be unlikely that you could make it back to our troops. You did however bring your map up to date as you flew to the target. I positioned myself off to the side of the line of fire of the 155 howitzer battalion that had been assigned to shoot the mission and contacted them by radio. It was necessary to use the corps common channel because the battalion to fire the mission belonged to the 24th Division.  

The fire mission data was transmitted including type of target and the coordinates. I received an “on the way” and saw the burst land approximately 300 yards short of the bridge. The deflection looked okay. My next command was “add 200,” knowing full well the round probably would be short, but it would hit in the vicinity of the trenches and dugouts short of the bridge. Any “overs” would land harmlessly in the swamp.  

To my astonishment, the reply I received was unheard of in combat. 

“This is Major Segal, the battalion S3. I am giving you ‘add 600 yards.’ Pilots are creeping on the targets and not getting a bracket.” 

“Major, I repeat my command: ADD 200.” 

“We will give you 600 yards by order of Major Segal.” 

I could not believe what I heard. It made me mad. In fact it made me damned mad, sitting out there 5,000 yards deep behind the enemy's lines.  

“Cease fire! End of mission. Am going home.”  

I took my earphones off and hung them up. My hands were shaking so badly it was hard to hit the hook to hang up the earphones. Mad, you bet your life. As mad as a cat with his tail caught in the kitchen door. I couldn’t reach the radio to shut it off. The volume on the radio was high and someone was still yelling at me.  

Upon landing the Operation Sergeant informed me to immediately call Major Segal at the battalion fire direction center. He added that this was an order. Major Segal was very abrupt and wanted to know what I thought I was doing by refusing to fire the mission. 

With eight months of combat shooting under my belt, I thought I was pretty good at attacking a target. I’m sure this experience influenced my answer. 

“Major,” I said, “With all due respects, if you can fire a problem off that map you have in fire direction, there is no damned reason for me to be 5,000 yards into enemy territory and getting shot at by those damned Japs.”  

Continuing, “If I fire a problem for you and you wish to critique the problem when I’m finished you have every right to do so. But when I ask for fire on a target I expect to get exactly what is asked for.” 

“Well captain we’ll see about that,” he replied. 

I called the Corps Artillery G-3, a full colonel, and  explained the nature of the target, why “creeping” was the way to save ammunition and do the most damage to the enemy and why I had refused to continue and shoot a bunch of worthless rounds into a swamp. He knew I was mad and told me to cool down. 

The next day a written order from Xth Corps Artillery went out to all battalions stating that pilots would get what they asked for when firing an artillery mission, and if necessary the mission could be critiqued and appropriate action taken to correct any errors. 

I later learned that the major had been a gunnery instructor at the Artillery School and this was his first combat assignment. (Creeping was a dirty word at Fort Sill.) I had no further contact with the major. He learned, as we all did, that combat experience is a great teacher. You could break the rules in the army, but you better know what you are doing because you will either end up a hero or a heel.  

Another Cub, later that day, knocked out the bridge.