 The latest weapons, coupled with the fighting skill of the American soldier, stand ready on the alert all over the world to defend this country. View the American people against aggression. This is The Big Picture, an official television report to the nation from the United States Army. Now to show you part of The Big Picture, here is Sergeant Stuart Queen. What do you think of when you hear the word Alaska? Chances are you think of cold, ice and snow. A bleak windswept area over which Arctic winds howl in frigid fury. And when you hear about American soldiers stationed there, you think of them in heavy parkas mushing through heavy drifts of snow, fighting the freezing temperature at every step. But there is another side to Alaska, a warmer side. When snow and ice melt under the summer sun and become rushing streams, heading for the sea. These streams and rivers are of critical importance to the soldier in Alaska. Recently, we sent a Big Picture camera crew to Alaska to accompany a small combat unit on an unusual training mission along some of these inland waterways of the land of the midnight sun. The story begins a few months before the mission took place, the day we arrived in Alaska. From a ship we went right aboard a train speeding us through rolling country at first speckled with white, then all white except for the moose scurrying along trying to keep pace with us. From the moment we arrived at the post, one point was clear. If you're stationed in Alaska, you must know how to ski. We were soon waxing those skis, like old hands ready for a weekend at Stowe or Aspen. But there the resemblance ended. Most of us had never touched skis before. Some had never even seen snow. But you learn, you know how it is. The army says do, and you learn, and you do. Simple. Yes, we learned a lot of things that mean survival in the far north. And many a night we camped out where we didn't hear the wail of crickets, but the whine of an arctic wind through the other walls. And since the whole point of being there is to be prepared, we didn't neglect the range work. No, sir. If you get the idea we mean business in Alaska, that's just about it. A quick look at a map tells the story. Superimposed over the United States, Alaska would extend from Atlantic to Pacific, from Canada to Mexico. As well as being huge, it's a hot place in the Cold War. Johnny on the spot of an enemy's arctic invasion. And Russia is only 56 miles across the Bering Strait, enough said. So this wide open country, originally populated largely by Eskimos, is the western end of our arctic ramparts of defense. In itself it may not look like any paradise. It is an empty place, a cold place where nothing comes easy, least of all the necessities of life. But the Eskimos manage, by adjusting, by inventing, to travel they develop the dog sled, and the lightweight skin covered kayak. Local animals manage right well, thank you. Except for those who have the bad luck of winding up as Milady's new fur coat. But most of the animals live it up, cavort around in the wide open spaces, as if they own the place. Who's to say they don't? In our free time in Alaska, we walked along the sidewalks of the cities, which reminded us very much, in appearance and general spirit, of the hometowns we'd left behind. Take Juneau, Fairbanks, Anchorage, Nome. They might not be large by stateside standards, but they are centers of business and social activities, as well as government agencies serving wide tributary areas. Some days we'd go along the wharves, and watch the fish come in. Salmon fishing and canning rank first among Alaskan industries today. And it could be that Alaska is as rich in land products as she is in those from the sea. Mining for gold and other metals is big business in Alaska. And joint machines scour the earth using methods a long, long way from the old days of the sourdough in his pan. Meanwhile, the months pass, and winter slowly gave way to spring. And spring edged towards summer. And even the totem poles seemed to look more cheerful about it. Away from the cities, nature was doing its work. The sun was stronger now and the snow and ice which covered everything during the winter turned to liquid under the warm rays and became rushing streams, heading for the sea. During the shorts of Arctic summer, the water creates thousands of miles of navigable rivers and lakes in a region where there are few roads and highways. A river can serve as a military highway during the summer. That's why many of us feel more akin to the Navy than soldiers stationed elsewhere. Especially toward the end of summer when we go through special boat training before the final mission that is the climax. It sounded simple as the briefing officer described the mission. A simulated attack on an aggressor-held bridge. Not too tough, but the catch was we would have to travel a distance of 100 miles by river, bivouacking one night en route. Then, about two miles above the bridge, we would disembark and move over land to our target. So, we went to work. First off, at the assembly area, we checked the boats and equipment. Our many hours of training and handling small rivercraft paid off now. The lift mechanism, for example, that raises and lowers the motor, we checked it out carefully. We knew just what to look for, what questions to answer. How about the hull? Any damages, holes or cuts that need repair? Outboard motors thrive on a blend of gasoline and oil, but you have to make sure it's the right blend. We loaded plenty of ammunition on the trucks which were to take us to the embarkation point. The boats were placed on the trailer trucks and lashed down securely. We weren't taking chances on any damage en route to the launching site. Equipment? You name it. We had it for any foreseeable emergency. Motors, oars, boat boats, life preserves, spare parts, first aid kits, anchors, ropes, gas tanks, gas cans, and of course the payoff weapons when we come charging off the boats. Each platoon had six two-and-a-half-ton trucks with boat trailers for transportation of personnel and boats. At 0600 the next morning, our company set out for the embarkation point. It was a perfect spring-like morning as we came down the tree-shaded road toward the river. We backed the boat trailers up to the water's edge. Then, with no bottle of champagne, thank you, we launched the boats. Don't get the idea these are ordinary boats. They're made to specifications for subarctic river travel. Built with a slightly rounded shallow draft bottom, they are highly maneuverable. One of them can hold a rifle squad and equipment. The motor used is a short-shaft 25-horsepower outboard job. It weighs about 100 pounds and a safety chain is hooked to it so if it works loose it can be recovered. The motor is hung on the motor lift in the stern and the clamp screws are drawn up tight to prevent the motor from going overboard on turns. A maintenance boat will go along with the movement, which is led by an officer who will ride in a command boat. Equipment, weapons and supplies are put aboard. We placed the cargo carefully so the weight was evenly distributed. You don't have to be a Navy man to know that the unbalanced cargo could mean winding up in the drink. We set weapons and ammunition where we could reach them in a hurry since there was always the chance of being spotted by an aggressor patrol. Loads were lashed securely to seats and lifting strakes. We used our old Boy Scout slipknot so the weapons could be pulled out quickly. All of us knew if the boat was swamped what wasn't tied down was lost. Aside from life preservers, none of us rode with any equipment strapped onto him. It felt like a plumb line with a dead weight on your back. No, this job wasn't going to be what it looked like, moving across a glass-smooth lake. At 07.30 hours, we pushed off, kind of a little flotilla deep in the heart of Alaska. To our stern was the maintenance boat with two trained mechanics, a spare motor and parts needed to make repairs en route. We hoped we didn't need them, but it felt good to have them along. We moved along the river in a definite formation. The reconnaissance boat leads the way, followed by the command boat. Next to the last boat in the column comes the repair boat, followed by a squad boat for rear security. Even though at times we were out of sight of each other, we made sure to be always in communication. On those fast-flowing Alaska rivers, obstacles are all around you, even over you, when you consider the sweepers looming out above the water, spoiling for trouble. The boat operator is the key man, and some rest the responsibility for moving us to the target. Dry, that is. Broken field running through these obstacles requires alertness, navigating skill. One error in judgment, and you can kiss the mission goodbye. And the trickiest thing about it is that rivers change from month to month. There can never be any certainty of what lies ahead. It's not at all like following a road map. A man overboard in the icy, fast-moving current is a devil of a time making it to shore without a preserver. The silt in the water would get in his clothes and weigh him down. You never know what to expect in a subarctic river. Debris, constantly shifting channels, fast currents, sandbars, every obstacle in the boat, and some that haven't been written yet. The operator has to be on top of every situation. If, for example, the boats motor is pushing along at 15 miles per hour, an additional 10 miles per hour current would make the actual speed of the boat 25 miles per hour. The operator has to gauge this and have an accurate idea of his speed at all times. A 10 mile per hour current really whips you along when you're shooting downstream. And to the inexperienced man, there might be a temptation to pull out all stops and let her rip. But even a speed of 25 miles per hour is safe only when a long stretch of waterway is ahead, and you can see clearly. But most subarctic rivers just weren't designed that way. All at once, the calm stretch we had been blessed with came to an end. Rough waters were ahead where another river joined. The reconnaissance boat leads the way, followed by the command boat. It's the job of reconnaissance boat crewman to select the best channel for the boat following. But still, the responsibility for piloting each boat has to rest with the individual operator. He works the throttle carefully. He knows enough not to operate at full throttle in strong currents, and the currents come strong in Alaska. Take away the skilled operator with power at his fingertips and a boat is just as helpless as a log in these kind of waters. An inexperienced man would be lucky to bring the boat through. We cleared the rough water and the operator steered the course close to the river bank. He knows how to read the river all right as if there were signs posted along it. What are some of those signs? Well, when there is a steep bank, the channel is almost always deep. And another indication of deep water is a wave-like current. The sign for shallow water is often a rippling type of current. Proper use of the oars and boat poles is the way we prevent grounding. Yes, river signs are important to a boat operator, and he must know how to read them. If he doesn't have enough troubles, there are further complications. Suppose a breeze blows up. It may be harmless in itself all right, but it can sure deceive the river traveler. It can cause the water to ripple, jumbling the usual river signs and confusing the dickens out of the operator. It's as if some joker switches the road markers on a highway, so arrows point in the opposite directions from where they should. Deceptive winds also make underwater obstructions invisible if the murky water hasn't done the camouflage job by this time. What we did was pick a channel with the least ripples near the steepest bank and with a fast current. Although boats are at times out of visual contact with each other, they remain in communication with the commander. He must be advised of anything out of the ordinary. We had come a long way, but suddenly, trouble. One boat has to hold up while some minor motor repairs are made by the operator. Luckily, the river at this point is wide and not too swift, so the boat may be anchored. We operate on the buddy system for safety's sake. Not only for individual soldiers, but for the boats. The boat that follows stays close and circles the area while repairs are made. It's not serious. If it was, the repair boat would be called and the motor replaced with a spare. Once the repairs are completed, we're all on our way again. Whoops, more trouble. We're grounded on a sandbar, a few hundred yards downriver. The poles come in handy, as usual. But not as handy as we thought this time. There was just one thing to do. Everybody out and push. Leaving the operator to hold the fort alone, we all climbed out and applied some muscle. To avoid damage by the propeller dragging on the bottom, the motor had been raised. No damage done except for a little lost paint. On we go down the river. It seems endless, and the time seems endless as we move steadily toward our target. Our admiration for the operator's never slackened off. When unavoidable underwater obstructions are met, he quickly idles the motor and pushes the lift handle forward, raising the skag and propeller. When the obstacle is passed, the motor is lowered into the water cautiously and then wrapped up as the boat enters deep, unobstructed water again. Perfect timing. That's what it takes to handle rivercraft on Alaska's inland waterways. In swift currents, timing is also vital, or else the operator may lose control, crack up on some obstacle and swamp the boat. Our boat ran into a common type of accident, and underwater obstruction hit the propeller, snapping off the shear pin in the propeller shaft. While the repair job was carried out, we kept the boat under control with the oars. The broken shear pin was driven out and the propeller removed. We had to make certain no pieces of the broken pin remain to get into the bearings. Then we replaced the propeller and inserted a new shear pin. Oars and boat poles were set back in position and we were on our way. Again, we came to a point where there was a convergence of two swift channels. We could see sandbars in a kind of turbulent, frothy area that looked mighty mean. On a river we had found out, you've just got to believe in science. So we took the long, safe way around. Nights aren't dark in the subarctic summer. Daylight merely dims. It's like pulling down the shades in the late afternoon. Time for bivouac at a site selected in the original planning for the operation. The boats turned off the main channel and headed for the site. It was a well-sheltered area with adequate beaching facilities, drinking water, and natural cover. And not very far away now was the objective. The bridge we were going to attack. We set up a perimeter defense in and around the area. Boats had pulled in close to shore to make the most of the natural concealment. But before we relaxed, we made a careful check of the motors and cleaned and bailed the boats. A cup of coffee and a smoke before turning in. No smoky fires, though. Smoke could reveal our position to aggressor patrols. We didn't sit around and talk much. We just headed for some shut-eye. The next morning, the final lay. An aggressor reconnaissance plane is spotted. We took cover along the shore under the overhanging branches. And we're on our way again. We're closing in on our objective. About a mile away from the debarkation point, the motors are cut and raised. In silence, the boats drift downstream. We've come a long way for this moment. Two miles away is a bridge defended by an aggressor platoon. It is our job to move in and simulate destruction of the bridge. So far, so good. Nature's highway has carried us to the very shadow of the target. And now for the big job we have come to do. Rested and confident, having mastered the inland waterways of the land of the midnight sun, we move out. Sure of ourselves, our weapons, and our ability to accomplish our mission. In Alaska during the summer months, the Army makes full use of navigable inland waterways. Another forward step in strengthening our Arctic bulwark in the free world's line of defense. Now this is Sergeant Stuart Queen. Inviting you to be with us again for another look at your Army in action. On The Big Picture. The Big Picture is a weekly television report to the nation on the activities of the Army at home and overseas. Produced by the Army Pictorial Center. Presented by the United States Army in cooperation with this station.