World War II: The Autobiography (42 page)

Received about 40 casualties – civilian and military – latter chiefly mortar wounds.

Went to Alexandra Military Hospital in evening to see Bingham.

Tuesday February 10th

Japs effect further landings on north coast and occupy Tengah aerodrome. One alert in morning.

Go to town in afternoon with Rupert Shelley – town deserted. Shell fire and machine gun fire all night.

Wednesday February 11th

Go to town in morning. Air of impending dissolution about the place. Numerous fires. Stick of bombs drop a waterspout in front of Gable & Wireless office whilst sending off cable to Kitty. Shells whistling past on way home to K.K. Innumerable air raids throughout day. Tanglin machine gunned. Farrar Park in front of hospital full of gun positions and troops digging in. All hospitals full save K.K. Admit 60 casualties.

No sleep at night because of heavy guns close at hand.

Thursday February 12th

Friday February 13th

Working in theatre till midnight. Went to bed in flat as usual but awakened by the most terrific artillery barrage imaginable – 30 large guns in Farrar Park opposite. Later machine gun fire and rifle fire. Japs opened with field mortars. Got up 4 a.m. and visited Sisters Quarters to see everyone O.K.

Saturday February 14th

Direct hits on Sisters Quarters and on end of front block of hospital by shells.

An orderly was cleaning an enamel plate when a piece of shrapnel went clean thro’ plate making a circular hole in middle of plate – nobody hurt. Heavy fighting round reservoir.

Sunday February 15th

Hospital shelled and dive bombed from 2 p.m. till dusk – ghastly experience. 97 6 inch shells sent over. About 16 direct hits on hospital, 3 on nurses quarters and 2 on our flat. Had a hectic time putting patients under their beds with shells whizzing by. 12 people killed in hospital including Dr. Norris and Dr. Sinha. 60 cars burnt out in compound, fires burning furiously all round including huge fire at Singapore Traction Company’s sheds opposite.

Singapore capitulated 7 p.m.. Slept the night in X ray dark room.

The main Japanese invasion of the Philippines – an American outpost in what Nippon sought to make its own corner of the Pacific – began on 22 December 1941. A fortnight later, American troops had been pushed back to the Bataan Peninsula on the west side of Manila Bay. Dogged resistance at Bataan continued until 8 April 1942 when the American garrison, starved, exhausted and diseased, capitulated.

DEATH MARCH ON BATAAN: THE FIRST DAY, 10 APRIL 1942

Lieutenant Colonel William Dyess, 21st Pursuit Squadron, USAAF

Despite the condition of the surrendered US troops at Bataan, their captors – led by General Homma – made them march 65 miles north to Camp O’Donnell. About 40,000 Americans and Filipinos died during the infamous “Death March on Bataan” and the first two months of imprisonment at O’Donnell. It was one of the worst Japanese atrocities of World War II.

Ordinarily, the trip from Mariveles to Cabcaben field is a beautiful one with the grandeur of high greenclad mountains on the north and a view of the sea on the right. The white of the road contrasts pleasantly with the deep green of the tropical growth on either side.

But on this day there was no beauty. Coming toward us were seemingly interminable columns of Jap infantry, truck trains, and horse-drawn artillery, all moving into Bataan for a concentrated assault on Corregidor. They stirred up clouds of blinding dust in which all shape and form were lost.

Every few yards Jap noncoms materialized like gargoyles from the grayish white pall and snatched Americans out of line to be searched and beaten. Before we had gone two miles we had been stripped of practically all our personal possessions.

The Japs made no move to feed us. Few of us had had anything to eat since the morning of April 9. Many had tasted no food in four days. We had a little tepid water in our canteens, but nothing else.

The ditches on either side of the road were filled with overturned and wrecked American army trucks, fire-gutted tanks, and artillery our forces had rendered unusable. At intervals we saw mounds of captured food, bearing familiar trademarks. These had fallen almost undamaged into Jap hands.

As we marched along I rounded up the 110 officers and men of the 21st Pursuit. I didn’t know yet what the score was, but I felt we would be in a better position to help one another and keep up morale if we were together.

We hadn’t walked far when the rumor factory opened up. In a few minutes it was in mass production. There were all kinds of reports: We were going to Manila and Old Bilibid prison. We were going to San Fernando and entrain for a distant concentration camp. Trucks were waiting just ahead to pick us up. We doubted the last rumor, but hoped it was true.

The sun was nearing the zenith now. The penetrating heat seemed to search out and dissipate the small stores of strength remaining within us. The road, which until this moment had been fairly level, rose sharply in a zigzag grade. We were nearing Little Baguio.

I was marching with head down and eyes squinted for the dual purpose of protecting myself as much as possible from the dust and glare and keeping watch on the Jap guards who walked beside and among us. Halfway up the hill we reached a level stretch where a Japanese senior officer and his staff were seated at a camp table upon which were spread maps and dispatches.

As I came abreast he saw me and shouted something that sounded like, “Yoy!” He extended his hand, palm downward, and opened and closed the fingers rapidly. This meant I was to approach him. I pretended I didn’t see him. He shouted again as I kept on walking. His third “Yoy!” vibrated with anger. The next I knew a soldier snatched me out of line and shoved me toward the table.

“Name!” shouted the officer. He was staring at the wings and my uniform. “You fly?”

I told him my name without mentioning my rank and said I had been a pilot.

“Where you planes?”

“All shot down.” I made a downward, spinning motion with my hand.

“No at Cebu? No at Mindanao?”

“No Cebu. No Mindanao.”

“Yaah. Lie! We know you got planes. We see. Sometimes one . . . two . . . sometimes three, four, five. Where you airfields?”

I shook my head again and made the spinning motion with my hand. But I located the airfields for him on his map. I pointed to Cabcaben, Bataan, and Mariveles. He knew about these, of course. He made an impatient gesture.

“One more. Secret field!”

“Nope. No secret field.”

“True?”

“Yes. True.”

“Where are tunnel? Where are underwater tunnel from Mariveles to Corregidor? Where are tunnels on Corregidor Rock?” He held the map toward me.

“I don’t know of any tunnels. No tunnels; no place. I never was on Corregidor. I was only at Nichols field and Bataan.”

“You flying officer and you never at Corregidor Rock!” His eyes were slits. His staff officers were angry, too. “LIE!” he shrieked and jumped up.

He was powerfully built, as are most Jap officers. He seized my shoulder and whirled me around with a quick twist that almost dislocated my arm. Then came a violent shove that sent me staggering toward the line. I expected a bullet to follow the push, but I didn’t dare look back. This would have been inviting them to shoot. As I reached the marching line, the officer shouted something else. The guards shoved me and motioned that I should catch up with my group.

I wanted to be with them, but the double quick up the hill in the scalding heat and dust almost finished me. I had the thought, too, that the guards I passed might get the idea I was trying to escape. My bullet expectancy was so high it made my backside tingle from scalp to heels. I caught up as we were passing through Little Baguio. In a short time we were abreast the blackened ruins of Hospital No. 1, which had been bombed heavily a couple of days before.

Among the charred debris, sick and wounded American soldiers were walking dazedly about. There was no place for them to go.

Their only clothes were hospital pajama suits and kimonos. Here and there a man was stumping about on one leg and a crutch. Some had lost one or both arms. All were in need of fresh dressings. And all obviously were suffering from the shock of the bombing.

They looked wonderingly at the column of prisoners. When the Jap officers saw them, these shattered Americans were rounded up and shoved into the marching line. All of them tried to walk, but only a few were able to keep it up. Those who fell were kicked aside by the Japs.

The Japs forbade us to help these men. Those who tried it were kicked, slugged, or jabbed with bayonet points by the guards who stalked with us in twos and threes.

For more than a mile these bomb-shocked cripples stumbled along with us. Their shoulders were bent and the sweat streamed from their faces. I can never forget the hopelessness in their eyes.

Eventually their strength ebbed and they began falling back through the marching ranks. I don’t know what became of them.

About a mile east of the hospital we encountered a major traffic jam. On either side of the congested road hundreds of Jap soldiers were unloading ammunition and equipment.

Our contingent of more than 600 American and Filipino prisoners filtered through, giving the Japs as wide a berth as the limited space permitted. This was to avoid being searched, slugged, or pressed into duty as cargadores [burden carriers].

Through the swirling dust we could see a long line of trucks, standing bumper to bumper. There were hundreds of them. And every last one was an American make. I saw Fords–which predominated–Chevrolets, GMCs, and others.

These were not captured trucks. They bore Jap army insignia and had been landed from the ships of the invasion fleet. It is hard to describe what we felt at seeing these familiar American machines, filled with jeering, snarling Japs. It was a sort of super-sinking feeling. We had become accustomed to having American iron thrown at us by the Japs, but this was a little too much.

Eventually the road became so crowded we were marched into a clearing. Here, for two hours, we had our first taste of the oriental sun treatment, which drains the stamina and weakens the spirit.

The Japs seated us on the scorching ground, exposed to the full glare of the sun. Many of the Americans and Filipinos had no covering to protect their heads. I was beside a small bush, but it cast no shade because the sun was almost directly above us. Many of the men around me were ill.

When I thought I could stand the penetrating heat no longer, I was determined to have a sip of the tepid water in my canteen. I had no more than unscrewed the top when the aluminum flask was snatched from my hands. The Jap who had crept up behind me poured the water into a horse’s nosebag, then threw down the canteen. He walked on among the prisoners, taking away their water and pouring it into the bag. When he had enough he gave it to his horse.

Whether by accident or design we had been put just across the road from a pile of canned and boxed food. We were famished, but it seemed worse than useless to ask the Japs for anything. An elderly American colonel did, however. He crossed the road and after pointing to the food and to the drooping prisoners, he went through the motions of eating.

A squat Jap officer grinned at him and picked up a can of salmon. Then he smashed it against the colonel’s head, opening the American’s cheek from eye to jawbone. The officer staggered and turned back toward us, wiping the blood off.

It seemed as though the Japs had been waiting for just such a brutal display to end the scene. They ordered us to our feet and herded us back into the road.

We knew now the Japs would respect neither age nor rank. Their ferocity grew as we marched on into the afternoon. They no longer were content with mauling stragglers or pricking them with bayonet points. The thrusts were intended to kill.

We had marched about a mile after the sun treatment when I stumbled over a man writhing in the hot dust of the road. He was a Filipino soldier who had been bayoneted through the stomach. Within a quarter of a mile I walked past another. This soldier prisoner had been rolled into the path of the trucks and crushed beneath the heavy wheels.

The huddled and smashed figures beside the road eventually became commonplace to us. The human mind has an amazing faculty of adjusting itself to shock. In this case it may have been that heat and misery had numbed our senses. We remained keenly aware, however, that these murders might well be precursors of our own, if we should falter or lag.

As we straggled past Hospital No. 2 the Japs were setting up artillery and training it on Corregidor. The thick jungle hid the hospital itself, but we could see that guns were all around it. The Japs regarded this as master strategy; the Rock would not dare return their fire. I wondered what the concussion of the heavy guns would do to the stricken men in the hospital wards. The cannonade began after we had passed by.

A few minutes later a violent blow on the head almost sent me to my knees. I thought one of the Jap guns had made a direct hit on me. My steel helmet jammed down over my eyes with a clang that made my ears ring. I pulled it clear and staggered around to see a non-commissioned Jap brandishing a club the size of a child’s baseball bat. He was squealing and pointing to the dented helmet. He lifted the club again. I threw the helmet into the ditch and he motioned me to march on. Like many of my comrades, I now was without protection against the merciless sun.

Jap artillery was opening up all along the southern tip of Bataan. The area behind us re-echoed to the thud and crash of heavy gunfire. Grayish smoke puffs speckled Corregidor’s sides. The Rock was blasting back at the Japs, but most of its shells were falling in the Mariveles region whence we had come.

At sundown we crossed Cabcaben airfield, from which our planes had taken off not thirty-nine hours before. Here again Jap artillery was going into action. We were marched across the field and halted inside a rice paddy beyond. We had had no food or water, and none was offered, but we were grateful of the opportunity to lie down on the earth and rest. The guards kept to the edges of the paddy, leaving us plenty of room.