BATAAN
We went up into the peninsula of Bataan. It was kind of hilly, and before long, the Chrysler became too hot. It overheated, and would not run anymore. We abandoned the Chrysler and I was able to get a ride on an Army truck. The truck carried me down into Bataan, and I re-joined the 3rd Battalion.

In the morning, we moved out to a pretty safe Bivouac area back in the hills from Mariveles. There we regained some semblance of organization. We had a good camp. We had a good, cold creek, some nipa huts, and good thick forest to hide us from bombers. We arrived here about the morning of the 22nd of December. We spent several uneasy days as they were overhead every day, not bombing us, but bombing Port Area in Manila. We had a pretty good Christmas dinner for the circumstances.

We were deep in the jungles of bamboo and you could hear the planes going over, but could not see them. They could not see us, either. It was good cover. We spent Christmas Day, at least, in the jungle. Believe it or not, we somehow managed to get turkey and had a pretty good feast.

On the 26th of December, I was elevated in ranks one step along with Clem. It was about this time that we -- (the Cavite Marines) comprised 3rd Batt 4th US Marines. It was rumored at that time that 1st Batt was moving up to occupy a sector on the front and that 3rd Batt was going to be used for replacements. We were in a high crazy confident mood. The enemy was far away.

A few days later, they took us over by barge to one of the three islands that guarded the entrance to Manila Bay. The island that I went to was Corregidor.

And move we did -- to the “Rock”. There were rumors of tunnels a-plenty on Corregidor, and the idea was enticing. We were loaded on trucks – our gear and selves, and carted to Mariveles. Headquarters det. composed the first detail and it was up to us to help load the gear on barges and we had bad moments with the French Freighter still blazing in the harbor, a result of a Japanese bombing visit on the 26th and a reminder that the war was still on. At dusk we were loaded and a couple tugs nosed us out into the bay, three barges, past the burning ship, and towards Corregidor. A short nap, and we bumped the dock at “Bottomside” Corregidor about midnight. All out and a winding trip by trolley up to “Middleside” where we disembarked, unloaded the gear, and spent the remaining few hours of darkness sleeping on the hard cement of Middleside Barracks.

This island was somewhat hilly, little, and shaped like a tadpole. It's a few hundred feet wide at its most narrow spot and about two miles long.

The next morning when we went for breakfast, we found the whole 4th Marines in one line trying to get chow. As the prospect of “sweating” such a line for sauerkraut and wieners wasn’t so good, Davis and myself looked for a better place to eat. We found it in the 59th C.A. galley. We had hotcakes, eggs, and toast with several kinds of spreads, marmalade, butter -- oh man oh man! did we feast.

On this island was the best that the Army had. There were Filipino scouts, but the antiaircraft guns were manned by Americans. They had twelve-inch mortars and one hundred fiftyfive- millimeter anti-aircraft.

That day we watched the Japanese bomb Manila across the bay. It was about 35 miles distant, but we could see the planes and the explosions quite distinctly. Several times that day we had air-raid warnings. The soldiers who were at home here on Corregidor were confident that “They can’t bomb the Rock.” They laughed at those of us who had had our baptism of fire. Also we were to have the treat of watching Jap horizontal bombers try to hit a destroyer. Sometimes he was hidden by water splashed up by explosions, but he always came out, and we stood cheering each time he dodged successfully. This day also we were to taste our last ice cream and beer for -- (how long?) for the Army PX was still open for business and buy we did.

When we first got on the islands, the American Marines were very gun-shy because we were shot at and bombed for so long that every time we heard a plane, we would go to the ground. The soldiers on Corregidor had had a different and much more lucky experience. The Japanese had steered kind of clear by Corregidor, as far as bombing, for quite a long time. Then one day they decided to try it.

They had three bombers and the anti-aircraft hit one of the bombers causing the bomb load to explode and all three planes fell. That is the story I heard, but I did not see it. Whether it was true or not did not make much difference. The result was that the soldiers on the island thought that this island could not be bombed. My friend, Stinky Davis, did not believe it, but it was not long before I did start believing it. I didn't worry about the air raid sirens.

By this time, Davis and I had become running mates, and it was our custom while scouting around on the Rock to look for likely places to spend a bombing attack. We were told that these Barracks could withstand the impact of a 1000 lb bomb, but we had different ideas. So ends the 28th.

December 29, 1941

Dawn broke on the 29th beginning what was to be a big, busy day. In the morning we were busy stowing gear and so on until about ten o’clock. We had just finished work so Dave and I decided to take a walk to Topside to get a beer or two. Just above the Middleside barracks was a tunnel under construction and, when we got there, the workmen were preparing to blast, so we decided to hang around and watch. We walked around and in front of some officers’ quarters and noticed some Filipinos digging an air raid shelter under one of those frame buildings.

One day, we heard that there was beer for sale at the Topside barracks about a half-mile walk up a hill. We were at Middleside. We walked a distance toward Topside until we came to a place where there were some Filipino workmen burrowing an air-raid shelter into a rock hill. They were ready to explode some dynamite and they told us to stay back until they did it. While we were waiting for the dynamite to go off, the air-raid siren went off.

Very shortly thereafter, the air raid warning sounded. Thinking this was the usual dry run, I started, very casually, for the hole under the house. Dave had different ideas, though, and he urged me hurry on. At the same time, we heard a Lt. McCann telling someone else who was hurrying to “take it easy!” About this time all hell broke loose.

I was casually walking over to a slit trench underneath a house when Stinky came running from behind, hit me in the back and sent me sprawling into that trench. Almost simultaneously, the bombs came down right between that house and the next one. That bombing attack lasted for hours.

The AA started, we heard the dive-bombers, strafing planes and at the same time the swish and roar of bombs dropping. It all happened so fast that McCann didn’t have time to get off his porch and under his house. He was hit as he came around the corner of his house. The very first salvo hit about 20 feet from where we were laying.

Under the house, there were some Army officers under there. They learned that we were radiomen and signalmen, and they asked if we would be willing to work with them, would we be willing to be transferred to Malinta Tunnel. We told them we would if they could arrange it with our Major.

When at last All Clear sounded, a couple hours after, we found the house over us and nearly everything else around about in shambles. The “bomb-proof” barracks had holes completely through all three decks. That afternoon we met a soldier who was eventually responsible for getting Dave and I a good berth in Usaffe Headquarters Radio Station in Corregidor’s biggest bomb-proof, Malinta Tunnel. After the bombing that day, we helped Gen. MacArthur move off the topside, also Gen. Akin, top ranker in the Army Signal corps.

From that chance acquaintance we were transferred for temporary duty with the Army Signal Corps. The Signal Corps room was under two-hundred forty feet of rock. And that was a mighty welcome change! The tunnel ran through a hill and was about one block long, about fifty feet wide, and, I think, about fifty feet high at the highest point. Off of this tunnel ran laterals. In these there was food stored, there were hospitals and offices. McArthur's office was there and President Quezon's office was there, and his family. There was also a Naval radio station. One of the offices was occupied by the Finance Department of the Army. So I was able to serve quite a number of weeks, months even, in relative security.

It is difficult to describe the effect of that first air attack on Corregidor. The casualties were not so many, but the property damage was extensive, and the chaos and confusion reigned supreme for a couple of days at least. Gen. Akin requested our transfer to the Usaffe Radio Station (Dave and me) so now we were hard at work setting up communication in No. 12 Lateral. We ate in the Army hospital, the same place that President Manuel Quezon was eating with his staff and associates. We had an excellent opportunity to view the great, or near great, with all the veneer and glitter removed.

One day, an Army officer came to me and to Stinky Davis because we were good radio operators.

On January 3d, Colonel -------- picked Dave, Sgt. Sarata (army), Captain Jackson and me to set up an auxiliary station in a bomb-proof on Topside. Gen. Akin was in the car that took us up, and he gave us a song and dance about the importance of our job, that it just might mean the difference between defeat and victory, etc., how well you do your job; made us feel very important and vital.

He was the highest ranking officer, the only general, in the Signal Corps. He went with Davis, myself and a sergeant, and he told us that we were going on a mission, and it would be the most important mission that we could possibly be on. The whole campaign might depend on the outcome of the mission. Our mission was to set up a radio station on the top of Topside Hill and act as net control for all Army airstrips on Bataan -- be in contact with them at all times. They carried us up there, and we had a radio transmitter -- about a hundred watt transmitter, SCR-177 (I remember the number well) and brought us to a bomb shelter that was very deep in the ground with cement stairs running down into the hill, almost straight down. At the bottom of the hill was a little office and that was to be our office. We spent several days with the SCR trying to contact various fields on Bataan with no success.

We struggled nite and day for about 72 hours to get in touch with a couple stations on the mainland. When we finally succeeded, we had another big bombing raid and some Nip dumps a thousand pounder right in front of our shelter, nearly dumping it over and ruining all our equipment. Captain Jackson says, “To hell with this; let’s go to the tunnel.” We went down and set up perfectly in a couple hours work. So for the rest of our part of the war, Davis and Rodenburg were operators in Usaffe Radio Station. For a while we slept in some small connecting laterals when off watch, but the bombing attacks slacked off after a few weeks, and we moved outside again.

We set up our typewriters and everything in that office and ran our wires to the outside. We were hardly situated when the air-raid siren went off. We went down into the bomb shelter. A bomb came close enough to the shelter that clumps of yellow clay from deep in the earth tumbled down those stairs and partially blocked the door. The bomb completely destroyed the SCR-177. The transmitter was plenty strong to get to them, and I don't know why we could not reach anyone. After the SCR-177 was destroyed, we had nothing to do. I recognized one of our fellow Marines from the 3rd Battalion and he asked what we were doing. I told him we weren't doing anything, so he asked if we could help him move MacArthur down into the Tunnel. So Davis and I went over to the Topside barracks where MacArthur's office had been, and MacArthur was there.

We were carrying desks and typewriters and such paraphernalia from the third floor of that building out to the trucks to carry it down into the tunnel. While we were doing this, the air-raid siren started again. More bombs were falling, and we took shelter up on the third floor. It was not very secure, but it was the best we had. We were under a desk and MacArthur was under a desk on the other side of the room. The building was hit, and the tin roof blew off, but the office was not hit. We continued to load the gear and MacArthur's stuff and carried down into the tunnel. Then we went back to the Army Signal Corps and continued to serve there.

Help Is On The Way (Camp #3, 1942)

We fought for right and freedom and we had the foe at bay;
Every day we heard the promise, “Help is on the way.”
Our ranks were thin to start with and they grew thinner every day, and still we kept up the fight because “Help is on the way.”

We heard the promise a thousand times, and as we greet each day
We gaze at the far off horizon with hope in our hearts and pray.
Each day brought disappointment without convoy, with our help not in sight;
Our spirits grow lower and lower, but still we continue the fight.

Each day as it passed drew nearer to our inevitable fall;
They boasted us high in papers back home on the deeds that we had done;
and no matter how great the sacrifice, the battle must be won.

But out here it’s always a promise, entreating us to hold;
as if they needed to brighten our hearts to make us brave and bold.
The sacrifice is not too great, though lose our lives we may;
And in our hearts we know the truth -- there will be no help today.

As the day of our fall drew nearer, and as the time went by
we knew the promise that help would come was nothing but a lie.
We knew midst strife and battle, if help had arrived at all,
our future would be quite different, for the “Rock” would never fall.

Even at the critical moment we could hear them say,
“Take heart, there, men, don’t give up, for Help Is On The Way.”
And now that battle is over, there’s one thing we’ll never forget --

Though help was on the way, it hasn’t arrived as yet!

The interesting thing was that we went back to the big tunnel and took a Navy transmitter, much smaller than the SCR-177, and took it out to the entrance to the tunnel, wired it to our office and strung a small antenna up on Malinta Hill. Then we hit the key and immediately we were making contact with all the stations on Bataan. I guess you could say, in retrospect, that the Army general was right when he said that the success of our mission might mean the success of the Far East Campaign, because our mission was unsuccessful, and so was that of the Far East Campaign.

For the months of January and February (1942), we ate at the Navy tunnel No. 8 and we had pretty fair chow. They made us change one day and eat at Usaffe mess and for a couple months, chow wasn’t so hot. During these months, the various battles of Bataan were going on. We could hear artillery duels almost daily and we suffered an occasional bomb raid, but the enemy was leaving us pretty much alone. Rumors were rife, sometimes funny, sometimes good, usually concerning “convoys” from the States. The pressure on the front was relieved; the enemy had withdrawn. Our patrols had gone as far nearly as Olongapo. (continue)

:

back to Men