2 war survivors tell their own tales

<em>Excerpted from the book “Waiting for the Enemy” by Jaime L. Guerrero</em>

Date:  09 April 1942

Time:  About 2:30 p.m.

Place:  Near Km Post 167, Little Baguio, Mariveles, Bataan

WE DID not have long to wait. Presently, a faint sound of motors, not of planes, reached us. Then together, the faint clanking of steel tracks. Then the unmistakable sound of tanks became clearly audible …

The tank turned toward the clearing and its machine gun fired a short burst, maybe five or six rounds. No one seemed to have been hit. Complete silence followed, as if time stood still …

Then the tank’s hatch opened, and out emerged one of the crew.  He stood firmly on top of the tank, facing the clearing.  On his left hand, he held an automatic pistol; on his right hand, he held a hand grenade. A short stout string was tied to the grenade’s safety pin, while the string’s other end was held between his teeth.  Now and then, he would jerk the grenade and put tension on the string, as if threatening to pull the safety pin. At the same time, he repeatedly gestured with his left hand (holding the pistol) for anyone to come out, as if he knew that many were hiding in the forest …

All of a sudden, an American soldier very quietly came out of the bushes into the clearing. He wore a clean uniform and had his steel helmet on; both hands were raised; on his right hand he held a piece of white cloth, perhaps an undershirt, as a “flag” of surrender.  He also had on his right shoulder, hanging by its sling, a Springfield rifle; it was hanging upside down, its butt up, and the tip of the barrel reached down almost to his right leg behind the knee. He walked slowly forward toward the tank, but stopped midway in the clearing, in the same posture of surrender, facing the tank.

<strong>Surrender</strong>

Upon seeing that nothing happened to the American surrenderee, several Americans and Filipinos came out of hiding with their hands up, most holding a piece of cloth as token of surrender. At this juncture, I noticed that the tank commander handed his pistol and grenade to the young crew member. The commander jumped to the ground and on the double approached the first surrenderee.  He grabbed the Springfield rifle roughly from the latter’s shoulder, and holding the rifle by the barrel, he swung it at the American soldier’s helmet. Though taken by surprise, the American soldier managed to evade the head blow, but he was hit at his back by the flat of the rifle butt. He went sprawling into the grass, but managed to get up after a while. The tank commander was shouting angrily at the American, gesticulating excitedly, shaking his head while pointing at the rifle which he had thrown to the ground. All of his actions and gestures conveyed the message that carrying the rifle was no-no.  I wondered why that soldier did not destroy that rifle as ordered!

Then the tank commander ordered, by sign language, all those who had come out into the clearing to form two ranks facing the road and the machine gun …

At this juncture, I decided to join the ranks of the battalion officers and men. I descended from my loft and with my hands up, I walked to the rear center of the line. Eventually, our group grew to about fifty officers and men. I wondered where the others were. Perhaps many remained in hiding, while others chose to vanish into the jungle. Meanwhile, the machine gun kept slowly traversing our line from left to right and back, silently and menacingly …

Just as the tank commander was about to reach the road and his tank, a detail of six or seven fully armed enemy troops arrived on the scene. The new arrivals were taller and much younger than the tank commander. They carried grenades and rifles with fixed bayonets …

The leader of the detail and the tank commander talked to each other animatedly … After their conversation, the detail leader shouted an order to his men. Immediately the men distributed themselves around our seated group. The leader then motioned to us to stand up and follow him.  We followed the leader in column of twos to the road. He turned left in the direction they came from, i.e., toward Cabcaben. Our column followed, guarded on both sides by the enemy detail who held their rifles with fixed bayonets at the ready all the time.

The tank commander watched our column depart under guard. Then his tank sped away noisily in the opposite direction, i.e., toward Mariveles town.

We had not walked more than 50 meters when a guard tapped the elbow of the POW three files ahead of me in the column. The guard pointed at the latter’s wristwatch. Without words being spoken, the POW unbuckled his wristwatch and handed it to the guard. Almost at the same time, another POW up ahead removed his ring from his finger with some difficulty, then handed it to the guard by his side. There were probably other similar instances, but I did not see them.

I had a simple gold ring with a small blue sapphire stone. On seeing the POW ahead of me take his ring with difficulty, I unobtrusively removed the ring from my ring finger. It was a little loose, as my ring finger had shrunk somewhat, like my waistline.  I held the ring under the curled fingers of my right hand. If ever it would be noticed by any guard through the ring marks on my finger, I would have simply handed it over to him without any fuss. But more to the truth, I wanted to hide my ring if I could get away with it. (I got away with it in Bataan, but in an unguarded moment, I lost it to another Japanese guard in the concentration camp at Capas, Tarlac) …

All our guards became more aggressive. They snatched the bronze or stainless steel or silver plated insignias of rank on the shoulder straps and the bronze insignias of branch of service, and the official seal of the government on the collars of officers. As a third lieutenant, I had no insignia of rank; neither did I wear any insignia in the field which I considered unnecessary. Perhaps the Japanese guards thought they were precious metals—gold and silver. They took away anything that glittered.

There was one young officer who wore a military class ring, which a guard saw and wanted for himself. The officer could not remove it from his ring finger, even after he lubricated his finger with his saliva. The guard pulled him from the line and dragged him into the bushes.  The young officer’s faced paled in panic.  None could extend assistance. Our column moved on, and those of us who saw the incident wondered if the young officer ever made it back to the column again. I thought I heard a shot from that direction. All wristwatches, rings and insignias that were seen by the guards were “confiscated.”  My gold ring under my curled fingers [was] not seen by the guards …

I saw the greed and rapacity of the guards of our marching column. If they were the ones to whom we surrendered, instead of to the tank commander, would they have plundered and killed us instead of taking us prisoners of war?

The tank commander and his crew never touched any of our possessions. So, did the tank commander save us from the greed and cruelty of the foot soldiers?

<em>Jaime L. Guerrero is a lawyer by profession.  He was a junior law student at the University of the Philippines, Manila, when the war broke out. He completed his law studies at the MLQU School of Law in 1948. He has held a number of positions in government, the latest of which was as chief of staff to former Vice President Teofisto Guingona Jr.  from 2001 to 2004. This book was officially launched on his 90th birthday last year and circulated only among his family and close friends. It will soon be available at National Book Store.</em>