Dick
Eberle and a few other fellows in our hut.
In comes N.C.O. Dilger telling me that I have a flight to Ulithi.
April 1, 1945, Easter
This is, I hope, the first and last Easter that I ever spend in any
manner outside of North America.
For one I am quite sure that I am going to be quite satisfied within the
confines of the U.S.A. Still, time
and circumstance may decide differently the course of my future movement, but,
at this time my mind is home headed.
The morning is probably a little warmer and a good deal cleaner than any
of those in the two weeks we have been here.
Last night I was able to see practically all of the useable stars in the
heavens for the first time. All in
all it appears to be a good start for April 1, 1945, April Fool’s Day and Easter
Sunday. Some combination.
Up at about 6:30, breakfast the routine mess of chow.
Sitting around waiting for 9 A.M. to attend Easter Mass in the chow hall
with
Dick
Eberle and a few other fellows in our hut.
In comes N.C.O. Dilger telling me that I have a flight to Ulithi.
There goes my plans for Mass and also the beer party on the beach this
P.M. This beer party I do not mind
missing, just a big headache. It
would be good to attend mass.
Took off here about 9:30 and landed on Orote Peninsula where we picked up
a flight of SBD2Cs for Ulithu. Got
underway and busy as hell as it is very necessary that one keep on the ball
especially when on one of these ferrying jobs.
Had a nice flight down, everything went well.
Took off a half hour later for Guam and arrived back at 5:30 P.M. after
an uneventful flight. Took on some
chow, shower, shave, talked of the new and interesting invasion of Okinawa
Island.
We have been expecting this for some time and now that it is under way we
will in all probability be going in there soon.
I have no doubts that we shall be seeing the Jap homeland before many
months. This takes us within 350
miles of the Jap homeland and about 450 miles from China.
I should like to operate from a Philippine base or better still, China.
At 9 P.M. we tune in on the shortwave broadcast from San Francisco.
It is 4 A.M. there of the same day (Easter).
Enjoy some sack time
strategy for winning the war and bringing this boy home safely – a letter to
Vera and lights off. Finis to one
more. Not unhappy to see them roll
along as they are
April 2nd, 1945
After yesterday’s hop it appears as if I may have a few days to sit
around and have more of perspiring than anything else.
Such was the case today. It
was one of those hot sultry days with a couple of minor showers that added to
the heavy humidity and general discomfort.
Surprisingly clear though with just a few heavy cumulous clouds roving
across the sky in their seemingly perpetual one direction.
I spent the day doing a little reading, tried washing some sheets in a
bucket along with some other few items.
One hell of a job – cussed like hell – sweated like a leaky devil, and
gave up after a while and hung the damned thing, ungracefully, on the make shift
line that is stretched across the west end of the hut under the projecting end.
At evening chow after some ice cream at 4 P.M. saw a poor showing of
“Meet Me in St. Louis” and then the rains came.
Cripes! How it can and does rain here once it gets underway, which is
always without warning and with an intensity that must be akin to walking
suddenly beneath a waterfall.
Well, being curious I of course waited until I was damned well soaked and
then went scurrying to my hut just a few yards away there to be greeted by that
personable laughing hyena of a human, Dick Eberly.
He laughs always and at anything and of course this gave him a few
inordinate chuckles and an opportunity to get in a few good natured jokes as to
the probability of my mental faculties working or at least leaning a little
towards the moronic.
Wonder if there could be anything to that.
Sometimes I am not alone in thinking myself crazy as a looney Indian
“rigged” on denatured lizard sweat.
From then on until lights out and until good old sleep had taken our most of the
innocent minds and flat smelling bodies of the contents of Hut #77.
There was the nightly (institutional) BS lying – downright and nothing
else, scuttlebutt and occasionally into the big wind there might be a mere wisp
of a draft of something faintly bordering on the
(?) but
withal unenlightening.
My! What a delightful life
all we good people are blessed with on this green Island of God – Pardon, I mean
of Admiral Nimitz and some few thousand other officers – second lieutenants in a
majority. Of courseyou know I sort of took it easy today.
Got up, washed face, brushed teeth, ate some amazingly unappetizing chow,
made up sack, walked across air strip towards navigation area, stopped to gaze
upon the carcass or carcasses of more than one fat toad – victim of the night
patrol cars.
Pondered and mused on their fate and philosophized on the life of a toad
and guess they do OK in their sphere of life.
Hell, they are as important in this eternal order of things as these
sweating lazy insignificant masses of protoplasm moulded into ungainly awkward
points, elongations and concaves that we call the beautiful animal body genus
homo.
Wonder why I worry about the passage of time:
minutes, hours, days, weeks, a year (the years I find pass too damned
fast) the former too slowly. Worry
about getting home stateside (a thirty day furlough) getting out of the service
– will it never end? You damned
right it will end and hell I’ll end (no loss either, to the world that matters)
and the damned Japs, Germans, yes, even the ________ officers and all other
living shall end, although one would wonder often why they deliberately hasten
their demise.
I mean so many of our superiors, our officers – not only rats makes a
divers vermin that by their loathsome qualities and engendered affection in the
world hearts tend eventually to make open season on easy prey.
A most dangerous game so many warm blooded animals love to play at.
Seems as if since my earliest memory the essence of life has been the
passing of time – the getting over with the few mere seconds entreated to my
span of being – not the accomplishing or doing or knowing or absorption of that
the world puts side by side with me to feed on and make my moving and breathing
worth the effort small as it really were for nature to put this object here.
As a child my first impressions were rushing for this or that to happen
or come about, always in the future – never rushing more had happened in the
ever present. First wishing I were
old enough to play with older children – to go to bed alone in the dark – to
dress myself alone – turn the butter churn, ice skate, swim, go to school – wish
time would passing thinking that it never should when I should be in the next
grade higher and when one was achieved hoping for the next and then wishing I
were old enough to go to high school – parties, dance – go out with girls -first
pair of long pants – drive
the car and then wishing I were old enough to go into pool halls, play snooker –
buy cigarettes, “shoot craps’ and then get a drink and have a fight with a real
grown man and beat the hell out of him.
Ah yes! And then wish for,
and how important this one wish becomes paramount to all others – conquest of
women. First one woman, then others.
Not too particular what kind or by what means achieved, it was life and
conquest and could come about only by time passing and always I speeded it along
in my never ending imperatives.
Then wishing for glory glorifying the ego, to be a good dancer, a good
fighter, good drinker, good fellow, to make a lot of money, spend like hell and
live like red hot hell and then the sudden sobering influence of mother nature
laying me a restraining hand on the race of the body and mind slowing them but
hastening the years but still wishing, now for a wife, a mate, home, children
the afterlife, better character, tolerance, magnanimity and appreciation of
fellow man and the vagaries of the human flesh.
And now continually I wish, I wish to call it a day, to shut out the
light, to wish for sleep, for the passing of tomorrow, for a letter from home.
Good night, sack rat.
April 4, 1945, Wednesday
As far as I can see or ascertain, and my range is short, I can’t see that
anyone in our area or near proximity thereof accomplished a single damned thing
of even worthy a second glance if reasoned on a second word of referred to
anyone.
It is hot as hell and I have a hop set up for Samoa which is a central
Eastern province of the Philippine archipelago and adjacent to Leyte.
Made up a couple of charts for the navigation of this job – no briefing –
not Cumins the other navigator who is also going along although I am the
navigator for this hope.
It is not too long being about 1,300 miles with one stop at Peleliu
airstrip. Set three a show after a
few cans of beer and after some chow the nature of which is better forgotten and
an act of kindness directed towards the mess cooks who prepared same mess – some
more appropriate or inappropriate discussions of no particular subject – lights
out and lying awake long wonder how in hell my train of thoughts can be called a
train when they are on so many different tracks at one time with no couplings
intact and lots of rail skipping.
Some damned mix-up, no doubt.
April 5, 1945
At 0400 I was up and about and by 0500 had my morning ration of chow –
walked over to the nav hut, lined up my gear – went out to ship R5C1 #23 and as
soon as the entire crew arrived we taxied out and took off into what appeared to
be a fine morning for flying.
A few clouds and little drift encountered – at ETA for abeam Ulithi were
on the nose and proceeded in the manner, after a slight hdg. Change to clear Yap
safely – passed Neighu and arrived over Peleliu white and hot appearing at the
pre-computed time.
Our stop here was only long enough to gas and only take on another
passenger or two and then off for Samar (Philippines).
The flying weather having been very good up to this time.
Fortunately held for the next leg and after a matter of 2 hours plus we
arrived about 10 miles to the left of the small islel of Suluan and then changed
hdg. For McGuire Field (Somar) 350 degrees.
Beforer reaching Lulnan I had my first glimpse of the great Philippines
and visibility being good at 6,000 ft. much of the vast hilly province of
Mindanao could be seen in outline stretching to the South – Samai and Leyte to
the North AND West and the other larger and more prominent island masses and
mountain peaks dotted about the deep and blue waters by countless small isle
atolls.
So there were the lands of the Filipinos, descendants of ageless ascetic
and adventurous explorers and navigators of old Spain and continental Europe.
Now the vast battleground and locale of a drama of humanity at its work
on humans long to line as vital and moving force in the past and future of the
great mother country thousands of miles to the West in an earlier day.
As we reached the mainland and passed over the teal swept reefs and
shallow beach waters at 3,000 ft. many native fish traps were in evidence
appearing as an arrow head with rounded backs with wide flanking streamers to
the left and right. These, no doubt,
were part of an industry vital to the existence of the dusky natives of these
verdant – hot, humid isles.
Beautiful and soft appearing from aloft in rapid passage but dangerous
and possibly expressing a horrible aspect to the presences of the ubiquitous of
unnatural white interloper. In a few
minutes the field (McGuire) on which we were to land and RON come into view.
As expected and as has been the case of the only other newly invaded base
up to this time (Iwo Jima) this scene below was remindful to me of an ant hill a
moment after having dropped a burning match into its center – frantic activity
expressing itself in a great cloud of gray-brown dust, moving in all points of
the compass – yes even up and down as the long line of trucks - caterpillar
fashion moved up on and haltingly or swiftly by the beetle-like bulldozers and
other man-made disrupters of the skin of the tough hided old mother earth.
As expected, the Sea Bees were here and at it.
One thing I expected to see and there it was were the vast number of
those great and indefatigable as well as seemingly innumerable B-24, that
perhaps greatest of all around bombers and flying fort that have and are still
destined to blast not a few damned Kraut & Yellow ___ ___ ___ to their holy and
revered ancestors.
It is always to me an imposing and flesh tingling experience to see them
in the air or at roost in their long lines with the exuberant brood of divers
fighters and smaller bombers always darting and waiting to be seen, one with the
other,
The entire length of this strip flanked on both sides by long lines
compactly aligned of jB24’s and the fighter plane Corsair, seemingly all Navy
operational bombers, transports, and fighters.
Once we had reached the parking area assigned to us for the night an army
truck approaches the plane driven by a sailor whose rank was not in evidence.
This vehicle was manned by 8 to 10 short, wiry, dark Filipinos of ages
difficult to ascertain as is the age of these Filipinos.
Despite their comparative dwarves knees these natives gave one the
impression of being possessed of an unordinary amount of determination and
inexhaustible vitality.
Appearing shy and reticent their possession of decorum and general
mannerisms was to me surprising in view of what I well knew to have been their
physical hardships under the Jap hand.
Some of them spoke English as you or I or any ordinary American could be
expected to use as expression of the spoken word.
Once the cargo doors were opened and the trucks backed up to the plane
they all clambered aboard and from pockets not in evidence in remnants of
clothing made up of all that the various military assortments might provide in
addition to clothes fashioned into short legged trunks that I imagine as an aid
to keeping cool and to conserve cloth now precious to these hard put people.
They brought forth Japanese invasion notes and some little guerrilla
money of small denomination. The Jap
money ranged from 10 centavos to 100 pesos (the centavo being equal to ½ U.S.
penny – the peso to ½ U.S. dollar). This they proceeded to offer in barter for
whatever we might have at hand.
They were given a loaf of extra bread we had aboard as a gesture by
Smitty, the first mech and the manner in which they feel upon this commodity and
eagerly devoured it to the last crumb was mindful of a flock of very hungry
chickens. It certainly changed the
train of my mental processes and a surge of pity for these people was in
complete control of my being for a brief moment.
They would barter for anything that we had to offer although their first
desire was food – the kind they could see taste and smell upon immediate
acquaintance and not leaning towards that in the cans that required time in
opening and was not suited to be wrapped up in a sheet or stuffed into a pocket
for future consumption. Especially
they seemed desirous of some shorts, tops, dungarees, trousers, or shirts and
white sheets, mattress covers commanded a good stack of souvenir bills or a bolo
knife in a wooden sheath of a mahogany type wood carved into a horse head design
upon the side of which was a V (for Victory, I guess).
How these people know the curiosity of the American, a curiosity ranging
from the morbid to the regal is I suppose due to their national life and
livelihood having been for years
(?) to the
Jap occupation so closely aligned with Americaqns and American industry.
Except perhaps for the nature of the immediate surroundings, natural and
mechanical the scene could be duplicated hundreds of times at any given number
of large American cities at any day of the 365.
We all made a few trades. I traded a couple of
(?)
tops for a couple of 100 peso bills that to me seemed rather attractive as a
link in a “short (?).
The man who was outstanding from the bartering situation was Ca? who had
while in Hawaii some months previous to this purchased a few yards of various
multicolored colorful cloth – just ordinary cotton cloth of a print variety that
could for a few cents per yard be had in any American general store.
This the Filipinos really wanted and I noticed that Cu? proved a good
barterer and the little scene made led to his final acquisition of a bolo knife
and bills of various denominations was amusing to behold.
During this trading interjection into our operations Capt. Ohm had walked
a matter of 3 miles and found where we might get chow and bunks for the night
although we had before he returned hitched a ride some 4 miles to a Sea Bee camp
for chow only to be denied the right to eat there because we were at the officer
said, “Marines.”
It seems as if there are many individual and unstated fronts in this so
called war of unity of purpose. This
was old stuff to me though, and bothered me not a whit.
As it were we secured transportation to the Marine’s camp of MAG 14 and
after chow which by the way was good including the first fresh meat I had had in
weeks, we picked up our cats and proceeded through a wilderness of trees, tents,
rocks, and crags to a tent back some way from the chow hall.
This camp is placed in the most imaginable terrain of extreme roughness
and unorthodox setting. It is a
large camp set upon the steep sides and crests of two or three sharply rising
hills and I was not able to perceive a single level spot.
It proved impossible to walk more than a few feet in a straight line due
to trees, vines, rocks, tent stakes, ropes, etc.
This evidently proved to be the place least suited for a camp area under
pressing needs because of the natural drainage it offered thus serving as a poor
breeding place to the dangerous and might anopheles.
We set up our tents with a will, watched the natives who unmindful of
sex, in fact the females predominated, wandered at will among the tents over the
entire area visiting in any tent that was their fancy to so do, notwithstanding
the fact that the boys were lying around in the cool of the evening, naked and
semi-naked or using the showers nearby as well as the pipe latrines.
Evidently immodesty is a word the literal meaning of which is strange to
these people. As for their morals
they are of a high standard and being of a very religious nature prostitution is
virtually non-existent here on Samar as can well be attested to by many of the
men who have been here for some time.
The same surely cannot be said of an American camp in similar or even the
very best circumstances. It appears
as if morals become lower as the standard of living rises.
These Filipinos who have suffered the heavy hand of a barbarous invading
are to be commended by every man who ever just once comes into contact with
them.
They certainly have fostered and strengthened a great national pride and
this during four years of subjection.
A salute to them, I say. We
all wandered over and saw the movie, an old one, “My Favorite Wife” and listened
to the latest news and then back to our tents, getting damned well lost on the
way.
After washing our faces at a drinking tank we all hit the sack, voices
our hope to Christ that no rats decided to sack in with us for a night and so
ended for me, April 5, 1945.
April 6, 1945
Everyone was out early on this day after my first night on Samar of the
Philippine Islands. After breakfast
of fried eggs (a treat for us) we took off for the field and the plane.
Captain H(?) obtained some few hundred pounds of freight and a couple of
passengers for Mindoro and Luzon and by 9 A.M. we were in the practically clear
sky with the cobalt blue of the Gulf of Leyte shimmering below.
Over the southern end of Samar and across the San Pedro Bay dotted with
vessels of the U.S. of every type and tonnage.
Across Cougara Bay of the Samar Sea and the upper tip of Leyte and South
portion of Bileron Island and over the Vesayan and Sibarayn Seas the scenes of
the great historic disasters to the Japanese fleets and of course the memorable
victories of the U.S. Navy.
To the north the long island of Masbate, Sabiyan and Tablas surrounded by
the numerous smaller heavily wooded and mountainous isles that make up the great
Phillippine Archipelago. To the
south the large islands of Caleu, Bahal and in the south the large of the
Philippine group, Mindanao.
One begins to understand the
magnitude of this Philippine battle area and a few things related to the huge
and seemingly insurmountable problems of supply necessary to the invasion these
thousands of miles from the American continent.
Surely here alone is real evidence and undying tribute to American
production and courage and faith in the precepts of their magnificent democracy.
This is the thing we call “the cause” for which men freely live and
willingly die.
After two hours we sight Waterous Field on the flat plain comprising the
southern end of Mindanao and the towns of San Jose and Painta nearby.
The usual large numbers of B-24’s predominated in number the planes on
this well constructed if new field with, of course, the usual number of divers
fighters, pursuit and other combat and transport planes.
There were too the now common sight of the burned and shattered wreckages
of U.S. planes as well as the increasingly larger number of Jap planes, victims
of ground strafing and bombings for the most part.
There are still many fighting Japs within the unsecured and nearly
inaccessible mountainous jungle portions of these islands.
In fact, for the most part the great part of these islands of the
Philippines are wild and uninhabited jungle.
This condition is for the certainty of a long and arduous type of mopping
up activities by liberating U.S. forces and Philippine Guerillas.
Landing here we were ready for takeoff in ½ hour with a new passenger or
two but still a light load.
We now skirted
the west coast of Mindanao for security reasons and flying over the China Sea
near Apo Reef northward to cut across the northwest peninsula of Mindanao and
skirting Luhang Isle continued north over the South China Sea skirting the west
coast of Luzon.
Saw Manila Bay far to the right came into view and also the famous rock
Corregidor lying a few miles south of memorable Bataan Peninsula which is green
mountainous terrain and place of horror for so many civilians and soldiers of
the U.S. after the fall of Corregidor.
Soon over Subic Bay ;with a display of U.S. naval might lying below and a few
miles inland to San Marcelino Air Field a U.S. Army air strip and transport base
upon peninsula and north over Manila Bay over the great rice paddies and
innumerable Filipino villages dotting the flooded landscape adjacent to the bay
itself.
I was impressed with the seemingly great fertility and greenness of these
checkerboard designs below as I find later they are some of the world’s most
fertile land plots. Everywhere along
this coastline the countryside is marked with the pocks of bomb craters and all
the dotted ends of what from the air looked much like surfboards but which were
the innumerable Jap planes, victims of our air force.
Nearly everyone seemed to occupy the center of a circular gray smudge as if a
haycock had been burned around the whole.
Continuing north we pass to the left of Clark Field a scene of much
activity and many U.S. planes as the ravished once great field is once again
being mended for future action of our air corp.
There were literally hundreds of Jap planes in huge piles of wreckage near this
field and of course dotting the countryside along our course.
The Japs were sure caught with their pants down here!
That much is evident.
Continuing up
the landing I noticed the squadrons of this fast dangerously great P-51 (Mustang
fighter planes) as they were continually landing and taking off with a light
bomb under each wing to fly north over the mountains to the area east and west
of the Lingayen Valley and Clark Field where they were giving their particular
kind of hell to the bastard Jap.
I understand that they are doing a great job.
I for one doubt it not one whit.
There were few Filipinos here, perhaps because there are no large town
near. We had some appetizing and
welcome chow at the nearby Army Camp and then back to the plane for a gassing
and oiling up before takeoff.
Off the deck at 1:30 and Captain Verdiels in a light mood and a lightly loaded
ship – Just the crew aboard and made a fighter takeoff and once again heading
south over Subic Bay, swing around Bataan Peninsula and low over and around the
unforgettable and tragic Corregidor at low altitude.
Being a clear day and flying by contact I sat back for a great experience, that
of viewing this historical battleground forever to remain great in the history
of the United States. Around Bataan
the broad, flat and verdant Lygayan Plain past O’Donnel Field and on over Carlos
airfield, also a source of great activity and over the town of Sugayen on
Lugayan Gulf the sport of the great landing by MacArthur on Luzon.
We now swing around the gulf and over San Fabian swing south eastward down the
valley towards Manila. Continuing on south over Tarlae and San Fernando until in
the distance we can see the destroyed city of Manila and farther south Segundo
Bay.
Circling low over Manila I was amazed at the complete destruction of a great and
once modern and beautiful city. From
the air the box-like gutted structures and crumbling masses of masonry made up a
pattern lined by what were apparently a well laid out city.
I cannot describe the complete destruction that lay before us.
Too beautiful Monda Harbor crowded now with our own vessels was at the
same time actually crowded with the sunken, partially sunken and burned hulks of
hundreds of ships that had been a goodly part of the Jap Merchant Marine now for
the most part on the bottom of various distant places in the Pacific.
I noticed a semicircle of ships end to end and sunken so as to erect a barrier
against any large vessels moving in close to the port itself.
The stacks and superstructure for the most part remain above the water
line on nearly every vessel. I later
learned that the Japs had scuttled these ships with the express purpose in mind
of preventing U.S. ships from moving in close. This must have been a measure
born of futility and desperation.
Getting permission to land Captain Veidiels picked his way in on the one
serviceable strip, the others being full of large bomb craters and under repair
by Filipino labor crews. This runway
also had been heavily bombed but was now in a state of fair repair.
All buildings, still hangers and administration building were in a complete
state of twisted, tortured and smoke blackened wreckage.
Not a pleasant sight.
After cutting the engines Capt. Verdiels was approached by a battalion of
photographers with the U.S. Army Air Corp. representing to one of the news reel
syndicates and a group of attractive Red Cross nurses.
They wished to use our plane and our crew as a background for some shots
to be released as news and sights from the battle fronts and propaganda for Red
Cross enlistments in the states.
Of course this was OK with us and thus were consumed about 45 minutes of our
time. Then the Filipino lads
descended upon the plane with their handfuls of Jap Invasion Money and souvenirs
to do some bartering for food, clothing, cigarettes especially, or anything else
these destitute people desired. It’s
a tough thing to see hungry people of any race or creed and we gave to them all
we had left of edibles including our K-rations.
I secured a few 100 peso bills as souvenirs for a pair of G.I. swimming trunks.
The other boys were doing
(?) and thus
we bartered for another half hour.
Having secured the plane for the night and taking our blankets we were able
through the Capts. effort to gain transportation into Manila where we were to
spend the night although at this time I was wondering where amid that wreckage
one could find a spot to lay his body.
The ride into
Manila was one never to be forgotten. As we proceeded on the wide thoroughfare
adjacent to the waterfront and fronting the most modern and once beautiful
apartment dwellings in the city. The
whole landscape was one terrible shamble land holocaust.
All living vegetation had died with the city and once beautiful parks were now
but cemeteries and death places for the beautiful trees that evidently had been
profusely spread in this area. There
was not a single building not destroyed as far as the eye could discern and a
view of the walled inner city gave concrete evidence of the terrific blasting
that had been necessary to root the Jap from his hole.
The bridges over the river into Manila had been completely destroyed but
replaced by the Army with a steel structure of heavy duty type.
Traffic of all descriptions and types was congested and Army M.P.’s did
a good job of keeping things moving as a goodly pace considering the condition.
Now we were in the center of the very heart of business life of Manila.
The scene was the same. All
types of modern building – concrete reinforced and structural steel, were either
blackened gaping skeletons of their former selves, torn and pock-marked by light
artillery and the gaping holes and crumbling walls as evidence of large caliber
fire.
The buildings were enmeshed from top to bottom by the rods of reinforcing steel
that had been torn apart in the blasting and concussion while again it holding
much of the masonry to the columns beams and girdles resembled standing
skeletons. A dismal sight was the
civic center where the no doubt imposing and once beautiful civic buildings were
lying bent and twisted in the streets or having fallen in upon themselves were
huge heaps of still burning blacked rubbish.
I have no doubt that a person having known the city and having lived there might
easily have written a volume on the death of this great city had he the heart to
do so. I wonder how many years
before this Manila shall be restored to its former beauty and place in the world
of renowned cities. Certainly it shall be a decade at the most conservative
estimate.
A high price to pay for blind unpreparedness.
We were to stay at the Naval Hdq. A building of 10 stories (the S. J.
Wilson Building) that while torn and blasted on the exterior was fit for hdq.
and offered living quarters by its many floors.
This building in the heart of the financial district of Manila on Juan
Fusion(?) St. is next door to which is now MacArthur’s Headquarters.
I notice his car right before the entrance with the 5 stars of a general
in evidence on its fore-aft plate.
Finding a place to sack out on the 3rd floor we went on to the 8th
floor and had chow in which had once been a large ballroom.
After chow we managed to get a much needed shower and shave before we
sallied forth to see what we could of the city before curfew at 11 P.M.
Duncan came up with a pile of Jap money that he obtained from the huge money
vaults below the building. Cimino
and I missed the other boys, so we started out to look for them and see the
sights. Darkness settled quickly and
being far from safe to be abroad after dark in this devastated city we started
back to our building only to run into the other fellows and the crew who had
managed a ride out to the residential districts of Manila where they were
determined to satisfy their bodily desires.
Cimino and I went along although I was not as the other fellows and neither was
Duncan. Anyway, away we went and on
down long wide Rizal Avenue for at least 5 miles with its crows of Fililpinos
and Army boys and night clubs and other type of joints.
After we left the truck we were surrounded by groups of young Filipinos
asking us if we wanted a “Pom Pom Girl,” which of course is a whore and those
that did went off down the narrow moldy alleys with the little pimps to take
one helluva chance on a good dose of “Chinese Crut” and all for a piece.
Jesus, what a state of morals war brings to warring states and especially to its
conquered, invaded, and liberated, where want and starvation are the brothers of
death and destruction. It was sort
of disgusting to Duncan and myself so we started for home arriving at the Wilson
building at about 10 P.M. and being completely tired out hit the sacks hoping
that those mosquitoes that were to feast on my blood during the night were not
themselves full of Malaria. That tragic affliction seems to be rampant in this
city and that is understandable.
I was too tired to sleep immediately, though and remember hearing Cimino and the
other boys come in talking of their 7 pesos conquest of the dusky little
attractive Filipino “Pom Poms.” That
is about all that I do recall at the end of this 6th day of April,
1945, East Longitude.
April 7, 1945
Up at 5:30 A.M. feeling refreshed and after chow gathered up blankets and ready
to leave for Nichols Field and the plane.
Had a few minutes before we were to meet Captains Verdiels and Ohm and so
made my way to the vaults below the Wilson building and was awed at the huge
stocks of Jap invasion money that occupied this large extensive system of
underground vaults.
It was evident that the Japs had been so bold as to predispose the conquest of
all Asia and eventually all American outlying islands and protectorates with
U.S. finally the jewel of the center setting.
Thousands of crates of new and used money of the Philippine as well as
Dutch and English Commonwealth as well as American invasion script were piled
high in their vaults.
When I say I walked on BILLIONS I was speaking the truth literally, although it
now worthless as
a money medium.
It does seem to make for attractive souvenirs though and many of the
fellows paste the ends of the various bills end to end for use as a “short
snorter.” I must say that the length
and variety of some of these money chains is interesting and a wee bit imposing.
Having but little time I looked over the huge piles of money in the several
vaults and then collecting a goodly supply of various denominations I left the
place and again walked up the ramp by the Guerilla Guard whose job was, I
suppose, to see that no one entered these vaults although I was not challenged
either way.
Arriving back at Nichols Field we found that we must return to San Marcelino for
refueling and getting a green light clearance we were very soon in the air again
over Manila and out across Manila Bay to the field across Subic Bay.
Refueling took but a short time and once again we were winging our way
south on a course to take us around Cape Santiano and then; east across the
lower portion of Luzon.
Skirted the isle of Marinduque, across Banton Isle, to the north of Sibuy an
isle over the Sibuyan Sea, across the north of Masbiate and the upper tip of
Leyte and Tacalolian on over and across the lower tip of Samar and so once again
across that portion of the Western Pacific for 500 miles to Peleliu.
The weather was somewhat overcast and undercast but there seemed to be no
violent upper winds or definite fronts.
After 2 ½ hours arrived at Pelileu at ETA and in a heavy downpour.
Had chow there and then after displaying
and sorting of invasion money everyone sacked down on the plane floor.
I know very well that this is to be a night of restlessness and little sleep.
Despite the almost continuous downpour on the plane the interior remains
hot and uncomfortable and the hard floor with the landing angle of the ship
makes for me a certainty of an unpleasant night.
I shall know more of that in a few hours, and so, so long until then.
April 8, 1945, Sunday
My previous assumption of an uncomfortable night was 100% correct and
today I was not only sleep weary but sore to the point of rawness in one or two
places. I must have slid over half
of that damnable plane last night.
Thank goodness I have my sack, humble as it may be, for this nights rest.
We were ready to leave Pelelui early and had picked up a load of
servicemen for Ulithi and Guam.
After getting a weather report from the Army weather station we hopped over to
Augar for a few more passengers and then off to Ulithi.
A perfect day for flying with the airstrip plainly visible in detail on
the Jap held (Palau?) and also Yap Island (Jap held).
Stopped only shortly at Ulithi, hot and glaring in the bright sun on the
snow white coral landing strip and taxi way.
After chow here where by the gift of a few Jap bills were able to get all
the good ice cream that we could possibly stow away, we took off and made a good
run to Guam. Turned in my gear, had
chow, then for a very thorough personal cleaning job as I really had acquired
some filth during the last three days.
It was like a good dream and a restful sleep to be clean once again and
so after catching up on past news and new scuttlebutt I parried inquiries as to
the type and amount of money or other souvenirs that I had acquired during the
flight and off to sleep ere lights were out.
Miles covered: 4,000.
Hours of flight: 26.
April 9, 1945, Monday
Arose early and knew this was to be another day of humid heavy heat so
much a part of Guam. Over to the
navigation area early and spending most of the forenoon checking my flight logs,
brining my log books up to date and talking over the flight with the boys.
I notice that there are some new comers, all tech sarges, transferred
from Squad #253. Oh, well, hell, I
guess that won’t make too much difference in our future here.
Amazed at the interest in and the ready market for the rather goodly
amount of Jap money picked up by our flight crew.
It appears as if it may turn out to be a financial landfall.
Spent the afternoon catching up on my back mail and at 3:30 had some ice
cream. Spent the evening by seeing
the squadron cinema, writing letters and parrying inquiries as to the type of
and amount of Jap money that I have in my possession.
There are a number of fellows here who are depending on my generosity for
a few Jap souvenirs and I am fixing them up, so to say, that their little hearts
may be happy.
Feel like another night of uninterrupted sleep and so at lights out took
part in very little of the usual “shooting the shit.”
Looks like a very pleasant 8 hours, so, so long.
April 10, 1945, Tuesday
Spent the day as usual, going over to the area, sitting around reading,
talking and always perspiring just to kill time and pass another day.
Have guard duty tonight and thus must muster at 4:15 P.M.
Spent the afternoon crapping out until guard muster.
After muster over to guard chow.
Managed to get my two cans of beer and ready to return to the guard area
at 6:30 for the night and also my tour of duty.
Hit the sack rather early as I have a couple of hours before the 10-2
guard tour.
So passes another rather empty day for this person, April 10, 1945.
(to be continued…)