Blood Brothers by Eugene C. Jacobs (i can read book club TXT) 📕

TO JOIN FIL-AMERICAN FORCES IN BATAAN! MACARTHUR”.

The Japanese forces controlled both roads leading from Baguio to Bataan. The only available exits from Baguio were over rugged mountains, some a mile high. The nearest road leading to Bataan that still might be open was through Balete Pass, fifty miles to the southeast.

I worried about feeding my medical detachment (two Army nurses and thirty enlisted personnel) following along behind the companies of the 43rd Infantry of Scouts. I told Col. Horan that I would like my detachment to be the “point” that would lead the way through to Bataan. To my surprise, he seemed pleased and agreed. I told him, “I’m ready to move out!” He answered,

“OK!”

Our medics quickly mounted hospital transportation and drove down the southeast road into the valley, past the entrance to the Antomoc Gold Mine and on to the end of the pavement. As we abandoned our vehicles, we disabled them so the Japanese would be unable to use them. We then placed our first-aid materials and my little medical bag on litters, and started up the trail at a rather rapid pace. In the hot sun we soon became exhausted and realized we would have to go slower and rest frequently.

About three hours up the trail, we came upon Associated Press Correspondent Clark Lee trudging along. Resting with him on the path for a few minutes, we swapped stories; he reported: “Lingayen city has been bombed! Many Filipinos are fleeing south through the central plains with all their belongings. I came up to Baguio yesterday; soldiers had dynamite boxes ready to blow the bridges on the Naguillian Trail. I saw Major Ganahl and asked him what happened to our North Luzon Forces. Joe answered, ‘Hell! We are the North Luzon Forces!”

We never saw Clark Lee again, but later learned that he found a short-cut through St. Nicholas and Tayug to the central plain, where he had a brush with the Japs on his way to Bataan. He proved an old saying, “He travels fastest who travels alone!” He later wrote a very interesting book about his experiences in the Philippines, “They Call It Pacific.”

Our two nurses were having difficulty keeping up with the troops on the steep and often narrow trails. Our equipment was becoming too heavy to carry; little by little, it fell by the wayside: litters, gas masks, helmets, pup tents, tarps, blankets, mosquito nets, etc. As we moved up the mountains, we noticed natives using mirrors to signal planes. We didn’t know whether they were trying to blind the pilots or wave them away. Two more fatiguing hours and we reached the large Lusod Saw Mill, operated’ by the American Jorgensen family.

A soldier came running up the path; he shouted, “Col. Horan has had a heart attack!” Back down the trail I went for about an hour, when I found the colonel in agony beside the path. A quarter of morphine, a swallow of whiskey and an hour’s rest revived him enough to continue.

The Jorgensen family were gracious hosts; they had apparently been stocking up on food for several months, getting ready for this day. They shared their Christmas dinner with us-our last warm meal.

Because the mountains were so rugged, we decided that tile nurses should remain with the Jorgensens to share their fate, along with several American miners’ wives, who were joining them-to sit out the war.

The Jorgensens still had telephone service to their friends in Baguio. From them, we learned that many of the Japanese civilian prisoners, whom we had interned at Camp John Hay, when liberated by the Japanese-army, were putting on uniforms, private to colonel, and joining the occupying forces. The invading army had government money, already printed, when they arrived. When the Jap soldiers presented their “play” money to the Filipinos in order to buy food, the natives laughed and said, “No good in this country!” They soon learned that it was backed up by the full faith of the Japanese bayonet. There were many tales of Japanese treachery.

Yet, the Japs pretended to be friendly to the Filipino. They would say, “Look the color of our skin is the same! We promise

you early liberation from the Americans, and in the near future, we give your country independence.” The Japs turned their hospitality and hostility on and off like a faucet.

The Japs insisted that the natives take off their big straw hats and bow deeply each time they encountered a Japanese soldier. This was not the Filipinos’ idea of independence and freedom. They’d had it much better with the Americans. We later learned that in most every barrio, especially in Mindanao, a Japanese store owner put on a uniform, when liberated, and took charge of the barrio.

Christmas evening, we were informed that Manila had been declared an “open city.” U.S. troops were actively moving toward Bataan and Corregidor. We also heard that seven thousand Jap forces had made a landing at Lamon Bay, east of Manila. Major General George Parker’s South Luzon Forces were opposing the landing. It was estimated that the Japanese had an invasion force of more than 150,000 men in the Philippines. Rumors were that “Help is on the Way.”

Dec. 26, 1941: Telling the Jorgensens and their lady guests, “Many thanks, and the best of luck,” we hit the mountain trail, climbing steep paths to high passes and then sliding down the other side. At night we slept near streams and awakened soaked with dew. After several hours of sunshine we would dry out. We quickly learned of some new inconveniences: ants, spiders, tics, mosquitoes, and sunburn. We were invited to sleep in native huts, but the smoke from their open fires was so strong-burning our eyes-that we had to move outside.

In three days we had reached a small village in the valley, Aritao. Overhead a Japanese plane was observing our activities. We decided to push on to Balete Pass, where we located a quaint hotel nestled in the mountains. Here we could get food and lodging. Up to this time we had been paying for any services received, but now with the money running low, we realized we’d have to exist on the mercy of the natives.

In the hotel we met the American owner of the Red Line Bus Co. of Tuguegarao, who was taking his Filipino family to Manila in a big open truck filled with his belongings. He had room for ten soldiers.

Dec. 29, 1941: Early in the morning, our group, sitting amid the baggage in the back of the Red Line truck, was cruising down the highway toward San Jose. A car with a Jap flag on top passed us going north.

Shortly, the Jap car was back minus the Japanese flag on top. It came to a screeching halt as our truck had the road blocked. For a few seconds the Japs and our medics just stared at each other probably expecting gunfire. Nothing happened! My unarmed medics had the Japs surrounded! I had my .45 pistol, but knew if I reached for it, we’d all be mowed down. Stepping forward, I motioned the Jap car into the ditch and around the truck. They accepted the escape route; in a big hurry, they were roaring down the road.

We thanked the Red Line Bus family for the lift and instructed them, “Turn around and get back up in the mountains. Best of luck!”

My medics and I climbed down a steep bank to the east, crossed over a wide, rocky, river bottom keeping our ten paces between men-and entered a thick jungle. Within ten minutes, several Japanese tanks rumbled to a stop on the road, where our truck had been parked, turned their machine guns toward the jungles and sprayed the area. Bellies to the earth, we waited and prayed as the bullets slashed through the forests. We continued to hug the ground for several hours until we were sure the Japs had departed.

We moved deeper into the dense jungle, up an old trail. Suddenly, we could hear crackling footsteps all around us we were surrounded! We froze! I reached for my .45, hoping to get one of them before they got us. Thirty pairs of eyes were focused on us. Large monkeys! As startled as we were, they scampered off, chattering to themselves. I examined my .45; the clip was gone; there was just one bullet left-the one in the chamber. I would save that for myself if things got really bad.

We continued on up the trail to the top of a mountain, where we could get a good view of the central plain below. San Jose was in flames. Across the valley, Clark Field was burning fiercely; two large columns of dense black smoke from oil fires. There were also fires at Cabanatuan, Manila and Cavite.

General Wainwright’s withdrawing North Luzon Forces had blown many bridges on their way south to Bataan. It was very evident that the enemy occupied most of the central plain-and was apparently harassing the natives. Many of the Filipino homes were in flames.

Toward evening, we sent a disguised medic back down the trail to find a Filipino home and make some arrangements to get

food for the remnants of our detachment-five. We never saw the other medics again.

We could hear the big guns booming on Bataan and Corregidor, 125 miles to the south. We located a hunter’s lean-to and camped there for several days. We grew accustomed to the many strange noises in the jungles: birds, monkeys and many other animals, but were having trouble with the ants, spiders and mosquitoes. Camping in the tropics was quite different from camping in the States. In the Philippines every square inch of soil has its menagerie of insects. One of the things I feared the most was being eaten to death if I should be unlucky enough to be wounded.

Each night I thanked God for sparing my life. Our American medic, Al Roholt, carried a pocket New Testament. Within several days each of us had read through it.

We quickly learned that we couldn’t eke out an existence in the jungle. There was too much competition. The birds and animals were extremely mobile and agile, getting to any available food much quicker than we could.

The Japanese cavalry and infantry were making daily trips up and down the highway. They entered houses along the road and slapped the Filipinos, demanding, “Where are the Americans?” The natives remained loyal and gave them no information.

Peeking through the bushes at the Jap units going by, I began to wonder why and how studying medicine had gotten me into such a mess.

We had plenty of time to just sit and reflect: We knew the Japanese had designs on U.S., British, French, and Dutch possessions in Southeast Asia. We knew the War Plan Rainbow 5-assumed the Philippines were defensible. We knew the Philippines were not scheduled for any reinforcements, and that its early loss was expected both in the U.S. and in Japan.

It had become quite obvious that the Japs had made landings wherever they chose, and were proceeding to Bataan with very little resistance. We knew that Gen. MacArthur had from 12,000 to 15,000 American troops and about the same number of well-trained Philippine Scouts (P.S.), but the remaining 100,000 Philippine Army (P.A.) troops had less than three months training, and their weapons were for the most part obsolete (World War I vintage).

We had lost much of our aggressive power before the U.S. (Congress) declared war on Japan. We hoped that most of our

troops could get through to Bataan. We could hear the big guns rumbling on Bataan; we hoped they were ours, not the Japanese.

The Japanese cavalry continued to move up and down the highway every day-keeping it open for their purposes. Each squadron of cavalry had several Filipina