Cadet, Soldier, Guerrilla Fighter: Remembering Bataan and Corregidor 9781532747298, 1532747292

Table of contents :
Contents
Manila
1 - Japan's Great East Asia War
2 - Goodbye to Good Times
3 - Not to Worry!
4 - Last Night
5 - A Hell of a Way to Prepare for Christmas
6 - Target: Luzon
7 - War Plan Orange
8 - Adios, Manila
Bataan
9 - The First Defense
10 - The Battling Bastards of Bataan
11 - The Second Line of Defense
12 - Victory at The Pockets and The Points
13 - The Long Lull
14 - Patrol Duty
15 - The Last Battle
16 - Death of an Army
17 - Death March
18 - What Hell Could Be Worse Than Camp O'Donnell
19 - The Will to Live
Corregidor
20 - The Luckless Island
21 - Life in Malinta
22 - Tunnelitis
23 - The Final Attack
24 - Surrender
Japanese Occupation
25 - Daily Double and Other Deals
26 - Year 2602
27 - Independence?
28 - Fasting Abstinence
Guerrillero
29 - Resistance
30 - Still Would I Give to Thee
31 - He Has Returned
32 - The Hunters-ROTC
33 - Escape from Muntinlupa
34 - Muntinlupa II: Escape of the Choir Boys
35 - Freedom: the Los Banos Raid
Epilogue
Appendix
About the Author

Citation preview

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Cadet, Soldier GUERRILLA FIGH TER Remembering Bataan and Corregidor Antonio A. Nieva

959.9043 N682 2016 7856

Cadet, Soldier, Guerrilla Fighter Remembering Bataan and Corregidor

Written and illustrated by

Antonio A. Nieva

Edited by

Pepi Nieva

unWUt HSMICtLCDMMISSION OF THE PHUPPMb

Copyright ©2016 by Pepi Nieva All rights reserved 1

Cadet, Soldier, Guerrilla Fighter Remembering Bataan and Corregidor

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A L

Nieva, Antonio A. Cadet, Solider, Guerrilla Fighter: Remembering Bataan and Corregidor/Antonio A. Nieva Manila, Philippines Copyright 2016 by Pepi Nieva 1. Nieva, Antonio A. 2. World War II —History —Philippines —Bataan—Corregidor—Guerrilla 3. Bataan Death March — History —Memoir 4. Prisoners of War—Japanese occupation —Muntinlupa — Los Banos — Luzon ISBN-13: 978-1532747298 ISBN-10: 1532747292

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& &

This book is dedicated to the thousands of Filipino soldiers who fought bravely and valiantly during World War II. It is also dedicated to my family: My parents Gregorio Morente Nieva and Maria Lichauco Arevalo de Nieva My dear wife Teresa Feria Nieva Our children Veronica, Vicenta (Pepi), Violeta, and Juan Antonio Children-in-law Steven Ettinger, John M. Brown, Mariano Arroyo, and Irene Casus Nieva

And to our grandchildren: Manuela and Mariano Arroyo Edouard and Nicolo Quinto Jonathan and Kenneth Ettinger Paolo, Monique, and Franco Nieva

HIJMNM.WSTORKN-COMMISSION OF THE PHUPP»

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Table of Contents Prologue: Introduction to the Filipino 5 MANILA

11-53

Japan's Great East Asia War • Goodbye to Good Times • Not to Worry! Last Night ■ A Hell of a Way to Prepare for Christmas • Target: Luzon War Plan Orange ■ Adios, Manila BATAAN

54-131

The First Defense • The Battling Bastards of Bataan The Second Line of Defense Victory of The Pockets and The Points ■ The Long Lull Patrol Duty The Last Battle • Death of an Army • Death March What Hell Could be Worse Than Camp O'Donnell? The Will to Live CORREGIDOR

132-160

The Luckless Island • Life in Malinta • Tunnelitis • The Final Attack Surrender

JAPANESE OCCUPATION

161-192

Daily Double and Other Deals • Year 2602 ■ Independence? Fasting and Abstinence

GUERILLERO 193-252 Resistance • Still Would I Give to Thee • He Has Returned! The Hunters-ROTC • Escape from Muntinlupa • Freedom: The Los Banos Raid Epilogue ■ 253 Appendix • 256 About the Author • 269

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Prologue A Letter of Introduction to the Filipino We Filipinos are a curious breed. Our native land is not one but 7,000 islands, give or take a hundred islets or so, stretching southward from Taiwan to Kalimantan between the narrow China Sea and the broad Pacific Ocean. On these fertile isles some 100 million of us bask under a fierce tropic sun gentled by rains, occasionally lashed by violent typhoons, and frightened by earthquakes, reminders that our country is not exactly Eden, just east of it. She is a beautiful land. The Spaniards baptized her "Filipinas," appropriately a feminine name. For she is a fecund motherland that responds generously to tire caress of tire farmer's plow, yields the treasure of her mountains to the miner's importuning, and the bounty of her seas to tire daring fisherman.

Successive waves of settlers — communities of Indonesian boat people fleeing from persecution in their native lands; artisans and traders from China's teeming coastlines; Spanish conquistadores seeking new territories to colonize and Christianize; Dutch, Portuguese, and English freebooters sacking treasure ships of the galleon trade; Americans with a mission "to civilize the natives with a Krag;" and lastly the Japanese with their self-serving Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere — have lusted for her embrace. Many of these have found havens of peace and connubial bliss on her hospitable shores. Because of these infusions, our flesh tones range from dusky chocolate to albino white; the average, a cafe an lait which, in self-flattery, we describe as kayuniaiigging kaligatan, a honey hue from dollops of Chinese yellow, swarthy Spanish tan, dashes of Western shades of white, even dots of ebony blended with our basic Malay brown.

Generally short in stature, slight of frame, slim, lithe, and graceful (specially the female of our species), our physical features vary from island to island, from province to province, sometimes even from town to town. The stocky, broad-chested, leg-muscled mountain tribesmen are easily distinguished from the leaner, longer-legged lowlanders. The stooped posture of the Batanes islanders (who live in constant crouch in underground storm shelters) stands apart from the proud bearing of the Muslim warrior-sailors of tire Sulu Seas. And the aquiline Indian cast of the residents of Taytay (descendants of mutinous British Army Sepoys) is distinct from the flatter faces of those from the surrounding towns.

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We are a mini-Tower of Babel. We speak in eight or more tongues and a babble of dialects. The hard guttural of the llocano is a different language from the mellifluous sing-song of the llonggo. The Sumatran-tinged Pampango is unintelligible to Cebuano ears and the bird-like twitter of the Ibanag is Greek to other Filipinos. Even among those who talk the same dialect, the accents and idioms differ. In tire Tagalog provinces, the lone of voice and words of the Bulakeno are lyrical compared with the boastful bravado of the Batangueno. Once there was an unbridgeable communications gap between the peoples of the Philippines, but thanks to the public school system introduced by the American Thomasite teacher, most anyone can now communicate in English throughout the Islands. The reply, however, more often than not would be in "Taglish," today's lingua franca, a hodgepodge of Tagalog and American slang, comprehensible to Filipinos but utter esperanto to foreigners.

We sure are a halo-halo (mix-mix) race, and proud of it. We like to think the best of various nationalities have been seeded in our genes. Originally our multi-dialects had no disparaging words such as hybrid, mulatto, and Creole. These were ideas imported by our white invaders, ironically, by the cross-bearing Spaniard and the "democratic" American who both proclaimed that "all men are created equal" — except the colonized. Victims of discrimination ourselves, the concept, however, was not deeply impressed on our minds. Mestizo/a, the Spanish synonym of half-breed, is not a derogatory' term; a flattery in fact, especially when the subject is a lady fair of pleasing mien and vivacious ways. Mejorar la raza (improve the race) is a phrase of approbation for the mating of Filipino and Caucasian, or any handsome specimen of another race for that matter. If the Chinese once felt discriminated against, the numerous Chinese surnames of illustrious Filipino families here are proof enough that they were not disdained for their race, but rather from subconscious resentment of their hardworking habits, business acumen, and consequent affluence that put many' of us easy-going Filipinos to shame. We are a nation of contradictions. A religious people we are. The only Christian country in the Far East is our proud boast, our most cherished heritage of the Spanish conquest by sword and cross. To litis day, some eighty' percent of our people still profess the Roman Catholic faith, in spite of the numerous uprisings provoked by the abusive governors-friars of the Spanish regime, the anti-clericalism imported by our ilustrados educated in Spain, the in-roads of Masonry' (the Spanish "Grand Oriente" and the "Scottish Rite" from the U.S.A.) among our early political leaders, the proselytization of American Protestant

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missionaries and our own schismatic, and by the propagators of the Communist doctrines. In this era of change, the Church still flourishes.

The hierarchy gradually is disassociating itself from the secular powers that be. The younger bishops and clergy are in the forefront of the struggle against unjust socio-political structures that institutionalize poverty, that endemic Philippine and Asian condition. Despite the chronic shortages of priests for service in our mega-parishes, our missionaries are starting to go to our Asian neighbors with the "Good News" of salvation, justice, and liberation from oppression. The colleges and universities run by the religious orders are still the ivy leagues of our educational system. And our educated lay persons (some of whom outdistance the clergy in the pathways of the Lord) are beginning to realize that they are the Church, not mere second-class participants-spectators in the rituals and work of the clergy. Yet, for the great majority, our Christianity often is but a thin veneer over the beliefs and customs of our pre-Hispanic past. Our relationship with the heavenly powers is on a person-to-person basis. In the devious Asian manner, we prefer the intercession of patrons with the right connections to direct dialogues with the Almighty. We constantly storm specific saints with supplications for our daily needs and economic alleviation. Gamblers dedicate their fighting cocks to San Pedro, the sabungeros' (cockfighters) patron saint. Nightclub hostesses invoke the aid of the Magdalene to meet affluent sugar daddies. Parents pray to San Roque for their children's protection against dogs with rabies. The more popular saints of the Catholic firmament have their "fan clubs" and special days of purposeful veneration — Tuesdays for San Antonio, head of heaven's lost and found department; Wednesdays for the Mother of Perpetual Help; Thursdays for Saint Jude, the desperates' last resort, and so on — with Sundays as days of rest, sometimes from church-going. Many of our towns and cities, as many of us, are named after saints whose feast days are celebrated with elaborate rnisas cantata, novenas, and other public professions of faith, and irreverent fiestas, and side-shows. The Santa Cruz de Mayo, once a prayerful procession in honor of the Virgin and the valiant women of the Christian tradition has degenerated into a beauty contest parade. The Moriones of Marinduque is now a Lenten carnival (and a major tourist attraction) where, on Holy Week, tire townsmen gaudily costumed as Roman soldiers strut about, "chase" and "behead" the legendary Longinus, the one-eyed centurion whose sight was restored by tire Crucified's blood from his spear-thrust's coup de grace. At harvest time, the whole town of Lukban is festooned with garlands of edible decorations in gratitude to San Isidro, the farmer's friend. Many women cavort in fertility dances before the Virgin of Obando. Others walk on their knees at Antipolo as a down payment for a

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desired boon. And men indulge in self-flagellation on Good Friday as a form of expiation (ami license) for a year-long life of sin. Like our Mexican cousins, ours is yet a folk religion full of pageantry and pagan overtones.

God and his celestial coterie are frequently on our lips. "Diyos ko!", "Susmariosepl", "Santa Maria!" (My God! Jesus, Mary and Joseph in short form, Holy Mary) — are but some of our fervent ejaculations in moments of peril, surprise, and discomfiture, interspersed, however, by earthy Spanish interjections. Today, our past practices of kilometric private novenas and personal prayers have been modernized and supplanted by charismatic prayer meetings, encounters for married couples, religious cursillos, dialogue retreats, and other forms of reverent group dynamics. For all this, we still half-believe in mischievous if fortune-giving dueiide (leprechaun, Philippine edition), flattering soothsayers, faith-healers, and other preternatural power-brokers from our pagan past. Both outlaws and soldiers pray simultaneously to their heavenly protectors but hold fast to their anting-anting (wound-warding amulets) as they battle each other. All these, coupled with a distorted Christian vision of hell on earth as heaven's price, make us ever-hopeful fatalists. Bnhnln 11a — that inexplicable combination of trust in God, abandonment to the fickle whims of fate, a reckless vote of confidence in one's resourcefulness, and "the hell with it!" — is the articulation of our philosophy of undefeated resignation that enables us to endure life's vagaries with laughter or at least a smile, tragedies with a shrug and determination to carry on without a sense of total defeat.

Jose Rizal, our national hero, called us indolent with reason and in exasperation. Juan Tamad, our folklore's epitome of sloth, is a favorite anti-hero with whom we identify partly in jest, partly in cheerful confession, the tropic heat and centuries of colonial subjugation our semi-valid justifications. Eighty-five percent of our population teeters in the poverty' line, yet our generosity and hospitality know no bounds. Even in times of financial stress and distress, we cannot forego our traditional festivities as matters of personal pride and family honor. Baptisms, weddings, anniversaries, bienvenida and despedida (hail and farewell) parties, and the ultimo adios to the dear departed on the last of the nine-day wake are occasions for grand get-togethers of relatives to the nth degree, compadre and comadre (the godparents of our cherished children), friends, and acquaintances, even our creditors. We have to make whoopee come what may. But our homes, no matter how humble, are always open houses to less-fortunate relatives, friends, and even strangers al mealtimes or for longer periods. The extended family system is our insurance policy, placement bureau, SSS, Medicare, and cooperative, all in one.

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Institutions for the unwanted aged are anathema to our clan-oriented society; bayanihan our term for that informal mutual-aid neighborhood association.

Our open-handedness and hospitality, however, are often out-matched by our spendthrift tendencies. We would go around in Mercedeses when motorbikes are all we can afford. We invented deficit spending, seek fun and pleasure at any price, and are reckless gamblers at heart. In our cities and bigger towns, day (!) and nightclubs, beerhouses with "a-go-go" dancers for canapes; hotel luncheon fashion shows of scantily clad models as the menu's piece de resistance, and motels for "dessert" are S.R.O. especially on paydays. Illegal and legal gambling houses — cockpits, race tracks, tire jai alai, the government's casinos for tourists and other such emporia — are crowded every day, including Sundays. For the homebodies and homemakers, mahjong is the game, clacking on in the afternoons up to early morn.

The poor indulge their gaming instinct in cara/crus, small-time pangguingue or lucky nine, even paper-boat races in sidewalk gutters on rainy days, and other rudimentary games of chance. Losses are usually shrugged off as malas lang (tough luck) and the winners dissipate their gains till they are back to square one, or less. Financial management, budgets, cash-flow control, and reserves for the rainy day, are alien to our free-wheeling ways, though a new breed of technocrats and MBAs from Harvard and our own A.I.M. (Asian Institute of Management) is now a-spawning. Good time now, bahala na tomorrow has been a Filipino motto long before tire installment plan. Our carefree attitude towards money, bolstered by the helping hand extended by tire family system, contributes to our unflagging morale and staying power, but is our economic Achilles' heels. Our country was the "show case of democracy in Asia" once upon a time. But our concept of democracy is a compound of personality cults, regional pride, a "datu-rajah-sultan" voter loyalty, and Tammany Hall. While we memorize the democratic theories of Jefferson, Hamilton, Lincoln, and other American founding fathers, our practice more often follows that of its corruptors, plus the Midas acquisitiveness of the robber barons. During the American administration, a tight little band of politico-oligarchs dominated the national scene. They changed parties and partners like rigodon dancers (the parties had similar if not identical platforms anyway; the current rivals were cronies anyhow); their cohorts like sheep following the Judas ram. Patronage was dispensed to the same hangers-on through the same influence peddlers, by turns.

President Manuel L. Quezon then was tire undisputed leader whose charismatic personality was the embodiment of all Filipino qualities and defects. Independence 9

and a "government run like hell by Filipinos rather than one like heaven by foreigners" had been his rallying cry. After his death, as an exile in the U.S.A, during World War 11, his dreams came true, both ways. The Filipino voters still loyally followed the regional boss who, with "gold, guns, and goons" urged the independents to join the herd. With few exceptions, our politicians, like Daniel Webster, could debate with the devil but preferred to run with him. National officials gave more thought to pocket-lining than to nation-building; ditto, the solons with their thoughtless legislation (one even authored a bill to outlaw typhoons!). Reelection is the main concern of all, to the righteous anger of the people and the advantage of the leftist agitators. We are indeed a happy people, blessed with joy of living, a sense of humor, and the gift of laughter. The vicissitudes of life do not faze us for long. There is always tomorrow. If the first impression of us is one of a carefree, happy-go-lucky breed, our better qualities, however, emerge during days of trial. In those moments, we have often been likened to the carabao and the bamboo which, offhand, seem to be insulting comparisons. But, upon reflection, the similes are not derogatory at all. Like the carabao, patience, forbearance, and fortitude are some of our major characteristics. As the bamboo, we bend with misfortunes' violent gales but are rarely broken even by the strongest gusts. Yet, though peace-loving, long-suffering, and resilient in adversity, when pushed to the limit we run amok (the word our semantic contribution to the English language), become raging animals, wild beyond control. All these we are. Like all peoples we have virtues and defects. We are poor but generous, naively trusting yet proud at heart, patient and forbearing yet enraged when our dignity is affronted. A sincere smile and an extended hand are keys to our hearts, but our bolos are unsheathed when our hospitality is abused. The late General Vicente Lim, the "Rock" of Bataan, said of us:

"History shows that the Filipinos will suffer and endure much before they will fight, but once aroused, they will fight to the end." As the Spaniard, the American, and the Japanese found out when they came to our shores with sword in hand and malice in their minds.

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Pray for those who in utter wretchedness have died,

For all those who have suffered untold pain, For our poor mothers who their sorrows out have cried, For orphans, widows, men who on the rack are tried, And for thyself that redemption thou mayst behold.

-JOSE RIZAL, December 30,1896 On the eve of his execution "Ultimo Adios" Translation by Juan Collas

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MANILA

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Japanese anti-colonial propaganda poster supporting tlute Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere.

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tO0KN.WST0RlCALC0hMSS10N0FlHEPHW)NE

1 Japan's Great East Asia War ‘ I ’he Greater East Asia War did not begin with Pearl Harbor. Japan's war to free JL the Pacific from Western power started long before that fateful day, as early as the Korean expedition of the 19th century when the samurai nation first tried the game of conquest with a winning hand of modern arms.

Japan played it in earnest during the Russo-Japanese conflict and, more seriously still, when invited to join the high-stake gaming table by the European super powers and the U.S.A. Originally it was a friendly game, akin to Monopoly, with the imperialists carving up Asian real estate, spheres of influence and exclusive commercial concessions among themselves in a give-and-take spirit and, of course, in utter disregard of the real owners' rights and interests. But, as in all games of chance, quarrels arose between the players. After the "War to End All Wars," Japan emerged a winner without putting up any ante, with German colonies in China and the Pacific as the share of the pot for active non-intervention. By the mid-1930s the game had escalated to big-time poker. Japanese incursions In China and Manchuria (with the China Incident and sequels as excused) were raises that the other nations failed to call. By 1940, Japan upped the play to "winner take all" not only for the wealth of China but all Southeast Asia as well. Only the United States of America and Great Britain (the latter still entitled to the adjective then) stayed in contention, countering each Japanese move with economic sanctions.

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By summer of 1941, the betting had reached a put-up-or-shut-up stage. The parties' respective positions had already been stated repeatedly in grandiloquent diplomatese. The issue, stripped of elegant verbiage, was simple: Japan's need for space and resources versus Britain and America's Asian holdings. Nor was there hope by then of resolving the conflict of interests by negotiation. President Roosevelt, confident that tire Pacific Fleet was his "big stick," ignored cousin Teddy's dictum to "speak softly." Instead, he issued cease/desist orders against further Japanese territorial encroachments, demanded withdrawal from occupied Chinese areas, backed these injunctions with stop orders of vital materials' exports to Japan, a deep freeze of Japan's assets and, finally, a total embargo on petroleum supplies. Or else! At tire opposite end of the bargaining table, Japan (now openly allied with the Axis Powers) was already prepared for pre-emptive strikes. Tire Imperial Navy poised for a surprise attack on Hawaii; combined forces ready for southward advance from newly acquired bases in Indo-China; and an invasion team all set in Taiwan to isolate the Philippine garrison from the U.S.A, despite "so sorry" protestations.

By fall, both nations were unofficially at war, with Britain, Holland, and China as American allies. Thus, the Day of Infamy was just Japan's opening statement in the trial by arms. The Filipinos likened the situation to one of their favorite avocations, the cockfight. The preliminary bargaining was over, the odds calculated, and the bets casado ria (in the house). The fighting cocks, with slasher blades unsheathed, were loose in the ring with flared hackles, crowing last-minute challenges, circling each other in the pre-death dance. If there was any pretense of distaste for battle, the bladed legs, tensed and ready for striking, belied such dissimulations. It was only a matter of time and the opportune moment. To tine Filipino sabungero (cockfighter), the match promised to be well worth watching. The only trouble was that the Philippines would be most likely to be the cockpit of the U.S.-Japan fight.

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