Chapter 2: Invasion and flight

First small scale Japanese invasions occur at coastal ports. Barnett, James, and Maria prepare to flee Baguio.

On December 10, the Japanese landed their first troop contingent at Philippine historic Spanish city of Vigan, facing the China Sea in the province of Ilocos Sur in Northern Luzon. A historic relic and eclectic blend of Spanish architecture and oriental design, Vigan had become a favored tourist destination in American colonial Luzon.  Its 19^th century Spanish colonial style buildings supported projecting balconies overhanging the sidewalks, where on any normal day the mingle and bustle of Filipino and Chinese Creole populous proceeded unimpeded through streets.  On any normal day, a steady stream of cargo from fishing boats and passenger boats passed between the busy waterfront of Vigan and the nearby Salomague port.  Instead today, throughout the city of beauty, the colloquial name bestowed by the original Chinese merchants, gangs of drunken, Japanese troops rampaged through the streets perpetrating carnage and atrocities for which conquering armies throughout history have infamously inflicted on civilians--violence, rape, and looting.

From a foreign perspective, the brutality by the Japanese military was inexplicable without considering the complete military indoctrination of Japanese society, taught from childhood that Japanese were racially and morally superior to other cultures and divinely destined to rule.  By 1940, the last of Japan’s civilian government had been swept away in a spasm of ultranationalism with the military cementing its grip on power.  Instilling a bastardized interpretation Bushido culture, the military elite elevated sadism to a virtue and conversely viewed compassion as a weakness.  Individuals who shrank in the performance of this distorted code of honour were singled out for ostracism, humiliation, and shame with all the fearful consequences of disgrace.   The Japanese soldiers carried out the brutal policies of their military with fanatical zeal, against other societies they viewed contemptuously as without honour and dignity. 

Roaming Japanese soldiers riddled the stucco walls with bullets, ordering the inhabitants out of their homes, yelling “ou’side, speedo, speedo,” and in the presence of family and community, abducting women, and beating anyone attempting to intervene.  Japanese brutality was direct; simply strike their unlucky victim with whatever they happened to be holding, which usually meant the butt end of a rifle.  They entered the vacated premises grabbing anything that might be considered valuable, destroying what they could not carry away, and sometimes when out of site from the street committing violence on whomever remained inside. Dazed Filipinos would conclude, “The Hapons are sick men for who but sick men could think of the things they do.”

Driving north from Baguio to Abra province, a despondent Walter Cushing approached the coastal town; his purpose, destroy his life’s greatest endeavour, the Rainbow gold mine.  Like all mine operators, he had received the same orders from the U.S Military, dismantle and destroy all mine equipment and infrastructure to prevent the Japanese from seizing the mines intact and operational. Unlike the mines in Benquet province owned by corporations, the Rainbow Mine in Abra was a private venture and represented the majority of his life savings.  Cushing winced inwardly remembering the many hard months prospecting with his partner Maurice ‘Pewee’ Ordun, searching and sifting through the alluvial soils among the rivers and hills of Abra for placer gold leading to a mother load for their mine.   And after all their many sacrifices he realized, the Rainbow mine would not be the proverbial pot of gold its name suggested, just another dead end in his life marked only by holes in the ground as dark as his mood.  His dreams of opportunity in his adopted land had been shattered by the Japanese attack .  Nothing would soften his bitterness.

Coming up a high hill, Cushing looked west toward the sea.  Stunned as if out of the blue, he mentally grasped at the site of a small destroyer-size warship, off the coast cruising south flying the rising sun flag of Japan.  With a sense of foreboding, he drove north on toward Vigan past his turn off on Highway 6 to Abra province.  He stopped on a hilltop overlooking Vigan and scanned the town with binoculars.  Gun fire and faint screams emanated from the town. Cushing could see bodies hanging from balconies.  He had a horrifying thought, bloody Hell!  It’s the f*****g rape of Nanking repeating here in the Philippines right before his eyes.  The world had been horrified in the 1937 by the reports of mass murder and rape in Nanking in which out-of-control Japanese soldiers wantonly raped and killed 300,000 Chinese people.  As Cushing understood, the animosity between Japanese and Chinese in the Far East was deep and permanent.”  Vigan with its Chinese enclave was now the flash point of this ancient animosity.  An American in the Philippines since 1933, he had developed a complacent comfort in his new land. Even after his marriage ended in divorce and his former wife returned to the states, he stayed on, never anticipating the unthinkable unfolding in the desperate town below.  His stomach knotted, his chest tightened, his face and neck flushed hot.  Hatred and anger coursed through him but he could do nothing but watch while his insides stewed helplessly. This crime could not go unpunished.  He would wait he swore.  He turned the car around and followed the coastal road back south to the Highway 6 turnoff to Abra.  The road had been clear of Japanese on his way to Vigan.  He hoped his luck held on remainder of the coastal road, but the hair trigger in his brain was set to fire the rage roiling within him. 

As he rounded a corner a Japanese scout car blocked his path.  Cushing stopped the car, got out. Two Japanese soldiers in flat-topped, peaked hats with stubby visors, approached with rifles tipped with imposing bayonets levelled at him.  Seeing the imperial Emperor’s “sons of heaven” up close for the first time, he quickly took stock of their attire and equipment, "gray green twill tunics, breeches, puttee cloth around their calves and ankles, leather belts with bayonet scabbard and ammunition pouches.

“Suck it in Walt,” Cushing thought.  He smiled and bowed repeatedly. “Konnichiha! Konnichiha!” Moshi! he greeted them.  In his years in the orient, he had acquired an assortment of greetings and phrases in various Asian languages.  He tapped his thumb on his chest and pointed at the car trunk, “I give you!  Whiskey! Whiskey!  Umm Yoi, good!”

The two soldiers obviously understood the word “Whiskey.”  One pointed to the trunk and shouted an order in Japanese.  Cushing opened the trunk; two cases of whiskey sat plump in the middle of the trunk.  He retrieved two bottles from a case and handed one to each soldier.  The soldiers smiled and seemed to relax.  “N cen!  N cen! I sell ” Cushing exclaimed,” hoping they would take him for black marketer, a deception based on the belief that a black marketeer could move more freely through complicity with occupying forces.  Cushing counted on his predominantly half Mexican complexion to pass as a Filipino. With his jet black hair and tropical sun darkened skin, he looked the part. He swallowed hard.  One soldier slung his rifle, opened the whiskey bottle, sniffed it.  He took a swig, his mouth puckered; he coughed reflexively, but in general looked pleased. The other soldier was now holding his rifle by the muzzle with the butt on the ground.  The two soldiers conversed among themselves.  Fit to burst, Cushing tried to guess the meaning of their jabber by their tone and gestures, whiskey being the only word he recognized.  He rightly suspected the two Japanese were deliberating the outcome.  He tried to imagine what they must be saying.

“Why do you think he has so much whiskey?”

“If he's is not drinking it, it’s obvious.  He’s a black marketeer.”  

“We have orders to arrest profiteers.”

“Do you want to arrest him?”

One soldier waved his hand dismissively to the other.  “Why bother. No one cares about black market scum.  Let’s take the whiskey. Besides if we bring him in, our officers will just take the whiskey for themselves.”

“If we release him, maybe fortune will favour us, and we cross paths with him again.” Both Japanese soldiers laughed in harsh cackles that grated on Cushing’s nerves like fingernails on a blackboard.

“Next time, maybe we confiscate cigarettes.”

“Or nylons!  Let’s make him carry the whiskey to the car.  Let him know his new masters.”

One soldier handed his precious bottle of whiskey to the other.  He pointed at the cases with his rifle and motioned with it in an arc from the trunk of the car to the scout car. Cushing held up two fingers.  He pointed at two bottles they were holding, he believed more than fair.  “No!  Only two.”  The soldier’s smile instantly turned into a snarl.  He angrily ordered Cushing, through gestures and tone to pick up the cases of whiskey and for emphasis raised his rifle threatening to strike him.

Cushing bowed submissively, “Gomen!  Gomen! Sorry!”

As Cushing reached inside the trunk, he surreptitiously slipped his hands behind the cases into a secret compartment.

One soldier pointed to the gas cap.  “Let’s siphon his petrol.  The walk in the hot sun should teach this fornicator some .... “

In an instant, Cushing whirled around with a colt 45 pistols in each hand.  “Greedy b******s! Sayonara!” He yelled and fired point blank into the two Japanese soldiers, a volley as unexpected as a clap of thunder on a clear day.  His volley knocked them violently to the ground.   As the whiskey bottles fell on the road, one bottle shattered on impact but the other landed intact.  Cushing looked down at the bodies lying in blood on the road, one motionless and the other still quivering in involuntary death spasms.  The war had just become up close and personal. The act of killing these two Japanese soldiers left him feeling temporarily exhilarated yet profoundly unsatisfied.  As for dispensing justice, Cushing realized they were inconsequential, easily replaced tools of the Japanese Empire.  Killing Japs this way was merely reacting, like killing mosquitoes by swatting them one-by-one.  A more effective strategy was needed.  The surest way to eliminate an infestation he reasoned was to destroy its habitat, like when the Panama Canal was built in the midst of a yellow fever epidemic, but this time humans invaders were the source of the pestilence.  

Maybe firearms were in short supply in northern Luzon but thanks to mines, dynamite and soon-to-be out of work miners who knew how to use it were not.  Whatever the Japanese needed to exist here, blow it up, and if that meant some Japs in the process, all the better.  A quote by the Kansas abolitionist John Brown in the abolitionist years before the Civil war between the states came to mind.  Brown had railed, “The crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with blood,”.  If the Lord would provide his fateful lightening, he would provide the terrible swift sword.  His anger of the moment superseded his fear of death.  He felt certain if he fell, others would pick up the sword.  For now he picked up the unbroken bottle, put it back in the case, and slammed the trunk shut. He consoled himself, Fair trade, one fifth for two Japs.”

Cushing shoved a lit gasoline soaked rag into the gas tank of the Japanese scout car and retreated rapidly as it burst into flames.  As Cushing looked around, he spotted a farmer in a field watching him.  The farmer flashed him a two-fingered victory sign. Cushing smiled, and waved his 45’s.  He got back in his car and raced away at high speed south on highway 2 to the Abra cut-off.

 

On December 12, feeling a bit grimy and stopping work in mid-operation, James arrived hurriedly at the Itogon Mine corporate office as ordered for a management meeting.  Maria sat at her desk.  He stopped, gently squeezed her hand. “See me after work? He whispered ardently.

“Yes!” She exclaimed with equal ardor.

“James come on the meeting’s starting,” Barnett exclaimed.

The General Manager Dave McConnell curtly called to order a meeting of upper echelon employees.  “I’ll be brief. The news from our government is that a Japanese invasion has started.  The U.S. military has issued the following explicit orders to all mine operators.  All mines without exception have been ordered to destroy and dismantle their equipment and infrastructure.  Leave nothing functional for the Japanese. That means generators, water pumps, hoists, mills, machine shops, assayer labs, supplies, everything.” 

To James he seemed a changed, dispirited man, no longer in possession of the liquor bravado of Sunday night.  For an instant, the room became silent, and then the men began to shuffle and murmur, then talking at once, competing to be heard above a confused babble and exclamations. “Now hold on,” McConnell shouted on the verge of losing control of the meeting.

“Then what?  We just wait here for the Japs to occupy us?” a worried voice shouted.

“We stay calm, follow instructions.  So far Jap troop landings on Luzon have been small, division strength at most, at Vigan, Aparri, and Legaspi and Davao on Mindanao.  Aparri is separated from Baguio by the Cordillera Mountains, Legaspi is 300 miles away, and Davao, at the southern end of the archipelago, 1,000 miles away.  The only likely attack on Baguio could come from Vigan and that is only possible up Naguilian Road.  The high terrain overlooking the exposed road clearly favours defence.  Colonel Horan has informed me that his troops are already there on high alert.”

The room erupted into an argumentative discord of contemptuous jeers and wishful hope.  “Horan’s troops couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag with both ends open,” a voice shouted contemptuously.“The Japanese ain’t taking Baguio.  The steep ridges are so formidable, a squad of Keystone cops could hold the Naguilian Road,” another responded argumentatively.”

And another, “I hope so for all our sake.  Most of us have families here.”

James silently reflected that almost none of these men had thought to send their families stateside, even after the military had ordered all its dependents home, in response to the “Jap scare,” now famous last words.

“And if they reach Baguio, the Geneva conventions call for protection of civilians and populations in time of war,” proclaimed a hopeful voice, attended by dismissive expletives.

“Fool the Japanese didn’t sign the f*****g Geneva convention.  What about the reports of atrocities from Vigan.”

“Maybe all the Chinese there set them off.  You know they hate each other.  We’re Americans.  The Japanese will treat us different.”

“That should be a real comfort to our Chinese residents, some whom we employ,” came an acerbic reply.

“Scowling with an edge of alarm in his voice, McConnell shouted trying to project authority, “Listen to yourselves!  You are talkin' like we're about to be overrun.  We're not!  The Japs are hugging the coast.  What I’ve been told is that their main objective in attacking the Philippines was to take out aircraft that could threaten their ship movement through the China Sea.  These small incursions are primarily bluffs--back off, drop your embargo if you know what's good for you.  They don’t have the strength to move inland.  So, I would advise calm.  The U.S. forces are mobilizing as we speak.  I am confident that Colonel Horan can hold the road to Baguio in the meantime,” Murmurs of agreement from the hopeful outnumbered the skeptics.

“If the Jap invasion forces are so small, and we are so well defended, why do we need to destroy the mines?” The manager Bill Jenks asked  above the rising clamor of foot shuffling and tapping and loud exhales.

The General Manager waved his hands in agitation, “Because that’s military orders, based on the worst-case scenario. 

Jenks broadcast a loud snort.  “Huh, I wish the military would make up their minds.  Before Pearl Harbor they ordered us to stock pile six months of supplies, now we have destroy them like everything else.”

“That’s because they believed then that Japan was only planning a naval blockade of the Philippines, not actual attacks.  What we do know is that the few Jap regiments already here ain’t going to conquer the country.  But what we don’t know is what next.  As for our Military intelligence,”

“Now ain’t that a contradiction in terms,” someone loudly interrupted.

McConnell paused as the men sought refuge in an instant of bitter laughter.  “As I was about to say they believe that these ports may be forward bases for a full-scale invasion.  So, if the worst-case scenario happens, they don’t want us to just give the Japs the goddamn keys to gold and copper mines of Benquet.  Everything in the Philippines is now under military jurisdiction; it’s not open to debate.  So now we do as we’re told.” McConnell composed himself, looking solemn.  “The military appropriated most of our dynamite, I gather for blasting for coastal fortifications.  George, do we still have enough left to do the job?”

“Yes, we had more than enough dynamite to set some aside.  You can thank the previous military order, stockpile six months supplies, for that,” he responded cynically.

McConnell chuckled.  “Resourceful as always George.  Use all the remaining dynamite!”

Barnett stood up and replied, “Yes sir!”

Someone yelled the obvious, “So no gold mine, no employment.”

“And no pay,” another angrily contributed to the growing uproar.

As McConnell explained his limited options, Barnett exited the room with James hurrying after him.  “I can assure you Marsman offers severance under conditions of war and certain acts of God…,”

McConnell’s voice trailed off against the din outside. Though one angry reply projected beyond the door, “Yeh and we only have to live long enough to collect it!”

James clapped Barnett’s shoulder.  "George!  Do you buy McConnell’s explanation of Japanese intentions?”

“I’d like to believe he’s trying to prevent panic but with the Japs he hasn’t been right yet.  He’s still trying to downplay the danger.   Why blow up the American fleet in Pearl Harbor and air bases in Philippines just to steam their ships unmolested through the South China Sea.  One fact he didn’t mention, in addition to ports all the four cities now occupied have air strips.  With fighter aircraft based in every corner of the country, they can quickly strike anywhere at any time.”

James face furled.  “With all those air strips in outlying areas, maybe they're attempting to draw troops away from the defense of Manila?”

“A possibility.  Manila is the pearl of the orient, and with its harbor the prize.  If they take Manila, secure the bay, they have a hub between Japan and the rest of their bloody Imperial Empire, a transit for all their ill-gotten plunder throughout Southeast Asia.”

“And this is a prelude to the main invasion?” James asked. 

Barnett clenching his jaw tightly, nodded “um hmm.” 

“Funny no one seemed to want to discuss that in the meeting.”

“They don’t want to believe it, or if they do they don’t want to start a panic.”

“Is that why you kept silent?”

“That’s right!” Barnett snapped.

“Well I’m not sure all present had that much commonsense.  If you’re going to destroy the mine, I can help.  I know exactly where to place the charges to blow the head frames,” James said referring to the tower structures above the mine shafts that supported the hoist cables.  James muttered ruefully, “And my brand new Koepe hoists.”

“Cripes!  Without those hoists, there is no mine, no men and equipment moving between the surface and depths.  No tons of ore to the mills on surface.  Just a hole in the ground left for the Japs.”  He returned James’s clap on the shoulder, “God ain’t ordering you to kill your first-born son.”

James gave a resigned shrugged.  “What a shame. Destroying those hoists is going to cost Marsman dearly when we start up again after the hostilities are over.  Too bad we can’t hide them in some out-of-the-way place…like at Walter Cushing’s mine in Abra province.” 

“Now if that ain’t wishful thinking!  The sons of Nippon control the only road that could be used to transport such a load.  Besides Walter has to destroy his equipment like the rest of us.”  Barnett responded, his mouth a grim line.  “But you’re right about one thing.  Abra’s probably too remote for Jap tastes. Maybe I’ll head up that way myself after we get the job done. “

“Ha, now Abra is the nearest Hooverville? Nice to know since we’ll all be bumming.” James chuckled unconvincingly to dull the sting. 

“I'm not going to rot in a Jap prison or work as a slave in their captured mines!” Barnett exclaimed forcefully. “I’ll stay here till the job’s done, but the work in Northern Luzon ain't over.  It's just beginning.”  His face relaxed.  “I could use a partner.  Want to come along."

James shrugged.  “Flattered!  But prisoner or fugitive? Are those really our only choices?” 

“Not a simple fugitive, there's a third option.  We’ll talk before I go.  Oh, and when we blow the equipment use the dynamite sparingly. There’s new orders. We’re not going to use it all.”

“Where did that order come from?” James looked puzzled and scratched his head.

“Me!  I have other uses for it, gift packages for the Japs.”

James’s eyes widened, nodded knowingly, “So that's the third option.  You and Cushing are going to become saboteurs, and you wanna know if I want in.  Hey I am willing to do my duty for my country. But I don’t want to get involved in vigilante actions with no legitimate authority.”

His voice brittle, Barnett said, “That’s fair provided there is any legitimate authority.  Let’s go out and talk more over drinks before I leave.

“Sure George.”

 

Barnett made an outstanding spectacle out of decommissioning the Itogon Mine. “Everybody are you ready to see your jobs blown to hell,” he yelled.  Most present shouted, “damn right,” accompanied by a few boos.  “Don’t blame me, military orders. Leave nothing valuable to the Japs.  Ok heads down, hard hats on, cover your ears,” Barnett yelled from behind a berm of sandbags and earth.  He twisted the handle of the detonator. The explosions ripped through the mine fields in rapid succession, throwing dirt, wooden planks, and metal debris into the air that rained down through the smoke.  He replaced the two wires with two more and twisted the detonator again.  As the headframe towers folded and crashed to ground, the only consolation for James was that he had correctly placed the charges.  Explosions reverberated from the shaft below ground as if amplified in an echo chamber.  The successions of explosions lasted for only a couple minutes but to James time seemed suspended until his shock and awe passed.  When the smoke cleared, men lifted their heads above the berm, to the sight of twisted metal and flattened buildings.  Peering through the dissipating dust, a despondent James spied a shattered, partial drum and shaft from one of his beloved Koepe hoists lying near the berm.  It lay there, a smouldering reminder his life as he knew it was over and the next, alarmingly uncertain, incomprehensible, was just beginning.  “Everyone OK?” Barnett yelled, to which the crew responded in faltering “Yeses” and exclamations.  “F**k this,” James hollered, his ears ringing barely able to hear his own words. “I’m with you George! Abra or bust!” 

 

On December 22, 1941, 2:45 a.m., ominous events turned perilous. The chilling news of a large Japanese invasion force landing at Lingayen Gulf on the north-east coast of Luzon reached the residence of Baguio and vicinity.  Even before officially confirmed by the observer team on Mount Santo Thomas South West of town, the sound of artillery fire reverberated like muffled drum beats 18 miles away on the coast.  The two observers had suddenly awoken, and stared startled into the night gloom.  Snatching up the field telephone, one spoke frantically into the mouth piece raising headquarters at Camp John Hay, “Urgent the Japanese Invasion has started.”  The other peered through high power binoculars and shook his head in frustration.  “A large Jap fleet just moved into Lingayen gulf.  How many?  It’s too dark to make an accurate count.  Damn, I didn’t know the Japs had so many ships." he said straining his eyes for silhouettes against a dark sea.  "Judging by the shapes, most are likely troop ships.  The escort ships are firing on the shore.  Though it’s impossible to get an accurate count in these conditions.”

“Softening up the shore first before landing, poor PA b******s waiting for them on the beach.” came the voice on the other end.  “Stay put and report on the hour, don’t wait if you have an emergency.”

The observer hung up the receiver on the field telephone. He said sarcastically to the other, “Like the Japanese marching up the Naguilan road?  Does that amount to an emergency?”.

After futilely attempting to estimate the fleet size based on a lot of squint-eyed searching through high-powered binoculars for possible silhouettes or muzzle fire in the night, all they really knew was the Japanese armada was alarmingly big. 

 

On the bridge of the Japanese flag ship cruiser Ashigara, the fleet commander Admiral Nobutake Kondō and General Homma, commander of the Japanese 14^th army, stared into the darkness eastward toward land.  “Excellent deployment of a most impressive armada Admiral Kondō.”

“I should say so myself General Homma:  We just sailed a task force of 85 Japanese transport ships, nine naval escort ships, two cruisers and seven destroyers, successfully into Lingayen Gulf before the Americans knew what was happening.  Judging by their pathetic response, I would guess that they still don’t know what they are facing.”

“Most auspicious!” Homma said.  By the way the deck of the cruiser rocked in the rough waves, he assumed his troops were having a rough ride in the landing craft.  “We cannot unload tanks and vehicles in these swells. 

Admiral Kondo announced, “We must move in closer to land to get out this rough water.” 

“That means closer to their coastal artillery.” 

“As soon as they open fire, they reveal their position.  I don’t see any evidence that their artillery are that numerous or well manned.  I am confident our gun ships will promptly destroy them.”

“And what has been the enemy response so far?” Homma asked. 

“Four B17 bombers penetrated our cover fire and strafed some our warships, inflicting minor damage.  I wouldn’t be too concerned.  They most likely came from Del Monte field, the last secure American air strip in the Philippines 500 miles to the south on Mindanao. A few ill-equipped bombers with only machine guns, no bombs, are all the Americans have left to attack us.  An American submarine sunk one transport ship in shallow water, but no more evidence of submarine activity since.”

Homma tilted his nose up contemptuously.  “Humph, typical American fighting.  Hit and run!”

“Obviously, they do not have the strength and resources to fight any other way.”

 

As the Japanese invasion fleet moved in the early morning darkness into the inner bay of Lingayen gulf to calmer waters, four 155-mm shore batteries opened fire, their shells splashing uselessly into the sea causing no damage.  On the beaches, only one Battalion of Philippine Army (PA) soldiers, 12^th Infantry, with one .50-caliber machine gun and several .30-caliber machine guns, faced the oncoming Japanese.  The .50-caliber machine gun directed devastating fire on the approaching landing crafts but the .30-caliber machine guns jammed from faulty ammunition clogging the firing mechanisms.  In disgust the gunners left the machine guns in the sand and fled in fright.  The oncoming Japanese easily brushed aside the desolate resistance by poorly trained, ill-equipped PA reservist troops.  With the beach defense in ruins, the PA troops withdrew leaving the shore of Lingayen Gulf to the Japanese.  In the face of Japanese 14th army advances, they fell back in disarray, retreating in a disorganized stream south along the coastal road toward Manila and east up the Naguillan Road toward Baguio.

The same day, the residents of Baguio were dismayed to see the Captain Leo Giitter of Camp John Hay returning with the Philippine Army 43^rd infantry battalion back to the city.  Colonel Horan had placed Giitter and his troops in what he considered an ideal defensive position along the Naguilian Road with orders to hold it at all costs.  His expression grave, the camp commandant Horan quizzed Giitter, “Leo please explain, why did you abandon your position without permission and return to Baguio?”

Giitter answered, “Sir, the Japs fired on us!  It looked like a whole regiment.  We were in danger of being outflanked and were forced to withdraw.” 

Horan frowned, “Lou you held a position two thousand feet above the highway on top of a jungle covered mountain ridge with a 60-degree grade into a canyon below.  You were in a position to inflict maximum damage, but instead you withdrew.”

“We discovered paths leading up the mountain behind us. If they could use these paths, we’d lose the advantage of high ground.” Giitter disassembled, nervously fingering his belt buckle.

A stout man Horan leaned his large body forward in his chair, his sunken eyes, red from lack of sleep, fixed intently on Giitter.  “Game trails no doubt," he said with disgust.   “Leo during the bombing December 8^th we lost some good people, 11 killed and 23 injured. Five men with you died, right before your eyes.  You nearly bought the farm.  The only reason you survived was because your desk blew back and pinned you to wall, shielding you from the blast.  Maybe you weren’t physically hurt bad but psychologically I wonder.”

Giitter glanced back furtively. “I’m OK sir. No shell shock here.”

“Good. I was worried you had lost your nerve.”

“No sir!”  Sweat beads formed on his brow.

“Then don’t let me down again.  Now would be a lousy time to convene a court martial.”

Gitter’s eyes darted, avoiding Horan’s unwavering stare.  After dismissing Giitter, Horan, who had never expected to find himself in this situation and exhausted after a mad-dash day chasing bewildering and conflicting reports of rumoured Jap sittings, sent a final, un-coded radio telegraph to General McArthur’s headquarters on the fortress island of Corregidor: “My right hand is in a vice, my nose in an inverted funnel, constipated my bowels, open my south paw.”  With his thoughts ricocheting chaotically around in his head, he waited anxiously for instructions.  When the anticipated message finally came, it simply said, “Save your command.”

In Baguio, bitter grumbling spread among the civilians, there nerves on edge with rumours circulating of unopposed Japanese advances, talk peppered with words like cowardice, incompetence, and inefficient. The gossip mill responded with outrage at the sight of Camp John Hay second-in-command, newly promoted Lieutenant Colonel Everett Warner racing around town on an MP motorcycle from tavern to tavern as though on a mission.  Not lost on the PA troops, his gold clusters had been replaced by silver clusters. They wondered uneasily about vagaries military command and so the old label stuck, updated along with his new rank.  “There goes our superior drunkard Colonel Bottle.”

“We are on our own!” both the PA troops and Baguio citizens collectively concluded.  Among the disorganized PA troops, the command structure had broken down. In the midst of confusion, herd instinct replaced discipline.  In one last act of defiance of the oncoming Japanese, the PA troops blew the local oil tanks.  With black, oily smoke billowing and flames leaping high above nearby buildings behind them, they retreated south-east in commandeered buses leaving the city of Baguio to its fate.

 

Also on December 23, James met Barnett met as agreed at one of the local taverns. Though leery, James had promised to hear him out on his plans to leave Baguio for Abra province. With no other viable options, what next seemed irrelevant amidst rapidly deteriorating circumstances.  Escape from an increasingly besieged city had suddenly become the most urgent consideration. 

The tavern owner insisted on being paid for the drinks in silver pesos, a practice that had become increasingly common in the last two weeks among the merchants of Baguio, who believed silver to be the only currency hedge against war time inflation.  The cost of everything including their drinks had nearly tripled, as merchants saw their last desperate chance to earn a living slipping away. “It’s like everyone thinks it’s the end of times.  What do you think George,” James asked.

Barnett shrugged his shoulders.“It’s beyond me why anyone should be surprised by the Jap landing at Lingayen Gulf.  It’s the logical place if they intend to take Manila.  They don’t have sail past the big guns of Corregidor into Manila bay.  They just enter Manila through the back door.”

“Just like the Germans going around the f*****g French Maginot line through Belgium in 1940”, James replied.  “Manila’s a leisurely drive down North-South Highway 3--the best paved highway in Luzon.”

“And they’re already closing in on Baguio, though slowed a bit by the road and bridge demolition.  When the Japs take Baguio, they cut Luzon in two from east to west.  PA troops are fleeing Baguio heading down the road to Itogon, a last-ditch attempt to escape south to our forces around Manila.”

“You mean the same straggling PA troops entering town on Naguilian Road.  They ain't stopping to defend us?”

“No took a powder and so should we.  James I’ve been in contact with Cushing. If you believe what he saw at Vigan, you don’t want to be here when the Japs take Baguio.  If you are coming with me to Abra, it’s now or never.”

“What’s the alternative, a few months in Japanese internment camp until the Calvary comes to the rescue.”

“Probably a lot longer than that.”

“Huh?”

“The navy lost its best war ships at Pearl Harbor, and now the Philippines is literally behind Japanese naval lines.  Before any rescue, the navy has got to rebuild the Pacific fleet and American ship yards ain’t tooled up, manned, and supplied to do that overnight.  Also, it seems like everyone in the Philippines is forgetting that Germany declared war on America on December 11.  With resources stretched thin, our European allies, the British and the Frenchies, get first dibs.”  Barnett shook his head judiciously.“  They are strategically far more important than a U.S. colonymost Americans couldn’t find on a map.  Asia and the Pacific will just have to wait until our navy is strong enough again to punch through the Jap blockade and isolate the Japanese troops in the Philippines.”

“What about the American troops stranded here?”

Barnett’s expression turned grim, his mouth formed a thin, compressed line.  “Maybe morally important but strategically more effective to leave them stuck here in harm’s way.”

“What do you mean?  You said they take the Philippines; Manila harbor becomes a hub for ships between Japan and the rest of southeast Asia.  How can we abide that?”

Barnett gazed coolly at James through lowered eyelids.  “Think of it like punting in football.  The further the punt, the more yardage the offense has to move the ball to the goal line.  If our troops can’t beat them, we can at least put the Japs in a bad of a field position, stuck here in the Philippine mud.”  Barnett slapped his hand on the table rattling their drinks, a rare outburst James noted at odds with his more familiar composure.“

“The longer it takes them to conquer the Philippines and the more resources they squander here, the more time it buys for America, Australia and the rest of the south pacific. As long Corregidor holds out their hub through Manila bay doesn’t become operational, regardless of whether they take Manila.  Barnett looked pensive, his voice again steadied

Exasperated James vigorously rubbed his forehead. “Oh, that’s comforting!   So for now it’s about stalling Japanese expansion in the Pacific, even if that means sacrificing the troops here in the Philippines.  So general,” James responded ruefully, “What’s our sacrifice gonna be for the war effort?”

“Walter Cushing is making progress organizing an irregular army of local miners and PA reservist in Abra to harass and tie up the Japs in Northern Luzon--anything he can do to take pressure off the defence of Manila.”

“Hmm sounds like another punt.  By irregular, what do you mean.”

“Any combatant not part of the regular military.  Another name for it is guerrilla warfare�"hit and run, sabotage, raids, skirmishes, blend into the land.  Guerrilla is the Spanish word for little war based on the root guerra for war, the tactics used by the Spanish peasants to drive Napoleon’s army of occupation out of Spain,” Barnett explained.   “A hand full of guerrillas using hit and run tactics can tie up a large number of the enemy, forcing them to expend men and resources chasing them in circles.  That’s how we fit into the strategy.  But there’s a catch.  Guerrillas are not self-sufficient.  They must have the support of the people to survive.” 

“Like Robin Hood and his merry men.”

“Well the jungles here make Sherwood forest look like a well-kept garden. To quote Mao Zedong, ‘the guerrilla must move among the people as a fish swims in the sea.’”

James snickered, “I never took you for a red.”

  “I’m not.  I hate the commie b*****d.  He said one thing that makes sense.  The people are the sea and we got swim in it to survive.”

As James listened, the particulars were already nagging at his mind. “Except that we Occidentals stand out like a sore thumb.  We can’t just blend into a village.  Don’t the people risk Jap reprisals supporting us?”

“Guerrilla war will infuriate the Japs.  Yes that is the catch, if the people suffer needlessly, we risk losing their support,” Barnett said sombrely. 

“Then if the sea dries up, we die.  Did Mao consider that?“ James pondered. “I wonder.”

“One thing we have going for us is the Filipinos have history with Americans, much of it good.  After 300 years with Spanish and 40 with us, their tastes are more western than oriental.  The Japs aren’t going to change that overnight through tyranny.”

So how do you plan to get to Abra?  The Japs control the Naguilian road and coastal Highway 2.”

“The Mountain Trail!” 

“You mean Halsema’s Highway?” James asked, referring to the highway James Julius Halsema, the former mayor of Baguio, from 1920 to 1936, constructed on a narrow mountain trail originally used by native traders transporting produce by wagon caravans to markets in Trinidad and Baguio. 

“One and the same.”

“They say half the year it’s closed because of washouts or landslides,” James said.  He knew the story, the former Baguio mayor James J. Halsema built the serpentine 150 miles long gravel road that connected Baguio to Bontoc city, the capital of Mountain province. Each of its seven sub provinces were named after one of the seven main mountain tribes in its area, as Bontoc city was named for the local Bontoc tribes. The Halsema’s highway through the Cordillera Mountains traversed the most rugged landscape in the Philippines.

“Yeh, the further north you go the worse it gets. Halsema built the highway mainly for heavy vehicle access to the copper mines but continued it on to Bontoc.  He used the labour of local people.  They wanted a reliable road to replace the trail.  And they got that.”  Though James had never travelled the road, he was acquainted with its breath-taking descriptions.  Ancient rice terraces, carved into the mountain sides by prehistoric natives using primitive tools, lined the mountain sides.  At its highest point on 8914 foot Mt. Timbak, the third highest mountain in the Philippines, the highway peaked at an elevation of 7,200 feet.  When the clouds and mist cleared, the views from the road above deep gorges were considered as breathtaking as the highway was dangerous.  Beyond the mines the road to Bontoc narrowed to a landslide prone rocky track, a hopeful archetype for future expansion, blasted out of side of vertical cliffs with sheer drop offs. 

“Oh, and when we are in Bontoc country, hold on to your head,” Barnett smiled mischievously. “The Bontocs are known infamously as head hunters.”

“Common sense!  Definitely using your head,” James retorted with his own cornball pun.

Barnett continued, “Until recently headhunting was a traditional rite of passage for adolescent Bontoc boys to manhood.  According to legend, young Bontoc men could not marry until they’d taken a head.”

James shook his head, “Some courtship.  What’s wrong with a ring?”

“Now days knocking the girl up is probably enough to seal the marriage. The missionaries and colonial government have made progress with them though not without some resentment.”

“If necessary how do we pacify them?”

“Gifts, cigarettes, and liquor.  You have any firearms.”

“A 38 calibre revolver.”

“Better than nothing until you can get a 45 calibre, a proper weapon for stopping a man in his tracks.”  Even James knew the story that the original U.S. forces learned the hard necessity of replacing their 38s with 45s when fighting the fanatical Muslim tribes in the Mindanao, Moros as the Spanish dubbed them.  Unless the 38 slug hit a man in a vital organ, the head or heart, in close quarter fighting in the tall cogon grass the sword wielding Moro could quickly be on him in the few furor-charged steps it took to strike.   Barnett said, “I’ll supply the rifles, .30 calibre Springfields, the most common high calibre ammunition available in the Philippines.  Bolt action is more reliable than semi-automatics, especially if you’re unable to clean it regularly.  Also, be discrete with firearms around the Bontocs.  They may scare them but may also tempt them to rob us. They’re plenty aware that rifle can alter the balance of power in battles fought with spears and head axes.  A rifle has almost as much status with them as an enemy’s head.” Comprehending, James nodded sombrely. 

“How are you with firearms James.”

“Done my share of deer hunting.” 

“I figured as much. From Bontoc we’ll have to find a guide who knows the local native roads into Abra.”

“OK one issue is my personal life.”

“You mean Maria.”

“Yes!  I guess everybody knows about her.  So much for discretion”

Barnett chuckled, “Bring her along.”

“You’d let her? Life in a guerrilla camp?  Is that any place for a woman?”

“Well there are no good alternatives.  Once the Japs get the personnel records and discover she’s employed by us, she could be in danger.  By then flight would be impossible.  You’ll be more reliable if you’re not burdened by that distraction.”  Barnett playfully punched James’s shoulder.  “Besides nights in the mountains can get cold.”

“Yeh!  Where’s your woman?”

Barnett chuckled.  “That’s a long story.”

“I guess we’ll have time for long stories.  How do I explain to her how long we might be on the lam?”

“Sometimes with women its best to tell the truth in stages.”

“Oh well that explains why you ain’t hitched no more,” James smirked.

Barnett smiled, “I’ll get the supplies together, appropriate a light Chevrolet truck, didn’t blow everything, and pick up the two of you first light tomorrow.  Tell her one suitcase only.”  Barnett downed his drink.  “Well I got packing to do.”

Author's Note

(c) 10/25/2018