Mike Guardia

by American Guerrilla

  Merely an hour had passed since crossing the road when Volckmann reported feeling weak. Overcome by nausea and diarrhea, his body had begun rejecting all the unclean food he had scavenged. Volckmann’s diagnosis: “I came down with dysentery.” 78 The Filipino guide who had taken them across Highway 7 diverted the group to a nearby evacuation camp, where Volckmann remained in the care of its chieftain, a man he identified simply as Guerrero. A middle-aged farmer with a family of five, Guerrero had managed a hacienda for an American businessman named Demson. Since the war, both Guerrero and Demson fled with their families into the jungle, taking with them only what they could carry. Now, Guerrero, his wife, and their four children resided in hastily constructed bamboo shacks with roofs of cogon grass.

  In the entry for 21 April, Volckmann wrote that he remained sick despite the best efforts of the Guerrero family. Nonetheless, Volckmann notes that the Guerreros were the most generous and helpful Filipinos he had thus far met. Aside from the light meals of rice and vegetables, Guerrero’s eldest daughter presented Volckmann with a pair of Philippine Army coveralls—the first pair of clean clothes he had worn since Bataan. The family had no medicine to speak of, but the senior Guerrero was well versed in the arts of tribal healing. Brewing some tea made from tree bark, Guerrero presented it to Volckmann, indicating that it would help his dysentery. The concoction was so bitter that Volckmann nearly spit it out, but as of now, it was his only hope to alleviate the disease. Volckmann documented some improvement in his health afterwards, but his strength to perform simple tasks such as walking or standing remained feeble. 79

  It was also at Guerrero’s where Volckmann first learned of the Bataan Death March. The stories left him horrified: men who had been his comrades only days ago were now being forced to march without food or water. Those who stumbled were savagely beaten. Men who simply collapsed from exhaustion were shot, bayoneted, or decapitated. The few who actually made it into the prison camps were systematically starved and denied medical attention once they arrived.

  Among the more horrific stories included tales of the Japanese peeling the skin from their captives’ feet and forcing them to walk through piles of salt. Other prisoners were lined up along the highway and deliberately run over by Japanese trucks racing at full speed. Yet the most frightening stories were those of the Japanese eye gouging techniques: taking a rifle with a fixed bayonet, an enemy soldier would place the bayonet inside of a prisoner’s bottom eyelid, and then let go of the rifle. Consequently, as the rifle fell to the ground, the bayonet would eject the prisoner’s eye from his socket. 80

  Aside from their astonishing cruelty, what angered Volckmann the most about the Japanese were their seemingly casual and indiscriminate attitudes. There was no rhyme or reason to any of their techniques. In fact, it seemed as though the Japanese were torturing Americans simply for their own amusement.

  Painfully, Volckmann recalled the earlier sentiments of his comrades on Bataan—“The Japs will treat us okay.” How fortunate he was not to have listened.

  The following day, 23 April, Guerrero announced that his old boss, Demson, remained in the area and had built a small evacuation camp about three kilometers to the north. Demson’s camp lay deeper in the jungle and was farther away from the Japanese patrol lanes. 81 Given the precarious nature of his health, Volckmann would have preferred to stay put. He had, after all, been at Guerrero’s camp for only four days and saw little improvement in his health. Nonetheless, he accepted the idea that moving farther away from the enemy patrols would buy him more recovery time in the long run.

  Upon arriving at Demson’s Camp, Volckmann and his men— Blackburn, Bruno, Anderson, and Petit—were heartily received by their new hosts. Greeted with a meal of rice, tomatoes, and roasted pig, it was the first full meal they had enjoyed in over a month. Demson indicated that he was moving his family—a wife and one son—into another camp near Dinalupihan around the 1st of May, and that Volckmann was free to take over this current location after the move.

  Volckmann and Blackburn were deeply impressed by Demson’s camp. It was much more elaborate than Guerrero’s and consisted of a main house and a cooking hut on the bank of a nearby stream. As with Guerrero’s, the Demson compound was made of bamboo with cogon grass roofs. As none of the main trails passed by the camp and the bordering stream offered no easy means of navigation, Volckmann felt relatively secure.

  Despite the serenity of the camp, however, his health remained unstable. The tea he had gotten from Guerrero made his dysentery somewhat tolerable, but it did nothing to improve his overall strength. What little food he did consume came only at Blackburn’s insistence, who himself was battling a high-grade fever. The Demsons promised to keep Volckmann and his men supplied for as long as they stayed in the area. The family departed to their new camp on 29 April, leaving behind a generous ration of supplies and another roasted pig. With as much strength as he could muster, Volckmann heartily thanked the family for all they had done. 82

  As his body nursed the symptoms of dysentery, Volckmann succumbed to yet another disease: beriberi. In the course of his travels, Volckmann’s fare had not included any grains, greens, or native fruits— starving his body of essential Vitamin B. Sensing the change in his condition, the Guerrero girls supplemented his diet with a medley of bread, vegetables, and a delicacy known as bagong, or salted fish. Bagong was an unappetizing dish that tasted nearly as bad as it looked. Begrudgingly, Volckmann crammed the concoction down his throat, gagging every step of the way.

  While Volckmann tended to his own ailments, Blackburn’s fever became progressively worse. At times, Blackburn felt as though he would simply explode from the heat building up inside of him. Both men had lost a significant amount of weight. Arriving in the Philippines, Blackburn weighed a healthy 180 pounds. By the day of the surrender, his weight had plummeted to 150 pounds. 83 Petit and Anderson, despite fatigue and nausea, remained relatively healthy. Bruno, however, continued to enjoy his native immunity.

  On the night of 1 May, heavy gunfire startled the men from their sleep. It sounded as though a firefight had erupted somewhere to the southeast. Could it have been another Japanese patrol? It was possible, but Volckmann heard nothing to indicate the use of automatic weapons— which the Japanese were wont to use. Whoever these combating parties were, it sounded as though they were exchanging fire from single-action rifles. Though curious as to the source of the firing, he could tell that it was a great distance away, and thus drifted back to sleep. 84

  The following morning, Guerrero arrived at the camp with a chilling explanation behind the previous night’s gunfire: the Demsons had been robbed. Bandits had raided the camp and, in the process of stealing the family’s valuables, killed Demson’s wife and wounded his son. In his diary, Volckmann provides no further detail about the incident but it is obvious that it angered him immensely. The following day, Guerrero came back with even more disheartening news: a nearby Japanese garrison had heard the same gunfire and was now conducting a search of the surrounding area. 85

  Deciding to hide during the day and return to the camp by night, Volckmann and the others settled into a creek bed a few hundred yards beyond the house. Throughout the day, Japanese gunfire punctuated the long hours of silence. None of the firing came close to their hiding spot, but Volckmann noticed something peculiar about the firing patterns: each flurry sounded as if it were coming from a different direction than the last. It was as though the Japanese were aimlessly circling the countryside, firing their weapons every so often.

  Back at the camp by nightfall, the men listened to Guerrero relate what had happened. As part of their effort to investigate the bandit gunfire, the Japanese went down the main trails and fired into every house and evacuation camp they passed before retreating to Dinalupihan. Not a very coherent strategy, Volckmann thought, but at least the Japanese were gone for now.

  It remains unclear what became of Mr. Demson and his son after the robbery. Volckmann never mentions him again beyond t
he entry for 5 May 1942—saying that Demson discontinued sending supplies on this date. Guerrero, in the meantime, supplied the group with whatever useful items he could find. By this time, malaria had settled in alongside Volckmann’s dysentery and Blackburn became sick with malaria as well. Nighttime offered no solace as disease-ridden mosquitoes came out in droves. Neither Volckmann nor any of his men had any mosquito nets, and the surgical gauzes with which they improvised were largely unsuccessful. The rats, however, were far worse—hiding during the day, they would scavenge the camp at night, running across Volckmann as he tried to sleep. Often, he woke in the morning to find that they had eaten holes into his socks, shoes, and extra clothes. To correct the problem, he began suspending these items from the ceiling. Undaunted, the rats began targeting smaller items which they could carry away. They even ran off with Blackburn’s toothbrush. 86

  Later that week, Bruno—by virtue of being a native Filipino— secured a travel pass from the Japanese. It permitted him free access to the country without being detained at any checkpoints along the main roads. Using this pass, Bruno would often travel into Dinalupihan for food, supplies, and updates on Japanese activity. On 15 May, the entries in Volckmann’s diary abruptly stop and do not resume again until 31 May. He attributed the blank entries to his deteriorating health:

  I have many blank pages this month; it’s the same old story most every day. For the first time in my life, I realize the value of health. To my disgust, many of the nights I have almost hoped not to wake up in the morning. I know, if I am to regain my health, I must get strength to get out of this part of the country. To the mountains [of North Luzon]; that is my only chance. 87

  On 1 June, Guerrero once again returned to the camp. Claiming that he had secured a doctor near Dinalupihan, he transported Volckmann and Blackburn by a small sled to an old garage a few hundred yards from Highway 7. There, the doctor—whom Volckmann described as a “quack”—gave them a series of shots. Neither Volckmann nor Blackburn had any idea what the shots were, but given the debilitating status of their health, it hardly mattered to them. Whatever it was they had received from the “quack,” it obviously had some effect, as both men were soon feeling better.

  The pair remained at the doctor’s garage over the next few days with Guerrero returning periodically to check on them. Meanwhile, Petit and Anderson—both of whom had remained at Volckmann’s camp—sent word that they were moving north into the Zambales Mountains. Bruno, however, had decided to stay—a decision that Volckmann obviously appreciated. Volckmann, meanwhile, drifted in and out of consciousness but retained enough of his wits to record small entries in his diary.

  3 June 1942. Nothing unusual. We can see the Japs pass in trucks on [Highway 7]; it is only about 200 yards away.

  4 June 1942. Awfully hungry for something that tastes like American chow. Feel somewhat better.

  5 June 1942. Guerrero’s children got us some flour. Baked a coffee cake. Turned out pretty well. 88

  By 7 June, Volckmann had returned to Guerrero’s camp where he spent the next two weeks convalescing. Day by day, Volckmann recorded new feats as his strength slowly came back to him. By the 15th, he was able to walk again under his own power. Around this time, Petit returned to the camp for the first time since his departure with Anderson. 89 While searching for other Americans, the pair had encountered an evacuation camp run by two brothers named Bill and Martin Fassoth. The Fassoths, Petit explained, were two American sugarcane farmers who had fled to the Zambales when the war began. Since the fall of Bataan, they had taken in a number of American escapees. Their numbers even included an Army doctor who had with him a limited supply of medicine. 90 The camp sounded fascinating and, according to Petit, was only a day’s hike from their current location. Petit left later that day, but Volckmann resolved that he would join him at the Fassoth camp as soon as he regained his strength.

  But whether he was feeling stronger or not, Volckmann knew he had to keep moving. He hated the idea of leaving Guerrero and his family; they had been enormously helpful and he owed them a debt of gratitude, which he could never truly repay. With their lives interrupted and ruined by the Japanese, the Guerrero family willingly risked themselves and their resources to help these obscure Americans. Despite the burden that looking after two Americans had placed on his family, Guerrero and his children urged Volckmann and the others to stay. 91 The offering was certainly tempting—over the past month he had grown quite fond of the Guerrero children. But Volckmann politely reminded his hosts that he was a military officer and he still had a mission to accomplish. With that, he graciously thanked them for their hospitality and departed on 22 June 1942. Volckmann later wrote of Guerrero and his family “To these gracious natives we owe our lives.” 92

  By this time, Volckmann was feeling relatively well. Back on the trail, they followed a native guide who had been an old friend of Guerrero. Ideally, the hike to Fassoth camp should have taken about twelve hours, but Volckmann had to bypass Pitao because the Japanese had occupied the town. The detour added an additional three hours onto their travel time and took them over the most rugged terrain of the Zambales Mountains. Finally, at around 11:00 p.m., they arrived at Fassoth Camp. 93

  Though Volckmann had made the hike with relative ease, it took a devastating toll on Blackburn. His fever had relapsed before departing Guerrero’s camp and now, after hours of continuous hiking, the infirmity had taken Blackburn to his knees. For most of their stay at Fassoth’s, Blackburn was nearly comatose.

  The Fassoth Camp was an impressive display. Volckmann had never seen anything like it: the dominant feature was a large barracks-like building complete with bunk beds made from bamboo. What a testament to the Fassoths’ ingenuity! A working radio picked up station KGEI in San Francisco, broadcasting the first real news Volckmann had heard since the fall of Bataan. There were approximately 80 Americans residing in the camp. Most were enlisted men who had escaped from the Bataan Death March, although eight officers also complimented the group. Just as Petit had described, there was an Army doctor who ran a small infirmary. 94

  Along with the Fassoth brothers, the camp was maintained by a local Filipino named Vicente Bernia. Bernia was one of the few prominent businessmen in the area who had emerged from the Japanese invasion unscathed. He was a major player in the Zambales provincial affairs and the plantation he owned was still operating. The Americans at this camp owed their lives to this man: for as long as the Fassoths had operated this camp, Bernia had kept them supplied with food and medicine. 95

  Bernia was a boisterous man, warm and friendly with a contagious smile. On his frequent visits, he would regale the men with his hairraising tales of outsmarting the Japanese. Bernia owned a small utility truck, which he used to carry supplies from Manila. When passing the Japanese checkpoints along the main highway, he insisted that the goods were for his plantation workers. When questioned about the mass quantity of his purchases, he explained that the rainy season required him to buy in bulk. 96 It was a plausible story, and the Japanese accepted it. But Bernia, that sly devil, was not satisfied with merely fooling the enemy; he wanted to make the Japanese his unwitting accomplices.

  For this, Bernia bought almost exclusively from Japanese bazaars. Arriving at a highway checkpoint, he would present his receipts to the guards and tell them the tale of his “workers’ needs.” Upon seeing that his receipts were issued by Japanese merchants, the guards—just as Bernia had expected—offered to help him transport the cargo. Thus, the food and other supplies for Fassoth Camp were brought halfway up the mountain by Japanese Army trucks, all under the ruse of supplying Bernia and his plantation. 97

  Although he was a wealthy man, Vicente Bernia could not singlehandedly finance the Fassoth operation forever. Using his influence in the area, he negotiated several lines of credit with Filipino merchants in the foothills. In exchange for their goods, Bernia implemented an I.O.U. system; an American officer would sign a receipt promising full reimbursement from the United States
Army at the end of the war. 98 Any sensible merchant would have balked at such an indefinite proposal. But if it came from Vicente Bernia, there was no need to question it. Such was the power and influence this man had in the region. When asked by Volckmann what he was getting out of this, his only response was: “When the war is over, all I want is for some soldiers to sponsor me for American citizenship.” 99

  The news reports over KGEI left Volckmann wondering if help would ever arrive—Allied forces were on the ropes in North Africa and the Japanese still controlled half of the Pacific. By this time, 26 June 1942, the United States had won a decisive victory over the Imperial Japanese Navy at Midway, but it appears that Volckmann was unaware of this. 100 Meanwhile, his fascination with Fassoth Camp began to sour. Bernia and the Fassoth brothers had done a fine job maintaining the camp, but they had let the enlisted men run amok, and the officers— outnumbered nine to one—did nothing to reel them in. On the day of their arrival, Volckmann and Blackburn were cornered by Sergeant Red Floyd, a former artilleryman who had become the camp’s de facto strongman. Brusque and intimidating, Floyd wasted no time educating his new guests.

  “Now look, let’s get the name of the game straight, if you guys want to stay here I want you to recognize that there is no such thing as rank. The war is over. If you want to play by our rules, fine. If you don’t, you can get out of here. Now, if you don’t believe me,” he said, pointing to a group of nearby officers, “you go ask those officers. They’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.” 101