Nielsen felt some relief after dictating his letter. He doubted he would live much longer, but he desperately desired some evidence to remain for the United States military as to what had happened to 150 American prisoners of war. As the men started down the trail again, Sayadi repeated, “You have friends.”
“What do you mean?” Nielsen asked.
“You have friends.”
Nielsen was bewildered. Perhaps the man meant Filipino guerrillas who were waiting for them somewhere ahead in another village. He asked again, “What do you mean?”
Sayadi pointed and said, “Off this trail, you have some friends.”
He led Nielsen down a side path through the jungle until they entered an open area where three men waited. Two of them were Americans, lying on grass mats near a Filipino man. He recognized them as Ed Petry and Alberto Pacheco.18
For a moment, he thought he was still hallucinating. He moved closer, refusing to believe his own eyes until Petry and Pacheco sat up and greeted him. Nielsen was overjoyed. The two Americans explained that they were taking a rest, waiting for darkness to settle over the jungle before Jose Miranda, their Filipino friend, would lead them farther away once it was safe enough to continue. Nielsen learned that Sayadi had been sent to fetch bedding for Petry and Pacheco after they had been found near Iwahig. He had left them in the forest with Miranda and was heading back to his dormitory at Kamagong Station when he passed near Nielsen.19
Relieved at his incredible luck, Nielsen dropped onto a straw mat alongside Petry and Pacheco and fell fast asleep.
*
THE SUN WAS just peeking over the Sulu Sea when Joe Barta wearily labored to his feet. He had hoped to reach the Iwahig Penal Colony, but after losing consciousness during the night, he had drifted far off course, and now he had no idea where exactly he was. He did not feel safe remaining on the shoreline where Japanese patrols would certainly finish off any American they encountered.
Stark naked, he reluctantly advanced into the jungle thicket. He had no real sense of direction, but the heavy growth at least afforded him some sense of protection. He walked for the next two hours until he sensed that he was not alone, and he stopped. Through an opening ahead, he could see six armed, khaki-clad Japanese soldiers on patrol. He crouched low in the underbrush, noticing a nearby gun emplacement.20
The soldiers gave no indication they had seen him, so Barta crawled away silently. He slowly scaled a small hill. At the top, he froze when he spotted another soldier moving through the forest below. Once again, he slipped away and made his way over another hill.
Barta had just cleared the hilltop when he found himself face-to-face with another guard, a sight that shocked both men equally. Barta sprinted away before the soldier could react. He dashed through the thick green jungle like a wild man, ignoring the briars that ripped at his skin and the sharp pains as his bare feet were pierced. The pursuing soldier shouted for one of his comrades, apparently the lone soldier that Barta had narrowly avoided moments before.
He ran through the jungle for as long as his body could go before ducking down low to hide and listen. He heard the crashing of the two soldiers in hot pursuit close behind him. Barta jumped to his feet and took off. Each time he stopped, it was the same—he was still being chased. His desperate flight continued well into the afternoon, but his pursuers did not give up.
By late afternoon, his skin was a mass of cuts and bruises, and his strength was fading quickly. He spotted a nasty thicket of dense bamboo and rattan just ahead, and wriggled his way in. The soldiers ran past. He continued to work his way in as deep as he could, then lay still for the next few hours, content to let his body recover.
As evening approached, he realized he was helplessly lost in the bamboo and rattan thicket. Each direction he tried seemed to lead nowhere. He finally decided that he would try to climb up high enough to spot a suitable way into more open jungle. He made his way up a small tree and stood on one of its upper branches. He began to look around, when the branch snapped and he fell to the ground.
Barta had no clothing to protect his skin from the abrasive trunk, or the jagged splinter of a branch that gave way beneath him. The broken stub tore through his crotch, ripping open his scrotum and exposing his testicles. Blood gushed from the open wound as he writhed in agony.
*
WILLIE SMITH AWOKE on a narrow beach and rubbed the sand from his face and eyes, squinting in the predawn light as daybreak approached. He figured he had slept for a couple of hours. The rest was a godsend, but the sun would be up soon, and he needed to get himself into cover, rather than lying exposed on the open beach. He was so sore that he could barely pull himself to his feet, but he knew he had to keep moving. Mosquitoes were now feasting on his body, so he crawled to the edge of a mangrove swamp and coated himself, face and all, with thick mud.
He rested a bit longer before he tried to walk, but instead found himself stumbling like a drunk. He fell several times against the jagged coral rocks, scraping away chunks of skin. He picked himself up and kept going. As he moved farther into the swamp, his feet sank deeper into the black mud with each step. His shark-bitten arm still throbbed, and thoughts of crocodiles brought new fears. He pulled himself up into a tree to rest until daylight.
Under way again, he wobbled through the jungle for hours, hoping to hit the southern boundary of the Iwahig Penal Colony, where Filipino prisoners would surely take him in. Occasionally, the muck was so thick, he had to pull himself out of it with the endless ropes of vines that snaked down. Some were covered with hard, sharp spines that cut at his hands and wrists like barbed wire. Finally, he came upon a crude wooden shack—a Filipino nipa hut—on the outskirts of the penal colony, still quite a distance away up on the side of the mountain he had used for a reference point during his swim. He staggered up the hillside toward the hut, but when he finally reached it, there were no people. From his high vantage point he could see a half-dozen men at work down in the valley. Smitty had stumbled upon Binuan Station, located in the Iwahig Penal Colony Reservation, and spotted seven colonists planting root crops.21
The Filipinos’ dogs spotted him and began barking. Smitty tried to quiet the animals, but they attracted the attention of the workers far below, and one man started up the trail toward the mountaintop shack. Smitty concealed himself alongside the trail and watched as the Filipino, clad in an orange jumpsuit, moved up the hill. He waited until the man had passed, and then lunged from the brush, grabbing him and his bolo knife before the Filipino had time to react. He whispered that he was an escaped American prisoner and added, “One false move out of you and you’re gone! I’ll kill you!”22
The young marine carefully explained to the farmer about the massacre on Palawan and how he had escaped by swimming the bay.
“Okay, Joe,” the man said. “We’ll take you in. We’re your friends.”
The man escorted Smitty into the modest shack, where he prepared food for the bone-thin escapee. He expressed concern about the American’s obvious injuries. “I need to get the doctor down here to help you,” he said.
“Well, you get anybody you want to,” Smitty said. “But if they come in here and make one false move, I’ll kill you first.”23
The man signaled to his coworkers to come join them. As they appeared at the shack, Smitty suspected the worst. The group of farmers included Isidro Dakany, who was in charge of Binuan Station. The men talked for a moment until Dakany spotted several men on horseback in the distance. Shouting and waving to get their attention, he stepped out of the hut, giving Smitty even more reason to worry.24
Dakany caught the attention of the three riders, who wheeled their mounts and rode toward the hut. Smitty’s heart sank when the three men entered. He knew one of them in an instant. It was Pedro Paje, the turncoat.
Smitty had seen Paje previously in Camp 10-A, where he had witnessed the man laughing with the Japanese guards and at times even spitting on Americans. Now the traitor displayed a .45-caliber pistol on his h
ip. As he approached him, Smitty lunged for the weapon. Surprisingly, Paje pulled the .45 and tossed it over to him.25
“I know what you think,” he said. “But I wasn’t working for the Japanese. I was gathering intelligence for the guerrillas.”26
Smitty relaxed. When the food was ready—the best he had tasted in ages—he ate and listened intently as Paje explained his situation. He had long assisted the Palawan guerrillas, he told Smitty, and he was in charge of the underground resistance movement at Iwahig’s colony. When Dakany had called out to him, he had been en route to Inagawen with his intelligence officer, Lieutenant Celerino Poyatos, and another man named Dr. Simon.27
Runners were sent to fetch additional help for Smitty, and a short time later, the Iwahig medical officer, Dr. Zoilo Bunye, arrived to assist with his injuries. Smitty was covered with thin scratches from jungle vines, his feet were a bloody mess from running on sharp coral, and his left forearm had deep lacerations from his encounter with the shark. Dr. Bunye and Poyatos patted his wounds with the only medicine at their disposal, a bottle of iodine, and helped him into fresh hospital pajamas. Smitty tried to rest as they waited out the afternoon. When another runner arrived later, his heart raced with the news he heard: Another American escapee had been picked up a number of miles away. Bunye was sent with the messenger to determine his condition.28
Smitty remained indoors until after sunset on December 15, as it was far too dangerous for an Anglo man to be moving in broad daylight. In the dark of night, he left with Poyatos and Sergeant Modesto Padilla, who used a large machete to chop through the jungle growth. They explained to Smitty that they had to travel twenty-five miles that night to get beyond the last Japanese outpost. The Filipinos were eager to get the American escapee out of their area, for Japanese soldiers had already been through the penal colony, interrogating the inmates. Some of the locals had been arrested under suspicion of harboring runaway Americans.
They covered several miles in quick fashion. With no time to rest, weary and suffering on rough terrain with bare feet, Smitty did his best to keep pace with the Filipinos. During the early morning hours of December 16, they neared their destination. Smitty brought up the rear, trying to remain optimistic but still fearful his Filipino friends could be leading him right to a waiting Japanese patrol.
*
PEDRO PAJE COULD well understand the American survivor’s belief that he was a turncoat, a fact that only reinforced how well he had maintained the cover of his Palawan Underground Force. But he was furious, trying to comprehend why the Japanese had decided to kill off the helpless prisoners of war. Upon departing Binuan Station, he rode to the Kempei Tai headquarters at Irawan to voice his disapproval.29
He tried to maintain his composure as he talked with Sergeant Deguchi. He shared the findings of his latest inspection of the Inagawan colony, then inquired about the increasing number of air raids made by U.S. warplanes. He asked what the military police planned to do with the American POWs, since their camp and its adjacent airfield were a prime target of the bombing attacks. Deguchi casually informed him that there was no further worry—the Americans had been taken away to a more secure location.
Paje knew the truth, but he could do nothing to tip his hand. He could only politely excuse himself and return to his own business. The true nature of that business was now an intense desire on his part to do anything in his power to have his underground network offer aid and escape to any American who might remain alive.
*
WILLIE BALCHUS FINALLY reached solid ground during the early morning hours of December 15. He rested, then ambled through the mangroves until he could move no farther. Around 1000, he was still resting when he spotted two men moving through the swamp. He was terrified that he was about to be recaptured, but he was too weak to resist. As the strangers moved closer, one called out to him in English. Filipinos!
The men introduced themselves as Juan de Gracia and Apolonio de las Alas, members of the Iwahig Penal Colony whose underground leader, Captain Paje, had detailed them to be on the lookout for American survivors of the Palawan atrocity. Gracia and Alas helped Balchus through the rough terrain toward their camp, where he was cared for during the afternoon by their in-charge official, Mazimino Liwag. Then a small group of guides led him to Malinao Station, where he was finally provided with food, medical attention, and clothing.30
The Filipinos told Balchus that he must keep moving to reach the safety of the guerrilla zone. He was escorted out that evening to rendezvous with Poyatos and Padilla, two men who were in the midst of a hectic night in the jungle locating American escapees. Balchus was introduced to the two during the early morning hours of December 16, before they summoned a third member of their party forward. Out from the darkness appeared another tall, thin American.
Smitty greeted Balchus like a long-lost brother. The two escapees had scarcely been reunited when the underground members began chattering about another American who had been found nearby. Poyatos had the group stay put while runners were dispatched into the jungle to confirm the intelligence.
*
LIKE GENE NIELSEN, Ernie Koblos, beset by fever, dehydration, and malnutrition, soon found himself in a haze of hallucinations: A rooster crowed, and two beautiful Filipino girls appeared out of the jungle. He beckoned to them, then lurched after them as they disappeared back into the rain forest. Soon he began to see Japanese soldiers.31
I’m losing my mind! he thought. This isn’t real.
Managing to clear his head, Koblos retraced his steps back to the beach where he had washed ashore. He spent the remainder of the day walking the waterline, trying to find food and fresh water. When darkness fell, he climbed up into a tree to avoid both jungle creatures and enemy patrols. The next day, he wandered aimlessly until he reentered the swamp and found a spot to sleep. When he awoke, he found that his fever had returned, so he went back to the beach and headed for a coconut grove to rest again. He knew he needed to make his way toward the Iwahig Penal Colony, but the mangrove swamps looked too foreboding to penetrate. He finally decided it would be easier to swim around to a point near the colony, and then search for an easier entry point through the jungle.
Koblos was resting in a tree near the edge of the swamp when the sound of splashing water startled him. A native banca was easing across the bog toward him. He slid out of the tree and prepared to flee, but as it moved closer, he was relieved to see four Filipino faces on board. The men shouted to him in English, saying they were friends, colonists of the penal colony, and explained that they had been ordered to patrol the shorelines in search of any Americans who had escaped the Palawan Massacre.32
The Filipinos helped Koblos to their local camp, treated his wounds, and allowed him to rest throughout the dangerous daylight hours. Once nightfall set in, he was put on the move with two guides, Paterno Gomez and Olimpio Valenzuela. They were detailed to guide him through the jungle to Malinao Station, where other Americans were waiting. There, Koblos was reunited with Smitty and Balchus. The trio had little time to celebrate their reunion before they noticed their guides conversing with another runner who had just reached them. He had traveled a great distance to inform them that three more Americans had been picked up farther away.
Pedro Paje sent word that Koblos, Smitty, and Balchus were to continue moving south and rendezvous with the other three survivors. They traveled with Sergeant Catalino Santos, who would lead them through the jungle to the Inawagan Penal Colony until they were able to rejoin the Iwahig underground movement intelligence officer, Lieutenant Poyatos. The latter had moved out ahead to verify the intelligence of the other Americans who had been found.
They were not yet completely in the clear. To reach Inawagan, they had to first slip past a Japanese guard post, and do it at night.
*
BETO PACHECO AWOKE to a gentle shake and a whisper. Jose Miranda stood over him. Nearby, Petry and Nielsen were waking from several hours of rest on the jungle floor near the Iwahig Penal Colo
ny. They were informed that Miranda had sent for further instructions from his boss, Captain Paje, who sent back word that two of his men, Sayadi Moro and Jalaidi Moro, were to take the three Americans on to Malinao Station that evening to be received by the underground’s intelligence officer.33
The bullet wound in his leg still burning with pain, Nielsen asked if the Filipinos had any kind of medicine to treat the injury. One of them left and soon returned with a fifth of rice whiskey, and used it to wash out the gunshot wound, which was steadily looking worse.34
Under cover of darkness, the Americans moved through the jungle with Sayadi and Jalaidi. Nielsen struggled with his lame left leg, finding that he had to keep it straight or else it would give way. But doing so meant that each step forced him to come down heavily on the heel of his other foot. Walking barefoot on rough gravel brought fresh pain with each step. Nielsen tried stepping on the smoothest rocks, but each stride left behind a bloody footprint, a crimson splotch that he realized was leaving a dangerous trail.
His comrades were in equally poor shape. Petry and Pacheco were also leaving faint blood trails from their bullet wounds and shredded feet for any potential trackers to follow. The men suffered in silence, limping along the jungle trail through the night. Their guides allowed brief breaks but kept them on the move. They made steady progress until their trail opened up into the village of Malinao Station. There, Lieutenant Poyatos greeted them, assuring the Americans that they were in good hands and that his people were more than willing to continue guiding them toward the main guerrilla headquarters at Brooke’s Point.
The Americans were provided with proper civilian clothing, as well as much-appreciated food and water. Dr. Bunye, sent from the Iwahig colony to tend to them, treated their wounds. They were still resting at Malinao Station when they received the news that three other Americans had been found a short distance away. The other group had just been preparing to move out again when Petry, Pacheco, and Nielsen arrived in the village. Smitty, Koblos, and Balchus stepped forward with wide smiles and hearty handshakes to welcome three more of their own.
As Good As Dead Page 22
