My Hitch in Hell Page 4

  I was nervous about the upcoming trip. Just a few months before, in July 1941, the British had cut off all supplies of rubber to Japan, and the U.S. government had frozen all Japanese assets held in the United States. That meant all oil and other vital shipments to Japan were stopped at once, and Japan was left without funds to pay for the supplies it needed to continue its war with China. Of course, that was the idea behind both the embargo and the freezing of all assets—to stop Japan’s war with China.

  The more I read about Japan’s economic problems, the more I worried about what consequences we would face because of our country’s actions. I did not have to wait very long before I found out. From the time we left Hawaii till we arrived in the Philippines, we traveled in blackout conditions because we saw Japanese warships following us about two miles off our port side.

  I wrote the following letter to my folks while I was in Honolulu, explaining to them my concerns about war with Japan. The letter, exactly as written, shows my apprehension regarding the United States’ involvement with Japan.

  November 9, 1941, from Honolulu

  My Dear Mother and Father:

  I hope and pray that this letter finds everyone in the best of health. Don’t worry about me because I’m feeling OK. We believe we are going to the Philippines, we also are aware of the fact that we won’t be home for a long while, some say two years, others say longer. Most of us are homesick already, and my coming from a lovely and warm family makes the being away even harder. But here I am 5,000 miles from home so I’ll just smile and try to forget my worries and make the most of it. We had just docked at Honolulu and the scenery is really gorgeous, something out of a book. I may bring Laura here for a honeymoon some day.

  As far as we know we are going to Manila, that’s in the Philippine Islands, but there is the possibility that we may go on to Singapore to help out the Marines. I guess it all depends on the situation with Japan. Let’s hope and pray that nothing comes of all this. It sure is hot down here. Nothing like it at home even in the summers. I went to the mainland this evening, and saw almost everything there is to be seen, including “Hell’s Half Acre” and the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. Boy what a view from here, you can see in all directions, the beautiful water, the mountains and the landscape for as far as you can see.

  My job on the boat is the Chaplain’s assistant (not bad for a Jewish boy). We sail in two more days for Manila. I’ll send another letter once we arrive there. We are all very tense because when we leave here we are going to travel with a Navy escort and we will be traveling through some mighty dangerous waters. You see, we have to go right through some Japanese Islands. We were also told we would be traveling “blackout.”

  I don’t know what else to write about. I’m always thinking about you. I’ll never, in all my life forget you. You are the dearest parents a fellow could ever want, and I love both of you for it. There will never be anyone to take your place.

  Your loyal, faithful and ever loving son,

  Lester

  P.S. Dad, Please take good care of Laura for me, look after her a little. Just in case anything should happen to me, please pay up my insurance, then if anything happens . . . well pay it up because the situation looks pretty bad. Keep your faith. I’ll keep mine, you’ll see, everything will work out for the best.

  We received orders from stateside to avoid any contact with the Japanese ships we had seen. Those of us aboard the troop ship in November 1941 knew from what we had seen that there was a strong possibility of a confrontation with the Japanese in the not-too-distant future. Based on what we had read about the rape of Nanking, we thought we had a pretty good idea of what to expect in the coming months, but little did we dream of the full horror that lay ahead.

  CHAPTER 2

  SURPRISE ATTACK

  We arrived in the Philippines on November 20, 1941, the newly proclaimed Thanksgiving Day, nicknamed “Franksgiving Day” because President Franklin D. Roosevelt moved it back one week to allow for more shopping days between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Instead of turkey that day, we enlisted men had hot dogs. (Our officers went to the Officers’ Club and had turkey with all the trimmings.)

  Unfortunately, no mail awaited us when we arrived; but after all, no one was supposed to know where we were going. Most of us were a little depressed when we found out there would be no mail call.

  Our entire tank battalion was sent to Fort Stotsenburg, adjacent to Clark Field, where we were housed in tents about one thousand feet from the airfield. The tremendous military buildup in the Philippines of both men and equipment, over such a short period of time, caused a severe housing shortage and required hundreds of us to live in tents on the perimeter of Clark Field. This “tent city” arose overnight, with thirty or more tents in an area that only days before was a parade ground. Each tent was more like a tent-house, about twenty feet square, with a wooden floor and wooden supports. The canvas that was stretched over the basic form had a door and two window openings on each side. Six men were assigned to each tent.

  Shortly after arriving at our new tent homes at Fort Stotsenburg, we discovered the relaxed way army personnel lived in the Philippines. To our amazement each tent-house had a houseboy, whose duties included shining shoes, making beds, and keeping everything shipshape. Within days of our arrival, we were propositioned by some of the local “businessmen” to buy Filipino-made knives for three pesos, to have sharkskin suits made to order for twenty pesos, and to have a good time with their “sisters” for only five pesos. The exchange rate at this time was one peso for fifty cents.

  We had been in the islands a little more than two weeks when the war started, but we had not yet become accustomed to the heat and humidity. We also found the language and Filipino customs difficult to reconcile with our midwestern culture. Young boys selling the pleasures of their sisters; water buffalo, called carabao, roaming the roads and being considered a part of the Filipino family; and six or seven people living, eating, and sleeping in a one-room hut were hard for many of us Americans to accept. In addition, we could not distinguish a Filipino from a Japanese or Chinese person; the facial characteristics of all Asians appeared identical to our unaccustomed eyes. This later proved very distressful and challenging when we had to search for Japanese spies and infiltrators.

  In spite of my frustration of being in unfamiliar surroundings and among people I could not understand, I was nevertheless having a good time. As a cook in the islands, I was supposed to work one day and have three days off—not a bad work schedule. This freedom gave me more time to explore the countryside. No matter where I went on the island, however, I always felt a twinge of insecurity that came from never really knowing which of the natives were my allies. Each time I saw someone with oriental features, I thought he or she was Japanese, which was silly because most of the Asians in the Philippines were Chinese.

  On November 27, the Far East Air Command ordered two all-unit warnings and alerts—one during the day and the other at night—but the tank units never received the alerts. We could never figure out why.

  Apparently, the Navy Department in Washington, D.C., broke a Japanese coded message giving November 29 as the date for hostilities to begin. Our leaders in Washington then sent Gen. Walter C. Short and Adm. Husband E. Kimmel in Hawaii a message that said, “This dispatch is to be considered a war warning. Negotiations with Japan looking toward stabilization of conditions in the Pacific have ceased and an aggressive move by Japan is expected within the next few days.” This message, along with many other decoded Japanese messages, alerted our military high command that an aggressive move by Japan could be expected momentarily. When nothing unusual happened on the twenty-ninth or the following day, all caution was thrown to the wind. We went back to what we were doing before the warning—nothing.

  On November 29,1 was able to send the following postal telegraph message home:

  ARRIVED MANILA SAFE WON’T BE ABLE TO WRITE FOR A WHILE TELL LAURA I SEND MY LOVE HOPE EVERYONE FEELING FINE LOVE TO
ALL - LESTER FORT STOTSENBURG

  By the end of November, the navy ordered all ships to leave Manila and move south, out of reach of the Japanese bombers. It seems everyone in authority knew that a confrontation with the Japanese was imminent. Yet in spite of all of this preplanning and knowledge, our ships in Pearl Harbor and our planes in the Philippines remained easy targets for the enemy.

  On December 1, 1941, as reported in U.S. Army in World War II, 19,138 U.S. service personnel and 11,957 Philippine Scouts, for a total of 31,095 trained and equipped military people, defended the entire Philippines. Add to this an unknown number of Filipinos who were mobilized into the Philippine Army, but without training, guns, uniforms, or helmets. In addition to these meager, poorly trained and ill-equipped troops, we only had 35 B-17s, 18 B-18s, 107 P-40s, and a handful of other aircraft too old and outdated to mention. This fighting force, however, had the duty and responsibility to protect the Philippines against any aggressor—and Japan, in particular.

  As early as December 1, many of our tanks went into battle position for the defense of Clark Field, a plan that was previously arranged; and some of the tanks were still there on December 7 when war broke out. On December 4, naval intelligence in Washington wanted to issue an attack warning, but the request was denied at a level higher than that of MacArthur. In spite of this, MacArthur still sent out patrols each night. They came back and reported sighting enemy bomber groups twenty miles to fifty miles out at sea. As soon as our planes spotted them, our pilots would turn away and head back to base.

  As if this was not enough, we still did not have any training on the new tanks. While we were in Honolulu, our commander had tried to borrow two 37mm guns (the types mounted in our new tanks) and enough ammunition to practice from our transport deck while en route to the Philippines; but post ordnance in Hawaii refused this request. When our tank unit arrived in the Philippines, we asked for the use of a firing range so that we could become familiar with the weapons mounted in our new tanks. This request was also denied. Therefore, it was not until the Japanese bombers and Zeros came over Clark Field that we were able to get in our “practice.” On-the-job training does not work very well under these conditions.

  Due to the time difference, it was 3:00 A.M. on December 8 in Manila when at 8:00 A.M. Hawaii time, December 7, the Japanese struck the U.S. fleet at Pearl Harbor. General MacArthur, his staff officers, and all unit commanders were informed of the attack within minutes. At 5:00 A.M. the air force commander in the Philippines asked permission to load bombs on our planes and proceed to destroy the enemy on Formosa, a take-off point for the Japanese bombers and Zeros. If we could get to Formosa (now Taiwan) before any other Japanese aircraft could take off, we could direct a severe blow to the enemy, on their land, before they could deploy for the Philippines. The pilots and their crews were all hyped up, ready to rain retaliation on our new enemy, the Japanese; but our bomb group was told to wait for orders from MacArthur.

  At about 5:30 in the morning of December 8, we were awakened and told the United States was at war with the Japanese. We were briefed on the disaster at Pearl Harbor and instructed to prepare for the landing of Japanese paratroopers at Clark Field. Our entire battalion—tanks, halftracks, and other armored vehicles, as well as all personnel—were sent to Clark Field to repel an enemy landing.

  At 11:30 A.M., six hours after we received word that we were at war, MacArthur finally approved the air raid on Formosa. The crews loaded the bombs—twenty-pounders, fifty-pounders, and one hundred-pound bombs—as fast as they could. When the planes were loaded, their commander authorized the pilots and crews to take a lunch break. Of course they left the planes loaded with tons of high explosives, all in a nice straight row, ready to take off as soon as the crews came back from lunch. Our pursuit planes, the P-40s, were out on a reconnaissance mission and were ordered to return at noon. The pilots taxied the P-40s in from the runway, lined them up like sitting ducks, and went to lunch. The radar man at Clark Field, an inexperienced operator, turned off his machine and also went to lunch.

  Meanwhile, by 8:00 in the morning, we moved all of our tank equipment into position around the airfield. We were told to prepare for the landing of Japanese paratroopers. Everyone was on edge, because we did not know what was happening and, more important, we were still totally confused as to how to operate our tanks and their new cannons.

  A typical conversation between tank radio operators went something like this. Tank One: “Where the hell are the shells for this damn cannon?” Tank Two: “We can’t find them anyplace in this damn tank. Anybody got any ideas?” Tank One again: “We should have read the instruction book before leaving Camp Polk—I think it’s too late now.” Tank Three: “I asked the Captain. He said, ‘How the hell am I to know!’” No one could fire a shell at that moment even if they had to.

  Then it happened. At 12:35 in the afternoon of December 8, 1941 (December 7 in the United States), we heard the airplanes. As we looked up into the sky, we saw fifty-four bombers flying very high over Clark Field. Just as I was about to say, “They’re not ours,” the ground beneath us shook. The bombs fell. The war we feared was upon us.

  During the raid the cannons on our tanks were silent. Our only retaliating fire came from the .30- and .50-caliber machine guns mounted in our tanks’ turrets or the ones mounted on the back of our half-tracks. Then at last word came from Tank One: “Look under the radio operator’s seat. You’ll find fifty shells for the cannon—some are armor-piercing, others are for personnel. Let’s get the bastards!” Then, just as we were at our low point of the day, a shout rang out from the tanks around us. “Look, a Zero in flames! Bardowski got him!”

  They were talking about Zenon (“Bud”) Bardowski, a Company B man. Bud was a big man, about six feet tall and two hundred pounds. He was as strong as a bull, with the personality and looks of a movie star. He was always friendly, always laughing, always happy; nothing seemed to bother Bud. He was manning the .30-caliber machine gun mounted on his halftrack when he caught the Zero in his gun’s sight. A burst of gunfire, a series of tracer bullets, and then—BAM!—he became the first man in the armored force to down a Japanese aircraft in World War II. Bud was one of those fellows who went over to Corregidor on April 9, the day of the surrender, and he was captured there and taken to Cabanatuan prison camp in mid-May 1942. (He survived and lives in Texas with his lovely and devoted wife. He is still happy-go-lucky—just a little older.)

  The bombing and strafing of Fort Stotsenburg and Clark Field within hours of the raid on Pearl Harbor went virtually unnoticed by the average person in the United States. The attack occurred a little after noon, while all of our planes—the bombers and the P-40s—were lined up in a row on Clark Field, just waiting for disaster to strike. Finally, after what seemed like hours of bombing and strafing, everything became quiet, except for the cries and screams of the wounded lying intermingled with the dead all over the field. I will never forget the sights and sounds of that day. The history books associate Pearl Harbor with “the day of infamy,” but for those of us in the Philippines it was our day of infamy also.

  On December 12, I was able to send a Western Union message to my family that said,

  DEAR FOLKS DON’T DESPAIR ALIVE AND WELL NOTIFY LAURA DON’T BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU HEAR WITH LOVE - LESTER

  I intended to soften the blow that the news of war with Japan would have on my folks. I wanted them to think things were better than they actually were.

  Clark Field was bombed again on December 10 and 13. These attacks left more dead and injured, but we had so few airworthy aircraft that our equipment losses were minimal. On December 15, our tanks were ordered to leave Clark Field and proceed north on Highway 3 to Lingayen Gulf, where we were told the Japanese were planning a massive landing.

  Before leaving for Lingayen, we were instructed to leave our personal possessions behind in our tents at Fort Stotsenburg. I had to abandon family pictures, Laura’s home address, photos of Laura and me together, m
y binoculars, camera, and civilian clothing—none of which I would ever see again. As I think back to that day, I am so glad I had a photo of Laura in my wallet. Her image was my salvation for the next three and a half years.

  Before our departure, as we began preparing our tanks for our first battle, our company clerk, Corporal Armada, asked if I wanted ten thousand dollars’ worth of GI insurance. I did not understand what he was selling, but then he quickly explained that the government was making this insurance available to each enlisted man for very small monthly premiums. Without a moment’s hesitation, I took it. Then he asked who I wanted to be the beneficiary. When I said, “My wife,” he asked if I wanted her to receive a monthly allotment during the course of the war. Once again I answered with a resounding “Yes.” When he asked for her address, I was stumped. It was with my other possessions in my footlocker in my tent at Fort Stotsenburg. Moreover, she was living with her folks, and Laura and I had decided not to tell them about our marriage until I came home. I knew if the checks were sent to her, Laura would have to answer a lot of questions by her mother and especially her father. So I gave Corporal Armada my parents’ address, knowing that they would contact Laura and give her any mail intended for her. Once this insurance business was finished, our tanks left for Lingayen Gulf as ordered by General Wainwright.

  General Wainwright, the leader of the forces on Bataan, knew nothing about the deployment and use of tanks in warfare but ordered our tank company to lead an attack on the Japanese forces believed to be in the area. We arrived at our predetermined destination, the town of Agoo, which is only five miles from Damortis and where our headquarters company reconnaissance group reported sighting only small arms and minimum personnel. Because we were not given enough time to do our own reconnaissance, we accepted the report from headquarters company as valid.

  Our counterparts that day, the 26th Cavalry, Philippine Scouts, joined our platoon as we headed into battle. The Philippine Scouts were a strong, well-disciplined, highly professional, and courageous group of dedicated fighters. They were rough and tough cavalry men; we were proud to be in battle with them.