nightmare in a pit

8/3/2019 Nightmare in a Pit

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NIGHTMARE IN A PIT

BY MOLINO A. DELA PEA

During the Second World War, I fell into a pit near the foot of afforested

mountain in the Philippines. I was trying to look for a fourteen year old boy who went

alone to rescue another young fellow who was seriously injured when shot by enemies

who were hiding in the cave.

That unfortunate incident happened in small valley between town of San Jose,

Nueva Ecija in Central Luzon and Aritao, Nueva Vizcaya in the Northern Luzon. Both

provinces are located North of Manila.

This old buffalo who was then already eighteen years old and Mario Vicente who

was only fourteen were members of a rag tag guerilla group under ten Major Robert B.

Lapham of the defunct Philippine Scouts of the United States Armed Forces in the Far

East.

It may be recalled that in December 8, 1941, Japanese was planes sneaked to

Pearl Harbour in Hawaii and bombed American war ships and submarines which were

anchored there in an apparent effort to paralyze the United States Navy. It was followed

early in the morning the following day by bombings of military camps and airfields in

over country which paved the way for Japanese troops to land on our shores and over-

powered our ill prepared and surprised troops.

Before the invaders reached Manila, General Douglas McArthur and President

Manuel L. Quezon were forced to leave our country. As they were leaving, the General

reportedly promised to come back with his famous I shall return, statement.


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True to his words, he did return three years later leading an awesome Liberation

Army supported by an Air Force with powerful super bombers which can lay their

explosive eggs beyond the range of enemy anti-aircraft guns. We therefore thought that

fighting the enemies would be a breeze. However, they proved to e tougher than what we

have ever-thought.

When the 25th Infantry Division of the United States Army reached our home

town of Munoz, Nueva Ecija, in Central Luzon our ragtag guerilla unit of about five

hundred men joined them. For the first time we were armed with new types of automotive

and semi-automatic weapons. We were therefore confident that the enemies will be

beaten to submission.

The Yankees pursued our enemies and we went along with them to the hills and

forested mountains between the towns of San Jose, Nueva Ecija in Central Luzon and

Aritao, Nueva Vizcaya in Northern Luzon. Both municipalities are located North of

Manila.

Before we reached our destination, we climbed a thickly forested mountain in

single file. As we were ascending the mountain in single file, enemy explosive shells fell

and exploded close to us and we dropped on the ground shaking with fear. After a few

minutes of silence, we stood up and continued our march until enemy shells again fell

and exploded dangerously close to us. That was where one of my school classmates

whose family name is Dela Cruz was killed. I felt like turning back and head for home

but my fellow guerillas kept going as if nothing untoward happened, therefore I

pretended that I was not afraid at all.

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When we reached our destination, our platoon where I was then the Platoon

Sergeant, was assigned to guard a portion of a dirt road at the top of a hill to protect

American Army vehicles which deliver supplies direct to frontline troops from being

ambushed.

That incident happened in April 12, 1945 when the war was about to end. The big

hole where I was trapped was probably a well which was dug by Japanese soldier as a

source of drinking water during the rainy season but dried up when summer came.

Surprisingly, I was not hurt and I sat down wondering what happened. When I peered

upward, I knew then that there is no chance for me to ever come out. I remember that

three of our neighbors who responded to the emergency call to the military service when

hordes of Japanese soldiers invaded our country. Three years ago never returned home

and nobody knew them. I was therefore worried about not seeing my parents,

grandparents, relatives, and girlfriend again.

Depressed over my misfortune, I was at the verge of crying.

The place was Northeast of Balete Pass which is now Dalton pass because it was

where General Dalton, commander of the 25th Infantry Division, United States Army was

unfortunately killed by an enemy sniper while visiting his troops which he may pull out

any time. We learned that he was the youngest General f the United States Army at the

time of his untimely death. His family and friends will surely grieve and miss him

specially that he is likely to be buried in our country.

The injured guerilla soldier was one of our three buddies who went to hunt for

souvenirs down the hill in front of an American heavy wepons companys position on the

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top of a hill at our left. Further down the hill was a cave which was dug by our enemies at

the foot of the forested mountain to protect themselves from hovering over American war

planes, deadly artillery and mortar shells, as well as foot soldiers like us.

The battle was taking place between the towns of San Jose, Nueva Ecija, which is

in the Northern most part of central Luzon and Aritao, Nueva Vizcaya in the Southern

most part of Northern Luzon both of which are located north of the City of Manila.

Japanese troops were then taking a bad beating and were short of food supplies so

that we expect that in a matter of days they would surrender. A public address system

was installed and somebody who spoke like a Japanese appealed to them to lay down

their arms to avoid losses of more precious lives and so that they can be shipped home

together with their families as soon as possible. I understood what the man was saying

because during the early part of the Japanese occupation of our country, I was fourth year

high school student and Nipongo, the Japanese language, was one of our subjects.

Although they were apparently weary, hungry, and suffering due to lack of

logistical support they knew that they have no more chance against the American troops

but they stood their ground.

We were ordered to sit tight and wait for the enemys patience to wear out and

finally say uncle.

The GIs as American soldiers were fondly called spent their time gambling

among themselves apparently because they have had no other way of killing their time.

There was however a young man who was quiet and did not take part in their game of

chance. When I asked one of them who the fellow is, I was told that the SOB is a

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millionaires son; I could hardly believe that a rich mans son would be an ordinary foot

soldier which I knew would never happen in our country.

Their morale was high and they were joking at each other. There was a big fellow,

with unusually large jaw, whom they called mule. Another fellow who was apparently a

farmer was called Hill Billy. A similar pun among country men would likely ignite a

fight.

We had no money to waste like them because we still had no government to speak

of to pay us. However, we did not mind because we were used to have nothing during the

period when Japanese troops occupied our country. We relied mainly on the support of

farmers who supplied our food. When the American liberation force arrived, we had the

luxury of eating all the food we wanted and for the first tome in three years we had

corned beef, chill con carne, and cheese. We also had the luxury of smoking chesterfield

and Camel cigarettes, a vice I maintained until three decades later when I reading one of

the issues of readers digest about the evils of smoking cigarettes.

When e issued fatigue uniforms, canvas leggings, leather shoes and steel helmet

we felt proud that we were genuine soldiers and no longer ragtag guerillas. Our morale

was indeed very high and we were ready to annihilate our enemies. I had to keep telling

my buddies to stay flat on the ground when facing our because they seemed to feel

invulnerable with our steel helmets. But perhaps vengeance is in their heart when

seventy-five thousand Filipino and American prisoners of war were forced to trek miles

without food and water and were maltreated in the process when being taken to the

prisoner of war camp.

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We had water purifying tablets which we drop in our canteen full of water

because our sources of drinking water were creeks where sometimes a bloated body of a

dead enemy is floating upstream. It was an advantage over our enemies because drinking

water from the polluted creeks can make one sick.

We busied ourselves telling tall stories which sounded like Give us some men

who are stout hearted men who will fight for the right they adore. Start me with ten stout

hearted men and Ill give you ten thousands more and so on. It was an inspiring song

which made us feel great and anxious to keep fighting our enemies. We were also told

that those who are afraid to die are not fit to live.

Before that event, some enemies crept in the dark at night and use their bayonet in

stabbing their victim to death. They desisted from attacking during the day because they

would be mowed down by American automatic and semi automatic rifles. Of course they

also had their own machine guns but their rifles had to be loaded and unloaded manually

every time they made a shot while our side kept squeezing and pulling the trigger of our

guns until nine or fifteen shots were made. They were therefore badly outgunned.

Early one morning, the heat of the sun which penetrated between the leaves of

trees in a calm weather woke me up while sound asleep in our foxhole. I was surprised

that Mario, my foxhole buddy was not there. He was supposed to be watching while I

was taking a rest after my turn of watching is over that night, (For those who may not

know what a foxhole is, it looks like a shallow grave for two people protect themselves

from enemy hostile gun shots.). When I went out to verify where he is, I was alarmed that

no one is around. I suspect that everyone left in a hurry for home and they forgot about

me. Coincidentally, there was complete silence in contras with the precious days when

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enemy artillery missiles usually come whistling overhead followed by a moment of

silence and then wham! Sometimes causing pieces of bloody human flesh and pieces of

broken bones to fly and scatter all over the ground.

I walked looking at rows of empty foxholes feeling lonely like an abandoned

child. There was loneliness in that early morning silence in that jungle in contras with the

previous days when all of us wee there and holed in our respective foxholes in pairs. But

whenever we hear whistling artillery shell above, we knew that disaster and death will

likely happen. We therefore immediately seek shelter in our foxhole, fearful of being

blasted to pieces. I continue walking and when I was about to reach the end of our

position I saw one of our buddies sitting on his steel helmet arming his coffee in his

aluminum canteen cup with a smokeless fire from a small tin can. I asked him what is

happening and without bothering to look at me apparently because he stayed behind, he

said that the platoon went to rescue Freddy Ramiro one of the men in the squad where he

belonged. He added that the place is down the hill below the position of an American

Heavy Weapons Company.

Taking an automatic rifle and all the ammunitions I could carry, I went to look for

our unit. A few yards where our platoon was positioned, I met our platoon leader pressing

a bloody handkerchief between his jaw and throat. Apparently an enemy bullet nearly

killed him. Just a fraction of an inch higher would have shattered his jaw and would have

deformed his handsome face for life. The lieutenant told me to take charge, being his

second-in-command as platoon sergeant. I knew then that I was not going to a picnic.

When I reached the position of our unit on a small plateau, I found them all flat on

their stomach tentatively shooting at our enemies who could not be seen. Carefully, I

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crawled to their position and asked the first man I reached where Mario is and without

lifting his head, he motioned down the hill. He also told me to be careful because there

are snipers everywhere especially on the tree tops.

I crawled where an American heavy weapons company as positioned at our left

where they were all in their respective foxhole in pairs. The rows of foxholes were facing

the position of the enemies down the hill who were holed in a cave which they dug at the

foot of a forested mountain. I asked the tenant of the first foxhole I reached if he knows

where I can find my pals, and without rising from where he was seated inside, he pointed

to the direction down the hill. Curiosity made me foolishly stand up but he grabbed my

right shoulder and pulled me down. He had such a powerful big arms so being frail as I

was, I landed hard on the ground. More embarrassed than hurt, I glared at him thinking

that he was making a practical joke at the wrong time. However, without saying a word

he pointed at the trunk of a tree near us which was tattooed by enemy bullets. I was

frightened by what I saw, thinking that I would be dead even before I could see my

friends if I insist on the enemy infested territory.

I therefore thought of going back to our unit and pretend that Im not feeling well.

However, worried about the safety of the boy and the other young man he was trying to

rescue, and feel ashamed that a boy has more guts than me, I ran down the hill shouting

the name of Mario like a mad man to shake off my fear and let all the Americans know of

my presence down the hill.

As I reached a grassy area which is level I fell into the pit. The big hole was

probable a well which was dug by Japanese soldiers as a source of drinking water during

the rainy season but dried up in when summer came. Surprisingly, I was not hurt. Down

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flat on my stomach, I rose and sat down. When I peered upward, I knew then that I had

no chance of ever coming out. There was no way I could communicate with my unit

because at that time there was still no cellphone nor hand held radio.

I could not believe that it as happening to me. It was just like a bad dream.

Shortly however, I recovered my composure. I stood up and jumped as hard as I

could but reached only about six inches below the rim of the pit. I tried again and again to

no avail.

I was not a religious man and did not believe that going to church could save a

mans soul but I realized that nobody could help me excpt God Himself. I therefore

prayed for his help and asked to be forgiven for neglecting to pray and go to churchon

Sundays.

Then slowly it started to get dark as if God did not heard me and I wondered if it

had been there for a long time already. I suspected that I fell asleep due to fatigue and had

a little rest that night guarding in our foxhole. Being alone in the dark pit, I imagined

that hideous ghost of dead Japanese soldiers will hound me the whole night and scare me

to death.

It is a good thing that I remembered my grandmother when early one morning

before sunrise, I was going back to the battle zone. My one week pass was then about to

expire. She seemed to be crying and praying as if she knew I would be in serious trouble.

Then suddenly I remembered a rumor that the war is over and we will be moving

out any time to a processing center for our honorable discharge from the military

services. I feared that I will surely be left behind alone in that God forsaken pit. I will

starve to death or a venomous snake will fall inside and bit me.

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Then suddenly to my delight the sky started to clear. It was dark clouds which

sailed above me which momentarily made the area dark.

I remembered that I had a small spade which was attached to my backpack, a tool

of everyday soldier for digging foxholes or making bomb shelters. I used it for digging

small crevices at the side of the pit where I dug my finger tips and placed my toes.

Slowly I lifted myself out and ran shouting the name of Mario, avoiding enemy foxholes

and ready to shoot if there are enemies there.

Soon, I heard his voice and traced him in an enemy foxhole treating an agonizing

young man with an ugly wound at the right side below the ribs of Freddy Ramiro, another

young man who was a couple of years older than Mario.

As I looked at the injured young man, I remembered that the day before that

unfortunate incident, he was cheerfully telling us that beyond that mountain is his

hometown and he will soon see his parents and relatives. Maybe the souvenir he hopes to

find were intended for his parents and as a trophies for his stint as a soldierin the United

Stated Army.

The most fancied souvenir was the Japanese officers Samurai sword which has a

long handle decorated with gold braids. There were also miniature Japanese flags which

every soldier seem to carry.

Freddy moaned in pain as if he wanted to say that we should hurry and take him

away. Fortunately, Mario thoughtfully brought with him a stretcher. However, we could

not carry him because we would be perfect targets of our enemies.

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Indeed, suddenly an enemy popped out of a cleverly camouflaged foxhole some

ffty yard away and Mario shot him while I threw a hand grenade to ensure that if there is

another fellow there he would not cause us any trouble.

Some eighty yards away was a cave which was apparently dug by enemies at the

foot of the forested mountain where I noticed some movements. I took a closer look and

saw a machine gun crew of three men mounting their weapon but before they can aim

their gun toward us I got them with my automatic rifle.

Mario crawled close to the cave and alarmed that he might be killed, I kept

screaming for him to stop but he continued moving and threw two hand grenades one

after the other which finished the people inside.

We finally succeeded in evacuating our comrade to the Field Hospital which was

located behind the battle zone.

More than a decade later, our Headquarters Armed Forces of the Philippines

issued general orders numbers 108, dated September 11, 1959 awarding the Gold Cross

medal to Staff General Mario Vicente and myself for gallantry in action against the

enemy at Myuko Hill Northeast of Dalton pass, Nueva Vizcaya on 12 April 1945. It

went on to cite the incident on that fateful day. The delay in citing what we did in saving

the life of our comrade can be attributed to the fact that our Company Commander went

to the united States immediately after the war and made his recommendation only on his

return to the Philippines.

I am proud to say that I was then holding rank of Captain in the Philippine Army

when the medal was formally presented to me in a military ceremony where a battalion of

ROTC Cadets and enlisted men led by officers conducted a military parade and review.

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Mario the brave young man should have been with me in that ceremony but since he

unceremoniously left our unit to enroll as a first year high school student in our

hometown of Munoz, Nueva Ecija, I have never seen nor got in touch with him.

I had been trying in vain to find him from the time I receive the beautiful medal

so that I could recommend that the medal be similarly presented to him.

If he is still alive and the medal is likewise presented to him in a military

ceremony, it would likely be the longest wait in the world history in awarding a medal for

heroism in war.

He was the youngest yet the tallest man in our guerilla organization and our

guerilla commander, Major Robert B. Lapham of the defunct Philippine Scouts is alive

today, I ant him to know that the youngest member of his guerilla organization is the

most outstanding soldier during the epic war.

The American soldiers who gave their life to liberate our country from the

Japanese invaders now silently lie side by side where we can see rows of white cross in

Fort Bonifacio, which is located just a few miles south of the cities of Manila and Makati.

It is also where the Headquarters of the Philippine Army and the Philippine Marines are

located.

The hillbillys, city slickers and rich mens sons silently lie side by side there.

They came to our country and died liberating us from the Japanese who wanted to take

away the liberties and culture which American brought to our country.

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nightmare in a pit

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