* CHAPTER 2

 

A Week of Waiting

 

The life of our Regiment in camp during the interval, while we were waiting to go on our mission, would be different, perhaps, from what you might imagine. There is no way to describe it without bringing you into the camp itself while preparations are underway. In that case I could point out some things to notice. We are in the island of Mindoro, just south of Luzon. Our dusty, pyramidal tents cover a wide area in the grass-filled, sun-drenched, windswept valley of the Bugsanga river bottom. Roughly 3,000 men are quartered here under canvas: parachute Artillery (the 462 Battalion), parachute Engineers (Co. C of the 161), and parachute Infantry (the 503 Regiment), all of whom, with a few exceptions, will soon jump on the stony summit of Corregidor's fortifications.

At present, you will find the men busy in the company streets and under the flys of their tents, oiling and adjusting and caring for their weapons. You might notice the way they seemed to fondle them with a special friendliness, for when a soldier prepares for combat a weapon becomes a little more than a mechanical instrument. It is a comrade who must not fail him--one who will remember, in the crisis, the care he has bestowed on it in camp. Some fellows have carved or painted the names of girls on their rifle stocks. I've seen one or two .45 automatics with snapshots of fianc�es slipped under the pistol grips, like lockets:--but even without endearing souvenirs, the weapons are prized for their own sakes. One machine gunner I remember in particular, as I came upon him when he had just completed the assembly. "Did you do a good job, Corporal?" I asked.

"You bet, Captain," he smiled at me, "you know I wouldn't neglect her. She's my honey. She's my baby. Captain, I believe even the Nips is gonna fall in love with her. She's waiting on a blind date with 'em. And right down here- see"--he pointed to the tripod mounting--"she's got the hari-kari, hulla-hulla in them hips. She'll flat wow 'em." The corporal, incidentally hails from a gangster background in Chicago, and with light-hearted humor he often confides to me his desire to make it tough for the Tojo mob. "We'll teach 'em not to muscle in on Uncle Sam's joint. Them little yellow brats trying to shove us around. We'll flat rub 'em out. " Anything the corporal wanted to make certain had a "flat" in it, that's for sure.

Going further through the camp, if I take you to the supply tent, you will find a lieutenant lying there on his cot. He's the Supply Officer and, having just incurred a heavy cold, he is running a fever of 100.5� in the morning, rising to 101� or 102� at night.

"But it's only a cold," he explains. "I'll be well over it before the mission starts."

So he lies there directing the work of his sergeant and Pfc. who are exceedingly busy. Every soldier's equipment must be brought up to standard and all emergency shortages replaced. "Right now we can't get enough boots," the Sergeant complained. "They don't even have 'em on the Island. They've quit making jump boots back home , and a lot of the men's old ones is wore out. The Liberty ship that brought in a lot for us was suicide-bombed. The's the one that made so much noise and smoke blowing up last week. The Colonel's got a plane going after some now, though, and we'll have 'em tomorrow." Not boots alone, but belts, entrenching tools, helmets, canteens�in fact everything the men carry was his responsibility; and in addition, grenades, ammo of all sorts, rations, jump bundles, and a host of smaller items such as compasses, water bags, cleaning oil, etc.

Each company has its own supply tent, too, where jump bundles are laid out and packed. These contain the heavier combat equipment which is too cumbersome for men to carry personally. Each machine gun squad has its own one or two, and the same for mortar squads. Extra ammunition also has to be packaged for the initial drop, as well as a re-supply to be brought in later. If we visit the communication tent we shall see a display of wire reels, field telephones, radios and switchboards, all of which the men are rolling up in packs to be carried in with us when we jump, and dropped with the men of the section. Radio operators, however carry their lighter portable sets on their person.

The medics carry plasma and aid kits, with a stock of supplies, on their persons; but not enough, of course, to meet more than the initial need. Six bundles of medical supplies are prepared for each battalion, including a full set of surgical instruments, essential drugs, quantities of dressings, adhesive and such. As we go from area to area, we find the men all bust checking the lists of what is needed for the bundles, then rolling them, and finally painting on identification numbers, hitching them to their chutes, and stacking them where they can be loaded onto the trucks in the dark hours before dawn when we shall move out.

A special tent, near the Battalion C.P. (Command Post) is devoted to S-2, or intelligence. At first this was carefully guarded, but as the days get fewer, squads from every company are brought in and shown through maps, photographs, descriptions and diagrams. In the end every soldier gets a photo map for his own study and to carry with him. Especially among paratroopers, it is essential for each man to understand the whole plan of operations in its entirety, for many of them will be called upon, under adverse circumstances, to act alone or in isolated groups. Consequently, S-2 is an important and busy center these days. So also is S-3 (the Plans and Training) tent, where the movements of companies and platoons, and the assignment of supportive weapons were coordinated. Here frequent meetings are held for staff and company officers until all phases of the operation are thoroughly rehearsed. Corregidor being such a difficult target, the VI Army has prepared a special exhibit to help visualize it. This is a carefully constructed relief model of the Rock, reproducing every detail of the terrain and defense system on an accurate scale.  The map itself is twenty feet long, and has to be kept under guard in a special tent near the regimental headquarters.

But thus far I have succeeded only in conducting you on a tour of the camp grounds. That is not the life of the camp. It will take a little longer, and may seem tedious, but if you care-to do so, you can live with us a few days while we are waiting.

What will surprise you most, perhaps, will be the quiet, unexcited, normal aspect of things. No one seems tense. There is no outward sign to indicate the desperate move ahead. You may even think that very trivial incidents occupy attention, and that silly chatter is all we talk about. If you do reach such a conclusion, you will be nearer to understanding the true texture of War. Trivialities trip over momentous crises. Fun and tragedy, gripes and groans and laughter are all intermingled on the surface, and the careful plan beneath is altogether blotted from view. As for the ideal of a patriotic motive--it's up there where the flag floats. We walk every day beneath it, without consciously giving a thought to it. It is never under any circumstances, talked about; but inwardly, and perhaps unconsciously for many, it is the one motive which keeps every man here. Turn, then, to a few pages of the journal I kept during these urgent, idle days.

It may furnish you a little atmosphere, hazy at best, of the life we led.

 

--JOURNAL--

 

8 Feb. "45.  So it is going to be Corregidor after all, just as Major C. predicted: but 4 days ago his prediction was only a confidential rumor, and now, as an official order, it has been announced to the regiment. The men seem to like it; --but they are quiet about it-- quiet and serious. They know the risks, and most of them figure this mission will be really "rugged". Pfc. L., in my detachment, " - remarked slyly, after the briefing, "It sounds Corrugeder and corrugeder", but we'll pardon him for that-- though the quietest man in our group, he keeps all of us laughing at his drolleries. Notwithstanding the hazards, the men are all eager to carry this task through. "Let's give it a go," as the Aussies used to say.

 

*

*

*

*

*

*

Those of our men who have to be sent to rear base hospitals for illnesses or injuries usually find, when they recover and are discharged from these hospitals, that they have to wait indefinitely at re-assignment centers before they can get orders for transportation back to U.S.. Many of them sneak away from the centers without orders-- in fact, against orders, and arrange their own transportation by hitch-hiking rides with the air corps. Today one of these fellows came back from the hospital at Leyte. He had "worked his way" by volunteering as a waist-gunner on a Liberator which had carried him first, on a bombing run over Luzon. There was no fighter opposition, but he gave us a vivid description of the huge fires he saw burning in Manila and the grim desolation of that city. He had never seen a city laid waste by war, before, and he couldn't get over it. I wish some of the isolationist politicians at home could see it. They might get over the idea that we are fighting somebody else's war. If it wasn't for the smoking ruins in Manila we might be seeing them in Seattle.

 

9 Feb. "45. I got my first map of Corregidor today and have studied it all over. The men will get theirs soon. Meanwhile, preparations are going ahead at a leisurely pace. We have been alerted so often before that we could leave on a few hours notice if necessary.

 

*

*

*

*

*

*

 

 

The tent in which Lt. D, Lt. B, and I live is one of the front ones in the officers' area. Between it and the other tents, run a trail now pretty well beaten out, leading to the native huts some miles away, and beyond them, to more distant barrios (villages). As we sit or lie in our tents at various times, the scenes on the trail are worth comment. During the morning, we may see squads or companies of our soldiers, marching in their dusty coveralls, to the target ranges or to "problems" involved in the training program--hot, bored, healthy young men, in splendid physical condition. Throughout the day, the trail is filled by groups of natives who come and go by twos or threes--or in whole families; short, stocky, barefoot, brown little people, quick to smile when you look at them. Everywhere in camp they receive a carefree welcome. Among the tents, you see the laundry women chatting with men whose wash they have taken; you see children, straying happily from their mothers and running to special friends they have found among the soldiers; you see quiet, little native farmers selling corn or fruit to the boys; and you see slow- moving caribou (water-buffalo) hitched to sledges or merely saddled with straw mats, as they plod along followed by different member of the native family, or as they stop to gaze as their owners talk. As I sit and watch, I wonder, "Wouldn't a Roman camp in Gaul or Britain have looked much like this, in the days of Caesar?"

Though the women become wrinkled early in life, the younger girls are sometimes very pretty. One, in particular, caused a stir of excited comment whenever she passes through camp. "There she goes!" someone will remark, and everyone will stare. When Lt. G looked, she had gotten by, but even her back provoked a whistle. "If that's her I can understand why," he commented. We have active night life along this trail, too; but I should have to be a Walter Winchell to record it. Sufficient to state that San Pedro, the nearest barrio, is 4 miles away, and there the native girls are said to be very friendly. In the evening, our boys roll out of camp, and return much later; sometimes not until dawn the next day, when we see them struggling back in their green-gray, tumbled coveralls, lumbering along with weary reluctant steps to report for reveille.

 

10 Feb. '45  Today we have a practice jump as scheduled. The idea was to give a final rehearsal in small dimension drop zones for all officers and for any enlisted men who will act as jump-masters at Corregidor. There wasn't room in the planes for any more, and many enlisted men who asked for the chance to jump had to be disappointed.  Capt. McR told me, after we had taken off that he hadn't made a jump for 18 months. He was sent home on leave right after our Noemfoor mission, when our battalion went in by barge, and he was only just returned to us from the states. Adding up the $100 per month he gets as special parachute pay, this jump will be worth $1800 to him. Most of the boys agree that's it's an easy way to earn extra money;--but the pay alone wouldn't draw them into the regiment; and even without extra pay, I often think most of the same men would have volunteered for this service. Our chaplain refers to the personnel of the regiment as "droops and paratroops"--though he never has specified which are to droops. Anyway, we get a rare medley: some are pure adventure-seekers hunting a thrill; some are uncompensated egotist and want to justify an inferiority complex by extraordinary performance; there are some superficial characters, fearless, reckless, and thoughtless, who thirst for the bubbles and froth of life; and there are some (though fewer) with exceptionally stable personalities whose inner natures yearns for heroic deeds. Though the men scoff at our regimental song, its verses draw a true picture of the average man's mental attitude in the line, "I'm proud I'm allowed to be one of the crowd of the parachute infantry."

11 Feb. '45. Our Hdqts. Co. has chipped in 5 pesos ($2.50) from everyone's pay to improve the mess. We send out a sergeant who buys cattle or caribou from the natives, and butcher them so that we can have fresh meat. It is a real treat, being many weeks since we had anything except canned rations. A funny thing happened, the Sgt. told me. After paying for a certain old cow owned by a woman in San Pedro, he went to find it, and shot the wrong cow by mistake. There was a terrible hullabaloo, naturally; but when it all settled down, he bought the mistaken cow too, and later identified and slaughtered the right one as well-- so that we'll have a great plenty for a change.

Plans for the mission have been thoroughly discussed all day long; and tomorrow the enlisted men will get complete briefing in individual squads.

A boy in the communications section has been handling the laundry for our tent. He acts as agent for a native family. I don't know how many they do, but the khakis come back spotless,--pressed and starched, too, holding the best crease I ever saw.

Lt. D, in our tent, received a package from home which we opened tonight. He especially relishes a brand of pickles his mother sends him--too sour for me, though. I must try to persuade him to change his taste.

Inspection of men's equipment this morning. It will be repeated again in two days, which means the mission will probably come off on the 15th or 16th. Ordnance truck took all defective weapons and fixed or replaced them. I got a new barrel for my .45 which is now in excellent condition. Special arrangement a have been made on the target area, so everyone gets a chance to "zero in" his weapon.

Rats have been overrunning one section of camp, so today the long grass was burned for 200 yards all around the outskirts. Pretty tough on the rats!

12 Feb. '45. Had an extra good swim this afternoon as everything was cleaned up this morning, and the equipment checked, ready for packing. The river is a little low, but we've built a small rock dam which makes the water almost waist deep. In the swift current we have a lot of fun bathing. It was hard, at first to get used to having native girls walk by at crucial moments, with their laundry bags on their heads, but they are as unconscious of nudity as though it didn't make the least bit of difference. Maybe it doesn't.

I find the pleasantest part of the day at meal times, not because of the food by any means. In our Battalion we are lucky to have an exceptionally congenial group of officers and men. The officers' mess is held in a tent which hasn't blown down yet but soon will. The men are so intimate and like each other so well that conversation at meals consists in a steady flow of good-natures raillery. Brothers in the same family couldn't get along any better than we do. Today Lt. E brought in two C-47 pilots to eat with us. For once, the Air corps doesn't seem to mess any better than we do, and they seem to like coming here. We enjoy having them too, for they are the boys who will pilot us over the Rock.

13 Feb. '45.  Lt. D. hopped a B-24 this morning and flew over Corregidor. He's the sixth officer in our Battalion who has had this chance. No ack-ack up there at all, he says. He believes the Japs are hardly garrisoning the place. Not a sign of human life anywhere up there. He's new in this theater, and I don't trust his judgment, but we shall see.

First equipment check today. Here's the list of basic equipment the men are to jump with:

Helmet

Helmet lining

Coveralls

Webb belts

Canteens, 2

Canteen cup

Medical first aid kit (individual for every man)

Entrenching tool (optional)

Weapon (for medics--a carbine)

2 plasma units (for medics)

Medical Corps bag and aid equipment (for medics)

Ammo clips

Trench knife (optional)

Jump knife (a pocket jack-knife)

Poncho

2 hand grenades (most men carry 4, however)

K rations (2 days supply--total 6 units)

 

The average man's equipment weighs up to sixty pounds, more or less, but there are heavier loads for specialized troops such as machine gunners, mortar men, and ammo bearers.

A Major General  who built the last improvements in Corregidor's defenses before the war, and who evacuated it just before the place fell to the Japs, visited our camp today. He is delighted over the plans for our parachute attack, and says the Japs will make it very costly any other way, but he thinks we'll get away with this in good style.

Had a long "bull session" in our tent tonight. Things in Europe seem nearly over, but over here the tough job is just beginning. Every discussion turns eventually to food. Men whose diet is cut down to C rations like to talk their heads off about juicy steaks. Lt. D. spent half an hour describing a meal at Antoine's in New Orleans.

14 Feb. '45 Our Colonel held a Regimental formation this afternoon--all men of all units in our combat team being present. Uniform: coveralls, webb belts, weapons with which armed, jump boots. We seldom hold any formal gathering over here, but the sight of these fighting men all together is good for the eyes every once in a while. This is the Real Thing--these quiet, determined, undemonstrative go-and-do-it paratroopers! After "Attention" and "At Ease," the Colonel read a very brief message from MacArthur and made some simple and common sense remarks of his own which took, in all, only five minutes, and avoided anything flowery or inspirational. On such occasions as this the Colonel appears at his best. He speaks with a strong, clear voice, a little deliberately, but with firm assurance. His bearing is erect, rugged, slightly severe except when relaxed. His manner is frank, honest, and sincere--altogether a very soldierly and courageous leader. The formation concluded with Retreat and "To the Colors." As the companies marched off the field, I thought both proudly and sadly how we had just witnessed the last formation this unexcelled group of men will ever hold together. * Many will not come back. Which ones, I wonder?

Beer call was held at 1800 hours, each man getting six cans. This unusual event causes more of a lift to morale than pay day or the news of beef for dinner. The old song of our football days in college must be right: " 'Tis Beer,  'tis beer, 'tis beer that makes the world go 'round!"

  15 Feb '45 Everything all set to go tomorrow. Bundles checked, packed, and piled. Equipment in order. We have drawn our parachutes and fitted them on. Mine happens to be a brand new one, so I'm not going to worry about it, but some of the older chutes might not be so dependable. Hope they all work O.K.

Company Commander's meeting at 10:30 held in the Mess Tent. Our Major has a special hankering for coffee, and we generally prevail on the cooks to serve us a little snack at this hour while Battalion problems are under discussion. It promotes congeniality and friendship, which are important elements in developing co-operation between the different companies. Captains who regard each other as camp buddies are so much better than those who keep a jealous eye of rivalry on their brother officers.  Also, by this system, the Major and the rest of us get our coffee!

Tents were struck this morning except for the supply tents which were left to protect our stores. All personal belongings that we leave behind are packed in individual duffel bags and left with supply. If it's like some of our past experiences, some of this personal property will have been stolen by the time we get back, since the guard we leave behind is usually careless and inefficient.

Had a time this noon with one of our men who just "talked his way out" of the hospital. He had a haemorrhoid operation six days ago, but insists on going on this mission. If he wants to put up with the discomfort, the jump can do him no harm of itself, and the risk he takes will be no greater than the rest. I have to admire this type of fellow, and all but a very few are of this type. In general the health of the command is excellent. We are running through a minor epidemic of infectious jaundice which has kept several of our men out, very much against their will.

The stockade has been emptied. Garrison prisoners will not go with their units, however. They are formed under command of our Special Services Officer and have already gone off to serve as a labor detail, joining the sea-borne landing party. Pershing is credited with the remark, "If you want a good soldier, you'll find him in the stockade." This is true for the most part, but we don't want those fellows back in their old squads where they got into trouble. It's a break for them, for after the mission their sentences will be cancelled, and I'm sure many of them were counting on this when they messed up.

Had another good swim this afternoon, and then took tea with the Chaplain  whose tent, down by the river, will be left standing, though he himself goes in "on the first wave." The other Chaplain (Catholic) was not scheduled for this, and I'm not sure that either of them were; but they both made arrangements voluntarily to get in with the first troops. There are no better "soldiers" in the regiment than these two. It is a high act of faith--to jump among the Japs on this Corregidor mission-- and without weapons!  A little like the Christian martyrs going down into the lion pit unarmed .

Major B, my former tent mate at Gordonvale, turned up to wish us good luck. He is now with the 163rd Infantry Regiment of the 42nd Division, which saw such fine service at Biak, and is scheduled now for the next push toward the southern Philippines. Before the war B served as an enlisted man on Corregidor, and he told me many points about the fortifications there. He says Top-Side, where we jump, offers excellent fire lanes for Jap automatic weapons if they have sense enough to develop them. If they have, which I doubt, it's bad news for us. If they haven't, it's bad news for them.  B also believes they've got a good sized garrison there. No reason they shouldn't have, he says--so look out for counter attacks once you're down. Not knowing what to expect, I'd say: Look out for anything once you're down, but let's get down first. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, so we can start worrying when it's time to worry.

Tonight there's a restless monkey on a string bothering me as I finish up these notes. He belongs to a Sergeant in this tent where I've borrowed a cot, my tent being down and packed away. We are scheduled to leave at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow morning, so I've passed up the movie which almost everyone else seems to be attending on the parade ground. We've had rotten movies lately anyhow, so I'm not missing much; and we ought to begin a thriller-serial tomorrow which can be a basis for stirring movies in years to come. So I guess I'll hit the sack.

 

 

 

Combat Over Corregidor appears as a joint project of The 503d Parachute Regimental Combat Team Association of World War II Inc., and the Heritage Bn.  We are privately supported by The Corregidor Historic Society and a group of like-minded individuals. Join us and make sure that we'll be here the next time you are.

Combat Over Corregidor � 2002 The Charles H. Bradford Estate;


[2] Lt. D. is most likely 1st Lt. CD, assistant battalion surgeon. p 

[3] Lt. B. is most likely 1st Lt. LB, battalion S-3. p

[4]  Lt. G. is most likely 1st Lt. SG, Headquarters and Headquarters Company, 2n Battalion. p

[5] Capt McR is Captain WMcR, Headquarters Company Commander. p

[6] Lt. E is 1st Lt. JHE (Beaver), 2nd Battalion Headquarters. p

[7] Major General WFM  p

[8] This was the last formation the entire 5O3rd RCT would ever hold. p

[9] Chaplain (Captain) PEH. p

[10] Chaplain (Captain) JJP.  p