(Photo:  Landing Zone B was formerly a 9 hole golf course)



Below us, as we banked for a turn, the complete panorama of the Island lay exposed. There, rose the perpendicular cliffs; there, the rough, shell-blasted Top-Side; there, the narrow waist of the beach; and there, the towering mass of Malinta Hill still smoking from the bombs so recently dropped upon it. There, the parade ground and the tiny golf course were littered with chutes, while still others in mid-air floated down on them. From our flight we could see no fire fights, no smoke of grenades or mortars, though it was too early to expect a heavy action. The crumbling wreckage of demolished buildings offered the most forbidding sight. They were crowded in a spectral palisade around our "drop zone"; and already some of them were festooned with chutes where some unfortunate jumpers had landed. Except for those patchworks of silk, the ravaged structures looked exactly as others had described them to us; like centuries-old ruins, steeped in history, and dreaming moodily of their Past. At the moment, however, we were their Past, which, if they survived for centuries yet to come, would continue to make them immemorial.

Capt. Charles M. Bradford MD

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