Ch 4 - Corregidor, 22 April 1941

CHAPTER 4

CORREGIDOR, APRIL 22, 1941

As the Miley cut thru the placid waters of Manila Bay, the men grew quiet. Realizing we had finally reached our destination, we speculated on what lay ahead. Would it be an exciting life, here in this strange, and very different land? Would we, a collection of nondescript, and very young boys, be up to the tests facing us? Looking back, I knew some of these boys would find it very difficult at first. I am sure that Spence and I were much better prepared for the barracks environment, being barked at by various noncoms and officers, and marching about in groups. Each of us had experienced such activities during our recent sojourn in the CCC camps in the U.S. We had experienced the process of intermingling with total strangers, coexisting in the barracks, and using common showers and toilet facilities.

For some, it was difficult. Listening to some of the southern boys, I concluded many had seldom travelled out of their own back yards. Relatives were far away. Only the friendships formed since enlistment were available, and many of these were very shallow. Spence and I were loners since Jr. High School, although we were friendly with others in our inner circle, fellows we enlisted with, served KP with, or some close to us on Angel Island.

The Miley was nearing Corregidor, and details of the island were materializing. It was evident the channel into Manila Bay on the north side of Corregidor was far narrower than the South Channel. To the south of Corregidor a sheer, rocky island protruded from the water which we later learned was Ft. Hughes. Hardly a mile separated the two islands.

The boat was now passing along the north side of Corregidor. A blanket of vegetation covered most of the surface, and few roads were visible. Soon, several docks came into view. The island rose abruptly to the left of the docking area, and to the right a hill could be seen rising westward up to a yet higher plateau. There were various sized buildings located on and near the large dock in the center, and numerous structures spotted all about the landing area. A long, narrow dock jutted out into the small bay a few yards east of the large pier, and another pier, much taller than the others, protruded out from the shore to the west of the large dock. Numerous buildings could be seen on the lower slopes of the steep rise to our left. We were to learn this was Malinta Hill.

Half an hour later, those of us from the Republic were formed into a column of four’s and several noncoms marched (herded) us across many narrow railroad tracks imbedded into the large dock, and onto a nearby road. We carried our heavy bags over our shoulders, but managed to gawk around as we moved away from the dock area. We tromped along the road, the steep hill to our left, and a low rise to our right, under a narrow bridge, then the road made a gentle descent past a low building to our left, (the bakery), then a ninety degree turn left, a few yards, then a ninety degree right turn. We were now on a much narrower road which ascended up, and around the steep south cliffs of Malinta Hill. The road levelled, and we plodded along, shifting the bags from shoulder to shoulder.

The road began to climb very gently and soon, curved to our left. Now it became somewhat steeper and a hundred yards farther dead-ended into another road. Here we turned right and proceeded a hundred yards on a small road sloping downward, and turned right once more. After a couple of more turns I began to wonder if they were trying to lose us, but the column was now descending on a very narrow road which dropped sharply downward. Ahead I could now see a large expanse of concrete. On the far side of the vast apron of concrete I could see two large hanger-like structures. We were told this was at one time a seaplane facility, and later converted to the 92nd Filipino Scout Motor Pool. Beyond the far side of the concrete tarmac, rows of tents came into view. The tents appeared to be squad tents, probably large enough for six or eight men. Could it be possible that we were going to reside in tents?

As the front of the column reached an open area to one side of the tents, small groups of men were broken off, and assigned a tent. Spence and I were the third and fourth of our group and were able to choose side by side cots. Not knowing what was to come, we put our bags on the cots and sat down to wait.

Shortly, a young corporal entered the tent. He was dressed in blue tailor-made fatigues, and wore a trim looking campaign hat. He smiled, and informed us his name was Corporal Wall, and that he would be directly responsible for our training which would begin very soon. He said he was aware we had received zero training since our enlistment, and the training program would include basic recruit drill, bayonet drill, etc. We would learn close order drill using the Springfield rifle. Qualifying on the range would consist of the Springfield 30-06, and the Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR).

Corporal Wall explained that upon completing the training program, we would each be assigned to Batteries of the 59th, or the 60th Coast Artillery Regiments. We learned after our assignment to one of these batteries, we would each receive additional training related to our duty assignments. He revealed the 59th consisted of coast defense guns and beach defense searchlights.

The 60th was the island’s anti-aircraft defenses together with its A-A searchlight batteries. Headquarters Battery, a mine defense group and numerous other support organizations were also located on the island.

Some shouting could be heard in the distance and Corp. Wall stuck his head outside. He then told us to line up outside the tent and prepare for roll call. I think we were all quite ready to get this thing started and we were quick to get outside and line up.

An officer, and several noncoms (corporals and sergeants) gathered between the immediate two rows of tents. One of the sergeants approached our tent, noted down the letter and number posted on a stake and called Corporal Wall over to him. After a short conversation, Corp. Wall asked each of us our name and our serial number, and found each name on the list and checked them off. This entire process, required some time. Corporal Wall seemed to be responsible for two or three of the tents. The noncoms were each compiling a listing of those recruits in their squads. Spence and I felt comfortable with Cpl. Wall, and sensed that he would be a good drill instructor.

We were then moved out on the open concrete and again lined up. An officer and several noncoms were gathered out in front of us. The officer proceeded to inform us we would be put through an intensive training program, that we would live in the tents until the training was finished. We would eat from mess kits. He also informed us showers were nearby, and admitted that it would be difficult, but it was necessary to prepare us for future duties when assigned to our permanent organizations. He also offered a brief description of our purpose here in Manila Bay, and that our squad leaders would answer any questions we might have. The following morning turned out to be “equipment issue day.” Boy, did we ever get equipment! To go with the ‘fatigue' clothes in our barracks bags, we were issued one ‘03 Springfield rifle, one bayonet, a steel helmet WW1 type, an ammunition belt, etc., etc.

Now this sounds simplistic and adventuresome to a group of young, feisty boys/men, ready for anything, ready to grab that ‘03 and get this show on the road. Unfortunately, each of the rifles could hardly be recognized as such. A very heavy coating of cosmoline covered the features of these “pieces”. “Pieces,” that’s what the noncoms chose to call the ‘03’s, “Pieces.”

“Why they call them rifles pieces?” Says one outspoken southerner to no one in particular.

“Everbody knows they calls them pieces, pieces. Where you been, anyways?” a wiseacre in the rear says.

This discourse degenerated into a laughing match, but we quickly found that removing the cosmoline was no laughing matter. We were soon wishing the bayonets would suffice for our weapons. Some suggested that we bury the ‘03’s and proceed with our bayonets drawn. Corporal Wall laughed and informed us how difficult it would be to put the enemy down at two hundred yards, with a bayonet, that is.

Removing the cosmoline developed into a real trial for some of the men. Spence and I finally learned a five gallon can of gasoline (acquired from Corp. Wall) did wonders in melting the heavy grease. Soon, we were doing the finishing touches to our rifles. The good corporal materialized a can of linseed oil and proceeded to instruct several of us in the art of working the oil into our rifle stocks. Now, that is a job! But I will say this, we eventually were able to display some real fine rifle stocks! Many hours of hard work later.

We were informed we would begin the Manual of Arms the following day. We were NOT informed we would be wearing O.D. wool shirts during these training exercises, that is, not until we were preparing to line up after breakfast.

Now, if you’ve yet to experience the Philippines in late April, or in May, you couldn’t possibly know the consequences of wearing an O.D. woolen shirt while performing the Manual of Arms. Sure, the first hour or so, (if you start early enough) can be tolerated. But we found the next hour brought forth the sweat. Real, unadulterated sweat began to stain the O.D. shirts. By 11:00am we were saturated. At 11:30am we were dismissed and we dragged back to our tents. Most just fell on their cots, but not old Spence and Al. We were hungry! We could be tired later, but we were hungry now. We peeled off the O.D. shirts, wiped down with a towel and headed for the mess line with our mess kits clanking on our belts. We ate practically alone, washed our mess kits and cups in boiling water and returned to our tent. Come to think of it, we were a bit out of it and perhaps we should lie down for a short while. At 1:00pm we were rousted out of our cots. It seems we weren’t finished for the day. We still had the afternoon! All of it! Here we thought that we only had to suffer through the morning! Now they’re telling us we would also suffer through the afternoon. We received instructions to wear our other O.D. shirt and fall in in five minutes.

The heat was intense, and Spence and I agreed this would be a real test. It was a real test! We managed to endure despite the heat. All agreed this first day would have been tough regardless of our attire. Spence and I washed out our O.D. shirts and hung them out on the clothes line between the tents. We would now be ready for the drill tomorrow.

After eating, most of us lolled about and took it easy. Some slept on thru evening mess, too tired to eat. Cpl. Wall strolled up to our gathering and asked how we stood up for our first day of drill. We all informed him that we couldn’t stand up and he chuckled and assured us it would get easier as we toughened up.

He went on to outline our training schedule, and gave us some details on close order drill, bayonet drill and the art of handling an ‘03 Springfield Rifle. The Corporal then took a rifle and proceeded to demonstrate the Queen Anne’s Salute and the complete manual of arms used by special drill teams. The Corporal was very good with that rifle!

The second, third and fourth days proved the toughening up would require some time! I could not recall ever being so tired. Each morning, I found my arms almost too heavy to lift, but I was determined I would not complain! Some of the men were experiencing difficulties with their Army issue boots, and many suffered severe blisters. Fortunately, my boots were quite comfortable and I tolerated the marching easily. My arms, shoulders and back did not tolerate the close order drill quite so easy! After two hours of the intense drilling, every muscle in my upper body was screaming.

The days rolled by and our proficiency with the rifle improved as did the close order drill. We were beginning to take on the appearance of soldiers. But the heat was intense and continued to take its toll. Quite frequently men would literally fall over, sometimes while standing in ranks. Many were affected by the heat and humidity and dropped while marching. The training proved to be a real ordeal for us, tenderfeet that we were.

Somehow, it seemed a little easier to roll off the cot each morning as the days rolled by. We were hardening up! There were no days off from the rigid training schedule other than Sunday, and since we were confined to this training camp, there was little we could do with our time. Might as well sleep, was the philosophy of most. The seaplane base was located on the south shore of the island, and small waves lapped along the rocky shore. Our orders were to stay out of the water since there was no protection from sharks. “They got sharks here,” Spence grimaced.

“That means we can’t escape if we get tired of this training!”

“Escape?” I says, “But we just got here!”

The following morning, after eating, our orders were to fall out with fixed bayonets. Our scabbards were to remain on the bayonets. The training officer explained patiently this was to prevent we green recruits from poking each other in the eye, or backside! For two days we learned to thrust and parry, to uppercut with the butt of the rifle, to the crotch and the chin. Our targets for the bayonet were movable dummies, and the action was vigorous. I learned the meaning of absolute exhaustion!

Finally it was over! We were all elated. We were ordered to stand out for our final parade as recruits. Our noncoms paraded us for the big brass. Corporal Wall told us that after the parade we would receive our assignments to our permanent batteries.

CHAPTER 5

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