The next morning Col. George M. Jones requested that I lead him back down the "path" by which we had climbed the hill. Colonel Jones, an enlisted man who acted as a body guard, and I began the trek. Since I was the only one of the trio who knew where we were going, it was my job to be in the lead. Evidently, as a result of the previous day's action, someone had ordered the Navy to use their naval guns to bombard the area where the cave was located. Even though we were on the back side of a spine running down the hill, we could hear and feel the impact of the shells hitting the hillside. Some shell fragments were whistling close by our heads. Col. Jones with aplomb would stand upright and look over the edge at the barrage. Quite frankly, I was ducking my head with each explosion.

We had been able to walk some distance down the hill as we were not yet to the area which descended more like a cliff face. When we would have reached that point it would be impossible to stand erect and continue downward. The colonel decided to stop and observe more of the naval activity. So I told him I would go on ahead to make sure the way was clear. A short distance further on my feet slipped and I slid sideways down to another "trail" about 6 feet below the one we had been following.

As I recovered my balance the deadly sound of the double click used by the Japanese to arm their hand grenades came from my right and slightly up the hill. There lying prone and peering over the edge of the ridge were two enemy soldiers who had been watching the bombardment. Evidently my slipping had made enough noise to alert them to an oncoming danger. As soon as I saw them I hastily brought my rifle around about hip high and shot at them; simultaneously, I hollered as loud as I could, "Go back, Jones. Go back." Training had made me remember not to use his rank.

Something slammed into my head causing me to fall with my head downhill. Since whatever had struck me had hit me in the head (the hardest part of my body) it did not cause me to lose consciousness. There was blood draining down toward my nose as my body was lying on the left side. It seemed reasonable to assume that perhaps the two had not been killed, so prudence told me to lie doggo. If movement were observed by them a coup-de-gras was more than likely. During the time I was faking death it came to me that it was still a few days 'til my 20th birthday.

So as many other survivors of traumatic conditions will tell you, a prayer started to come to my conscious thought. "God, please let me live to be 20 and I'll go to church every Sunday."

After what seemed like 5 minutes, but was more likely one, it became obvious that if either of the Japanese had survived, my fakery was successful as witnessed by the fact that this document is being written. Consequently, I began making my way back to where Col. Jones had stopped. Upon arriving there, Jones had somehow achieved the presence of a few other troopers to protect him. He insisted that one of them accompany me up toward the top of the hill after first seeing that a quantity of sulfa powder and a bandage was put on the rather nasty looking wound. At least it was my suspicion that it looked nasty and serious.

Walking back up the hill was a little tiring and as we neared the top my escort suggested I sit down while he went for help. Soon some stretcher bearers arrived and carried me to the building being used as the hospital/aid station. My stretcher was placed on the floor and someone, a doctor or perhaps a medic, put more sulfa powder on the wound after wiping off dirt and blood. Next a heavy bandage was wrapped around my head which covered my right eye and from my cheek to what must have been near the top of my head. Of course to make sure the thing didn't slip it went clear around to the back of my head which caused my ear to be covered also. Now no one could tell how bad the wound was; it must have looked very serious indeed.

A kind soul asked what could he get me. My ongoing desire for lemonade came to the fore and I requested some of the powdered stuff, mixed with water, naturally. No joy, evidently the powers that be felt that it would adversely affect my chance for recovery. I did get some kind of shots though that put me out for the rest of the day and night. The next morning they told me I would be transferred to a ship that was to take the seriously wounded to a field hospital. Sure enough, sometime in the early morning a bunch of us were taken, some walking, and others like me were carried down to the beach where we had landed not many days before.

Since there was no shade we laid out on our stretchers or sat in the sand waiting for some kind of transportation to a ship somewhere out in the bay. Probably we were all injected with some pain-killer medicine as there were no screams of pain from those around me.

The next thing I remember was my stretcher being manhandled into a Landing Craft type boat and then being lifted onto the deck of what I believe was a destroyer. My horrible appearance was the cause of some priority handling. A sailor knelt beside me and asked if there was anything I wanted. Now you know what I asked for, don't you? If I could just have some of that powdered lemonade mix, that would be really great. The gob said something like "Of course" and went away. Don't you know that he soon reappeared with a "glass" pitcher of lemonade. Not only that but it had been made with "real" lemons and ICE CUBES. Neither of these things had been within my sight since leaving the states several months earlier.

WOW!! it was almost worth the hurt to get such nectar down my throat.

Verne White
503d PRCT