Cadet, Soldier, Guerrilla Fighter: Remembering Bataan and Corregidor

272 Pages·2016·21.904 MB·English

by  Antonio A. Nieva

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Cadet, Soldier
GUERRILLA FIGHTER
Remembering Bataan and Corregidor
Antonio A. Nieva
959.9043
N682
2016
7856
Cadet, Soldier,
Guerrilla Fighter
Remembering Bataan and Corregidor
Written and illustrated by
Antonio A. Nieva
Edited by
Pepi Nieva
unWUt HSMICtLCDMMISSION OF THE PHUPPMb
Copyright ©2016 by Pepi Nieva
All rights reserved
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Cadet, Soldier, Guerrilla Fighter
Remembering Bataan and Corregidor
d
A
L
Nieva, Antonio A.
&
Cadet, Solider, Guerrilla Fighter: Remembering Bataan and Corregidor/Antonio A. &
Nieva
Manila, Philippines
Copyright 2016 by Pepi Nieva
1. Nieva, Antonio A.
2. World War II —History —Philippines —Bataan—Corregidor—Guerrilla
3. Bataan Death March — History —Memoir
4. Prisoners of War—Japanese occupation —Muntinlupa — Los Banos — Luzon
ISBN-13: 978-1532747298
ISBN-10: 1532747292
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This book is dedicated to
the thousands of Filipino soldiers who fought bravely and valiantly during World War II.
It is also dedicated to my family:
My parents Gregorio Morente Nieva and Maria Lichauco Arevalo de Nieva
My dear wife Teresa Feria Nieva
Our children Veronica, Vicenta (Pepi), Violeta, and Juan Antonio
Children-in-law Steven Ettinger, John M. Brown, Mariano Arroyo,
and Irene Casus Nieva
And to our grandchildren:
Manuela and Mariano Arroyo
Edouard and Nicolo Quinto
Jonathan and Kenneth Ettinger
Paolo, Monique, and Franco Nieva
HIJMNM.WSTORKN-COMMISSION OF THE PHUPP»
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Table of Contents
Prologue: Introduction to the Filipino 5
MANILA 11-53
Japan's Great East Asia War • Goodbye to Good Times • Not to Worry!
Last Night ■ A Hell of a Way to Prepare for Christmas • Target: Luzon
War Plan Orange ■ Adios, Manila
BATAAN 54-131
The First Defense • The Battling Bastards of Bataan
The Second Line of Defense
Victory of The Pockets and The Points ■ The Long Lull Patrol Duty
The Last Battle • Death of an Army • Death March
What Hell Could be Worse Than Camp O'Donnell?
The Will to Live
CORREGIDOR 132-160
The Luckless Island • Life in Malinta • Tunnelitis • The Final Attack
Surrender
JAPANESE OCCUPATION 161-192
Daily Double and Other Deals • Year 2602 ■ Independence?
Fasting and Abstinence
GUERILLERO 193-252
Resistance • Still Would I Give to Thee • He Has Returned!
The Hunters-ROTC • Escape from Muntinlupa • Freedom: The Los Banos Raid
Epilogue ■ 253
Appendix • 256
About the Author • 269
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Prologue
A Letter of Introduction to the Filipino
We Filipinos are a curious breed.
Our native land is not one but 7,000 islands, give or take a hundred islets or so,
stretching southward from Taiwan to Kalimantan between the narrow China Sea and
the broad Pacific Ocean. On these fertile isles some 100 million of us bask under a
fierce tropic sun gentled by rains, occasionally lashed by violent typhoons, and
frightened by earthquakes, reminders that our country is not exactly Eden, just east
of it. She is a beautiful land. The Spaniards baptized her "Filipinas," appropriately a
feminine name. For she is a fecund motherland that responds generously to tire
caress of tire farmer's plow, yields the treasure of her mountains to the miner's
importuning, and the bounty of her seas to tire daring fisherman.
Successive waves of settlers — communities of Indonesian boat people fleeing
from persecution in their native lands; artisans and traders from China's teeming
coastlines; Spanish conquistadores seeking new territories to colonize and Christianize;
Dutch, Portuguese, and English freebooters sacking treasure ships of the galleon
trade; Americans with a mission "to civilize the natives with a Krag;" and lastly the
Japanese with their self-serving Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere — have
lusted for her embrace. Many of these have found havens of peace and connubial
bliss on her hospitable shores. Because of these infusions, our flesh tones range from
dusky chocolate to albino white; the average, a cafe an lait which, in self-flattery, we
describe as kayuniaiigging kaligatan, a honey hue from dollops of Chinese yellow,
swarthy Spanish tan, dashes of Western shades of white, even dots of ebony blended
with our basic Malay brown.
Generally short in stature, slight of frame, slim, lithe, and graceful (specially the
female of our species), our physical features vary from island to island, from province
to province, sometimes even from town to town. The stocky, broad-chested,
leg-muscled mountain tribesmen are easily distinguished from the leaner,
longer-legged lowlanders. The stooped posture of the Batanes islanders (who live in
constant crouch in underground storm shelters) stands apart from the proud bearing
of the Muslim warrior-sailors of tire Sulu Seas. And the aquiline Indian cast of the
residents of Taytay (descendants of mutinous British Army Sepoys) is distinct from
the flatter faces of those from the surrounding towns.
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We are a mini-Tower of Babel. We speak in eight or more tongues and a babble of
dialects. The hard guttural of the llocano is a different language from the mellifluous
sing-song of the llonggo. The Sumatran-tinged Pampango is unintelligible to
Cebuano ears and the bird-like twitter of the Ibanag is Greek to other Filipinos. Even
among those who talk the same dialect, the accents and idioms differ. In tire Tagalog
provinces, the lone of voice and words of the Bulakeno are lyrical compared with the
boastful bravado of the Batangueno. Once there was an unbridgeable
communications gap between the peoples of the Philippines, but thanks to the public
school system introduced by the American Thomasite teacher, most anyone can now
communicate in English throughout the Islands. The reply, however, more often than
not would be in "Taglish," today's lingua franca, a hodgepodge of Tagalog and
American slang, comprehensible to Filipinos but utter esperanto to foreigners.
We sure are a halo-halo (mix-mix) race, and proud of it. We like to think the best of
various nationalities have been seeded in our genes. Originally our multi-dialects had
no disparaging words such as hybrid, mulatto, and Creole. These were ideas
imported by our white invaders, ironically, by the cross-bearing Spaniard and the
"democratic" American who both proclaimed that "all men are created equal" —
except the colonized.
Victims of discrimination ourselves, the concept, however, was not deeply
impressed on our minds. Mestizo/a, the Spanish synonym of half-breed, is not a
derogatory' term; a flattery in fact, especially when the subject is a lady fair of
pleasing mien and vivacious ways. Mejorar la raza (improve the race) is a phrase of
approbation for the mating of Filipino and Caucasian, or any handsome specimen of
another race for that matter. If the Chinese once felt discriminated against, the
numerous Chinese surnames of illustrious Filipino families here are proof enough
that they were not disdained for their race, but rather from subconscious resentment
of their hardworking habits, business acumen, and consequent affluence that put
many' of us easy-going Filipinos to shame.
We are a nation of contradictions.
A religious people we are. The only Christian country in the Far East is our proud
boast, our most cherished heritage of the Spanish conquest by sword and cross. To
litis day, some eighty' percent of our people still profess the Roman Catholic faith, in
spite of the numerous uprisings provoked by the abusive governors-friars of the
Spanish regime, the anti-clericalism imported by our ilustrados educated in Spain, the
in-roads of Masonry' (the Spanish "Grand Oriente" and the "Scottish Rite" from the
U.S.A.) among our early political leaders, the proselytization of American Protestant
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missionaries and our own schismatic, and by the propagators of the Communist
doctrines. In this era of change, the Church still flourishes.
The hierarchy gradually is disassociating itself from the secular powers that be.
The younger bishops and clergy are in the forefront of the struggle against unjust
socio-political structures that institutionalize poverty, that endemic Philippine and
Asian condition. Despite the chronic shortages of priests for service in our
mega-parishes, our missionaries are starting to go to our Asian neighbors with the
"Good News" of salvation, justice, and liberation from oppression. The colleges and
universities run by the religious orders are still the ivy leagues of our educational
system. And our educated lay persons (some of whom outdistance the clergy in the
pathways of the Lord) are beginning to realize that they are the Church, not mere
second-class participants-spectators in the rituals and work of the clergy.
Yet, for the great majority, our Christianity often is but a thin veneer over the
beliefs and customs of our pre-Hispanic past. Our relationship with the heavenly
powers is on a person-to-person basis. In the devious Asian manner, we prefer the
intercession of patrons with the right connections to direct dialogues with the
Almighty. We constantly storm specific saints with supplications for our daily needs
and economic alleviation. Gamblers dedicate their fighting cocks to San Pedro, the
sabungeros' (cockfighters) patron saint. Nightclub hostesses invoke the aid of the
Magdalene to meet affluent sugar daddies. Parents pray to San Roque for their
children's protection against dogs with rabies. The more popular saints of the
Catholic firmament have their "fan clubs" and special days of purposeful veneration
— Tuesdays for San Antonio, head of heaven's lost and found department;
Wednesdays for the Mother of Perpetual Help; Thursdays for Saint Jude, the
desperates' last resort, and so on — with Sundays as days of rest, sometimes from
church-going.
Many of our towns and cities, as many of us, are named after saints whose feast
days are celebrated with elaborate rnisas cantata, novenas, and other public
professions of faith, and irreverent fiestas, and side-shows. The Santa Cruz de Mayo,
once a prayerful procession in honor of the Virgin and the valiant women of the
Christian tradition has degenerated into a beauty contest parade. The Moriones of
Marinduque is now a Lenten carnival (and a major tourist attraction) where, on Holy
Week, tire townsmen gaudily costumed as Roman soldiers strut about, "chase" and
"behead" the legendary Longinus, the one-eyed centurion whose sight was restored
by tire Crucified's blood from his spear-thrust's coup de grace. At harvest time, the
whole town of Lukban is festooned with garlands of edible decorations in gratitude
to San Isidro, the farmer's friend. Many women cavort in fertility dances before the
Virgin of Obando. Others walk on their knees at Antipolo as a down payment for a
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desired boon. And men indulge in self-flagellation on Good Friday as a form of
expiation (ami license) for a year-long life of sin. Like our Mexican cousins, ours is yet
a folk religion full of pageantry and pagan overtones.
God and his celestial coterie are frequently on our lips. "Diyos ko!",
"Susmariosepl", "Santa Maria!" (My God! Jesus, Mary and Joseph in short form, Holy
Mary) — are but some of our fervent ejaculations in moments of peril, surprise, and
discomfiture, interspersed, however, by earthy Spanish interjections. Today, our past
practices of kilometric private novenas and personal prayers have been modernized
and supplanted by charismatic prayer meetings, encounters for married couples,
religious cursillos, dialogue retreats, and other forms of reverent group dynamics.
For all this, we still half-believe in mischievous if fortune-giving dueiide
(leprechaun, Philippine edition), flattering soothsayers, faith-healers, and other
preternatural power-brokers from our pagan past. Both outlaws and soldiers pray
simultaneously to their heavenly protectors but hold fast to their anting-anting
(wound-warding amulets) as they battle each other. All these, coupled with a
distorted Christian vision of hell on earth as heaven's price, make us ever-hopeful
fatalists. Bnhnln 11a — that inexplicable combination of trust in God, abandonment to
the fickle whims of fate, a reckless vote of confidence in one's resourcefulness, and
"the hell with it!" — is the articulation of our philosophy of undefeated resignation
that enables us to endure life's vagaries with laughter or at least a smile, tragedies
with a shrug and determination to carry on without a sense of total defeat.
Jose Rizal, our national hero, called us indolent with reason and in exasperation.
Juan Tamad, our folklore's epitome of sloth, is a favorite anti-hero with whom we
identify partly in jest, partly in cheerful confession, the tropic heat and centuries of
colonial subjugation our semi-valid justifications. Eighty-five percent of our
population teeters in the poverty' line, yet our generosity and hospitality know no
bounds. Even in times of financial stress and distress, we cannot forego our
traditional festivities as matters of personal pride and family honor. Baptisms,
weddings, anniversaries, bienvenida and despedida (hail and farewell) parties, and the
ultimo adios to the dear departed on the last of the nine-day wake are occasions for
grand get-togethers of relatives to the nth degree, compadre and comadre (the
godparents of our cherished children), friends, and acquaintances, even our
creditors.
We have to make whoopee come what may. But our homes, no matter how
humble, are always open houses to less-fortunate relatives, friends, and even
strangers al mealtimes or for longer periods. The extended family system is our
insurance policy, placement bureau, SSS, Medicare, and cooperative, all in one.
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Institutions for the unwanted aged are anathema to our clan-oriented society;
bayanihan our term for that informal mutual-aid neighborhood association.
Our open-handedness and hospitality, however, are often out-matched by our
spendthrift tendencies. We would go around in Mercedeses when motorbikes are all
we can afford. We invented deficit spending, seek fun and pleasure at any price, and
are reckless gamblers at heart. In our cities and bigger towns, day (!) and nightclubs,
beerhouses with "a-go-go" dancers for canapes; hotel luncheon fashion shows of
scantily clad models as the menu's piece de resistance, and motels for "dessert" are
S.R.O. especially on paydays. Illegal and legal gambling houses — cockpits, race
tracks, tire jai alai, the government's casinos for tourists and other such emporia —
are crowded every day, including Sundays. For the homebodies and homemakers,
mahjong is the game, clacking on in the afternoons up to early morn.
The poor indulge their gaming instinct in cara/crus, small-time pangguingue or
lucky nine, even paper-boat races in sidewalk gutters on rainy days, and other
rudimentary games of chance. Losses are usually shrugged off as malas lang (tough
luck) and the winners dissipate their gains till they are back to square one, or less.
Financial management, budgets, cash-flow control, and reserves for the rainy day,
are alien to our free-wheeling ways, though a new breed of technocrats and MBAs
from Harvard and our own A.I.M. (Asian Institute of Management) is now
a-spawning. Good time now, bahala na tomorrow has been a Filipino motto long
before tire installment plan. Our carefree attitude towards money, bolstered by the
helping hand extended by tire family system, contributes to our unflagging morale
and staying power, but is our economic Achilles' heels.
Our country was the "show case of democracy in Asia" once upon a time. But our
concept of democracy is a compound of personality cults, regional pride, a
"datu-rajah-sultan" voter loyalty, and Tammany Hall. While we memorize the
democratic theories of Jefferson, Hamilton, Lincoln, and other American founding
fathers, our practice more often follows that of its corruptors, plus the Midas
acquisitiveness of the robber barons.
During the American administration, a tight little band of politico-oligarchs
dominated the national scene. They changed parties and partners like rigodon dancers
(the parties had similar if not identical platforms anyway; the current rivals were
cronies anyhow); their cohorts like sheep following the Judas ram. Patronage was
dispensed to the same hangers-on through the same influence peddlers, by turns.
President Manuel L. Quezon then was tire undisputed leader whose charismatic
personality was the embodiment of all Filipino qualities and defects. Independence
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