Consecrated in the Blood of Two Peoples: Bataan
War Memorials at Layac Junction and Mt. Samat (Part I)
Today (Apr. 9, 2017) marks 75 years since the end of the Battle of Bataan. On Bataan, American and Filipino soldiers fought in America’s first major land battle of World War II, performed the last horse cavalry charge in U.S. Army history and in the end it resulted in the largest ever surrender of American troops. And yet, it’s a battle most Americans are about as familiar with as Imphal or Gallipoli.
When American students learn about World War II in the Pacific they learn about the Pearl Harbor sneak attack, maybe the Battle of Coral Sea and the turning point in the Pacific, Midway. That’s all there is to be said about the early part of the war. But while all that was going on Americans and Filipino fought on the other side of the Pacific in what was an American territory, the Commonwealth of the Philippines. From January until April 9, 1942 they held the Bataan peninsula, tying up Japanese troops and denying them use of Manila Bay.
Visiting Bataan was a life changing event for me, though I had no idea it would be when I set off to visit. While living on an island paradise, I was adopted by a Filipina whose parents lived in Bataan. Coming out to see her and my new siblings, she suggested we visit the local World War II sites and meet her parents.
I’d always had an interesting in World War II history, but never anything in particular. I’d studied the Battle of Bataan a little and even did a radio spot on one of its heroes when I was a broadcaster. After this visit, Bataan became my primary area of study. I studied the battle; then expanded out to the rest of the Philippine campaign, the Asiatic Fleet, history of the Philippines, Japan’s 1930s expansionism… I have no idea what I would be studying today or passionate about history-wise, if I’d never gone to Bataan. (Not to mention if I’d have the same strong feelings toward balut.)
Our visit began where the battle started, in Papang’s (Nanay’s father who I wrote about here) hometown of Dinalupihan.
Japanese forces began landing in the Philippines on Dec. 10, 1941 and initially Gen. Douglas MacArthur had his forces fight them on the beaches. He had been authorized to build a 100,000 man army in August 1941 and had begun conscription, certain his force would be ready to fight the Japanese when they began invading sometime in spring 1942. He had the largest number of B-17 bombers outside the U.S. and more war material was due to arrive in January 1942.
His army of 1942 would have potentially made the islands impervious to assault, which is probably part of the reason Japan began its attacks in 1941. At this point the Philippine Army was still gathering, its men untrained and most had never held a weapon until they found themselves face to face with the Imperial Japanese Army, a force with years of experience fighting the Chinese.
The army crumpled immediately and plans changed. War Plan Orange-3, which called for completely abandoning the defense of the island of Luzon with all forces pulling back to the Bataan peninsula and Corregidor Island until the U.S. Navy could arrive and save the day with Army reinforcements, was put into effect. MacArthur initially refused to use WPO-3 because he felt it was defeatist. Beyond that it also wasn’t realistic. It required the Filipino-American force to hold out for several months until rescue. The problem with this was that in 1941 the U.S. Navy lacked the transport capacity and U.S. Army lacked the troops to retake the islands, and that’s not with the added issue of Japan taking islands and creating a layered defense across the Pacific thrown in. In effect, the islands never stood a chance.
The Filipino and American troops created a line of defense across the peninsula that was attacked by Japanese forces on Jan. 7, 1942. Or Jan 9. Historians can’t seem to make up their minds about what constitutes the beginning of a battle.
Either way, what that overlooks was a crucial stand made at Layac Junction. Layac Junction, part of Dinalupihan is just inside Bataan Province. The roadway through it was vital for funneling troops, material and fleeing civilians into Bataan before the battle. To slow the Japanese advance and buy more time for preparing the main defensive line, troops and artillery prepared an ambush at Layac.
These defenders included Philippine Scouts. The Philippine Scouts were a unique organization in U.S. Army history. Unlike the Philippine Army, which was built for the Philippine Commonwealth, they were an organic unit of the U.S. Army from the day of their creation in 1901. They were American troops, but all of their enlisted manpower was Filipino. When the war began, they were considered to be among the most combat effective units in the army.
When the Japanese came into their sights on Jan. 6, 1942, they were met with an artillery barrage that halted them in their tracks and bicycles (Japan loved bicycle-mounted troops). A battle broke out and for hours the Japanese were held at bay before the American force withdrew in the middle of the night.
It was the first fight on Bataan and it resulted in one of the U.S. Army’s first Medals of Honor in World War II.
Philippine Scout Sgt. Jose Calugas was a mess sergeant with the 88th Field Artillery Regiment (Philippine Scouts) during the battle. During the fighting he noticed one of their World War I vintage British M1917 75mm guns go silent. Without asking for orders he ran 1000 yards under enemy fire to put the gun back into action and for the rest of the day continued manning it. For his actions, he was awarded the U.S. Army’s second Medal of Honor in World War II, though his action took place before those of the first medal recipient, who was also a Philippine Scout.
A British QF 18-pdr at the Imperial War Museum, similar to the US M1917 75mm gun (licensed copy of the QF 18-pdr.) used by Jose Calugas on Bataan.
Paying tribute to this important battle, there is a large monument for the first line of defense in the middle of Layac Junction. Heroic statues in fighting positions and carrying a Philippine flag feel like the subject of a patriotic painting standing larger than life and still holding the line. A good tribute except for one minor detail…
The soldiers are wearing Japanese helmets.
It’s the thought that counts. Just across the road is a brown and white obelisk that’s seen better days. Numbered “68 Km” it denotes that this point is the 68th kilometer of the Bataan Death March. Every kilometer of the Death March from Mariveles to Capas National Shrine (Camp O’Donnell), is marked with one of these obelisks.
After the battle ended, all the surviving Filipino-American troops, somewhere between 70,000-80,000 were rounded up in Mariveles, at the southern end of Bataan, and forced to march to San Fernando, nearly 100 kilometers away. From there they were shipped in cattle cars to Capas, then had to walk to Camp O’Donnell, a former Philippine Army training camp turned prisoner of war camp. Most were sick and all malnourished and had to endure this forced march through the hottest month of the year, with next to no food or water. The Japanese killed men who fell behind, or simply because they could. Men would be executed at random, passing Japanese troops in trucks would swing at the prisoners’ heads with rifles, at one point Masanobu Tsuji*, one of the war’s monsters, made calls to commanders claiming to have orders to execute all POWs.
Filipino civilians tried to help the prisoners, but those caught aiding them were killed by the Japanese as well.
Though there was no marching in the cattle cars, many said this part of the Death March was the worst as they were packed in so tightly movement was impossible and they were nearly suffocating from the combined stench of heat, feces and corpses in the closed cars.
Only 54,000 made it to Camp O’Donnell alive. About 12,000 American and the rest Filipino, by war’s end half the Filipinos had died in O’Donnell and other camps, and only a third of the Americans were left after the prison camps, hell ships and use as slave labor in Japan.
These Death March obelisks would be constant reminders in the coming days as we travelled up and down the road these men walked. Catching sight of them was sobering, but I was also happy that here people didn’t forget what had happened and what these men endured.
Our travel into Bataan was thankfully easy as we didn’t march, but rode in a hired SUV with air conditioning we’d gotten in Manila.
My first impression of rural Dinalupihan is something I’d never forget. The memorial is in the town center, which is a bustling place full of activity, but Mamang and Papang live in the country past the rice paddies in a barangay. The roads are dirt and most houses are a mixture of thatch and whatever construction material the owner could round up. It’s a cozy little neighborhood and the Salangs have a nice house surrounded by a garden and backed by a field with their cows. Since they were retired, Papang occupied his time with a menagerie of birds he keeps in the yard and in coups. It’s an odd assortment ranging from ducks to a pair of fighting cocks. He doesn’t fight them, he just has them.
I was nervous meeting Nanay’s parents and hoped they’d like me. While she went inside with her mother she suggested I sit outside with Papang. We sat on a bench near his bird coups. We made our introductions and I told him that I want to learn about the battle of Bataan. Turns out he’s really big into the battle and MacArthur is his hero. When I asked if he knew about Jose Calugas he said of course he did. Who doesn’t?
During our talk he got up and watched his cows, studying them. He nodded slightly and with a rising call yelled to his daughter, “BEEEEEEET!” (A shortened form of her full first name)
There’s a quick exchange in Tagalog and fifteen minutes later I’m watching a guy artificially inseminate a cow. I won’t go into detail but it involves an arm length glove and a long rod.
So, welcome to the country.
After the cow has been satisfied we went back to our business and Nanay suggests we have balut since I’ve never had it before. I mean, we just saw what we saw, this is the only logical next step in our afternoon. Papang makes a call and a guy shows up on a tricycle with some warm eggs.
For the uninitiated, balut is like a hard-boiled duck egg with a duck fetus inside. We all took our eggs and Nanay showed me what to do. First I cracked open the egg and peeled off just enough for a drink hole. I sprinkled a little salt into the hole then sucked out the sweet baby duck juice. Vitalized with its life energy, I peeled away more egg to reveal the duck-shaped treat inside.
Despite the appearance of being a duck with feathers, it just tastes like egg. A little gamey, but it is like a duck in the same way a gummy bear is bear. It’s just, bear-shaped. Didn’t taste bones, brains or any particular parts, no crunching or ticklish feather taste. Pure egg. God, it was delicious. So I asked for another. Then another. Then I was told I had to stop because these things have way too much cholesterol!
Our dinner was pretty tame afterwards, normal Filipino fare with plenty of rice and fresh mango and jackfruit from Mamang’s garden. I was most thorough in finishing everything on my plate, not that I needed much prodding because the food was delicious. Nanay had warned me that since Papang survived World War II he did not waste a single scrap of food. Table scraps today could be a full meal back then and he still doesn’t take it for granted.
That night I slept in the guest bedroom with the window open and a fan for air. It was still humid, but not bad. Something was rustling about from the field and trees beyond but it didn’t bother me. I’d been assured guerillas hadn’t been a problem here in a long time, so it was just the cows.
Barangay Sunset
The next morning we met Nanay’s brother Bong and loaded up in a little van. Today’s destination was Mount Samat and the Shrine of Valor.
Mt. Samat is historically significant because the final Japanese push to win the Battle of Bataan began with a breakthrough here. The defenders had been driven back to their last line of defense with Mt. Samat at the center. It was the weakest link in the chain. After a vicious preliminary bombardment on April 3, Japanese forces overran the area and got behind the line of defense. A few days later they took Mariveles, the navy base on Bataan’s southern tip that served as lifeline between Corregidor and the peninsula.
On paper, the Bataan force still looked potent with between 70,000-80,000 men, but after months of starvation and disease only a small fraction where still considered capable of fighting. Ignoring orders to fight to the end, Gen. Edward King, the American commander on Bataan, decided he’d follow the example set by Gen. Robert E. Lee exactly 77 years to the day earlier and capitulate to spare his men unnecessary suffering.
After all, the Japanese were not barbarians. At least, that’s what they assured him when he signed the surrender agreement.
Our van covered the same amount of ground in an hour the Japanese took four months to achieve. Along the way we saw more Death March obelisks, a constant roadside reminder of what happened here.
Mt. Samat’s most noticeable feature, by far and from a distance, is the 302-foot memorial cross at the summit. At the end of a blood stone-paved path leading down from it is the Dambanang Kagitingan, “Shrine of Valor,” a reverent white marble shrine room that tells the battle’s tale. Reliefs around its base depict key events, including Sgt. Calugas at his cannon.
The cross is both memorial and observation point as the arms house a viewing room with windows in every direction to take in the peninsula’s beauty. The memorial is 47 years old, as is the rickety elevator, whose slow ride is always a little worrisome for me, especially when the number of people in the elevator makes it feel like it’s heavier and slower, but life without a little risk isn’t worth living. The view of Bataan’s green hills rolling out from far below you until they meet the distance blue waters of Manila Bay, sometimes obscured clouds as you look down upon them, is nothing short of fantastic and among the most beautiful natural sights to admire.
I mentioned blood stones briefly; these pink-stained rocks come from Corregidor Island, where something in the surrounding water gives them this odd bloody stain. They’re common at World War II memorials in the country.
The shrine has a small museum under it with artifacts, pictures and a physical map with lights to show where lines of defense had been. Nanay was taken by the pictures from Manila. Just a few days ago we’d taken a calesa ride through the city and saw some of these sites. In these pictures a few recognizable buildings remained, but the area around them had been flattened, completely turned to rubble.
On the way back down the mountain we stopped by a much smaller shrine with side by side statues of the Catholic Virgin Mary and of the Kannon, the Japanese goddess of mercy, along with a marker proclaiming Mt. Samat “a mountain of peace.”
Our journey continues in the next installment as we head from Mariveles across Manila Bay on a bancay to Corregidor. We’ll also look into the mechanics of planning a Philippines trip and give some advice for safe travelling.
Itutuloy…
*Masanobu Tsuji (1901-?) deserves a moment to explain why I called him a monster, which is a term I very rarely use when referring to people, especially when discussing history, but he merits an exception. Studying unrelated World War II topics, he kept popping up at random when there was a war crime to be committed.
Tsuji was a staff officer in the Imperial Japanese Army who never rose above the rank of colonel, yet seemingly could harass generals into doing what he wanted. A career staff officer, his insubordination and murderous behavior saw him dismissed from multiple staffs and at war’s end resulted in several commanding officers going to prison for things he did without orders.
A short list of his crimes includes orchestrating the murder of thousands of Chinese civilians in Singapore (Sook Ching), the murder of medical personnel and patients in Singapore’s Alexandria Military Hospital, ordering the execution of POWs during the Bataan Death March, the execution of the Philippines’ Chief Justice Jose Abad Santos, he claims to have consumed the livers of down British airmen in Burma, and his confirmed execution and partial consumption of American pilot Lt. Benjamin Parker.
He was initially wanted for war crimes by both the U.S. and Great Britain. Missing for a few years, he was pardoned by default when Britain ended its war crimes trials in 1948 and by the U.S. in 1950.
A free man, Tsuji was elected to the Diet in 1952 and served in Japan’s governing body until his mysterious disappearance over Laos in 1961. Despite several of his massacres being public knowledge, he was a popular politician in his lifetime and today a statue of him stands in Kaga, his hometown.