Shortly, the Jap car was back minus the Japanese flag on top. It came to a screeching halt as our truck had the road blocked. For a few seconds the Japs and our medics just stared at each other probably expecting gunfire. Nothing happened! My unarmed medics had the Japs surrounded! I had my .45 pistol, but knew if I reached for it, we'd all be mowed down. Stepping forward, I motioned the Jap car into the ditch and around the truck. They accepted the escape route; in a big hurry, they were roaring down the road.
We thanked the Red Line Bus family for the lift and instructed them,
"Turn around and get back up in the mountains. Best of luck!"
My medics and I climbed down a steep bank to the east, crossed over a wide, rocky, river bottom keeping our ten paces between men-and entered a thick jungle. Within ten minutes, several Japanese tanks rumbled to a stop on the road, where our truck had been parked, turned their machine guns toward the jungles and sprayed the area. Bellies to the earth, we waited and prayed as the bullets slashed through the forests. We continued to hug the ground for several hours until we were sure the Japs had departed.
We moved deeper into the dense jungle, up an old trail. Suddenly, we could hear crackling footsteps all around us we were surrounded! We froze! I reached for my .45, hoping to get one of them before they got us. Thirty pairs of eyes were focused on us. Large monkeys! As startled as we were, they scampered off, chattering to themselves. I examined my .45; the clip was gone; there was just one bullet left-the one in the chamber. I would save that for myself if things got really bad.
We continued on up the trail to the top of a mountain, where we could get a good view of the central plain below. San Jose was in flames. Across the valley, Clark Field was burning fiercely; two large columns of dense black smoke from oil fires. There were also fires at Cabanatuan, Manila and Cavite.
General Wainwright's withdrawing North Luzon Forces had blown many bridges on their way south to Bataan. It was very evident that the enemy occupied most of the central plain-and was apparently harassing the natives. Many of the Filipino homes were in flames.
Toward evening, we sent a disguised medic back down the trail to find a Filipino home and make some arrangements to get
food for the remnants of our detachment-five. We never saw the other medics again.
We could hear the big guns booming on Bataan and Corregidor, 125 miles to the south. We located a hunter's lean-to and camped there for several days. We grew accustomed to the many strange noises in the jungles: birds, monkeys and many other animals, but were having trouble with the ants, spiders and mosquitoes. Camping in the tropics was quite different from camping in the States. In the Philippines every square inch of soil has its menagerie of insects. One of the things I feared the most was being eaten to death if I should be unlucky enough to be wounded.
Each night I thanked God for sparing my life. Our American medic, Al Roholt, carried a pocket New Testament. Within several days each of us had read through it.