About 0900 hours I heard planes; many of them; soon there were loud blasts from the anti-aircraft guns on the deck above. The planes began to dive. Faster and faster they whined. Then tremendous explosions! They were attacking the other ships; they could knock us off at their leisure.
Then bullets and shrapnel slashed and rattled through our hold- as several food carriers were coming down the ladder with buckets of rice.
One of these was my good friend, Chaplain Ed Nagel, a former missionary in Baguio, shot through the thigh. With blood streaming down his leg, he continued down the ladder carrying a bucket of rice.
"U.S. Navy planes!" he shouted.
There was no doubt now; our ship was the target, and we were sitting on the bull's eye.
Motors continued to accelerate-then terrific concussions; the ship quivered and was actually bouncing in the water. The air was full of bomb dust and chips of rust; it was becoming difficult to breathe. We tried to move toward the side of the hold and huddled close together. My heart was pounding like a trip hammer in my parched throat; my ears were ringing and my eyes were popping. I completely forgot how hungry I was. Each prisoner was conversing with his God. I had quick visions of my family they'll never know what happened to me. There'll be
no survivors to tell them. Will it ever stop?"
Many men were bleeding badly! There was much confusion, much moving around. Everyone was trying to get in a safer place, to get bandages, to apply pressure to wounds it was hopeless; everything was covered with dirt and dust.
The planes were diving again, spraying their deadly missiles. (I have neither the will nor the talent to describe the gory details.) "Would this be the explosion that would blot out our existence?" Then it was over! Complete silence!
Stunned, we moved into the center of the hold to get better air to breathe and to thank God for surviving. We bandaged the wounded and moved them into positions of relative safety.