As Good As Dead

by Stephen L. Moore

  He finally summoned some energy when a coconut washed up beside him. With considerable effort, he managed to beat the nut against a rock and drink its sweet milk, but his lips and hands were so swollen from exposure to salt water and wind that he could not eat the meat.7

  He lay back on the sand for a while after the drink, trying to gather the strength to keep moving. When he finally rose, Mac made an awkward attempt to run along the edge of the beach, fearful that Japanese soldiers might happen upon him at any moment. He pushed into the jungle foliage, where the leaves and vines scraped his naked flesh. He sank in mud up to his knees in places and finally, when he could go no farther, took a rest near a large tree. He decided that he was the lone survivor of the Palawan Massacre, and if he should be captured, there would be no evidence as to what had happened. He prayed silently again. Finally, he decided that he simply could not make it through the jungle. I had better go back to that inlet, he thought.8

  He plodded forward until he emerged near a mountain range on an inlet perhaps a half mile across. He could see a village in the distance and assumed it had to be part of the Iwahig Penal Colony. Mac decided another short swim across the inlet was better than tearing up his body any further in the jungle, so he took to the water again and made it about halfway across before his strength played out. He was about to give up when he spotted a bamboo Filipino fish trap bobbing nearby. Mac pulled himself up onto the middle of it and passed out.

  *

  DOUG BOGUE HAD swum across Puerto Princesa Bay during the night of December 14 and reached the far shore early the next day. Naked, exhausted, hungry, and dehydrated, he was also tormented by his bare feet, shredded from running on the coral, and by his right leg, raw and sore from a bullet wound. After resting for an hour, he had plunged into the harsh mangrove swamps in search of help.

  He spent the next two days stumbling through the rough terrain, hoping to make his way to the Iwahig Penal Colony. His only subsistence was rainwater collected in shallow hollows and mud snails he found on the beach. Jungle vines tore at his already battered skin, and a swarm of honeybees forced him to run into the nearby bay, where the salt water helped draw out the poison from dozens of painful stings. After several days, his wounds festered, and maggots began digging into his flesh.9

  By the morning of December 17, his feet had swollen like water balloons, to the point that the tips of his toes could not even make contact with the ground. He was about to lie down and give up when he came upon the Filipino penal colony, and spotted a man working along the beach. He didn’t care what nationality the stranger was. I don’t give a damn if he is Japanese or not, he thought.

  As the man approached, Bogue shouted out to him. The Filipino cautiously approached the naked American. Bogue told him of the massacre that had taken place and how he had survived by making his long swim days before. The Filipino assured him that he was in good hands and would be well taken care of in the village. He led Bogue down a path through the jungle until they emerged near a cluster of native huts. A few men helped find him some clothes to wear and inspected his wounds.10

  Bogue told them that he had escaped with other POWs. He had lost track of them during his swim, but he held out hope that others might be found. The men left the gaunt American with other Filipinos and headed back to the bay to scour the waters with their canoes while another man was sent to deliver the news of the American to Pedro Paje. Given some water and food, Bogue finally drifted off to sleep in one of the huts.

  *

  MAC MCDOLE SLEPT through the night, bobbing up and down atop the Filipino fishing trap as waves rippled steadily toward shore. He awoke on December 18 to the sounds of a village. In the distance, he could see lights coming on in huts near the bay, and the tempting smell of breakfast soon wafted across the water. He heard men talking on the beach and watched as they climbed into their barcos to check their traps.

  He lay still and quiet, watching. They seemed to be pointing his way. The boats paddled in his direction and then stopped. They appeared to be pulling something from the water, perhaps another American. The Filipinos paddled back to shore and disappeared in the direction of their village. McDole simply lay there, too tired to swim any farther.11

  The Filipinos returned to their barcos and resumed checking their fish traps. Mac was half-submerged on the box, but he raised himself enough that he was soon spotted by the fishermen, who quickly paddled toward him.

  “Hey, Joe, you a prisoner?” one of them called.12

  Mac managed a grin. “I was, but no longer!”

  The fishermen, the same group that had rescued Bogue, helped him into their boat and paddled back to shore. They carried him to a bamboo hut, bathed him, and cleaned his sores before giving him a pair of trousers to wear. Then they fed him the most wonderful rice, bread, and papayas he had ever tasted.13

  Mac lay down in the hut to rest. Sometime later, one of the Filipinos entered his hut and asked him if he knew an American named Sergeant Douglas Bogue. Rising from his cot, McDole said, “I sure do!”14

  “He’s in the hut right next to yours,” said the fisherman. “But he’s hurt pretty bad.”

  Mac was helped to the next hut, where he had a joyous reunion with Bogue. The two men were too weak to do anything but talk, and Bogue was unable to get up from his cot. The Filipinos summoned Dr. Zoilo Bunye, who had been a busy man, having already treated first Willie Smith and then the others who joined Smitty’s escape party. Zoilo arrived in short order and set to work checking over McDole and Bogue. He was unable to find the bullet in Bogue’s leg but cleaned and dressed the wound. The doctor helped hold him down while he allowed McDole to painfully cut out the maggots that had embedded themselves in his shredded feet. Zoilo washed and bandaged Bogue’s feet before allowing the men to rest again.

  The two survivors spent a good deal of time talking about the massacre and how they had made their escapes. Bogue described his time hiding in the seaside cavern and how he had set out swimming that night with four other prisoners, Martyn, Barta, Petry, and Pacheco. Bogue mentioned others he had seen, but Mac was saddened that Smitty wasn’t one of them.

  They talked until McDole slipped into a deep slumber, his first night of sleep in friendly hands in three years. It was still fitful, and he awoke several times, screaming.

  *

  KOBLOS, NIELSEN, SMITTY, Balchus, Petry, and Pacheco were well south of Puerto Princesa, making their way slowly toward the relatively safe haven of Captain Mayor’s guerrilla headquarters at Brooke’s Point. Koblos was still nursing his freshly broken arm while the carabao seemed to be content to lounge about, delaying any real progress. Pablo Quiliop sent runners ahead to fetch a new means of transportation to get down the Palawan coast, and in short order, his party was greeted by other Filipinos who arrived at the beach with their bancas.

  They set out paddling down the coastline. While they were en route, a Japanese observation plane passed overhead. The Filipinos ordered the Americans to keep their heads down and lie in the bottom of the bancas on straw mats while the locals waved and hollered greetings to the low-flying aviators. The aircraft continued on its way without harassing them.15

  Late on the afternoon of December 18, the Filipinos pointed their bancas toward the beach, at a heavily timbered location. The guides paddled up to the timber and proceeded up a river a short distance until they disembarked at a small settlement, where a Chinese family lived. The family members had hot food waiting and allowed the escapees to sleep for the night in their home.

  The long process of rowing down the coast of Palawan Island toward Brooke’s Point resumed early the next morning. At one point, the winds kicked up and the waters became quite choppy. When two of the youngest Filipino guides became seasick, the former POWs took over the oars. They rowed the bancas ashore, thanked their young guides, and dismissed them. With Quiliop as their only guide, they pointed the bows of their primitive canoes back into the surf and resumed paddling south.16

  The seven
men covered several miles until a strong breeze blowing down the coast began to impede their progress. Quiliop finally beached the bancas and went ashore into the jungle to look for something that could serve as a sail. He scrounged up a large blanket, which the men fashioned into a makeshift sail attached to poles in the bottom of their leading boat. The wind caught the blanket and swiftly pushed the wooden vessels, tied together, steadily along toward Brooke’s Point.

  *

  THAT SAME DAY, three other American survivors were independently rambling through the jungles of Palawan in search of help.

  Despite the terrible wounds he had suffered in both legs, Pop Daniels had maintained a slow but steady crawl through the night. He laboriously made his way through the jungle beyond Puerto Princesa and continued, wandering lost in the jungle for three full days with little to eat. Finally, he had happened upon the home of Emilio Natalico and Dodong Fuertes, who took him in, fed him, and helped tend to his wounds.

  Daniels would remain with his new friends for weeks until he was strong enough to begin walking. He was evacuated north of Puerto Princesa to the town of Bacungan, where a guerrilla unit was stationed. There, he received more medical attention and was kept hidden away from Japanese patrols while the guerrillas tried to determine how to move him from Palawan.17

  Mo Deal, his body ravaged with sores that were now infected, was struggling just to keep moving. It was a miracle that he was alive at all. He had been shot once while escaping from the compound and again the following morning when he tried to fight his way past a Japanese guard patrol. They had bayoneted him repeatedly, then thrown him over the cliff, presumably to his death, in order to pursue other POWs.

  Since that time, Mo had crawled through Puerto Princesa during a convenient rainstorm. He moved at a snail’s pace but willed himself to keep going, successfully dodging Japanese soldiers who passed close by. After he had left the Catholic church building and slipped into the jungle, his time had become a blur. He had slept mainly during the daylight hours when he had the greatest risk of being spotted. At night, he wandered in a daze through the Palawan wilderness, barefoot and bloody. He stumbled and fell many times, cutting and bruising himself further. After three days and nights straggling through the thickets, he was delirious from blood loss. His infected wounds were now crawling with maggots, but he sustained himself by eating coconuts and jungle fruits.18

  By the night of December 18, he was ready to die. Delirious, he spotted a light in the distance. He cared little whether it came from Filipinos or Japanese. He staggered toward the house. Soon he heard people inside speaking in Filipino dialects. The family members came out, found him, and helped him into their home, where they attempted to treat his wounds. He remained with the family for days, while word of his discovery spread through the guerrilla network.19

  On December 26, word of Deal’s survival reached Triny Mendoza. She heard that an escaped American POW needed assistance and clothing. After helping Justin Miller’s downed B-24 crew escape capture in late October, she had remained on her family plantation throughout November 1944, against the advice of friends who warned her that the Japanese might have learned of her deed. Red Hankie was still just a short distance from the Palawan airfield until December 16, two days after the massacre. She moved a few miles to the north when Japanese patrols began sweeping the area for any surviving Americans.20

  When she received news of a survivor, she fetched one of her late husband’s suits and went with Captain Mayor’s guerrillas to see him for herself. She was shocked on first seeing the emaciated young man, all skin and bones and covered with countless bloody wounds. She and her sister, Elizabeth Clark, found the soldier to be at first so confused and shell-shocked that he could scarcely talk. Deal was finally able to provide her with the details of the massacre and his escape. She asked him about her four American friends who had slipped intelligence to her from camp months earlier. He told her that Churchill Vaughan, Tom Paddock, Hubert Hough, and Frank Leroy had all been shipped out in September before the massacre.21

  Deal was moved to the village of Mentes, where a guerrilla doctor soon arrived to help treat his wounds and burns. Deal now had a fighting chance to make it out alive, but his journey was far from over.22

  Joe Barta was also still alive but in bad shape. After falling from the tree in the bamboo forest on the evening of December 15, he lay suffering until late that night. His scrotum was torn open, and blood loss made him weak. But he knew he must force himself to find food and water, so he worked his way out of the bamboo thicket and edged his way through the jungle. His only source of water came from dirty water holes used by wild animals. During the next three days, he managed to pick two dozen jungle berries off the trees.23

  Barta spent another two days wandering lost in the jungle. He nearly ran afoul of Japanese soldiers again at one point, but he had the good fortune to spot one of the guards a short distance away just as he was pushing aside some branches. He slipped away unnoticed, and by the afternoon of December 20, he had made his way back to the edge of the Sulu Sea. Barta’s groin area was so swollen that he could barely walk, so he decided to stick to the coastline and work his way back around to the Iwahig Penal Colony. He found it easier to rely on his arms to pull himself through the water. The salt water stung his open wound, but he hoped at least that it might help clean out the infection setting in. He spent the next few days swimming along the coast from point to point, sparing his bare feet from the sharp coral and jungle thorns.

  On the night of December 23, he came upon a coconut grove. He climbed one of the trees and secured three coconuts to eat. He slept in the grove overnight and returned to swimming in Puerto Princesa Bay before daybreak, feeling that he was finally on track to reaching Iwahig. He was struggling along around 0700 when he spotted movement on the water. A small boat was paddling his way. Barta was much relieved to see that the vessel was filled with Filipinos, who helped him on board with smiling faces. Sent out to scour the bay for any other possible American survivors, they had encountered Barta just south of the main Iwahig Penal Colony, near a subcolony known as Santa Lucia where the more seriously ill inmates—many of whom had contracted tuberculosis—were kept isolated from the healthy farmworkers. Barta’s rescuers helped him into the Santa Lucia colony and sent a runner to inform Pedro Paje at Iwahig.

  They were fearful of Japanese patrols making the rounds through the colonies, so they decided it was best for Barta to hide in an abandoned water well. They fed him and provided him with clothing before helping him to crawl into the dark pit for most of the day—Christmas Eve. Around 1600, guerrillas moved Barta from the well and guided him to Malinao Station, where Bogue and McDole had recently been cared for. There, he was joined by Lieutenant Poyatos, who was concerned that the radioman’s wounds were too severe for safe movement. Barta insisted that he was feeling well enough to keep traveling, so Poyatos secured a horse to prevent any further injuries from walking. Barta’s ruptured scrotum made the ride particularly painful, and even clothing proved to be uncomfortable, so he rode with just a blanket wrapped around his body. Poyatos guided the survivor to the village of Inagawan, where they arrived on Christmas morning.24

  The prisoners and managers of Inagawan hid Barta during the day. Late in the afternoon, he wrapped himself once again in his blanket, mounted the horse, and allowed Poyatos to guide him toward the next settlement on their route, Aborlan. Each hour on the horse brought agonizing pain, but Barta was thankful to be alive.

  19

  EXODUS FROM BROOKE’S POINT

  WHEN PEDRO PAJE appeared in the doorway of Mac McDole’s thatched-roof hut on December 20, the weary American shook his head in disgust and resignation. Here was the traitor who had once turned him in to the Japanese for spreading rumors about the end of the war, the same man who had caused him such abuse from the Kempei Tai. After a day of freedom with his new Filipino friends, Mac assumed that Paje would now be handing him and Bogue over to the Japanese.1

  �
��Well, I guess this is the end of it,” McDole said, and sighed.2

  “What do you mean?” asked Paje.

  Mac demanded to know how long it would be before Japanese soldiers came to take him away again. Paje laughed and promised McDole that he was friendly. He explained that he had been playing a role in the American POW camp to gain the trust of the guards and that he had been gathering intelligence for Palawan’s guerrillas to spread to U.S. forces. He had counted Japanese planes, made notes of ammunition dumps on the island, and had sent the data back to Iwahig to be radioed to American forces. Mac was surprised to learn that Paje was the assistant director of the Iwahig Penal Colony and in charge of local underground activities against the Japanese.

  Paje had remained in contact with the two Palawan Kempei Tai substations before and after the prisoner massacre on December 14. A short time after the gruesome act, he attended a wedding party held at the Irawan station. Once the Japanese were well into their drinks, Paje casually asked whether the military police believed that any of the Americans could have escaped the massacre. One drunken soldier gleefully demonstrated, with a slash of fingers to his throat, that there were no survivors. The Kempei Tai was certain the U.S. POWs had all been disposed of. Paje was pleased that the work of his men in aiding the survivors had thus far remained covert.

  Paje and Lieutenant Poyatos, who had arrived with him at Malinao Station, both assured the Americans they were in good hands. They explained that it was time to get moving, as Japanese soldiers were en route to the Iwahig village to look for American escapees. Paje had already sent word to Australia of two Americans in the colony who had survived the massacre. He offered fresh clothing to Bogue and McDole and told them to move out immediately with Poyatos and three Filipino scouts who could not speak English. He warned the two escapees to keep quiet as they moved, as they would be passing near Japanese outposts.3