Nichols Field was enveloped in choking smoke. Myers and the other corpsmen stopped their truck, grabbed their medical bags, and scattered in different directions. The stench was overwhelming. The dead bodies created by the first bombing runs weren’t keeping well in steaming tropical heat. Burial crews had been trying to take care of them, but in many cases the maggots had beaten them to it. Some of the bodies, bloated and various shades of yellow and purple, looked animated as the white worms wiggled in and out of ears, eyes, and mouths. Of everything he’d seen thus far, these sights were surely the hardest for Myers.
Since the population of the area had already been decimated by previous bombing runs and evacuations, the corpsmen found few survivors as they worked their way around the airfield and its remaining buildings. Myers knelt beside one man, bandaging a head wound, when he became aware of a sound that stood out boldly in all of the ugliness surrounding him. Music, a beautiful tropical-sounding melody, was coming through a broken window in the shack against which the injured man was now slumped. Myers raised up and looked through the window. There was a desk, a chair, several shelves stacked with papers, and in the corner, a small table with a radio, still playing. The irony was difficult to comprehend. Buildings and runways had been destroyed, men had been mowed down, and yet this shack and its delicate contents had seemingly been untouched.
From the distance, Myers heard the steady drone of plane engines and realized the Japs were on their way back. He grabbed his patient by the shoulders and dragged him away from the building and into a slit trench a hundred feet away. As if one Japanese pilot had been able to read Myers’ mind, he flew a slow, lazy “8” over the shack, guns blazing. The wood popped and shattered, and finally something within the building gave a cough and the whole thing went up in flames.
Myers and the other corpsmen returned to Estado Major with their load of patients and then returned, making several more trips. By 1800 hours, all the casualties had been admitted to the hospital. The men took a quick break for some food and continued working until they dropped with exhaustion.
“Corpsman.” Myers felt his shoulder being shaken. He opened his eyes and looked into the face of a doctor wearing a blood-spattered surgical gown. “We need experienced personnel over at Santa Escolastica. Besides, we’re getting the hell shaken out of us from all the bombing the Japs are doing over the bridge. We’re probably gonna be closing down soon.”
Myers stood up, and the doctor put his hand on the corpsman’s shoulder. “The guys around here said you worked the last two days as if the devil himself was on your tail. I hate to lose you, son, but they need you over there.”
After Myers choked down a hard, tasteless biscuit with a gulp of lukewarm coffee, he was on his way to his third assignment in as many days. As harrying as all this transferring made the medical staff, the patients were even more disoriented. They, too, had been moved from place to place, depending on where the bombing was and the severity of their particular injury.
Myers thought about looking up Tarpy when he arrived at his new location, but he had no more than walked through the door when he was met by a doctor whose surgical gown was dyed scarlet with blood.
“Good, you’re here. We’re trying to set up this hospital and take care of patients at the same time. We’re backed up everywhere. These patients were triaged once, but that was awhile ago and their conditions may have changed. Take a look and regroup them if you need to.”
The doctor scurried by and Myers was thrust back into wading through the wounded. The nurses working at the hospital sped by in one direction with sterilized instruments on their way to surgery, and hurried in the other direction with gore-drenched sheets and towels. All the while, the intermittent blast of air-raid sirens shrieked.
Myers worked at a feverish pace taking care of patients, running supplies where they were needed, and assisting wherever he could. All personnel were placed on twenty-four-hour duty status, and many of the medical officers arranged to sleep in the hospital to facilitate care for the sick and wounded. Although efforts were made to schedule rest periods for them, when the influx of patients was particularly heavy, they were occupied as long as two or three days without rest. They all shared the burden without complaint.
Many of the incoming patients had been injured during scavenging missions at the Navy Yard, similar to the group Myers had witnessed being cut down by Japanese Zeros. Although the majority of the equipment and supplies had been hit, the Navy was still hopeful that it could salvage parts to repair other damaged equipment. The men, often intent upon what they were doing and having grown accustomed to the planes flying overhead, would be caught unprotected by the unceasing wave of Japanese bombs. Some would arrive at the hospital with bullet holes peppering their entire bodies. Some arrived with limbs or other body parts crisply charred from the explosions and fires that followed bombing runs. Myers recognized many of the men from happier pre-war times—all-night drinking and dancing at the Luzon Café and Night Club, poker games that went on for days, reminiscing about girls back home.
The atmosphere was unnerving even to the most war-hardened: machine guns chattered throughout the day, followed by ack-ack fire and enemy bombers dropping their ordnance on the city. The bombs’ concussions sent debris flying through windows, while cigarettes and water glasses vibrated off bedside tables. Although disorganization and confusion ran rampant, the patients were amazingly well taken care of. Myers and the rest of the medical staff believed to their very core that any deaths that occurred during this chaos were not due to inadequate treatment.
“New orders, Myers.” Another corpsman known simply as Tex was pushing a cart laden with instruments down the hospital hall, spreading the word as he went. “The colonel’s gettin’ permission to send the really bad cases out on a ship to Australia. We gotta get them and the supplies ready to go.” Myers only heard half of this news; his eyes were riveted on this man’s hair. It was thick and black, and looked as if he’d just been dropped out of a spring twister.
Two or three more corpsmen joined them in the hall. Tex shoved a shock of the hair off his forehead and continued.
“They’re just waitin’ on the damn Japs to give their approval for safe passage. Sons of bitches—how cruel can they be, not lettin’ these poor boys get some rest so they can come back and whip their asses!”
As the days and nights ran into one another, Myers caught bits and pieces of the military strategy being played out on the island around him. By neutralizing U.S. air and naval power in the Philippines in the first forty-eight hours of the war, the Japanese had gained a position they had never anticipated. They had destroyed eighteen of the thirty-five Flying Fortresses at Clark Field, as well as fifty-six fighters and twenty-five other planes, while only losing seven of their own aircraft in the process. As there was no safe place to land, the remnants of the American bomber force withdrew to Australia, leaving only a handful of fighters.
Defense of the Philippines now relied solely on its ground forces, which at the time had no lines of supply or escape. MacArthur had chosen to use the tactics laid out in War Plan ORANGE as a last resort, and instead divided all of his available resources between the four separate forces responsible for defending the islands. This caused the combined American and Filipino troops to be spread thinly.
Prior to the onset of hostilities, the largest concentration of American aircraft outside the continental U.S. was in the Philippines. But after Japanese forces landed at Legaspi, in southern Luzon, on December 11, the Americans wisely decided to withdraw the few bombers that remained. The Asiatic Fleet, under the command of Admiral Thomas Hart, also departed, taking with her four destroyers, thirteen submarines, six gunboats, assorted support craft, and some PT boats in Manila.
General Homma did not intend to make his major troop landing until he could provide air support for his infantrymen. Therefore, he planned half a dozen preliminary landings, mostly on the coast of northern Luzon in order to captu
re airstrips. Wisely guessing this might be Homma’s plan, MacArthur had chosen to preserve his military strength for one main counterattack. Thus some of Homma’s early landings went entirely unopposed.
On December 19, the Japanese secured the island of Mindanao in the southern part of the archipelago. December 22 dawned cold and rainy, with a heavy surf. After two weeks of diversionary tactics, a large Japanese invasion force landed at Lingayen Gulf on the western shores of Luzon. The main attack of the Philippines had begun. General Homma, with a contingent of eighty ships and forty-three thousand troops, waded ashore through both a raging typhoon and the resistance of the United States—trained Philippine reservists. Homma landed tanks and artillery later that day and began advancing south toward Manila despite the valiant resistance of Major General Wainwright’s Philippine Scouts.
MacArthur’s dark mood mirrored the weather: his personally designed defense plan had failed. He notified his commanders that War Plan ORANGE was now in effect, reactivating the old war plan that called for the defense of only the Bataan Peninsula and the island fortress of Corregidor. The same day, all hospital expansion occurring in Manila ceased. Still, the Americans believed that the Japanese would be prevented from taking the islands.
The Japanese landing forces at Lingayen joined with those from Vigan in the north on December 24, sewing up the northern and western part of Luzon. On the east, landing parties at Lamon Bay joined with those farther south in Legaspi, overtaking the southern and eastern parts of Luzon. Following the initial Japanese bombings and landings, their forces overtook the Philippine Islands with greater speed than even the savviest military analyst could have predicted. Luzon, an island slightly larger than the state of Kentucky, was already well on its way to becoming the main prize of the Japanese efforts as they began their push toward Manila.
Allied troop withdrawal to the Bataan Peninsula also started on December 24. Hoping to avoid further casualties and destruction, MacArthur moved his headquarters to “the Rock,” the island fortress of Corregidor at the mouth of Manila Bay. Additionally, in an official communiqué, he declared Manila an “open city,” as had been laid out in the Hague Convention of 1907:
In order to spare the metropolitan area from ravages of attack, either by air or ground, Manila is hereby declared an open city without the characteristics of military objective. In order that no excuse may be given for possible mistake, the American high commissioner, the Commonwealth government, and all combatant military installations will be withdrawn from its environs as rapidly as possible. The municipal government will continue to function with its police powers, reinforced by constabulary troops, so that the normal protection of life and property may be preserved. Citizens are requested to maintain obedience to constituted authorities and continue the normal processes of business.
Manila’s newspapers and radio stations published news of the open city proclamation throughout the day. MacArthur’s hope was that the city’s six hundred twenty-five thousand citizens would be spared further attacks from the Japanese. The unspoken consequence of the proclamation was that the city would also be more likely to be occupied at some time in the near future. Nonetheless, a creative citizen hung a huge banner across the front of City Hall that read “Open City—No Shooting.” As far as Pharmacist’s Mate Myers was concerned, it did little good.
“Just listen to that.” Myers and Tex were having a smoke outside the hospital. They had sought shelter from the rain under an overhang at the front of the building.
“Ain’t that a beautiful sound?” Tex asked, waving his finger like a conductor’s baton in time to the “Star Spangled Banner,” which along with the Philippine national anthem, was being played over the loudspeaker outside City Hall each morning and evening.
“Sure is,” Myers acknowledged. “Why the Japs bombed so many other buildings, but haven’t dropped an egg on us or City Hall yet is a mystery to me.”
Tex was still listening to the last strains of the familiar tune fading away. “Ya know, I played football at SMU before I enlisted. It always amazed me. There you’d be on the field, surrounded by all these tough guys swearing to kill one another, and they’d strike up the National Anthem. By the time the band finished, more than a few guys would wipe their eyes.”
“I never played for a college or anything,” Myers said, “but I really like football. Maybe if we get some time in the next couple days, we can put a game together with some of the guys.”
A truck roared up toward the door where the two men stood. Its windshield was broken out and bullet holes riddled the hood and doors. A couple of men from the 200th Coastal Artillery jumped out and ran back to the truck bed, shouting for help.
“We found these guys half dead in this truck,” one of the soldiers explained as Myers and Tex ran up. “They musta got hit driving. That one guy looks pretty bad off.”
The two men were slumped against each other, both unconscious. Judging from the amount of blood everywhere, Myers wondered whether either of them was still alive. He felt the first man’s wrist and then his neck.
“I got a pulse.”
“I don’t,” Tex said softly, looking down at the second man. Two nurses carrying a stretcher had appeared. “Mark him killed in action,” Tex told them.
Myers and Tex loaded the survivor onto the stretcher and took off at a trot across the driveway and into the hospital. As they ran into the surgical area they saw a doctor scrubbing up for the next patient.
“Got a table waiting, fellas,” the doctor told them. “The next case can be bumped back for this poor guy. Take him on in, then scrub up—I’ll need some extra help.”
The wounded man’s shirt was cut away, revealing a chest punched with holes and lacerated with jagged tears, evidence that he’d been hit with shrapnel.
“Get the plasma hooked up to try to get him out of shock,” the doctor told Myers. “And, you, corpsman,” he said to Tex, “you know how to administer ether?”
Tex said that he did.
“Okay, you get that started. Nurse! I need a new instrument tray.”
They began the surgery, with the doctor determining which of the wounds appeared to need attention first. “This one went deep,” he said, probing with his finger in the man’s chest. When the doctor removed his finger, blood shot from the hole and sprayed them all.
“Got a major bleeder!” the doctor yelled. “How’s the ether doing? We gotta open him up.”
Tex looked down at the soldier’s ashen face. “Okay. Go ahead.”
The doctor began his incision and worked his way through the layers of tissue until he had exposed the heart. “Oh, God. His aorta looks like it was sliced open with a letter opener.” He turned to Myers. “Son, you gotta put your finger here until I can get this vessel oversewn. If he keeps bleeding from it, he won’t last another five minutes.”
He directed Myers to hold the two sections of the aorta together with his fingers, trying to keep the huge vessel from spurting and maintain its blood flow at the same time. Another doctor, a corpsman, and two more nurses arrived to assist. The whole group worked briskly and silently.
One of the doctors broke the silence, asking Myers, “Your fingers okay?”
“Sure thing. Just do what you gotta do,” Myers told him.
They all heard the music at the same time a few minutes later. The jubilant sound of “O Come All Ye Faithful” being sung by a choir floated out of City Hall’s loudspeaker and into the operatory. Tex picked up the tune. One of the nurses began to sing. Myers could almost see his mother sitting at the family piano, playing.
Christmas and home seemed remote from the war they were living. Yet they all began to repeat the words, either silently or out loud: “O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant.”
Triumphant, as in pushing the Japs back to hell where they belonged, Myers thought.
The doctor monitoring the patient’s blood pressure brought them back to the moment. “There mus
t be a bleeder someplace else. His pressure’s dropping fast.”
Myers stood his ground, holding together the man’s aorta as the surgical team worked around him. Sixty seconds later, the doctor with the blood pressure gauge shook his head.
“Pressure’s gone.”
The surgeon looked at the barely quivering heart lying in the man’s open chest.
“Dammit! We lost him.”
In the silence that followed, the men and women in the operatory heard the choir reach the end of the hymn: “O come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord.”
Chapter Six
Bahala Na
While the war Myers was witnessing around him had escalated during the first two weeks of December, it virtually cartwheeled to a climax during the final week of the month. On December 22, the first cadre of Medical Corps officers, nurses, and enlisted men left by truck convoy for Bataan. On December 25, the majority of the remaining military personnel was transferred by boat to Bataan to establish hospitals there.
During the first three weeks of the war, the various hospital staffs maintained records on the approximately two thousand military and civilian patients who were admitted to the Manila Hospital Center. When a patient was transferred to a different annex, Myers and the other corpsmen saw to it that his records accompanied him. When the withdrawal to Bataan was ordered, all patient records were sent by boat to Corregidor, the theory being that the headquarters there was impenetrable. The records never made it, however; midway there, the ship was sunk by Japanese dive-bombers and all the records were lost.
While MacArthur’s open city declaration was intended to deter enemy bombings of Manila, the Japanese evidently decided it provided an excellent opportunity to show off their strength. Intermittent bombing continued, particularly along the Pasig River, where native fishing boats still bobbed serenely at the river’s edge.
Belly of the Beast Page 7