SNIPER

Whenever I am bored, one of my pastimes is visiting eBay to look for something that interests me. The online auction site is a treasure trove for collectors of various sizes and colors. It is the fantasy land for every hobbyist worth his salt. And once you learn how to navigate the website and become adept at 'treasure hunting' I can guarantee you that there is no turning back.

But I am not the greedy big-time bidder type who will engage anyone just to get his hands on a particular item. I am more of a bargain hunter, favoring more bang for my buck than a foolish dreamer who will empty his pockets just to finally grab his holy grail.

In fact, most of my acquisitions were more on the $10-20 range but nevertheless, they are all treasures safely hidden in my man cave. I have pegged my limit to $100 at the most no matter how I am smitten with a particular object, and if it is beyond the ceiling that I set up for myself, I just have to let the object of my desire pass and move on to the next one.

I am more of the sniper type of, the one who will watch a particular auction but will bid only during its last few seconds. This adrenaline-pumping vis-a-vis testosterone-deflating strategy is what the game is all about. There is no greater thrill than being in a kind of 'hope for the best but expect the worst' situation wherein you could snatch a gem from the hands of the other bidders or be left empty-handed.

 As they usually say, "it's not the kill, it's the thrill of the chase." Amen.


Most of the time, I always end up grabbing my prey, probably to the chagrin of my fellow eBayers, but the god of fortune frowned on me today. Somebody outbid me to the 53 pages of lithographs by World War II artist E.J. Dollriehs, who served under the U.S. Army's 37th Infantry Battalion in the Philippines wherein many of his wartime sketches were made.

But that's life: you win some, you lose some.

The pictures below are some of the beautiful sketches that got away today. I will look at them for one last time and move on.

Another day, another prey.

 

A Philippine Scout's Diary: Revenge Bataan Unit

The Year was 1945.

I was part of the contingent of Philippine Scouts that greeted the first Americans at Lingayen, Pangasinan. We were briefed the night before by our commanding officer to accompany the GIs on their way to Manila to liberate the more than 3,000 prisoners of war interred at the University of Santo Tomas Campus.

So off we went with the 2nd squadron, 8th Cavalry Regiment of the US Army’s 1st Cavalry Division under the command of a certain Lt. Col. Haskett Connor, with tanks, jeeps, weapons carriers, command cars, trucks and engineering and service outfit with one task in mind -- to liberate UST from the enemy.


February 2 -

We encountered a stiff resistance from a hard-fighting unit of the Japanese Imperial Army in the highways off Bigaa, about 18 miles from Manila, but their weapons were no match for our mounted light and heavy machine guns as well as 20 mm & 40 mm mortars. We annihilated them in no time and squeezed into the blown up bridges and pockmarked dirt roads with minimal casualties.

February 3-

We were able to move from Bigaa at noon to Sta. Maria just before midnight with sporadic clashes with the rag-tag enemies. At dawn we could hear the bell tolls from nearby churches and chapels, a signal that the town was liberated of the last bands of Japanese resistance.

The “Japs” fought to the last man. There were no prisoners taken.

Then at 10:00 A.M., on our way out of Sta. Maria, Col. Connor received a report that our Recon team was ambushed and wiped out. We positioned our artillery and shelled the Japanese position. After about an hour or two, a lull in the fighting was declared and we passed by the burning Japanese tanks and the dead bodies littered on the ground. But there were lots of skirmishes and pocket resistance from the “Japs” that slowed down our advance.

A staff meeting was immediately called and Col. Connor was now growing impatient because our objective was to be in Manila before dark. He told us that we should annihilate the last enemy at all costs and be in Manila by twenty hours.

It was raining hard when we finally arrived at Novaliches about eight miles from Manila. The dirt road turned into a soggy slippery mess, bogging down our advance, when all hell broke loose. The Japanese resistance was heavy. From the two-story house on the other end, we could see the smoke and the heavy volume of fire, and hear the familiar staccatos of the Japs’ Machine guns and 75s.

But the 'Revenge Bataan Unit' would not be denied, and after another hour of fierce fighting, the last resistance in Novaliches was finally silenced what with the two-story house that served as the maching gun nest leveled to the ground from the constant bombarding from our tanks and 105-howitzers.

We proceeded without any resistance until we reached the Chinese Cemetery, when a young boy warned us that there were a handful of Japanese soldiers inside, but after consultation with his officers and Filipino volunteers, Col. Connor decided to bypass them and proceed to our main objective.

We passed by Grace Park Airfield with its hangars burning briskly from constant US bombardments, and then we swung into the area of Rizal Avenue until we finally reached the walls of UST. We could see that fires were burning over much of the city.

The half of the University of Santo Tomas front gate was open and the inside was black. We shouted in the dark and got no answer. Then two tanks rumbled into the front gate with their powerful lights turned on. We cut a hole in the fence and crawled in, but saw nothing.

Then, near the guard house at the gate entrance, a Jap with his Arisaka rifle jumped out from nowhere and fired point blank at us. The flash from the gun momentarily blinded me. When I regained my sight, the Jap was gone and my two companions lay dead, but I was miraculously unharmed.

Then a battle basic medium tank rammed and broke into the concrete fence as if it were corrugated cardboard. We made our way inside the Campus with bullets whizzing in between and above our heads from the enemies holed up inside.

Then somebody shouted "Grenade!" and we all scampered and dropped to the ground, but it was nothing but a knee-jerk reaction from an overly anxious soldier that made some of us laugh albeit nervously.

Then an excited voice coming from the main building was heard, "You Americans?

"Yes"

Followed by a chorus of-

"Thank God you're here."

"Oh how long we’ve waited."

"God Bless America!"

Suddenly, there was firing from the Education Building, just to the right of the Main Building. We were told that about 65 “Japs” with 201 American interns were holed inside. The “Japs” were on the second floor, the Americans on the third. The troops attempted to break in, but the enemy had an overwhelming advantage -- besides, the Education Building was composed of steel-reinforced concrete.

February 4-

There were short and sporadic exchanges of fire between our men surrounding the building under Col. Connor and the Japs inside, and we suffered light casualties as the day wore on. The next day negotiations went on and it was agreed upon to give the Japanese forces safe conduct passes which was accepted by some of the men grudgingly. The Officers told their men to keep their fingers off the trigger and honor the terms of the agreement.

We hastily formed a unit to escort the remnants of the Japanese Army out of UST with Col. Connor himself leading it. Slowly but surely, the Japanese soldiers emerged and staggered from the building and marched in formation with their weapons, until we arrived at Legarda and Aviles Sts.

Col. Connor then told a certain Col. Hayashi, the Commander of the Japanese Army,

"This is as far as we go. This is the front line. You are on your own."

They then saluted each other as the Japanese Army marched up north to live and fight another day, but we couldn’t care less, for what was important at that point in time were the lives of the Prisoners of War that we liberated.
#

(As told to the author, Bill Mitsuru T. Shimizu, by Mang Berting, an indigent patient and a frail old man in his 80’s during a Medical Mission in Bagong Nayon, Antipolo, Rizal in 1996)

TAPS

As I scanned the pages of the newspaper, my heart began to beat faster, and the feeling of dread was written all over me. There, in the lower part of the front page, it was written: "2 Dead in NPA Ambush in Quezon."

As I began to read the details, I couldn't believe my eyes. One of the names of the dead soldiers struck me as familiar, and suddenly, a feeling of numbness overcame my body.

It can't be. No, it's not him. A state of denial was prevalent in my mind, but as I read and re-read the lines of the newspaper, reality began to dawn on me.

Then a flashback of events long buried in the past came rushing back into my head.

He was my classmate, my buddy, and my best friend.

We both grew up in simple families in one of the remote barrios in the Bicol region.

We had been classmates and friends since childhood until our graduation from high school --then we went our separate ways.

While I went to Manila to pursue a degree in Medicine, he went to the Philippine Military Academy to be a fine soldier.

While I studied the science of saving lives, he mastered the art of killing.

While I went to the countryside for medical missions, he went there for search-and-destroy operations.

While I performed well at the operating table, he distinguished himself in the fields of battle.

Truly, our world had been a contradiction ever since we parted ways.

But our respect and belief in each other's conviction were never put in question.

That was evident in the long and countless hours of debate and discussion on any topic under the sun over a bottle of whiskey or gin during the few times that we were able to be with each other through the years.

For we know, deep in our hearts, that we are both doing the right thing for ourselves, for others, and for our country.

And to this, I salute you Capt. Nestor Mapa, my worthy adversary and my best friend.
#
Bill Mitsuru T. Shimizu (December 3, 2001)
*Published in the Literary Section of the Sunday Times Magazine/ October 19, 2003 "We Strike and other soldier tales."

POW

Below is the video of 1Lt. Vicente P. Cammayo, Commanding Officer of the 11th Company of the 3rd Special Forces Battalion-AFP [Armed Forces of the Philippines] who was captured following an encounter with the elements of the New People’s Army under the Alejandro Lanaja Command dated 07 November 2008 at Barangay Casoon, Com Val [Compostela Valley] province.



The video was released to the media by the Merardo Arce Command Southern Mindanao Regional Operations Command of the New People's Army who claimed that Lieutenant Cammayo is being held as a Prisoner Of War by the rebels.


It's nice to know that the soldier's human rights is being respected by the rebels and we pray for his safe release soon do that he can be reunited with his family. However, the young soldier will be better off to part ways with the military if ever that day comes for his own sake for he will never live down this incident. It’s one thing to be captured alive by the enemy; it’s another thing when the men you commanded perished with their boots on in the said encounter.

Now, this is not to belittle Lt. Cammayo's resolve nor question his judgment and frame of mind but if I was in his shoes I will go down with my men fighting. I will never allow myself to be captured alive and be made into a propaganda material by the enemy to further their cause.

Being a soldier and an officer of an elite unit at that, much is expected of him compared to being just an “ordinary" soldier. He should have used his training to escape and evade being captured by the enemy.

The prospect of giving the supreme sacrifice in the performance of one’s duty is a given the day you decide to enter the service. And dying with your men in battle and in defense of the people is the most honorable thing that a soldier can do for his honor and country.

Hooah!

We Strike

THE night is very cold and damp. We are in position on the hilly portion of the road leading to San Leonardo waiting in ambush for the enemy to come out from the bushes. A tip from one of our informants tells us that a group of New Peoples Army communist rebels would be passing our area tonight en route to a plenum of the provincial party committee in the hinterlands of Nueva Vizcaya.

It is now close to 10 in the evening and our unit has been in position since 5 in the afternoon. But nary a sign of life except for the usual movements and chirpings of night birds and the sound of leaves of the trees brushing against each other as the monsoon winds sweep through their branches.
The sky is dark and it looks like the Philippine rainy season will start tonight. A perfect camouflage for our unit tasked to neutralize the enemy.

Then the night birds stop chirping. From a distance we could hear the dogs barking. There is a deafening silence among the members of the 7-man Army Scout Rangers team with their fingers ready on the trigger of their M-16s and M-14s as their eyes focus on the trail leading to the road from the jungle.

Another minute passes, then another long minute of anxiety for the rangers in the darkness. The tension is so strong that all you could hear is the sound of your own heart beating but the enemies are nowhere in sight.

Patiently, we wait . . . All of a sudden their presence is announced by the smell of burning tobaccos from their cigarettes. In fact, the air is heavy and filled by its aroma that only an untrained soldier and a fool would miss them.

From the bushes come the lead scout followed by their kumander and the rest of the kadres. Since our eyes are already adjusted to the darkness we are able to identify their leader as Ka Greg, the head of the provincial party committee. The rebels come out in groups of four and we estimate their strength to be about 30-strong, majority of which are only in their teens with three amazons.

As soon as the last kadre emerge from the bushes, I fire my baby armalite hitting Ka Greg in the forehead signaling my men to fire at the rebels at will.

The skirmish lasts about 15 minutes.

After the smoke of the gun battle clears, Ka Greg and 10 of his men including an amazon lay dead on the unpaved dirt road.

The rebels retreat while firing their guns at us to the nearby forest undercover of darkness carrying with them their wounded comrades.

We stay put and wait for our reinforcements to arrive and at sunrise return to our command post for a hot breakfast of fried tuyo, kamatis and sinangag.

The encounter is no big deal for us, for in the next few days, we will again embark in a search and destroy operations for the remnants of Ka Greg's unit. This is our life. Our story.

"Walang personalan. Trabaho lang, ika nga."
#

**Published in The Literary Section of The Sunday Times Magazine/ October 19, 2003- "We Strike and other soldier tales" by Bill Mitsuru T. Shimizu