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Bataan Barb

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Being in Arkansas on 'blue-state bride day'???
Tree may have a point there. I’ll have to think about it.


I had expected that the air displacement of the explosion would have pushed him forward and given him that last thrust...:eek::facepalm:

Lox’s first law of physics deployed here ...


You seem to forget that the floor of a chicken coop is covered with chicken shit

Certainly it is in a good old Pennines coop, right Old One?

Old Slave and Fossy appear to be experts on this?
 
11. Bataan Peninsula, Balanga, night of April 12-13, 1942

The immediate impact of the blast was to buckle an exterior wall of the Balanga Town Hall ... the one that faced the narrow alleyway on which Hendo’s lorry had been parked, destabilizing and ripping open the entire side of the building. The immense fireball then ignited the roof, in addition to sweeping a blistering wall of flame into the building’s exposed interior.

Out on the town square, the blast sent a fiery wave racing across the pavements, toppling or sweeping away everything ... animate and inanimate ... that stood in its path, and incinerating all that was left behind. Within seconds every building facing the square was aflame. Nothing recognizable remained of the hundreds of Japanese soldiers crowding the square prior to Hendo’s casual discarding of a still-lit match.

Within the town hall, in the former ceremonial hall where Captain Sakamoto had set up his makeshift comfort girl station, Barb had been doing her best to deny Kubo’s determined efforts to sodomize her. By desperately clenching she had managed, up to that point, to limit his intended foul invasion to little more than a small beachhead. But she knew it was hopeless. One more thrust and he’d surely win the contest.

But it was at exactly that moment that the thunderous shock wave touched off by the detonation of Hendo’s lorry swept through the room, arresting all activity as though caught in a freeze frame ... including Kubo’s master stroke of anal impalement.

Both Barb and Kubo’s attention, along with that of every other soul in the room, was drawn to and fixated on the massive overhead crystal chandelier, which had begun to sway about wildly ... and, seconds later, to the widening cracks and fissures opening in the ceremonial hall’s ornately plastered ceiling.

Then all hell broke loose, as the chandelier and a cascade of heavy plaster fragments rained down on both the girls pinned to the tables and their assailants. Flame and heat poured in through gaping holes in the ceiling as well as through the wall closest to the source of the blast, whole sections of which had been blown away, adding to the storm of destruction and death engulfing the room.

Barb felt Kubo’s intruding shaft pull away and slip from her partially violated opening. She heard the piercing screams and terrified shouts of girls and Japanese soldiers alike. And all this amidst the thunderous crash of falling rubble and the dissonant tinkle of shattered glass as the heavy chandelier came crashing down.

Frantically she tugged at the cords binding her wrists to the spikes driven into the tabletop above and to either side of her head. But there was no give ... no way to free herself. Bound in place and completely helpless, she had no choice but to reconcile herself to the fact that there was nothing she could do but squeeze the hands of Betty and Natalie, close her eyes, and await certain death.

She was startled then, when she felt the cord binding her left wrist loosen. Looking up, she saw Kubo bending over her, frantically working to free her wrist. In the glare of the flames spreading rapidly through the room, his shaved head glistened. A wide gash across his forehead gushed blood. And a partially severed ear hung from the side of his face like a broken wing flap on a plane.

He managed to free one of her hands and set to work on the other. Raising her head and glancing to her left, she saw Natalie looking at her imploringly, her half-broken eyeglasses still clinging lopsidedly to her chin. Beyond Natalie through the fiery-orange-lit-haze was a terrifying scene of death and destruction, in which fallen plaster, ceiling beams and the shattered remains of the great chandelier lay heaped over the broken bodies of pantsless Japanese soldiers and naked Filipina girls.

On freeing Barb’s other wrist, Kubo gripped her arm to pull her up and away from the table top, but she broke away from his grasp and immediately set to freeing Natalie. Kubo looked on for a moment, and then pitched in to help. And when they had freed Natalie, Barb pivoted to help Betty, but was stopped cold by the ghastly scene that greeted her. Betty was dead, crushed, along with the Japanese soldier who had been assaulting her, beneath a fallen heavy ceiling beam.

Barb might have remained there, frozen in place if it weren’t for Kubo and Natalie wresting her away. There was little time to lose. The place was in danger of rapidly becoming an inferno. Together, the three of them, began picking their way through the heaps of bodies and debris that separated them from the double doors through which the two nurses had originally been thrust into the room. Through the smoke and haze one could see that the doors remained open, offering the prospect of escape into what appeared to be a less damaged part of the building.

Eventually they made it there. But even then they were far from safe. Parts of that adjoining room had caught fire, and dense smoke had already filled the air. Kubo shoved them in the direction of the door on the far side of the room, but was unable to stop the two nurses from stooping to search frantically through the piles of clothing on the floor in hopes of scavenging up something to wear.

Barb managed to scoop up a nurse’s skirt, probably either Natalie’s or Betty’s, before Kubo intervened to move her along with a good hard shove. Bursting headlong through the door leading to the outside corridor, she found Natalie already there, clutching to her chest a colorful print dress that must have belonged to one of the Filipina girls. Kubo came through last and immediately began shepherding Natalie and Barb down the corridor towards the front vestibule and hopefully to safety.

It was on reaching the building’s front entrance that Barb first noticed a thick ten-inch-long wooden splinter protruding from low on Kubo’s back. It appeared to have penetrated deeply and in a very bad place. The entire backside of his shirt and trousers were darkened with blood. She imagined the likelihood of severe internal organ damage.

“My God, you’re hurt bad!” she blurted with instinctive alarm, forgetting momentarily who he was and the evil things he had done to her. And it was at that instant that he suddenly pitched forward to the floor.

“Help me!” Barb shouted at Natalie as she knelt over Kubo’s unconscious form to inspect the wound.

“Got what he deserved,” said Natalie drily as she knelt beside Barb.

“He did just save our lives.” replied Barb, although with a note of uncertainty in her voice. “Come on, Nat, give me a hand let’s do what we can for him.”

Carefully, Barb worked the splinter loose and extracted it. Tearing a wide strip of cloth from the lower portion of the nurse’s skirt she still held in one hand, she began to dab at the bloody hole in Kubo’s back.

“More cloth!,” she demanded.

Natalie began to rip a strip from the Filipina girl’s dress.

“Why bother, Lieutenant? You know he’s going to die of that, and we ought to be making our escape before this whole place comes down on our heads!” Natalie said, as the vestibule ceiling overhead emitted an ominously long groan, suggesting a threat of imminent collapse.

“Just a sec. It may not be as bad a wound as I first thought!”

“Hurry!”

Working furiously, Barb applied all her nursing skills to fashion a makeshift dressing of torn cloth to staunch the bleeding oozing from Kubo’s gaping wound.

“Okay. Give me a hand. Help me get him out of here.”

“Why?”

“Just help!”

Together they dragged him across the marble floor to the nearest of the front entrance doors, which Natalie rose to open cautiously.

“You won’t believe this!” she called back to Barb, who joined her to gawk in amazement at a town square transformed into a scene of fiery wreckage and carnage. “Let’s get out while we still can.”

“Right. But what about him?”

“Leave him, Lieutenant!”

“Okay. But we’re naked?”

“Wrap what little we have around us. It’ll have to do.” instructed Natalie with the practical no-nonsense air she always affected. She had straightened her eyeglasses, and looked almost scholarly ... that is, if it weren’t for the shattered eyeglass lens and the fact that she was wearing no clothing.

Slipping through the door and clutching the tattered rags of salvaged clothing to their chests, they scurried down the steps, and after a moment of indecision, headed back around the burning hulk of the shattered town hall in the direction they recalled Kubo to have brought them from earlier that night.

No one seemed to take notice, and they made it safely out of the main square and town center, distancing themselves from the fires and commotion and entering into a part of town that, like all Philippine towns, gave the appearance of a shanty town. There they followed a series of back ways and narrow streets, ducking into the shadows wherever they encountered soldiers or citizens, until Natalie signaled a halt before what appeared to be an outhouse or shed.

“In here,” she whispered, prying open a flimsy door and slipping inside.

There was an immediate commotion.

“Chickens,” said Natalie as Barb joined her. “It’s some kind of hen house.”

“Great.”

“Let’s look around.”

As their eyes, aided by slivers of moonlight coming in through cracks in walls and roof, adjusted to the gloom, they took stock. The space was small, the earthen floor covered with straw and chicken feathers. There were a few tools or implements. Little of interest, but at least the chickens had settled down.

“What now?” said Barb, wrinkling her nose at the stench.

View attachment 969276

“We rest here for awhile. Stay out of sight until things settle down and then move on before daybreak?” suggested Natalie.

“Okay, my feet are killing me. Why didn’t I think to grab a pair of shoes back there?”

“I think we were kinda in a rush,” observed Natalie dryly

“Uh huh. How many ... um ... of them ... did it to you, Nat, before all hell broke loose?”

“You mean how many of those Japs raped me?”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t trying to keep count, but maybe five, possibly six. Too many and too rough! I’m already feeling awfully sore down there.”

“Not your ... uh ... you know ... first time, though?”

“No. I’ve been laid before, if that’s what you mean, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah. Okay, same here ... try to rest a little, Nat. I’ll sit up and keep watch just in case.”

Both had avoided mentioning Betty.

************

It was still dark when a restless Whitaker rose from where he had been lying alongside his buddies, and made his way back to the side of the compound where Barb and her nurses were held. The guard watching over them appeared to have fallen asleep. Emboldened by that fortuitous discovery, Whitaker crept past him and knelt by the nearest sleeping nurse. Looking over the other bodies lying on the ground beyond her, he was pretty sure that Barb was missing.

Gently he tapped the nearest nurse on the shoulder and emitted a shushing breath when she startled.

“Where’s Lieutenant Moore?” he whispered.

“Gone. They took her away.”

“I knew it. Tell me exactly what happened.”

“No! Leave! Now! We’ve seen enough trouble already!”

“Okay. Okay. I’m going.”

**********

Barb snapped to sudden wakefulness. Something or somebody was outside the shed! It was still dark, but there was definitely movement out there and whatever it was, it was approaching.

Reaching over, she poked Natalie.

“What?”


“Shhhhh. Someone’s out there!”
That was one seriously exciting episode, Barb! :very_hot:
 
12. Bataan Peninsula, Balanga, early morning of April 13, 1942

Jose Mangahas Balagtas had risen well before dawn, as was his custom, to get an early start on the day’s chores. Stepping carefully down the ladder of his raised, tin-roofed Bahay Kubo dwelling and out onto the worn path leading to the shed behind, he glanced up at the red-hued glow illuminating the low hanging clouds over the still-burning fires in the town’s center. He wasn’t sure what had happened there during the night, but he knew it wasn't good and there were likely to be repercussions in the coming days.

Like many others who dwelt in his part of Balanga, the 73-year-old patriarch had gathered his extended family around him and issued strict orders forbidding anyone to go out. Whatever disaster may have befallen the throngs of Japanese soldiers that had taken over the town center, was in his opinion well-deserved. The rumor was that they had been abducting innocent young Filipina women for their brothel. The very thought made him both sad and angry. He cursed silently to himself as he covered the last few steps to the shed.

Reaching for the door, he was surprised to find it slightly ajar, and hesitated before opening it. Standing perfectly still, he listened, and thought he detected movement within, and possibly a woman’s hushed voice.

************

Barb and Natalie rose slowly to their feet, eyes riveted in the darkness to the door of the shed. It was clear that someone was out there, and whoever it was had not tried to enter. After a moment, Natalie edged carefully away, only to return seconds later clutching a tool that looked something like a garden hoe. Then they waited. Still nothing.

Eventually the door began to move ... just a little at first ... slowly ... but then suddenly to reveal, silhouetted before them against the red glow of the burning town center, the figure of a small man wearing the traditional pajama-like, loose white trousers and jacket of the Philippine peasantry.

“Hello!” blurted Barb, on impulse.

Natalie gripped the hoe in readiness.

He simply stood there and stared at them.

“Speak English?” queried Barb.

“We ... American,” added Natalie, sounding like a character addressing an invading alien on a science fiction radio program.

No one moved.

But, after several additional tense moments, the elderly man stepped back and motioned for them to follow him.

**********

“Time ta furr-get her, Lieutenant,” drawled Clem Papeleux as the POW column took to the road for the third consecutive day. The sun was just rising over the hills that lined the distant far side of Manila Bay.

“He’s right,” agreed Norm. “There’s no sign of your nurse 'Louie', or that crazy Jap who had it in for her. Probably both dead if he took her into town last night.”

Whitaker said nothing.

**********

From the side of the road, seated with his driver in the parked ‘Type 95’, Tanaka watched as the American POWs formed up. The nurses were still there, but there appeared to be fewer of them, and their Lieutenant Moore was not among them.

“Drive on,” he said to his driver, who promptly threw the vehicle into gear, pulled onto the pavement and headed off in the direction of Balanga, the center of which lay under a dark and dirty pall of smoke.

************

Jose Mangahas Balagtas’ eldest grandson, 28-year old, Alejandro, was taken by surprise when the old man suddenly appeared accompanied by two very uncertain looking, pale-skinned women. The extended Balgatas family had just gathered to partake of the usual Filipino early morning meal of small bread rolls, white cheese, and ‘siniang’ ... a dish of fried egg and meat. No one expected anything out of the ordinary to occur. But it had.

And, not only was the intrusion of the two women unexpected, but they were naked, save for the torn and tattered garments they clutched against the front of their bodies. Alejandro recognized them immediately for what they were: Americans and potential trouble.

Rising swiftly to his feet, he ordered his mother and elder sister to fetch them something to wear, and the others to continue with their breakfast. Then he skirted the gathering space occupied by the family ... all of whom were ignoring his directions and gaping as though they were seeing an apparition ... to approach the newcomers.

“We’re so sorry to intrude,” offered Barb, “but ...”

“No, It’s quite alright,” he responded in English, signaling to his grandfather with a dismissive wave of his hand that he would now take over.

“You ... you ... sp ... speak English!” stammered Barb.

“As many my age who live in around Manila do,” he responded, adding with a undisguised hint of sarcasm, “as good colonials should.”

“Still, we do apologize,” continued Barb, noting that he was fashionably dressed in 'western-style' baggy trousers and a loose, short-sleeved shirt with large pointed collars, the first couple of buttons undone for comfort. “But, as you can see, we are in serious trouble and desperately in need of help.”

“The Japanese did this to you?” he said, eying their dirty and disheveled appearance, not to mention their nudity.

“We’re nurses,” interjected Natalie. “Army nurses. And until recently, prisoners of war. The Japanese brought us here last night and forced us into one of their brothels, but we’ve escaped. Can you help us?”

“Perhaps,” he said, accepting the clothing articles delivered to him, just then, by his mother and sister and holding them out to Barb and Natalie. “But first put these on and come join us. You must be very hungry.”

Without much embarrassment ... they were beyond that by that point, despite being watched by everyone in the room ... Barb and Natalie dropped the rags they had been clutching to themselves and proceeded to don the proffered garments. There was a long skirt, cut narrow, for each of them, along with a long-sleeved blouse, elaborately sewn with beads in colorful designs ... the so-called ‘baro’t saya (literally ‘shirt and skirt’) worn by the lower classes. The fit was a bit small on Barb and Natalie, who were more than a head taller than most Filipina women, but they were grateful to be covered at last.

89ABA200-458A-4A63-BC9E-DE15778D5C79.jpeg

They were also grateful for food and drink, and tucked with gusto into all that was laid before them while the entire extended family of more than a dozen souls watched with bemused curiosity. But when they had had their fill, Alejandro ordered everything cleared away and banished everyone from the room ... with the exceptions of his father and grandfather, both of whom lit up smokes and moved in close to sit cross-legged on the floor.

Alejandro remained standing and began to pace back and forth as he spoke, “You’ve asked for our help. And, perhaps we can offer you assistance, but you must understand that doing so places me and my family at grave risk, and please understand that I can offer you nothing without the approval of my elders, who sit here now in judgment. They speak no English but I will translate everything for them that is said.”

“Understood,” said Natalie quickly, eying the impassive faces of both elders and offering them a respectful nod.

“Yes,” agreed Barb. “We need help, but don’t wish to ...”

“I know,” replied Alejandro. “First thing to say is you can’t stay here. It’s not safe, either for you or my family. The Japanese mount daily patrols and are prone to undertaking sudden searches. You’ll need to be moved from here as soon as it’s dark, and even that’s sure to be risky. There’s also the question of where to take you. There are partisan bands operating in the mountains behind the town. But even if we could reach them, whether they would even want to be burdened with a couple of women like you is an open question.”

“I see ...” said Barb softly.

“You’re of military age, aren’t you?” remarked Natalie pointedly. “Why aren’t you ...”

“I am, and I fought with the Filipino 21st Division against the Japanese.”

“And .... ?”

“I deserted.”

“Why?”


“To be with and to protect my family. I’d have been of no use to them in a POW camp. But what does it matter? I am here and you are here. I will consult now with my father and grandfather as to what we should do about you. I suspect you are both in need of rest. You’ll find sleeping mats in the back room. Go there and rest while we discuss this.
 
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12. Bataan Peninsula, Balanga, early morning of April 13, 1942

Jose Mangahas Balagtas had risen well before dawn, as was his custom, to get an early start on the day’s chores. Stepping carefully down the ladder of his raised, tin-roofed Bahay Kubo dwelling and out onto the worn path leading to the shed behind, he glanced up at the red-hued glow illuminating the low hanging clouds over the still-burning fires in the town’s center. He wasn’t sure what had happened there during the night, but he knew it wasn't good and there were likely to be repercussions in the coming days.

Like many others who dwelt in his part of Balanga, the 73-year-old patriarch had gathered his extended family around him and issued strict orders forbidding anyone to go out. Whatever disaster may have befallen the throngs of Japanese soldiers that had taken over the town center, was in his opinion well-deserved. The rumor was that they had been abducting innocent young Filipina women for their brothel. The very thought made him both sad and angry. He cursed silently to himself as he covered the last few steps to the shed.

Reaching for the door, he was surprised to find it slightly ajar, and hesitated before opening it. Standing perfectly still, he listened, and thought he detected movement within, and possibly a woman’s hushed voice.

************

Barb and Natalie rose slowly to their feet, eyes riveted in the darkness to the door of the shed. It was clear that someone was out there, and whoever it was had not tried to enter. After a moment, Natalie edged carefully away, only to return seconds later clutching a tool that looked something like a garden hoe. Then they waited. Still nothing.

Eventually the door began to move ... just a little at first ... slowly ... but then suddenly to reveal, silhouetted before them against the red glow of the burning town center, the figure of a small man wearing the traditional pajama-like, loose white trousers and jacket of the Philippine peasantry.

“Hello!” blurted Barb, on impulse.

Natalie gripped the hoe in readiness.

He simply stood there and stared at them.

“Speak English?” queried Barb.

“We ... American,” added Natalie, sounding like a character addressing an invading alien on a science fiction radio program.

No one moved.

But, after several additional tense moments, the elderly man stepped back and motioned for them to follow him.

**********

“Time ta furr-get her, Lieutenant,” drawled Clem Papeleux as the POW column took to the road for the third consecutive day. The sun was just rising over the hills that lined the distant far side of Manila Bay.

“He’s right,” agreed Norm. “There’s no sign of your nurse 'Louie', or that crazy Jap who had it in for her. Probably both dead if he took her into town last night.”

Whitaker said nothing.

**********

From the side of the road, seated with his driver in the parked ‘Type 95’, Tanaka watched as the American POWs formed up. The nurses were still there, but there appeared to be fewer of them, and their Lieutenant Moore was not among them.

“Drive on,” he said to his driver, who promptly threw the vehicle into gear, pulled onto the pavement and headed off in the direction of Balanga, the center of which lay under a dark and dirty pall of smoke.

************

Jose Mangahas Balagtas’ eldest grandson, 28-year old, Alejandro, was taken by surprise when the old man suddenly appeared accompanied by two very uncertain looking, pale-skinned women. The extended Balgatas family had just gathered to partake of the usual Filipino early morning meal of small bread rolls, white cheese, and ‘siniang’ ... a dish of fried egg and meat. No one expected anything out of the ordinary to occur. But it had.

And, not only was the intrusion of the two women unexpected, but they were naked, save for the torn and tattered garments they clutched against the front of their bodies. Alejandro recognized them immediately for what they were: Americans and potential trouble.

Rising swiftly to his feet, he ordered his mother and elder sister to fetch them something to wear, and the others to continue with their breakfast. Then he skirted the gathering space occupied by the family ... all of whom were ignoring his directions and gaping as though they were seeing an apparition ... to approach the newcomers.

“We’re so sorry to intrude,” offered Barb, “but ...”

“No, It’s quite alright,” he responded in English, signaling to his grandfather with a dismissive wave of his hand that he would now take over.

“You ... you ... sp ... speak English!” stammered Barb.

“As many my age who live in around Manila do,” he responded, adding with a undisguised hint of sarcasm, “as good colonials should.”

“Still, we do apologize,” continued Barb, noting that he was fashionably dressed in 'western-style' baggy trousers and a loose, short-sleeved shirt with large pointed collars, the first couple of buttons undone for comfort. “But, as you can see, we are in serious trouble and desperately in need of help.”

“The Japanese did this to you?” he said, eying their dirty and disheveled appearance, not to mention their nudity.

“We’re nurses,” interjected Natalie. “Army nurses. And until recently, prisoners of war. The Japanese brought us here last night and forced us into one of their brothels, but we’ve escaped. Can you help us?”

“Perhaps,” he said, accepting the clothing articles delivered to him, just then, by his mother and sister and holding them out to Barb and Natalie. “But first put these on and come join us. You must be very hungry.”

Without much embarrassment ... they were beyond that by that point, despite being watched by everyone in the room ... Barb and Natalie dropped the rags they had been clutching to themselves and proceeded to don the proffered garments. There was a long skirt, cut narrow, for each of them, along with a long-sleeved blouse, elaborately sewn with beads in colorful designs ... the so-called ‘baro’t saya (literally ‘shirt and skirt’) worn by the lower classes. The fit was a bit small on Barb and Natalie, who were more than a head taller than most Filipina women, but they were grateful to be covered at last.

They were also grateful for food and drink, and tucked with gusto into all that was laid before them while the entire extended family of more than a dozen souls watched with bemused curiosity. But when they had had their fill, Alejandro ordered everything cleared away and banished everyone from the room ... with the exceptions of his father and grandfather, both of whom lit up smokes and moved in close to sit cross-legged on the floor.

Alejandro remained standing and began to pace back and forth as he spoke, “You’ve asked for our help. And, perhaps we can offer you assistance, but you must understand that doing so places me and my family at grave risk, and please understand that I can offer you nothing without the approval of my elders, who sit here now in judgment. They speak no English but I will translate everything for them that is said.”

“Understood,” said Natalie quickly, eying the impassive faces of both elders and offering them a respectful nod.

“Yes,” agreed Barb. “We need help, but don’t wish to ...”

“I know,” replied Alejandro. “First thing to say is you can’t stay here. It’s not safe, either for you or my family. The Japanese mount daily patrols and are prone to undertaking sudden searches. You’ll need to be moved from here as soon as it’s dark, and even that’s sure to be risky. There’s also the question of where to take you. There are partisan bands operating in the mountains behind the town. But even if we could reach them, whether they would even want to be burdened with a couple of women like you is an open question.”

“I see ...” said Barb softly.

“You’re of military age, aren’t you?” remarked Natalie pointedly. “Why aren’t you ...”

“I am, and I fought with the Filipino 21st Division against the Japanese.”

“And .... ?”

“I deserted.”

“Why?”


“To be with and to protect my family. I’d have been of no use to them in a POW camp. But what does it matter? I am here and you are here. I will consult now with my father and grandfather as to what we should do about you. I suspect you are both in need of rest. You’ll find sleeping mats in the back room. Go there and rest while we discuss this.
... “We ... American,” added Natalie, sounding like a character addressing an invading alien on a science fiction radio program ... - We all do this right, as if staccato speak had some built in translation facility :)

An equally eloquent, (loved the opening paragraph that very much set the scene) but more tranquil chapter ... however, is the calm before another oncoming storm? I am waiting, breath bated, to find out ...
 
Nurses Barbara and Natalie are provided with traditional Filipino peasant clothes known as the baro't saya by Alejandro Balagtas ... This photograph, despite being stained and creased, appears to be in slightly better condition than some of the earlier ones that were retrieved.

baro’t saya.jpeg

This original photograph was stolen from the Japanese by the Philippines during Japan's three-year occupation in World War II. (AP Photo/U.S. Marine Corps) ASSOCIATED PRESS.
 
Whitaker said nothing.
Barabara likes the strong silent type. Unfortunately, I fall short on both criteria.:(
the usual Filipino early morning meal of small bread rolls, white cheese, and ‘siniang’ ... a dish of fried egg and meat.

There was a long skirt, cut narrow, for each of them, along with a long-sleeved blouse, elaborately sewn with beads in colorful designs ... the so-called ‘baro’t saya (literally ‘shirt and skirt’) worn by the lower classes.
The research is truly impressive. We really feel immersed in the simple Filipino culture of the time. (I read this before breakfast and was left very hungry!). I am also fascinated by the hospitality which is close to universal in rural societies. Those clothes sound like the best these women had to offer. Barb, little gems like that do so much to enrich your story!:clapping:
“As many my age who live in around Manila do,” he responded, adding with a undisguised hint of sarcasm, “as good colonials should.”
Is there trouble in paradise? Alejandro isn't completely the subservient local you'd expect (or would you?);)
But even if we could reach them, whether they would even want to be burdened with a couple of women like you is an open question.”
Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Barbara and Natalie have valuable support (and "comfort") to offer. I have no doubt they could earn their keep among those male partisans who've left their women behind. (Speaking of behinds...) :headbang:
 
... “We ... American,” added Natalie, sounding like a character addressing an invading alien on a science fiction radio program ... - We all do this right, as if staccato speak had some built in translation facility :)
It is a rather silly thing to do, isn’t it? :doh:

Nurses Barbara and Natalie are provided with traditional Filipino peasant clothes known as the baro't saya by Alejandro Balagtas ... This photograph, despite being stained and creased, appears to be in slightly better condition than some of the earlier ones that were retrieved.

baro’t saya.jpeg

I am also fascinated by the hospitality which is close to universal in rural societies. Those clothes sound like the best these women had to offer. Barb, little gems like that do so much to enrich your story!:clapping:

Fossy captured the “fashion interlude” perfectly :)

Gripping stuff, Barb, even without sex and violence.

Well, we all need a break every now and then, even on a site like CF :very_hot:
 
If you are recaptured by the Japs in civilian clothes, it will be a case for the Kempetai, and that will be unpleasant.
With the Jap's attitude towards POW's, it would make little difference for the nurses. For the civilians giving shelter, there could be real trouble.

“I am, and I fought with the Filipino 21st Division against the Japanese.”

“And .... ?”

“I deserted.”
Which exposes him to risk anyway!


I wonder where and how this escape will end, stuck on an island occupied by enemies.
 
No one expected anything out of the ordinary to occur. But it had.
Barb at breakfast? In a state of undress? Yep. That's out of the ordinary. I'd have to wish Alejandro good luck at the best of times.

This doesn't seem to be the best of times.... :eek:
 
13. Bataan Peninsula, somewhere west of Balanga on the slopes of Mount Mariveles, night to daybreak, April 13-14, 1942.

“Are we there yet?” asked Barb, her tone ... bordering on a whine ... signaling her growing impatience and weariness.

“No, it’s farther on yet,” was Alejandro’s curt reply.

They had been walking into the wilds for what already seemed to Barb like an eternity since leaving Alejandro’s home in Balanga shortly after nightfall. Picking their way through the back ways, with Alejandro leading, followed by Barb, Natalie, and several paces back, Alejandro’s father, they had been compelled to dodge three Japanese patrols before leaving the town behind. From there it was into the peninsula’s rugged backcountry ... sparsely populated and dominated by Mount Mariavales, a towering dormant volcano, majestically capped at its summit by a wide caldera.

At first they had passed through, under bright moonlight, a mixed landscape of open grasslands and bushy thickets, but as they began to negotiate the foothills and gullies leading to Mariavales’ lower slopes they found themselves passing in gloomy darkness through dense stands of tropical hardwoods. And the further they trudged, the narrow trail beneath their feet got rougher and more difficult to navigate. Fortunately their hosts had provided Barb and Natalie with sandals fashioned from old rubber tires which, although they fit poorly, provided them with something that offered their bare feet a modicum of relief from the rigors of the trek.

It was part way up a steep ravine where they had encountered their first partisans ... a pair of heavily-armed Filipinos, dressed in dark pajama-like clothing, who had suddenly stepped out of the foliage on either side of the trail to block any further advance. But after a brief exchange of words with Alejandro, they stepped aside, melting as swiftly and silently as they had first appeared into the surrounding gloom.

This had happened twice more before they reached a stretch of fairly level ground that had been cleared of forest cover. For the first time it was possible to see for any distance, and they found that if they turned around, the lights of Manila could be seen twinkling in the distance at the far end of Manila Bay as well as the dark mass of the island of Corrigedor silhouetted against the silvery waters that surrounded it.

“Can we please stop here and rest for a little?” begged Barb, abruptly plopping herself down atop a large trail-side boulder. “My feet are killing me. Look! This one’s actually bleeding!”

“Alright, but not for long. We’re nowhere near there yet,” responded Alejandro, his tone signaling his exasperation with any delay.

“By the way, what did you say to those partisans?” queried Barb as she ruefully inspected the blood-flecked abrasion along the side of her foot.

“Nothing important.”

“They certainly backed off quickly.”

He shrugged and turned his back.

Soon the were on their way again, climbing ... always climbing ... the trail becoming so steep in places that they had to reach for and grab at exposed roots and nearby branches to help them move forward. It was tough going and Barb and Natalie both lobbied for another rest stop, but Alejandro wouldn’t hear of it. At one point they even tried to force the issue by refusing to take another step, but Alejandro’s father came up from behind to prod them on, propelling them into motion with a threatening wave of the business end of the sturdy walking stick he carried.

But, thankfully, it wasn’t too long after that bit of unpleasantness that Alejandro informed them that they were at last nearing their destination.

Once again, their path was abruptly blocked by armed partisans ... five of them this time, rather than the usual pair. And once again a few softly-uttered words from Alejandro gained passage and they pressed on. They were indeed close, for it was only around the next bend in the trail, as it turned out, that they found themselves within the partisan camp.

The camp lay under a thick forest canopy that concealed it from aerial observation, and consisted of a sizable number of crude huts arranged rather haphazardly around a couple of fire pits, over which a morning meal was being prepared. A general buzz of activity permeated the camp, as dawn was fast approaching, and the partisans ... dozens of them so it appeared ... were up and moving about. They were all dressed in one version or another of the same dark clothing. They appeared lightly armed, although a few had bandoliers of ammunition wrapped around their torsos.

The two white women were regarded by all with curiosity.

405C973C-1985-45E9-99A4-D2BC4DB3E960.jpeg

“So, this is it?” asked Barb.

Alejandro nodded.

“And, you think we’ll be safe here?”

Alejandro nodded.

“Okay. Natalie and I want to thank you, then ... you and your father, as well as your grandfather ... for taking the risk to shelter us in your home, making contact with the partisans, and bringing us here to their camp safely. And I want to apologize for the complaining back on the trail as well. We are forever in your debt.”

Alejandro nodded.

“So, then ...” she continued, looking past him. “Any idea who might be in charge here? Natalie and I will need to properly present ourselves, and find out just what these men are prepared to do to help us. Can you make some inquiries and find out who we should be talking to, please?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“What? ......... oh ........... you don’t mean?”

Alejandro nodded.

**************

As dawn was breaking Whitaker and his buddies were on their feet and ready to rejoin the march. The previous day they had made it as far as Orani, nearly half the distance from where the march had begun to their destination at the San Fernando railhead. That day had taken its toll on their unit. By Whitaker’s reckoning, perhaps as many as a quarter of the remaining men of the 45th Regiment had fallen out along the way from exhaustion, only to be summarily executed alongside the road by the Japanese guards.

Lieutenant Moore’s nurses had not fared well either. Of the eleven who remained after Moore’s disappearance, only seven were still alive by day’s end.

Sometime around midday, with the column held up and marking time, as it so often was, four unfortunates, who had reached their limits of endurance, balked at continuing on. And, as Whitaker and his comrades looked on helplessly, a number of Japanese soldiers had herded the recalcitrant nurses over to the verge of the road. There, they had forcibly stripped them naked, knocked them to the ground and proceeded to beat and bayonet the defenseless women to death as they lay writhing in the ditch.

Sickened by what he had witnessed, Whitaker had moved off with his men as the march resumed, but the memory of the atrocity could not be shaken off. His concern for the surviving nurses would become an obsession. Glancing back over his shoulder, as often as he dared, over the course of the day, he kept a watchful eye on the nurses trudging along behind in a tight little mutually supportive knot, the pained expressions on their faces reflecting the traumatic shock they all felt. He wondered whether Lieutenant Moore, were she still there, could have ... or would have ... done anything to prevent the unspeakable tragedy that had occurred. He imagined not.

So on this morning, in the hopes of taking some action himself to protect the surviving nurses from any further atrocities, he took the liberty of ordering them into the ranks of his own men as the column formed up to continue the march. He knew that doing so was a gamble. The protective move on his part ran the risk of provoking their Japanese escorts, as up until then the nurses had trailed behind under their own guard.

But, thankfully, no objection was made ... possibly, he thought to himself, because the hated Sergeant Kubo and two of his men had disappeared along with Lieutenant Moore, and the remaining member of Kubo’s detail, seemed a reasonably amiable sort in his superior’s absence. Indeed, he seemed to have taken a friendly interest in one of the nurses in particular.

“Nice move,” remarked Norm as they set off. “Looks like you got away with it.”

“Yeah,” said Whitaker. “At least for now.”

************

That morning found Tanaka bent over the hood of the ‘Type 95’ near the edge of Balanga, writing a dispatch to General Homma. Having spent the entire previous day touring the burnt-out center of the town to assess the extent of the disaster, he now labored to find the words to describe what he had seen and learned.

It had been a black day for the Japanese 14th Army, which had suffered nearly three hundred dead, and more than a thousand wounded, many of them suffering from severe burns that might yet take their lives. The army’s comfort station, which had been located in the destroyed town hall had ceased to exist, and there had been, as yet, untold losses of equipment and motor transport.

No one seemed to know exactly what had happened. The reports cited only a large explosion followed by an immense fireball. There was speculation that it was shelling from the big American guns on Corregidor, but Tanaka had dismissed that, knowing that the island fortress was too far away, and even if it wasn’t, its guns were unlikely to cause a blast that great.

The other theory was that the calamity was the work of partisans. Tanaka had his doubts about that as well, believing that the ragtag partisan bands operating in the back-country behind Balanga lacked the kinds of explosives and skills needed to set off such a conflagration. But this had become the accepted explanation in the minds of local commanders, who had already ordered the rounding up of hundreds of the town’s residents, both men and women, for public executions to be carried out as a reprisal the very next day, and for every day thereafter until the perpetrators were exposed and captured.

With all that he had had to do and think about, Tanaka had been far too busy to give more than a passing thought to the plight of Lieutenant Moore and her army nurses. He assumed that somewhere to the north of where he stood they were setting out that morning for another day’s trek on the road to the railhead at San Fernando.


He wished them well.
 
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13. Bataan Peninsula, somewhere west of Balanga on the slopes of Mount Mariveles, night to daybreak, April 13-14, 1942.

“Are we there yet?” asked Barb, her tone ... bordering on a whine ... signaling her growing impatience and weariness.

“No, it’s farther on yet,” was Alejandro’s curt reply.

They had been walking into the wilds for what already seemed to Barb like an eternity since leaving Alejandro’s home in Balanga shortly after nightfall. Picking their way through the back ways, with Alejandro leading, followed by Barb, Natalie, and several paces back, Alejandro’s father, they had been compelled to dodge three Japanese patrols before leaving the town behind. From there it was into the peninsula’s rugged backcountry ... sparsely populated and dominated by Mount Mariavales, a towering dormant volcano, majestically capped at its summit by a wide caldera.

At first they had passed through, under bright moonlight, a mixed landscape of open grasslands and bushy thickets, but as they began to negotiate the foothills and gullies leading to Mariavales’ lower slopes they found themselves passing in gloomy darkness through dense stands of tropical hardwoods. And the further they trudged, the narrow trail beneath their feet got rougher and more difficult to navigate. Fortunately their hosts had provided Barb and Natalie with sandals fashioned from old rubber tires which, although they fit poorly, provided them with something that offered their bare feet a modicum of relief from the rigors of the trek.

It was part way up a steep ravine where they had encountered their first partisans ... a pair of heavily-armed Filipinos, dressed in dark pajama-like clothing, who had suddenly stepped out of the foliage on either side of the trail to block any further advance. But after a brief exchange of words with Alejandro, they stepped aside, melting as swiftly and silently as they had first appeared into the surrounding gloom.

This had happened twice more before they reached a stretch of fairly level ground that had been cleared of forest cover. For the first time it was possible to see for any distance, and they found that if they turned around, the lights of Manila could be seen twinkling in the distance at the far end of Manila Bay as well as the dark mass of the island of Corrigedor silhouetted against the silvery waters that surrounded it.

“Can we please stop here and rest for a little?” begged Barb, abruptly plopping herself down atop a large trail-side boulder. “My feet are killing me. Look! This one’s actually bleeding!”

“Alright, but not for long. We’re nowhere near there yet,” responded Alejandro, his tone signaling his exasperation with any delay.

“By the way, what did you say to those partisans?” queried Barb as she ruefully inspected the blood-flecked abrasion along the side of her foot.

“Nothing important.”

“They certainly backed off quickly.”

He shrugged and turned his back.

Soon the were on their way again, climbing ... always climbing ... the trail becoming so steep in places that they had to reach for and grab at exposed roots and nearby branches to help them move forward. It was tough going and Barb and Natalie both lobbied for another rest stop, but Alejandro wouldn’t hear of it. At one point they even tried to force the issue by refusing to take another step, but Alejandro’s father came up from behind to prod them on, propelling them into motion with a threatening wave of the business end of the sturdy walking stick he carried.

But, thankfully, it wasn’t too long after that bit of unpleasantness that Alejandro informed them that they were at last nearing their destination.

Once again, their path was abruptly blocked by armed partisans ... five of them this time, rather than the usual pair. And once again a few softly-uttered words from Alejandro gained passage and they pressed on. They were indeed close, for it was only around the next bend in the trail, as it turned out, that they found themselves within the partisan camp.

The camp lay under a thick forest canopy that concealed it from aerial observation, and consisted of a sizable number of crude huts arranged rather haphazardly around a couple of fire pits, over which a morning meal was being prepared. A general buzz of activity permeated the camp, as dawn was fast approaching, and the partisans ... dozens of them so it appeared ... were up and moving about. They were all dressed in one version or another of the same dark clothing. They appeared lightly armed, although a few had bandoliers of ammunition wrapped around their torsos.

The two white women were regarded by all with curiosity.

“So, this is it?” asked Barb.

Alejandro nodded.

“And, you think we’ll be safe here?”

Alejandro nodded.

“Okay. Natalie and I want to thank you, then ... you and your father, as well as your grandfather ... for taking the risk to shelter us in your home, making contact with the partisans, and bringing us here to their camp safely. And I want to apologize for the complaining back on the trail as well. We are forever in your debt.”

Alejandro nodded.

“So, then ...” she continued, looking past him. “Any idea who might be in charge here? Natalie and I will need to properly present ourselves, and find out just what these men are prepared to do to help us. Can you make some inquiries and find out who we should be talking to, please?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“What? ......... oh ........... you don’t mean?”

Alejandro nodded.

**************

As dawn was breaking Whitaker and his buddies were on their feet and ready to rejoin the march. The previous day they had made it as far as Orani, nearly half the distance from where the march had begun to their destination at the San Fernando railhead. That day had taken its toll on their unit. By Whitaker’s reckoning, perhaps as many as a quarter of the remaining men of the 45th Regiment had fallen out along the way from exhaustion, only to be summarily executed alongside the road by the Japanese guards.

Lieutenant Moore’s nurses had not fared well either. Of the eleven who remained after Moore’s disappearance, only seven were still alive by day’s end.

Sometime around midday, with the column held up and marking time, as it so often was, four unfortunates, who had reached their limits of endurance, balked at continuing on. And, as Whitaker and his comrades looked on helplessly, a number of Japanese soldiers had herded the recalcitrant nurses over to the verge of the road. There, they had forcibly stripped them naked, knocked them to the ground and proceeded to beat and bayonet the defenseless women to death as they lay writhing in the ditch.

Sickened by what he had witnessed, Whitaker had moved off with his men as the march resumed, but the memory of the atrocity could not be shaken off. His concern for the surviving nurses would become an obsession. Glancing back over his shoulder, as often as he dared, over the course of the day, he kept a watchful eye on the nurses trudging along behind in a tight little mutually supportive knot, the pained expressions on their faces reflecting the traumatic shock they all felt. He wondered whether Lieutenant Moore, were she still there, could have ... or would have ... done anything to prevent the unspeakable tragedy that had occurred. He imagined not.

So on this morning, in the hopes of taking some action himself to protect the surviving nurses from any further atrocities, he took the liberty of ordering them into the ranks of his own men as the column formed up to continue the march. He knew that doing so was a gamble. The protective move on his part ran the risk of provoking their Japanese escorts, as up until then the nurses had trailed behind under their own guard.

But, thankfully, no objection was made ... possibly, he thought to himself, because the hated Sergeant Kubo and two of his men had disappeared along with Lieutenant Moore, and the remaining member of Kubo’s detail, seemed a reasonably amiable sort in his superior’s absence. Indeed, he seemed to have taken a friendly interest in one of the nurses in particular.

“Nice move,” remarked Norm as they set off. “Looks like you got away with it.”

“Yeah,” said Whitaker. “At least for now.”

************

That morning found Tanaka bent over the hood of the ‘Type 95’ near the edge of Balanga, writing a dispatch to General Homma. Having spent the entire previous day touring the burnt-out center of the town to assess the extent of the disaster, he now labored to find the words to describe what he had seen and learned.

It had been a black day for the Japanese 14th Army, which had suffered nearly three hundred dead, and more than a thousand wounded, many of them suffering from severe burns that might yet take their lives. The army’s comfort station, which had been located in the destroyed town hall had ceased to exist, and there had been, as yet, untold losses of equipment and motor transport.

No one seemed to know exactly what had happened. The reports cited only a large explosion followed by an immense fireball. There was speculation that it was shelling from the big American guns on Corregidor, but Tanaka had dismissed that, knowing that the island fortress was too far away, and even if wasn’t, its guns were unlikely to cause a blast that great.

The other theory was that the calamity was the work of partisans. Tanaka had his doubts about that as well, believing that the ragtag partisan bands operating in the back-country behind Balanga lacked the kinds of explosives and skills needed to set off such a conflagration. But this had become the accepted explanation in the minds of local commanders, who had already ordered the rounding up of hundreds of the town’s residents, both men and women, for public executions to be carried out as a reprisal the very next day, and for every day thereafter until the perpetrators were exposed and captured.

With all that he had had to do and think about, Tanaka had been far too busy to give more than a passing thought to the plight of Lieutenant Moore and her army nurses. He assumed that somewhere to the north of where he stood they were setting out that morning for another day’s trek on the road to the railhead at San Fernando.


He wished them well.
Barb and Natalie certainly stumbled across the right 'hen house' ... Alejandro is in charge of the Partisans, what a stroke of good fortune. But the nurses, oh my, that really was a tragedy of awful proportions ... more great writing laced with conflicting emotions. Great stuff.
 
Mount Mariavales, a towering dormant volcano, majestically capped at its summit by a wide caldera.
bataan.jpg

No one seemed to know exactly what had happened. The reports cited only a large explosion followed by an immense fireball. There was speculation that it was shelling from the big American guns on Corregidor, but Tanaka had dismissed that, knowing that the island fortress was too far away, and even if wasn’t, its guns were unlikely to cause a blast that great.

The other theory was that the calamity was the work of partisans.
Just some twit in your own ranks, stupidly playing with fire near a gas and ammunition truck? Too far fetched thinking?:roto2palm:
 
Hiking through the hills to escape? Now where have I read a chapter like that before??? ;) ;)

Hiking through the hills with Moore
It's really hard to endure
The constant complaining
"It's too hot!", "It's raining!"
Will someone please find a cure!
They had their chance......


When the girls were caught with a wad
The Japanese took one look at that bod
And gave Barb such a fright
Putting her little tight
In front of a firing squad
 
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