BAR NONE – Baptism of fire

by Ram Maxey
SOME acquaintances of mine have been texting me of late to chide me for never having revealed to them that I was once a member of a guerrilla unit in World War 2 that fought against the Japanese invaders who had occupied the province of what is now Surigao del Norte, notably the capital, now called Surigao City. The enemy also put up garrisons in such strategic places asa Bad-as, some 25 kilometers from the capital, where there was a split or fork in the highway, the main road connecting the capital to the coastal towns of Placer, Gigaquit, Claver, Carrascal, Cantilan (where there was another Japanese garrison), Madrid, Lanuza, Hinatu-an, Tandag, Tago, Lingig and Bislig. The other led to a few more towns in the province on the way to Agusan del Norte and beyond. Some years back, I did write about my war experience which was serialized in the paper I worked for then, Sun*Star Davao, entitled The Barefoot Guerrilla.
I attended for the first time an “Araw ng Kagitingan” celebration program last April 9 held at the Freedom Park here in honor of those who fought in the war. For obvious reasons, only a few of us veterans were on hand for the occasion, mostly in various stages of unhealth and having difficulty walking. It’s no joke to be aged 90 and over. But there we were, savoring the moment, glad to be still around (even if no longer able to kick), happy to be remembered and recognized for having served the country against great odds—hunger, disease, cold nights on sentry duty, homesickness, you name it. And foremost, of course the ENEMY, who else?
My first weapon as a buck private was, of all things, a .25 caliber Japanese carbine-type but single-shot bolt action rifle captured from the enemy in an earlier encounter. I only had one clip of bullets. The main weapon of a Japanese soldier was longer than their carbine that also used .25 cal. ammunition on contrast to the US Army’s semi-automatic .30 cal. Garands and carbines.
One morning, at about six o’clock, a runner from our outpost along the highway came to report that a long column of about 200 Japs was approaching our command post. Our Fil-Am commanding officer, Lt. Richard Barton, ordered all available men to occupy a trench up on a low hill overlooking the highway. There were only seventeen of us led by a former schoolmate of mine in Surigao High, Sgt. Flordelito Arlan from the island of Dinagat, who was armed with a Thompson submachinegun. The rest of our 100-man Combat Company were elsewhere manning other outposts around regimental headquarters which was located in the hills of barrio Tumurok. Our .30 cal. Japanese machinegun, also captured in an earlier encounter, under Sgt. Crispin Romarate was set up at the foot of the hill at the Mahanub Junction.
I was the only neophyte at the firing line armed only with that Japanese carbine with on;y five rounds, feeling a bit scared at the prospect of my first encounter with a battle-tested enemy, but filled with the vicarious thrill of finally being involved in an actual firefight. I had always been a war freak. My favorite book in the high school library was Fifty Famous Battles in History, and today I have two thick volumes on World War 2, plus a couple of DVD tapes on that same war.
The plan was to allow the enemy column to approach unmolested until Romarate opened fire with his Japanese MG. It would be the first time that the weapon would be used against its own people. No such luck, though. Romarate’s unfamiliar MG fired a short burst and promptly conked out while all hell broke loose as both sides opened fire. All, except me. I did not want to fire all five rounds only to end up with none with which to defend myself should the enemy decide to rush up the hill with fixed bayonets. What a horrible thought. Meanwhile, I kept warding off the hot empty .45 cal. shells being ejected towards me by Arlan’s Thompson. Fortunately it turned out the enemy had no intention of attacking us, its mission being to bring food to its garrison in Cantilan which was the third town after Gigaquit. During a lull in the firefight we noticed that the enemy proceed on their way to Cantilan another sixty kilometers or so.
So ended my first encounter with the enemy, although I hadn’t fired a shot. No big deal. But that was only a portent of things to come. Despite the staccato of gunfire by the enemy and their innacurate knee mortars whose shells exploded harmlessly behind our line position and shaking the earth, none of us was hurt.