chological warfare." And
since the Japanese planes were now based on Clark Field or near
Manila, they were able to remain over the target for longer
periods. For the men in Corregidor, it seemed as though they were
living in the "center of a bull's eye."
Thus, with the daily
bombings, life in Corregidor went underground. Everyone crammed
into the Malinta Tunnel-a bombproof shelter created by the
Americans who drove a shaft of reinforced concrete directly through
the hill. The tunnel was around 835 feet long, 24 feet wide and 18
feet high, and was designed to house huge quantities of ammunition,
food and supplies, and an underground hospital with a 1,000-bed
capacity.
However, the tunnel
complex was described as damp and poorly ventilated and, except for
the hospital, it was not designed to quarter humans. Its occupants,
numbering over four thousand (twice more than the tunnel could
actually accommodate) complained of the little black flies that
swarmed everywhere, and of the bedbugs that prickled the flesh. And
although no shrapnel could get through, the tunnel dwellers felt
suffocated, helpless and trapped being unable to fight
back.
Food eventually became an
immediate and critical problem to the command. Americans accustomed
to "stateside chow" found themselves on half-rations along with
the Filipino soldiers. Soon, these rations were cut again (1,000
calories per day) and consisted of rice and fish, or what little
meat could be found. Most of the meat came from the horses and mules
of the cavalry. Occasionally monkeys and snakes supplemented the
diet.
On May 6, 1942, their
rations depleted, Gen. Jonathan M. Wainwright, the Commander of the
Filipino-American forces, surrendered Corregidor to the
Japanese Imperial Army "with head bowed in sadness but not in
shame."
Today, the veterans still
remember those fateful twenty-seven days of being holed up in
Malinta. Says one seventy-year old man, " The memory of those young
men with whom you served will never end. We were a close team,
brothers following orders in every move. Our association was seven
days a week. I learned of their loved ones, of their dreams, their
fears, their plans for the future, and often their inner thoughts.
My hopes for them are aptly and succinctly inscribed in the Pacific
War Memorial in Topside: Sleep, my sons, your duty done, for
Freedom's light has come; sleep in the silent depths of the sea, or
in your bed of hallowed sod, until you hear at dawn the low, clear
reveille of God."
