Following the Surrender of Corregidor and the ordeal at the 92nd. garage, the Japs loaded us onto an old freighter and boated us across Manila Bay to the city of Manila.   We were walked up Dewey Boulevard, and I recall many brave Filipinos flashing us the "V for Victory" sign.   We ultimately came to a narrow-gauge railroad where we were crowded, standing, into sweltering hot, steel freight cars.
      Hours later, we arrived at Cabanatuan.   We quickly got a taste of what lay in store for us; it created memories that I would like to forget.   Memories of the long lines of p.o.w.s carrying litters; two men to a litter carrying a dead comrade ……… twenty, thirty and sometimes forty a day, being toted along through the cogan grass to their burial.   There were the senseless executions, the terrible diseases, malaria, dengue, amebic dysentery, beri-beri and the very worst, starvation.
      I recall a time, being carried back into an isolated shack, having been diagnosed as having Diphtheria.   There were forty nine of us wretched individuals in that space dubbed, "the zero ward" (zero chances of ever escaping it).   Seven of us defied the odds, and survived, while forty two did not.


Finally, the day came when the Japs assembled a group of six hundred p.o.w.'s and told us we were going to be sent to Japan.   We were taken to Bilibid and confined for several days before going to the docks to be loaded aboard a small freighter.   Overcrowded, undernourished and miserable, we were off to Nippon.   It was a "hell-ship" and aptly named.   As we left Manila Bay we were feeling the effects of an impending typhoon.   After a nightmare of thirty six hellish days and nights, which I wish to forget, we docked at Nagasaki.
      One of the p.o.w.'s reflected, "Why complain. At least we weren't torpedoed." At the point of debarkation, a hundred of us were set apart and taken to a labor camp in Osaka.   There we were put under the command of a Sgt. Kakuda; if ever I wanted a monster to haunt a house, I'd go looking for him.
      Weeks later, the American B29's came on the scene and they "plowed" Osaka like a good farmer plows his field.   After that we got word that we would be moved to a copper mine in the north , high in the mountains.   We heard that, there, in the winter they usually received ten to twelve feet of snow.   Things were going from bad to worse.   How could the few of us still left, manage to survive under conditions any worse than those to which we'd already been exposed.   Little did we know, then, that the war would end before that impending winter.
      The first morning after we arrived at Akenobe, we were marched to the copper mine to begin work.   We followed a foot path which wound up the side of Mt. Akenobe.   As we plodded upward I tried to focus my mind on the fact that this was Just another hurdle on the track to survival.


      We had just came from Camp Sakurajima in Osaka, and that had been a mighty tough hurdle.   The death list there was very high due largely to the brutality of Sgt. Kakuda, Matsumoto and "Bucktooth".   They were the "honcho's" of the Umpan work-detail at the ship yards where we were put to work.   They were directly responsible for the deaths of many men.
      One night I had dreamed of the war ending.   In my dream, I went to Osaka and got Sgt. Kakuda and "Bucktooth" together.   I promised them I would straighten their teeth, to which they were agreeable.   Then, after I had knocked-out all of their teeth, I picked them off the ground and carefully lined them up in a straight row on a window sill.   Then some friends on a War Crimes Commission took Matsumoto out and hung him.   I'm not really a vindictive person, so it was a strange dream.


      We finally reached the entrance to the mine.   Above the entrance was a stone statue which the guard pointed out as the "God of the Mountain".   I thought, "If he runs this place, we'd better make friends with him cause we were going to need some kind of help."
      We entered the mine and walked about a mile to a tunnel-lateral.   Here was a steel cage-like device hanging from an old rusty cable.   This was to take us down to a lower-level of the mine.   One of the prisoners who had actually worked in mines in Nevada and Wyoming said, "In the States that thing woulda been junked."   They packed us into the cage and it descended noisily for about a thousand feet.   We were very relieved when the cage finally came to a stop at the lower level and we could get out.   We were led on and at last came to another tunnel-lateral.   There, a dynamite charge was set-off which startled us, reminiscent of the "large economy size bombs' we had endured.   The honcho led us to the point near which the blast had been set.   There was a small, rusty steel car setting on a track of narrow rails trailing off into the dark lateral.   He motioned for us to pick up the rock debris and load it into the car.
      There were eight of us in his crew, all veterans of three years of tough prison work-details.   We had learned that on the road to survival there were two main elements.   One was food, which we could do little about, but something for which we were always watching; the other was avoiding heavy work, as much as possible.   In dealing with others of our peers, we were always considerate but dealing with the Japs was something else.   With them, it was "no-limit" on what you could get away with.   The first job, then, was to get the new honcho straightened out on that score.
      I hastened to try to tell him in "pidgin" with motions and gestures that we were too sickly and weak to be able to lift heavy rocks like that.   He proceeded to show us how to do it, anyway. Picking up one big rock after another, he threw them into the rail-car.   We applauded him and smiled.   Taking it as complimentary, he warmed to the task.   Then, pausing momentarily, seeing us idly sitting there, he became very agitated.   Again he tried to get us to lift the rocks and load them into the car and, again, we demonstrated that we could not do it.   He promptly flew into a rage and with much shouting and frantic gesturing, he stomped about until he sort of cooled off.   Finally, he stalked away so we sat back and rested.   (He was in the process of learning how hard it was to get a p.o.w. to work; we'd learned "the tricks of the trade".)
      Around noon the honcho came back and he led us to where our rice boxes were stored.   They were small containers and held our entire meal.   He left us to eat our meal.   In a few minutes he returned, scowling like a thundercloud.   Someone had taken his lunch!   He shouted angrily at us, gesturing wildly and evidently threatening mayhem.   While he railed we rested and, for the remainder of the afternoon, he would alternately tromp into the lateral where we were idling, shouting and gesturing, then leave again.
      At the end of the day, the honcho threatened to leave us in the mine for the night.   We endeavored to let him know how horrible our building was; over ridden with cooties, bedbugs and fleas, etc. and that we would be pleased to spend the night in the warmth of the mine.   Needless to say, we went up and out with all the others.   At the end of the first day back, at what we loosely termed our barracks, we decided we had had a good day.   That shack, by the way, had so many cracks in it that in some places one could see the moon and stars shining through.
      The next morning, we slogged back to the mine and our crew of eight went back to the same place.   This morning the honcho brought three big sledge hammers with him and proceeded to demonstrate how to make "little rocks from big rocks".   By noon, two of the sledges had broken handles and two of the men had taken them top-side to have them repaired.   We expected that they would not be back until about quitting time.   Again we went to eat our meager ration of rice, relishing the fact that not one car had yet been loaded.   Suddenly the honcho came running back screaming that his lunch had once again been stolen.   I tried to reason with him, gesturing that we wouldn't do that sort of thing.   I tried to picture these men to him as honest, hard working men.   This time he threatened us with beatings, with broken arms and legs and once again, with leaving us overnight in the depths of the mine.   Again I attempted to demonstrate how terrible it was in the barracks and how much better it might be, just to be able to stay in the mine.   That evening, we again returned to our barracks.
      The sun was behind the mountains, reflecting beautiful colors on the peaks.   The mountains of Japan appeared to be as lovely as those at any other place in the world.

      A day finally arrived when, one morning, we heard through the "grapevine" that the war had ended.   So, the greatest, most memorable day of our lives started with a common prison-camp rumor.   A statement that started as a rumor gained momentum and substance, however, as the hours passed and we hadn't left our compound to return to the mine.
      A group of us had made plans on what to do if and when this day ever came.   We anticipated that an American offensive would probably call for an actual invasion of Japan.   Therefore, our plans were grim!   We planned to first overpower the guards and takeover the guard's barracks, just across the road from our barracks.   We had the guard complement outnumbered by about three to one.and were confident that if we struck suddenly, and with good timing, we could seize there weapons.
      Because our camp was at the end of a valley, it would be easy to use the mine's dynamite to close the pass into the valley; thereby freeing us to escape into the rough terrain up in the mountains.   We anticipated that with the guard's weapons we could perhaps hold out until rescued by (hopefully) advancing friendly troops.
      The sudden actual ending of the war was so surprising that we may have been caught "off guard".   The next morning things began to happen.   A 'limey' p.o.w. whom we called Harry, stepped into our building.   He had an old battered pillow which he'd managed to hang onto from his time, four years ago, in Hong Kong.   He told us that many times during the Jap's surprise shakedowns, that old pillow had been pummeled as guards searched for any hard object(s).   This day, Harry ripped open a seam and pulled out a beautiful Union Jack, about six feet long.   A cheer went up from everyone in the building!   He had managed to secret the flag and carry it with him since the fall of Hong Kong.   (Our camp was composed of about half British and Aussies and half Americans.)
      What a dilemma!   We must have an American flag, so the only thing to do was to make one.   Scrounging around we came up with enough material for the stars and stripes but no blue for the flag's field.   One of the guys told of a 'limey' in the so-called medical ward who wanted to contribute a blue shirt that he had secreted away.   He mst have had grand plans for the use of that shirt, but decided it could be better used here.   We thanked him profusely but had nothing to give him in return, which we wanted to do.   What we did do was assure him, and the other sick, was that upon making contact with rescuers, we would give them a map that would send them directly here for their rescue.   (At the end, it did work out, just that way.)   A couple of guys worked on it's crude construction but when they were finished, we were proud of it.
      We planned to have a flag-raising service the next morning.   The morning dawned beautiful and the sunrise was just perfect!   The American flag and the Union Jack, from Hong Kong, were raised simultaneously.   It's a memory which I and the other survivors, who were there, will cherish for as long as we live!   The Limey's and Aussie's sang "God Save the King", then the Americans sang "The Star Spangled Banner".   We were located at a high altitude, anyway, but as the flags were raised, I felt at a higher level still ……… as though I could look down on all the Japanese cities, even the Imperial Palace.


      I reflected on the infamous days the Japs had lowered the American flag on Bataan and then on Corregidor.   Now the fortunes of war were coming our way.   We had played the game by Tojo's rules and we had traveled a long, rough road, burying our dead as we went.   It had been a time of no quarter asked and none given.   Today was our day in the sun!   We would be glad to leave all this behind and begin our journey home to our loved ones.   As for those of us not making the return trip, I say, "Goodbye and God bless you for the sacrifices you made to make a better life for all people in the free world.   You were great guys to travel the torturous road with."


      We had heard no rumors about the Japanese surrendering, nor had we learned of the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.   High in the mountains at Akenobe, we were stunned when suddenly an American B29, winding daringly through the mountainous valleys, had descended low over our camp to parachute-in food, medical supplies and a document stating that the Japanese had agreed to surrender.
      After the initial shock, things began to happen!   An American Army Lieutenant p.o.w., in much better condition than I, walked across the road to the Jap guard shack and shouted for the Supply Sergeant to come out.   This Jap had stolen food from our meager rations for his own personal benefit.   He was a big man and seemingly unafraid, but the American proceeded to give him a good beating.   He screamed for help from the other guards but not a one moved to his defense.   Then, the American walked nonchalantly back to our side of the road.   The majority of the men decided to set it out and wait for our troops and transportation, out of the mountains.   Eleven of us made other plans; we would "go for broke" and gamble all for a few extra days of freedom.   We learned that the battleship, USS Missouri, was expected in Tokyo Bay and a hospital ship in Yokohama Bay.   Five marines, five sailors and a "foolhardy" Aussie decided to leave camp and try to make our way to Yokohma.   Then, two of the five marines decided to head for Tokyo instead.
      The trip to Yokohama, made by the remaining nine of us, was no pleasure trip and when all is said and done we were probably just plain lucky.   As we made our way down a narrow mountain road, we met a Jap driving a truck and headed for the mine.   Stopping him, we ordered him to turn around and take us to the railroad station.   I guess he felt he was in no position to refuse as, like us, he also wanted to survive.   After about thirty miles we came to a town and a railroad station.   At some length of time, a train finally arrived.   It was heavily loaded with Japanese troops but we figured, having traveled this far, there was no point in quitting now.   So, we climbed aboard and, no seats being available, sat in the aisle.   The Jap soldiers looked anything but friendly but my pal, Roufe, said, "If they don't bother us, we won't bother them, OK?"   At the rate of a thousand to nine odds, I agreed.
      After an extended, very uncomfortable trip we finally arrived at Yokohama and, there, made our way to the harbor and the hospital ship at anchor there.   I remember that the song blaring out over the loud speaker was "San Fernando Valley".   I think we all shed a few tears then.
      The following day we were lounging about the deck of the hospital ship and watching a couple of minesweepers as they combed the harbor for mines.   As they were found, they were hoisted from the water and taken to a remote stretch of the bay where they were detonated, with thunderous blasts.   We mused, "Apparently, the Japs were "expecting company" and had the stage all set."   Thank God that was one "reception" we would never have to attend.
      A little later, over the loud speaker, we listened to an announcement calling out the names of thirty of us repatriates, among them Roufe's and mine.   We were to board a plane at Yokohama airfield the following morning.   I asked Roufe if he was packed, to which he answered that he'd probably better go visit the Red Cross nurses and get some more cigarettes.
      We tried to get interested in a movie that night but our excitement prevented us from getting anything out of it.   We decided to go back to our ward and try to sleep.   In the morning the thirty of us were taken ashore where we boarded an army truck taking us to the airfield.   The field was littered with destroyed Jap planes and buildings but the Americans had repaired the main runway.
      The plane waiting for us was identified as a C-54 hospital transport.   There were two women nurses and a crew of three men aboard.   In a short time we took off and through the window I watched as Yokohama faded into the distance.   We were headed for Guam.   About four hours out, the plane lurched and an engine sputtered to a standstill.   With three engines still left, I wasn't too worried; however, the guy across the aisle sounded anxious and began to complain bitterly.   Roufe hollered at him, "quit complaining; we're already over half way to Guam."   Maybe the poor guy couldn't swim.
      Finally, with three engines throbbing efficiently, sleep overtook us.   The next thing I was aware of was the jolt of landing gear touching down on a runway.   A nurse called-out, "This is Guam."   A truck picked us up and in a short time we were in a comfortable hospital and admiring our new beds.   After several days of physical inspection and analysis we were once more put aboard a plane heading for the states.   As luck would have it, once again, several hours out, an engine sputtered and failed.   This time, though, the pilot turned about and returned to Guam.   Nothing could be done but return us to the hospital.   We were feeling kind of low.
      I had an idea! I said to Roufe that I'd seen a post exchange near the hospital; how's about we go over there and look around.   His response was to ask if I had any American money because he sure didn't.   Of course, I didn't have any.   What I did have was some Japanese currency, as did Roufe.   We were standing outside of the canteen grumbling about our lack of spendable currency.   A young man came out of the canteen and, perhaps because we looked perplexed, asked if he could be of any help.   He led us to the fountain area where he addressed a fellow behind the counter by the name of Joe.   He said, "Joe, take three or four of their bills for each of us and serve them what they want."   He then asked us to autograph them.   It dawned on me that these guys were collecting souvenirs.   We gave them the eight Jap bills they wanted and ordered hamburgers and malts.
      As we sat in the PX, I studied one of the Jap currencies that I still had.   I showed Roufe the picture on the bill, of an old emperor wearing a long dark beard.   "Do you remember, in Japan, when I wore a beard?   For some reason, the Japs seem to respect a man with a beard."


There was one evening when we returned from the mine and seven of us were singled out while the rest were excused to go into the building.   Our Honcho, in the mine, had apparently put us on report for not working hard enough and should be punished.   A Jap officer came toward us carrying a wooden club and we knew were in for it.   He clubbed the first three men and each went down with the force.   I stood there, fourth in line, awaiting the impact.   He hauled back to hit me and as his arms came forward he somehow aimed too high and knocked off my cap which went sailing some feet away.   I scrambled after it, picked it up, jammed it on my head and ran into the barracks.   Two "limey's" near the door yelled, "Bully for you, mate."   Yeah, bully for me; the Jap had missed me and I wondered, if maybe, the beard had had something to do with it.


      The next morning was early reveille, and once again we headed for the airfield.   As we boarded the plane I overheard a crew member say that they had replaced the faulty engine.   As we took off, I watched through the window at the tropical beauty of Guam with it's surrounding azure blue water and contemplated how unseemly it was that a battle had been fought here.
      We had an uneventful flight to Kwajalein and after spending a comfortable night there we were off to Johnson Island where we stopped for a quick refueling.   Our next destination was Hickam Field, Hawaii.   We spent another comfortable night there and then took off, on the last leg of our journey, to stateside.   After an eight hour flight we landed in San Francisco.   I felt numb and strange with emotion.   After three and a half years I was HOME, again!
      The disembarking ramp came up fast and the doors opened.   I think Roufe and I were the first out and the others grouped around us as they got off.   Two very thin emaciated men of our group dropped unsteadily to their knees and bent to kiss the earth.   It seemed a natural and beautiful act and not a one so much as smiled.   A kaleidoscope of memories of home were suddenly rushing through my mind and if someone had asked me at that time, "What does America mean to you?", I'd have been hard-pressed to get the words out of my tightened throat.   It was a trout raising to a fly cast on a mountain stream, a king-salmon hitting my plug in Puget Sound, my favorite mountains: Mt. Hood, St. Helens, Adams, Renier and Baker, standing there like good friends, majestic and beautiful.
      Suddenly Roufe went back into the plane and returned with a partially filled barracks bag.   "I wouldn't have left this for anything," he said.   As we started to the vehicle awaiting us, the pilot stuck his head out of the plane's window and flashed a 'thumbs up'.   Roufe hollered at him that he ought to turn this plane in for a new one.   The pilot answered, "That's exactly what I intend to try.   I've been flying wounded out of Okinawa and the field there is pretty bad.   We were even shot at a few times and I'm getting tired of patching this thing up.   We wished him a "God Bless" and he smiled.
      We climbed aboard our bus and, as usual, someone was griping.   An annoyed Roufe said, "Whatcha got to gripe about, we're stateside aren't we?   After an enjoyable "see America" ride we pulled up in front of what appeared to be an empty barracks.   As we went inside, I noticed a radiator.   A touch to it's surface confirmed that it was warm.   I said to Roufe, "Where there's heat there's got to be fire.   C'mon"
      We went down a flight of stairs, through several halls and finally located the furnace room.   A janitor was at work there and asked what we wanted.   Roufe opened his barracks bag to show him it's contents.   It contained half a loaf of bread, C-rations, a jar of strawberry jam, sugar and soluble coffee.   Roufe told the Janitor, "I borrowed it from the Air Force; they had more than they were ever going to be able to use."   He even had a can-opener and an empty two lb. coffee can in which to "quan" or heat water.   Before he left, the janitor showed us how to make some adjustments to the furnace for our purposes and before long we were eating what seemed like, to us, a wonderful meal.
      In closing, a lot of words have been left unsaid and there are many things left to wonder about; like why am I here and somebody else didn't make it?   I'm very grateful to the American doctors, nurses and corpsmen; they saved my life.   It's going to be, oh, so hard to forget the Death March, Camp O'Donnell, Cabanatuan, Bilibid, the Tabayas Road detail and the "hellships".
      There are other things worth mentioning.   I had friends at Palawan; locale of the massacre.   There's the memory of an evening when two Jap bombers attempting to fly over Corregidor were "nailed" by the anti-aircraft gunners of the 60th.   Coast Artillery and were sent spinning into the Mariveles Channel.   Favorite outfits of the marines were: the Battling Bastards of the 31st. Infantry, the 59th, 60th and 200th Coast Artillery and the Philippine Scouts.   "Must remembers" are the fliers and the National Guardsmen who got to the Philippines just in time to have to "lay their lives on the line.   And, of course, there are others who will, later, come to mind that were also trapped in the "hell-holes" of Bataan and Corregidor.  God Bless them all!
      There are things, now, that I value more than life.   They have been written into our Constitution and I would not care to exist without them.   It is this kind of thought that motivates men in combat to great heights, as at Tarawa, Iwo Jima and Okinawa.
      One of our Presidents has said, "The chains of a slave are even heavier than a soldier's pack."   I agree, as I experienced both.   The goal of all Americans should be a world at peace, but NOT at just ANY price!


Conrad Russell died of multiple sclerosis on 31 January 1961 in Santa Barbara, California.

Copy adapted for computer by
Warren G. Jorgenson,
Fellow Marine