Major Albert W. Erickson, 71st Infantry, Philippine Army

          Sixteen hundred and twenty officers and men stood in formation inside the Bilibid prison walls on December 13, 1944.   It was a grim, emaciated, ragged looking bunch, and every man of us felt as bad emotionally as we looked externally.   Survivors of Corregidor and Bataan, all of us had died a thousand living deaths, on the "death march", in filthy stink holes called hospitals, on farm details where we carried back-breaking loads barefooted on gravel roads and through saw tooth cogan grass while our Japanese captors swung clubs and gloated at our agony.

          At last, after what seemed a lifetime of waiting we knew the campaign for the Philippines was under way.   We had seen American planes almost daily for several weeks and our hopes ran high for an early liberation.   But that morning we knew it had been a false dream.   Freedom was yet a long way off.   Ten o'clock found us marching toward port area.   The Japanese had succeeded in getting the Oryoku Maru and two or three other ships into the bay through the American blockade.   We were to be transported to Japan, our captors being determined to get as many prisoners out of the Philippines as possible before the American forces regained the territory.

          We were herded aboard the Oryoku Maru and in the direction of the cargo holds.   This was what we expected.   We didn't anticipate riding in class but at least dared hope for enough food and water to live and at least a little space in which to lie down.   As more and more of us were crowded down the ladder it became evident that there was room for only a small fraction of us but our guards were determined to get every last one of us in and swung axe handles and shouted wildly till the last American was pushed into the hold.

          Lying down was out of the question; there wasn't even enough room for everyone to sit down.   We were so packed we could scarcely move an arm.   There was only a small hatch opening at the top and we were soon sweating profusely.

          Breathing became difficult and as the temperature rose conditions grew critical.   All of us stripped clothes off our backs and gasped for air. We begged the Japanese for water and for permission to allow some people to go on deck.   Our pleas fell on deaf ears and men began passing out.   Still they could not be taken on top.

          Before many hours passed several had died while the others groaned in agony.   Many went completely insane and screamed and fought savagely with each other.   The Japanese answered our pleas for help by dropping hand grenades and firing into the hold.   I somehow managed to get enough air to get by.   I had brought along a small bottle of salt and took a little at intervals for salt is as essential as water under such conditions.   Infrequently I took sips from my canteen.   It would have been unwise to drink large quantities at one time as I saw some doing; it would have been quickly lost by perspiration under such extreme temperature and God knows when more could be had.

          By morning I suppose 100 had died.   The place was becoming a stink hole.   We had only three or four cans for latrine use and were unable to empty them when they became full.   Most of the men were unable to get to the receptacles anyway.

          About nine o'clock we hear the air raid siren, followed by the roar of motors and bursting shells.   The American planes dropped their bombs and the ship was crippled by several near misses, but remained afloat.   We found ourselves in Subic Bay the next morning.   The planes returned.   This time there were no near misses.   A direct hit over the after hold mercifully killed many prisoners outright.   Others were trapped under falling timbers. The ship began burning fiercely.   We were ordered to remove all clothing except underwear and swim ashore.   A number of us who had escaped injury during the bombing tied life belts on men who were unconscious and threw them off the burning ship into the water.   Those who regained consciousness swam ashore.   Several were shot in the water by the Japanese who had gone ashore ahead of us.   We were assembled on shore and a count taken. More than 300 had gone down with the Oryoku Maru.

          The rest of us were placed for four days without food in an open tennis court with a big wall around it.   Fortunately there was running water.   We were then taken across country to Lingayen Gulf and loaded on another boat, in a hold that had previously been occupied by horses.   The boat had not been cleaned and we lived amid the filthy stench and flies still clothed only in our underwear.   Our wounded had received little attention and scores died.

          The ship was bombed at Takao harbor, Formosa, and two bombs scored direct hits on the forward hold where I was quartered with 500 others.   More than 200 were killed outright.   Hardly a man escaped injury.   I luckily suffered only two minor wounds.   The ship, though crippled, remained afloat.

          The Japanese ignored our condition and it was two days later when they lowered iron baskets and told us to clean out the dead bodies.   No medical supplies whatever were given us there or for the rest of the trip and our doctors stood by helplessly as men died one by one.

          We were transferred to a third ship and started in convoy for Japan.   The memories of that ship I am sure will haunt every survivor for the rest of his days.   Our food consisted of one-quarter mess kit of rice a day.   (About three full mess kits a day are needed for a minimum subsistence ration.)   We received 6 or 7 tablespoons of water daily.   We were still clothed only in underwear except for a few rags we had taken from the bodies of the dead.

          It was January and bitter cold.   Sanitary conditions were horrible.   Fecal matter was all over the place.   We were allowed to empty the buckets provided for toilet use only once or twice daily.   Dysentery was running rampant and the buckets became filled and overflowed in a few hours.   Fifteen to 30 men died every day from gangrene, dysentery, overexposure, starvation and lack of water.

          On January 30, we reached Moji, Kyushu, 48 days after leaving Manila.   Not a man could stand upright.   We supported each other as we climbed out of the ship.

          Of the original 1620 only 280 lived to see liberation.   We lived in miserable lice infested shacks in Japan for three months, then our group was moved to Korea and Manchuria where the Russian Army freed us in August.



Originally published in The Caduceus of Kappa Sigma, October 1946 pp. 5-8.
Used by permission.