I filed my insurance application for P10,000. My beneficiaries were Mama and Joaquin. Returning in the afternoon from the Battalion Headquarters, I was notified by my Company Commander that George was in the hospital in Little Baguio but he added it was nothing serious. My feeling was a mix of joy and fear. Since my arrival in Bataan, I tried to locate George, whom I knew was here. No one seemed to know his whereabouts. I prayed to God that I should not find him mortally wounded. In a way, too, I was proud that I had a brother who was wounded from fighting in the front lines.
Lt. Del Prado very kindly gave me a leave to visit George before I even asked for it. I immediately hitchhiked my way to the hospital. On the way, Antoñito, who had also heard of the news, overtook me. When I got to ward V, I asked a patient if he knew a certain Lt. George Misa. All of a sudden, the patient burst into a loud greeting.
“Bert!” he exclaimed.
I did not recognize George with his beard and disheveled hair. He was emaciated. We immediately sat down and started recounting our stories. George wore a tag on his shirt marked: “Shell-shocked.” He showed me a dime-size surface wound on his back that he got when a shell exploded a few yards behind him killing one of his men and wounding three others. The concussion paralyzed his legs and trunk. He remarked, “I felt like I was kicked by a mule.”
I grew more proud of him when he told me how he had to carry his wounded corporal three kilometers to the rear while being trailed by a sniper. That was George alright. I thanked God that night.