Diary of Felipe Buencamino III

April 5, 1942

Bataan

 

 

Dead men everywhere. Uniforms red with blood. Guns red with blood. Bataan is a sea of blood.

Some troops still fighting but contact with the main line has been lost. Most of the boys are retreating, firing, retreating, firing –dying.

Saw hundreds and hundreds of unkempt, disheveled, bewildered troops dragging their swollen feet in an attempt to escape from Jap onrush.

An American doughboy, thin, gaunt, skeletal, approached me, asked for “bread, buddy, bread.” I gave him water. I had no bread.

Evacuees are panic-stricken. Saw men, women, children crying. I could not find her.

Divisions have ceased to exist. Regiments are split. Troops are mixed & many platoons have no more officers. Trenches have been abandoned. Everywhere are rifles, broken bayonets, revolvers, staff cars. This is defeat…

Last staff meeting, perhaps, held just a few minutes ago. The General with tears in his eyes said: we are defeated.

He revealed that a last-minute attempt to stop the onrushing stream of Jap troops was attempted but the battalions of P.C. and Scout troops sent were all killed. “Jap tanks not trucks transporting them.”

“That was our last chance, the final hope,” he said.

The mess officer was ordered to prepare as much food as he could. “Let us eat as much as we can,” said the Major. “Make it a 3-day supply.”

Meeting abruptly stopped by strafing planes.

I have a fever.