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February 6, 1942

About four this afternoon, three Japanese planes flew low over us, apparently on their way back to Manila. As the last plane passed over our heads, our CO fired the 50 caliber from our car. It looked like he scored a hit, though not fatally. It got the pilot’s goat. He turned around, strafed and bombed us. This was the first bombing I experienced. Only a coward would say he was not afraid. My first impulse was to run away from the bombing. But suddenly the thought of Papa held me. I couldn’t do anything that would make him ashamed of me. For his sake, I had to stay. I hugged a tree and closed my eyes. Never may it be said that a son of my father had deserted.

I define a brave man as one who, conscious of his duty, overcomes his first impulse to follow the instinct of self-preservation in the face of danger.