By Raul Ilogon .
Continued
THE night trip turned out uneventful.
In the morning, they docked at Jimenez river and climbed the embankment below the bridge.
They took the road leading to the headquarters building near the huge old stone church. The people lined the street, three-deep, and watched as the officers marched ahead with 12 escorts at the rear, six men each at both sides of the street.
They were a sight to behold for the people of Jimenez who did not experience war yet. Unlike Misamis Oriental, the sister province of Misamis Occidental was untouched by war yet. It was their first time seeing a real guerrilla: long-haired, dirty, and bare-footed.
In contrast, the people of Jimenez acted as if there was no war. Their clothes, in sharp contrast with guerrillas, were cleaned and ironed. The soldiers wore a uniform and overseas cap. Suddenly they became conscious of their bare feet because the soldiers in Jimenez wore shoes. The women in fine clothes and parlored hair. Civil government, telephone, transportation, and commerce functioned normally.
“It was as if we were transported into another world,” my father said.
Shouts were heard. “Naa si Limena!” Everybody was excited to see the fearless and well-known guerrilla leader and his band of guerrillas from Tabok - across the bay.
They felt like celebrities but the newfound fame did not last long. They were disarmed and scheduled to be court-martialed the following day for participating in Limena’s rebellion which killed one guerrilla officer. Limena went to Jimenez to submit to a military proceeding.
In the past four months, Limena held an open challenge to the authority of Col. Fertig which stemmed from Fertig’s order of relieving Limena of command of the 109th Regiment. His men and officer resented the order. They felt slighted that their respected leader and founder of Western Misamis Oriental guerrillas was unceremoniously relieved of his command.
For four months Col. Fertig did not know what to do with Limena’s rebellion. He tried withholding supplies for Limena. Limena retaliated by confiscating logistics intended for other areas and disarming men and officers that pass through his territory. Fertig also considered sending Maj. Bowler to settle the issue by force. He later rescinded the order realizing he would rather spill more Japanese blood than Filipinos killing each other.
Limena bravely went to Jimenez to submit to the military inquiry. He will face court-martial if needed, just to settle the issue once and for all.
Fate intervened. In the early morning, before the court-martial started, the Japanese attacked in full force with bombardment from Japanese Destroyer in the bay and airplanes from above.
Large Japanese troops attacked in a massive pincher movement. Col. Fertig hurried to Mt Malindang to evade 2000 Japanese troops who attacked from opposite directions like a giant vice grip, one from Misamis, and the other from Oroquieta.
The court-martial was forgotten. The weapons were returned hastily.
Mass confusion followed. They found themselves trapped between the sea and a long line of Japanese troops marching the road 50 meters from their hiding place. They could have been dead in the field of nipa palm trees beside the road had he not asked permission to open fire.
“Fire na, Sir?” He eagerly asked permission.
“Hold your fire,” Lt. Ramon Legazpi calmly ordered. Imagine my excitement when I became a witness to the meeting of two warriors decades after the war.
“O Jake, had you proceeded with your youthful bravado, we could have been dead long ago. Wala unta ka karon, Dong.” Lt Legazpi said looking at me. “Yes, Sir. I realized there was no place to fall back with the sea at our back.” My father respectfully answered his former officer.
Col. Fertig hurried to Mt Malindang to evade the pincher attack of about 2000 Japanese troops from opposite directions, from the one who landed Misamis and the other from Oroquieta. Maj Limena, with his officers and men, slipped back quietly to Lugait, Misamis Oriental, sailing in a commandeered Dos Vilas, a two-mast sea craft from Sibonga, Cebu. Towards the end of his colorful guerrilla life, my father was volunteered by his officer to the 108th Regimental Expeditionary Force. They were sent to Dipolog to block and prevent the Japanese from taking over Dipolog airfield.
The Americans already landed in Leyte. Iligan was liberated four months ahead of Cagayan. He can sense the war will be over soon. With his Iliganon friends, he was busy catching up with his interrupted teenage life. He was reluctant to accept the assignment but the officer will not take no for an answer. Capt. Sumpio, a tough Ilonggo officer, was not letting go of his trusted bodyguard.
The festive Iliganons gathered at the pier with a band playing martial music to send them off to unfinished war across the bay.
He enjoyed his first ride aboard American LTC seacraft. The American sailors were amazed to see a different kind of army: ragged, no uniform, and no shoes. He too was surprised to see the mouth of the boat opened when they landed and disembarked right at the beach. The people lined the beach expecting to see their first American soldiers. They laugh their heart out when they saw dirty and bare-footed guerrillas coming out from the mouth of the ship.
The Dipolog campaign was frightening and different kind of war. Their experience was ambuscade - guerrilla hit and run warfare. Now the tide had turned. They were attacking seasoned and well-placed Japanese positions. They had no training and experience in a conventional frontal attack. It was suicidal.
Before the attack, he was ordered to place reflective sheets to mark the area for American planes to strafe. In the evening he gathered few men and crawled several hundred meters between them and the enemy and place the reflective sheet markers.
In the absence of portable radio, my father was tasked to bring orders from the command post to three companies at the front. Delivering the orders, his running skill was again put to good use.
He ran fast and zig-zag his way to the location of the units - sometimes encouraging those who lagged in frontal attacks. He was proud of his friends who already occupied enemy fox hole hours after the offensive.
He can hear bullets zipping close by. In the heat of the battle, he thought of home - dying was a possibility. “What a waste to die when the war was almost over. Kaluoy ni Mama,” he said. But this story is not all about my father. The point of my story is that we have lots of local World War II stories waiting to be told. I believe it is buried somewhere in family baul or passed on through word of mouth. It is a shame to let them take the stories to the grave.
If you have pictures, war memorabilia, better still, a war story, please do not hesitate to contact me. We must tell their story.
