Untitled Script WW2, Pacific Theater...

Untitled Script WW2, Pacific Theater

PROLOGUE:



I wondered what happened to my forgotten people
of the southernmost island of Spain during the years of World
War 2. I always think back to my days in college when I was
speaking to this girl from Placerville, Ca. who didnt know
what a Filipino, or rather a Pinoy was. My answer verbatim
was, Well, us Filipinos had helped save your great american
General Macarthur's ass in the Pacific about 50 years ago,
the motherfucka probably tried to hit on one of my lolas back
in the day. A bit sarcastic, but I thought it got my point
across. Even this girl, in those history books they gave
her in grade school, probably had only one mention of the
islands as a place where some crazy battles took place between
the USA and Japan. Then I have memories of myself as a child
thinking that I was not perfect or so to say, a true American.
Was it because I did not have blue eyes or blond and wavy hair?
Why did I have dark eyes and long thick black hair? My physical
image was unlike the images that I saw on television or on the
movies that I enjoyed watching so much. Why did the universe
have to get saved by a lone blonde kid in an X-Wing fighter,
defeating an army led by a leader swathed in dark armor? Why
couldnt have been the furry tall dude, the one I would identify
with the most because of his brown color and his sudden yowling,
which reminded my of how my lolo would wake up in the morning
(sorry for the sarcasm again, but you get it, right?). Some
of the blame has to lay on me as well. When I was growing up,
I never had questioned who I was or where I came from. All I
knew was that I was an American, eat burgers, salute the flag
on the 4th of July and watch the Superfriends on Saturday mornings.
Dang, there was even a black Superfriend (Im gonna create a new
Pinoy superhero that uses deadly yoyos, how you like them apples?
The new EX-Man..hehehe). How does a child lose his identity,
before learning it?

Well, when you grow up in a land that has forgotten you in
its history books, media and through all outlets the typical
child receives when growing up, that's probably why. It seems
that the Filipino people seem to be a footnote to American
History. I find that interesting, in the fact that the
Filipino and American peoples life stories are much intertwined,
albeit a new one compared to the history of the world, but
one that is over 100 years old, nonetheless. From the Spanish
American War, to the manongs that immigrated to the States as
migrant workers in the early part of the century, WW2 and the
great migrations through the late 1960s/1970s, Pinoys are a
part of US history.

I'm not going to mention the other nations or peoples that
had colonized the Philippines before the USA, especially the
Spanish. All of these cultures have had such profound
influences in the motherland. Lumpia is a derivative of the
Chinese eggroll. As you see, my last name is Spanish, nuff said.
The Philippines as a foreign nation, is the 3rd largest country
that uses English as a second language. I call that a really
profound influence. When I've traveled to the Philippines, it
seems that a lot a people that I meet, want to immigrate to the
States. Why? Whats the big fuss about? You want to go to a
land where the majority of the people will make pun ob ur accent?
You got the USA over here in the PI - KFCs, McDonalds, Levis and
Apple Pie, er make that Mango Pie (it tastes better anyways).
Also, graft, corruption and scandals abound in the PI you would
be too bored to come to the States and just hear that Clinton
just plugged another intern news in the USA would be just too
tame for you. The nightly news would not compare to TV Patrol
they just dont show dead bodies being pulled out of wrecks,
nor the newest rape suspect on live television news. I guess
Filipinos equate success and richness with the USA. People
are amazed that I would even think of moving to the PI from
the States. Its true, Ive entertained the thought. I could
go without the convenience of going to the local 7/11 and
picking up a hot dog for a buck, but hey they got Selects with
fresh and piping hot siopao that aint no sacrifice for me.
Economically, not for now cant make it on a writers buck in
Manila I guess thats the Stateside imperialism in me (damn,
I'm too Americanized). I think Ive just found a comfort zone
there, where everybody kinda looks like me. I dont feel too
short no not a Napoleon complex, alright? Anyway, the
Philippines is a great country, it just needs to grasp its
own identity.

Anyway, enough of the ranting on with the story...


CHAPTER 1 WHEN THE SAINTS COME MARCHING IN


..How I want to be in that number..God, my feet hurt. Just
singing that song in my head is keeping me sane and alert in
the hot morning sun. The heat in the summer months can be
just unbearable. How I forgot that after moving to California
as a young infant, that I would end up back in the jungles of
the PI. All I see is the back of another GIs sweaty nape.
I cant dare turn to face my captors again. I dont as hell
miss that bamboo cane rap against the back of my calves one
more time. If I get in another scuffle with one of those Jap
wannabee officers again, I dont think I will survive. How I
miss running down the windy coastline of Monterey outside the
barracks of my fathers installation. It was so free and cool.
Okay, concentrate keep in line, maybe you can survive this

It's May 10, I think its been 4 days since the fall of Corregidor.
I'm looking at the shifts of the moon and stars as my calendar
now. One of the enemy soldiers took my Timex as some kind of
souvenir. I guess they like to take our personal possessions
to make us feel less than them, maybe some kind of mental
warfare thing they learn in Osaka or Tokyo, before raising
shit in some foreign land. I need to rest for a little while
and conserve some energy. Marching in place is about the only
exercise theyll let us do; I dont want to get too complacent
they probably want to weaken us, so they wont have to worry
about an uprising later on. I heard that a couple weeks back,
they marched a bunch of us to Camp ODonnell, where not too
many survived. That wont be me. I didnt volunteer to go
back home for nothing.

Pfc Cabat, how you holding up?. Good Sir, and you?. Fine,
just keep your chin up, Macarthur will be back. Oh, yeah?,
kinda said it in a sarcastic tone. Well, what else you gonna
hope for, its early in the war, even your vernerable President
Quezon left with himjust trying not too move too much and stay
cool for now, whaddaya think the japs will do with us next?.
Shhh, a couple of their officers are heading toward our group.
That was Gunnery Sgt. Wills Mand from California too, that made
us kinda close. The guys been a war honky for years, I think
he served in Tripoli, before the US occupied the PI. Just
kidding, he just seems older than dust from all his experience,
which is a good thing.

Look at us, tired, thirsty and hungry. Dont our captors know
we are not animals. War is hell, even when there is no fight.
I guess freedom does have a price sometimes. To eventually
get it, there have to be sacrifices. I guess I didnt think
I would be the one to experience it firsthand. Damn, why
did I volunteer for this? Shoulda continued my studies at
Berkeley. It aint common for a brown kid from a shit town
like Watsonville, gets a fellowship for Anthropology at a
top U.C. Oh, I mean it isnt common. Dang, I must be going
loony, Im trying to crack sarcastic jokes to my feeble self,
Dad was always right. Dont pick the PI son, all the whites
will treat you like you were their houseboy and the pinoys
there are gonna treat you like some rich uncle drainin your
wallet. Youre an oxymoron to both cultures, too dark to blend
in with your American peers and too Americanized to relate to
your people. Shit, I dont care about that now its them slant
eye gooks that that think Im a piece of cattle or shark chum
these days.

Well, well how are our guests doing?, asked Capt. Hosan Fujiyama
asked me. That fucker was so arrogant. He was the commanding
officer of our camp. He always had that certain air about him.
Funny, he was probably one of the few people that I could
actually relate to in this camp. You see, he grew up most of
his life in Southern California. His parents migrated from
Japan to Hawaii in the early 1900s. Then when the pineapples
got dry in Oahu, they moved to Bakersfield and became migrant
workers there. The damn Jap graduated from UCLA with honors
in English. After college, he left for Japan to get out of the
States. Kinda like me, he had a yearnin for the homeland. I
think he felt that he had to be really cruel and hard on us to
prove to his superiors that he wasnt going to be a traitor to
the Emperor. I answered him first, Just fine sir. Are you
ready for your chores today?, he asked, as if we were his
little children, JeezWe have many of your brothers to bury
today, I need you to make sure they rest in honor at least
they had purpose, to die fighting with respect, not like you
all who waste your useless lives to live another day of the
same, Capt. Fujiyama said. Real motivating. Anyway, get on
your feet and follow Sgt. Tanaka, Capt. Fujiyama ordered.

Sgt. Tanaka got a group of 20 on our side of the barracks and
marched us to the southside of the campgrounds. I hated the
southside. The dead were usually baking out in the hot sun
for a few days, so they were usually bloated and blistered
from the boiling of the stagnant fluids inside there bodies.
Oh, I forgot to mention the smell. Just think of the nastiest
thing your have ever smelled and vomited from that wasnt
anything compared to this, if you know what I mean. A rumor
was that the japs left the bodies to ferment for a while as
some kind proganda thing to show the surviving pows left in
the camp. The smell of it was enough. The wind from the
South China Seas The japs were lucky, they lived just north
of the area on high ground and probably never noticed the
damn shit. would always bring a reminder over the camp.

As we neared the pile of rotting bodies, Sgt. Tanaka and his
men threw us a bunch of trench shovels and ordered us to start
digging. Damn, its gonna take us forever to dig up ground to
bury our men. These japs want to slowly kill us. Why don't
they just put a bullet through each of our noggins and quit
wasting time. I cant think like that, I think hope is all
that can keep me living.

Our group of 20 were just a bunch of withered nothings. I don't
think we had the full strength of 4 or 5 men. These japs just
feed us a half of cup of rice a day, if were lucky. Even if
we try to forage around the camp for food, they deny that to
us too. I remember when J.T., found a couple of coconuts that
that rolled in from the trees just outside the perimeter.
One of the gook officers shot the kid in the leg. With no
proper medical attention, J.T. got gangrene within the week.
I guess Sgt. Tanaka had some sympathy for the guy and handed
Corpsman Anders a machete to chop off J.T.s right leg to prevent
the infection from spreading. With one swift swing the leg came
right off but it was for nothing. J.T. screamed out, once the
machete went though his knee and then laid still. That was
probably his last breath.

I look at the bodies and feel that they are the lucky ones.
They dont have to deal with these fuckers anymore. But, like
I said, I cant lose hope of getting out of this place and giving
back to the japs what they deserve. Its hard burying your
brothers everyday. Only four days in this camp and we have
thirty from our unit alone, dead.