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  All things considered, Volckmann still thought it better to take to the jungles than to rely on the improbable generosity of the Japanese. Armed with nothing more than a .45 caliber pistol and his field knife, he began his tortuous journey into the wilderness.

  After regaining his bearings on the map, Volckmann and his crew headed northwest. Because of the dense foliage, however, they could see no more than fifteen feet in any direction. Every step through the jungle was tortuous. The intense humidity left them soaked with perspiration; low-lying branches and rattan vines constantly smacked them in the face and left their uniforms nearly torn to shreds. Since their eyes were limited in the dense jungle, their ears became the only means of security. This proved nearly impossible, though, as every gush of wind and crackle of leaves made determining foreign sounds more difficult. At one point, Volckmann wished they could stop breathing just to lessen the noise pollution. 61

  After they had gone approximately three miles, Volckmann began to recognize the area as a former sector of the 1st Division. Here, they decided to stop and rest a while. Volckmann asked Blackburn to break out some rations and mix it with water. This way they could divide it amongst the seven men in their group. Volckmann knew that food would be a persistent problem. They had plenty of water—the natural stream network provided that—but had no idea how long the emergency rations would last among the seven of them.

  After drinking his rations, he reached into his musette bag for the first time since the escape. The day before his departure, Volckmann had had his orderly deliver the musette bag. He always kept it handy and well stocked in case of emergency. The normal packing list included a change of socks and underwear, toiletries, iodine, quinine, first aid items, a rifle cleaning kit, flints, and his map of Bataan. Unfortunately, his orderly had decided to clean out the bag on the day of the surrender and left in it only the socks, underwear, toiletries, and map of Bataan. 62 Disgusted, Volckmann cursed himself for not double-checking before his departure. Though angered by his own negligence, he took solace in knowing that the most important item still remained: his map. Without it, they were as good as dead.

  Volckmann pulled out the map and consulted with Blackburn. Neither man knew their exact position, but both knew they were in the old 1st Division area. Aside from the lingering threat of enemy patrols, other concerns included the mines and booby traps that the Americans had set behind them during the retreat. Volckmann had set many of these traps himself and was well aware of their sensitivities; a mere brush might set them off. Weighing the circumstances, however, he determined it was better to brave through the sector than to stay put.

  Through the jungle, they came to a trail that the map indicated to be Trail 5. Not keen to the idea of forcing their way through the jungle again, they decided to use the Trail with caution. Their pace remained relatively slow, but it was a vast improvement from their jungle speed. 63

  After a few minutes on the trail, the group spied a Japanese soldier leaning against a nearby tree. Alarmed, the seven of them quickly scrambled for cover into the foliage. Peering at the enemy soldier from underneath a shrub, Volckmann noticed something peculiar about him: he wasn’t moving. Minutes passed and yet the soldier remained completely motionless. Furthermore, it seemed odd that this soldier was by himself, with not even so much as a squad nearby. Inching his way closer to the unmoving enemy, Volckmann finally realized that the soldier was dead. 64 Obviously, someone had propped him up against the tree. In any case, Volckmann decided to leave the body where it was—for it very well may have been booby-trapped.

  The remainder of their journey on the trail passed without incident, and at sundown they reached the former position of the 12th Infantry Regiment—another unit of the 11th Division. The day’s tension had been enough to put all seven men on edge, but tonight the darkness offered no solace. Perhaps still jumpy from his encounter with the dead Japanese soldier, Blackburn found it impossible to fall asleep. At regular intervals, he would awaken Volckmann with reports of enemy sounds. During the retreat to Bataan, both men learned that the Japanese maintained a nocturnal communication system of cricket chirps and whistles. Volckmann convinced Blackburn that it was just his imagination, but a moment later Blackburn woke him up again. Now, he reported seeing flashlights in the distance. At first, Volckmann thought he saw them too: every few moments, beams of lights emerged from the darkness. He soon realized, however, that these “enemy flashlights” were nothing more than the shifting foliage allowing intermittent starlight to shine through. 65

  Try as he may to convince Blackburn, he would not rest until they relocated their position. They relocated only a mere 50 yards, but it was enough to reassure Blackburn and finally put him to sleep.

  At dawn, they set out again—this time at a faster pace. Volckmann hoped to cross the former Main Line of Resistance, near the Pilar-Bagac Road, by noon. As they came across what had been their frontline, an eerie sense of stillness came over them. It was not but a few days earlier that these same trenches were bustling with crossfire. Now, they were empty and still. Their dead had been evacuated and the Japanese had done likewise with theirs, but it seemed as though their souls still lingered on the battlefield. The signs of defeat lay scattered everywhere: shell casings, a knocked-out tank—all bitter reminders of the Japanese conquest. Finally, they crossed Pilar-Bagac at Kilometer Post 144. 66

  Continuing in a northeasterly direction, the group began their climb up the southern slope of Mt. Natib. Now on the mountain, they had left the protection of the jungle canopy and the sun beat down on them mercilessly. 67 After only a short time on the slope, the heat, combined with lack of food, began to take its toll. As rations were running out, Volckmann once again turned his mind to the issue of food. There were no farms or villages in the area that he knew of, so scavenging for food would be a “hit-or-miss” affair.

  However, on the fourth day of their travels, they stumbled upon an abandoned Japanese bivouac. By the appearance of the site, they could tell that the Japanese had been there only hours before. Whatever the reason for their departure, it had obviously been in great haste. Trash lay scattered everywhere, but so were leftover rations! Scavenging rice and dried fish, the group fed on whatever articles they could find. Volckmann commented that some of the food looked so hideous that, under normal circumstances, he never would have eaten it. But given that the seven of them were near starvation, food was food. After scouting the surrounding area to ensure that no other Japanese were nearby, the group settled down for the night. 68

  The next morning, Volckmann set out to find a new course to follow. While at a nearby stream, he spied a field telephone wire that ran northward. He knew that the Japanese had put it there, but then realized that if they were to follow the line, it may lead to more bivouac sites. If the Japanese had left their other sites in conditions similar to this one, the group would have a temporary solution to its food problems. However, the threat of enemy patrols still loomed, and there was the chance that the phone line would lead not to another bivouac site but to an entire garrison. Volckmann and Blackburn discussed their options, but decided that the need for food outweighed the hazard of Japanese patrols. Later, Volckmann would look back on the decision with shame, as he knew it was made by his stomach. 69

  Following the phone line, they arrived at another bivouac. Anticipating the same conditions they had found in the previous one, they broke formation and hurried to the site. Nearly halfway, Volckmann skidded to a halt and stopped the others in the group. The bivouac was still occupied! They backtracked quickly and dove behind the foliage. It was a Japanese cavalry troop, about 60 men in total. Though shaken by the close encounter, Volckmann realized that his group had gone undetected. The violent rapids of the nearby river had muffled the sound of their approach. 70

  Cursing himself for the breakdown in discipline, he swore he would never rush another bivouac. Back on the telephone wire trail, they encountered yet another bivouac. Cautiously, they made their way to the s
ite and found it empty. The Japanese had done a better job of clearing this site and, as such, their “pickings here were rather slim, consisting of a little rice and some pretty rotten onions.” 71 After the encounter with the Japanese cavalry, Volckmann decided to change course. He estimated that if he went in a more easterly direction, they could avoid the terrain most favorable for cavalry patrols.

  By the following afternoon, they had eaten the last of their scavenged food. The newfound need to avoid cavalry patrols took them across the steepest terrain they had yet encountered. Though it gave them an excellent vantage point, it did nothing to solve their food problems nor did it contain any adequate water sources. Eventually, the group spied a native house about a mile downhill from the trail they had taken. Volckmann sent two of his Filipino volunteers to search the house and the surrounding area for food, a task they eagerly accepted. Giving them a few pesos each, he instructed them to approach the house with caution. If the homeowner were present, they were to bargain for as much food as their pesos could earn them. However, it was the last time Volckmann would see either of the two Filipinos— they never returned from the house. 72

  Volckmann never indicated how long he waited for their return, but he eventually resigned himself to the fact that they had deserted him. It was not likely that they had been captured or killed by the Japanese— the native house was less than a mile downhill, and if there had been a struggle, Volckmann and the others surely would have heard it.

  The following morning, on 14 April, Volckmann stumbled onto a dirt road in the vicinity of Abucay Hacienda. It appeared nowhere on his map, but he was certain that it was the same road the Japanese had built to coordinate their attack on Bataan. As Division Intelligence Officer, it was a frequent topic among his reports.

  After the rough terrain of the previous days’ hike, the group decided to try their luck along the road. Volckmann knew it was a dangerous move—fresh footprints and tire tracks indicated that the road had recently seen heavy traffic—but if it offered any relief from the treacherous jungle, he was willing to take the risk.

  Relief, however, was short-lived. Not more than a few minutes had passed before the mechanical rumble of Japanese trucks sent him diving into the underbrush. As Volckmann lay in the bushes, he counted 21 trucks as they sped by—all of them filled with troops. 73 Undeterred, Volckmann and the others continued their trek until coming to a fork in the road. As they were discussing what route they should take, Volckmann noticed some movement beyond the bend. Straining his eyes, he could see that it was another Japanese cavalry unit!

  The five of them dashed into a nearby sugarcane field. Running furiously through the sugarcane, they became widely separated from one another. Volckmann, Blackburn, and Whiteman eventually regrouped, but the two remaining Filipinos were never seen again. From then on, Volckmann decided to stay off the road. No matter how inviting it may appear, it was no place for three Americans to be traveling.

  Exhausted from their latest encounter, the three men laid down for an afternoon rest. Sometime later, a native man approached them—the first civilian they had encountered since the fall of Bataan. Volckmann recounts that the native could not speak English, but they were able to get the message across that they were hungry and needed food. The native man indicated that the group should stay put and that he would be back later. With this, he ran into the jungle and returned one hour later with a young boy at his side. The boy spoke English fairly well and identified himself as the man’s son. Offering them some cooked rice, the boy confirmed that there were “many Japs” in the area. 74

  Volckmann asked if there was a safe place nearby where they could settle down for the night. After conferring with his father, the boy replied that they were welcome to stay at their village. Volckmann agreed, but was unsure whether or not he could trust them. Did they really intend to take him to the village, or were they leading him into a Japanese ambush? Whatever the case, Volckmann and his men needed food; it was a matter of life and death—hunger pangs were racking their bodies.

  As the native boy led them into the village, Volckmann and the others were relieved to find that there were no Japanese in sight. Perhaps these natives could be trusted after all. Volckmann, Blackburn, and Whiteman spent the remainder of the day recovering from the week’s activities. They had barely escaped from Bataan with their lives and were buckling under the intense tropical heat. Scraped, bruised, starved, and exhausted, they were in the worst shape they had been in since the start of the invasion.

  To make matters worse, Volckmann was armed with nothing more than a six-round revolver—and he had no spare ammunition. Unlike many of his comrades on Bataan, however, Volckmann had not yet succumbed to any tropical disease. For this he was grateful, but was uncertain how long he could fight it off. The jungle adventures had taken a heavy toll on his body and the tropical heat was slowly tearing down his resistance. It seemed as though maintaining his health would be a greater challenge than evading the enemy. After all, he had seen what malaria, dysentery, and the other assortments of tropical disease could do to a soldier.

  Map of Central-North Luzon. Colonel John P. Horan consolidated his forces at Baguio and planned to make Balete Pass a rally point for other USAFFE units. Visible are the Benguet and Ifugao “sub-provinces” of Mountain Province, where Volckmann would base his operations as a guerrilla.

  CHAPTER 4

  Northward Bound

  After washing their clothes in a nearby stream, the three men departed the village at dawn. Their host agreed to take them around Abucay Hacienda and, before parting ways, Volckmann heartily thanked him for his hospitality. Picking up a northbound trail, they encountered another American: Corporal Bruce, a rifleman from the 31st Infantry who had also escaped from Bataan. Volckmann invited him into the group and, shortly thereafter, they were joined by a Filipino who identified himself as a retired Sergeant of the Philippine Scouts.

  As with many of the local natives, this retired scout had fled the Japanese onslaught. Seeking refuge in the jungle, he had built himself what was called an “evacuation camp” and invited Volckmann to stay with him. These evacuation camps operated on a small network throughout most of Luzon. Their inhabitants came from every walk of life: American businessmen and their families, wealthy Filipinos, tenant farmers, missionaries, school teachers—civilians who had lost their homes during the invasion and fled to the wilderness in hopes of waiting out their Japanese occupiers.

  Arriving at the sergeant’s camp, Volckmann found it to be nothing more than a quaint little shack with barely enough room for five people. But nonetheless, he appreciated the sergeant’s hospitality. Surprisingly, Volckmann entered the camp to find two more Americans: a pair of Army Air Corps lieutenants named Petit and Anderson. Sitting down to speak with his newfound comrades, Volckmann learned the fates of Lieutenant Colonels Martin P. Moses and Arthur K. Noble, two regimental commanders whom he had known in Bataan.

  Initially, the pair had been assigned to the 12th Infantry Regiment (11th Division) as battalion commanders. After retreating through Central Luzon, Moses and Noble respectively took command of two other regiments within the 11th Division. By Volckmann’s account, both men were competent leaders and had done a fine job during the battle. Since the fall of Bataan, they too had begun their long trek northward. 75 As it were, they had been through the old sergeant’s camp a week earlier and found safe passage to the north. It was certainly delightful news for Volckmann and Blackburn.

  The next morning, Volckmann and Blackburn, along with their new Air Corps friends, hit the trail northbound to Highway 7. After a few minutes on the trail, they encountered another young Filipino. This young man of no more than nineteen years old spoke English fluently and identified himself only as “Bruno.” By his appearance and his accent, Volckmann could tell that “Bruno” was not a native to this part of Luzon. Accordingly, he was a member of the Igorot tribe and a corporal in the Philippine Army. Upon hearing that their destination was his native Mo
untain Province in North Luzon, Bruno insisted that he join them. In exchange for joining the group, he offered his services as a guide. 76

  Remembering the four Filipinos who had deserted him in Bataan, Volckmann hesitated on Bruno’s proposition. Yet, if this boy really did know his way around Luzon, he could be a valuable asset. Volckmann agreed to take him on, provided he stay with the group until they reached Mountain Province.

  Back on the trail, they arrived at Banban shortly before noon. A small barrio two kilometers south of Highway 7, Banban offered a pleasant respite from the group’s travels. At the behest of the barrio chieftain, Volckmann and company were privy to a feast honoring the return of a local son. While enjoying the copious amounts of rice and beef, Volckmann secured a guide to take him across the heavily patrolled Highway 7. Stretching from Dinalupihan in the east to Olongapo in the west, Highway 7 had once been the site of the 11th Infantry’s largest defensive line. Now, it was the main thoroughfare into the Japanese naval port at Olongapo.

  As the group prepared to cross the highway, Whiteman and Bruce announced their decision to stay behind. Both had come down with debilitating fevers and were too sick to complete the hike. Volckmann hated the thought of leaving them behind, but Bruce insisted that he and Whiteman would be fine after a few days rest. Besides, neither of them wanted to slow Volckmann down. Departing with Bruno, Blackburn, and the two Air Corps lieutenants, Volckmann left the two infirm soldiers in the care of Banban’s barrio chieftain. He never saw Bruce or Whiteman again. 77

  On 18 April 1942, Volckmann crossed Highway 7 without incident. He was finally out of Bataan, but what lay in front of him were over 100 miles of swamp, jungle, mountains, and Japanese patrols. Spanning some four and a half months, his journey to the north would be the most painful and excruciating experience of his life. At various times, either he or a member of his traveling party—save Bruno, enjoying his native immunity—would temporarily succumb to dysentery, fever, malaria, yellow jaundice, or beriberi. Until now, Volckmann had come through five months of combat untouched by any tropical disease. Today, however, his luck ran out.