Warrior Pilgrimage: PURE SURVIVAL CHRONICLES: Virginio Lavilles, Defender of Bataan

IN THE COURSE OF my life’s journey, I have met many people who were survivors of different mishaps and catastrophes, circumstances and deprivations, wars and conflicts, and they lived to tell their experiences, predicaments and fortunes. While others I came across to, are witnesses of, or have been recipient of tales from these survivors, it still are stories worth telling. I am an eager listener and I always remember the stories very well and added these pieces of information into my “library of self-preservation”. This blog is, in itself, a repository of pure survival tales.

Virginio Lavilles is my uncle. He is more known by his friends as Guy. He is the big brother of my mother and he is popular everywhere. He is a very likeable fellow and he has a good sense of humor. He died when I was 12 due to cirrhosis of the liver. When he was alive, he used to come over regularly to our house to visit us. Actually, it was the house of my grandparents. Our next-door neighbor is his sister. But he lived in Barrio Luz and has a family of his own.

He, along with my grandparents, my mom and my aunt, and sometimes visitors from Bohol who were always welcome to stay in the house, would talk and reminisce about the years preceding World War II and during those darkest of days when the Japanese came. I always heard their stories and I became familiar with it. My uncle was a legendary character and I find it strange that this gentle family man was another person whom I cannot reconcile as him in those stories.

So it goes that the clouds of war came to the Philippine Islands. The United States, who governed the archipelago, wanted to remain neutral even when Germany invaded Poland, Denmark, Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg and France in September 1939 and threatened to cross over the English Channel. Japan fought a maritime war with Russia and annexed Korea, Manchuria and Taiwan and, later, invaded China, French Indochina, Burma, British Malaya and the Dutch East Indies.

Gen. Douglas McArthur was mustered from retirement by the US Congress and was tasked to plan and organize the defense of the Philippine Islands, most notably from Japan. It was during this time that several divisions of the Philippine Army were organized and trained for conventional warfare under the umbrella of the United States Army Forces of the Far East or USAFFE. It would fight side by side with American divisions.

There were not enough men to fill up the divisions as the local populace cannot fathom why Japan would wage war on neutral US and on the Filipinos, reasoning that we have no scruples with Japan. It was not our war, but the US believed that the archipelago was a very tempting prize for Japan, nevertheless, since it would control maritime traffic and, at the same time, protect their own transport of valuable natural resources like rubber, petroleum, lumber and metal ores from invaded countries.

The US and their Philippine counterpart appealed to their constituents and, slowly, enlistment began to pick up. My uncle found himself one day in an Army enlistment post inside Camp Lapulapu. His father, Atty. Gervasio Lavilles, personally brought him there out of patriotic duty. The old man served once as a Philippine Scout during World War I. My uncle was 17 when he was forced by his father to be a soldier and became Private Lavilles.

Then on December 7, 1941, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and, hours after that, declared war on the USA. The following day, Japanese planes went south, bombed and strafed all military and vital civilian installations in the Philippines everyday. The US and Philippine forces were caught flatfooted and it became inevitable to everybody that Japan did not give a damn about no scruples and all. Everybody now wanted to join the Army.

Trainings and preparations were doubled and rumors of Japanese landings came from all directions. The populace were agitated and some abandoned the urban centers for the countryside. On December 22, 1942, the Japanese landed in Lingayen Gulf and the real invasion began. It was a very strong force. All opposition wilted before the fighting prowess of the Japanese, many of whom were veterans of jungle warfare in French Indochina, Malaya and Borneo.

Pvt. Lavilles and his unit were deployed to Luzon to face this invasion force. Gen. McArthur activated War Plan Orange 3 and all units proceeded to the Bataan Peninsula to lure the force of Lt. Gen. Masaharu Homma there instead of destroying Manila and exact needless civilian casualties. The lines were set and fire and steel rained against each other. Mechanized warfare overran trenches and flesh as the discord of war placed everyone in a state of shock and madness. I heard these words from my dear uncle:

“I lost many of my friends. I just could not easily accept it and continued to deny, even to this day, that they died. They were very alive. They were of my age. We even joked a few hours before and smoked our last cigarettes when the bombs came. It was hard to accept. I would ask God, why not me? I lost my appetite after that and kept thinking of them and then the bombs would come and I forgot about them for a while…

“The explosions shook the earth and you hold on to yourself for dear life, wishing you were in another place. You are scared, angry, thirsty and your adrenaline is up. Your stomach is in a knot. You felt the hunger but you have no taste for it. There is no way, no chance, to place a shot at your enemy. Somewhere infront of you are Americans and Filipinos. I was counting the days when I would find the chance to kill a Japanese soldier or be killed…

“Living among the dead in the trenches was overpowering. All what was left of your former comrades lay grotesque and horrid. A few of them had half of their faces blown away; many lost limbs; a lot got half of their bodies burned and a lucky few, they just died as if in a state of grace. They all lay there and you moved carefully not to step on them until the front became silent and they were taken away for burial. Streaks of blood on the earth remind you that they were still there.”

The defensive lines of Bataan retreated every week but it was enough to stymie the timetable of the Japanese. They were expecting half-hearted opposition just like they encountered in China, French Indochina, British Malaya and the Dutch East Indies. They even overwhelmed the Royal British and the Royal Dutch forces. A feat which surprised even their military strategists and they were now using the same tested tactics in Bataan.

Weeks went by and it became March and the defenders of Bataan could not be dislodged easily. Japanese casualties were heavy. It was a stiff price since it claimed their most battle-hardened veterans. Reinforcements of fresh troops came and replaced battle-worn units. The Japanese now have total air superiority during this time and more ships supporting their infantry target the rear and the supply lines of the defenders.

The Japanese kept up the pressure, importing more troops from Korea, Malaya and Indochina. The defensive lines broke and became pockets of resistance. One pocket resisted and shrunk in size until it held the heel of Bataan. Resistance was futile as enemy opposition surrounded them from almost all sides, except where the side of Corregidor Island is facing.

“I remembered that day of April 9, 1942. It was the saddest day for us defending Bataan with all of our lives. We lost so many and yet it was not enough. We ran out of heavy rounds many days ago and we fought bravely with small arms against overwhelming odds. We were left to our own wits on the field. Scrounging for rifle bullets that a comrade left behind. There were no more food to eat, no water to drink. It was a very hot day…

“Infront of us was the enemy. Their tanks advancing slowly. My commanding officer handed me a piece of paper and a white cloth tied to a stick. I was chosen because I was the youngest and, perhaps, the dumbest private. Against my will, I climbed up slowly from the fox hole and raised my arms slowly and walked uneasily forward. I could have pissed right there as all Japanese weapons were trained on me…

“Then a Japanese officer motioned me forward. I stepped a few more paces and told to stop. A Japanese underling walked past me and kicked the back of one leg and I went down to my knees. He snatched the paper and gave it to his superior. Another soldier kicked me from behind and I fell face flat on the earth and then he pumped a rifle butt on my head. It hurts but it hurts more that you are now a defeated adversary and a POW.”

All told, there were around 10,000 Americans and about 58,000 Filipinos as prisoners of war. These survivors would be forced to march from Mariveles, Bataan to Capas, Tarlac on what would be known in history as the Death March. It is a walk of more than 90 kilometers, most of it on roads under a sweltering heat of the day. Only the fittest and the most adaptable would survive this infamous chapter.

The forced march, under the threat of death, started on April 10. The prisoners made it in five to twelve days to San Fernando, Pampanga. In between were rests under the heat of the sun, deprived of whatever shade. Whatever valuable items that prisoners possessed were confiscated and, ultimately, they had only the shirts on their backs, their trousers and their boots. Instant death came to anyone who possessed Japanese property.

Many more would succumb to exhaustion and poisoning caused by swallowing dirty food and water. Death could also come from the bayonets given to one who was now incapable of walking or in the act of escaping or accepting something from the civilians like food and water. By the sheer power of parched thirst, prisoners would have no other choice but drink water whenever they find it like ponds and canals.

“After the formal surrender ceremony, the gravely wounded and those that could not move were placed separately from the rest. I believed they were all dispatched. Regimental lines were formed by company strength. We were told to march and marched we did. The Japanese marched with us with their bayonets attached to their muzzles and ready for the kill. They would threaten and kill you if you just stared at them or out of sport…

“I looked for any opportunity of escape but I found none. Some of our comrades were lucky to escape unnoticed while a great number got caught and dispatched right away with machine guns, rifles and those long bayonets. An American beside me was able to catch a ball of sticky rice thrown from out of nowhere and everyone placed their dirty hands on it, including me, and devoured it without a trace…

“We do not know where we were going but we know that the battlefields were much easier living than be a POW of the cruel Japanese guards. I was consoled by the presence of so many Cebuanos. We goad each other out and that gave me strength. Being a prisoner is not that bad, after all. You retained your self-esteem and I am proud to be with these brave Americans and Filipinos. I would not have this if I entertained of deserting my comrades during the early days of battle. Surely, I would never be forgiven by my father.”

When the sickly masses of POWs reached San Fernando, they were all hauled in to waiting locomotives, packed tight inside livestock and freight box cars, to Camp O’Donnell in Capas. There were few engines and there were many prisoners. The Japanese did not expect that many. Many more succumbed to asphyxia, complications from infected wounds and extreme heat.

Camp O’Donnell used to be a camp of the Philippine Army’s 71st Division. The Japanese found use for it as a concentration camp for POWs. The billeting was expanded to accommodate close to 70,000 prisoners, well beyond their expectations. Light materials made of bamboo and palm shingles were constructed to house the unexpected number. Operating the camp was a logistical nightmare for any prison administrator.

“I was in one of these bamboo structures. It was very small for the 200 of us. We slept sitting down on the hard ground but we were allowed to stretch outside during daytime. Many of us would be on work detail and we dug holes with sticks and bare hands. We were fed little rice and a little soup. A rat straying into our room would be a great feast. It was cool during the night but when it rained the bare floor would get flooded and, God knows, how many would piss on the seats of their pants…

“The stench was overwhelming as weeks became months. What were once men were now stick men. The spaces between us were not tight anymore and air could move around us this time because we are now so thin. We could even sleep horizontally five at a time for an hour every four days. Little comforts like that made your life as POW bearable. I am glad we had officers. It became a fashion in camp to wear ragged oversized clothes. Of the original 200 many died but many prisoners arrived and we are packed to square one…

“One day after Christmas Day 1942, I was conditionally released from Camp O’Donnell with a signed agreement that I would never fight again the Japanese and I would report every week to the military administrators where I lived. Those from Cebu were herded and packed into military transport to Manila and then put on a steamer bound to Cebu. It was a happy moment of my life that I get to see again my friends and neighbors but absent among them were those that paid their ultimate sacrifice for freedom in Bataan.”

Private Lavilles eventually rejoined his father and sisters in Bohol in June 1944 and joined a guerrilla unit. When the Liberation forces came, he went out of hiding and fought side by side with Americans again in Cebu. After World War II, he was honorably discharged from the Army and worked under his father who established a law firm. Later, he worked under the City Government of Cebu.

He most likely experienced post-traumatic stress disorder after the war. Memories of departed friends and comrades and the brutalities of war might have been too much for him to bear and caused him to drink excessively almost every day. Alcohol intoxication might be his own method of coping with the post-battle stress. At that time, PTSD was still under clinical research and it was only in the ‘80s that this medical condition was properly treated.