- 4 -
The next morning Col. George M. Jones requested
that I lead him back down the "path" by which we had climbed the hill. Colonel
Jones, an enlisted man who acted as a body guard, and I began the trek. Since I was the
only one of the trio who knew where we were going, it was my job to be in the lead.
Evidently, as a result of the previous day's action, someone had ordered the Navy to use
their naval guns to bombard the area where the cave was located. Even though we were on
the back side of a spine running down the hill, we could hear and feel the impact of the
shells hitting the hillside. Some shell fragments were whistling close by our heads. Col.
Jones with aplomb would stand upright and look over the edge at the barrage. Quite
frankly, I was ducking my head with each explosion.
We had been able to walk some distance down the
hill as we were not yet to the area which descended more like a cliff face. When we would
have reached that point it would be impossible to stand erect and continue downward. The
colonel decided to stop and observe more of the naval activity. So I told him I would go
on ahead to make sure the way was clear. A short distance further on my feet slipped and I
slid sideways down to another "trail" about 6 feet below the one we had been
following.
As I recovered my balance
the deadly sound of the double click used by the Japanese to arm their hand grenades came
from my right and slightly up the hill. There lying prone and peering over the edge of the
ridge were two enemy soldiers who had been watching the bombardment. Evidently my slipping
had made enough noise to alert them to an oncoming danger. As soon as I saw them I hastily
brought my rifle around about hip high and shot at them; simultaneously, I hollered as
loud as I could, "Go back, Jones. Go back." Training had made me remember not to
use his rank.
Something slammed into my head causing me to fall
with my head downhill. Since whatever had struck me had hit me in the head (the hardest
part of my body) it did not cause me to lose consciousness. There was blood draining down
toward my nose as my body was lying on the left side. It seemed reasonable to assume that
perhaps the two had not been killed, so prudence told me to lie doggo. If movement were
observed by them a coup-de-gras was more than likely. During the time I was faking death
it came to me that it was still a few days 'til my 20th birthday.
So as many other survivors of traumatic conditions
will tell you, a prayer started to come to my conscious thought. "God, please let me
live to be 20 and I'll go to church every Sunday."
After what seemed like 5 minutes, but was more
likely one, it became obvious that if either of the Japanese had survived, my fakery was
successful as witnessed by the fact that this document is being written. Consequently, I
began making my way back to where Col. Jones had stopped. Upon arriving there, Jones had
somehow achieved the presence of a few other troopers to protect him. He insisted that one
of them accompany me up toward the top of the hill after first seeing that a quantity of
sulfa powder and a bandage was put on the rather nasty looking wound. At least it was my
suspicion that it looked nasty and serious.
Walking back up the hill was a little tiring and as
we neared the top my escort suggested I sit down while he went for help. Soon some
stretcher bearers arrived and carried me to the building being used as the hospital/aid
station. My stretcher was placed on the floor and someone, a doctor or perhaps a medic,
put more sulfa powder on the wound after wiping off dirt and blood. Next a heavy bandage
was wrapped around my head which covered my right eye and from my cheek to what must have
been near the top of my head. Of course to make sure the thing didn't slip it went clear
around to the back of my head which caused my ear to be covered also. Now no one could
tell how bad the wound was; it must have looked very serious indeed.
A kind soul asked what could he get me. My ongoing
desire for lemonade came to the fore and I requested some of the powdered stuff, mixed
with water, naturally. No joy, evidently the powers that be felt that it would adversely
affect my chance for recovery. I did get some kind of shots though that put me out for the
rest of the day and night. The next morning they told me I would be transferred to a ship that was to take the seriously wounded to a
field hospital. Sure enough, sometime in the early morning a bunch of us were taken, some
walking, and others like me were carried down to the beach where we had landed not many
days before.
Since there was no shade we laid out on our
stretchers or sat in the sand waiting for some kind of transportation to a ship somewhere
out in the bay. Probably we were all injected with some pain-killer medicine as there were
no screams of pain from those around me.
The next thing I remember was my stretcher being
manhandled into a Landing Craft type boat and then being lifted onto the deck of what I
believe was a destroyer. My horrible appearance was the cause of some priority handling. A
sailor knelt beside me and asked if there was anything I wanted. Now you know what I asked
for, don't you? If I could just have some of that powdered lemonade mix, that would be
really great. The gob said something like "Of course" and went away. Don't you
know that he soon reappeared with a "glass" pitcher of lemonade. Not only that
but it had been made with "real" lemons and ICE CUBES. Neither of these things
had been within my sight since leaving the states several months earlier.
WOW!! it was almost worth the hurt to get such
nectar down my throat.
Verne White
503d PRCT