By Keith L. Winchenbach
Submitted by Jessica Winchenbach from handwritten notes from her grandfather.
The Philippine Islands
In the beginning of March, my outfit trucked off on another campaign. We were gone for ten days, away from camp, and managed to liberate a small island called Lubang. It was a small operation, but was very successful. We did run into some resistance, but we got the upper hand before we came back. The Filipinos on this island were very grateful to us. They treated us with so much kindness and compassion. They held an all day festival for us, after we drove out the Japanese. We had all of the food that we could eat. At night they had a program with an address thanking us for liberating them, and welcoming us. Then they had several girls sing and dance for us. It was very nice. These girls wore long evening gowns made of silk, and the village men all had white silk pants and shirts. I was impressed by their fashion sense. After the program, they had a big dance with a band playing.
The village that we stayed in while we were there was shelled the morning that we landed, and most of it had burnt completely flat. One native woman cooked a ton of food for us. We had fried chicken twice while there, which was a treat, and a thanks at the same time. Then one of the boys bought a pig and they cooked that while we were there.
They roasted the pig in a manner I had never seen before. It was a small pig, weighing only thirty or forty pounds, and they ran a stick through the middle of it. Then they hung it over a fire, and kept turning it! I thought that my father should try this method on his next pig! In fact, I was surprised that everything here was cooked over an open flame. There were no stoves to be seen.
Lubang was quite sophisticated, in that it had a school and a church. It was very flat, like Mindoro, and had miles of rice fields. I also saw quite a few gardens. The villagers had a lot of water buffalo, which they called Caribou, and as many cows as I had seen since I was overseas. They even had horses, which I had seen very few of in New Guinea, but they were small. This island reminded me of home, with all of the gardens and animals. I enjoyed this island very much, and the people who lived there. After that we went back to Mindoro, to our camp.
I learned some time in early March, that our division was getting a lot of publicity and was called the “Victory Division.” Apparently, the Filipinos had coined the term for us, because they saw the “V”s on our vehicles. It was also called the Hawaiian division. We had seen plenty of action, but I had only been part of a few operations at that time. They said that we had yet to lose a battle. Maybe I am bragging about my outfit, but I was surprised to hear all of this, and we deserve some credit.
My sister Mona sent me a new snap shot of herself, as I had asked for it. A little Filipino boy had his mind set that I would give the picture to him. But I couldn’t bear to part with it, despite his interest in her. Everyone thought that my sisters were so beautiful, and made jokes about how I couldn’t possibly be of the same lot. At first, this was funny, and then I sort of got tired of hearing how I wasn't good looking!
* * *
About the time of Roosevelt’s death, we were in another convoy going to Mindanao. It was very eerie not knowing what was going on in one’s own country, at a time when we didn’t know what was happening to ourselves either. I remember missing my freedom at home most, in contrast to army life. While in the Army, I was restricted to how far from base I could go, and what I could do. However, I knew that I was in the war for a purpose, and I always tried to do my part to get back to that freedom.
This trip was unexpected, as we had been stationed in Mindoro for such a long time. The trip wasn’t too long, but we were moving closer to the equator, and the heat was so oppressive, we could tell. The initial landing at Mindanao was not too bad, however this battle ended up being one of our worst. After landing, we proceeded to a spot about 100 miles from our landing point. We were tracking the Japanese, and trying to catch up to them. It was quite a time. We traveled day and night for over a week.
When we caught up to the Japanese, we were in a small village, or what was left of it. It was a mess. It was burnt flat, and blown to bits. We were very close to Davao, which we eventually took from the Japanese. It was as desecrated as the small village, only on a larger scale. It was a terrible sight to see what was once a city burnt, bombed and shelled out.
My company and I were on the front 63 consecutive days. This was one of the longest of all of the Pacific battles. The heat was unbearable, as were the viscous mosquitoes. I remember two periods when we were very hungry as well. One time, we were short on food. We managed to find some rice in a shack. After retrieving it, we realized that there was rat manure all through it. We picked out the manure the best that we could, as our stomachs growled at the sight of food, regardless that it was laden with rat poop. We then cooked it up in a helmet, and kept adding water, and still more water. And believe it or not we ate most of it! It was kind of crunchy, yet satisfying at the time. It wasn’t a gourmet meal, but it was surely better than nothing.
Another time in Mindanao, three other soldiers and I were separated from our regiment. We were separated from the troop for forty hours, and all that we had to eat was a small can of cheese to divide between us. We were also lucky enough to have some water. Finally, after our cheese was gone, the Air Force dropped some rations for us. We managed to get half of them, while the Japanese got away with the other half. Today, cheese tastes good to me, probably because I will never forget that episode.
One day in mid March, after going to Mindanao, I was riding in a Jeep on a road that ran right along side an airstrip. A P39 American plane was taking off abreast us. Suddenly, as the plane was twenty or thirty feet off the ground it released its bombs, all three of them. Two of them were 500 pound bombs! They fell and bounced around, as we watched with a mixture of awe and terror in our eyes. The pilot must have hit the release by mistake. I am not sure why they didn’t go off, as they were attached under the wings, ready for their target. Some of us in the Jeep wanted the driver to stop, others wanted him to speed up in order to miss the explosions.
Another truck in front of us, veered into a ditch and took cover. Anyhow, the bombs did not explode, or else I would not be writing this. We were actually laughing, probably with a mixture of panic and fear, at the sight of the bombs rolling down the runway! I guess that by that time we were getting used to such things, as it didn’t bother us as much as it should have.
* * *
The Victory in Europe was May 8, 1945. The night before was a bad one for me. I had been assigned on a heavy 50 caliber machine gun. The crew on the gun had dug their hole about two feet deep. Due to the amount of mortar shells that the Japanese were throwing at us, I decided to go deeper than two feet. I went about three and a half feet. That night we had a monsoon rain of many inches. My hole drained all of the others for 18 inches. I managed to keep above water by lying on a plank suspended on 50 caliber ammunition boxes. First, I used one and then two, and finally three ammunition boxes on top of one another. Sometime during the night, I dozed off and fell in the water. This made a noise that my fellow gunmen did not appreciate, because we were within 150 yards of the enemy.
The nights at war were so long. The noises that we heard, or imagined that we heard, were fears of the enemy crawling in on us. A coconut falling was almost an excuse for us to pull the pin and throw a grenade. I aged years in this one night, with my imagination leading me along the way. Under those conditions, it was hard to sleep, not to mention the fact that we were only yards away from the Japanese.
The next morning, I was hanging belts of 50 caliber ammunition out of their water laden boxes. Somewhere at this point in time, a bomb exploded about a mile away. A fragment of this bomb, about as big as an apple, hit me in the chest, knocking me down. I was lucky to only get hit with such a small piece of shrapnel. I do not remember much after that, probably because I had lost so much blood, and was in shock. The shrapnel had hit me one half of an inch to the left of my heart. Fortunately, I was within a few feet of the first aid station, that held stores of blood and plasma, which I was in desperate need of. The blood from the first aid station saved my life.
I recall regaining consciousness in the aid station, as if someone had turned on a light switch. It was remarkable. I think that I worried more being strapped in the ambulance going over those mined roads, as we zigzagged to get up through two days earlier, than I was at the moment that I opened my eyes. Every night the enemy would attack the field hospital. It was very frustrating not to have a weapon to defend ourselves. I was in the hospital for about ten days, and back on the front in eighteen days. Laying on my cot in the hospital, I was glad to get away from all of the chaos outside. This resting period perhaps saved my life, because the fighting on the front was so intense during this time.
About one week after being wounded my letter finally reached my parents, which let them know that I was okay. This was before the War department had sent a notice of my being in critical condition to my parents. Apparently, the doctors had thought that I was near death when I went into the hospital, only to find that I wasn’t so bad off after all. The next battle that I went through was one of my last before the war finally ended.
By mid May, my outfit had gained about 90 percent of the island of Mindanao. The Japanese were ready for us though. They had more heavy weapons than they had had in our first operation. There were still Japanese snipers around too, so we had to be careful, no matter how far from the front we were. At this time, right after I was hit, I was set to doing small details, loading and unloading, bringing food to the front for the boys. I wasn’t to do any heavy lifting until my wound had healed a bit.
On May 26, 1944, I was repositioned on the front. The fighting seemed a little easier at this point, even if it was only for a short time. I was a little bit more nervous being on the front after being hit, but I had to get over that pretty quickly. Our division was on the front until the island was “cleaned up”, meaning there were no more Japanese fighting. The front was much quieter than I remembered it in previous battles, and I was plenty happy for that!
Shortly after joining the front, our Infantry troops had tried to cross a ravine three or four times. Our commander decided that they needed the fire power from our two heavy fifty caliber machine guns. The Japanese were dug in well across the ravine. They put us with our two guns on an exposed slope with the enemy looking at us, and no protection whatsoever. The enemy was dug in well, so we couldn’t identify them. They had good targets, seeing that we had no protection. We knew that we had to keep up a good barrage of fire, or else we would be dead ducks. I was aware that shells were landing all around us, because one tore off the cover of an ammo box right next to me. Our orders were to spray the area fiercely and steadily with all of our fire power.
Either by sabotage or by negligence, our guns’ ammunition was not packed properly, and we were forced to pull the gun’s bolt often to make them operate. These guns would ordinarily fire at a rate of 100 rounds per minute. However, I was constantly pulling the bolt to reload the gun. The effect of this was that I was the only one of the four manning these guns to walk out after 35 to 40 minutes of constant firing. We changed one barrel that burnt up during the episode, and another was gone when we carried the gun out.
My gun had fired 2900 rounds of which I fired over 1900 rounds. The original gunner, named Pluto, who was Polish, had all of the tendons in his right hand severed as he pulled the bolt back, and was hit by enemy fire. My Sergeant, Bruce Souder, had been hit next to his left eye, as he looked to see how we were doing. The third guy was shot through the leg and groin area and laid behind a M5 open turret ammunition tank. We had to move him, because the tank kept moving back and forth.
We did not know if we had hit any of the enemy, but the firing from them stopped, and they were finally driven from their dug outs with many casualties. We were eventually reinforced by air strikes and mortar fire, but that face to face combat, with guys going down all around me, felt like much longer than an hour. It was more like days, and everything was going in slow motion. Some of the white phosphorus mortar shells were landing 15 to 20 feet to our left. Any one of these shells could burn your eyes out. When we finished our foray, the Japanese had fled, leaving their dead behind in fox holes. When we carried out my gun, whose barrel was so hot that we had to put the hand guard of a Carbine under it, it too had burnt up. Of the four original men on the two guns, I was the only one left unwounded from this battle.
We were on the front for quite a while. We lived in our foxholes. There was a door in the bottom, with some grass covering it, that acted as a bed. I made a little shelter from the rain with my poncho, and reinforced the sides with some galvanized metal. By the first week of June, we were moving all of the time. I guess that we had the Japanese on the run. As we moved, we saw a lot of action on and off. I was still a gunner on a heavy machine gun.
We were brought hot chow at least twice a day, unless the fighting was too great, and then we just had to wait for a quiet moment to be fed. At times, we had to find our own food. I recall one time we found some green corn in a small field, and cooked it up in our helmets. It was better than eating nothing at all.
In mid June we were relieved from the front for a few days. We were stationed guarding bridges, which was a nice environment, in comparison to combat. We had tents and cots again, which was a great relief, after living in our make shift fox hole for weeks. We got hot food three times a day, and could sleep some, when we weren’t on guard. The campaign in Mindanao was a long and hard one. I couldn’t wait for it to be over. During our rest, I was glad to be away from all of the noise of the front.
On June 27th, I was informed that I had been promoted to corporal. I would be paid fifteen dollars a month more, and wouldn’t have to work K.P. anymore. I was excited about not having to do K.P. And receiving ninety dollars a month was nice, although, there wasn’t really anything to spend money on while in the islands. I sent all of my money home to my savings account, so that I would have something to start up on when I finally went home. Only two weeks after this, I was moved back up to the front. I spent my birthday on the front in the year 1945.
This operation wasn’t so bad, but none of them were any good. We would go on patrols every once in a while. We got rations in this campaign. Sometimes we would get ten in one rations, and other times “C” rations. These weren’t too bad. They contained candy, cigarettes, matches, cereal, crackers and some kind of drink mixture, besides the can of food. It wasn’t eighteen courses, but it kept us alive!
It rained often during this operation. One day it rained all day while we were on patrol. We covered about seven or eight miles that day on patrol. We found a Japanese horse tied to a tree that day, which was quite a surprise. We weren’t sure how long he had been there, but we took him back with us, and strapped the radio to his back.
We were in the hills the last few weeks of the war. There were quite a few Japanese holed up in the caves, and they were consistently throwing explosives at us. We were carrying fuel for flame throwers. This was our last action of war. Anyhow, a bunch of U.S. Navy hellcat bombers were to bomb this cave where the Japanese were holed up. When the bombs started falling, we realized that the planes were missing their mark. I thought that I would be hit, and was carrying fuel no less. I dug my helmet into the hillside, and braced myself for the worst. They were off target, unfortunately, and the bombs landed among some of us, killing six Americans who were only one hundred feet from where I lay, clutching my helmet. They finally made their target, and subdued the caved Japanese . However, quite a few Japanese still remained in those caves a year later.
In the beginning of August, we were moved to an outpost on Mindanao, called Davao. We had to pull guard everyday, but it was better than being on the front! The news of the war’s progress sounded good, as if it might end soon. Really, we didn’t do much of anything while we were there. I remember that all of the boys, including myself, were not looking for glory. We all just wanted to do our part, and get back home in one piece.
I read quite a bit while we were at the outpost, which was odd, because I was not a reader then. I read mostly magazines, but a few books as well, and enjoyed them to top it off! We played a lot of pinochle, which was nice, because one hand ate up about three hours of our idle time. While there, we had a Filipino working for us. He was actually in the States for about twelve years, and went to the University of Southern California. He cooked a little for us, washed our mess kits, and clothes. He told us that he planned on going back to the States after the war. He only had one year left before he received his Master’s degree. Apparently he was sent there to do probation work.
The days just before the Japanese surrendered, we were tired of climbing hills, and were allowed to walk in a brook in which the water was six to eight inches deep. That next morning we were led down to a landing Craft. The war ended when the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima sometime in August of 1945. When it came over the radio that the Japanese had surrendered we didn’t believe it because so many rumors of this had proven false; but it was finally true! I felt that I had made a small difference in winning the war. I was proud of America, myself and our outfit included, and I loved to see the flag fly.
By the end of August we were placed on Garrison. I didn’t think too much of it, but I decided that it was better than combat life. No one could have imagined how good it was for us to hear that news! I knew that it would still be some time before I was allowed to go home. I expected to be going to Japan as part of an occupation troop, but didn’t hold my breath, because things didn’t always work out the way that I thought that they would. I was indeed glad, and knew that things would be easier now that the war was over.
In Davao, we had a Company formation, and the wounded were awarded Purple Hearts. I guess that there were about ten of us who received them. The Captain pinned them on our uniforms and congratulated us. The medal was very pretty, and was the first one that I had ever seen. I sent it home the next day by First Class Mail. I gave it to my mother as a token of what she had done for me throughout the time of the war. I thought that she deserved it more than I did. I knew that I would never be able to pay either of my parents back for all of the support that they gave me while in the Army.
While waiting to be shipped to Japan as occupation troops, myself and the other fellows were told what our duties would be once we arrived in Japan. One time a Japanese prisoner spoke to us, and answered all of our various questions. He spoke English well. He told us how the Japanese had been trained, and how their officers had pumped them full of propaganda. He told about Japanese army life in particular.
He said that the Japanese on this island began to realize that they were licked in September of 1944. They were loading up to move, and make their way back home, when a bunch of U.S. planes caught them. I guess that the U.S. wiped out the whole works. Initially, the Japanese soldiers had used horses to carry their supplies, but this assault killed most of them, so that they had to carry everything themselves. This particular guy carried a 100 pound bag of rice for days, mostly traveling through shallow streams. His feet got sore after a few days, and he couldn’t keep up with his unit, so he was eventually taken prisoner.
He said that the Japanese feared the small Cub planes the most, because of that, as well as many other incidents. These planes were used as artillery observers, so they would spot the Japanese and direct the artillery to their location. Apparently, the Japanese had been told that their equipment was far superior to ours, and the the American soldiers were soft, used to comfort and luxuries. The Japanese soldiers were told that the Americans couldn’t handle this jungle fighting, but he said that we sure changed their minds.
When asked why his unit didn’t surrender, he told us that they feared that they would be treated as their prisoners had been treated, which was apparently very cruelly. He was thankful to find out that the Americans were not so cruel to their prisoners. This prisoner’s talk was very interesting to me. It also reassured me that being an occupation troop wouldn’t be so bad. Especially if the people were as rational as this prisoner.
By late September of 1945, our Major was in southern Honshu picking out quarters for us. We were going to Okayama, a city of about 160,000 people. The weather there, we were told, was somewhat like it was in Virginia. They told us that this city was not too debilitated from the bombings. Although we didn’t know when we were leaving for Okayama, it was nice to know that we were going to a new place, and would be that much closer to being shipped home. By this point, I was disappointed that it was not home that we were going, but I wasn’t in combat, so I couldn’t kick any.
Most of the guys that I had been with in the Philippine Islands had enough points to go home. I was not one of these guys. It was sad seeing them go. I knew that I would miss them, but was glad that they were allowed to go home. They deserved it, as they had been over seas for two or three years. I still wished that I could have gone. At least it would have saved me from the rugged inspections that we had to undergo after the war ended.
Published U.S. Legacies Jul 2004
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