Foro Primigenio de Hislibris

[momper]

In Blood Brothers, there are no heroes. The survivors of the Philippines arrived home in 1945, quietly and without recognition, to be admitted to hospitals near their homes.
With winners and heroes everywhere, there was no time for "Losers”.

Estas palabras con que el doctor Eugene C. Jacobs termina el prólogo son la mejor introducción a su libro sobre la aterradora vivencia de los campos de prisioneros en Filipinas y el subsiguiente viaje de los supervivientes hasta Japón, apiñados en las bodegas de barcos sin marca alguna que los identificara como transportes de prisioneros (los terribles Hell Ships), en lo que el coronel James Gillespie llamó “the most horrible story of suffering by prisoners during World War II”.

Jacobs servía en el Campamento John Hay, un lugar de reposo para militares en las montañas con cuyo inopinado bombardeo iniciaron los japoneses la conquista de Filipinas. Escondido en la jungla, reflexionaba poco después: “Peeking through the bushes at the Jap units going by, I began to wonder why and how studying medicine had gotten me into such a mess”. Finalmente la conminación a rendirse de los que quedaban tras la marcha de MacArthur (con la amenaza de castigar a cuantos ya habían sido cautivados) y el pensamiento de que sus servicios serían útiles a los soldados presos lo movieron a entregarse a los japoneses, y casi a perder la vida como tantos, tantos otros...

Les copio algunos fragmentos de este excepcional testimonio, en el que (condición sine qua non para sobrevivir al infierno) no falta el humor:

Prisoner-of-War Status: About October of 1942, the Japanese removed our status of "captive" (criminal awaiting trial) and designated us as "prisoners-of-war!". We hoped that this meant that things would get better.
We began receiving pay, the same as the Japanese officers and soldiers of the same rank. I quickly learned that after receiving my thirty yen at the pay window, I had to move to the next window and deposit twenty yen into Japanese Postal Savings.
When I graduated from Prison Camp (Class of August, 1945), I had more than 30,000 yen in Postal Savings. They have never offered me any money, or a Toyota; in fact, they haven't even answered my mail.

[...]

There was not enough room for everyone to sit down. Our group of medics crowded together in the center of the hold. The floor was filthy, covered with horse manure. The stench burned our eyes; our roof was the darkening sky. We were glad for its protection. The ship was soon under way, moving smoothly and rapidly.
We were divided into groups of twenty. A representative of each group was sent above to get small amounts of fish, rice and water. Our latrine was a five-gallon can in the center of the hold; it was soon filled.
Sleeping was difficult; we were awakened each time a neighbor would move, because of cramps, numbed extremities or the urge to urinate.

[...]

December 29, 1944: Raining. Prisoners fought each other, trying to get their cups and mess gear under the drippings from the hatch covers to catch a few drops. Two spoons of rice.

[...]

The prisoners were now like animals in a cage begging for food and cigarettes. The Japs couldn't understand how the Americans could expend so much energy jumping for cigarettes, when they were supposedly very weak. Three-quarters of a cup of water (a real treat). Bitter cold. We were extremely hungry, thirsty and cold. Our bodies were very sore and we were unable to sleep.

[...]

Winches lowered many sacks of sugar into the lower hold. Mr. Wata [el traductor] warned us, "If you touch any sugal, you vill be hollibly shot!".

[...]

Jan. 9th, 1945: […] A direct hit produced a blinding and deafening explosion nearby; a tremendous orange flash followed by pandemonium.
Hatch covers above came crashing down into the bilge, dropping many prisoners thirty to forty feet below. There were screams, cries, groans, and oaths! The air was filled with dust and dirt. Wounded were soon being dragged into our improvised hospital; many with fractures, shrapnel wounds, all covered with dirt. [...]

We removed the clothing from thirty dead to give to those still living. No food! No water! Open hatches aggravated the bitter cold night.

Jan. 10, 1945: We worked on the wounded all morning. In the afternoon my attention was called to a shrapnel-made gash in the forward bulkhead of our hold. I looked through into the forward hold and witnessed the most horrible sight of my life.

There were three hundred mangled Americans piled some three deep the result of a direct bomb hit. At the sides of the hold, a few wounded were sitting and standing dazed and motionless. The Japs had no compassion at all they would not let us enter the forward hold to help in any way.
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