Behind Japanese Lines (25 page)

A small group of PMA guerrillas, including three Filipinas, in late 1944. The girl farthest right is Herminia (“Minang”) Dizon. Santos, next to Minang, was an intelligence operator smuggled into the Philippines.

Amphibian flying boats move in above the U.S. invasion fleet in Lingayen Gulf as the Americans retake Luzon, January 9, 1945. Courtesy of the National Archives.

Above, the Villa Verde Trail near Yamashita Ridge, where savage fighting occurred between the Japanese and the 32nd Red Arrow Division. Hunt coordinated the guerrillas in that battle. Below, American soldiers battle the Japanese in steep jungle terrain in northern Luzon during the final months of the war. Both photos courtesy of the National Archives.

One of the rewards of heroism. Hunt is surrounded by Filipina beauty queens at Cuyapo, Nueva Ecija, on April 10, 1945.

Guerrillas and liberating forces celebrate at a party in Rosales, Pangasinan, in late January 1945. Maj. Robert B. Lapham, commander of Luzon Guerrilla Forces, is second from left. Maj. Harry McKenzie, Lapham's executive officer, is third from the right.

Seven American guerrilla leaders shortly after being decorated by Gen. Douglas MacArthur with the Distinguished Service Cross, June 13, 1945. Left to right: Maj. Harry McKenzie, Maj. Robert B. Lapham, Maj. Edwin P. Ramsey, Brig. Gen. Manuel A. Roxas (first postwar president of the Philippines), Lt. Col. Bernard L. Anderson, Capt. Ray C. Hunt, Jr., Maj. John P. Boone, and Capt. Alvin J. Farretta.

Hunt is greeted at Jefferson Barracks, St. Louis, on July 19, 1945, by his father and two sisters, Joyce Beth Jurkanin, left, and Wanda Jean Cappello, right. For nearly three years, Hunt's family didn't know if he was dead or alive.

Captain Ray C. Hunt, Jr., shortly after his return home from the Philippines. He was promoted to Major the following December.

Al called a meeting of himself, myself, Greg, a few of the guerrillas, the village leader, and six villagers. We impressed upon the woman with the utmost seriousness, both in English and in her own Ilocano dialect, that she must never say a word to anyone about anything that had happened among us, and told her that if she did talk we would hunt her down and kill her. Then we took a desperate chance and let her go. She left with tears in her eyes, seemingly of gratitude, but who could ever know?

The second case was as excruciating as this one, and infuriating in the bargain. Professional soldiers, and most writers on military subjects too, like to believe that wars are won by brains and bravery. It seems much less heroic and inspiring to attribute victories to the efforts of spies, though good intelligence work has decided more wars than is generally admitted—or even known. A major reason is that spying is an equivocal business. Some spies are patriotic idealists, but many are victims of compulsion, and many more are scurvy characters motivated by nothing nobler than obscure private passions or the need for extra money. Those of the latter sort, if caught, can often be induced to change sides. The British were particularly successful “turning around” German spies in World War II. I have sometimes been asked if I ever “turned a spy around.” I never tried: it always seemed too risky.

Like the Japanese though, we did employ a lot of spies, both male and female. Some have claimed that women make better spies than men because, allegedly, they do not become obsessed with their jobs; when not actually engaged in spying they think little about it and maintain their psychological balance better.
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I am unconvinced. Some women unquestionably make excellent spies, but I don't think greater detachment or supposed superior psychological balance has
anything to do with it. The most successful female spies we had were those who were at ease socially with Japanese officers in all kinds of situations. One of our best was a woman I shall call Dolores. The most charitable way to describe her prewar career would be to say that she was self-employed on the streets of Manila. Whatever her antecedents, she was energetic, thorough, smart, and brave. She made friends easily with Japanese officers, slept with a lot of them, and got much useful information from them which she rolled up in her hair curlers.

One day we heard that she was dead. We assumed that she had been caught and executed by the Japanese. We were astonished to learn that she had been picked up on suspicion by a temperamental Filipino guerrilla lieutenant of ours who had accused her of being a spy for the enemy. He had then simply shot her without a trial, without even so much as consulting anyone of higher rank! I don't recall Al's reaction, but I was momentarily blinded with fury. Had the lieutenant been where I was, I probably would have given him just what he gave Dolores. Since he wasn't present, we assembled a company of men and went looking for him. By the time we found him, I had cooled off enough to recollect that he had always been an energetic and loyal officer. His demeanor, however, very nearly restored my original rage, for I had never talked to a Filipino who simply stared at me with unconcealed insolence and whose whole bearing breathed insubordination. We had him disarmed and then asked him why, on mere suspicion, he had killed probably our best secret agent? He said he hated the “Hapons” and lived to kill as many of them as he could. He had heard that the woman was a prostitute for the “Hapons.” She had been unable to identify herself or explain why she was so far from home, so he had concluded that she was a Japanese spy and shot her.

Rage surged back through me. How could this insolent, surly bonehead have taken it upon himself to kill out of hand a brave and valuable woman? But I will say for myself that at least I did not altogether stop thinking. We picked at random some twenty of the lieutenant's men and questioned each one separately about what he thought of his leader. All replied much the same: the lieutenant was tough as nails but basically fair and honest, and he hated the Japanese obsessively. Then Al and I talked again to the lieutenant himself. Finally we concluded that, however wretched his judgment had been he had probably acted from sincere conviction. Enough damage had been done already, and we did not want to lose anyone who wanted so badly to fight the enemy, so he was reprimanded as thoroughly as
American vocabularies permitted and given back his guns. A few weeks later he was killed doing what he liked best, fighting the “Hapons.”