Corregidor: Heaven and Hell by Brent Hannon

There can few such combinations of heaven and hell as Corregidor, the Philippine island paradise that hosted two of the bloodiest battles of World War II. The dissonance provoked by Corregidor is profound; the extremes of tropical beauty and war-torn atrocity mix like oil and water, and trying to reconcile the two is almost impossible.

In a sense, there are two Corregidors. One is this charming island, caressed by warm breezes and surrounded by soft blue seas. This Corregidor is a tropical Eden: a bright sun shines on the forested hills and blue-green sea, and soothing white waves lap the rocky beaches. The island is richly carpeted in purple bougainvillea and hibiscus flowers, and the shores are lined with voluptuous waving palms.

The other Corregidor, the dark Corregidor, is a battle-scarred wreck of a place filled with ruined buildings and graveyards and bomb craters, and fertilized by the blood and bodies of more than 5,000 dead American, Filipino, and Japanese soldiers. Those three countries – America, Japan, and the Philippines – were the protagonists in the two great battles that rocked the island: the first in April and May 1942, when the Japanese expelled the Allies, and the second in February 1945, when the Allies regained control of The Rock.

The former enemies are still segregated: after lunch, the Japanese board one bus, and the Americans and Filipinos board another. This segregation only sharpens the cognitive dissonance that is Corregidor. On my bus are the cheerful Filipinos, who always did love a day out, and on the other bus are the somber Japanese, some of them veterans, who have come to take a last look at the famous battlefield. The Filipino-American ‘allies’ bus is much more festive than the Japanese ‘axis’ bus, an air of revelry that is greatly enhanced by Apolonio Curato, our enthusiastic tour guide. “Apolonio – like the Greek god,” he says, introducing himself.

Apolonio’s endless jokes add to the happy-sad discord of Corregidor. “The Americans divided the island into three sides, bottom side, middle side, and top side, but the Japanese added a fourth side - suicide!” he says happily, as we peer down from suicide cliff, a 40-meter limestone bluff with jagged boulders below, over which many Japanese jumped 61 years ago. No bones are visible, but spirits, perhaps, abound. Of the 5,000 Japanese soldiers who fought in the second battle, just 42 survived. It’s a hell of a thing to look over this cliff and try to imagine what happened here.

But Apolonio is unabashed. What do the Japanese tourists think of Corregidor, Apolonio? “They think they won both battles,” he says, laughing.

The tour winds gently along, punctuated by group photos and glorious sea views, and by graveyards and monuments and bomb craters. Destroyed buildings and bunkers and gun batteries are everywhere; in all, more than a million bombs and shells fell on this five square kilometre island. One of the most awesome sights is Middleside Barracks, a 500-metre long, four-storey husk of building, filled with cracked and ruined concrete and bristling with twisted rebar.

The Middleside ruins are dangerous but irresistible, haunting and evocative like Angkor Wat, a palace of ruined dreams. The roof is a canopy of green leaves and a lattice-work of banyan-tree branches. The patient, ever-present banyans throw their gentle but deadly embrace around the ruined barracks, snaking their roots deep into the cracks and forcing apart the pliant, resistant concrete. The grassy fields at the edge of the barracks are pockmarked by bomb craters, some of them 10 metres deep.

Apolonio sees me looking at one of the craters. “A 1,000-pound bomb fell here,” he quips. “Good thing it wasn’t a 2,000-pound bomb!”

Do they ever find unexploded bombs, Apolonio? “We know when they build a new project here, because there’s always an explosion,” he laughs. And so it goes. Apolonio cheerfully makes light of the island’s hellish history, and why not? It’s a sunny day in paradise, and life is short – as the bomb craters and wrecked barracks all too vividly remind us.

The next stop is Battery Way, a mortar battery that was used by the Allies to shell Bataan peninsula. It took some shelling itself: a 20-kg slab of concrete was blasted into an Acacia tree, and there it remains, incorporated into the living trunk. The solid steel barrels of the four mortars are pockmarked with shrapnel; this battery sustained 70% casualties during the Japanese attacks. Nearby I notice a fresh new hole, a couple of metres deep, that doesn’t look like a shell crater. It’s not, says Apolonio - that hole was dug by treasure hunters.

And on we go, gazing at gun batteries and ruined buildings and tropical jungle, all set against a beautiful backdrop of green hills and enchanting blue seas. Another highlight is Topside Barracks. This huge ruin is not as overgrown as Middleside Barracks – it is surrounded not by jungle, but by a grassy field - but it is just as evocative.

This grassy field was the site of Corregidor’s most dramatic moment: on February 15, 1945, 2,000 American paratroopers landed here, taking the Japanese by surprise. It was a deadly jump: due to gale-force winds, the soldiers jumped from a height of 100 metres, with no time to open a second chute. Many missed the landing zone, and some landed in the sea. In all, just half the paratroopers survived, but the tactic was effective. Within minutes of landing, they killed Akira Itagaki, the Japanese commander of Corregidor, and two day later, the Allied forces regained control of The Rock.

Nearby is Battery Geary, yet another remarkable ruin. From this spot, Allied troops shelled the Japanese with eight 10-ton mortars, subjecting Bataan peninsula to a deadly barrage, as each shell destroyed an area 200 metres in diameter. The Japanese were eventually able to pinpoint the position of Battery Geary, and on May 2, 1942, a 500-lb shell penetrated the roof of the ammunition warehouse and ignited 40 tons of ammunition. The subsequent blast blew chunks of concrete a mile in the air, and tossed the 10-ton mortars like chopsticks; one flew 150 yards, and another landed on an adjacent golf course. Four days later, the Allies surrendered. The scattered mortars and crushed concrete of Battery Geary make it one of the most moving sights on Corregidor.

At Old Station Hospital - another vaulting ruin - I notice another fresh hole. Treasure hunters again, Apolonio? He looks sheepish, and later, he admits to digging that hole himself.

As it turns out, Apolonio and fellow guide Roberto Fulcher have done plenty of treasure hunting. Three years ago they dug for two weeks - at an undisclosed location - at the behest of a former GI, who told them 12 Samurai swords were buried there. Did he find anything? “Some bullets, and some rubber raincoats, but no swords,” says Roberto. Another time he dug for a month, and found only empty metal drums. “A whole month of D and D,” he says, smiling. “Digging and drinking.”

Indeed, the entire island is abuzz with talk of treasure, a fever that is fuelled by occasional finds. In 1987, a labourer found a gold Buddha. “That labourer stopped working for a while,” says Roberto. In 1976, another man found a carton of silver coins on the beach. In 1960, some GIs landed a helicopter and left with 80 pieces of gold, says Roberto.

Behind the rumours are some compelling facts. The fleeing Americans hid 17 million pieces of silver in the sea near Corregidor, but only half of the stash was recovered. And when the Japanese fled three years later, 14 bars of gold bullion were missing from their inventory. Many soldiers also buried looted treasure, hoping to return and recover it. But Roberto and Apolonio have come up empty so far.

As the daytime tour draws to a close, we return to Topside Barracks. A light rain is falling, and it drips through the cracks of the deserted ruin. Aside from the dripping water, the place is utterly silent. The daytime tour ends at a museum filled with guns and cartridges, and with items like photos and eyeglasses and binoculars. These small, personal items are unexpectedly moving, especially the photos. The final stop is a peace monument, but after a day spent on Corregidor, the monument’s vows of eternal peace seem unconvincing.

After the peace monument, most of the Filipino and Japanese tourists take the ferry back to Manila. But visitors who spend the night on Corregidor are in for a special treat, the two-hour twilight tour. The first stop is Battery Grubbs, where we watch a blazing orange sunset over Manila Bay, and gaze at Bataan peninsula, 4km away. Corregidor, 4km wide and 10km long, has high cliffs that offer excellent views of both sides of Manila Bay: Bataan to the north, and Cavite to the south. This location, like a plug at the entrance to the bay, explains why The Rock was such a sought-after prize during World War II.

The second stop on the night-time tour is the astonishing Malinta tunnel complex, two miles of high-ceilinged tunnel that once served as an underground city, with military headquarters, a hospital, ammunition storage, and living space for hundreds of soldiers, nurses and civilians. There is even a small escape hatch through which General Douglas MacArthur fled to Australia, after uttering his famous vow to return.

Like many visitors, I spend a lot of time trying to envision the hell that broke loose on Corregidor, and for this, the ‘Malinta Experience’ sound and light show is a big help. Characters come to life and talk, bombs thunder overhead, the electricity flickers on and off, and the tunnel fills with smoke. Despite 250 feet of rock above them, the unlucky residents of the tunnel could hear the falling bombs all too well: many of them emerged with their ears bleeding from the concussions.

This tunnel was the last redoubt of the Filipino-American troops. After months of non-stop bombardment, the Allies surrendered Corregidor on May 6, 1942, and with it, the Philippines. When the Allies returned three years later, Malinta tunnel was not forgotten, as the troops poured gasoline and gunpowder down the air vents and blew up vast sections of the complex.

As we exit the tunnel, a shadowy tropical night has fallen. At night, says Roberto, the ghosts of Corregidor come out, and the island is haunted. Indeed, the tropical night is eerie and suggestive. Bats fly back and forth, monkeys howl in the distant jungle, and in the darkness, the death and sacrifice that took place here seem much closer to the heart. This is the dark yin of bloodstained Corregidor.

But before long it is morning time once again, the sun is shining, and peace pervades the island paradise. Roberto and Apolonio meet me at the ferry dock to say goodbye. They have a request – next time, can I bring them a metal detector that finds only gold, and not just iron? I laugh, but they assure me that such a thing really does exist. Okay, I tell them, next time. Next time.