A huge vehicle with eight rear wheels came down España from Quezon City loaded with evacuees — just one of a hundred American gestures of generosity to the people of the city. A big, tough hombre drove the vehicle at a scant five miles-an-hour to protect a couple of badly wounded passengers.

Another impressive sight at Sampaloc: A truck and trailer unit of an American Battalion of Engineers called "Miss Chlorine of Ohio." The truck left the trailer behind with its generator-powered pump drawing water from a hydrant through a chlorine filtration tank and out through a fire hose at a good clip. A line of people waited for a chance to get drinking water. Each Battalion or Division of Engineers had four such pump-trailers. "Nifty, eh?" said a friend I bumped into there. "Did the Japs ever give a damn about water for us?"

Three Army kitchens served hot food to people in the streets — only a fraction of the hungry but it's a start. American electricians climbed up and down telephone poles to replace wires. It might be a while before all electricity and telephone service is restored, but the U.S. Army will be done in a couple of days even if they don't need it — they make their own electricity and have a superb radio communication system. Near Quezon Boulevard, two American bulldozers cleared wrecked cars and trucks off the street. I noticed the helmets and sabers I saw yesterday were gone and wondered what stories their new owners will make up about them.

Figueras today had a second car marked "U.S.A." — a black Nash, and at least eight armed men guarded his house. They say he offered his services to Malacañan and made some sort of "deal" to secure the support of an anomalous guerrilla unit.

. . . .

1605: I'm a slightly changed man as I write this. A Japanese mortar had been firing into Santa Mesa every five seconds or so. The shells were landing to our north when I noticed the explosions getting nearer. I dropped my pen and ran downstairs as it stopped, so I headed up again. Then it started again ... VERY CLOSE this time. I looked for Dad — he wasn't in his room. The Japanese were on us now. I called Mom and we made ourselves as small as possible in the safest corner downstairs. The shells came closer ... WHAM! ... splinters ... WHAM! Our maid sobbed: "Oh Ma'am, very close ... very close." WHAM! ... Crash ... WHAM! We hung on for dear life. Our house was hit, I thought, smelling fire, and the Bachrach house too. Fortunately, the Japanese stopped — probably realizing they were off target.

I dashed upstairs to check for any fires and ran into Dad, holding a blood-soaked hanky on his head with trembling hands. Very calmly, he said: "Water Henry, water."

continues...