At Nagtahan I missed the passage of my Aunt Marie and cousin Gabby, but a few friends came over: Manolo Rosado and family, Joaquin Olmos, Xavier, and others — all in the last stages of fatigue — bearded, dirty, clothes torn, some carrying bundles of their last possessions. The stories I heard were disturbing to say the least. One boy came in this morning wearing just a pair of shorts and a rosary around his neck.

— "Hola," said someone who recognized him, "did you come in just like that?"

— "Yes, I'm the only one left in the family."

The uncountable list of dead reached all walks of life: servants and bank managers, millionaires and vagabonds, nuns and priests. Machado, just in from Paco, told me of a man nearby who lost all of his eight children. About 500 desperate people had gathered together at the Remedios Plaza when several Japanese suddenly opened up with rifles. Machine gun fire mowed down a lady leading 30 to 50 children down a major street and waving a Red Cross flag. A family I knew suffered a frightful end — the Japanese tied them up and threw them into a fire ... one by one. One Mrs. Viaplana died this morning. Japanese Navy soldiers had tried to abuse her. She fought back ... until they gave up and shot her. Another friend of mine saw two armed but otherwise naked Japanese soldiers looking for someone to rape. Many stories tell of Japanese tying up civilians in houses, pouring gasoline all over and setting them alight.

. . . .

A few American infantrymen, bearded and haggard with lack of sleep, crossed over to this safe side for a much-needed rest. They've been facing two kinds of hell — the Japanese and civilians streaming into their lines, hysterical, wounded, and begging for precious water that can't be refused. This morning, 250 fresh infantrymen went in to relieve those who had been in the front lines for several days. Way behind us, other American officers have so much time on their hands that they've been running back and forth bringing gifts while their hostesses trip over themselves serving refreshments. Only a few days ago, mesmerized crowds accosted American soldiers with such hospitality. Now it seems so long ago. There are tens of thousands of casualties staring at me in the face — friends, Romans and countrymen — and clients by the gums. The actual number won't be known for days; we're looking at 50,000 dead at least, and I've yet to see an American correspondent at Nagtahan in the last two days. I've seen no cameras around and the local boys have no film. Neither today's MFP nor yesterday's Liberator mentioned Japanese atrocities in South Manila, perhaps in an attempt to safeguard the prestige of the victory. Only massive American aid could alleviate the suffering of the few hundred thousand homeless and hungry. The fix starts by giving the American public accurate news reports. One week after the city has been "taken," this just can't be called "mopping up."

...ooOoo...