FRIDAY, February 9: Our entire district was now ABLAZE, a shamble of ruins. The day began with a heavy barrage of detonations. The rattle of machine gun fire was sporadic and interspersed by increasing rifle shots. It was during one such melee that my right arm was hit. A lady taking refuge next door cleaned my wound and applied a tourniquet. Then her house caught fire so she left to take refuge in another abandoned house. All the people were completely frantic by this time. Steady breezes made the conflagration spread ... strong winds at times blew the smoke horizontally. The water supply had gone from a trickle to nothing. Fires of uncertain origins were beginning too. When an original fire would cease, a puff and a fire began at the next house or across the street, even contrary to the direction of the wind. Chaos reigned everywhere. When the house where my parents lived was hit and began to burn, we treaded back to the ruins of our own home, arriving at 5:00 AM, Saturday. The light of the fires made dawn seem like day. Fortunately, actual visible fighting was still at a minimum — few Japs or Americans were around.

I'm certain the Japs were not in our street machine-gunning the people. During lulls, some people couldn't stand the eternal crouching and hiding, and had to come out for air ... and this they did, sitting on the sidewalk in front of the ruins, waiting, expecting doomsday. If a Jap soldier spotted you, anything could happen. We were still terror stricken and becoming disillusioned by the hour.

I did hear of some grenade throwing and deliberate Japanese machine-gunning of civilians plus setting fires to houses, but I didn't see any of it. I suspect a Jap soldier threw two hand-grenades towards our house yet it may have been shrapnel. Hardly any were around. I began to have disturbing thoughts — such as that the Americans were firing from OUTSIDE the city and were not nearby at all; that the Battle might last for days, maybe longer. That the worst had happened and our lives weren't worth a plugged nickel. Sooner or later a shell would get us or we'd die — one way or another.

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