I biked over Paco — Belen, Perez and Isaac Peral. A dozen houses in Perez were damaged but still usable. Snipers prevented me from getting to my destination: Calle Militar. Nine Japanese fired their last shots by an empty lot adjacent Perez. I got off my bike and watched 15 to 20 Americans aided by Filipino guerrillas locate the long shelter. Grenades tossed in, the bodies — bloody and still wet with perspiration — were taken out one-by-one and searched. Around the church at Singalong, three more snipers met a similar fate. When an MP warned me: "Don't go in that direction, we're looking for a Jap with a machine gun," I stayed away.

Told that some survivors from the Walled City were taken to Santa Ana Hospital, I biked to the Doctors' Emergency Hospital. Then I got a better idea. I chased two American ambulances, catching up to them when they stopped a mile and half later. Tired and dripping with perspiration, I gasped: "Say Buddy, where's the hospital?"

"About 1-1/2 miles back; we just lost our way."

On the way home, I met Piñol at Inocencio Arana's house, where one Miller and Maasholder from the Signal Corps of the Fifth Air Force were being feted as they explained the intricacies of radar and the new A-61 "Merry Widow" night fighter.

Back home at 1330, I found the water was back on — weak and still undrinkable but getting clearer — a relief after 20 days without it. Next door, electricians and technicians swarmed all over the White House preparing it for MacArthur. We opened part of the fence so the boys could come and visit.

In the afternoon I spent two more hours on my bike running a few errands to New Manila. I started at Santo Tomas, went through España and crossed the river by banca as the bridge was down. Then it was back to Santa Mesa via San Juan to see the Sotelos and finally to the Meyers' in Altura. Paul Meyer was down with a bad stomach and a 105-degree fever — the army food had been too rich for his Santo Tomas stomach. I reached home at 1900 after a 25-kilometer trip, sunburned, but with some hot mashed potatoes the Americans had given Paul.

. . . .

The family of Celso Lobregat stuck it out in Malate and barely survived. Three times they vacated a room or dugout before American shells killed someone there. The family remained calm, saved their food, put out fires, and when the worst was about to engulf them, coolly buried their valuables and rode the storm out. They ate three square meals a day and drank water from a nearby well. Total damage: one bruised leg from shrapnel.

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