The city is still at a standstill 28 days after the Americans entered it. I went to Santo Tomas then to Calle Militar with Frances courtesy of Father Keene's tattered Ford Jitney, one of his burial detail vehicles. At Manila Gas I had to tip a drum of US Aviation fuel (blue) into the tank. A soldier pointed me to where I could I wash my hands — an upturned helmet with a little water inside.

On our way to Malate we got a clear view of white puffs of smoke on the San Mateo, Montalban Hills. Several days ago, a First Cavalry Company suffered so many losses there that it had to be disbanded — only 40 returned unscathed. Closer to us, explosions continued to rock the area around the Finance Building. We went up Herran where a Japanese sniper had just been killed. He had probably been enjoying his first good sleep in weeks when a looter (who else?) stumbled upon him. The MPs made sure he'd never wake up.

At 106 Militar we met Joe Connor, who had rode in earlier on Stearn's American Red Cross jeep, and set to work cleaning up and rummaging in the cellar. A car was to be back for us at 1630. By 1500 we were thirsty enough to set off for the Boulevard in search of water. The electric lamp posts were still standing in the center of the Boulevard so this part hadn't been converted into a runway. We saw an array of Japanese weapons including three 6-inch guns and 51mm machine guns, and a shelter or anemic pillbox of dirt and grass every ten yards. The shattered silhouette of Pier 7 made quite a sight. The Bay side of the Michel and Admiral apartments looked pristine, but American shells had battered the sides facing inland. The Malate Church, which Chick Parsons used as an occasional headquarters and where the Japanese executed all the Fathers, was a burnt out shell. The Zobel house was only lightly damaged and looked like an oasis in the desert — a waterless oasis. The sun was scorching so we returned to Militar to await our rescue.

Father Neri, a graduate of Fort Santiago, turned up at 1720 on a borrowed bike and said there'd be no car. Thoughtfully, he brought a glass and a can of water that lost half its contents on the ride over. After a glass of water each, we started our trek back. At Herran we got lucky: an amphibious truck "G-23" had moved ahead of its convoy of four or five others to check the route. It was lost and we knew the way, so we got a thrilling ride on the monster truck to Paco.

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