I witnessed the triumphal entry of the Liberation Force spearheaded by guerillas into town. They killed any Japs they came across.
There were hundreds of them left by the push-cart brigade that was supposed to pick them up for disposal.
I saw also bloated Jap bodies in the creek as we crossed it back to town from the rice fields.
Those that were holed in for a last-ditch fight in town were easily routed by flame throwers. They came up running with their clothes afire and were met with gunfire!
It started to rain the following day. For lack of shelter, the U.S. soldiers just dug in their foxholes and crouched inside wet and muddy holes in the ground, using their poncho to cover themselves overnight.
I saw them lay down trip-wires around their bivouac area before going to sleep, while they slept inside their foxholes.
Anything that moved or tripped the wires was fired at, including dogs searching for food at night, while flares were fired to make the place as bright as daylight.
As Army tanks rolled into town flanked on both sides of the street by foot soldiers, the cloud of dust became unbearable.
Pat and I moved into a house away from the main road owned by the Rivera family, who were our neighbors near the P.C. barracks when I was in 3rd year high school. Their mother was Nana Rosa.
Those who came to get free rations from me were relatives who went back to town, from Paitan. They were all thin, sickly, and hungry.
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