Description
#330 Sunday 23 Sept. 8:10 am Darling, It's a little difficult to write with Houston, negro steward who tidies up our quonset, sweeping around, Arthur shuttling back and forth packing his things (leaving within two or three days) and Lowe sitting opposite me, restless with ideas as usual, speculating as to what use he could best put a rather attractive little piece of cheap china he picked up on our trip yesterday afternoon. He and Art Fickling (new Supply Officer) and I made an expedition to the Karorina Yama (the Carolinas), hardly to be called a mountain but actual a plateau several hundred feet above the general level of the island and about a mile long. With the exception of two or three isolated pockets, this area was the last to be cleaned out of Japanese soldiers. Months ago I was out there on a patrol, but not anxious to look into any of the then still inhabited caves. [pg 2] Barry (Lowe) had previously been shown the way by enlisted interpreter Shin and a couple of Koreans from the camp. He was hot in pursuit of souvenirs - particularly a knife or a rifle - but the area we were in, although not very much visited, had been sufficiently combed to be devoid of such items. We did find a lot of helmets, cartridge boxes (some with shells), bayonet scabbards (with nothing in them), and the scattered skeletons of between 20 and 25 men. There was no sign of recent decomposition and since we knew in advance that the skeletons were there and were not surprised to see them, I was not even much impressed with a sense of the gruesomeness of some of those scenes, though I can feel it in retrospect. At the time we were too busy exploring. Within one area just a few hundred feet square and full of tangled underbrush we four or five narrow ravines each from 50 to 150 feet in length, from ten [pg 3] to twenty-five feet deep and from three to eight feet wide at the bottom. The sides were of very jagged coral, often pitted with holes or even a few sizeable caves large enough for 2 or 3 men to hide in. Many had met their death in such shelters, though most of those we saw were in the ravine itself. Flame throwers had been through the whole area and everything was searched. Proceeding from this area of ravines thru more underbrush and down a rocky slope we came after several minutes of labored tramping, to several real caves whose openings were in the side of a steep coral cliff and which, tho not larger than the ravines, were actual caverns with a small opening but large enough to accommodate several men. Upon finding a bicycle padlocked to a tree and suspecting the nearness of some headquarters, we sought and soon found a cave at whose entrance [pg 4] was a small, battered radio, a telephone set with most of the parts intact (old U.S. country style - wooden box, crank for ringing a bell) and the remains of other electrical equipment. Just inside the three-foot-square mouth of the cave, which dropped down sharply, was a ten or twelve foot ladder made of rough tree limbs with most of its rings missing. There was still a faint scorched smell about the place. Fortunately, we had one flashlight and our cigaret lighters, and were wearing old clothes; Barry and I left our precautionary 45s with Art Finkling outside (not for protection but for convenience), scrambled down inside and spent 20 minutes going over every inch of the 200 square foot interior. It was the kind of place which if anywhere, you’d expect to find something, and we [pg 5] searched diligently, but except for more of the same things (including skeletons and skulls) that I enumerated above, there was nothing worth taking. I was not especially disappointed; I was much more interested in seeing the plan than in collecting souvenirs, and now that I've been in some real caves and seen what fighting conditions were like at their most rugged, I am not keen about going back. It was a very interesting experience - imagine what an adventure it would be for a 14 year old boy! Last night a movie at the school; this afternoon a choir of 30 people from an outside unit, including a negro quartet, a quartet of nurses, several solos, an [?] duet, a violin solo… Please get my last letter real soon, Sweetie. I'm so anxious to have you know something definite and feel reassured. I love you Warren
