THE DAY THE TANK BLEW UP
by Dean Marks HQ2-511th PIR
The 511th PIR jumped on February 3, 1945, at Tagaytay Ridge. That Ridge overlooks Lake Taal, an ancient volcanic crater lake with an active volcano, on a lava island in the middle of the lake. The jump on the ridge took the Japanese by complete surprise. The title of the story is derived from a tank that was destroyed by a 500 pound aerial bomb, that had been rigged as a land mine on Highway 17 in the city of Paranque, a suburb of Manila. The phrase "The Day the Tank Blew Up" as a time reference from that point on. The actual date would be February 6, 1945.
MINDORO ISLAND
We boarded Landing Craft Infantry (L.C.I.) at Bito Beach, Abuyog, Leyte, after about one month of rest, resupply and replacements from the States. We had spent half of November and almost all of December, including Christmas 1944, under severe weather and jungle combat conditions in the Leyte mountains between Dulag-Burauen on the east and Alburea-Ormoc on the west coast.
It was a hot January 27th, when we walked up the ramps of the L.C.I.'s. For once there were no wet shoes, socks or pants, plus sand that was usually associated with any type of landing craft. You generally got wet walking on them and very wet getting off. These babies punched right up to the shore and had gangplank type ramps on either side of the bow. Naturally, they were gray, with big white numbers, and the paint still smelled. Our quarters were cramped, just bunks with canvas. It was okay though, much better then we had been used to for the previous two months. We shoved off at midmorning, with the L.C.I. winching itself back in to deep water. There were about 100 of us on each ship, and seeing that the entire 511th was moving, there must have been about twenty L.C.I.'s making up the convoy. We knew we were headed for Mindoro Island, but didn't know why at this point in time. Mindoro lies northwest of Leyte, but rather than sail directly northwest past Cebu, Panay, and other smaller islands still held by Japanese forces, we sailed southwest out of Abuyog then swung almost due north, when we got around the island of Negros most southern point. San Jose, Mindoro, was our destination. The trip took two days and one night. Our L.C.I. broke down in the middle of the night. I don't know what the problem was, but we had to transfer to another one which pulled along side. A few of the guys got a little wet during the transfer. Nothing serious happened during the switch. We lived on sack lunches, K-rations, and weak Navy coffee.
We pulled into San Jose at high noon. The L.C.I. ran right up on the sandy beach. After the war was over, I found out that my high school buddy, Burt Patwell, was a radioman in the L.C.I. squadron that landed us. Small world! We marched route step to an airstrip and just sat around until dark. Of course, we ate some of our K-rations before turning in for the night. My buddy, Westbrook had a thing about American cheese in his dinner ration. He'd kill for it! I traded with him occasionally. He would stick it on his canteen fork and grill it over an open fire. When the sun set, we all laid down and curled up in balls, in a rough platoon formation. We didn't have blankets or pup tents, just our ponchos. Being it was warm and dry with few insects, it was a fairly nice night.
Lt. "Fearless" Fosdick got out LMG platoon on their feet about 4:00AM. We hoofed it to the C-47 Troop Carriers. Where we were then informed where we were going, but didn't know what lay ahead. You don't feel that you're going to get hurt! More apprehensive about the jump than the Japanese I wondered now what Jack Howser and Whitey Outcalt's thoughts were. In two short days they would be laying dead on the street in the outskirts of Manila. All this way, to die. The infantry dies and dies in rotten weather, always tired, cold, hungry and a seemingly endless series of trails to traverse, to ambush, or to get ambushed. I had my fill of that on Leyte, as did all the rest. Going to Luzon was just one more step closer to home.
The C-47's loomed up in the darkness like silent marine monsters of some class B horror movie. They stood silent, although we could hear the crew chiefs talking with ground crew personnel. I remember "Red" Peters and "Fearless" Fosdick telling us that this was our plane. We just sort of mingled in a group next to the open door, just to rear of the left wing. It was a gray dawn. The parachutes were lined up Army style on the ground and we were told to pick one out and get into it. I grabbed one that was close, and to get into the harness with "full field" wasn't an easy matter. We each needed help. I unhooked the two snaps on my mussett bag (knapsack) and with it secured to top of my web harness, swung it over my head so it hung in front of me at belly level, backside to the front. Then, I hoisted the harness of the T-5 chute over my shoulders, with the leg straps dangling loose behind me. After snapping the front chest straps, I fished the leg (ball breaker) straps through my legs, being careful that they weren't twisted, and snapped them into their respective D-rings at lower belly level. As usual, the chute was extremely tight. It was hard to bend in any direction. Westbrook needed a little help, so I checked his harness and he checked the back of mine. No one was saying much. Only a word here and there, no joking. Every one was just a little limp and anxious. I snapped on a reserve chute and fed the "belly band" through its openings and secured it tightly to its clasp. Brehm tightened the slack on all of my in assessable adjusting straps and I did his.
I eased my carbine diagonally back of my reserve chute and then put the final tightening operation on the "belly band". I had my canteen, first aid kit and trench knife where they belonged with help from Westbrook. After we did his, and we were ready to load up. It was not easy climbing the step ladder type steps into the plane. You couldn't bend properly with all the equipment, the harness was tight, hurting your shoulder ligaments and you were sweating under your helmet and in every joint in your body. Nevertheless, with a little boost from behind, you hoisted yourself up into the plane and found a bucket seat. Never had trouble finding a seat by a window in those days. We sat by squad with "Sgt. Red Peters being number two man behind "Fearless" Fosdick, who was number one. Behind Peters sat Tyminski, then Westbrook, myself, Brehm, Bailey, Fairley and Porteous, who was the gunner this time around. We were an A-4 LMG Squad, (1919A4 light machine gun, Browning H.B. cal. 30, ground) and a good one having been together over a year, including heavy combat on Leyte. We were very close friends. Bear in mind, there were three other squads on the plane with us. Our machine guns were in pods beneath the plane. They would drop simultaneous, when the green jump light was turned on.
It was dark inside the plane. I just sat down and really wondered and worried what was in store. I was sweating and also having a chill. My shoulders were hurting, from the tight straps, where the main harness passes over them and I was very thirsty. I didn't swig any water; too difficult to get at my canteen with all the equipment hung one me, plus the parachutes. After about a half-hour or so, I was startled into reality from my almost blank day dreaming, by the high pitched whine of the inertia starter, winding up the engine just outside my window. The engine exploded into a noisy staccato of misfiring cylinders. Soon the pilot got the proper mixtures and those old engines smoothed out beautifully. Just a humming! Blue flames begin flickering out from the engine exhaust.
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