Mike Guardia (19 page)

The easiest way into the valley existed through two cities: Mapayao and Aparri. Both were agricultural centers and had roads offering easy access to the valley’s rice plantations. Aparri, however, seems to have been the priority target—and Volckmann was not without reason to make it so. Aparri was the last Japanese naval port into North Luzon and was also where the Japanese landed in 1941.
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Viewing the situation, Blackburn saw several potential problems. To corner the enemy, the 11th Infantry would have to push northward through the valley and make their way through its narrow confines into Mapayao.
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This maneuver would give Blackburn the initiative, but it would also give more flexibility to the Japanese. Aparri was the enemy’s last outlet to Tokyo, and they were guaranteed to put up a fight for it. Furthermore, there was a possibility that the Japanese might enact a “scorched-earth policy” while retreating to Aparri. Burning the rice plantations in the wake of their retreat would deny them their breadbasket, but it would shield their movements and stall the 11th Infantry’s advance.

Whether Volckmann or Blackburn actually feared a scorched-earth policy is unknown, but it likely influenced the decision making for the initial assault on the Japanese. The 11th Infantry had in their possession elements from USAFIP-NL’s organic artillery battalion.
³³³
Placing these 105mm guns at key redoubts, Blackburn targeted the farmhousesturned-Japanese command posts. This bombardment would take out as many resources as possible
before
the Japanese retreat began.

As the Japanese retreated from Blackburn’s hail of artillery fire, two battalions of the 11th Infantry swooped down in a pincer-like movement to prevent the enemy from reaching and fortifying Aparri. However, due to one of the battalion commander’s lack of tenacity, a rather large contingent slipped through to Aparri. The resulting siege of the city lasted approximately three weeks. Assisted by the 1-511 Airborne Infantry Regiment, the 11th Airborne Division, which had parachuted in behind enemy lines to assist USAFIP-NL, Blackburn’s men cleared Aparri and the surrounding area of Tuguegarao, thereby shutting down and closing access to the enemy’s last operational naval port in Luzon.
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The Battle for Bessang Pass represents perhaps the most decisive engagement for the USAFIP-NL. By the time USAFIP-NL began concentrating its forces on Bessang Pass in June 1945, the Japanese Fourteenth Army was in its last throes. Crippled by the collective action of Volckmann’s regiments and the newly arrived Sixth U.S. Army, Yamashita put everything he had into making his last stand at Bessang Pass.
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Bessang Pass was the narrowest part of Highway 4 heading east into the Cordillera Central. In recent months, USAFIP-NL intelligence had reported that Bessang Pass had become the back door to Yamashita’s command center. Activity along the Pass and the surrounding countryside seemed to confirm this observation: the Japanese fortified their redoubts with artillery and dug a sophisticated network of tunnels, trenches, and pillboxes.
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After winding down their operations in San Fernando, the 121st Infantry, which was the closest of Volckmann’s regiments, was the first to arrive. The Japanese, however, would not give up Bessang Pass without a fight. Nearly two and a half weeks of combat between the 121st Infantry and the 19th Tora Division ended in a bloody stalemate. Volckmann soon realized that taking Bessang Pass and rousting Yamashita from his hole would require more than one regiment. Beginning on 15 June 1945, Volckmann pulled the 15th Infantry and elements of the 66th Infantry into the 121st Infantry’s staging area outside of Bessang Pass.
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For the next two weeks, the three regiments engaged in the fiercest fighting Volckmann had ever witnessed. The battle, in many respects, became an artillerymen’s game. In a desperate stroke to bolster his defenses, Yamashita concentrated the last of his functional artillery pieces on the ridges surrounding Balete Pass. What the Japanese lacked, however, was the ability to coordinate infantry-artillery operations. As their men remained bunkered down in their trench networks and pillboxes, they had no means of employing forward artillery observers to gauge the proximity of enemy formations. Before firing their rounds, the Japanese artillerymen simply calculated a hypothetical trajectory and fired into the fog, not taking into account any possible terrain features that would offset the desired impact. Volckmann, on the other hand, saw his artillery as a critical maneuver asset. With each advance on the territory surrounding Bessang Pass, Volckmann’s men would relay the distance and elevation of a particular target back to the “gun line.”
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This process made it easier for American artillery to zero-in, neutralize, and severely weaken the Japanese enclaves. In contrast, Yamashita’s howitzers fired blindly with hopes that a round would make impact on an enemy patrol.
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As his men worked their way up the last occupied ridges surrounding the pass, liaison scouts noticed the Japanese withdrawing from the area surrounding Bessang Pass. Their direction of travel meant that they were withdrawing closer toward Yamashita—no doubt in an attempt to protect their leader’s hideout. More importantly, it meant that their positions at Bessang Pass were no longer tenable. As the Japanese retreated from their Bessang redoubts, Volckmann greeted them with another artillery salvo. Although estimates vary, it is likely that only half of the enemy’s retreating force made it to their next rally point.
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The Battle for Bessang Pass was critical to the campaign, largely because it broke down the back door to Yamashita’s Headquarters. Although the worst of the fighting was still to come, the fall of the Pass signaled the end of Yamashita’s reign in North Luzon. It was scarcely 25 miles from Bessang Pass to Yamashita’s Command Center, and the bulk of his forces had already been destroyed.
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Furthermore, at this point, there was no hope for Yamashita to receive any assistance from the mother country. The fortifications at Bessang Pass had been his last stall tactic. Now, it was only a matter of time before the Americans would burst their way through Cervantes and Bontoc en route to his headquarters. Taking these two towns would not be overly difficult, but the accompanying terrain meant a slow and methodical approach for the Americans, as there were no roads in this part of Mountain Province and very few trails.
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Cervantes sat along Route 4 approximately 1,000 yards from Bessang Pass. Occupying Cervantes took nearly two weeks to accomplish, but was a critical milestone because it blocked access for Japanese reinforcements along Route 4. Following the capture of Cervantes, the USAFIP-NL Division (referring to the three regiments fighting together) worked in concert with the U.S. Army’s 6th and 32nd Infantry Divisions to storm the enemy contingent at Bontoc. Pacifying the last municipality between the Allies and Yamashita, USAFIP-NL occupied its final attack position. Together with the 6th and 32nd Infantry Division, Volckmann’s guerrillas formed a circular perimeter around the last enclave of combat-capable Japanese forces.
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With the encirclement of Yamashita’s defenses complete, Volckmann’s guerrillas attacked from the north and west while the 6th and 32nd Divisions closed in from the east and south, respectively. The Japanese fiercely fought over every square inch of this land until the official cease-fire came down on 15 August 1945. By the time Emperor Hirohito accepted the terms of surrender, USAFIP-NL had fought its way over 7,000 feet of elevation and came within a mere five miles of Yamashita’s Headquarters.
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Had the Empire of Japan not surrendered, it is likely that Yamashita’s men would have fought to the death. It is also likely that Yamashita himself would have committed
seppuku
—a Japanese samurai tradition of stabbing oneself in the abdomen to avoid the humiliation of defeat—before the Americans reached his hideout. For whatever reason, though, Yamashita chose to respect the wishes of his Emperor and emerged from the cordillera to face the consequences of surrender.

When the “Tiger of Malaya” finally came out of the mountains, he made his surrender overtures not to MacArthur, but to Volckmann. Over the previous year, Yamashita had developed a begrudging respect for the USAFIP-NL. He knew Volckmann by name and had issued one of the largest bounties in the Philippines on his head. Now, after his failed attempts to crush the resistance movement and defend Luzon from the Allied advance, Tomiyuki Yamashita ordered his troops to lay down their arms.
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Over a period of three years, 1942–45, and commanding a guerrilla force of over 22,000 men, Volckmann’s guerrillas killed over 50,000 enemy troops. USAFIP-NL accomplished these figures while losing less than 2,000 of their own.
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For his efforts, Volckmann earned the Distinguished Service Cross, the nation’s second highest military honor.
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For Russell W. Volckmann, the first two years following the Japanese surrender were nearly as chaotic as the war itself. Since 8 December 1941, he had been in a relentless struggle to survive. Harrowing escapes, debilitating sickness, and the ever-present fear of the unknown had been his daily lot. Yet, Volckmann had emerged victorious: the commander of among the greatest irregular armies of all time. Quietly, however, he was a tired soldier, eager to make his way back home. By September 1945, it had been some four and a half years since he had seen his family.
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Meanwhile, Nancy Volckmann and her young son, Russell Jr., had spent the last four years hoping that he was still alive. The pair had been evacuated five months before the invasion and knew nothing of what the next four years might hold. Upon their departure from the Philippines, Nancy and Russell Jr. settled in Arlington, Virginia, where she took a clerical job with American Airlines. While raising her young son, Nancy kept in contact with Volckmann’s parents for any news regarding her husband.
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The last she had heard of Volckmann was a telegram delivered to his father, William, indicating that his son was “Missing in Action.” Throughout his time in North Luzon, the War Department had no idea whatsoever that Volckmann commanded an army of guerrillas, for he officially remained “Missing in Action” and by 1945, was presumed dead.
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The first letter that Volckmann sent out after the Fall of Bataan was dated 20 October 1944, and did not arrive at his parents’ house until three months later.
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Although it is not certain, he may have used his contact with the SWPA submarines to post his letter from Australia. On 15 January 1945, the Clinton
Herald
—Volckmann’s hometown newspaper—reported the first news of Volckmann’s status, indicating that he was alive and that his wife had received news of her husband’s whereabouts from an “undisclosed source.” Regardless, for security reasons, the War Department gave no comment on Volckmann’s letter and maintained that he was still officially considered “Missing in Action.”
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Before Volckmann could come home, however, there were several items that required his attention. Now that Yamashita had surrendered, Volckmann had to begin the long administrative process of delivering his records to the United States and chronicling his activities for the Army Adjutant. Then, there was the question of Yamashita himself. The “Tiger of Malaya” had seen the best of his forces diminished by an enemy that constantly lurked in the shadows. The more pressing issue on his mind, no doubt, was the punishment that he would have to face for the crimes he and his men had committed. Yamashita, the man who had boldly proclaimed that
he
would dictate the terms of peace to MacArthur, now faced a military tribunal. Among the crimes of rape, pillaging, and the cruel treatment of USAFFE prisoners, Tomiyuki Yamashita’s march to the gallows seemed all but certain. Since Volckmann was a material witness to the war crimes of the Japanese, he was subpoenaed to appear at the tribunal and give sworn statements of the atrocities that he had seen.
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Perhaps more importantly, however, Volckmann was obligated to reconstruct the phases of his operations against the Japanese so that the Army could have a verifiable record of his actions and a safeguard against fraudulent claims of the enemy.

To meet this requirement, Volckmann began work on two booklets. The first, titled
G3 After-Battle Report
, gave a reconstructive narrative of actions against the enemy from the Allied landings at Lingayen Gulf to the Japanese surrender. The second booklet was titled
Guerrilla Days in North Luzon
. Published by Volckmann’s Headquarters in La Union Province, it was much shorter in length than
After-Battle Report
. Nevertheless,
Guerrilla Days
provided the Army with an accurate and in-depth overview of the evolution of the North Luzon resistance. As an additional measure, Volckmann included information on the other guerrilla leaders that arose in the early stages of the conflict, for example Walter Cushing. Concurrently, Volckmann assigned certain USAFIP-NL personnel to interview the Japanese generals and other high-ranking officers that he had recently defeated in North Luzon. After being assured that the war was over and that their candor was imperative, these Japanese subjects recounted their engagements with USAFIP-NL and—with begrudging respect—admitted that Volckmann’s tactics had outfoxed them.
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In accordance with the original
Tydings-McDuffie Act
, the United States still had a promise to keep. Although the Japanese had impeded the progress towards independence, the Filipinos were ready to take control of their own country. Picking up the pieces of the shattered Philippine Army, however, would not be easy. The Japanese had destroyed nearly all of their equipment and several more items remained unaccounted for. Amid the chaos of December 1941, Philippine Army quartermasters had abandoned their supply depots to join the USAFFE retreat. American-Philippine guerrilla units, including Volckmann’s, had since foraged these unmanned depots to recover any available arms and ammunition. Despite the grim task of rebuilding the Philippine defenses, Volckmann remained slightly ahead of the curve. The United States Armed Forces in the Philippines-North Luzon was roughly the size of an American Army division. Since the amalgamated regiments of USAFIP-NL were already Philippine Army assets, Volckmann suggested converting his force into a new division of the Philippine Army. Before the Army would let him do this, however, they granted him a 45-day furlough to visit his family in the United States.

Beginning on 30 November 1945, Volckmann began the long journey back to Clinton, Iowa. The last time he had seen his hometown was in 1940, shortly before his departure to the Philippine Islands. Prior to receiving the letter of 20 October 1944, William Volckmann buried himself in the day-to-day operations of his furniture business, desperately hoping that his son was still alive. Now that the mystery was over, he hurriedly prepared for his son’s homecoming. Meanwhile, Nancy and Russell Jr. boarded a train westbound from Arlington. Even Volckmann’s sister, Ruth Volckmann Stansbury—whose husband John was currently serving with the U.S. Army in New Guinea—arrived in Clinton for the occasion.
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Arriving at Hamilton Army Air Field in Novato, California, a flood of reporters from the Associated Press greeted the new colonel on the tarmac. Anxious to avoid the excessive publicity, however, Volckmann hurried himself past the throngs of newsmen and prepared to board the
Statesman
, a chartered ATC plane en route to Chicago. Unfortunately, due to an engine malfunction, the plane was grounded on the tarmac. Rather than have his homecoming delayed, Volckmann made other arrangements and boarded a TWA flight to Kansas City.
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After four days of seemingly endless connecting flights, train rides, and virtually no sleep, Volckmann finally arrived in Clinton. Ironically, Volckmann had arrived in his hometown on 7 December 1945, the fourth anniversary of Pearl Harbor.
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Stepping off the train at the Clinton Depot, Volckmann enjoyed the tearful reunion he had been longing for. Rushing to greet him was his now nine-year-old son, Russell Jr. He had been a lad of only five when he and his mother evacuated the Philippines. Uncertain as to whether or not he would ever see his father again, the young Volckmann recalled that, “My reaction was excitement and joy. We went for several years without knowing.”
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Minutes later, Nancy Volckmann reunited with her soldier-husband. It was a joyous ride back to Volckmann’s home at 752 Sixth Avenue South. Greeted by his father, Volckmann received a warm embrace and a simple question: “Are you hungry, Rusty?”
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That night, the family—William, Russell Sr., Russell Jr., Nancy, and Ruth Stansberry—enjoyed one photo op after another, as everyone in town was bustling about the return of Clinton’s war hero.

Volckmann remained in Clinton with his family throughout Christmas and into January 1946. Unfortunately, it would soon be “back to business.” Boarding an Army air transport, Volckmann bid his family goodbye as he departed, once again, for the Philippines. This time, however, there would be no imminent war on the horizon. The enemy had surrendered and America was now at peace with the Empire of Japan. He gave his assurances to Nancy and Russell Jr. that he would return within a few months, just as soon as he transferred control of USAFIP-NL to the Filipinos.

The process of transfering authority of the guerrilla regiments to the Philippine Army was a lengthy one. There were a number of issues that Volckmann had to tackle. Chief among them was taking an inventory of weapons and equipment, as well as coordinating pay issues with the Philippine government. Since many of Volckmann’s guerrillas were members of the Philippine Army, Scouts, or Constabulary, they sought back pay for their service against the Japanese. Guerrillas that had no military service prior to the war but now sought to join the Philippine defense community also required compensation. Since the Fall of Corregidor, USAFFE and the Philippine defense apparatus had become military non-entities. Consequently, they had no means to continue their financial operations. Furthermore, during the occupation, the only monies circulated throughout the Philippines were the Japanese war notes—which were worthless currency now that the Emperor had surrendered.

The task of sifting through the Philippine Army’s bureaucratic minutia, however, became easier for Volckmann after the Philippine elections on 23 April 1946. The president-elect was none other than Manuel Roxas, with whom Volckmann had unwittingly earned a close friendship. Roxas had quite an interesting political career. As a Philippine senator and reserve officer in the Philippine Army, Roxas had been captured on Corregidor and impressed into the new puppet government as the chief economic advisor. Undaunted by his
de facto
captivity, Roxas fed intelligence to Allied spies operating in Manila.
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Upon hearing of Volckmann’s daring escapades in North Luzon, Roxas penned the following letter:

PHILLIPINE SENATE
Manila
July 31, 1945
My dear Colonel Volckmann:
I take this opportunity of the visit of Capt. Felix-berto M. Verano to Camp Spencer [Volckmann’s Headquarters] to write you and express my profound admiration for the most gallant and successful leadership of the guerrilla forces in Northern Luzon. Throughout the Japanese occupation, I have tried to keep informed of your activities and did everything I could to aid and support your command. All the Filipinos are deeply grateful to you and will never forget the service that you rendered not only to the United States but also to the Philippines. If there is anything that I can do to help in obtaining for you and the forces under your command the recognition that is due to you and to them, as well as any assistance that you believe just and fair to the widows and orphans of your dead soldiers, I shall be very glad to exert my efforts in their behalf.
I am very anxious to meet you and extend to you personally my warmest congratulations. If you should come to Manila at any time in the near future, kindly let me know so that I may arrange a meeting with you.
Yours Truly,
(Signed) Manuel Roxas
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Seizing the opportunity, Volckmann solicited help from Roxas throughout the unit’s entire conversion process. Then, on 14 June 1946, the organization formerly known as the United States Armed Forces in the Philippines—North Luzon completed its transition from guerrilla force to a division of the new Philippine Army. To commemorate the occasion, President Roxas officially declared the 14th of June “USAFIPNL Day.” The affair of transforming his guerrilla outfit into a division of a professional army ended victoriously, but it would not be the last time Volckmann would call upon President Roxas for help.
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Returning to the United States in July 1946, Volckmann assumed the duties of Assistant Chief of Staff—Army Personnel Division, Washington, DC. During this time, Volckmann began work on a project known as the Guerrilla Recognition Program. By this time, many of the guerrillas’ receipts had been redeemed. Now, however, more individuals began lobbying the Philippine government with claims that they, too, had been guerrillas and had not been properly compensated. The Guerrilla Recognition Program set forth guidelines for evaluating claims in order to prevent fraud and abuse of the system.
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Accordingly, a supposed guerrilla unit would have to establish the following: (1) a record of service with definite timeframes, (2) proof that the unit maintained ongoing opposition to the enemy, (3) that the activities of the unit materially contributed to the defeat of the enemy, and (4) that there was a definite organization to the unit. Using these criteria, the Army validated the claims of many of the guerrillas while discrediting those who attempted to cheat the system.
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Meanwhile, Volckmann began the arduous journey through the Army’s rehabilitation program. The tropical diseases that Volckmann had acquired in the Philippines now lay dormant, but to prevent any future relapses, the Army put him through an endless cycle of blood work and phased medicine before issuing him a clean bill of health. Indeed, Volckmann spent more time at Walter Reed Army Hospital than he did at the Personnel Division offices.
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In the midst of his physical turmoil, Volckmann soon encountered a problem of a different kind: after nearly thirteen years of marriage, Nancy wanted a divorce. At first, Volckmann could hardly fathom it: for thirteen years he had been a devoted husband. Perhaps the four years of separation during the war had taken its toll, or maybe she had gained a newfound sense of independence. Whatever Nancy’s reasons may have been, Volckmann knew that if she no longer wanted the marriage, it was better to let her go than to embroil himself in a fight he couldn’t win. Thus, while making his arduous roundtrips to Walter Reed, Volckmann endured the legalistic hassles of divorce papers and asset division. Their divorce was finalized on 17 August 1947.
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