Then bullets and shrapnel slashed and rattled through our hold- as
several food carriers were coming down the ladder with buckets of
rice.
One of these was my good friend, Chaplain Ed Nagel, a former
missionary in Baguio, shot through the thigh. With blood streaming
down his leg, he continued down the ladder carrying a bucket of rice.
"U.S. Navy planes!" he shouted.
There was no doubt now; our ship was the target, and we were sitting
on the bull's eye.
Motors continued to accelerate-then terrific concussions; the ship
quivered and was actually bouncing in the water. The air was full of
bomb dust and chips of rust; it was becoming difficult to breathe. We
tried to move toward the side of the hold and huddled close together.
My heart was pounding like a trip hammer in my parched throat; my ears
were ringing and my eyes were popping. I completely forgot how hungry
I was. Each prisoner was conversing with his God. I had quick visions
of my family they'll never know what happened to me. There'll be
no survivors to tell them. Will it ever stop?"
Many men were bleeding badly! There was much confusion, much moving
around.
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