By Herman Wrede, special to the Pinnacle
A salute heard around the world
This story was brought to the United States by servicemen
returning from the Pacific at the end of World War II. It was well
known then but with the passage of 60 years many Americans have
never heard it.
By Herman Wrede, special to the Pinnacle
A salute heard around the world
This story was brought to the United States by servicemen returning from the Pacific at the end of World War II. It was well known then but with the passage of 60 years many Americans have never heard it.
During the desperate fighting in the Philippines following the fall of Bataan, small groups of Americans eluded capture for a while until they were hunted down and forced to surrender.
One such group of five walked from a grove with hands held high as a Japanese patrol surrounded it and ordered the men to give up or die. They were marched 12 miles inland at bayonet point to a military prison camp.
The group’s leader was a captain who had thrown away his insignia upon capture so he would not be separated from the men. His name has since been forgotten – call him Smith.
At camp, Smith learned that another officer, a major, was among the captives.
Smith’s introduction to prison life was brutal. On the third morning, he protested an enemy soldier beating an American too weak to work. The soldier knocked Smith unconscious with his rifle butt.
Every day was a nightmare of abuse and slow starvation with heat, fever, rain and mosquitoes plaguing them. After two months, Smith had lost 25 pounds but still tried to inspire the others.
One evening he was told that the major was asking for him. As Smith walked into the hut he saw that the major was dying. He tried to cheer him but the major weakly protested. “No time for that. There’s something I must tell you.”
He withdrew a small American flag from his shirt. “You’re in charge now and I want you to have this to keep the men’s spirit alive. Be careful, though; it means death if they find it on you.” Ten minutes later, Smith left a dead man behind him.
Many prisoners died over the next three years; some of malnutrition, some of dysentery and others of beatings. Some just died. But Smith accepted no death willingly. He cajoled, begged and painted a picture of eventual freedom. Many times he coaxed a man back from the brink of eternity by showing him the flag to revive his spirit.
One spring morning in 1945, the Japanese garrison marched through the gate, boarded trucks and drove off. The prisoners milled around aimlessly and a few even ventured outside but returned shortly, uncertain of their fate.
That afternoon an American Jeep pulled through the gate with three trucks following. A colonel stepped out and announced, “Men, you’re free again. We’re going to transport you to headquarters where you’ll be taken care of. Sergeant, run the flag up the pole.”
At that moment a scarecrow detached itself from the group of ragged specters, marched jerkily to the colonel and saluted. “Captain Thomas Smith reporting back to duty, sir.” He took a small creased flag from his shirt. “Could you run this up instead, sir?”
The colonel stared at him for many seconds, then turned to the sergeant. “Raise this one,” he said.
As the flag went up the pole and caught the breeze, Smith and the other survivors stood at rigid attention on trembling legs and held their salute for a long time.
