Professor Greg Jackson

On day two or three, a 28-year-old, clean-shaven, blonde-haired, six-foot-tall lieutenant struggles to move forward, staggering, barely managing to get one foot in front of the other.

As the handsome lieutenant falls, Lester is passing and asks if he needs any help.

There's no response.

The tank commander later recalls feeling, quote, awful not being able to help someone who obviously needed help and was going to die, close quote.

As the men continue on, the lieutenant crumples completely on the ground.

The Japanese guard then yells something the Americans can't understand.

After this, Lester tells us that the guard, without a moment's hesitation, shoved his bayonet into the young officer's chest.

Then, with a mighty scream, the guard yelled what we interpreted to mean, get up.

Of course, it was too late.

The bayonet had finished the job the march started.

I could not help but think, there but for the grace of God go I. While walking forward, we looked back at the sickening scene.

There, the lieutenant lay in the middle of the road.

Within minutes, we heard the rumbling of trucks coming down the road.

The Japanese were moving some of their fighting men in position against Corridor.

Making no attempt to avoid the fallen body, they ran over the dead man, leaving only the mangled remains of what once was a human being.

No sympathy, no concern for us as humans, no burials.

The Japanese were treating us like animals.

We had no doubt as to how he would be.

It's now day four, April 14th.

Lester wavers on the outside of the column of men, slowly trudging forward, and a Japanese officer on horseback rides by.