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SCMP Reporter

THE air seems a little thin in Malinta Tunnel, a 280-metre-long bunker built by the US government inside a rocky hill on the Philippine island of Corregidor.

  It's dark and humid, and we, a bunch of strangers, find ourselves standing closer together than we would under normal circumstances.

  Suddenly, we hear a bomb detonate above us. Then another and another, the explosions reverberating throughout the tunnel's reinforced concrete walls. Our hearts are pounding.

 It sounds like a nightmare? That's exactly the aim of a first-rate light-and-sound show on Corregidor: to recreate the war-time atmosphere in the tunnel, where thousands of Americans and Filipinos endured nearly five terrifying months of relentless bombing before the island fell to Japan in May 1942.

  We see life-size sculptures of the drama's key players, like General Douglas MacArthur, who retreated to Corregidor on Christmas Eve, 1941, following a massive invasion of the main Philippine island of Luzon.

  We also see MacArthur's cramped, makeshift office in one of Malinta's two dozen passages. It was here, we learn, that MacArthur paced a small area around his desk and directed the fighting against Japanese troops in Bataan five kilometres across the water.

  Presented during a half-hour walking tour through Malinta, the light-and-sound show is part of a larger project to turn Corregidor, which lies at the entrance of Manila Bay, into a major attraction for visitors while maintaining the island's historical integrity.

  ''The Filipinos are very proud that they were a part, together with the United States, of fighting the Japanese and holding them here for four-and-a-half months. The Bataan-Corregidor campaign stopped the Japanese from going to Australia,'' said Colonel Alfred Xerez-Burgos, a veteran of the campaign and, as executive director of the Corregidor Foundation, a driving force behind the development project.

  Although the US government built a US$3 million Pacific War Memorial on Corregidor in 1968, the island had few funds for upkeep and fell into a state of neglect.

   That changed in the late 1980s when the Aquino administration transferred control of the island from the Department of National Defence to Tourism, established the Corregidor Foundation and allotted it government funding.

  Since then, memorials and historic ruins have been cleared of weeds, and roads have been repaired on the small, tadpole-shaped island.

   The Foundation has also overseen the reconstruction of a 19th-century Spanish lighthouse and an old church, as well as the building of a 31-room inn and 14 rental bungalows (these are near the beach where the Allies surrendered).

   Corregidor also has a youth hostel and campsites, but a half day is enough time to tour the major sites.

  ''When we started, we had not more than 1,000 [visitors] the whole year. Today we're averaging 5,000 to 6,000 visitors a month,'' said Xerez-Burgos.

  A Sun Cruises' ferry makes the 80-minute crossing between Corregidor and Manila daily for about 700 pesos (about HK$200), round trip.

   The price includes a three-hour guided tour aboard an open-air bus resembling the pre-war trolleys that once plied the island. The light-and-sound show and lunch at the inn are optional extras.

  At each site along the tour, we were given time to walk around.

   In addition to artillery batteries, we stopped at the Pacific War Memorial, the Filipino Heroes Memorial (honouring, among others, those who died in the fight for independence from the United States) and a shrine to the crew of a sunken Japanese battleship, the Musashi.

   It could have become tedious, but our guide was excellent and the historical context he provided kept the tour interesting.

  As an alternative to the tour, visitors can ride the bus up to Topside, the island's highest point (200 metres above sea level) and walk down, exploring on foot.

  Bomb craters still scar the landscape, but time and the tropical climate have engineered the re-growth of lush foliage.

   Corregidor's long-time nickname, ''the Rock,'' derived from its strategic position as the Gibraltar of the East, belies the island's geographic diversity.

  ''Even if you don't have an interest in history, it's a nice place to go,'' said Mitsuo Okada, a 44-year-old Japanese businessman, after touring the Rock with his wife and son.

  Future plans call for the reconstruction of the cottage where MacArthur lived with his wife and young son.

   Although MacArthur was derided as ''Doughout Dong'' by many of his troops fighting on Bataan, he refused to live inside the tunnel and rarely even joined his family there during air raids.

  MacArthur's war-time role in the Philippines was the subject of spirited debate among members of my tour group. A few Americans argued that MacArthur's heroic image was merely a product of his public relations expertise.

  Xerez-Burgos and other Filipino veterans mostly voiced gratitude that MacArthur, who left Corregidor by PT boat before the island surrendered, lived up to his oft-quoted promise: ''I shall return.''   ''I think he was a real friend of the Philippine people,'' said Xerez-Burgos, an affable and energetic man of 76.

   ''We heard that the US wanted to by-pass the Philippines on the way to Japan, but MacArthur insisted (on returning).''   Talking with Xerez-Burgos and other veterans - there are usually a few on every tour - added a special dimension to the history lessons given by the guides.

   The veterans I encountered were more than willing to speak of their war experiences, even though it meant dredging up disturbing memories.

  Oscar Hernandez, like Xerez-Burgos, survived the Bataan Death March - so called because as many as 10,000 American and Filipino captives died from hunger, disease and Japanese brutality as they were marched to prison camps.

  ''When Bataan fell in April [1942], early along the march I escaped,'' Hernandez recalled. ''If I had not escaped, you would not be talking to me now.''   Hernandez joined one of the guerilla outfits that continued the Allied war effort in the Philippines. Today, at age 73, he works for a Japanese-affiliated company in Quezon City, but his bitterness remains.

  Japanese visitors were separated from the rest of us on the tour. Elisa Concepcion, a Japanese-speaking guide, said it was not just a matter of language but also a desire not to offend them.

  ''We edit,'' Concepcion said, explaining that Japanese are given a softer version of the events described during the standard tour. ''I think there's no need to explain in detail all the atrocities they did. They know. They were the Axis.'' 



The ghost of war haunts Corregidor