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The Daily Guardian (Iloilo), Thursday, 28 February 1946

The destroyers Grulla and Avoceta have completed their refits and are embarked on builders’ trials and operational training.

Bataraza, Palawan, Saturday, 2 March 1946

The civil support ship Cabo Santiago carefully clawed her way into the lower reaches of the Marangas River. Lieutenant Carlos Salazar had placed a hand with a lead in the ship’s head, and was listening carefully as the sailor cried out the depth of the water under the keel – there was not much to spare. At last they reached as far as they could safely go and Salazar ordered the anchors set.

They were perhaps a hundred meters downstream from where troops of the Second Civic Action Group had begun to clear an area for a base camp and assemble materials for construction of a pier. Salazar ordered his gig to be prepared and went ashore to coordinate with his Army counterpart. The pier would have to be built where ships could anchor; and that might delay completion of the project.


Manila, The Senate House, Monday, 4 March 1946

“I was deliberately sent out of the way while you pushed this abomination of a naval program through the Senate!” Don Pedro Teves was livid, his anger betrayed by the emotion in his whispered words.

“Don Pedro”, replied Soriano, “what have we done? The two heavy cruisers that would have burdened our budget for at least two if not three years have been deleted; this is true. But the submarine force is to be increased, as you have demanded. Destroyer construction continues at the normal tempo; the need for refurbishment of the service force has been debated for years now.”

“But selling the Presidente Aguinaldo…” Teves said pleadingly.

“Allows us to finance construction of the ships we need,” Soriano explained. “Our intelligence services indicate that China has begun to recover from its war losses, though that will still take some months if not years. We need to make these defensive improvements before China fully restores its war making ability.”

Teves did not immediately respond – for once in his political career he thought before he spoke. Soriano was making sense, and Teves finally realized that he and the old man had far more in common – it was a question of how they would go about assuring the national defense.

The Philippine Herald, Wednesday, 6 March 1946

His Eminence Cardinal Reyes was on hand yesterday evening when a group of missionaries from the Society of the Divine Word arrived at Nichols Field. The Cardinal welcomed them and offered a blessing for their work. These brothers will be serving in the southern provinces in two mission stations in the province of Jolo.


Action Service Headquarters, Makati, Friday, 8 March 1946

Gavin Bagares considered the report before him. The précis summarized what was known of the progress being made by "Asiong" Salonga to weld together Manila’s criminal underground. Through astute diplomacy he had apparently persuaded Leonardo Manecio to join him, while their combined forces had already begun to squeeze the smaller gangs out of the picture; there had been an up-tick in the level of gang violence.

“We need to give them some more rope,” he thought. “And we need to get enough evidence to stand up in court – if needs be.”

Bagares was not above bending the law; especially when the suspects were caught in flagrante delicto.

The Mindanao Post, Sunday, 10 March 1946

The fleet oiler Bambu called at Zamboanga yesterday en route to Puerto Princesa in Palawan, where she will begin preparations for her demolition, scheduled to commence next month.


Naval Operating Base Cavite, Monday, 11 March 1946

Kapitein-luitenant ter Zee Eugène Lacomblé was writing-up the monthly report for his superiors in Batavia, and for a change he was able to speak positively. The problem of Moro refugees fleeing to Dutch Borneo seemed to be getting under control – a combination of increased Philippine sea and air patrols as well as the spreading knowledge that such refugees would no longer be admitted. From all he had seen in his field trip to the southern provinces of the Philippines, his hosts were doing the best they could to end the internal violence among the Moro population and to improve living conditions for all the residents there; if they were willing to cooperate that is.

However more of the report was given over to what he had learned of the Philippine Navy’s future plans. In view of China’s recovering naval power the decision to overhaul its service force at this juncture was a calculated risk. Even more surprising was the sale of the battlecruiser Presidente Aguinaldo – to Argentina of all places. However, with no fewer than four light cruisers, six destroyers and a submarine scheduled to complete before the end of the year, together with a host of small combatants, perhaps the Philippine naval staff knew what they were doing.

The Manila Times, Friday, 15 March 1946

The 45th Bombardment Squadron at San Marcelino Air Base has completed its conversion to the Douglas A-26 light bomber, and its parent Fifth Bombardment Wing is now fully operational with that first-line aircraft.


Manila, Philippine Constabulary Headquarters, Monday, 18 March 1946

Colonel Bienvenido Santos, chief of staff, drafted a memorandum to his C-1 subordinate:

“Identify, locate and reassign for special missions Constabulary personnel qualified to perform meteorological reporting tasks.”
“Select twelve Constabulary personnel qualified in radio communication operations and reassign same for special missions.”
“All personnel to be transferred to Puerto Princesa pending deployment.”

Bataraza, Palawan, Saturday, 23 March 1946

Lieutenant Carlos Salazar felt he could look back on the last three weeks with some satisfaction. Between the Army’s engineers and his own construction crew they had fashioned two piers stretching out into the waters of the Marangas River – they were spindly looking things but they would suffice until a dredge could deepen the waters of the anchorage. A start had been made on construction of housing for settlers who would arrive soon. An infirmary – temporarily housed under canvas – had been established, and had already received its share of minor injuries, as one would expect on a construction site.

There was a knock at his cabin door; the radio operator held out a message form. “For you sir,” he said.

Salazar took the radiogram and read it with surprise. The Cabo Santiago was to return to Puerto Princesa immediately, leaving her construction crew to carry on with work at Bataraza; he was to offload any supplies and equipment the crew might require during his absence.

“Something has struck the fan,” he mused.

Puerto Princesa, Palawan, Tuesday, 26 March 1946

Five minutes into the briefing Carlos Salazar understood why there was such importance in expediting the Cabo Santiago’s return to her base. From the moment that the briefing officer uncovered the map hung on the wall – a large scale representation of the Kalayaan Islands – Salazar knew that this was no ordinary civil support mission.

“Gentlemen, the Government has made the decision to formally return Philippine presence to the Kalayaan archipelago. We will be doing so within the strictures of the Treaty of Saigon,” so the briefing officer – a staff captain from Manila – explained. As he continued the briefing Salazar began to understand the need for the heterogeneous group of officers and civilians present – mostly Constabulary as opposed to naval or marine for the former, and representatives of the Ministry of Transport for the latter. As the Kalayaans were to be demilitarized, using police and civil assets to reestablish the national presence made good sense.

“Our plan calls for evaluation of Itu Aba as the initial point for our return. Lieutenant Salazar, you will be responsible for transporting the first survey party to the island.” Salazar nodded acknowledgement and the briefing officer continued.

The meeting lasted more than an hour – and this was billed as the first of several that would cover the next few days. The objective was to reconstruct weather stations, lighthouses, and other navigational aids on the inhabitable islands of the archipelago – Itu Aba, Pagasa, Lagos, and Celerio – and to plant markers elsewhere as circumstances warranted. Development of other civil support infrastructure would depend on the reaction of China; no one was speaking that far in advance.


The Bohol Chronicle, Wednesday, 27 March 1946

The destroyers Grulla and Avoceta have returned to operational status following completion of their post refit trials.

Honda Bay, off Puerto Princesa, Palawan, Sunday, 31 March 1946

It had taken several days to gather and load the supplies needed for the survey of Itu Aba as well as the last of the specialist personnel, but on the morning tide the Cabo Santiago had nosed her way seaward and now stood on a southwesterly course parallel to the southern portion of Palawan.

In the small wardroom Salazar sat with the two senior officers of the landing party, Captain Salvador Abcede and Lieutenant Fabian Ver of the Philippine Constabulary – or at least that was what their uniforms and identification proclaimed. In their mannerisms and knowledge of naval etiquette, Salazar suspected that not long before they had worn the uniform of the Philippine Marines. Spread on the mess-table before them were the most recent aerial photographs of Itu Aba.

“It does not look as if the Chinese left anything standing,” Salazar noted. “Every building knocked down or burned.”

“Some of the latter was probably caused by our own bombing; likewise the craters in the airstrip,” Abcede replied. “Our attacks were incessant.”

“We have to assume there is unexploded ordnance everywhere,” said Ver in a calm, dry voice.

“That is your department,” Abcede acknowledged. “As far as we know the Chinese left no booby-traps behind, but they were thorough in their demolitions. We will have to proceed with caution.”

“The pier looks to be standing,” Salazar noted. “That should work to our advantage.”

“That is the one thing that worries me,” Ver added. “It would have been the last thing for them to demolish, and it still looks sound; but looks can be deceiving.”

“Indeed,” replied Abcede. “I suggest we approach as close as possible but put the landing party ashore by rubber raft away from the pier.”

“I would like my people to look it over before we bring the Cabo Santiago close to it.” To Salazar, Ver’s words implied that some of the other specialist aboard were also bomb disposal technicians.

“As you wish gentlemen,” Salazar concluded. “Given the circumstances, I doubt that there can be an excess of caution.”

Fort Bonafacio, Taguig, Monday, 1 April 1946

The gathering of senior Philippine intelligence officers had been deliberately kept small – the more who were knowledgeable of secrets the greater the risk of disclosure. The five officers pored over the map before them with keen interest.


“So this is China’s super-secret aircraft manufacturing center?” said the Air Force representative. “How did we manage to get it?”

“You don’t really want to know the answer,” replied his counterpart from the Navy. “It did cost us several lives, and we believe it to be accurate.”

The industrial complex at Loiwing, in Yunnan near the Burmese frontier, had been established before the Chosen war in concert with the South African Empire; it was obvious that China had anticipated the potential threat of air attack from Chosen or Japan in locating the facility in the wilderness – though that brought other difficulties.

“Rather self-contained,” the Army representative noted. “Workers’ housing is right near the factory buildings which are in turn right beside the runway. It looks to be well laid out.”

“Yes,” the Air Force representative added. “If I understand these notes, the design offices are south of the production complex, near the perimeter. A north-south bomb run would hit them all. Not that we could do that…”

“No we couldn’t,” the Navy representative said with vigor, “nor do we.”

“Notice that the compounds for the South African personnel are located well away from the production facilities,” commented the senior civilian at the table. “And away from the housing for the factory staff. “

“They seem willing to work with the Chinese, but not to mingle,” quipped the junior civilian. “It may explain why little has been heard of this venture.”


For those who might be interested in details and sources, go here:

The good thing about the location (from a Chinese POV) is that, even though some of the Japanese bombers may have the range to reach it, it would be hard to notice it. It is also in a corner where it is highly unlikely that bombers would have been operating during the war. There are also no specialized reconnaissance aircraft available to Japan to get there either (it's about 2800 km from the nearest Japanese airbase) and even if they did, it would be quite a perilous journey for the plane to get there. I think that even if the Japanese knew about it (and maybe they do), it would be considered to be a low priority target. G10N1 bombers can easily reach it and level the whole area and everything around it but there is of course the risk that they may drift off into Indian airspace and accidentally drop the bombs there (which is something we do not want to do).

I also think that the SAE personnel are smart to be "well away from the production facilities".

Not only would it be a perilous journey for a bomber formation to get there, getting back (intact) to the nearest Japanese air base would be nigh well impossible. :P

The Mindanao Post, Wednesday, 3 April 1946

The naval construction complex at Butuan has seen much activity in the last week. Two destroyers of the Marinduque class, Malapaso and Maracano, were laid down while two others are expected to be launched within but a few weeks. The keel of the submarine Carricero has been laid and work has begun on the patrol combatants San Isidro and San Luis. One of the largest employers in the province, the naval shipyard at Butuan plays a vital role in the defense of the nation and its workers strive mightily to stay on schedule for the ships under their care. Their efforts cannot be applauded too much.

Civil Support Ship Cabo Santiago, off Itu Aba Island, Thursday, 4 April 1946

Salazar had brought the Cabo Santiago as close inshore as he dared to reconnoiter potential landing spots for Abcede’s survey party. Salazar’s preference was for a beach close to what remained of the pier in order to expedite landing the equipment stowed aboard his ship; Abcede wanted something more distant; they compromised on a stretch of sandy beach approximately one kilometer west of the pier.

The Cabo Santiago’s crew helped the Constabulary troopers to inflate their rubber rafts and load the most essential equipment; Salazar noted that for glorified policemen they knew their seamanship, handling the rafts in a professional manner and setting a good pace for paddling to the shore. All he could do now is stand by and wait for Abcede and his second-in-command, Lieutenant Ver to assess the situation and report the conditions ashore.

The little ship rocked in the ocean swells that came over the reef. It was not long before Abcede reported that the survey party had made its way safely ashore and was about to set out to march for the pier. Salazar was thankful for small mercies. That there was a high probability that unexploded bombs ashore was bad enough; if the Chinese had deliberately mined the beaches or the tracks on the island the risks might be too high. The tropical sun rose higher in the sky, and the only relief was an occasional puff of breeze. The Cabo Santiago’s crew rigged an awning to try to ward off the worst of the sun.

Then the ship’s radioman sang out, “Message from the shore party Captain,” he said. Salazar went below deck and spoke to Abcede. He and his men had reached the pier, which was in surprisingly good condition.

“The Chinese didn’t wreck it before they left,” Abcede reported. “It’s not completely safe though – after five years of neglect and storms it will need to be repaired before we can use it. The immediate pier area has no unexploded ordnance in evidence – which make sense, it was the principal area the Chinese used to demolish the installations, and they would have swept it. But we found enough on our way here that Ver will be busy for a week at least.”

Salazar mouthed a prayer of relief. “Is it safe to enter the harbor?” What passed for a harbor on Itu Aba at this stage was not much.

“We’ll need to replace some planks on the pier and generally shore it up before you can tie up to it,” Abcede replied. “I suggest that you enter and off-load what we need immediately and stand by overnight. We should have running repairs to the pier complete by then.”

Itu Aba Island, Saturday, 6 April 1946

It had taken a day-and-a-half to complete the limited repairs necessary to the pier at Itu Aba, allowing the Cabo Santiago to tie up and more easily offload her cargo of construction equipment and supplies. The time had been punctuated with dull thuds from Lieutenant Ver’s bomb squad as they cleared unexploded ordnance in an ever-widening radius.

Lieutenant Salazar’s first report to headquarters in Puerto Princesa was cautiously optimistic; true, the departing Chinese had been thorough in their demolitions, leaving not one building standing; and they had taken the scrap metal with them. The piles of ashes still lay thick where they had burned the timber and other non-metallic components of the buildings. But they had not planted explosives to obstruct either the reconditioning of the pier or any of the areas that his crew had thus far explored. The left-overs from the Philippine Air Force’s bombardment were dangerous enough. The airstrip was cratered and for the moment unusable, but if sufficient manpower and equipment was made available, it could be repaired, at least for small aircraft.

The response to Salazar’s report was swift. He was advised that a barge bearing a construction party, supplies, and equipment would be sent immediately. He was to remain on station until its arrival.


Villamor Air Force Base, Manila, Tuesday, 9 April 1946

Around the table sat senior officers of the Philippine Air Force and their naval air service counterparts. The topic of discussion was the recent up-tick in Chinese Air Force activity.

“How many incursions since the Basco Incident” asked the Chief of Air Staff.

“Ten thus far sir,” replied the Chief of Air Intelligence. “The pattern suggests a systematic probing of our defenses.”

The senior naval representatives commented, “It seems that they are using their Nanchan N2R2 reconnaissance aircraft to test how close they can get to us before we react. There have been no violations of our airspace, but they have come close.”

“I agree sir,” the CoAI added. “The pattern involves a single aircraft; we theorize that they may also be monitoring our communications in attempt to fathom our operational procedures.”

“No one ever said the Chinese were foolish,” the CoAS said. “We’re obliged to respond to their flights – who knows – one may be real.”

Scarborough Shoals Lighthouse, Friday, 12 April 1946

The dradis watch had picked up an aircraft and alerted the station commander. “Unknown, southbound bearing three-three-zero. IFF negative.”

The flight profile fit the track of a Chinese reconnaissance aircraft on a southerly course, trying its best to avoid overflying the Paracel Islands to the west. There had been a number of such flights in the last weeks, with a likely destination of the Kalayaan Islands. The range was too far to be certain, and dradis coverage of the Kalayaans was non-existent, due to their demilitarized status. But that had not deterred a response.

Word of the contact was flashed to the standing patrol of four Lockheed P-38 long-range fighters from the 5th Fighter Squadron, orbiting above the station. They were now vectored onto the track of the unknown with orders to close, identify and report. Their rules of engagement did not permit them to shoot first and ask questions later.

12. April ..... somewhere over the south China Sea

Above the South China Sea, Friday, 12 April 1946

The four twin-engine Lockheed fighters cruised high above Scarborough Shoals; the flight leader was receiving periodic updates on the progress of the unknown aircraft. “You should be in visual range now,” the dradis station at Scarborough Shoals Lighthouse reported.

Captain Benito Mendoza, ‘Blue Leader’, looked carefully in the direction of expected unknown and caught a glimpse of sunlight glinting on metal. “Contact,” he reported, “eleven o’clock, low”. Or, at least, lower than the fighters. They were well outside the three-mile limit but the unknown was continuing on its course toward the station. “Hold your positions and let him pass us.”

It was something of a high-risk strategy. Mendoza doubted that the unknown, in all probability a Chinese photo-reconnaissance aircraft, would actually enter the limited airspace above the station; there was little need, as good cameras would pick up enough to tell anyone what they needed to know. In any event, he watched as the dark speck of the aircraft grew larger and resolved itself into the profile of a Nanchan N2R2. With hand signals he ordered the rest of his flight to follow him down, positioning his element to port and the second element to starboard of the Chinese intruder.

“On please,” Mendoza thought, “do something foolish; give me a reason to shoot you down…” Mendoza had lost his older sister, a nurse, in the bombing of the Olongapo hospital back in 1940.

12. April ..... near Zhongsha (Scarborough Shoals) in international airspace

Above the South China Sea, Friday, 12 April 1946

Blue Flight dutifully followed the Chinese reconnaissance plane as it neared the Scarborough Shoals lighthouse. Mendoza reported its progress, hoping that either the intruder flew directly over the island or that he would be given authorization to shoot the Chinese aircraft down; to his disappointment, neither happened.

The graceful if spindly looking Nanchan entered a steep diving arc some two kilometers shy of the station, gaining speed and hugging the wave tops, while settling on a course back towards the Chinese mainland. Mendoza ordered his flight to follow, until it was certain that the Chinese aircraft was headed for home. So long did they follow that they had to divert to Iba Field rather than return to their home base on Mindoro.

“Maybe next time,” said Mendoza.

The Daily Guardian (Iloilo), Sunday, 14 April 1946