In March 1995, my family and I moved to in the Marianas, an arch of islands south of Japan and the site of a pivotal battle in the Pacific during World War II. For the five years that we lived on Saipan, my wife, Daniele Longchamp-Petty, worked as a pediatrician at the Commonwealth Health Center, while I did research for one of my books, Saipan: Oral Histories of the Pacific War (2001) and looked after our kids.

For most of our friends on Saipan, the popular weekend activities involved water sports. But for my wife and me, boonie stomping was the outdoor recreation of choice. Boonie stomping – trekking in thick jungle – requires a well-sharpened machete and a lot of water. During our time on Saipan, lots of people would ask to go with me on my treks, but very few asked to go a second time.

The following is a recount of one of my more memorable adventures in the jungles of Saipan.

We started off for Mt. Tipo Pale – Saipan's second-highest point – at 7am. We left a gallon of Gatorade in the car, but made the mistake of taking only one quart of water, each, into the jungle.

We had parked the car to the north of Tipo Pale, where a B-29 had crashed during the war. After taking pictures of the B-29, we headed into a ravine lush with taro, ferns, papaya, and an assortment of vines, which wrapped themselves around our feet and legs every time we took a step. We carried on in this way for quite some time, using our one machete to hack a path through the thick jungle and sword grass. After more than three hours of hacking our way through the jungle, we skirted what appeared to be just another piece of limestone when I noticed its smooth surface. When I brushed away the dirt and debris, I discovered a stone statue of a Buddha with Japanese inscriptions all over and the head broken off.

Less than 25-feet away we entered a cave, which had a platform (probably for the Buddha), several slabs of stone with Japanese writing on them, one unexploded hand grenade, the usual assortment of bottles, and some old medical instruments – all, no doubt, left there from the war. When I noticed a bone protruding from the dirt, I dug and found some more bones – probably the remains of an individual who had died there during the war.

By this point, we were dangerously low on water and decided to head back. We struggled on through the jungle until we had reached a point where fatigue and distance made it impractical to even think about making it to the car. We knew that our only hope was to head downhill, letting gravity do most of the work and then hitch a ride. But it didn't get easier. It was an unending tangle of tangantangan (small trees) and vines, which seemed to reach out and grab at our legs with every step. Daniele started falling behind. Her face was bright red. She was hyperventilating and complaining of vertigo. Our remaining water could be measured in fractions of ounces.

We reached a point where we could see the village of Garapan in the distance. Now, I, too, was beginning to feel lightheaded. I, too, was hyperventilating, and every cell in my body was in agony. Daniele and I both sat down. There was no more water. Involuntary groans escaped from my mouth. I was beginning to feel desperation and near panic. Daniele just sat there with her head hanging between her knees. I was starting to babble. Nobody knew that we were on this part of the island. Who would know to look for us here? We might be dead by morning.

Finally, we forced ourselves to stand up. I took one step. My left foot caught in a vine. Under normal circumstances, I would have reached out with my right foot and caught myself, but I let gravity have its way. I fell forward and tumbled down the slope, too exhausted to make any attempt to break the fall. Thankfully, nothing was broken.

I have no idea how long we continued on like this. At last, I pushed back some tangantangan and there was a dirt road. I called out to Daniele, "I found a road. I think we made it." For the first time in hours we walked upright. I tried to hold Daniele's hand as we walked down the road, but even that required too much effort. We both let our hands fall back to our sides and stumbled on.

At last we were saved when we came upon a barracks of Filipino workers. I said to one worker, "I will give you $50 for a soft drink." He said that he only had water. Daniele sipped hers like vintage champagne. I slobbered mine down like a pig in mud and almost puked it back up. As I later discovered, we had been gone for seven hours. It felt like seven days.

The historian in me realized that this is what it must have been like for those thousands of Japanese retreating into the hills and valleys, dragging their children and a few supplies. For them, it went on for days and weeks. For most, it ended in death. Two out of three Japanese civilians died or committed suicide during the battle for Saipan – an estimated 10,000 people. And it is estimated that another 30,000 Japanese military personnel may have died on this small island during the months of June and early July 1944. Nobody knows for sure.