By Brad Lendon, CNN
Manila, Philippines (CNN) — Two gravesites, less than 10 miles apart in a crowded, noisy, Asian metropolis of 14 million, stand testament to the horror, sacrifice and history of World War II.
Go to one and you can see the names and read the stories of those buried there, more than 17,000 troops, almost all of them lost in battle across the Pacific from 1941 to 1945.
Their headstones — 16,938 Latin crosses and 175 Stars of David — are arranged in neat rows in meticulously manicured grass across 152 acres in the Manila American Cemetery.
Go to the other and you’ll see just a single white cross, steps away from a hole in the ground leading to the dungeons of an old stone Spanish fort.
Its base bears an inscription: “This cross marks the final resting place of approximately 600 Filipinos and Americans who were victims of atrocities during the last days of February 1945.”
There are no individual stories here, but local lore says the spirits of those who perished in Fort Santiago’s dungeons remain and sometimes make themselves known to visitors.
Haunted and holy. These are the last vestiges of a global conflict in Manila.
Just steps from the gleaming skyscrapers of the Bonifacio Global City neighborhood in the Philippine capital, the Manila American Cemetery is an oasis of calm in one of the world’s most densely populated cities.
The noise of Manila’s notorious traffic goes silent just after I pass the gates of the burial ground. No hum of scooters, no roar of jeepney engines, no incessant honking of car horns. The soothing calm is broken only by the occasional jetliner taking off from Manila International Airport, three miles to the west, or a groundskeeper’s golf cart.
Rows upon rows of headstones — 17,111 in total — are laid out on the gentle slopes of a hilltop, the largest single burial ground for US World War II casualties.
The hilltop is capped with a circular memorial to those whose remains were never found after the war, 36,286 names chiseled into huge limestone tablets.
Some 3,000 of those headstones are of “unknown soldiers” — “A comrade in arms known but to God,” they read.
The rest identify those buried beneath them, some with histories of the fallen.
Private First Class Alfred Davenport is one of the first I see. Buried not far from the cemetery entrance, Davenport was a Black infantryman from Plymouth, North Carolina, who died from injuries sustained in Bougainville, Solomon Islands, in June 1944. He was 20 years old, his biography says.
Though Davenport served in a segregated unit for Black soldiers, “he and his comrades are buried side by side regardless of their rank, race, religion, gender and nationality,” the biography says.
Walking up the road up the hill from Davenport’s grave I come to the monument to the missing. In the US Navy section, I find five brothers from Iowa — George, Francis, Joseph, Madison and Albert Sullivan — who all died after the light cruiser on which they served, the USS Juneau, sank in a Japanese torpedo attack during the 1942 Battle of Guadalcanal, also in the Solomons.
Their deaths represent the largest loss to one family in US military history, according to the Naval Museum Development Foundation.
The Sullivans aren’t the only brothers memorialized at the cemetery. Buried beneath its grounds are the remains of 21 sets of brothers, all lying side by side.
Manila American Cemetery isn’t just a memorial ground. It can be an immersive history lesson, too.
On the walls of the circular memoria