ã€ŠRepublic Reborn: Against the Stars and Stripesã€‹


 Chapter 1: Vietnam?

    Chapter 1 - Vietnam?

    I was old.

    I had gotten no more than a hundred yards away from the cabin, and every bone in my body was already protesting. The cold morning air did not help, creeping through my joints and adding to the pain. For a moment, I thought of going back. Many had told me that hunting alone at 75 years old was not the best idea.

    The thought did not last long in my head, and I chuckled to myself. I had become weak, not only in body but in will. I knew someone well into his 80s who was still dropping deer. The joint aches could be ignored... I had endured more in Korea and Vietnam.

    I held my old rifle closer to my chest as the cold made me shiver. My Pre 65 Winchester rifle was the most prized gun in my collection. I had inherited it from my father, who told me he got it the same year I was born. And as soon as I was old enough to hike the Appalachian woods, it had been my meat getter and my constant friend.

    And what a good looking friend it was. Nothing was more handsome than a vintage bolt action rifle.

    I was sad again, and I was to be blamed for it. Thinking about the good old days always plunged me into melancholy.

    The needed distraction came from a crackle.

    Whether it was from a twig breaking or the crackle of a dried leaf being stepped on, I could not tell. But that meant movement, and movement meant potential prey.

    The last time I had ever brought home a deer was five years ago. What a messy shot it was, having hit the animal in the gut. The poor thing had to scamper away with some of its entrails out. It took me more than an hour to track it down.

    My most desired wish before I died was to be visited again by my children and grandchildren after what had been more than a decade. Squarely hitting a buck, hosting a barbecue for my friends with the meat, and crafting knife handles from its antlers was a close runner up. But as the years swiftly went by, ignoring this old man, I started to believe I would get neither of those wishes.

    The sound came from my four o''clock. There was movement behind a patch of rhododendron thicket. Whatever it was, it was not a buck. I would have seen the antlers poking out. I would be fine with a doe or even just a rabbit, and I might call it a day.

    Very slowly, the best my arthritic legs could do, I moved behind the cover of the trees and bushes, trying to get a better angle and a glimpse of what I was dealing with.

    I dropped my aim when I saw what looked like clothing through the gaps of the thicket. My eyes were not as sharp as before, so I pressed them shut and looked again. I was not mistaken. The orange beanie broke away from the greenness of the covering leaves.

    A shot rang in the air just as my fingers were about to enter my mouth for a whistle. The wind was pushed out of me. I looked at my chest and saw a small hole had been torn through my orange vest. Something warm and wet began to form near my left breast as I dropped to my knees.

    A young man emerged from the thicket. He stared at my kneeling, wounded form with horror. For a moment, I thought he would run. But he dropped his rifle and rushed to my side.

    "What have I done?" The young man''s words stumbled out of his mouth as he pressed his hand on my wound. "We need to get you out of here!"

    "Don''t bother," I replied, surprised at myself for not being angry. Perhaps because death would be taking away something that had little value. "Help me lie down..."

    The young man eagerly did what I asked and gently laid me down from my knees to my back. I saw the clear blue sky, fringed by the leaves of the trees. It was pretty, like it always was, and pretty enough to be the final view of a dying man.

    "I messed up, didn''t I, mister? I''m too young to go to jail," the young man started to sob.

    I let out a chuckle, and it intensified the pain for a few moments. "You''ll be alright, young man... no one will be looking for me."

    It hurt to say that, and not just physically. The few friends I still had were about my age, and we only met twice or thrice a year.

    I shifted my gaze to the face of the young hunter kneeling beside me.

    "How old are you?" I asked.

    "I am 19... sir." What I said seemed to have brought him some assurance, as he began to calm down.

    The young hunter would be the same age as my grandson. I last saw his face eleven winters ago when he was but a toddler. After that, my son, who was never close to me, decided to move to Florida with his live in partner. They never visited me again.

    "Can you stay with me, son?" I asked as death breathed down my neck. "I will be dead soon... and you can carry my corpse somewhere more hidden."

    The young man nodded. I took one last look at the beautiful clouds and then closed my eyes.

    ---

    The world of unconsciousness was similar to the world of dreams. You never know exactly when you enter and when you exit.

    But I remembered that the gentle caress of the wind was the first thing I felt, and it felt like the touch of a woman''s hand. Then I heard the fluttering of the curtain, the tweeting of the birds, and the rustling of the leaves outside.

    I slowly opened my eyes. The initial blurriness cleared away, revealing the first colors from black and gray. I was on a bed in a room I had never been in before.

    Everything was wood... varnished wood. The room had a vintage feel¡ªwooden panels, a polished hardwood floor, candlesticks, a chandelier... it looked like a room from more than a hundred years ago.

    Increasingly confused, I sat up. As I scanned the room for clues, I caught sight of my arms. I was Caucasian, 100% white, so it did not make sense that I suddenly had an olive skin tone.

    A sudden headache sent my fingers to my temples. My skin crawled as I remembered that I was supposed to be dead, having been shot in that forest. Then, almost at the same time, another set of memories surfaced... memories that were never mine.

    I pulled the blankets off me and stumbled out of bed. I was so confused that I wanted to vomit. I walked toward the open window and thirstily breathed in the fresh, cool air.

    As I saw the houses and the coconut trees, three questions reigned in my mind: Why was I not dead? Where was I? And why did the place look like Vietnam?

 Chapter 2: Betrayal

    Chapter 2 - Betrayal

    The mirror in the corner showed a man who looked nothing like me. He was younger by no less than twenty years, had black hair when mine was brown, had brown eyes when mine were blue, and had light brown skin when I had been pasty white.

    The foreign memories in my mind suggested something ridiculous. If they were to be believed, then by some twisted sorcery, I had entered another man''s body, in another country, and gone back in time more than a hundred years.

    The man''s name was Marti?n Lardiza?bal, the fifty-year-old governor of the obscure province of Marinduque in the Philippines. The calendar hanging on the wall told me it was August 1898.

    I chuckled to myself in disbelief as I looked outside again. The window on the second floor of the Casa Real provided a decent view of the town called Boac.

    The small settlement appeared as a little island of civilization, surrounded by a jungle of coconut trees. In the distance, the blue waters of the Sibuyan Sea reflected the rays of the early morning sun. The silvery strip from much nearer was the Boac River.

    In front of the governor''s residence was the town plaza, a patch of well-trimmed grass with a few shade trees. Pedestrians and carts pulled by horses and carabaos dusted up the dirt roads.

    The houses, including the one I was in, followed the same architectural style- thatch roofs, a wooden second floor that served as the main living quarters, and a ground floor made of stone, which was used either as a shop space or for storage.

    The bell tower of the cathedral near the river loomed above the houses. Citadel-like walls surrounded the place of worship, built to serve as a refuge for townsmen in case of pirate attacks.

    At once, I knew that this was not a dream. Dreams can pervert or twist stored experiences, but they cannot go beyond what is already in the mind. I knew next to nothing about 19th-century Philippines, much less the province of Marinduque, yet there I was by the window sill, knowing the place like the back of my hand.

    But if this wasn''t a dream, then what was it? The thought sent gooseflesh crawling over my skin.

    "Papa, gising ka na ba?" A knock on the door was accompanied by a woman''s voice speaking a language I should not have understood, and yet I did.

    "Yes, I am awake." I responded in the same language with native fluency. The alien words smoothly left my tongue.

    "Tiyo Pedro and the Capitan are here. They were wondering if you could join them for breakfast," she said.

    Upon hearing the names, two faces emerged in my head. And those two individuals triggered a cascade of memories to surface. I saw the blue and red flag and the corpse of a Spanish soldier. I heard angry shouts and gunshots, followed by joyful cheers from a huge crowd in the same plaza I had been staring at.

    "Yes, tell them I will join them soon."

    Wearing the same clothes I had woken up in, I stepped out of the room into the hallway and into the sala. There, my two visitors sat at a wooden table, having bread and coffee.

    "Gobernador!" It was the captain who noticed me first. "I hope we did not disturb your sleep."

    "No... not at all."

    The memories in my mind had been consistent so far. The Philippines had been under Spanish rule for more than three hundred years until the 1898 revolution. No one other than Marti?n, with his significant influence, had led the local struggle against Spain. Last April, they had finally expelled the last of the Spanish forces from the island.

    As a reward, he had been given the title of Politico-Military Governor of the island.

    The revolution was reaching its glorious end. Now, they waited for the fall of Manila, the country''s capital, into the hands of Emilio Aguinaldo, the president of the Philippine Revolutionary Government. The city had been surrounded on all sides by Filipino generals, with the Americans blockading the city''s ports in Manila Bay.

    I hadn''t realized America was involved with the Philippines this early. But it wasn''t surprising. Interfering in other countries'' affairs had always been Uncle Sam''s vice.

    I sat on the couch across from the two gentlemen. Whatever their purpose for visiting, it must have been urgent, since they were in house clothes like me.

    "Is something the matter?" I asked as I took a sip from the porcelain cup. The black coffee was strong and smoky, just how I liked it.

    The grim-faced men looked at each other before Captain Maximo Abad produced an envelope from his pocket. He slid it across the wooden surface toward me.

    "The Americans have broken their promise¡ª"

    I spat out my coffee. "What do you mean?"

    The captain continued, "The Americanos have broken their promise. They captured Manila last Sunday but refused to let our forces enter. I always thought it was too good to be true that the Americans were really helping us. I was right to doubt their intentions."

    I hastily opened the envelope and took out a letter written in Spanish, in heavy cursive. Yet, somehow, I could read it with ease. It confirmed what the captain had said. The Americans, without consulting the Filipinos, had captured the capital and secured the surrender of the Spanish Governor-General in what seemed like a mock battle. Now, they refused to let Filipino forces enter, even threatening to shoot any Filipino unit that approached.

    According to Marti?n''s memory, it was America''s promise of assistance that had urged Aguinaldo to return to the Philippines and resume the struggle. If the Americans had truly broken their promise, then it was a blatant and shameless betrayal, not only of the Filipinos but also of America''s purported image as the champion of freedom.

    Even so, I couldn''t immediately believe it. I understood what the Americans in the capital might have been thinking. Revolutionaries, whether Filipino or from any other nation, tended to be vengeful. The Americans were likely holding Manila temporarily until tensions died down, trying to prevent chaos from erupting.

    "What do we do next?" Pedro Madrigal, Marti?n''s brother-in-law and a lieutenant under Captain Abad, asked.

    A higher power must have made all of this possible. And I wanted to have a piece of His mind. What on earth am I doing here?

    "We wait," I replied.

 Chapter 3: Compensation

    Chapter 3 - Compensation

    I could get used to the lack of plumbing; we did not have pipes in Korea and Vietnam either, and we had to fetch our water and dig filthy latrines to relieve ourselves. I could get used to the lack of electricity; here, the weather was nice and warm, and there was no need for a heater. I did not mind that there was no internet since I was an old soul and never did or even wanted to learn new technologies.

    What I couldn''t get used to was the presence of a doting daughter. Isabela Lardiza?bal was Marti?n''s only daughter from his deceased wife. The lovely 17-year-old cherub would not leave me alone. She made sure I ate properly and on time, cooking tasty dishes and baking appetizing pastries. I regularly got assaulted by sudden hugs and forehead kisses. Whenever I was alone, she would sit beside me and start to talk, often giving me the latest gossip in town.

    I couldn''t believe a man could get this much love. And it kept me planted, constantly reminding me that I might be in a fantasy land. And that I should not get attached to this wonderful new reality, lest it shatter and leave me irrecoverably heartbroken.

    But August went by, then September, October, and November, and then the last month of the year 1898 arrived. By then, the doubts had melted. Although I felt guilt for taking the identity of another man, I started to be Marti?n. John McClair of North Carolina was sent to the back of my mind as I gave in and resolved to enjoy this new life.

    I became a father to Isabela, which was a joy and a responsibility.

    I also took over Marti?n''s estates, which ensured that I would live this second life in relative luxury. His abaca plantations, for instance, had singlehandedly made him one of the richest, if not the richest, men in the province.

    I also took the mantle of Politico-Military Governor of the far-flung province of Marinduque, which, as it turned out, was not as impressive as it sounded. It did not exist in the Spanish era, with Marinduque being under the jurisdiction of the nearby province of Tayabas. The months-old position had an authority that barely extended beyond the towns of Boac and Mogpog.

    Nonetheless, I got to live in the governor''s quarters in the Casa Real, built to accommodate the Spanish governors during their occasional visits to the island, as well as enjoy the love and respect of the townsmen.

    I interpreted this sudden and unbelievable turning of fate as God''s compensation for the sad and pathetic end of my former life.

    The choir of roosters greeting another rising of the sun graced my ears again. It was noise to me months ago; now, a morning would be disturbingly odd without hearing them.

    It was a sunny start to the day. I could hear the distant voices and the subtle noises of moving carts as early risers passed by the building below.

    A group of kids ran around the plaza, flying their colorful kites, taking advantage of the windiness of the season. The air smelled of the sea, of wet soil, and dead leaves. Here, December did not have the curse of snow.

    A maya bird briefly perched on the windowsill before it saw me and promptly flew away. I watched it land on the branch of an acacia tree.

    I shifted my attention back to the newspaper, onto grimmer things. La Independencia was a paper recently founded in September by a man named Antonio Luna, a well-known general in the revolution. Marinduque was a remote province, and here, newspapers were not a common commodity. So, I did not complain when I got the October release in December.

    Needless to say, the pages contained revolutionary propaganda and were unashamedly anti-American, and I had been reading with caution and vigilance.

    But amongst the fluff of the passionate columnists were tidbits of facts that even I found disturbing. It had been months since the American occupation of Manila, and instead of allowing Filipino authorities in, there had been a continuous military buildup. To further fuel the fire, there had been reports of negotiations in Paris between the Americans and the Spaniards about what to do with the Philippines, without a Filipino delegate.

    I rubbed my forehead. I did not want to believe it, but it would take blind folly to believe the Americans had nothing but noble intentions. Aguinaldo had been begging for months to have his government recognized, and the Americans, alongside the world, ignored him.

    There was no peace coming. The paper proudly reported that the Filipino army was swelling in size and ready to engage should the Americans decide to take over the archipelago. The editorials heavily denounced the U.S. for acting like the new colonizers and urged the Filipino people to unite and prepare for war.

    "Don Lardiza?bal, the kalesa is here. Should I ask Rodrigo to be ready?"

    The old man standing at the top of the stairs startled me. I had not even heard his footsteps. Rafael had been the mayordomo, the Casa Real''s caretaker, during the past two Spanish governors. When the revolutionaries took power, he willingly offered his service to the new one put in place.

    "Kalesa?" I asked, and I immediately remembered that I had not specified that I wanted both carriages to be brought over. "Forgive me, Rafael, I meant for both of them to be brought over. I will be fetching a guest at the docks."

    "No problem... I will be right on it." Rafael smiled, making his old face more wrinkled. "Is it your nephew from Manila?"

    "Yes, he is here to spend Christmas," I replied.

    Western traditions had been imported here through Catholicism, which dominated the islands. Apparently, the disapproval of the Spaniards did not extend to the religion they had brought.

    There was so much I did not know about the situation in the north.

    Hopefully, I would get my answers soon.

 Chapter 4: Twenty Million Dollars

    Chapter 4 - Twenty Million Dollars

    "Papa, I am ready."

    Isabela came out of her room after what felt like an hour of preparation, wearing a dress and some makeup. Even here, it was customary to wear formal attire when picking up guests. I wore a Western-style suit and a top hat.

    "Let''s get going then."

    Below, the carriages awaited. They were nothing like the carriages I was accustomed to. They were much smaller but sturdier, built for rugged roads. Each had a small passenger box that could only fit two, while the coach driver sat in front on an elevated seat. Both were pulled by locally bred horses, the size of ponies.

    Isabela and I took the first carriage, snugly fitting into the tight cabin. The young lad called Rodrigo took the driver''s seat as our calesero. The second, empty carriage followed behind as we set out.

    The wheels treaded over the shadows cast by the houses against the early morning sun. The residences of the affluent lined the roads at the center of town. A few familiar faces gave us a wave, a smile, or both as we passed by.

    There was negligible traffic on the road. Carriages, even small and simple ones like the one we were riding in, were extremely rare in the province due to the rough roads. I could count on one hand the carriages in town, and two of them were mine.

    As we got farther out, the buildings became sparser, and trees and bushes grew more abundant. The outer part of town was where the middle class and the lower class lived. They resided in bahay kubos, which, unlike the bahay na batos

    , were made primarily of nipa leaves and bamboo.

    The nipa huts varied greatly in size and aesthetic quality. The wealthier ones lived in bigger, multi-room, well-maintained huts, while the lower class settled for two-room or single-room bahay kubos.

    We left town, and the rest of the journey was spent in the company of large-leaf ferns, tall grass, and coconut and banana trees. Bandits and wild animals could easily hide by the side of the road, yet somehow, I felt relaxed and right at home, soaking in the soothing tropical sights.

    The port, as expected for the time and place, was a simple docking area with a wooden pier extending into the water. On the shore stood makeshift structures in the form of sheds for storage and waiting.

    We arrived just in time. The steamship had already anchored in the distance, and the ferries on the shore were setting out to fetch passengers and cargo. But reaching the ship, loading up, and returning to shore would still take at least half an hour.

    It was December, and the monsoon winds were making the seas rough for ships. Coupled with the events in the north, the port saw reduced activity. We joined a small crowd, which stirred with murmurs when they saw the two of us.

    Isabela had found a friend to chat with, while I was entertained enough by the sight of the wavy sea. Having lived most of my life in Franklin, deep in the Appalachian Mountains, the scenic view of open waters was a rare pleasure.

    Before I realized it, our waiting had ended. The boats were returning, their paddlers doing their best to fight the waves and propel their loaded bancas toward the shore.

    Isidro Lardiza?bal was easy to recognize. The son of my much older brother, who had married and had children young, he was only ten years younger than I was. He was a fat man with an indecisive mustache that further uglified what was already an unflattering face.

    He got out of the boat with much difficulty. When he set foot on land, he struggled to keep his balance on the rocky shore.

    A much younger man stepped out of the boat with him and accompanied him as he made his way toward us. The young man wore a rayadillo uniform, adopted by the Revolutionary Army from the Spaniards, which meant he was from one of the better-equipped military units in Luzon. He also wore a handsome face, one that I did not recognize.

    "Kuya!" My daughter charged at Isidro and hugged him. They were cousins, but due to the age difference, Isidro was more like an uncle to the girl.

    "You''ve grown, Isabela." Isidro smiled, revealing a golden front tooth as he embraced the girl in his massive arms, pressing her against his pillow-like stomach. "Two years ago, you were just a little girl who couldn''t care less about combing her hair. Now... look at you... a pretty little thing."

    Isabela gave him a subtle punch when she noticed the handsome young officer watching the affair with an emotionless face.

    "And who might this be?" I asked.

    Isidro promptly released Isabela and turned toward the lad. "Ah! Teniente Vicente Trivin?o, sent here by Heneral Diokno."

    "This is my uncle, Marti?n Lardiza?bal, politico-military governor of Marinduque," Isidro said, introducing me.

    "A pleasure to meet you, Sen?or Gobernador. We will be counting on your cooperation," Teniente Trivin?o said as he shook my hand. He spoke with the confidence of someone much older.

    I raised my eyebrows. "What are your orders, Teniente?"

    He did not immediately answer. "The orders are for Capita?n Abad... but since you are the military governor, you should hear them as well."

    "Heneral Ananias Diokno is under orders from the President to organize resistance here in Southern Luzon and the Visayas. I bring orders from the Heneral to Capita?n Abad to start organizing military units in this province," he proceeded to say.

    The prospect of war had just become even more real, and it hit me like a bag of bricks. Since I arrived here, Marinduque had been nothing but a peaceful paradise.

    "Are you sure you are not being too hasty?" I asked.

    The teniente''s face softened as he gave out a chuckle. "No, we are not, Sen?or Gobernador. Last Saturday, the Treaty of Paris was signed, and Spain sold the Philippines to America for twenty million dollars."

 Chapter 5: A Point

    Chapter 5 - A Point

    The day continued to worsen for me. News of the treaty spread like wildfire through the ranks of the elite. Before midday, Capita?n Abad visited me, accompanied by Teniente Trivin?o, and implored me to convene a meeting in the afternoon.

    Left with no choice, I obliged.

    The meeting was held in the large conference room on the first floor of the Casa Real, which soon turned into a den of bickering old men.

    Not only were members of the Consejo present, but also the patriarchs of the principalia families, the local elites, and their sons, who served as officers in the revolutionary force that had driven the Spanish out of the island months ago.

    "?Ca?spita! Sen?or Nieva! What else could this mean? The Americans are here to be our new overlords. If they ever intended to help us, Intramuros should have been ours months ago," said Sen?or Florentino Paras, the gobernadorcillo of Boac, standing up from his seat.

    The recipient of his outburst was Alberto Nieva, the head of the Nieva family in Boac, who argued in favor of the Americans. I would like to think he thought highly of them, but it was more likely that he was simply worried that his cattle business would suffer from war and its taxes.

    "Sit down, Sen?or Paras," replied Sen?or Nieva, visibly startled by the intimidating figure of the town mayor. "Is it such an outrageous idea to consider that maybe the Americans were only ensuring there would be no complications once the country was ours? By paying Spain, the Spaniards have given up their claim to the Philippines, and the Americans can hand it over to us without any loose ends."

    "?Si?! Aguinaldo should not do anything that would arouse American suspicion. If a war with a mighty nation like that ever erupts, the country will be ravaged. Our sons will be sent to war... our businesses will suffer," agreed Fidel Contreras, the owner of a small but profitable copper mine.

    The town mayor huffed. "?Por Dios! ?Dinero? Is that all you can think of?"

    I saw Sen?or Contreras'' face darken, the hacendero about to snap. I loudly thumped the table before things could get too heated.

    "Caballeros! We will not achieve anything by squabbling like children!"

    I had meant to silence them, but I was still surprised by how quickly they stopped. All of them turned to the head of the table, surprised and confused. The Marti?n they knew was mellow and gentle, not one to raise his voice in the middle of a heated argument.

    Florentino Paras cleared his throat and slowly sat down.

    I spoke to dispel the awkward air settling over the room. "Capita?n Abad, can you give an account of the firearms we have in the arsenal?"

    Ma?ximo was surprised to hear his name called and took a moment before answering. Either by design or coincidence, he was sitting at the far end of the table. "Uhm... yes, we have 268 firearms in our possession: 248 rifles and 20 pistols, as well as 98 crates of ammunition, each containing a thousand rounds."

    I digested the numbers before quickly responding, "You can start recruiting and training a company of 250 riflemen, Capita?n. Appoint officers at your discretion."

    Turning to the treasurer, I asked, "Am I correct in assuming we still have enough money for the wages and provisions of the soldiers without imposing new taxes?"

    Sen?or Marciano nodded. "Yes... we have just enough... I think so."

    I sighed. "Then that''s it. We wait for more news from Manila before doing anything else. The meeting is adjourned."

    ---

    I watched the slumbering town of Boac from the window, hot coffee in hand. The moon hung in the starlit sky, showing only half of its face. Below, the warm yellow glow of the lamps spilled from windows onto the otherwise dark town streets.

    From the surrounding forest, an owl had begun its haunting song, harmonizing with the music of the frogs and crickets.

    I could not imagine such a beautiful landscape being disturbed by war. Even during the revolution, the conflict here had been relatively bloodless.

    I didn''t want this paradise to be touched, to see Isabela startled and scared, or to have to fight against my former compatriots. After all, I had once pledged my life and limb to the red, white, and blue.

    A passing cold breeze made me shiver.

    "Sen?or Lardiza?bal, you seem deep in thought."

    I turned my gaze away from the window and saw Teniente Trivin?o emerging from the stairs. As my nephew''s guest and an envoy from the general, I had offered him accommodations.

    The young officer had just returned from taking a swim in the river, having asked for permission earlier. His hair was still wet, and he was now wearing house clothes. His folded uniform hung neatly on his arm, and without it, he appeared more like his age- just a boy, not much older than my Isabela.

    I turned my attention back to the scene outside the window. "What does this fight for independence mean to you, Teniente?"

    I instantly regretted the question, asked on a whim. I braced myself for idealistic nonsense.

    To my surprise, I was met with silence. I looked back and saw the young man thoughtfully combing the stubborn strands of hair on his forehead with his free hand.

    "To prove a point, Sen?or Gobernador," he answered, pursing his dry lips.

    I turned around, shifting my weight onto my back as I leaned against the window. I took a sip of my coffee. "A point?"

    "All my life, I have only seen Filipinos as a colonized people. And the world thinks lowly of colonized people. They think we are inferior, that despite our education or any other veneer of civilization, deep down, we are still savages. Unable to rule ourselves, needing the guidance of... foreigners." The teniente stared blankly, seemingly lost in a memory.

    The young officer then turned to look at me. "Maybe if we had a republic... maybe they would think of us differently, that we''re not so different from them. That we can shape our own destiny... by our own people, for our own people."

 Chapter 6: The Plantation

    Chapter 6 - The Plantation

    The pony''s hooves sank into half an inch of mud. The short rain earlier in the day had turned the narrow trails into sludge, making the climb even more difficult. Teniente Trivin?o had to get down from the driver''s seat to pull the beleaguered animal several times during the journey.

    When we reached the abaca? plantation, the lieutenant was a mess and more tired than the horse. I pitied him, but he had insisted on this, perhaps bored with having nothing to do in town.

    My daughter nudged me multiple times to help, but I was just an old man, and I quite enjoyed seeing city folk struggle, both in this life and the previous one.

    It was immediately obvious to anyone with an eye that he was a nerd as soon as he got out of the boat. He was as stiff as a rifle, his speech too formal, his hair well-combed, his face well-shaved, his uniform well-pressed, and his boots so well-polished you could see your reflection in them.

    My daughter was the fairest in all of Marinduque, yet he did not even seem to show a single hint of interest. And much of the time he spent in my house, he spent absorbed in his books.

    Of course, I did not forget his Nobel Peace Prize-winning answer the other night.

    Seeing him all muddied and disheveled was a pleasure.

    "Teniente, are you all right?" My daughter rushed to the young officer, carrying a bumbong, a bamboo tube crafted into a water container.

    Isidro Trivin?o snatched the bumbong, greedily gulped down the water, then poured some over himself. He murmured a thank you as he stumbled toward the nearest hut.

    I remained in my seat for a few seconds more to take in the view of the plantation.

    The uninitiated could easily mistake abaca? for banana trees. Both had broad leaves and a soft stalk for a trunk. But unlike banana trees, which produced bananas, abaca? produced high-quality hemp that sold like gold. Each quarterly shipment typically came back with 5,000 pesos in net profit. To put that into perspective, a steamer ship could be bought for 40,000 pesos.

    I was one of the richest men in the province. My yearly income could finance a small army. And I held my position because Martin had contributed the most cash to the local revolutionary effort.

    "Don Lardiza?bal, I am glad that you could visit."

    Leonardo Perez, the man in charge of daily operations in my stead, assisted me as I got down from the small carriage. He was about my age, with dark skin from regular exposure to the sun and arms twice the size of mine due to hard work.

    He was a simple man, barely able to read and write, but sharp at counting. I always had a fondness for simple folk because, with them, you could be simple in kind.

    "How''s the harvest going?" I asked as I proceeded to the hut where the lieutenant had collapsed onto the rattan sofa. My daughter was making a fuss, worriedly waving her fan at him.

    "Well, as it always is at the end of the year. The consistent sunlight makes for high-quality hemp," he replied with a grin that exposed his tobacco-stained teeth. "I think we''ll have 1,000 piculs to sell in January."

    In front of the huts were drying racks for the fibers, which gleamed golden in the sunlight. It was the strongest natural fiber of the time and was highly sought after for ship rigging and anchor lines due to its resistance to saltwater.

    "Well done, Leonardo," I replied. "Now, you don''t need to join in the work. That''s not what you''re paid to do."

    Leonardo chuckled. "I like working, Don Marti?n. My body yearns for it."

    "Well, if you insist. Just don''t overdo it."

    I climbed into the hut, thinking about doubling the man''s salary. The previous owner of this body hadn''t exactly been greedy, but neither had he been generous, and he had not rewarded Leonardo for his several years of honest work. While I was at it, I could also offer his grandkids free tuition at the escuela municipal.

    I sighed as I stared at the young man, the exact opposite of my capataz. The lieutenant, likely a spawn of a rich family in Manila, was a sophisticated gentleman but wilted like paper against fire when it came to physical labor.

    "Tsk, tsk, tsk... Isabela, cut it out with the fanning. This here is a soldier. Look at him, almost dying from a little bit of hard work. There are several maidens on this island who would be more durable than him," I scolded, though not entirely serious. I had anticipated he would end up like this, but I was impressed he had persevered until we arrived at the plantation.

    "But, Papa..."

    "It is all right, Sen?orita... I just need a few more minutes to collect myself," he said, trying to sit properly in his zombie-like state. He was pale, and I imagined he could barely feel his arms and legs after all that pulling.

    I looked around and saw the wives of my workers and their children sorting through the already dried fiber in a nearby shed. Their job was to separate the fibers, grading which ones would be good enough for export and which would end up for local use.

    "Juan," I called out to one of the lads who had come along to help their mothers. The boy immediately stood up at the sound of my voice and hastily made his way toward the entrance of the hut.

    "Si?, Don Marti?n." He stood at attention, smiling widely at the promise of a potential quick buck.

    "Would you be so kind as to get green coconuts for the three of us?" I asked.

    The kid immediately obliged, snatching a bolo blade from the shed and nimbly climbing a coconut tree, dropping green coconuts one after another. Just as quickly, he climbed down and pried them open for access to the refreshing juice.

    After giving the boy a couple of centavos for the chore, the three of us drank the liquid inside the coconut shell, which tasted like a gentler version of Sprite.

    Soon enough, the color returned to the teniente''s face.

 Chapter 7: Christmas, 1898

    Chapter 7 - Christmas, 1898

    Padre Saturnino Trinidad was a great preacher for a priest. He had the energy and passion rarely seen from a man of the cloth. Perhaps it was because he was in an obscure province that he felt comfortable being more than just a by-the-book priest. He almost sounded like a Protestant preacher.

    But what I liked more was his message: to pray for peace, as Christ was the Prince of Peace, and to denounce war and warmongering.

    I appreciated the anti-war sentiment. Some might call him a coward or even go so far as to accuse him of being anti-revolutionary. But as someone who had actually been in a war and participated in bloody encounters, I applauded the wisdom of anyone who advised caution.

    That was something the young ones, like Lieutenant Trivin?o, would not understand. To them, ideals reigned supreme, and they would gladly exchange a boring and simple, albeit peaceful, life for a chance at glory. He sat beside me, arms crossed, in silent defiance.

    Fortunately for him, the Misa de Aguinaldo did not last forever. Soon, the Mass ended, and we proceeded to another purpose of attending church. All the prominent families were there, easily identifiable by their crisp white barong Tagalog and baro''t saya. As we streamed out of the pews, we shook hands and had our little conversations.

    I was constantly distracted by young men approaching my dear Isabela. Many of them were promising candidates, but somehow, all I could see were younger versions of myself, insincere suitors simply wanting to appease their raging hormones. Teniente Trivin?o hurried out of the church, rejecting advances with a polite smile.

    "Ah, Marti?n..." Florentino Paras shook my hand and went in for a hug when it was our turn to greet each other. "I have hired a good rondalla from Mogpog, and I plan to hold a dance in the town plaza. It would be my honor to have you there and, of course, Isabela."

    "I will try, Florentino. Would you join us for Noche Buena

    ?" I asked this because we were basically housemates. As the town mayor, he resided in the other wing of the Casa Real.

    "Thank you, Marti?n, but we have planned our own..." Florentino replied.

    Capitan Abad was next. He was wearing his uniform for the first time in months. There was a smile beneath his impressive mustache.

    "Capitan..."

    "No... I am a Teniente Coronel now, Don Marti?n," he corrected me as humbly as he could, though it was obvious he was pleased to break the news.

    "A double promotion? When?" I asked.

    It reminded me that the Philippine Revolutionary Army, like other revolutionary armies in history, had an irregular military structure. And rank-skipping promotions, like captain to lieutenant colonel, should not be a surprise.

    "Just a few days ago. I learned that Heneral Diokno had been made Governor of Capiz in August, and I had been transferred to the command of Heneral Mariano Tri?as. The news included my promotion to the rank," he explained.

    "Well... congratulations, Coronel," I said, offering him the happiest expression I could muster. "But that also means they expect you to have a battalion-sized unit."

    "Si?," he nodded, his smile finally fading. "Although with only 250 rifles, I wonder how that will be possible."

    I had the same question. But that was a problem for another time and perhaps not even my problem.

    I greeted a few more elites and some of the employees from my estates before we finally left the church.

    The way home was lively and bright. Children continued caroling, their joyful voices filling the air. Mixing with their music were the sounds of horns and bamboo cannons, gleefully operated by the more obnoxious children.

    The town streets were well-lit by parols, star-shaped decorations made of bamboo and Japanese paper, with candles inside for illumination. Oil lamps had been placed around the town plaza, and we arrived just in time to see the townspeople light a bonfire at its center.

    Awaiting us at home was a feast that could feed an entire village but was meant for no more than ten people. My sister and my two nieces had come by earlier to help Isabela prepare for the meal. Now, they had returned to join us for Noche Buena, along with my brother-in-law, Pedro Madrigal. Isidro was also present, as well as Teniente Trivin?o, who remained a guest in my house.

    The feast included a whole roasted pig, along with other meat dishes: beef, chicken, and fish. There were also several rice delicacies and pastries. For dessert, we had sweet leche flan, chocolate, and all manner of rice cakes.

    Of course, no feast would be complete without liquor. Isidro pulled out bottles of coconut wine, sugarcane liquor, and rum from Pampanga.

    After giving grace, we hungrily dug in, having eaten little until then. All the dishes were pleasant to the palate, but none were as tasty as the caldereta, especially after I learned that Isabela had prepared it all by herself. The others, however, had a different opinion. They flocked to the lecho?n, stripping it of every inch of crispy skin as fast as they could.

    It didn''t take long before the overwhelming abundance of food became too much for us. But nothing would go to waste. My sister Mari?a and Isabela planned to give a serving of leftovers to every caroler who sang in front of the window, no matter how much they butchered the tune and lyrics.

    Before long, our stomachs were filled to the brim, and our attention shifted from the plates to each other. I sat at the head of the table, reveling in the conversations and laughter around me. Isabela sat to my right, in the same row with her nieces and her aunt. Isidro sat to my left with Pedro and Vicente, the lieutenant now enjoying the festivities like everyone else.

    I was the happiest I had been in the longest time. The cold breeze occasionally blew through the window, bothering the candle flames and eliciting shivers, but I only felt the warmth.

    We talked about every topic that came to mind- except for the prospect of war.

 Chapter 8: Tiangge

    Chapter 8 - Tiangge

    The year 1899 arrived peacefully. I had been almost certain that fighting would break out in December in Manila after news of the treaty arrived on Philippine shores. But for some reason, somehow, the tenuous peace held in Luzon. It gave an old man like me hope that Aguinaldo was still trying to negotiate and bring a peaceful end to all of it.

    I was having the best of times on that island.

    I imagine most old men would not have been fond of being bothered about every little thing by their children. But I did not mind Isabela wanting me to be involved in everything she did. I had nothing much to keep me busy anyway, and I liked the attention just as much as she liked mine.

    "We could just buy indigo fabric directly, hija. Why go through all this hassle?" I asked her as we made our way to the local market. As usual, we were seated in the carriage, while Teniente Trivin?o, who seemed to have taken a liking to driving, was our driver.

    "They''re expensive, papa?," she replied lazily, using my arm as a pillow.

    "I could buy you a steamer if you want, Belang," I said, using her nickname, though I did not quite like how a beautiful name like Isabela had been shortened to Belang. "I imagine a yard of indigo fabric would cost significantly less than that."

    Her head left my arm as she sat up properly, an amused look on her pretty face. "You would... buy me a steamer?"

    I matched her expression. "Yes, sen?orita. Why... do you want one?"

    "Stop joking, papa?," she laughed loudly. "Not to mention, we shouldn''t be carelessly spending money, not with the war coming."

    "Why would you think that?" I furrowed my brow, genuinely surprised to hear it from my daughter.

    "Everybody thinks so, Sen?or Lardiza?bal," Lieutenant Trivin?o chimed in for the first time.

    "Well, I did not ask for your opinion, did I, Teniente?" I shot back. "Do you even listen at church? Warmongers burn in hell, Vicente."

    "I wonder where patriots go... and where cowards end up. Probably two completely different places," Trivin?o quipped.

    "You really are a little¡ª"

    "Calm down, everyone," Isabela raised her voice before I could finish my insult. "I just want to buy indigo dye. How do you two even find the chance to squabble? You''re like father and son."

    We both huffed at the remark, and Vicente muttered something inaudible under his breath. I simply sighed. I had to admit, we had grown closer during his stay. But our relationship was more like that of an employer and his incompetent employee, or a landlord and his noisy tenant, rather than a father and son.

    He had become sharp-tongued after I had suggested that he try to look for another place to stay, when I found out he was in the island for good. As it turned out, Heneral Diokno had completely forgotten him.

    "Why did you choose to sew him a scarf, anyway?" I asked Isabela. Isidro was leaving on January 15th with my last quarterly abaca stockpile from last year and my ever-thoughtful daughter wanted to give him a parting gift.

    "What''s wrong with a scarf?" Her face twisted in genuine confusion.

    "Well, it''s something you give to someone with a neck," I replied.

    "Papa?! "she playfully punched my arm, though she chuckled herself.

    The tiangge, or town market, lay near the port, where merchants could haul their goods from the boats to the stalls and storehouses in a short distance. Most of the stalls were run by natives, selling local products- produce, handwoven goods, and other essentials. But it was with the few Chinese merchants that one could find the more valuable items, such as indigo dye, which was imported from Luzon.

    Most of the Chinese, or Sangleys, as the locals called them, spoke broken Tagalog, just enough to be understood. One of the exceptions was Francisco Lim, a second-generation immigrant who spoke fluent Spanish and Tagalog. He was quite infamous for being resistant to haggling, though that was likely because he was confident in the quality of his goods.

    His stall was no different from those of the natives, albeit significantly larger, neater, and more organized. The frame was made of bamboo, and the roof was of nipa. The front counter displayed all manner of spices whose rich aroma could be smelled from several meters away- as well as rice and tobacco. To access the more valuable items, like ceramics and fabric, one had to step inside.

    As Isabela entered the stall, Vicente and I waited outside, standing in front of the counter near the carriage. The place was not exactly bustling, but there were enough people to make the day hotter than it already was.

    "What is she looking for?" Francisco Lim asked me in fluent Tagalog, leaning on the counter. I never quite got used to hearing him speak so proficiently while looking every bit a foreigner.

    "Indigo dye. It''s for a scarf for Isidro, he''s leaving for Manila on the fifteenth." I grabbed a piece of dried plum from one of the baskets on display, chewing on the salty-sour treat.

    "Ah... Manila," Francisco said nostalgically. "Things will get ugly there soon. I did all my trading in that city a month ago. If I were him, I''d stay put until it all cools down."

    The sudden sound of a volley of gunfire startled me, as well as the rest of the shoppers. Within moments, the small marketplace was abuzz with murmurs. It couldn''t be the Americans or the Spanish... Pirates? Isabela looked in my direction, wide-eyed, before scurrying out of the stall.

    "They''re at it again," Francisco remarked, not the least bit startled. "It''s Capitan Abad. He''s training a group of recruits by the shore."

    I sighed, rubbing the back of my head. "He''s just following orders. He''s been promoted to Teniente Coronel, and I think his superiors want him to form a battalion."

    Francisco Lim nodded thoughtfully. "I wish him luck, Marti?n. But I hope he doesn''t have to fight."

    He paused for a moment before speaking again, lowering his voice.

    "The Americans... they''re a different opponent than the Spaniards. I''ve seen their giant steel warships. Their soldiers are well-trained and well-equipped. And I saw them hauling out large cannons and other weapons of war I had never seen before." He shook his head. "Quite frankly, I don''t see Aguinaldo standing a chance against them."

 Chapter 9: Marksmanship

    Chapter 9 - Marksmanship

    With the indigo dye acquired and my curiosity piqued, we went to take a peek at what the Coronel was doing. Impressively, Vicente was able to follow the gunshots, and with his increasing skill at driving, got the carriage to traverse a tight, narrow trail until we ended up on the shore.

    Maximo and his men were easy to spot with their bright white uniforms. I counted about fifty young men and recognized a few familiar faces. Those whose turn it was to fire lined themselves parallel to the shoreline. Tin cans placed on driftwood logs served as the targets.

    Colonel Abad noticed us as soon as we emerged onto the beach, but we stayed at a safe distance until the soldiers stopped firing. They released a few more volleys, from which I learned a couple of things. They were using breechloaders and black powder cartridges. They were also horrible shots, with 90% of their bullets hitting nothing but air and water, and Abad was not doing anything to correct them.

    "Don Martin, how nice of you to stop by?" the Coronel greeted us as we approached, removing his hat.

    The soldiers, if not happy, were at least amused to see us there.

    "I see our soldiers are struggling with their marksmanship," I said with a chuckle, hoping to blunt the comment.

    The colonel chuckled in response. "Yes, they do. Fortunately, the Americans are much larger than these tins."

    His comment garnered some laughter, including from Teniente Trivin?o. I only offered a tight-lipped smile. He must have noticed a hint of disapproval from me because a moment later, he gave what sounded like an explanation. "We can''t waste too many bullets on marksmanship training. We''ll need all we have if we are to fight a war."

    "I disagree, Colonel," I said bluntly, and I was quite aware that I was behaving differently than what was expected of the mellow Martin. But the U.S. Army Captain in me was pumped up. "Poor marksmanship in battle will lose you more bullets. Without proper training, you will be firing blindly and startled, and all you''ll hit is the air and the ground, which have done you no wrong."

    What I said and how I said it left everyone speechless, including Maximo, who only grunted in response. Teniente Trivin?o was staring at me wide-eyed as if I were another man. Isabela was scowling, disapproving of what I suspected was rude behavior toward her.

    "Give me another volley," I said to the soldiers in the firing line.

    They hesitated, looking at each other. Technically, as the politico-military governor of the island, I had authority over these soldiers. But this was something I had never exerted until that moment. There was also the fact that, according to the military hierarchy of the Revolutionary Army, these soldiers answered to Abad, and Abad answered to General Trias. My authority was civilian-military, whereas theirs was strictly military, placing my jurisdiction in an awkward spot.

    So, for a moment, they did not know what to do with my order. They only started reloading when they saw a nod from the Coronel.

    They gave me another volley, which yielded the same results. No tin had been overthrown from its wooden seat.

    "Tsk, tsk, tsk... there it is... you are jerking the trigger. You are firing the rifle like scared little girls," I said, and once again, I knew how unhinged I must sound. Martin had never involved myself in military matters, and they knew him only as the rich don of the town, not as someone who should know anything about rifles.

    "Give me the rifle," I asked the nearest soldier, and he reluctantly did.

    I knew the gun as soon as I got a closer look at it. It was a Remington Rolling Block Rifle, my favorite single-shot rifle in my collection. It was sleek and simple and as reliable as a gun could be. Although, being single-shot, it was not a good thing to bring on a hunt.

    As I raised the rifle to aim, the gun welcomed me like a lost friend. It had been years since I last shot a rolling block, but it was a straightforward rifle with no moving parts and a flat trajectory. I stepped my left foot slightly forward, slightly bent my knees, and leaned forward to counteract the recoil right before I smoothly squeezed the trigger.

    My shoulder squarely absorbed the recoil, and with full confidence in my shot, I was not at all surprised to see the tin can get punched by the heavy, large bullet right in the middle.

    "Another bullet," I said as I rolled the block, and the empty cartridge popped out even before the gunshot faded in the background.

    I proceeded to knock down every tin can on the log with single shots. I would be lying if I said I had no intention of showboating, but I primarily did it to establish my expertise.

    "Why can an old man like me do something, on the first try, that the ten of you can''t, even in ten tries?" I asked.

    They were still speechless, but there was a different look on their faces. From flustered, they now looked amused and impressed. This included Colonel Abad, who had a wide smile on his face. My display of marksmanship seemed to have done its job.

    "It is because I know what I am doing. I treat the rifle as a friend, not a strange, scary foreign thing," I said as I walked in front of the soldiers in a line, scanning their faces, including those standing on the side. "Now... are you willing to learn?"

    A sincere and powerful chorus answered. "Opo, Gobernador!"

    "Will you let me, Coronel?" I pivoted my head in the direction of Colonel Abad.

    "Of course, Martin! We all are at your disposal. If only I knew you had the knowledge, I would have sought your help much earlier," Maximo jogged towards me with the widest smile I had ever seen on his mustached face.

    Help. Indeed, I was now actively helping them prepare for a war I fervently prayed would not happen, against Americans I desperately hoped I would not have to raise arms against. But perhaps, it was all right to be ready for the worst, even as I hoped for the best.

    "All right then, recruits. We will be starting with your bellies on the ground."

 Chapter 10: Commitment

    Chapter 10 - Commitment

    The first minutes of the journey home were filled with suspenseful silence. With a smirk that deepened the dimple on her right cheek, Isabela quietly stared at me. I tried to look straight ahead and keep a smile from spilling onto my face, but I couldn''t hold it in and finally chuckled.

    "What?" I asked her.

    "How¡ªwhen... where did you learn to shoot like that, Papa?" she asked, her hazel irises seeming to glow as she stared at me.

    "You were impressed?" I raised my eyebrows, asking the obvious.

    "You were like... pew, pew, pew." To the best of her acting abilities, she mimicked me firing the rifle. "You hit all the cans with a single shot, didn''t he, Teniente?"

    "He sure did, Sen?orita. And each of them, squarely hit," Vicente answered from the driver''s seat as he reined the pony in, taking a sharp turn as we left the narrow trail for the main town street.

    "You too, Vicente?" I asked, thoroughly amused.

    "Yes, I was, Sen?or. Unlike you, I''m not too prideful to give credit where it''s due," he replied.

    I was in such a good mood that I didn''t mind his smart mouth. I shamelessly, thirstily drank in the praise.

    "You can''t do something like that unless someone trained you to be a tirador," Isabela added.

    "That wasn''t what impressed me most, though." To my surprise, the lieutenant wasn''t done with his compliments. "The way you drilled them... the way you taught... Were you not an officer before, Gobernador? You really know what you''re doing. You made them better marksmen with just a few of your inputs."

    Isabela pouted and stared at the roof of the carriage as she thought deeply. "I''m quite sure you were never a military officer."

    "Oh ho... How old are you, young lady? Do tell me again?" I asked.

    "I''m seventeen... Don''t you know that?" she tilted her head.

    "I do know it, which means I lived... hmm, exactly thirty-three years before you were born. How would you know what I did in the past?" I said.

    "So, you were a Spanish officer?" she asked, her bushy eyebrows clashing.

    I only sighed and stared outside the carriage. We had yet to enter the town proper, and nothing blocked the view of the vibrant blue sea. "Something like that."

    For a brief moment, all I heard was the creaking of the wheels until Vicente''s annoying chuckle broke the silence.

    "No need to get too hung up on it, Gobernador. Several Filipino officers in Luzon also served as officers in the Spanish Army. I met Major Jose? Torres Bugallo?n two months ago, and he was a second lieutenant in the Spanish Army before."

    "We are products of our time. You might have done things you regret in the past under the banner of Spain, thinking it was for the greater good. But what matters is that you''ve recognized the error of your ways, that you''re a Filipino, and your allegiance is to the Filipinos, not to any foreign power."

    The smartass was right. I was a Filipino now. But had I really switched allegiances?

    "You should stop reading too much, Vicente."

    ---

    The training continued in the following days, with me as the instructor. The Coronel and his officers were nothing but thankful, seeing the rapid improvement among their recruits, many of whom had fought in the revolution but learned little in combat. The meager Spanish forces in the islands had been defeated simply because of overwhelming numbers.

    But to their credit, I found eager learners in the young men. They thirstily absorbed my instructions and looked at me as if I were a messiah sent from above. Because of this, volley after volley, I saw improvement in their marksmanship and rifle handling.

    During the first meeting, they had mastered firing while prone, the most stable firing position and the easiest to learn the fundamentals with. By the second meeting, I started instructing them on firing from their knees, and they had mastered it by the third. By the fourth, we returned to the standing position, and having learned the foundations, it did not take long for them to excel at it as well.

    "You really are the real deal, Don Lardizabal. I heard the Americanos are a different enemy than the Spanish. Our boys need all the proper training they can get," Maximo said to me as we watched the last batch of recruits in the firing line eviscerate the targets from twenty yards away.

    "It''s nothing," I said, and I meant it. I quite enjoyed being praised and feeling needed. I never thought I would be of use again.

    And I could have enjoyed it more, were it not for the glaring fact that a lack of training was not the only issue.

    The Rolling Block Rifles were likely outdated by the standards of the time. I had several rifles in my gun collection from the late 19th to early 20th century, and most of them were bolt-action and clip-fed. Whatever rifles the Americans in Manila were using, they would be better than a single-shot breechloader.

    Their plain white uniforms, aside from being uninspired, might as well have had red dots painted on them. They provided no camouflage outside a field of cotton or a bed of daisies. And of course, most of the recruits did not have boots, having been barefoot the whole time.

    All they had were obsolete rifles and overwhelming patriotism.

    For these young men to have a chance, we needed to go all out. The recruits must be taught not only marksmanship but other aspects of soldiery. The officers needed education in tactics, logistics, and military strategy. Most of all, I would need to mobilize the resources and manpower of the entire province to build a competent fighting force.

    But that would require another level of commitment, one that I could not give with the lingering doubts and questions in my mind.

    "Is there something on your mind, Don Martin? Anything I could help you with?" Coronel Abad asked after a while. His ability to read faces was something he had learned in his previous occupation as a schoolteacher.

    I sighed as I glanced at his perplexed face. In both the Coronel and his recruits, I was dealing with sincere and passionate patriots. They did not deserve my half-hearted efforts.

    Not to mention, I was the governor. I enjoyed the privileges of the station and the respect of the people. Even though I knew they didn''t expect much from me, it would be shameless not to respond with proper leadership.

    I needed to make up my mind.

    I must go to Manila.

 Chapter 11: The Diligencia

    Chapter 11 - The Diligencia

    The little boat seemed like it would sink at any moment. The bow of that small fishing vessel, repurposed into a ferry, bravely rode the waves that were large enough to eat it whole. Droplets from the tumultuous sea showered us each time wood and water clashed.

    The boatmen''s calm demeanor, as well as the stored memories of the many times Martin had ridden a boat and survived, reassured me that I was in no danger. It just made me wonder why no one had figured out a safer, more comfortable way of bringing passengers from the shore to the ship.

    The Diligencia was a small steamship that showed signs of age and some neglect. Only humble ships would wade into the humble waters of southern Luzon. Those criticisms, however, came from Martin''s experiences. I was just in awe to be in front of this giant relic of the past.

    I had seen steamships in my former life, but in museums. It was the first time I had seen one moored out in the open sea, with clouds of smoke coming out of the smokestack and alive with the loud noises of the steam engines. It hammered home that I was really back in time, back to when steam engines were the norm. And the child in me was jumping for joy.

    If ships, tanks, and planes were as affordable as rifles, I would also have a collection of each.

    The wind and the sun disappeared under the shadow of the steamship. The boat rode towards her leeward side, where the ladders had been set up. The rope ladders, which had wooden rungs on them, were what we called Jacob''s ladders. And I had experienced climbing them enough times during my military career.

    With some nostalgia, I reached out to hold the ladder while balancing myself on the boat which was rocked by the waves.

    "I will get on first, Isidro, just in case it snaps when you hop onto it," I said with a chuckle as I stepped on the first rung.

    My nephew responded with a groan.

    "Are you sure it won''t be your old bones snapping, Gobernador?" chirped in Teniente Trivino.

    His remark garnered a giggle from Isidro, and I heard the clap of their strong high-five.

    Once I broke the news that I would be going to Manila, the lieutenant was quick to tell me he would like to come along as well. He reasoned that he had not seen his parents in Bulacan for several months. And not wanting to argue, I let him, given that he would provide for his own fare.

    Surprisingly, Isabela did not make too much of a fuss. She did worry about my safety, but after I told her I would be back in a week, she seemed satisfied. She had been used to her father''s frequent trips.

    "I am more worried if your girly legs could handle climbing a ladder, Sen?orita Vicente," I bantered back.

    Edgardo Versoza, the boatman we hired, let out a suppressed chuckle which promptly stopped when Vicente glared at him.

    With every rung I scaled, I got more comfortable. The former Martin was not the sedentary type of Don. Just as I did when I took over the identity, he would often help out on the plantation. And hard work kept age from taking away much of the strength from his legs.

    I got off the ladder onto the upper deck. Modest

    would be the proper way to describe the condition of the ship. Rust and chipped paint could be seen on the railings. The wooden deck was polished and clean but had a few cracks and discolored spots.

    Common folk idled by the railings, sitting on the floor or on their luggage under the heat of the sun. The wealthier passengers had a covered space and wooden benches near the stern. The mixture of sharp scents and the cacophony of noises was enough to make the uninitiated seasick.

    With a loud thud, Isidro landed onto the deck, out of breath. Teniente Trivino closely followed behind. On the adjacent ladder, our luggage was being handed by Edgardo and his men to the stewards of the ship.

    Below, I saw the flotilla of boats that followed us. A few carried passengers, but the majority of them carried abaca bales to be handed to the stewards in the cargo hold. One thousand piculs of hemp was a large amount that would require dozens of boats and several trips to be hauled from the shore. They had started hauling since morning, and they were only about to finish now that it was mid-afternoon.

    "Don Lardizabal! I did not know you would be coming along," the captain of the ship called out as he strode towards me. It was not Martin''s first time on the Diligencia. It was one of the ships usually commissioned to bring stockpiles of abaca, which usually filled its cargo hold to the brim.

    "Would you like to be escorted to your cabins?" he asked, scanning the three of our faces.

    "Escort our luggage first. We''ll be staying on the deck to catch some air," Isidro answered through ragged breaths.

    "All right," the captain gave us a well-practiced smile. "Please don''t hesitate to ask if you need anything."

    We proceeded to the covered benches beneath the canopy. We watched as more passengers came aboard until the last Marinduquen?o stumbled onto the deck. A loud whistle rang in the air, signaling departure.

    The boats paddled away from the ship, dispersing like disturbed ants. The crew shouted and repeated orders as the ladders and planks were pulled in. The floor beneath our feet trembled as the engine grew louder.

    The steamship let out a groan as the vessel came into motion. A small toddler fell onto the floor, his crying drowned by the chugging pistons. Then everything subsided, and the ship assumed a stable rhythm of motion.

    With a sigh, I watched the small island of Marinduque slowly grow even smaller and smaller.

 Chapter 12: Beasts

    Chapter 12 - Beasts

    I opened my eyes to find myself in that small wooden box they called a cabin. It was only large enough to hold a bed, a cabinet, and a small table. It was not for the claustrophobic or those who could not handle noise. The wall creaked every other second, the hum of the engine was a constant background, and the shouts of the crew were a regular disturbance.

    And this was the first-class accommodation. Those who could not afford the premium had to join hundreds below deck, in the suffocating humidity and inescapable mixture of torturous scents.

    The gas lamp flickered each time the ship made sudden motions. The shadow in the shape of the lamp''s frame bore onto the desk. The pile of documents, which had been neatly stacked before I fell asleep, was now slightly in disarray.

    I yawned and stretched my hands before reaching for my timepiece. It was 5:48, leaving me just enough time to review the documents that Isidro had prepared. He usually did everything for Martin, but whenever he was with him, he had always preferred to do business himself.

    I left the comfort of the cushion and seated myself on the chair bolted to the floor. The document on top of the pile was the Conocimiento de Embarque, the shipping document that confirmed the quantity of the goods I had brought on board. An essential document to have, since selling directly from the ship was the norm for bulk commodities. Unloading it on shore before selling would incur additional costs in transport and storage.

    The parchment beneath the receipt contained Isidro''s handwriting. It was the account of the amount of abaca on board and their respective grades. Of the 1,000 piculs of abaca on board, 500 piculs were first grade, a testament to the body of skilled workers who worked my plantation. Nearly 300 piculs were second grade, and the rest were mixed grade. The first-grade abaca bales were stored in the cargo hold, and, lacking enough space, the mixed-grade bales were stored on the deck. The signature of the ship officer confirmed all was in order.

    If all went well, I was secured at least 10,000 pesos in gross profit, a small fortune for a provincial hacendero like myself.

    Next in the pile were Isidro''s notes on potential buyers. The list had significantly changed from last year''s. The Spanish firms, which were the usual go-tos, were no longer on the list. Replacing them in Isidro''s most recommended buyers were the Chinese merchants. They offered slightly lower prices but ensured quick transactions and paid in cash. Not to mention, I knew their operators by name.

    The East Asia Shipping and Trade, a British firm that operated out of Hong Kong, remained in operation. As usual, Isidro listed them as a second choice, since even though they paid higher prices, they often dealt in letters of credit. This meant I would be paid in installments by the bank: a certain percentage upfront, another percentage when the cargo sailed for England, and the final installment when the cargo arrived in London. Being paid in full could take months.

    The new arrivals, the American firms, were placed at the bottom. They offered the highest prices, as high as 10 pesos for a picul of high-grade abaca. I immediately thought their placement was for a political reason, that my nephew must have assumed I hated the Americans and placed them last despite the significantly higher price. When I looked at his notes, I was corrected.

    "They pay a fortune, but the payment process runs like a pagong. If you are willing to wait until 1900, then I recommend this one."

    That was indeed a terrible trade-off. To a businessman, time was as much a fortune as money. Profits needed to be quickly reinvested, and employees needed to be paid. Not to mention that in uncertain times like this, any future promise would not be regarded highly.

    The constant movements and the dim light of the lamps quickly strained my eyes. I pressed them shut and massaged them, then flipped open my timepiece again. It was 5:00.

    I went out of my cabin and climbed to the upper deck. The chill that greeted me made me glad that I had not forgotten to wear my coat. The crew were already busy, some mopping the decks, others dealing with the ropes.

    We should be in Manila by this time. But I could not see anything beyond the ship. The thinning mist surrounded the Diligencia on all sides. The early rays of the sun poked through like golden threads.

    Rubbing my arms, I walked towards the railings. If they were metal, they would have been icy cold, but made of wood, they were only wet. I wiped them with my coat, then leaned in. At first, I tried to see beyond the mist, but failing, I turned my eyes to the hypnotic movement of the water below me.

    How had I ended up here?

    "Don Lardizabal! Buenos di?as!" a familiar cheerful voice rang out behind me. "Coffee?"

    The captain of the ship, Sen?or Ronaldo Alca?ntara, strode toward me carrying two cups. He was as cheerful as ever. An acquaintance Martin had made ten years ago when his steamship began operating in Southern Luzon.

    I accepted the offered cup and felt the soothing warmth of the hot liquid through the handle. I raised the cup with both hands near my face, letting it warm my cheeks and allowing its aroma to fill my nostrils.

    "Ah... look at those beasts. I would trade my second-born son to own one," the captain chuckled as he leaned on the railing, his eyes in the distance.

    I followed his gaze. The haze was now almost gone, and gigantic silhouettes loomed in the distance. I was on my toes, disbelieving what I was seeing.

    Our ship got nearer, and the mist thinned and thinned until I recognized one of the giant structures. It was in the museum in Philadelphia. Now, it was before me in its prime... in all its glory, not just as an entombed carcass.

    USS Olympia.

    What a terrifying and beautiful thing she was.

 Chapter 13: Port of Manila

    Chapter 13 - Port of Manila

    The size of these giant steel warships alone would be enough to strike fear into the enemies of the United States. The mercantile ships moored around them appeared like small fishing boats. The Diligencia would look like a toy ship in comparison.

    But those who had knowledge of the armaments on these ships would be even more terrified. USS Olympia had enough firepower to pulverize a coastal town with its batteries, but another ship, USS Monterey, could wipe that town off the face of the earth with its array of 12-inch guns.

    I was both in awe and in fear. If war did break out and reached Marinduque, Boac could not be defended. It would be reduced to rubble by even one of these ships.

    "Well... we''re here," I heard Isidro''s raspy voice, and only then did I realize that I had been by the railings for quite a while. The captain had gone back to his cabin. "And yes... those ships had the same effect on me. It''s no wonder the Americans won that battle in May last year so one-sidedly. It was steel against wood... giant against dwarf."

    I turned around to see his newly woken face, with puffed cheeks and teary eyes. Vicente Trivin?o was yawning behind him, scratching his head.

    "What battle?" I asked. I had read something on the USS Olympia plaque at the museum, but it had been long ago, and I could not recall the details.

    "They call it the Battle of Manila Bay, where the Americans sank all of the Spanish fleet without incurring even a single scratch on any of their ships. As soon as the American cannons started firing... the battle was over," Isidro answered, both hands on his waist and his eyes on the American ships. "This is what we are up against."

    I shook my head and returned my gaze to the USS Monterey

    . After a few moments of silence, I spoke. "If war does break out, and you have to decide for us... would you surrender, Isidro?"

    "What? Where did that come from?" my nephew nervously chuckled.

    "Well... answer."

    "There''s a reason why I became a merchant, Tiyo. I don''t want to make difficult decisions like that. I leave it to people like you," Isidro slyly replied.

    I huffed.

    "Well, if you were to ask me, Gobernador, it doesn''t matter how powerful our opponent is... together, we c¡ª"

    "Shh... tsk, tsk, tsk," I quickly interrupted Trivin?o before he could say his nonsense. "If... If I did ask you... but did I?"

    The lieutenant shook his head and rolled his eyes. Isidro giggled right before asking, "So... we deal with the Chinese?"

    "Yes..." I turned around and leaned my back against the railings. "We sell them our second- and third-grade piculs."

    His chubby face twisted with confusion. "And... our first-grade piculs?"

    "We sell to the Americans."

    ---

    Boac was a far cry from the true metropolis of the time, which was Manila. As our boat neared the docks, I studied the city as it was presented from the bay. Beyond the row of warehouses stood the proud ancient walls of Intramuros. The spires and domes of the churches jutted out, pointing at the sky and catching the light of the early rising sun. A large American flag, with its stars and stripes, had replaced the red and gold of Spain over Fort Santiago.

    The port of Manila was as busy as I, or more accurately, as the former Martin, had last seen it. A cart filled with sacks of sugar almost hit me as soon as I stepped off the gangway. The dockworker briefly stopped and muttered apologies before quickly moving as fast as he could while Isidro shouted profanities.

    "Too early in the morning to be cursing, pamangkin," I smiled as I tucked my coat. The sea of people in front of me did not suffocate. In fact, I felt right at home in the busyness of it all. I loved the quaintness of Marinduque, but I would not mind an occasional dip into the exciting, fast-paced nature of the urban jungle.

    With confidence learned as a military officer, I strode into the fray. Isidro and Vicente followed behind.

    With amusement, I watched the dockworkers busy themselves unloading and loading cargo, the Chinese traders loudly haggling in broken English, and the waiting passengers grouping together, giggling and laughing in conversation.

    With an odd mixture of nostalgia and dread, I glanced at the soldiers standing in the corner with hawkish eyes, visibly taking note of our arrival. They were still pale-skinned, but instead of wearing the red trousers of the Spanish Cazadores, they wore khaki uniforms.

    Each of them carried a long, slender bolt-action rifle with a side-mounted magazine door. I did not own one, but I could quickly recognize what gun it was.

    A

    It was significantly better than the rolling block, with its five-round internal magazine. It could easily suppress and even slaughter a trench full of soldiers equipped with the single-shot Remington in close quarters.

    In the distance, on the bay walk, horses were pulling several wheeled Gatling guns. It was a heavy and cumbersome machine gun to operate, but a machine gun nonetheless. It could still cut down tens within seconds.

    "Are you sure about this, Tiyo?" Isidro asked me, then pointed at something not far from the moving machine guns. It was a warehouse that I remembered as having been operated by the Spanish. Now, the American flag waved over it. "That''s the Anderson and Co.''s warehouse... one of the American firms... you want."

    I nodded. My nephew pulled my hand and had me stop walking a moment later. "You really are sure about this?"

    "I know what I am doing, Isidro," I said with a sigh. "You don''t need to go with me. Go arrange a trade for our second-grade and mixed-grade abaca with Sen?or Tiangco or Sen?or Sy... it''s your choice."

    He chuckled. "You do realize that the Americans don''t speak Spanish. You''ll be needing a translator."

 Chapter 14: First Grade

    Chapter 14 - First Grade

    A bright spot on the fac?ade of the old warehouse was the bright lettering on the wooden board that said, "Anderson and Co. Import and Export." Adjacent to it, an American flag limply responded to the sea breeze on a makeshift pole.

    The door was open, revealing a dimly lit room and letting out the scents of oil and a myriad of cargo. I spotted my target behind a small desk in the corner. Even from outside the door, I could hear the clacking of his typewriter as he bit on a cigarette. When he took a break, he leaned back in the chair, let out a puff of smoke, and stared at the pile of papers and ledgers around him with a sigh.

    My heart almost jumped out of my chest when a pair of Filipino workers emerged from the door carrying a crate. I stepped out of their way, but not out of their notice.

    "Sen?or!" one of them hollered to the agent before scurrying towards the docks.

    Left with no choice, I fixed my coat and walked in.

    What the door did not let me see from the outside were the stacks of crates, piles of sacks, and barrels stored on the other side of the room. Another man, burlier and older than the agent, was talking loudly with a Chinese merchant, a clipboard in hand. Both communicated in broken English and seemed to think that increasing their volume would somehow help translate English to Chinese.

    The dock agent''s eyes lazily went up to greet me as he leaned on the table to use the ashtray.

    He muttered beneath his breath, "What am I going to do with you? We don''t have translators. Merchants should come accompanied by a translator. Of course, you don''t even understand me, do you?"

    He smiled at me. "Do you reckon we should use their method? Talk as loudly as we can until we understand each other?"

    "No need for that, kid." It sounded more fluent in my mind, but when it came out, the f turned into a p, and the th turned into a d. How did I get an accent?

    Nonetheless, the agent''s face lit up, and he laughed. I thought he was mocking my accent, but it turned out he was just glad.

    "Well... you just made my day, mister. Do you know you are the first native I''ve met who speaks English?" The agent stood up and extended a hand. "Mason Reed. How can I help you, sir?"

    "Martin Lardizabad. I was told you buy hemp... well, I have 500 piculs of first-grade hemp waiting in the steamer." I replied, still disbelieving how I pronounced have as hab, five as payb, and waiting as witting.

    "First-grade, you say? With all due respect, many have sold us ''first-grade'' that turned out to be rat-ass quality," he chuckled. "We will need to inspect it."

    "You are welcome to do so." I replied, no longer minding the odd accent because of how well things were going.

    "Donovan is still preoccupied..." He glanced at the man still talking with the Chinese trader, who was likely the cargo inspector.

    He smiled at me. "You know what? I might as well take a break from rotting inside this warehouse. I''ll go with you, Mr. Larsibedal."

    ---

    "I did not know you could speak English," Sen?or Alcantara whispered to me as we watched the American go from bale to bale, inspecting the goods by hand. By the way the agent was smiling, I would soon be hearing some good news.

    "I am fifty years old, Sen?or Alcantara. I have been to many places, met many people, and learned many things," I said to him.

    The captain raised his eyebrows and silently chuckled. "Is it true you have been made governor of Marinduque?"

    I glanced at him. I would call him a friend, but not close enough that I could trust him. He was a regular in Manila, and the Americans could have easily paid him. But my identity as governor was hard to deny.

    "The whole of Luzon, as far as Cagayan, is preparing for war. I know you have realized it by now, but the Americans are not here in peace. More soldiers are pouring in by the month. Why would you need more if you intend to only temporarily hold Manila?" he said.

    That was true. Now that I had seen it firsthand, I could only conclude that the Americans were preparing for an invasion. And it did not help in any way to motivate me to get further involved in the war. In fact, I was more convinced now that this was a war that would be very difficult to win.

    The only reasonable recourse was diplomacy, avoiding war at all costs, even at the expense of some painful concessions at the negotiating table.

    But I could not say that to the captain. If he was not a spy for the Americans, he could be a spy from Aguinaldo''s camp.

    "We are making preparations. But you know... Marinduque, it''s small and rugged, not really the place to build an army," I answered.

    "You do know that the Americans do not pay upfront. If you''ll be staying in Manila for a while, why not visit the President in Malolos? Ask for guidance or... resources?" he said to me.

    That was not something I had thought about. Malolos was only 40 kilometers north of Manila. Perhaps I could try to influence the negotiations that were going on.

    "It was as you said, Mr. Larbidesal. This is fine-grade¡ªthe best quality of abaca I''ve seen in a while," the agent walked toward me with a bright smile on his face.

    "Glad it meets your expectations, Mr. Reed. The Chinese are actually willing to pay ten pesos per picul, and in cash." I said, slightly inflating the price the Chinese would have offered, which would likely be around eight pesos per picul.

    He nodded. "I understand. Your abaca is high quality, no surprise it would be sought after. We need hemp urgently... but I cannot pay you in full upfront."

    "What is your offer, then?" I asked him.

    "Twelve pesos per picul... and I pay you 50% upfront." The young American said after moments of serious deliberation. "The other 50%... I will make sure it comes to you before the end of the month."

 Chapter 15: Cage

    Chapter 15 - Cage

    Happy as a lark- that would have aptly described my mood as I walked away from the warehouse. In my satchel was a crisp one-thousand-dollar bill and a five-hundred-dollar bill. I was paid in cash¡ª1,500 US dollars, the equivalent of 3,000 Mexican pesos- 50% of the total payment for the abaca. I was promised the other 1,500 dollars before the end of the month.

    I was told there would be no problem exchanging the dollar, as it was a highly sought-after currency. And with the Spanish Empire declining, the dollar would only grow stronger against the peso. If I maintained good relations with the Americans, I could have not only a stable trading partnership but also a highly profitable one.

    While I was busy with the transaction, the day had progressed to midday. The port was now even busier, and the day was starting to warm beyond comfort. The traffic was thickest at the port exit, where dockworkers came in and out to Aduana Street. With the deal done, I was to meet Isidro and Vicente at a hotel in Binondo.

    I exhaled sharply, anticipating the heat as I prepared to insert myself into the large crowd pouring in and out of the gate.

    Before I could, I heard shouts in English to make way. American soldiers emerged from the traffic, carrying several crates and what looked like a cage. I would not have taken a second look were it not for the odd reaction the cage elicited from the crowd. Some were confused, some were angry, and a few were amused.

    I assumed it was an exotic animal. Even in Vietnam, I had personally seen several exotic wildlife specimens being shipped to the US. One of my superior officers had even tasked me once with sneaking a macaque into the cargo.

    I stopped to watch their procession pass by until I got a better look at what was in the cage. It was a primate... more specifically, a young female Homo sapiens, in other terms, a young human girl. The girl, probably no older than eight, wore the tribal clothing of the Igorots, an indigenous tribe that lived in the mountains of the north.

    During my younger years, during my stay in Manila and the nearby provinces, I had made several purchases of very cheap produce from the Igorot tribesmen. They were a friendly and smiley folk who did not deserve to be placed in a cage.

    "What are you doing?" I blurted out in English, with a heavy Filipino accent.

    Upon hearing me, the soldiers carrying the cage slowed down. I briskly walked to match their pace. My ears warmed, and my skin crawled when I saw the bright eyes of the girl glance at me before she weakly buried her face against her legs again.

    "Carrying shipment," one of the soldiers answered bluntly, an amused smile on his lips.

    "You do realize you have a young girl in a cage," I said, raising my voice, trying to make sense of what they were doing.

    "Yes, we do," another soldier answered. "And this girl is bound for St. Louie for the exhibition."

    I angrily huffed. "Exhibition, por Dios! That''s a fellow human being, a young girl at that, not an animal."

    "A primitive human," I was corrected. "And why are you bothering us, old man? Is this your daughter?"

    The rest of the soldiers chuckled at that.

    "If you don''t stop making a fuss, we might give you a cage as well," a soldier said to me. "You might be speaking English or wearing a suit, but that does not make you any less of a savage."

    I halted in my tracks, in utter disbelief. Never would I have guessed, in this life or the previous, that someone would say something so vile to me.

    What Teniente Trivin?o said to me the night he came to Marinduque echoed in my mind. I had disregarded it as an empty and vain exaggeration.

    But of course... it was true.

    While I was serving in Korea and Vietnam, had I not thought the same of the Koreans and the Vietnamese? That they were human but not my fellows? A lesser human¡ªnot as civilized, not as evolved.

    "You spoke out of order, Private Custer," the officer marching alongside the soldiers said, even as he was smiling himself. "Forgive him, sir. He is young and has an unbridled tongue."

    I gritted my teeth as I watched the soldiers have another round of laughter while they walked away toward the dock. I could not forgive them, and I could not forgive myself for not being able to do anything for the girl.

    There was a point to be proven. I had been a Filipino for more than five months now and had been among fellow Filipinos. They did not live in the same comforts of the first world, did not enjoy the same luxuries, and were not as numerate and literate. Nonetheless, I had found they were not any less human.

    Damn them who think simple is primitive.

    Damn the Americans.

    ---

    "Tiyo? Are you listening?"

    Isidro''s voice took me out of my train of thought and reminded me that I was facing a table of food in the dining area of the Hotel de Oriente.

    "Yes?"

    "I said, Sen?or Tiangco bought all the abaca I offered him. He bought the second grade at six pesos per picul and the mixed grade at four pesos per picul. How about your deal with the Americans...? You look horrible. Were you able to sell?" Isidro asked before taking a gulp of wine.

    "The Americans bought the abaca for twelve pesos per picul," I said as I resumed noisily slicing my bistek tagalog.

    "Whu... What? That''s great! We should only sell to them from now on. How did you do it?" Isidro said. If we were not in the sophisticated company of the other guests in the hotel, he would have raised his voice and stood up.

    "No... this will be the first and last time I will be selling to them," I said sternly, back in my dark thoughts again.

    "Did... did something happen?"

    I ignored Isidro''s question and turned my attention to Vicente Trivin?o. The lieutenant had been silent, enjoying the braised chicken on his plate.

    "You said you were going to Bulacan to visit your parents," I said to the teniente.

    It took a moment before he noticed I was speaking to him. When he answered, there was still food in his mouth. "Yes... but I am tired. So, I am going tomorrow."

    I let go of the silverware, letting it clack loudly against the table. I wiped my lips with the napkin.

    "I am going with you, and we are going this afternoon."

    "What do you mean? Do you have business there?" the teniente asked.

    "I am going to meet the Sen?or Presidente."

 Chapter 16: Steam Train

    Chapter 16 - Steam Train

    The fastest mode of travel to Malolos was by steam train, built just a few years back in 1892.

    We rode in the first-class coach, enjoying its comfortable leg space and the presence of very few passengers. Seated in the rows of two-facing-two seats, we were just another pair of men in Western-style suits.

    Trivin?o sat in front of me, dozing off, his face pressed against the glass pane. The kid wasn''t lying when he said he was exhausted.

    With nothing to read and no one to talk to, something worse than boredom threatened to set in. As my reflection faintly appeared on the foggy pane, I saw the eyes of the girl from earlier¡ªthey seemed to stab me in the chest. The regret of having done nothing more ate at me painfully.

    It was cowardice, I realized.

    This was my second life, and I was afraid that further confrontation with the soldiers would endanger it. Unlike that fateful day in the Appalachian woods, I now dreaded the face of death.

    My life had value now¡ªall thanks to Isabela and the others.

    With the rumbling of the train in the background, my thoughts threatened to derail.

    I was able to snap out of it when we approached Caloocan.

    Until then, I had only seen the usual: the untouched countryside outside the train''s windows. But these were not usual times. There were two armies in Luzon, serving two different masters.

    I saw the first Filipino units in the shallow trenches and dugouts, carved into the otherwise beautiful and pristine green fields outside the town. The soldiers were a mixed crowd, with some wearing faded rayadillo

    uniforms and others dressed in plain white, similar to what Abad''s men wore. As I expected, most of them carried Remington rifles.

    Just a bit further on, I saw a pair of carabaos pulling a smoothbore cannon along the dirt path towards the earthworks. Smoothbore cannons were practically antiques, even in the 19th century.

    I stroked my chin and shook my head, trying not to be overly dismayed by how ill-equipped the Filipino army was.

    The train stopped at Caloocan station. In the distance stood the huts and buildings of the town. The Filipino tricolor hung proudly on the church''s bell tower.

    As in Marinduque, the young men here could not be accused of lacking patriotic fervor. Among the new passengers was a large number of Filipino recruits. The same sight repeated at Polo station, where lads, some as young as 15, entered the train cars in droves alongside their uniformed recruiters.

    Most of them disembarked at the next station, in the town of Meycauayan. I caught glimpses of what looked like military barracks.

    I resisted the temptation to wake Trivin?o and ask him about what I was seeing. He was deep in sleep, drool pooling on the smooth glass and trickling downward.

    That was until we arrived at Marilao station.

    For the first time on our journey, the Filipino Army conducted an inspection. Sharp-looking soldiers in newly pressed rayadillo uniforms and polished boots entered the train cars¡ªsome forcibly¡ªto check passengers and cargo.

    The soldiers swarming the station were a different breed from those manning the trenches in Caloocan. Aside from their impressive uniforms, they carried an even more impressive rifle¡ªone of the best of its time, second only to its German derivative.

    The Spanish Mauser.

    Most likely looted by the Filipinos from modernized Spanish units during the revolution, the Mauser was superior to the Krag-J?rgensen in accuracy, stopping power, and reload speed. In the hands of a trained unit, it could go toe-to-toe with the Americans.

    The soldier who entered our cabin was an officer, flanked by two riflemen. I recognized the shoulder straps¡ªhe was a lieutenant, like Trivin?o.

    The soldiers didn''t ask for papers, relying instead on facial recognition and verbal inquiries. Some passengers, whom they seemed to recognize, received only a smile and a greeting. Others were questioned about their identity, origins, and purpose for traveling.

    I must have been a very unfamiliar face because the officer had been eyeing me from the moment he stepped inside. I kicked Trivin?o in the shin as the officer started walking toward us.

    Because we had come through the Port of Manila, Vicente couldn''t wear his uniform. But I hoped he could at least provide a familiar face to save me from a lengthy interrogation. And in that, I would not be disappointed.

    "Put¡ªputik..." Trivin?o jolted awake, rubbing his chin. "Why would you do that?"

    I pointed with my lips. His eyebrows knitted together. Seated opposite me with his back to the entrance, he had to stand up to look over the chair.

    When he popped up, the officer''s attention immediately shifted to him, his face lighting up.

    "Vicente! How pleasant is this!" the officer exclaimed, quickening his pace.

    "Ha! What are you doing in that uniform? When did you enlist?" Trivin?o stepped into the aisle to greet him.

    "Last month... when the news of the treaty arrived," the officer replied.

    Trivin?o chuckled and clapped the young man''s shoulders, standing half a head taller than him. "How did you convince Sen?orita Teresita?"

    "I didn''t. I snuck out. Patriotism is above filial piety, after all."

    Then the officer''s gaze turned toward me. "Is he with you?"

    "Ah," Vicente exclaimed, as if only now remembering my presence. "Don Marti?n Lardiza?bal... Gobernador Poli?tico-Militar de Marinduque."

    The officer''s eyes widened, and I heard his boots click together as he stood at attention. He gave me a British-style salute, palm outward. I awkwardly returned it.

    "This is Ronaldo Dimalanta," Vicente continued, "a childhood friend of mine and a..." He paused to check the shoulder straps. "A lieutenant."

    "It is a pleasure to meet you, Teniente Dimalanta," I said.

    "The pleasure is mine, Gobernador." The lieutenant remained rigid, his hands clasped behind his back. "You must be here for the inauguration?"

    I glanced at Vicente, who only shrugged.

    "Inauguration?" I asked. "I wasn''t aware."

    Lieutenant Dimalanta raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. "Is that so? Marinduque is quite far... so I wouldn''t be surprised if you hadn''t heard. But you have arrived at the right time, Gobernador. You may as well attend the momentous event on the 23rd."

    "Inauguration of what, exactly?" I asked.

    "The inauguration of the Philippine Republic, Gobernador," Dimalanta announced with pride.

    January 23 was next Monday, a week away. I had promised Isabela I''d return within the week.

    But the inauguration of the Philippine Republic? T

    hat was too momentous an event to refuse. And the days leading up to it would give me ample time to accomplish what I had come for.

    "It would be an honor to witness it," I remarked.

    "Well then... may I offer you a military escort, Gobernador?" Lieutenant Dimalanta asked.

    "That would be unnecessary¡ª"

    "But very much appreciated," Vicente very quickly interrupted.

 Chapter 17: Malolos

    Chapter 17 - Malolos

    Out of the train, Dimalanta hastily arranged for a carriage for me. What arrived after only a few minutes of waiting was a proper vehicle, pulled by two large horses. It was spacious enough to comfortably accommodate me, Trivin?o, and Dimalanta.

    The town of Malolos was to be declared the capital of the Philippine Republic. Having just come from Manila, I could not help but notice the stark difference between the two. Malolos was a large rural town, but a rural town nonetheless, and had no business being the capital of a nation.

    That said, I was impressed by the other things I saw there. The humble-looking place was abuzz with structured activity, befitting an administrative headquarters. Alongside the roving soldiers, the wide dirt roads were traversed by wagons and carts carrying military supplies.

    All movement seemed to flow toward the imposing Barasoain Church. The large adjoining convent had been repurposed as the Cuartel General of Aguinaldo''s government. A steady stream of workers, couriers, suited officials, and soldiers escorting their officers passed through its doors.

    For the first time since I had miraculously been transported to this different era, I was impressed by the appearance of a building. The church and the convent were magnificent pieces of architecture. If you were to remove their much humbler surroundings, they could look like something out of St. Petersburg or Paris.

    But what impressed me even more was the sight in the brick-paved plaza before them. Soldiers in rayadillo jackets and striking red trousers drilled with disciplined precision, marching in well-ordered columns. Their wide-brimmed straw hats were trimmed with red lace, and adorned with a black ribbon and a blue-and-red cockade. Slung over their shoulders¡ªcarried upright, resting on the ground, or at the ready¡ªwere Spanish Mauser rifles.

    Lieutenant Dimalanta helpfully informed me that this was the Kawit Battalion, a unit directly under the President, tasked with serving as his personal guard.

    The carriage halted right in front of the main doors of the convent. Already, I could feel the hum of the busyness that awaited us behind the walls. And to my surprise, I was nervous.

    I had come here expecting to meet someone who was merely a glorified warlord. Now, I was not so sure. There, in the heart of Malolos, things felt too organized... too official.

    We were led inside by Lieutenant Dimalanta and introduced to one Colonel Simeon Ola, a round-faced, cheerful chap. He introduced himself as the aide-de-camp of the President. I was received warmly, almost excitedly, which I suspected was because of the distance I had travelled.

    "So, not because of the inauguration? What a coincidence. I hope you will stay for the event now that you are here," the Colonel said to me with the practiced charm of someone used to having guests, as he led me through the busy corridors. The clack of typewriters, the shifting noises of sheets of paper, and the buzz of hurried conversations came out of every door.

    We ended up in a pleasant and much quieter antechamber, and my ears sighed with relief. Since boarding the steamship in Marinduque, I had been surrounded by noise.

    "Yes, I do plan to stay. I don''t want to miss such an important event," I answered, still not getting used to how our voices echoed in the silence inside the room.

    "For what purpose, then?" the Colonel asked as boots clacked against the floor behind us.

    I glanced back and saw that Trivin?o and Dimalanta had followed, acting as if they were really part of my retinue.

    "Military matters," I answered vaguely.

    The three of us took our seats at the large round table by the window. The closed large double doors that led to the President''s office stared at us from the far end of the room, flanked by two Kawit soldiers standing guard.

    "Better discuss it with the President in private, then. His meeting with Heneral Luna should be finished soon," Colonel Ola smiled. "Coffee and biscuits?"

    My stomach urged me to nod more eagerly than I had intended. The two young officers with me looked equally pleased with the offer.

    As we waited, we helped ourselves to the small plate of sweet pastillas, right next to a vase of beautifully arranged flowers.

    A few minutes later, the door creaked open, and two women entered. One carried a tray of biscuits, the other a set of coffee cups. By the way they dressed and moved with grace, I quickly assumed they were no mere maids.

    "Sen?ora Agoncillo, Sen?orita Tiongson!" greeted Trivin?o happily, rising from his seat along with Dimalanta.

    "Ah, Vicente, utoy, where have you been all this time?" the older of the women asked as she set her plate on the table. She then kissed the lieutenant earnestly on the cheek, like grandmothers do to their grandsons.

    Vicente visibly did not enjoy it.

    "And you, Ronaldo, tsk, tsk, tsk," she scolded, turning to Lieutenant Dimalanta, her face scrounging, "You are really breaking your mother''s heart."

    "Uhm... oh, this is our guest," Ronaldo, desperate to take the attention off himself, introduced me to the women. "Gobernador of Marinduque, Martin Larzi... Larbi¡ª"

    "Martin Lardiza?bal," I supplied, as I rose from my seat and tipped my hat.

    "I am Maria Agoncillo," said the older woman with a polite, wide smile.

    I waited for the younger one to introduce herself. She was a lady in her late twenties, and oddly, for someone with a pretty face, she shyly hid behind Sen?ora Agoncillo.

    "And she is Paz Tiongson," said Sen?ora Agoncillo. "Do forgive her, Gobernador, she is a bit reserved. She has been unwell for quite some time and only recently recovered."

    "It is alright. It is a pleasure to meet the two of you," I said.

    Then, disaster struck.

    Just as I spoke the last word, my stomach let out a loud, unmistakable grumble.

    Several moments of awkward silence settled over the room.

    "You should eat now, Don Lardiza?bal," said Sen?ora Agoncillo,"We personally baked those minasa cookies."

 Chapter 18: Presidente

    Chapter 18 - Presidente

    The Kawit guards, who had been standing as still as statues, flinched when the door to the President''s office suddenly swung open. Trivino almost spat out the coffee in his mouth. I slowly placed the cookie I had been about to bite back onto the plate.

    I did not recognize the insignias of the Filipino Army, but only a general would be brazen enough to storm out of his president''s office. The face beneath the peaked cap was twisted in an indescribable angry expression. His thin eyebrows clashed fiercely, veins bulged at his temples, and his cheeks sank inward as he gritted his teeth.

    If he had drawn his sidearm and shot everyone in the room, I would not have been surprised.

    "Heneral Luna," Colonel Ola, who had returned just after the two ladies left, was the first to speak. "Is everything all right?"

    Antonio Luna. It was only then that I realized I was looking at none other than the man himself, the author of La Independencia. He looked just as I had imagined: as warlike as his publication.

    His burning gaze flicked to Colonel Ola, then to the rest of us at the table, before settling on me. I thought he might at least soften his expression in the presence of guests, but he did not. Instead, he turned away and stormed toward the exit. His boots thundered against the floor, and he slammed the door behind him.

    Whatever had happened inside that office had not gone well.

    "Ah," Colonel Ola scratched his head and chuckled nervously. "Excuse me, Gobernador, I''ll go check on the President."

    Once again, the three of us were left alone in silence. So many things had happened that day that, for a moment, I doubted whether Heneral Luna''s outburst had actually happened.

    As soon as the Colonel was out of earshot, Lieutenant Dimalanta spoke.

    "That was none other than General Antonio Luna, Jefe de Operaciones de Guerra," Ronaldo said disapprovingly, in an almost whisper. "Believe it or not, this is a regular occurrence. He''s causing division with his disrespect for the Presidente."

    Storming out like a temperamental child from your superior''s office was certainly disrespectful, but there were occasions that warranted it and leaders who deserved it.

    That said, I did not like him already. Hot-headedness was not a trait befitting a general, much less someone who was the Chief of War Operations.

    "He''s just misunderstood," Vicente, to my surprise, held a different opinion than his close friend. "He''s the busiest of the generals and works the hardest. I think we can forgive him if he loses his cool at times. He''s as dedicated to the cause as we are."

    Dimalanta exhaled sharply. "Misunderstood or not, he''s making people pick sides."

    "Then you shouldn''t be like those people, Ronaldo," Trivino countered. "We''re all on the same side."

    I sank into my seat, silently listening to their exchange. Perhaps I had judged Vicente Trivino too harshly.

    Things must not have been too serious, because just a few minutes later, Colonel Ola peeked out from the office, smiling.

    "Sen?or Gobernador, the President will see you now."

    The nervousness reintroduced itself. I had been readying myself, until Luna''s dramatic exit threw me off rhythm. Feeling like a student about to enter the principal''s office, I forced confidence into my steps as I crossed the room.

    Inside, to the left of the entrance, stood a mahogany desk. Behind it sat the President, a man with boyish features, no older than thirty. He was clean-shaven, with a flat-top haircut, and greeted me with a kind, tired smile.

    He looked the part in his tuxedo, but he was hardly intimidating¡ªquite the opposite of the general. At once, my nerves dissipated.

    "How good of you to come all this way, Gobernador, from Marinduque," the President said, rising to shake my hand. "Please, have a seat."

    I took one of the chairs in front of the desk.

    Before I could get too comfortable, I noticed another man seated opposite me. He was frail, clearly suffering from an ailment, but his sharp, bright eyes stood out. He extended a hand, which I took.

    "Apolinario Mabini. A pleasure to meet you," he introduced himself.

    Just like that, I was sitting across from the man they called the leader of the revolution. But there was no halo, no golden glow. Right in front of me, within arm''s reach, the President was no different from any other man. In fact, if anything, he seemed slightly intimidated by me.

    "How can I help you, Sen?or?" President Aguinaldo finally asked.

    I could not believe what I was about to say. When I had disembarked from the ship that morning, I had not planned on ending up in Malolos. For a moment, I faltered, tempted to abort the mission.

    But then I remembered the eyes, staring out from the cage.

    I could not be a coward now, as I had been then.

    "I would like to request that Marinduque be made an independent military command," I said. The words left an alien aftertaste in my mouth.

    The surprise on the President''s face was evident. He did not answer immediately, letting my words sink into the room''s painted walls.

    Then, he glanced behind him at the large map of the Philippines pinned to the wall. The little dot of land, southwest of the Luzon Island, was Marinduque.

    "Marinduque," he repeated. "Your province is currently under Heneral Mariano Trias'' command. May I ask why you are requesting this?"

    I cleared my throat. "General Trias, I believe, already has enough responsibilities in Southern Luzon. With all due respect, I fear a remote island like Marinduque might not receive the attention it needs. With me directly in charge, I could better organize resistance in the island."

    I wanted to continue, add more justifications to my huge request, but the words would not leave my mouth. I couldn''t tell him I was a seasoned American army veteran from the future with the necessary military credentials for the task.

    At once, I realized how poorly I had planned this.

    Presidente Aguinaldo shifted in his seat. I could tell immediately that he did not like my idea, but also that he did not want to say it to my face. He glanced several times toward Sen?or Mabini.

    "Give us time to discuss this, Gobernador," Sen?or Apolinario Mabini said, as if answering a telepathic order from the President. "I assume you will be attending the inauguration?"

    I nodded.

    "Then you will have the President''s answer by then."

 Chapter 19: Tiongson

    Chapter 19 - Tiongson

    The weight of the day''s exhaustion crashed down on me as I finally stepped out of the convent. The liveliness I had seen earlier had faded with the dimming afternoon, leaving the plaza empty except for the Kawit soldiers standing at their posts. The streets were nearly deserted, allowing the sounds of the surrounding countryside to take over.

    A cold wind carried the scent of damp earth from the rice fields. Overhead, a formation of birds squawked as they glided across the orange-streaked sky. The world was telling men to go to sleep.

    There was another weariness aside from the physical. My mind kept circling back to what I had just done. I had deliberately involved myself in the war that loomed ahead. And in doing so, I had made a choice not just for myself but for the province and the people under my care. It wasn''t until now that I realized I hadn''t thought of Isabela until this moment.

    My accusations of Vicente being ideological came back to haunt me. It was emotion that had driven me here. Fact over feelings¡ªthat had been my motto in my wiser years, in my past life.

    But could I have lived with myself if I had done nothing? If I had tried to forget the memory of that poor Igorot girl and simply moved on?

    It might be a different body, but it was the same mind. I had been a proud soldier before, and I could not bring myself so low as to become a terrible coward.

    "Don Lardizabal, have you arranged where you''ll be staying for the night?" Colonel Ola asked as we stopped right outside the convent''s doors.

    I turned to Trivin?o, cutting into his conversation with Dimalanta. "I was hoping to be introduced to Teniente Trivin?o''s family tonight."

    Vicente blinked in surprise. "Gobernador... I''m sure my parents would love to meet you, but I live in Calumpit. That''s another station away."

    "And what''s the problem? The train ride is no more than thirty minutes," I said with a yawn, then let out a tired chuckle. "Don''t tell me you have no intention of repaying the hospitality I showed you in Marinduque?"

    Vicente sighed and scratched his head. "That''s not the issue. There are no trains running this late and the road would be too dark and rough for the carriage. We could borrow horses, but..."

    I groaned, rubbing my face. "Yeah... I''m too tired to be riding on horseback."

    As if I didn''t have enough on my mind, now I had to figure out where to sleep.

    Colonel Ola patted me on the shoulder. "No need to worry, Gobernador. Plenty of families here would be honored to host you. I''ll have it arranged immediately."

    ---

    The carriage didn''t take us far. We stopped in front of a beautiful home facing the barracks of one General Torres. One of the many Tiongson families in Bulacan had graciously offered us a place for the night.

    I soon learned that Vicente Trivin?o was more well-regarded than I had expected. Over dinner, Don Antonio Tiongson, the family''s patriarch, spoke highly of him. Vicente had been known as a brilliant student since his days in the escuela municipal and had continued to excel at Colegio de San Juan de Letra?n. He would have been in his fourth year by now had he not left to join the revolution.

    "So, how did you end up in Marinduque?" Don Antonio asked after an hour of conversation. Our plates were empty, and my full stomach only deepened my exhaustion. I listened in a half-dazed state.

    Vicente smiled. "One thing led to another, Don Antonio. I followed my classmates when they decided to join Sen?or Presidente. I stayed in his entourage for a few months until he met Heneral Ananias Diokno. The President assigned a few of us junior officers to assist in the general''s recruitment drive."

    "I went with the general to Mindoro, but when he had business elsewhere, he sent me alone to Marinduque to contact Capita?n Abad." He shook his head, chuckling. "I''m still not sure why he never came back for me."

    Don Antonio laughed heartily, slapping his thigh. I could only manage a weak chuckle.

    "No matter, kid. Everything worked out in the end. Now the governor himself has brought you back," he said, turning to me. "I trust he didn''t give you too much trouble, Don Lardizabal?"

    I would have had plenty to say under normal circumstances. I had always enjoyed conversations with people my age. But right now, I was too tired to enjoy anything.

    "He... he was alright, Don Antonio," I croaked, my voice hoarse. My eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment.

    Agapita Tiongson, the eldest daughter and the one responsible for the excellent dinner, was clearing the plates when I spoke. She must have noticed my exhaustion.

    "Papa, I think the governor is tired. Don''t keep him up any longer," she chided as she reached for Vicente''s empty plate.

    Don Antonio looked at me, his expression turning apologetic. "Ah... forgive me, Don Lardizabal. Once I start talking, it''s hard to stop."

    "It''s alright, Sen?or," I said.

    He glanced around at his daughters. All five of them were busy¡ªexcept for one. Paz Tiongson, the same woman I had met at the convent earlier, was also his daughter. Aside from being shy, she was also a slow eater and had just finished her meal.

    "Paz, are you done?"

    "Yes, Papa," she answered in a soft voice, dabbing at her lips with a napkin.

    Now that I got a closer look at her, she did seem frail. Her skin was too pale, and she was thinner than her sisters. But whatever illness she had recovered from had not taken away the beauty she shared with them.

    "Take the gobernador to his room," Don Antonio instructed.

    She hesitated, stealing a nervous glance at me before quickly lowering her gaze. Don Antonio gave her an encouraging nod, and after a brief pause, she rose to her feet.

    "Thank you, Sen?orita," I stood up and gave her a weak smile.

 Chapter 20: Insufferable

    Chapter 20 - Insufferable

    Paz Tiongson led me out of the sala to the overhanging balcony common in bahay na bato houses. On one side were the doors to the many rooms; on the other were large Capiz shell windows. As I followed, I glanced at the pretty front yard below, then at the empty streets past the fence.

    A loud rattling noise made me halt, and I saw that we were in front of my room for the night. Doorknobs were not yet widespread in the country and were uncommon even in more modern houses like the Tiongsons''. Paz took a few moments before she finally unlocked the stiff metal latch and opened the door.

    She turned to me, but before she could speak, I asked about what my nose had caught.

    "Is that kamuning?" I asked, referring to satinwood, taking a couple of audible sniffs. A familiar, strong, soothingly sweet scent accompanied the air drifting in through the windows.

    She mimicked my sniffing and then smiled. "No, Don Lardizabal... that''s sampaguita."

    "Ahhh," I said as I walked away from the open door toward the opposite window. I scanned the yard, trying to locate the plant and found the shrubs adorned with small white flowers behind the fences.

    "Unassuming and yet so beautiful," I remarked thoughtlessly, now leaning on the windowsill. My tired mind was freely wandering, and the scent made things even dreamier.

    "What... is?" Paz asked, pushing aside the fluttering curtain.

    "The sampaguita flower. Not as ornate as the rose... so plain and small, yet it still manages to stand out," I said.

    "I planted... those," she said after a pause. "And they provided me good company all those years when my world did not extend beyond the fences."

    I turned to her. She met my eyes but only for a second.

    "Sen?ora Agoncillo said you were sick?"

    "Deathly... sick," she said with a noticeable quiver in her voice. Whether because of the chill, nervousness, or some other emotion, I could not tell. "I thought I would not live to see the new year."

    I was tempted to ask what sickness and how she recovered, but I held my tongue.

    I ended up staring... watching the gentle moonlight touch her face, making the faint freckles on her nose and cheeks visible, and the subtle rosy redness of her recovering skin.

    There was a tug in my chest, which I immediately swatted away.

    "You did well... fighting off the ailment and tending to those flowers. Now they bloom beautifully."

    She sniffled, but she wasn''t crying. "Thank you."

    "Can I ask for some stems to bring back to Marinduque?" I asked.

    "Of course," she replied enthusiastically.

    "Well then, Sen?orita," I said as I turned toward the door, "Good night."

    ---

    I went to sleep, doubtful that my request for an independent military command would be approved. What I learned from the talkative Antonio Tiongson over breakfast the next morning gave me some hope.

    "Every warlord, a general." That was what he said about the hierarchy of the Filipino army. Every provincial strongman who came to the president with an army was given the rank.

    He spoke negatively of it, and I personally believed it was generally bad for the army, but that meant I had a chance of having my request approved. There was no one in Marinduque who possessed my level of wealth and influence. Perhaps the province only came under General Trias'' jurisdiction because they were unaware of an aggressive leading figure in the area.

    I hoped I had introduced myself as one, and the hesitation was simply the President''s way of giving himself time to research me.

    "The army has too many generals, and Heneral Luna is having a hard time trying to rein them all in. Some are outright uncooperative, most dilly-dally," said Don Antonio. He had the same first name as the general, and I wondered if that had any part in his positive opinion of him.

    "He would have had it easier if he weren''t too stern," commented Agapita Tiongson as she refilled the pitcher of coffee on the table. "He is disliked because he is loud and aggressive, and... arrogant."

    It was increasingly clear to me that the Luna and Aguinaldo factions did exist, dividing even friends and family. Yet another problem that plagued the Filipino army. Factionalism had always been a fatal flaw in militaries throughout history.

    "We need his sternness and aggressiveness to whip our lousy army into shape. Discipline..." Don Antonio raised a finger for emphasis. "That''s the first thing they need to learn. And the president is not tough enough for that job. Emilio''s too agreeable... he couldn''t say no to his advisers."

    "Well, between the president and Heneral Luna, Sen?or Aguinaldo has actually won us battles. Maybe the lack of respect for Sen?or Luna is because he has not proven himself," Basilia Tiongson chimed in as she refilled the breadbasket. Yet another one of his daughters who was anti-Luna.

    "Luna studied military warfare in Europe... he''s basically our greatest hope against the Americans. Aguinaldo studied medicine in Santo Tomas, and he did not even finish," Don Antonio huffed. "What do you girls know about war, anyway?"

    The room fell silent.

    Vicente cleared his throat. Impressively, the lieutenant had not butted into the conversation, despite his eager nods of agreement with Don Antonio''s statements.

    "You should judge him for yourself, Don Lardizabal," Antonio said, turning his attention back to me. "He built and operates the Academia Militar here in town¡ªthe only military academy in the country. You should visit."

    A military academy.

    I thought my ears were fooling me. For such a problematic organization, I did not expect such an institution to exist. Heneral Luna sounded like an insufferable person, but Trivino was right. He did seem to be working hard for the cause.

    "That would be a pleasure."

    Don Antonio''s eyes lit up. "Speaking of which, you should meet Heneral Isidoro Torres first. He is just across the street, and he works closely with Luna."

 Chapter 21: Flaws

    Chapter 21 - Flaws

    Heneral Isidoro Torres was already preparing to leave the barracks when Don Tiongson brought me over for an introduction. Befitting a military man, the general started his day early. We found him and his officers in front of the barracks'' gates with their horses.

    "Sen?or Antonio... buenos di?as," the thirty-year-old-looking general greeted, stepping his foot back down from the stirrup as his gaze turned to me. He had a round face and deeply set round eyes.

    "Isidoro... we have a guest, the Gobernador of Marinduque," Don Tiongson said as we approached.

    The general raised his eyebrows, apparently surprised. He smiled and walked around his horse to shake my hand.

    "Heneral Isidoro Torres, at your service."

    "Martin Lardizabal."

    "How can I help you?" the general asked, briefly glancing behind me when the gate squeaked as Trivino joined us.

    It was Don Antonio who answered. "He wants to meet Heneral Luna and see the Academia Militar. I said you could help."

    "Well, I am going there now," Heneral Torres'' smile widened. "Do you know how to ride a horse, Don Lardizabal?"

    Both I and Martin knew how to ride a horse. Martin had learned at the late age of twenty during his first years in Manila. Marinduque did not have riding horses, so he had to learn from a college classmate. I, on the other hand, was the son of a rancher and had known how to ride before I even entered middle school.

    One of his lieutenants gave up his mount for me¡ªa fine chestnut brown mare, a European import. Trivino, on the other hand, not as important as myself, had to walk behind along with the same lieutenant and the privates.

    Fortunately for him, he did not need to go faster than a walk, as the general and I proceeded to ride at an escort pace to accommodate conversation. The waking town was yet to get busy that sunny morning, and we were able to talk comfortably in low voices.

    The general asked me about Marinduque, my occupation, and how I had ended up in the revolutionary movement. He listened intently, and I answered with the aim of impressing him, hoping he would report back to the president and help my request get approved.

    All the small talk finally stumbled upon the purpose of my visit. I answered honestly.

    He did not reply immediately, nodding thoughtfully. His response was just as honest:

    "I am not saying your request will be declined, but Marinduque is quite small and underdeveloped. It doesn''t have the resources or the manpower to support an independent military command."

    "Is that so?" I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice.

    Just like that, the budding hope I had gotten from my breakfast conversation with Don Antonio was dashed.

    I did not completely agree with his assessment. Marinduque had five towns and more than a hundred villages, and recruiting one or two thousand men was not impossible. It had an economy that, while small, could support a sizable military force once fully directed toward the war effort.

    But, of course, that would be a difficult undertaking. It would require me to assume dictator-like powers¡ªa challenge I wasn''t even sure I could pull off. And if I wasn''t sure of myself, how much more the president, to whom I was nothing but a stranger?

    "We''re here, Don Lardizabal."

    Before I knew it, we were in front of the convent again. A small group of soldiers was drilling in the plaza¡ªnot a Kawit unit, since they wore the regular trousers. The officer''s voice echoed in the relative silence of the early morning, and his soldiers responded with precise movements.

    I was surprised when we proceeded to ride toward the convent''s doors, dismounted, and headed inside. Confirming a suspicion, the Academia Militar turned out to be housed in the same building as the Malolos Government.

    Luna''s Academia Militar was a dining hall in the left wing of the convent, repurposed into a classroom. The long tables and benches once used by monk diners were now occupied by officers of the republic in their crisp rayadillo uniforms.

    A large fireplace in the corner was now rid of flames, inhabited instead by sacks and wooden crates. Instead of wooden planks common in classrooms, the floor remained tiled, originally designed for easy cleaning of food spills.

    I was underwhelmed¡ªuntil I heard the instructor speak.

    It was a young officer, with well-combed hair and a dignified handlebar mustache. He spoke Spanish the way Spaniards would speak it, and he spoke as confidently as a military instructor should.

    The instructing officer paused when he noticed us by the doorway. He promptly resumed at a nod from Heneral Torres.

    The topic for the day was on the chalkboard. Formaciones de Infanteri?a¡ªInfantry Formations, one of the first things an officer learns even in the modern day. The instructor had illustrated each of the formations using small circles that represented the soldiers.

    There was the column formation, illustrated by a single vertical line of circles. The line formation was illustrated as a horizontal line of circles. The skirmish formation was drawn as a loose arrangement of circles. Then there were the square, wedge, and circle formations, with the circles arranged accordingly.

    The instructor taught well, waving his stick with the fluidity of a fencer, successfully holding the students'' attention at the front.

    It was then that I realized that the impressive drills I had seen in the plaza might have been the product of the academy.

    "Major Jose Bugallo?n, a former second lieutenant in the Spanish Army, a graduate of the Academia Militar de Toledo in Spain," Heneral Torres informed me in a low voice.

    I immediately glanced at Trivino upon hearing the name. He proudly grinned.

    However, as impressive as the instructor was, the glaring flaws of 19th-century military theory were revealed as the lecture progressed.

    The static nature of formations, the lack of integration of firepower and support, and the absence of flexibility and mobility¡ªflaws that the First World War would brutally expose.

 Chapter 22: A Way With Words

    Chapter 22 - A Way With Words

    Heneral Luna''s office in the convent was not hard to find. The same could not be said about him. He was nowhere in the building that morning, and we had to interrupt Major Bugallo?n to inquire about his whereabouts.

    We found him, and I was not entirely happy that we had. In my experience, generals and other high-ranking officers tend to be nicer than drill sergeants. That was not the case here. In fact, Luna behaved more like a drill sergeant than a general.

    I had never heard so many swear words in both Spanish and Tagalog spat out in such quick succession. I could see the soldiers in the trenches flinching at every word thrown at them. Luna''s mouth was a machine gun, capable of firing projectiles much meaner than bullets.

    Even the horses neighed at the sound of his voice.

    "He is as lively as always," said the chuckling Heneral Torres.

    "He certainly has a way with words," I said, squinting from the sun, which was starting to sting my skin.

    We approached a field outside of town that had been turned into one of Heneral Luna''s outdoor classrooms. The general was with a group of young officer cadets, teaching them how to dig trenches. I wondered if they were already regretting the decisions that had led them here.

    There was a bahay kubo near where the trenches were being dug. The rest of Heneral Luna''s entourage sheltered there, snacking on rice cakes when we arrived. To my surprise, the aide-de-camps were approachable and polite¡ªquite the opposite of their superior.

    Colonel Francisco Roma?n, a lanky and tall figure, was the highest-ranking of Luna''s direct underlings. He was professional, composed, and behaved in the manner expected of a senior officer. At his instruction, chairs were immediately vacated for us, and bibingka cakes paired with cool lime juice were offered.

    I, the general, and the senior officers occupied the only table in the house. The nipa walls and roof effectively shielded us from the heat. The wind blowing through the fields, carrying the scent of sun-touched grass, entered through the wide openings of the hut and transformed the setting from comfortable to pleasurable.

    What ensued next was a conversation between Colonel Francisco Roma?n and Heneral Torres. It was then that I learned that the officers currently drilling in the plaza, listening to Bugallo?n''s lecture, and being personally taught by Luna were from the province of Pampanga. They had arrived by train at noon yesterday, just a few hours earlier than I had.

    I also surmised from the exchange that Heneral Torres was not only a general but also the military governor of Bulacan, and as such, had the largest military force in the province. The soldiers I had seen outside the train windows and the ones roving in the streets of Malolos were likely his.

    Chuckles erupted when a spectacular scene unfolded outside. Heneral Luna had picked up a shovel himself and was venting all his rage against the dirt. A moment later, he slammed the shovel, breaking the handle. Then he threw his cap at one of the cadets, who appeared to be arguing with him.

    One Captain Jose? Bernal and a couple of junior officers rushed out to appease the general.

    "What exactly is happening?" I finally asked. I could see a lot through the large window of the bahay kubo even while seated, but the general and the cadets were just far enough away that the wind carried their voices away. Even Luna''s loud shouts reached my ears as inaudible muffled sounds.

    "The trenches are too shallow, too narrow, and too straight," said Capitan Eduardo Rusca, the other captain in Luna''s staff.

    I stood up to take a clearer look. It was as he said. The trench was only chest-high when it should have been at least six to eight feet and had the width to accommodate only a single line. It also lacked enough curvature, making it susceptible to enfilading fire¡ªmeaning a single well-placed machine gun could cover the entire length of the trench and slaughter everyone in it.

    "It looks good enough for me," said Heneral Torres, glancing at the faces at the table. "I think there is no need for Heneral Luna to be wasting his time like this."

    The colonel and the captain only smiled at his comment. I expected a rebuttal.

    It was politely put, likely out of pity for the young cadets enduring both the scorching sun and Luna''s excessive fury. Even so, I didn''t like what Heneral Torres had said¡ªor what it implied.

    It reminded me of Colonel Abad''s reasoning last December on that beach. An already inferior force would be foolish to hope to increase its chances by disregarding helpful military knowledge.

    Heneral Torres uncomfortably shifted in his seat, perhaps expecting a warmer reception to his comment.

    "It''s an important enough thing to be ''wasting'' time on, Heneral," I said with a smile, trying my best to sound polite and non-hostile. "Considering the disparity of firepower between us and the Americans, it''s good for our officers to be well-learned in entrenchments."

    "Too shallow a trench, and our soldiers will be vulnerable to bullets and shrapnel. Too narrow, and there will be difficulty in movement. Too straight, and if only a portion of the trench falls, then the rest is sure to follow," I added. "And without trenches at all, we are at the complete mercy of American artillery and machine guns."

    I picked up a bibingka slice from the leaf plate and took a bite before raising my head to gauge the reaction to my butting into the conversation. If Heneral Torres was offended, he did not show it. The general, along with the other officers in the bahay kubo, looked surprised at first, as if I had started glowing. Then amused smiles took over.

    "What... I, uhm... what I was trying to say..." Heneral Torres proceeded to chuckle, clearly embarrassed but showing no signs of wounded pride. "What I am trying to say... is that I stand corrected, Sen?or Martin."

    "But yes... the Heneral need not be this hot-headed," I said, hoping to console the general in case I had sounded rude. "It is not good for his health."

    "Agreed." Colonel Roman laughed, right before downing the rest of the juice in his bumbo?ng.

 Chapter 23: Resilience

    Chapter 23 - Resilience

    I got de?ja? vu, seeing the red-faced Luna at the entrance of the hut. His rayadillo uniform was stained with dirt and grass, and the soles of his boots were caked in mud. His short but messy hair was revealed in the absence of his cap, which I suspected was still at the bottom of the trench.

    The cadets had finally been hauled out of the open and into the shade of a large mango tree in front of the hut, where Luna''s lieutenants and sergeants distributed food and drink.

    "What a useless bunch..." Luna said, his ragged breathing audible. We knew he was talking about the officers, but the way he looked at us while saying it had a different effect.

    All of us stood up, leaving our chairs as soon as he approached the hut. For a while, no one dared speak. Only when the general visibly calmed down did Colonel Roman approach and offer him a seat.

    Luna loosened the buttons of his tunic and cuffs, then collapsed into the chair with an angry huff. Captain Rusca hastily filled a bumbong and handed it to the thirsty general. Hydrated and seated, the redness in his cheeks finally faded.

    Heneral Torres and I sat back down, internally sighing in relief.

    "It is good of you to visit, Heneral Torres," Heneral Luna said dryly, snatching a slice of bibingka and taking a bite before continuing. "I was told that some of your officers still refuse to be trained under my Academia Militar."

    Heneral Torres scratched his head. "You know how hard my position is, Heneral. Some of these officers are sons of powerful families. If we force them to join, we will be antagonizing our biggest sponsors. That would be unwise, given how badly we need funds and supplies."

    Heneral Luna let out a bitter chuckle, and for a moment, I thought he would start shouting again. But he didn''t. Perhaps even he knew how to speak differently when talking to peers.

    "What are we to do then, Sen?or Torres? Am I really making a difference here? Most of our so-called officers don''t even know the first thing about warfare. They think they can win with patriotic speeches and blind courage." Luna spat out the words with venom.

    "You could start by going easy on the cadets, Heneral Luna," Heneral Torres said. "Then maybe more would be interested."

    Heneral Luna grinned¡ªthen laughed.

    "Then let us talk no more of this, Heneral Luna." Heneral Torres shook his head. "Anyway... we have a guest¡ªel gobernador de Marinduque."

    The sudden introduction caught me off guard. I cleared my throat and sat up straighter.

    "Marti?n Lardizabal," I managed to say.

    Heneral Luna studied me for a second. To my surprise, he leaned in for a handshake and even mustered a smile. "Antonio Luna. A pleasure to meet you, gobernador."

    "You''re here for the inauguration?" he asked.

    "I''m actually here for a different matter." As I said that, it dawned on me what terrible timing it would be to state my ridiculous request. If the president and Heneral Torres disliked it, how much more would Heneral Luna¡ªespecially while he was in a foul mood?

    But any chance I had of backtracking, or at least avoiding the question, was dashed when Heneral Torres opened his mouth. He told Luna, in detail, my real purpose for coming to Malolos: to release Marinduque from Heneral Trias'' jurisdiction and grant it more autonomy as an independent military command.

    Luna''s reaction was much calmer than I had anticipated.

    "You''ve discussed this with the president?" Heneral Luna asked, his voice low and stern.

    "I have, but he has yet to give me an answer."

    Heneral Luna shook his head and gave me a hard stare. "Tell me, gobernador, why should I not think you''re just another wannabe warlord taking advantage of the country''s crisis? Trying to carve out a part for yourself, build your little kingdom and army?"

    If he had expected me to cower and back down, then he was disappointed. As I had aged, I tried to avoid confrontation, but that never meant I had lost my nerve. In my years of service in the U.S. Army, I had met men far ruder than Luna¡ªmen who would make him seem like a well-mannered princess by comparison.

    "You make such terrible assumptions about someone you''ve just met?" I said, my mouth gnarling. My cheeks heated as I beheld the face of this arrogant buffoon¡ªwho was yet to even fight a single battle.

    "Am I wrong?" Heneral Luna, as expected, matched my volume.

    I refused to look away and stared him right in his beady eyes. The tension in the air was thick, foreign even, after years of avoiding heated confrontations. My last one had been several years ago¡ªback when I was John.

    "He does seem knowledgeable about military warfare, Heneral," Colonel Roman interjected. "Maybe we shou¡ª"

    "''Knowledgeable,'' huh? I''ll be the judge of that." Heneral Luna huffed and crossed his arms. "What''s your war plan then, ''Heneral''?"

    "How do you think we''ll win against a mighty nation like America? We''re outgunned, ill-trained, and poorly coordinated. According to your ''military knowledge,'' how are we supposed to fight¡ªand even dare hope to win?"

    My anger slightly subsided as I realized I hadn''t truly asked myself that question before. After all, it was just yesterday that I had decided to fully involve myself in all of this.

    But my mind already had an answer¡ªvague, but ready. The Philippines reminded me of Vietnam in more than just its flora and climate.

    "We fight a war of attrition."

    It was subtle, but I saw Luna''s eyes widen slightly.

    "What do you mean?" he asked.

    "We don''t need to win battles or inflict heavy casualties. The West values its soldiers far more than it respects ours. We just need to keep the war going... until the mothers at home clamor for their sons'' return, and the American government loses enough popularity and money to lose interest."

    I leaned closer to the general.

    "That''s how we win a Philippine-American war, Heneral Luna... through resilience."

 Chapter 24: Respect

    Chapter 24 - Respect

    Heneral Luna''s face lightened, and he broke eye contact. He reached for the pitcher and slowly poured the last of the lime juice into his container. The soft babbling of the liquid filled the odd silence that followed.

    "Aren''t you a rarity, Gobernador? At last, someone who knows what he''s talking about," said Luna as he placed the emptied pitcher back on the table.

    I believed he owed me an apology. And if I were younger and more mindful of my pride, I would have pushed him for it. But I was just glad that the temperature in the room had cooled. I could see the relief in the faces of Heneral Torres and Colonel Roman.

    "That is exactly how we should fight. This country is as foreign to the Americans as they are to it. They are not used to our climate, to the mosquitoes and bugs, to the diseases, and most importantly, they will not have the support of the populace," Heneral Luna continued, his voice much calmer and more suited for a civilized conversation now. "They won''t last long... all we need to do is ensure we are not quickly swept away."

    He was exactly right.

    If I had not inherited the body of the native Marti?n Lardizabal, with all its developed immunities, I would not have enjoyed my transportation to this place and time as much as I did.

    In Vietnam, almost 10% of deaths among U.S. servicemen were due to tropical diseases. For every ten soldiers killed in action, five were hospitalized.

    And even if malaria, dysentery, or any other godforsaken disease didn''t kill you, the suffering it caused was an effective morale breaker. A quick death by a Viet Cong bayonet would have seemed like salvation compared to weeks of bloody and explosive diarrhea.

    I never doubted that the general knew the answer himself.

    "Anyway, granting your request is not within my power," Heneral Luna said, getting more comfortable in his seat. "Was that the sole purpose of your visit? Is there any other matter we can help you with?"

    I did not know when my face had untwisted itself, but before I knew it, I was smiling. I had almost forgotten that there was indeed another reason for my visit to Malolos. Even if I failed to secure autonomy, I at least wanted to do something to equip the Marinduquen?o soldiers.

    And seeing that I had earned the general''s respect, I quickly seized the opportunity.

    "Yes, Heneral. The recruits in my province are woefully ill-equipped. I want to know where I can acquire rifles better than single-shot Remingtons, as well as rayadillo uniforms," I said. "If necessary, I can purchase the firearms and the uniforms with my own money."

    Marti?n Lardizabal still had significant wealth in his coffers, earned through years of profitable abaca? trading. Even the expenses of the revolution against the Spaniards had not significantly affected it. Now entirely at my disposal, I was willing to pour it all into the war.

    A bad gamble, of course. A terrible financial decision. But I was not the businessman that Marti?n was. In fact, I could part with most of my wealth and still live simply. Life in the province was cheap, and even with little, I could still enjoy relative comfort.

    My heart sank when Heneral Luna shook his head.

    "I cannot help you in any way with the rifles. We are in serious shortage ourselves. I would even take rolling-blocks. The Mausers you see are in short supply, and we only equip our elite units with them."

    I had hoped that what they meant by ''ill-equipped'' referred only to the lack of machine guns and artillery. But perhaps it was too optimistic of me to expect there was a stockpile of modern rifles somewhere in Luzon, just waiting to be distributed.

    "But I think I can help you with the uniforms," Luna said, twisting one side of his mustache.

    "Sorry?" I asked, unsure if I had heard him correctly.

    "There are crates of new uniforms meant for the Kawit Battalion, but they are not showing interest in standardizing with the rest of the army. And the president doesn''t seem too keen on helping with the matter. It would seem I have no authority over his favorites," Luna said bitterly.

    "I will write you a letter for the intendente."

    ---

    The ginataang turingan¡ªtuna cooked in coconut milk¡ªpaired with rice was our lunch. Once again, Agapita Tiongson had outdone herself. She had added sili to the tuna dish, giving it a subtle yet satisfying kick of spiciness. I immediately thought of getting the recipe for my dear Isabela.

    I was not the only one impressed. For the first few minutes of the meal, the only sounds that could be heard were the clinking of silver spoons and forks against porcelain plates.

    "So, you''ve met Heneral Luna?" Don Tiongson asked, and I had seen the question coming from a mile away. "How was he?"

    "Was Papa right, or are we?" Agapita Tiongson asked teasingly.

    I dropped my silverware and wiped my lips with a napkin as I contemplated the question. I had mixed feelings about what had happened that morning. I had not secured rifles, but I had been given crates of uniforms for free.

    I also had a mixed opinion about Heneral Luna.

    "You are both right," I eventually answered.

    "Quite the diplomat, you are, Don Lardizabal," said Don Tiongson, while Vicente, who was seated right next to him, chuckled.

    "What do you mean, exactly, Gobernador?" Agapita asked. There was a knowing glint in her eyes, suggesting she knew I was getting at something.

    "Heneral Luna has both a sharp tongue and a sharp sword... and both can kill," I said. "His fiery, irreverent mouth doesn''t do him any favors. But, then again, he''s the only one who seems to be taking things as seriously as they need to be."

    I did not get an immediate response. And I didn''t know what to make of the looks on their faces.

    Then Vicente chuckled in his usual, annoying way.

    "Well, now you''re being a poet."

 Chapter 25: No Hay Problema

    Chapter 25 - No Hay Problema

    In good spirits thanks to our filled stomachs, the post-lunch conversation around the table quickly derailed. It soon became a teasing contest between me and Vicente about his time in Marinduque. And with all his failures trying to fit in with provincial life, the young man stood no chance.

    Vicente shook his head and forced a smile, while Don Tiongson howled with laughter as I retold in detail that first time he volunteered to drive the carriage to the plantation. More modestly, and pleasantly to the ears, his daughters also laughed behind the cover of their handkerchiefs.

    Don Tiongson wiped tears from his eyes and then smiled widely when he noticed something at my end of the table. "Oh, look¡ªPaz is laughing... that''s a first in a very long time."

    I turned my head to the left. She was sitting beside Agapita, who was seated right next to me. Her laughter immediately stopped as she covered her face, but we still caught the healthy redness that bloomed on her cheeks.

    For a brief moment, our eyes met before she quickly looked away and muttered something about her father embarrassing her, softly under her breath. I didn''t know if it was just because of the daylight, but she seemed to glow brighter now.

    "It seems your presence here is good for our Paz," said Don Tiongson with a toothy smile. "It would be our pleasure if you continue to stay here as long as you''re in Malolos. We''ll make sure to accommodate your every need, gobernador."

    I chuckled, though I didn''t fully understand what Don Tiongson meant.

    I glanced at Vicente. "I''m sorry, Don Tiongson, but I actually want to pay Vicente''s parents a visit in Calumpit."

    Don Tiongson raised his eyebrows and turned to Vicente. "Is that so? I guess it''s only right you repay the hospitality the governor gave you in Marinduque."

    Vicente sighed resignedly, furrowing his brow. "Are you really sure about this, Don Martin? My parents will welcome you warmly, but don''t expect the same luxury with which you''re received everywhere."

    I scoffed at his statement. "What on earth are you talking about, Vicente? We''ve just come from Marinduque."

    "Alright then," Vicente shrugged with a smirk. "I plan to leave on the 2 p.m. train."

    "No hay problema."

    ---

    The train ride to Calumpit was pleasant and short. When we got off at the station, we were able to secure a nice, large carriage for the rest of the journey. I had to pay handsomely for it, but I still had in my satchel the payment I got for the abaca in Manila.

    As I surveyed the town from the spacious and cushioned cabin, I wondered why Vicente was so hesitant to invite me to the place¡ªespecially with his "luxury" comment. While Calumpit wasn''t as urbanized as Malolos or Meycauayan, it was perhaps second only to them in terms of development in Bulacan. And of course, it was significantly more developed than Boac, even if the latter was the capital of Marinduque.

    Not only was the town nice¡ªhe was also quite popular with the locals. As we rode through the town''s busy streets, many turned their heads and looked pleasantly surprised to see him. There were plenty of waves and smiles thrown our way. I couldn''t help but notice he was especially popular with the ladies.

    That might explain why he wasn''t enthralled with my Isabela.

    And maybe he was hesitant to have me visit simply because he disliked me or something.

    My confusion deepened when the carriage began to leave the town proper. With his popularity, I thought he lived in one of the big houses we passed by. Our journey continued into the suburbs but Vicente remained seated and said nothing to the cochero. The coachman kept on driving, as if he already knew the destination.

    "Where are we going?" I finally asked.

    "To my house. I thought you wanted to meet my parents?" Vicente curled his lips. "Or do you want to stay in town, find a lodge?"

    "No."

    That''s when I assumed he likely lived in a ranch, far away from town. That must be why, although he had the characteristics of a nerd and someone who lived a wealthy life, he was still able to somewhat adapt to the rugged lifestyle in Marinduque.

    Our ride continued until there was only tall grass and trees on both sides of the road. I couldn''t help but think that there was a chance Vicente was playing a prank on me for embarrassing him earlier in front of Don Tiongson and his daughters.

    I was about to confront him when the carriage finally stopped. The rattling of the wheels ceased, and the sound of stirring blades of grass came to the fore.

    "Thank you, Carlos," Vicente said to the driver, rising from his seat and jumping off the carriage.

    I looked around again. There was nothing around us but nature. The only man-made structure nearby was an abandoned waiting shed. And the only people present were us.

    "There''s nothing here," I said.

    Vicente pointed at the tall cogon grass. Upon a closer look, I spotted a small gap. "We have to walk the rest of the way."

    With much consternation, I stepped out of the carriage. I watched it drive away until Vicente nudged me forward.

    A narrow trail snaked through the cogon grass. It wasn''t hard to navigate, but the path was only wide enough for two people walking side by side. It didn''t look like it would lead to any significant estate.

    I heard the sound of rushing water, and after a turn, a river came into view.

    On the bank was a small village of nipa huts. There wasn''t a single bahay-na-bato in sight. Small garden patches and livestock pens surrounded the homes. Near the water were fishing boats and fishermen with their nets and poles.

    "And where are we?" I asked.

    "Where I live," Vicente answered.

    He saw something in my reaction that made him snort and shake his head.

 Chapter 26: Odd One

    Chapter 26 - Odd One

    Vicente stopped in front of the bamboo fence, hands behind his back. His smile widened, and I had never seen his eyes twinkle the way they did just then.

    The house before us was a humble nipa hut, only large enough to accommodate a room or two. A tall talisay tree rose beside it, casting a wide shadow over the yard. A woman, about my age, was sweeping beneath the shade, gathering dead leaves into a small mound.

    We stood there for a few moments, listening to the sound of the walis-tingting brushing against the dark soil, before Vicente finally spoke.

    "Nay," he said.

    It was only a single word, but I heard it carry a voluminous story.

    The woman abruptly halted her task. Although a bit bent with age, her grey-haired head snapped in our direction. Her wrinkled face brightened, and the broom and the shawl around her shoulders dropped to the ground as she ran toward Vicente.

    "Anak!" she cried, as Vicente rushed to meet her. The two of them collided in a tight embrace.

    "Why did you stop writing to us?" she said, teary-eyed, her hands on his cheeks.

    "I''m sorry," he replied.

    He had only spent less than a month in Marinduque, where I remembered him fussing about how he could send letters. Even if he had managed to, they might not have arrived yet¡ªif they arrived at all. Vicente had likely spent more time traveling from place to place, first in the company of the President''s staff, then with Heneral Diokno''s. He probably hadn''t had the chance to write home.

    "Dios mio, hijo! You don''t know how worried I was, especially with everything happening in Manila," she said, scanning her son''s appearance with concern. Vicente was still wearing the same suit he''d had on since we boarded the steamship and somehow it still looked neat and pressed.

    "Well, I''m here now, and you no longer need to worry," Vicente assured her. The old woman chuckled, wiping the tears at the corners of her eyes.

    I watched everything with a smile and some nostalgia. As old as I was, I hadn''t forgotten the warmth of a mother''s love.

    I still had the smile on when Vicente glanced at me.

    "Nay... I''m with a guest," he said to his mother, a hand on her shoulder. "This is Do¡ª"

    "Martin... Martin Lardizabal, Sen?ora. I''m a friend of your son," I said, removing my top hat and placing it over my chest.

    Sen?ora Trivin?o looked at me in surprise, likely not having registered my presence until then. She looked me up and down, then glanced at her son.

    "Welcome... please, do come in, Sen?or. I hope you don''t mind our little hut," she said with a slight bow, stepping closer to me. "And not Sen?ora... you can call me Felicia."

    Unlike in Spain or some other Spanish colonies, the term Sen?ora was used in the Philippines mainly to address married women from the elite class.

    "Not at all! You have a small but cozy-looking home," I said as I followed her and Trivin?o into the hut.

    Like most bahay-kubo, the hut was elevated from the ground and accessed by a short set of stairs. Right behind the door was the sala, which occupied most of the hut''s interior. There was another room, which I assumed was the bedroom, separated only by a piece of fabric draped over the doorframe.

    I was led to the table near the window overlooking the river. The place was small, but it was neat and cozy. The pleasant scent of aged wood lingered in the air¡ªuntil I caught a whiff of coffee. As I had already surmised in Marinduque, coffee wasn''t a widespread drink and was considered a luxury by most, often saved for special occasions.

    From outside, Vicente brought in a kettle filled with hot water. From the other room, Felicia returned with a small wooden box and a pair of porcelain cups. By the end of it, I had a cup of hot coffee in front of me and felt like I had caused the household an unnecessary disturbance.

    "How about snacks, Sen?or?" said Felicia, her hands clasped in front of her.

    "No, no need, Sen?ora," I replied. I didn''t want to be even more of a bother. "We had a heavy lunch in Malolos."

    "Lunch? It''s four o''clock now¡ªyou must be a little hungry from the travel," she said. "Please wait... there''s someone who sells puto

    and kutsinta in the neighborhood."

    "Vicente, entertain the guest while I''m out," she added, glancing back as she headed for the door.

    Vicente sat across from me, staring at his cup of coffee. He had been silent since we entered the house¡ªand noticeably avoided eye contact. I had a myriad of theories why.

    When I thought I''d have to be the one to break the silence, Vicente finally asked a question.

    "So... you''re not surprised?" he asked me with a weak smile.

    "I... am," I answered honestly.

    He took a small sip from his cup and cleared his throat. "Well, now you know¡ªI''m not from a well-to-do family, as I''m sure you assumed until now. You can do whatever you want with that information."

    I chuckled and shook my head. I understood what he meant. This wasn''t Europe, but the country still had a clear class divide.

    When the Spaniards conquered the Philippines, they gave the pre-colonial datus and rajahs lands, government positions, and other privileges. Their descendants now formed what was called the Principalia¡ªand they continued to hold most of the land and monopolize high-ranking government roles.

    Just like with European aristocracy, there was prejudice against those from the lower class. Much like how Westerners looked down on the natives, the Principalia looked down on anyone outside the elite circles.

    I couldn''t help but wonder how many of his acquaintances and friends knew about his humble origins. And if his superiors were aware of it when he was given the rank of lieutenant. Much like government positions, the officer corps of the Filipino army was almost exclusively reserved for the elite.

    "Nobility lies in character, Teniente," I said to him, staring him in the eyes.

    He studied my face, seemingly gauging how serious I was. That mix of fear and embarrassment on his face slowly faded, replaced by a smile creeping onto his lips.

    "You really are an odd one, Don Martin."

 Chapter 27: Lowborn

    Chapter 27 - Lowborn

    Vicente bent down and rummaged through the large selection of stones beneath our feet. When he stood up straight, he already had a nice flat pebble in the shape of a guitar pick in his hand.

    He gazed into the flowing, calm waters that mirrored the golden glow of the setting sun. Then, he weighed the stone in his palm and, apparently satisfied, threw it in a whip-like motion.

    Plip, plip, plip, plip... splash. The stone skipped four times before it dropped and was swallowed by the river. Vicente grinned.

    "What you said earlier¡ªdid you mean that?" he asked, eyes still fixed on where the pebble had disappeared.

    I crouched and searched for my own pebble along the rocky bank. It only took seconds before I found a somewhat flat stone, a bit on the heavier side, but I figured I could make it work with a little added strength.

    Mimicking Vicente''s motion, I threw the stone. The moment it left my hand, I felt a slight pain in my waist and instantly knew it was a terrible throw. The stone traveled flat through the air, then plunged straight into the water without a single skip. I clucked my tongue and took a breath of the cold air.

    "I do," I said to him.

    "So, you think a lowborn can rise in status?" he asked, a bit sheepishly. It was strange to see him that way¡ªawkward and unsure¡ªespecially since he was usually so smug. That smugness was part of why I''d assumed he came from a wealthy family.

    "Is there even such a thing as a lowborn? All men are created equal," I replied.

    Only when I said it did I realize that although I''d always believed in the phrase, I hadn''t truly lived it. Perhaps walking in someone else''s shoes was the best cure for bias.

    He laughed. "You''re more radical than I thought. Your peers in the Principalia wouldn''t agree."

    I nodded. "I know. But it''s the turn of the 20th century. Soon, an age will arrive where a man can be whoever he wants to be¡ªif he works for it."

    He kept laughing and shaking his head. "Well... I think you''ve got a severe case of optimism."

    "It''s inevitable," I replied, keeping a straight face. "If we Filipinos reject the notion that Westerners are superior, why should we continue to believe that some Filipinos are better than others?"

    My words wiped the wide grin off his face. He looked away and let out a heavy sigh.

    In the distance, a boat appeared. A man wearing a straw hat excitedly waved in our direction. Vicente waved back. We had been waiting for his father, a fisherman by trade, and it seemed the wait was over.

    "I hope you''re right."

    "I am right," I said. "But first... we must deal with the Americans."

    He turned to me with an apologetic smile. "You''re a good man, Don Lardizabal. Impressive, even. I''m sorry if I ever... inconvenienced you."

    I twisted my face and snorted. "What is wrong with you, Vicente? Go back to normal."

    There was silence then we both chuckled.

    ---

    Dinner was another ginataan dish¡ªdried fish and munggo beans cooked in coconut milk. And of course, it was just as delicious as all ginataan dishes were. In fact, Felicia''s slightly salty version paired even better with hot rice than Agapita''s ginataang turingan.

    Joining us at the dinner table was Vicente''s father, Fernando Trivin?o. He was six years older than me, yet he looked far older than his age. His olive skin, already weathered, had been further darkened and wrinkled by hard work.

    He was a man of few words, but he didn''t seem stern. Age and toil hadn''t erased the handsome, friendly face he had¡ªwhich closely resembled that of his son.

    "So, how''s life as a soldier? I hope they''re not treating you too badly," Felicia asked. "I heard that Heneral Luna sometimes beats his soldiers."

    Vicente shook his head. "Well, luckily, I''m not in his direct command."

    His father grunted. "The last time you wrote to us, you said you were with Heneral Diokno. I heard he went to Visayas."

    "I was. I''m now assigned in Marinduque, and Don Martin has been treating me well," Vicente said.

    Fernando Trivin?o just nodded. "That''s good. Marinduque''s far enough from the chaos in Manila."

    Felicia, on the other hand, didn''t take the news as calmly. Like a thief caught in the act, she snapped her eyes toward me, wide with surprise. "Don... Martin... you said?"

    "Yeah," Vicente replied, grinning mischievously. "Don Martin here is the Gobernador Politico-Militar of Marinduque."

    Felicia gasped and covered her mouth. Sitting right next to her, well within reach, she slapped Vicente''s shoulder loudly. "You brat! Why didn''t you tell us? We just fed the governor of Marinduque dried fish!"

    Fernando, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to back away from the table. "We''re sorry... Don Martin," he said, seated right next to me.

    I laughed loudly, and it had the desired effect. The couple relaxed almost immediately.

    "Well... your dried fish, Sen?ora Felicia, is fit for royalty," I said, knowing I sounded sincere, especially since I had refilled my plate three times. "And I should be the one apologizing¡ªfor intruding on your home."

    Felicia''s face lit up. "No, no... you shouldn''t be, gobernador. It''s our honor."

    "And I must apologize again, because I plan to stay here until Sunday," I said. "If you''ll have me, that is."

    Felicia glanced at her husband and then at her son. "We''d love to, Don Martin... but I don''t think we''ll be able to accommodate you comfortably."

    I smiled at that.

    If only they knew how much discomfort it would take to make a Vietnam War veteran feel uncomfortable, they wouldn''t worry at all.

    That night, at my insistence¡ªgiven the limited space of the hut¡ªwe slept in the same room where we had eaten our lunch. Trivino and I lay on a banig, a handwoven sleeping mat made of nipa leaves, with only thin blankets to ward off the cold.

    I slept soundly¡ªbetter than I had in years.

 Chapter 28: Eventful

    Chapter 28 - Eventful

    My stay at the Trivinos'' was more eventful than I had anticipated.

    The little riverside village, with its nipa huts and simple villagers, gave me the degree of freedom and peace that even Marinduque was not able to provide. Free from the responsibilities of my position and my estates, everything I did there was voluntary and for fun.

    Even with the 75 years of my former existence, I experienced several firsts in Calumpit.

    On Wednesday, I learned the basics of nipa weaving, with Felicia as my mentor. I was proud of my first attempt¡ªa crude, lopsided little basket that leaned like a drunk on a bad day. Needless to say, it didn''t make the cut for the goods she planned to sell at the market. Still, she told me it was good for an absolute beginner. And I think she meant it.

    The next day, the village kids taught me about spider-fighting. While easily found spiders were docile, certain rarer ones were more hostile and did put up a fight. They would place two spiders on a stick, each one on the opposite end. Then they would push them to the middle, where a vicious fight would ensue between the arachnids. The loser ended up paralyzed and wrapped in spider silk, its corpse becoming food for the survivor. The victorious kid won the bet and got a centavo, while the victorious spider returned to a small, cramped box to fight another day.

    Intrigued, I was convinced to buy one hairy red spider for five centavos, as my champion. I think I got scammed because said spider folded like a lawn chair in its first fight. I lost my spider and the chance to gain prestige among the kids.

    Vicente, noting that I liked "childish" stuff, taught me how to create a sumpak the following afternoon. The toy gun was simple to make. We went wading into the surrounding untamed rainforests to search for a bamboo plant.

    Once we found one, he selected a small and straight-looking stalk, from which he produced two bamboo tubes. From the leftovers of the stalk, he created the ramrods¡ªsticks that snugly fit into the tube. The ammo were mud pellets.

    The way it worked was straightforward. It was technically a muzzle-loader. First, you insert a pellet into the front of the tube. Second, you load another pellet in the rear. Finally, you forcefully slam in the ramrod, building pressure that lets out a satisfying snap and shoots the first pellet into the air.

    What happened next was treachery. Without a proper declaration of war, Vicente started shooting at me. I tried to retaliate, but without enough time to acclimate myself with the weapon, I stood no chance. The pellet didn''t hurt, but getting slapped with tiny pieces of mud on your face was not a very flattering experience.

    His annoying chuckles and giggles would not last. Once the kids in the village knew about the ongoing skirmish, most of them came to my rescue¡ªall thanks to my recent spider purchase from one of their colleagues. Many of them carried much more impressive sumpaks, and Vicente and his doomed little warband were forced to surrender after thirty minutes of laughter, occasional squeals and heavy gunfight.

    Friday came around, and it was not any less interesting. One of the livestock pens in the village broke, and several hogs scurried away. The entire adult male population of the settlement¡ªall six of us¡ªwere mobilized to track them down and bring them back. I spent the entire day running around and doing nothing helpful.

    Before sunset, the job was finished. And the owner of the hogs rewarded us each with a bowl of hot champorado.

    When I woke up on Saturday, all my muscles and joints were aching. So, I refrained from doing any labor-intensive activity, preparing myself for Sunday and for the main event on Monday.

    With Vicente''s help, we were able to borrow a small fishing boat. We spent the morning sitting on it, floating on the Pampanga River, each of us with a line cast into the water.

    "How did you not learn how to weave nipa or fish?" I initiated the small talk in the boredom of having caught nothing.

    Vicente sighed and glanced at his parents'' hut, which was visible from where we were. "Poor as we are... my parents spoiled me as if I were the son of a don. As soon as they noticed I could read and write better than kids my age... they decided that I should only focus on getting a better life for myself."

    "So, while they shed sweat and tears bringing food to the table, and money for my education, all they had me do was study. And I think I''m a terrible son for having taken advantage of their sacrifice." He continued.

    I was expecting a more lighthearted answer. But as I had begun to learn, Vicente''s mischievousness scurries away like the shadows at dawn when he starts to talk about his parents.

    "You are not a terrible son... you''re not good either," I said. "But you do have the best parents."

    He nodded approvingly at my comment. "And I can''t wait for all of this to be over, so I can return to school and someday repay the monstrous debt I owe them."

    The line remained empty, and I was starting to get bored just idling on the boat in the heat of the sun. As if on cue to provide the needed excuse, I saw someone on the riverbank.

    He was on top of his horse, near the water''s edge, and hollering in our direction. He wore a rayadillo uniform and had the shoulder straps of an officer.

    "Is that Teniente Dimalanta?" I asked Vicente, who promptly pivoted his head around.

    "I think... so."

    "He knows where you live?"

    "One of the few... yes," he said.

    "What''s that in his hands?" I asked. The young man was waving what looked like a white envelope.

    We would have a ready answer on the shore, and I was not ready for it. Turned out I would be having an early response to my request from the Presidente.

    He wanted me in Malolos that very afternoon.

 Chapter 29: Daunting

    Chapter 29 - Daunting

    Somehow, I was more nervous the second time.

    While I waited in the silence of the anteroom, my legs wouldn''t stop shaking. Maybe because I didn''t expect to be returning so soon, and my mind hadn''t yet transitioned from the stress-free days I spent in Calumpit. Or maybe because I knew I would be heartbroken if my request was denied¡ªeven if I myself considered it already a lost cause.

    It didn''t help that I was there alone. Trivino had decided he would go back with me to Marinduque and so wanted to spend more time with his parents while we were in Bulacan. Dimalanta accompanied me to the doorstep of the convent right before a captain took him away for an errand. Colonel Ola was there to welcome me back again, but he too was busy and only entertained me for a few minutes.

    In fact, the whole of Malolos was busy. You could see the sense of urgency in the increased number of soldiers on the streets and in the barracks, and the faster, thicker traffic of supply wagons and workers. On my way to the Barasoain Church, I caught a few conversations openly talking about an incoming war. Youthful soldiers were throwing around casual jokes about wanting to slaughter Americans.

    There was another spirit that had taken hold of the town, and it made me uneasy.

    My heart almost jumped out of my chest when I heard a door creak open. I immediately looked in the direction of the president''s office. One of the Kawit guards gave me a puzzled look¡ªit was the door to the corridor that had opened.

    I was expecting Colonel Ola, but who arrived was someone better.

    Paz Tiongson carried a small platter containing a cup and a plate of cookies. She scanned the room until her eyes found me. Like a butterfly hovering down to a flower, a smile descended on her pink lips.

    My heart was beating more wildly now, even though I suddenly felt more comfortable. I suspected it was because it had been a while since I had seen a pretty lady. Trivino''s village, although it was in many ways charming, was lacking in that department.

    "Sen?orita," I rose to meet her and intended to take the platter off her, but she refused to let go. We ended up placing it on the table together.

    "How was Calumpit, Gobernador?" she asked me, as she awkwardly tried to hold eye contact¡ªand failed.

    "It was beautiful, Sen?orita," I said as I picked up the cup of coffee. At the first sip, I could already feel the caffeine doing its work. "Though not as beautiful as you."

    I realized I had spoken my thoughts, and in the moments that followed, fervently prayed she would take it as one of those casual flatteries thrown around in cultured company. I internally sighed when it looked like she did.

    Paz responded with soft laughter. "It is indeed a nice place, Don Lardizabal. A relative of ours has a hacienda there near the Bagbag River. I used to visit it as a kid."

    "Then you should consider visiting again... now that you are better," I said, noticing how her eyes seemed to glisten as she reminisced. Her illness had made her a bird trapped in a cage, and I reckoned it would be a beautiful sight to see her take flight again.

    She gave me a tight-lipped smile that summoned dimples on her cheeks. "I... I will think on it."

    She headed for the exit, and just as she did so, the door to the president''s office opened. That pleasant feeling brought in by Paz was promptly chased away along with her out of the room.

    It was Heneral Torres who peered out and told me that the president was ready to receive me. At once, I had a bad feeling. It was Torres who had expressly disliked my idea about Marinduque, and I might have also hurt his pride during that conversation about entrenchments.

    As I stood at the center of the office, facing the mahogany desk and in front of President Aguinaldo, Sen?or Mabini, and Heneral Torres, the nervousness reintroduced itself.

    Both the president and his advisor greeted me with a smile. But unlike during our first meeting, it didn''t help my nerves.

    I realized how badly I wanted an independent military command and how invested I had become in the Filipino cause. If I were to make an impact on the future of this country, I would need that much authority. Anything less, and I would be as good as a helpless spectator.

    "We have thought about your request, Gobernador," said Aguinaldo after what seemed like forever, "and we think that Marinduque is indeed too small to support an independent military command."

    My heart sank. I glanced at Heneral Torres and hated the smile on his face that seemed to taunt me. The president was basically repeating what he had said to me that day.

    But maybe the hate was misplaced. Why am I allowing myself to be this sorely disappointed, when I already knew refusal was very likely? After all, I had done terribly trying to build my case to the president.

    "For that reason, I have a suggestion, Gobernador," said Aguinaldo as he crossed his hands in front of him.

    There was a flicker of hope, but I was more confused than encouraged by the statement. "Yes... Sen?or Presidente?"

    "Incorporate the islands of Mindoro and Romblon, and you can have your independent military command," the president answered. "Altogether, they could give you enough manpower and resources to form a brigade."

    It took a while before I could process what he had just said. Mindoro and Romblon were the islands to the west and south of Marinduque, and more or less, were just as isolated and underdeveloped.

    "What do you mean?" I blurted out.

    "What I am suggesting is the formation of the Distrito Militar de Marinduque, Mindoro y Romblon," the president studied my face. "And if you are up for the daunting task... I can give you command of it."

    Unifying Marinduque was already a tall order; managing Mindoro and Romblon on top of that¡ªdaunting was the proper descriptor.

    At first, I was overwhelmed into silence. Then, I was thrilled at the thought of the new possibilities that came along with the herculean task.

    I didn''t know how I''d pull it off¡ªbut I knew I had to try.

 Chapter 30: An Honor

    Chapter 30 - An Honor

    "So... Gobernador? What is your answer?" Sen?or Apolinario Mabini pulled me out of my thoughts. I realized I hadn''t given a verbal response.

    "It would be an honor, Sen?or Presidente," I replied, my stunned lips finally curling into a smile.

    The air in the room lightened as the three men chuckled at my answer. Apparently, my nervousness hadn''t gone unnoticed.

    "Congratulations, Don Lardizabal," said General Torres. The smile I had assumed was hostile turned out to be a friendly one after all.

    "I knew you''d say yes, Gobernador... or should I say Heneral," said President Aguinaldo, pushing his chair away from the desk. I heard him open a drawer beneath it.

    He produced a set of clothes and laid them carefully on the table. It didn''t take long for me to realize they were no ordinary garments. From the grooves and the folds, I could tell it was a khaki military uniform.

    On top of the neatly folded fabric were red shoulder bars, embroidered with a golden sun embraced by golden leaves. Beside them was a sealed envelope, the wax still wet.

    "By the power vested in me by the Philippine Republic, I grant you the rank of General de Brigada," the President declared. "And appoint you as commander of the Military District of Marinduque, Mindoro, and Romblon," the president pronounced it while remaining seated, and it should have sounded unceremonious¡ªbut it did not.

    The proclamation, simple as it might have seemed, gave me the authority I needed if I ever hoped to play a significant role in the looming conflict.

    With excitement bubbling in my chest, I stood at attention and saluted.

    The President returned the gesture and stood, extending a hand.

    "A certain general told me I can expect much from you," he said as we shook hands. "I hope he''s right."

    I exited the President''s office in silence. My thoughts raced. For the first time in a long while, I felt thrilled like a child.

    I had come to Manila to sell abaca. I would return to Marinduque as a general¡ªin command of three islands.

    "Do I owe this to you, Heneral Isidoro?" I finally asked, deciding to voice the question that had taken root in my head.

    General Torres walked alongside me as we made our way down the corridor. He looked genuinely pleased with my appointment, which made me feel guilty for misjudging him.

    "I wish I could say that, Don Marti?n," he replied. "Though I didn''t oppose it, I wasn''t the one who suggested it."

    I raised an eyebrow. I had only personally met two generals¡ªand the other was Luna. And he couldn''t possibly be the one¡ª

    "Heneral Luna pushed for it," Torres said, confirming the absurdity. "And although the two are more often at odds than in agreement, President Aguinaldo still respects the general''s opinion¡ªespecially on military matters."

    I huffed in disbelief. "I should thank him."

    Torres chuckled. "That would not be wise, Gobernador."

    ---

    I had run out of suits for Sunday service. I had packed light, expecting to stay in Luzon for no more than five days.

    Left with no choice¡ªand more hesitation than I cared to admit¡ªI decided to wear the uniform the President had given me just the day before.

    It wasn''t until then that I realized I had received the uniform without even a fitting. In a more established army, especially for someone of my new rank, that would''ve been highly irregular. But in our fledgling Filipino military, it didn''t surprise me. Even high-ranking officers had to make do with standardized releases.

    To my surprise, the uniform fit me fairly well. A little tight, yes, but barely noticeable. If anything, it flattered my not-too-shabby figure.

    I combed my hair, trimmed my beard and mustache, and before long, an impressive-looking gentleman stared back at me in the mirror. The buttons, the insignia, even my hair¡ªall glistened under candlelight. There was something undeniably dignified about a military uniform.

    At some point, I chuckled quietly to myself. The weight of the moment still hadn''t quite settled in.

    The uniform and that wax-sealed letter had made me an inseparable part of the war ahead. There would be no turning back now. The peaceful, blissful life of a simple hacendero was no longer an option. And this appointment was only the beginning of many difficult, dangerous decisions I would have to make.

    I hope you''re not making a mistake, John.

    ---

    When I stepped out of my room, the waiting Tiongsons were visibly impressed.

    "You''re making me feel nationalistic just looking at you," said Don Antonio Tiongson, circling around me like I was a commissioned statue.

    "You''re a widower, you said, Don Marti?n?" Agapita added with a teasing grin. "If you ever decide to remarry, I''d recommend a Bulacen?a."

    If I hadn''t known she was married, I might''ve thought she was flirting.

    Then I noticed her nudge Paz playfully. The younger Tiongson¡ªunmarried, if I wasn''t mistaken¡ªwas in her late twenties, a bit late for most women in that era, though it probably didn''t apply to someone like her.

    In her baro''t saya, she was undeniably stunning. I had no doubt that later at Mass, she''d cause quite a few men to forget the Lord''s Prayer.

    "Speaking of which," said Don Antonio, "there''s going to be a banquet at the Casa Real this evening. You should attend wearing that attire, Don Lardizabal."

    "Is everyone going?" I asked, my eyes betraying me with a glance at Paz.

    "Of course!" Don Antonio beamed, before wrapping an arm around his daughter''s waist. "And for Paz here, it''ll be her first public gathering in a long time. I''m putting this little flower back on the market."

    Paz groaned in protest. "Do I really have to?"

    "Come now," her father insisted. "You''re already helping out Sen?ora Agoncillo at the convent. Why not attend this?"

    "That was different. That was for the country," she argued.

    "And you think attending a banquet to celebrate the Republic''s proclamation tomorrow isn''t?" he countered.

    "If you''re nervous, I''m sure our newly appointed general here would be happy to escort you," Agapita chimed in.

    I raised an eyebrow at the sudden mention of my name. All eyes turned to me. Paz''s expression held a question.

    "It... it would be my honor," I said, the words stumbling out of my mouth.

 Chapter 31: Fairest

    Chapter 31 - Fairest

    "What is... why are you¡ª" Trivin?o''s surprise was plastered all over his face as he scanned me from head to toe. His eyes lingered on the red shoulder bars and the embroidery.

    Teniente Dimalanta, who arrived with him, was not as surprised. He had already seen me in church that morning, as did the whole town of Malolos. Trivin?o, however, had only just arrived from Calumpit, and it would seem his friend had kept it a secret until then.

    The two of them arrived late that afternoon at the doorstep of the Tiongson residence to fetch me for the banquet. Both were also dressed for the occasion, donning their rayadillo uniforms. It would seem that I wouldn''t be riding a carriage to the Casa Real, as they had brought with them three horses.

    "You look sharp, Heneral," said Dimalanta with a proud grin. The young man''s hair was still wet and combed into a neat side part.

    I still wasn''t used to being called Heneral. And I must admit, it was pleasant to the ears¡ªsignificantly better than being addressed as Gobernador, which, unlike the former, was a position with no real power.

    "You''re here to escort me too, Teniente Dimalanta? People might start mistaking you for my aide-de-camp," I commented, loosening the topmost button of my uniform, which made the jacket tighter than comfortable.

    Teniente Dimalanta glanced at Vicente before he licked his lips and replied, "Actually... I wanted to talk to you about that, Gobernador. You see... my mother really didn''t want me to join the army because she thinks I''ll be in danger. But..."

    "But... what?" I asked, although I was quite certain of what I''d hear next.

    "But if I go with you to Marinduque, far from here... she''ll be less worried. I might even be able to reconcile with her, once I have your assurance," Dimalanta continued.

    I huffed. "This is the army, Teniente. You''re asking for a transfer like it''s nothing."

    The flustered Dimalanta stuttered, "But... Heneral... if you request it, there would be no reason for them to refuse."

    "Come on, Don Marti?n. It''s not a hard thing to ask of you," Vicente said, as expected, coming to his friend''s aid. "And can you not imagine it¡ªthe two of us as your aide-de-camps? We pair well, and I assure you, you''ll have two intelligent and capable officers at your discretion."

    I snorted at the shameless self-flattery. "Ho, ho! You''re getting ahead of yourself, Vicente. Who told you I''ve appointed you as my ayudante?"

    Vicente''s face twisted as he threw his hands in the air. "What have I been then, all this time?"

    "A pesky little minion."

    I braced myself for a fiery response from Vicente, but it would never come. The expressions of the two young lieutenants suddenly softened, and they beamed. They were staring past me¡ªtoward the Tiongson house.

    I followed their gazes, and then I fully understood.

    The Tiongson sisters had come out of the door in their beautiful gowns and dresses, accompanied by their husbands in suits and top hats.

    Except, of course, for Paz, who came out in the arms of her father.

    She was the fairest in that yard¡ªincluding the flowers in their garden. In her pristine white traje de mestiza, she seemed like a sampaguita. Her hair had been tied in a bun, highlighting her neck and the golden necklace hanging around it. The little makeup on her face brought a rosiness to her cheeks and lips.

    Her eyelashes gracefully waved as she briefly glanced in our direction.

    "Why are we only figuring out now that Paz is the prettiest among the sisters?" remarked Dimalanta.

    "Not only among her sisters. I think she''s the prettiest in the whole town," said Trivin?o. "She''s like the Isabela of Malolos."

    "Indeed," I smiled. It was a worthy comparison.

    We arrived first at the venue. I was expecting a crowd as large as the one in church earlier, but there were significantly fewer people. I had forgotten that this was a high-society event, and only members of the principalia were invited.

    Carriages and fine horses lined the entrance of the Casa Real. Men and women, wearing the best from their wardrobes, trickled toward the large main doors, greeted by finely dressed ushers.

    As expected, there were many military uniforms in the crowd. Heneral Torres was among them, arriving with his wife and a cabal of officers.

    "Should we go inside together, Heneral Lardiza?bal?" Torres asked me, after I exchanged a brief greeting with his wife.

    "Oh, forgive me, Heneral Torres... I''m actually waiting for someone," I replied.

    The general smiled. "Of course. See you later, Don Marti?n."

    We waited a few more minutes, watching the day dim into early evening. Vicente and Ronaldo were as impatient as I was, with the lively music, the scent of food, and the golden light of chandeliers and candles spilling out of the doors.

    But I was impatient for a completely different reason.

    I exhaled when I finally saw the carriages emerge from the adjoining street and make their way to the Casa Real.

    Then the clattering of wheels and waiting stopped. One by one, Antonio''s daughters stepped down with their escorts and passed by me toward the entrance. A few of them gave me knowing glances.

    Finally, the padre de familia stepped out of one of the carriages. Paz followed soon after, assisted by the cochero.

    "I hope we didn''t keep you waiting too long, Don Lardiza?bal," said Don Antonio.

    The old man seemed like a shadow, and his words like whispers under the overshadowing presence of his daughter. Paz smiled at the lieutenants standing beside me before giving me an almost fearful glance.

    "Well, my daughter is all yours for the night." Don Antonio nudged Paz.

    With hesitation, she parted from her father and approached me. I offered her my arm, which she took with a nervous smile. At once, I felt like I was handling a pretty but fragile piece of glass.

    "Shall we, Sen?orita?"

    "I... I will be in your care, Heneral."

 Chapter 32: A Hundred Eyes

    Chapter 32 - A Hundred Eyes

    We entered the doors, and a completely different world awaited us. In contrast to the dimming and silent outdoors, the main hall of the Casa Real was bright with lights and alive with the lively chatter of a hundred or so guests.

    In the corner, a rondalla¡ªcomplete with all the known string instruments¡ªplayed a familiar Spanish piece.

    Several long tables had been arranged across the hall. As with most gatherings, the more prestigious the guest, the nearer their seat was to the head table, where the President and members of the cabinet were seated.

    Don Antonio and his daughters were given seats at a less distinguished table. Although they bore a famous last name, they were only one of several Tiongson families in town¡ªand not the most well-known.

    Somewhere along the way, as we wove through the tables, I lost both Trivin?o and Dimalanta. I scanned the room and spotted them at the far end, seated with other junior officers. Of course, I knew that their decision to escort me hadn''t been entirely out of duty.

    Without my company, they wouldn''t have made it through those doors. Trivin?o would not have been invited, and Dimalanta¡ªgiven his unresolved issues with his mother¡ªwouldn''t have been allowed in either.

    I didn''t mind. Certainly not then.

    I could feel Paz''s grip on my arm tighten as we felt the weight of a hundred eyes. Whispers followed us as we passed. I, and my general''s uniform, drew my share of attention¡ªbut most of the eyes were on the striking woman beside me.

    It was clear she was growing uncomfortable, which was why I picked up the pace, heading for the table where Don Tiongson was already seated.

    Then I felt a gentle hand on my other arm, stopping me. I turned to see an unfamiliar face¡ªan officer, perhaps a captain.

    "Heneral Lardizabal?" he asked with a polite smile.

    "Yes?"

    "The table for the generals of the Republic is this way. Please allow me to escort you..." He paused, then glanced at Paz. "And the Sen?ora."

    "Sen?orita," I corrected at once. Given how rarely Paz had been seen in public, the mistake was understandable. Still, it flustered me, and I cleared my throat. "Sen?orita Paz Tiongson."

    The officer''s eyes lit with realization. He offered a quick apology, then motioned for us to follow him.

    I glanced back at Don Tiongson, who had clearly understood what was happening. He gave me a quiet nod of approval.

    We followed the officer, making an L-turn toward the front of the hall, where the lights shone brighter and the names grew more important. It was only then that I realized¡ªI hadn''t asked Paz if she was comfortable with this. But with all eyes on us, having her step away while I moved forward to a more dignified seat would not have reflected well on her.

    "Are you alright, Sen?orita?" was all I could manage.

    "Please, Don Marti?n... don''t worry about me," she said with a soft chuckle. Though her voice carried a trace of nervousness, I chose to trust her. If she could battle the illness that had haunted her all her life¡ªand win¡ªthen what were a few bright lights?

    We passed by the head table, which faced the rest of the hall. The President was deep in conversation, but Sen?or Apolinario Mabini noticed us and greeted me with a nod and a faint smile. I also spotted Heneral Luna¡ªgazing into the air, visibly bored by the proceedings.

    "Ah! Finally!" Heneral Torres rose from his seat as I approached the generals'' table. "Heneral Marti?n Lardizabal, the newest general of the Republic!"

    The announcement drew the attention of everyone at the table. I counted seven generals¡ªfive of them accompanied by their wives. Most offered friendly smiles.

    We were shown to the far end of the table, directly across from Heneral Torres. I pulled a chair for Paz, seating her at the edge of the table, hoping it would spare her the discomfort of sitting beside a stranger. Then I took my seat.

    For a moment, I glanced around the table, studying the faces of the men I would now call my peers. Most appeared to be in their thirties or older, but to my surprise, two of them looked no older than Vicente. There was something unsettling about seeing such youthful faces beneath the weight of a general''s uniform.

    "I didn''t know we had a new general," remarked the officer beside Torres, a note of amusement in his voice. He extended a hand. "Mariano Llanera, from Nueva Ecija. A pleasure to meet you."

    I shook his hand and returned the smile. "Marti?n Lardizabal, from Marinduque."

    As if I had uttered something scandalous, everyone at the table¡ªexcept for Torres¡ªlooked surprised. A low murmur rippled among the generals. I was confused at first, until Heneral Llanera gave me a clue.

    "Did I hear you right¡ªMarinduque?"

    Marinduque was too small to have a general. That must have been what they were thinking. I braced for further questions, eager to explain the details of my appointment.

    Then the rondalla fell silent, and the hushed conversations it had drowned suddenly surfaced¡ªonly to be quickly quieted by the sound of glass being struck.

    "?Atencio?n, sen?ores!" called the same officer who had escorted me. "El Presidente, Don Emilio Aguinaldo, will now offer a few words."

    All conversation ceased. All heads turned to the head table. The President rose slowly from his seat, adjusted his bow tie, and cleared his throat. He wore a military uniform fit for his station¡ªgolden epaulettes on his shoulders and a red banda crossing from shoulder to hip.

    At once, everyone in the room stood and raised their glasses, following the President''s lead.

    "Tomorrow marks a momentous occasion¡ªthe most important yet for our young nation. At last, we shall taste the fruit of our labor, the reward for our blood and sweat," the President declared, in eloquent Tagalog.

    He raised his glass high, and the crystal shimmered under the lights, reflecting a hundred smiles.

    "To the birth of the Republic¡ªand to the freedom of our people!"

 Chapter 33: A Well In A Desert

    Chapter 33 - A Well In A Desert

    Not long after the president gave his opening remarks, the banquet truly began.

    The rondalla resumed playing, this time with a livelier tune. Servants entered through the doors, and for the first time, food was brought in. As with fine dining, the primer plato¡ªor first course¡ªwas soup and salad with some bread.

    Before I could even pick up my spoon, the first of many questions arrived.

    "Did I hear you right, Heneral? You are from Marinduque?" Heneral Llanera resumed right where he had left off.

    "I am. I was Gobernador Politico-Militar of the province before the president''s appointment," I answered, as I took a spoonful of the chicken consomme?. I didn''t expect it to be so richly flavored, and I grimaced for a moment before grabbing a small loaf of bread to cleanse my palate.

    "The last time I checked, Marinduque was under the jurisdiction of Heneral Mariano. Is it not too small and underdeveloped to have its own general?" It was another general at the table who finally asked the question I had been anticipating.

    Torres quickly stepped in to introduce me to the man¡ªclearly someone who outranked me, or perhaps even a few others at the table, judging by how the other generals fell quiet and turned to listen when he spoke.

    "And this is Heneral Artemio Ricarte... the former chief of staff of the army¡ªLuna''s predecessor," Heneral Torres leaned in and said in a low voice.

    I immediately sat up straight and cleared my throat. "That''s true, Sen?or Ricarte. But the president agreed that Heneral Trias already has enough on his plate to handle a small, isolated place like Marinduque."

    "You haven''t answered the second question, Sen?or. As you''ve just said yourself, Marinduque is small and isolated... yet it now has its own general." Artemio Ricarte pounced, just as I was about to answer the very question he''d raised.

    "I disagreed with Luna on many things, but I did agree with him when he said we have far too many generals." he continued.

    I was dealing with another Luna-type. It would seem that the president liked his commanding generals blunt and fiery. As expected, my night was not going to be easy.

    I didn''t answer immediately. I wanted to give Heneral Ricarte enough time to say everything he needed to say, lest he interrupt me again. Every officer at the table nodded in agreement¡ªexcept for Heneral Torres, who looked as though he was about to defend me before I finally decided to speak up myself.

    "The president has decided to create a new military district... and I believe it was based on Heneral Luna''s recommendations," I said, and as soon as I mentioned Luna''s name, my words visibly carried more weight.

    "A military district... with only Marinduque?" Heneral Llanera asked, his face twisting with genuine confusion.

    "Not only Marinduque," I clarified, "but also the islands of Mindoro and Romblon. Altogether, the three could muster enough manpower and resources to support a brigade... and a brigadier general." I said this while trying to meet the eyes of each general around the table.

    Most of them looked satisfied with my answer, including Sen?or Llanera, whose stern expression had softened. But not all were convinced. The two younger generals at the far end of the table were deep in their own conversation, oblivious to what had just been said.

    And Heneral Ricarte... he smirked, then chuckled.

    "Theoretically, yes. But Mindoro and Romblon are just as underdeveloped and isolated as Marinduque. Trying to establish a military command from these three islands is like trying to dig a well in a desert."

    Then he shook his head and scratched it, turning his gaze toward his bowl of soup.

    "Anyway... not that I have any power to rescind your appointment, Heneral. So I can only wish you luck."

    I almost curled my fist, but instead, I forced a smile.

    He didn''t say it outright, but the meaning was clear. He didn''t believe I deserved my seat at the table and thought my promotion was forced.

    I was likely the most qualified general in the republic with my twenty years of military service¡ªmost of it spent in the field, killing and trying not to get killed.

    But then again, I was no longer John. To him, I was probably just an upstart¡ªa fish-smelling, provincial hacendero trying to ingratiate myself with Luzon''s high society.

    And with his dismissive attitude, the three islands might as well have been uninhabited¡ªand I, no more than a general of nothing but sand and coconut trees.

    "Then I will aspire to prove you wrong, Heneral," I said, staring at him, hoping he''d look me in the eye again.

    He didn''t.

    Heneral Ricarte merely huffed, which didn''t help ease my temper.

    "Enough of the serious talk, caballeros. You''ll have plenty of time ahead for that," Mrs. Torres said, having clearly sensed the rising tension. "But tonight, let''s be happy... and set aside all worries and dark thoughts."

    Heneral Isidoro, noticing what his wife was trying to do, quickly joined in.

    "Anyway, Sen?or Lardizabal, you''ve completely neglected to introduce us to your lovely wife."

    I furrowed my brows and quickly turned toward Paz. I had indeed neglected her, having forgotten her presence entirely once we sat down.

    She was dipping a piece of bread into the soup when I looked her way. She perked up like a thief caught in the act when she noticed all eyes were now on her.

    Mrs. Torres nudged her husband. "What are you talking about, dear? That''s Paz! One of Don Antonio''s daughters."

    "Ah!" Sen?or Torres'' face lit up as he laughed. "Right! How could I forget my inaana?k? And look at you now... I''d dare say you''re even prettier than your sisters."

    "You''re getting old, Tiyo. You''re getting forgetful, and it seems your eyesight is getting worse," Paz replied, smiling¡ªsurprisingly smooth and confident in her banter.

    Heneral Isidoro laughed at her jest, and soon the entire table was laughing and looking at her.

    All of my dark thoughts suddenly faded away.

    And just like that, my goal for the night shifted¡ªfrom proving to my fellow generals that I deserved the appointment...

    To figuring out how I could keep Paz to myself.

 Chapter 34: La Flor de Manila

    Chapter 34 - La Flor de Manila

    As the night went deeper, the more comfortable Paz became. The generals and their wives fawned over her, captivated by her charm, and it made me wonder if placing her at the edge of the table had been the wrong decision. She thrived on the attention¡ªgracefully smiling and answering questions¡ªwhile never letting her guard down.

    And she kept her poise, even when they eventually asked her what had kept her indoors for so long. It wasn''t consumption, as tuberculosis was called at the time, which the town doctor had diagnosed when she was in her early teens.

    Just last year, a visit from her cousin''s husband, a Spanish doctor by the name of Felipe Carlos, finally corrected the diagnosis. According to her, Dr. Carlos posited that it might have been only "an unfortunate combination of nervous asthma and lung fever"¡ªwhatever that meant.

    After the doctor prescribed rest, vapor inhalation, cupping, mustard plasters, and some medication, she slowly but steadily recovered. By October last year, she was already managing occasional excursions outside her house. And by New Year, she was regularly stepping out.

    Not long after, the rondalla once again changed tune to signal the serving of the next course. The banquet had begun with the soup course¡ªor primero plato¡ªfollowed by the fish course (segundo plato), then the tercer plato or meat course... and finally, it was time for desserts.

    The plates were cleared from the table and the leche flan, pastillas, and other sweet pastries were introduced. No more than thirty minutes later, the servants were bringing out bottles of wine and champagne, as well as coffee and hot chocolate for the more conservative guests.

    Before I knew it, the banquet was transitioning to the next phase. The rondalla changed tempo. Some had started to clear the tables and chairs from the center of the hall. It was time for the dance, and the first couples streamed toward the cleared space.

    Paz chuckled when she saw Agapita dragging her husband with her.

    From much nearer, I heard the screech of a chair against the floor. I turned toward the sound and saw one of the younger generals stand up. The other seemed to be enthusiastically encouraging him.

    I watched him walk around the table, heading toward Paz. My ears warmed when I realized what he was about to do.

    "Sen?orita, may I have the honor of this dance?" said the young general, extending a hand to the surprised Paz. He wore that self-assured swagger and a well-practiced smile¡ªone I wager had worked more than a few times before.

    "Uhm... Heneral del Pilar..." Paz muttered as she swallowed, glancing at me. I didn''t know what to do or say.

    "Goyong, you are being impolite," Heneral Torres rebuked the young general. "Her escort should have her first dance¡ªand you''re trying to steal it right in front of his face."

    The young general glanced at me and nervously muttered an apology. He quickly retreated to his seat, where he was met with loud laughter from his friend.

    The rondalla began to play the prelude to La Flor de Manila. I looked at Paz, and she met my gaze before awkwardly looking away.

    There was a chance she didn''t want to dance. She had hesitated to attend the banquet, and I imagined she was even more hesitant to join the dance floor.

    But when would I have this chance again? I would soon return to Marinduque and likely not see her for a long time. Dark and difficult times lay ahead, and having her dance with me tonight would be a comforting memory once the bullets started flying and my only company was mud and blood.

    I pressed my lips together, stood up, and decided to be selfish¡ªat least for the night. I extended my hand and gave her an offer that would be impolite to refuse.

    She looked at me, and this time, she held my gaze, studying my face. "I... I''m not very good at dancing, Sen?or," she said as her soft hand gently took mine.

    "You just need to follow my lead," I replied.

    She stood up with some hesitation, but when she was finally on her feet, she gave me a reassuring smile. We walked to the center of the room just as the prelude ended and the dance began.

    I raised her left hand and placed my right behind her back. With a burst of courage, I pulled her a little closer. If she disliked it, she didn''t show it. I caught the scent of her sampaguita perfume, drifting either from her neck or from behind her ears.

    The first note of the habanera''s verse rang out and we began to dance. I watched her dangling earring gently swing to the motions of the slow waltz. I already knew how to dance even in my previous life, and Martin had his fair share of balls as well¡ªbut to my surprise, Paz was not half bad herself.

    "I... I wouldn''t have minded if you''d taken the young general''s hand," I said, realizing there might have been a chance she had wanted to accept his offer. Heneral del Pilar was a handsome young fellow, likely in his early twenties.

    "I would have refused..." she smiled at me.

    I raised my eyebrows. "Why?"

    "Well... he''s a... he''s a bit of a womanizer. He''s rumored to have a woman in every town he''s visited," she said.

    Paz quickly studied my reaction, as if worried she''d said something inappropriate. Then she chuckled. "Am I too prude for your taste, Heneral?"

    "Too much love shared, and love is cheapened," I said, staring into her eyes. "If a man''s love is to mean anything... he needs to learn to love only one woman."

    I internally shook my head at how cheesy it sounded. But I truly believed it¡ªalbeit only in my old age. If I had only known earlier how to properly cherish what was worth cherishing, maybe I needn''t have died so miserably in my past life.

    And if I were to be given another chance... maybe...

    "I think you''ll make a better poet than a general, Don Martin," she said, her laughter tumbling out before she could catch it. It wasn''t as modest-sounding as she had tried to be all night¡ªbut it was far more genuine.

    "You think so, Sen?orita?" I chuckled.

    "You can call me Paz."

 Chapter 35: Promulgation

    Chapter 35 - Promulgation

    The next day was January 23, 1899.

    A momentous occasion¡ªand the weather agreed. The endless blue of the open skies was dotted with only a few puffs of white here and there.

    Beneath it, the town of Malolos was in a festive spirit. Banderitas crisscrossed all over town, and Philippine flags were at every door and in every child''s hand. Townsfolk lined the streets, cheering and blowing horns as the president''s long parade passed by.

    Spearheading the joyous procession was the marching band, playing proudly and loudly the anthem of the republic-to-be¡ªLupang Hinirang. I heard it for the first time then and thought it a decent arrangement. I would only fully appreciate it once I heard the lyrics much later on.

    Following behind was the largest group in the parade. Heneral Isidoro Torres led in front, garbed in his bright white military uniform. Behind him marched his 6,000-strong contingent of Bulacen?o soldiers, clad in rayadillo uniforms and carrying Spanish Mausers. The sight of this well-drilled, division-sized unit was intimidating¡ªeven to me¡ªand I was forced to take heart. Still, I wondered how many among them were truly battle-worthy.

    After the Bulacan army came the generals and colonels of the Republic on their fine horses. Heneral Antonio Luna, Heneral Artemio Ricarte, Heneral Mariano Llanera, and one Heneral Luciano San Miguel¡ªwho, apparently, had been at our table last night though his presence barely registered¡ªled our formation. I was in the second row, riding beside Heneral Gregorio del Pilar, his friend Heneral Manuel Tinio, and another quiet general with a peculiar moustache¡ªHeneral Pantaleon Garcia.

    To his credit, General Gregorio del Pilar apologized again for what happened last night. I was quick to forgive him, especially with how well the evening had turned out for me. After dancing to three full scores, we returned to the table, where I enjoyed her undivided attention until it was time to go home.

    I gave out a sigh. It had been a night far too short. Her laughter and giggles still lingered, echoing in the walls of my mind.

    Heneral del Pilar and Heneral Tinio tried to converse with me during the parade, but the noise of the fanfare made that nearly impossible. So, for most of the journey, we kept to ourselves¡ªsilently enjoying the thrill of the occasion while enduring the increasing heat of the sun.

    The colonels rode behind us¡ªten times as many as the generals¡ªand among them was Colonel Jose Torres Bugallo?n himself. I had spoken with him before the parade began, and for some reason we conversed entirely in Spanish, which in turn emptied years'' worth of my vocabulary.

    After the high-ranking military officers came the heart of the parade¡ªthe president himself, in his grand carriage, accompanied by his aide-de-camps. At the sight of him, the townsfolk''s cheering grew louder, and they threw flower petals in his direction.

    More carriages followed, carrying members of the Malolos Cabinet, local government officials, and other prominent figures in the area. Finally, at the tail end, was the crowd who had spontaneously joined the parade.

    As we neared our destination, we passed by the Tiongson house. Like its neighbors, Don Antonio''s little mansion was decorated for the occasion, with strings of banderitas hanging over the yard and a large Philippine flag draped above the main doors. The latter was arranged because the house was my ''official residence'' in Malolos.

    My eyes quickly sought Paz and found her peering out the window, right where we had talked alone for the first time. She gave me a little wave and a smile. Her sisters were leaning out the other windows, just as excited and thrilled to catch a glimpse of me.

    Standing outside the gate was Don Antonio, with a proud smile and his hands behind his back. Vicente Trivin?o stood beside him, clearly not as thrilled¡ªhaving not been allowed to join the parade, since he was technically no longer with the Bulacan army. Even more so was the third person present.

    I chuckled at the sight of him and his unreadable expression. Isidro stared at me, mouth half open in an awkward smile, looking both horrified and disbelieving. I had thought I''d see him again in Manila, but it was better that he had come to Bulacan. This way, I wouldn''t need to explain what I had just done with the risk of someone overhearing.

    It got me wondering how people back home would react¡ªespecially Isabela. I missed that busybody already.

    The procession, which had started mid-morning, concluded by midday. We finally arrived at Bara?soain Church, where the fanfare slowly died down. As we entered the doors of the cathedral, the marching band fell silent, and the crowd''s cheering faded into a hum of excited murmurs.

    Inside the church, a solemn silence fell. Only those who had been part of the parade were allowed in¡ªexcluding the common soldiers. I was seated at the third pew, right beside Heneral Torres.

    It didn''t take long for me to realize that I was about to witness a legislative session of the Malolos Congress. Don Pedro Paterno, the president of the Congress, opened the proceedings.

    One Father Gregorio Aglipay was asked to offer a prayer.

    The Malolos Constitution¡ªor at least a summarized version¡ªwas then presented and read aloud before the assembly.

    Then the Philippine Republic was formally declared, and Emilio Aguinaldo was officially appointed president.

    The Acta de la Proclamacio?n de la Independencia del Pueblo Filipino was recited. I sat on the edge of my seat, excitement bubbling over as I listened intently to the strongly worded declaration.

    It was not lost on me¡ªthe great significance and preciousness of the moment. A people¡ªmy adopted people¡ªsubservient to foreign powers for hundreds of years, were now declaring to the world that they were free and would decide for themselves.

    As soon as the last word was spoken, we jumped to our feet and burst into loud applause.

    The church bells tolled. The crowd outside roared and jumped in joy.

    The Philippine Republic was born¡ªthe first constitutional republic in the whole of Asia.

 Chapter 36: Escolta

    Chapter 36: Escolta

    "What is happening, Tiyo?" Isidro asked me as soon as the door shut behind him.

    I chuckled as I unbuttoned my collar, sitting on the side of the bed. "What do you think, Isidro?"

    He scratched his head and glanced at my shoulder straps. "You¡¯re a military officer now? What rank¡ªColonel?"

    "Nope... a rank higher than that." I scooted up on the bed and lay down.

    I had just returned to the Tiongson residence from the church and was beginning to feel tired, even as the excitement still lingered in my chest. I didn¡¯t even feel like getting out of my uniform yet.

    "General?" he guessed again.

    "General de Brigada," I confirmed, liking how the rs in the rank rolled off my tongue. "And in command of three islands¡ªMarinduque, Mindoro, and Romblon."

    I watched Isidro¡¯s expression soften as he chuckled in disbelief. "No... there¡¯s no way. How would you have pulled that off?"

    "Well... you did see me in the procession. I was riding with the generals." I shrugged. For a moment, I thought about telling him everything that had happened, but I realized I didn¡¯t have the energy for it. "It¡¯s a long story, Isidro. All you need to know is that I¡¯m a general now."

    I watched his smile fade. He took another glance at my uniform, then seemed deep in thought. He walked nearer and proceeded to sit at the foot of the bed.

    "You do know... this isn¡¯t a decision to take lightly," he said, his voice so somber it caught me off guard. "I think war is going to erupt any day now. Manila¡¯s in chaos. Several individuals suspected of working for Aguinaldo have been apprehended. Security¡¯s been tightened, and American soldiers are digging more entrenchments."

    "There¡¯s been tense exchanges between Dewey and Aguinaldo in the papers. And now this event..." He paused, maintaining eye contact.

    "What?" I asked, trying to hide how my skin crawled. I knew this was a possibility, but I had hoped for a little more time.

    "This declaration by Aguinaldo... which he made sure the whole world would see... the Americans will take this as a declaration of war."

    His heavy words were followed by silence. I let my mind process what I¡¯d just heard. War, and all its ugliness, was approaching like a brewing storm in the distance.

    Isidro placed a firm hand on my foot. He studied my face. "I¡¯ve always trusted your gut, Tiyo. You grew the family business beyond what it was under Lolo Leon. You¡¯re logical... cautious... and that¡¯s helped you make the right calls."

    I looked away from him and studied one of my palms. The usual wrinkles and callouses were in their usual places. What wasn¡¯t usual was the trembling. I was truly afraid¡ªand not only for myself.

    "Have you thought this through, Tiyo?" he asked.

    The honest answer was no. I had come to Malolos out of anger. If I¡¯d given it a few days, I might have calmed down and stayed away from this dangerous affair.

    But I had become a bit idealistic¡ªno different from Trivin?o. There was beauty in this country... in its people and culture... and I found I couldn¡¯t bear to do nothing while outsiders threatened its peace.

    I curled my shaking hand into a firm fist and looked back at Isidro and his worried, chubby face. "You¡¯ll have to trust me again this time... Vicente."

    He held my gaze for a few moments, then shook his head and chuckled. "Not like I ever had a choice in the first place, Tiyo."

    ---

    I was woken early the next morning, just as the first rays of sun appeared on the horizon.

    Outside the door, in the dimness and chill of dawn, stood Heneral Isidoro Torres. This time he wore his rayadillo general¡¯s uniform, unlike the fancier khaki attire from the day before. Alongside his sidearm, a cavalry saber now hung at his side.

    "Good morning, Heneral... sorry for the disturbance," he said, removing his cap to reveal his uncombed hair.

    "How can I help you, Heneral Torres?" I asked, eyeing the group of soldiers standing at attention in the yard. They were an impressive lot¡ªneat uniforms, polished boots, and Spanish Mausers. All were of sufficient height and broad-shouldered. I counted twenty-five of them, including the officers.

    My eyes narrowed when I spotted a familiar face among them. Teniente Ronaldo Dimalanta stood at the front, flanked by two non-commissioned officers.

    "I¡¯m here to present your escolta, Heneral," Heneral Torres said, glancing proudly at the men behind him.

    "Escolta?" I repeated.

    "It wouldn¡¯t be wise for you to travel without a guard, Heneral. And I was told you¡¯d need help carrying the uniforms from Heneral Luna."

    I glanced at the crates on the ground. They had already fetched the uniforms from the quartermaster for me. I had been planning to ask Don Tiongson for some servants to help with transport.

    He led me closer to the soldiers for a proper inspection. I wasn¡¯t dressed for the occasion¡ªstill in the house clothes I¡¯d worn to sleep¡ªbut I held my chin high and pushed my shoulders back.

    "I know you¡¯re already acquainted... Teniente Dimalanta will serve as second-in-command of your escolta. He insisted on the honor himself, saying you¡¯d considered him for the position," the general said, placing a hand on the young man¡¯s shoulder.

    Dimalanta glanced at me nervously, then quickly looked away. I saw the color drain from his face.

    "And thanks to you, he told me he¡¯s reconciled with his mother. Sen?ora Dimalanta was reportedly pleased you¡¯d be taking him to the relative safety of Marinduque," Heneral Torres added with an amused smile. "Any mother would be, I imagine."

    Talking ahead of himself again. I huffed¡ªand caught Dimalanta swallowing hard. In all fairness, it was gutsy and brave of him.

    "I actually said no such thing," I chuckled, causing Heneral Torres¡¯ eyebrows to knit together, "But since he¡¯s already here... it would be inconsiderate of me to deny his mother some relief."

    The general slapped his cap against the young man¡¯s shoulder. "Tsk, tsk, tsk... if I had more time, I¡¯d see you punished for that stunt."

    Just then, I noticed movement beyond the gate. On the street, more soldiers¡ªnearly a hundred¡ªwere gathering. A few carried spades. I figured they weren¡¯t part of my escort.

    "Are you heading somewhere, Heneral?" I asked.

    Heneral Torres sighed deeply, his shoulders rising and falling. He shook his head slightly. "The Americans seem to be rearing for war, Sen?or Lardizabal. I¡¯d be surprised if it takes more than a month for something to happen."

    "Heneral Luna has ordered the construction of trenches surrounding Manila¡ªthe first of a series of trench lines he¡¯s planned. It¡¯ll be a lot of work, and I¡¯m taking as many soldiers as I can."

    My chest pounded. Hearing the news from someone other than Vicente made it feel far more real.

    "Oh, I almost forgot." Heneral Torres rummaged through his satchel and pulled out two items.

    "Here¡¯s your sidearm, Heneral. Courtesy of the President." He handed me a leather holster, heavy with a gun inside.

    Then he passed me an envelope, "And here are your orders... courtesy of Heneral Luna."

 Chapter 37: Risks

    Chapter 37: Risks

    I was to leave for Marinduque as soon as I could. Anticipating the eruption of conflict, Heneral Luna wanted me to begin organizing and training military units in my newly-created district immediately.

    His letter didn¡¯t carry the dismissiveness of Heneral Artemio Ricarte¡¯s tone. Luna truly sounded like he believed my command could make an impact in the looming conflict.

    That said, there was urgency in his words. He pointed out that I hadn¡¯t even begun my work yet. It was clear he didn¡¯t want me staying another day in Bulacan¡ªand I agreed. Time was against me. Training a military unit to reach even a semblance of battle-worthiness could take up to half a year.

    Besides, it had always been my plan to leave as soon as the promulgation event was over. I missed my Isabela and the charming quaintness of Marinduque.

    And yet... a part of me wanted to stay¡ªjust one more day.

    Last night, I had looked for a chance to speak with Paz. But with Isidro and Don Tiongson constantly drawing attention, that opportunity never came.

    "It was a delight to have you as our guest, Don Lardizabal. In more peaceful times... I would like to visit Marinduque," said Don Tiongson from across the breakfast table. The old man looked genuinely downcast. With me gone, I supposed he wouldn¡¯t have anyone his age left to chat with.

    "You will be welcomed in Marinduque, Don Tiongson, whether in troubled or peaceful times," I replied, taking a final sip of my coffee. It had gone cold and nearly made me cough.

    I glanced at his daughters seated nearby. They gave me the same sad smile their father wore.

    None of them were Paz. It struck me as odd¡ªshe usually made it to breakfast. I lingered, sipping my coffee slowly, giving her time to appear if she had overslept.

    Isidro and the two lieutenants were visibly growing impatient. Sooner or later, one of them was bound to ask why we were still dilly-dallying.

    But in the end, it wasn¡¯t them who forced me to stop waiting.

    Don Antonio clapped his lap gently and stood up. "Well... we won¡¯t hold you any longer. You¡¯re needed elsewhere."

    Everyone at the table stood up promptly, and I hesitated before rising as well.

    At the door, Don Tiongson grasped my hand firmly. "May God be with you, Heneral. May He keep you safe."

    I smiled, gently patting his wrinkled hands. "And may He keep you as well, Don Antonio. Thank you for everything. I could not have asked for a better host."

    I turned to Agapita. "I will miss your cooking, Sen?ora."

    "It¡¯s a shame... I was planning to cook adobong manok for lunch. And adobo is my obra maestra," she said with her usual teasing smirk.

    "Indeed, it is."

    To the rest of the Tiongson sisters, I offered a slight bow and tipped my hat. They returned the gesture.

    After one final glance at the sala, and at the stairs leading to the upper floor, I stepped out into the yard. More than twenty soldiers from my escort detail were gathered there, huddling beneath the shade of the acacia trees.

    "?Atencio?n, escolta!" Teniente Dimalanta barked as soon as I emerged, briefly startling me.

    The sergeants echoed the order. The soldiers quickly left the shade and formed two lines, creating a path toward the gate.

    Heneral Torres had clearly handpicked his best. In seconds, the men were standing at full attention¡ªrigid and disciplined.

    I nodded in approval, clasped my hands behind my back, and walked slowly toward the gate.

    Then I paused. There was movement near the fence. Someone was tending to the plants.

    That someone turned¡ªand began walking toward me.

    Paz.

    She seemed startled by the sight of the soldiers and their rifles but smiled as soon as her eyes landed on me.

    I quickened my pace to meet her. She looked newly woken¡ªhair tousled, no makeup¡ªand still, she was beautiful. In fact, she might have looked her best in that unguarded, natural state.

    She handed me something wrapped in a handkerchief.

    "Your... uhm... the sampaguita stems you asked for, Don Marti?n," she said, stumbling a bit over her words. "I didn¡¯t think you would leave so soon."

    I chuckled, suddenly very happy and not because of the flowers. "Thank you very much, Sen?orita. I¡¯ve genuinely enjoyed your company."

    "Likewise," she said, then looked down at the stems. "And... if we meet again, I¡¯d love to know if your sampaguitas have bloomed."

    I was feeling something foolish. Something that did not befit an old fossil like me. I swallowed the feeling with a sigh. This had been enough. It had to be enough.

    I took her hand and gently kissed it, in the manner of gentlemen of the time.

    "We shall meet again... and I¡¯ll make sure the sampaguitas bloom."

    ---

    The train station was loud and chaotic. Above the constant chug of the engines, officers shouted orders. Hordes of soldiers answering Luna¡¯s call filled the sheds, each carrying a rifle¡ªand a spade.

    I braced myself for the hassle and expected a long wait. But only a few minutes after our arrival, a Colonel recognized me from the banquet.

    Rank came with burdens¡ªbut also privileges. The soldiers were ordered to part, clearing a path like the Red Sea. A whole train car was emptied for my escort detail. Vicente, Ronaldo, Isidro, and I were given seats in the first-class coach.

    "So... how do we get to Marinduque?" Dimalanta asked, barely able to contain his excitement. "We can¡¯t go through the port in Manila, not with our uniforms and crates."

    I had no ready answer. Someone else did.

    Across from me, Isidro clucked his tongue. "I think... Sen?or Alcantara is still in Manila. With his ship."

    I had forgotten about him. The man usually stayed a day or two in the capital after arriving on Mondays, giving time for cargo to be sold and unloaded.

    Vicente scratched his chin. "Well, how do we get to Sen?or Alcantara? And even if we contact him... how would we get on his ship?"

    Isidro thought for a moment before answering. "I think I can still enter Manila. The Americans know me only as a trader. Even if they have spies around, I doubt they¡¯ve figured out I work for Aguinaldo."

    "That¡¯s risky, Isidro," I warned.

    He chuckled and gave me a get-a-load-of-this guy look. "And you¡¯re the only one allowed to take risks?"

    Vicente scratched his head, visibly stressed. "Okay, but how do we get on the ship if we can¡¯t sneak in with you?"

    "You don¡¯t," Isidro replied simply. "At least not in Manila."

    The lieutenant frowned in confusion. I was already forming an idea in my head. "Go on."

    "You get off the train before reaching Manila. Travel by foot to Cavite¡ªTernate, to be safe. From there, we pick you up. Get some fishermen to ferry you to the steamship."

    It was a good idea¡ªbut not without risks. There was no guarantee Alcantara would agree. Even if sympathetic to our cause, he might not want to take the risk. And there was always the chance of U.S. patrols blanketing the waters from Manila to Corregidor.

    "So?" Isidro asked, when none of us responded right away.

    I nodded. A thrill was already bubbling in my chest.

    "I like it. Let¡¯s get this started."

 Chapter 38: Orbea Hermanos

    Chapter 38: Orbea Hermanos

    A shallow canal started to form where the soldiers worked the ground with their hoes and spades. The dirt, moist from the morning dew, made a rhythmic squelch followed by a grating scrape. Those not working on the long line that stretched as far as the train station unleashed their bolo blades to clear the grass, trees, and bushes around the trench under construction.

    It was a good position¡ªslightly sloped and near the road. I could see the fingerprints of Heneral Luna¡¯s expert hands all over the work being done.

    For their part, the soldiers worked hard, even under the angry Filipino sun. So much so that I felt guilty just sitting comfortably on the crate under the cover of a tall, old mango tree. Sheltering with me was Vicente, my escolta, and two horses tied to the large protruding roots.

    Teniente Ronaldo Dimalanta had gone on ahead with the sargento primero in search of the owner of the horses. Dimalanta insisted I ¡¯borrow¡¯ them for our journey to Cavite, saying it wouldn¡¯t look right for a general to travel on foot. I was against it, but the young man¡ªeager to prove I made the right decision in bringing him along¡ªwas gone before I could stop him.

    The nearby soldiers told us the horses belonged to their Capitan and his ayudante. Dimalanta was having trouble locating the officer among the train of soldiers, all in identical uniforms. The Capitan might have joined in the digging, which would make it harder for him¡ªand his tiny shoulder rank patches¡ªto stand out.

    It was taking a while. While waiting, I decided to examine my newly acquired weapon. I pulled the revolver out of the holster already fixed on my waist and beamed at the sight of it. The golden lanyard around my neck was attached to the bottom of the pistol¡¯s grip.

    I was more into rifles than pistols in my gun collection. But the handgun in my hand was famous enough for me to recognize at first glance, even if I hadn¡¯t personally owned one. It had that top-break mechanism with an auto-ejector that spit out spent cartridges with a satisfying snap.

    A brand-new, pristine-looking, polished Smith & Wesson Model 3 ¡¯Schofield¡¯ revolv¡ª

    "Ah... an Orbea Hermanos," Vicente said, noticing I had drawn my sidearm. He leaned a little closer over my shoulder. "And an 1886 model at that."

    "That¡¯s a very nice gift, Don Martin," he nodded approvingly.

    I was rarely mistaken in appraising guns. I looked at it again, still seeing what looked like a Schofield revolver¡ªuntil I noticed the engravings. They were in Spanish.

    "Orbea revolvers were standard issue for officers of the Spanish army. A lot of them were captured en masse from garrisons and arsenals when we defeated them here in Luzon," he explained. "And now they¡¯re being issued to officers of the Republic."

    On second thought, it made much more sense than it being an actual American revolver. If not, then it was likely a Spanish copy¡ªand what a robust and well-made copy it was. I aimed it at the empty field on the other side of the road, opposite the soldiers. With a smirk, I imagined a target: an American soldier charging toward me with his Krag rifle and fixed bayonet.

    I pressed the trigger and heard the expected empty click. I hadn¡¯t yet loaded it with the bullets Heneral Isidoro Torres had provided me in a separate pouch.

    The Orbea revolver felt heavy yet tight and balanced. It had the sensory benchmarks of a gun well-crafted.

    I glanced at Vicente, then at his holstered sidearm, which he¡¯d worn since he arrived in Marinduque. Unbelievably, though I¡¯d often been curious, I hadn¡¯t asked him about it once.

    "How about you? Were you also issued one?" I gestured toward his holster with my lips.

    He scowled slightly and put his hands on his hips. "No... when I said officers, I meant high-ranking officers. Junior officers like me have to provide for ourselves. The army isn¡¯t exactly overflowing with firearms, as you already know."

    "Well... let me see what you got for yourself."

    "Nah... I¡¯d rather not. It¡¯s a secondhand pistol I bought in Manila for cheap, at the start of the revolution. It¡¯s nothing to see."

    I huffed. "I think you seem to forget... Teniente... that I am your direct superior now."

    He chuckled bitterly, then sighed as he unholstered the pistol and handed it to me. I returned mine to its holster and examined the lump of metal in front of me.

    It was crap. The pistol looked and felt cheap, like something mass-produced without any concern for quality. The metallurgy was lacking, showing tool marks and pitting. Some screws jutted out slightly. It sat light in the grip, like a toy gun¡ªand felt like it would shatter if you tried to fire it.

    But it wasn¡¯t ¡¯nothing to see.¡¯ It was still an interesting artifact¡ªone I would have proudly displayed in my gun closet. Just not something I¡¯d bring into battle or dare pull the trigger on.

    "How much was this?" I asked, handing it back after a few minutes of examination.

    "Five pesos," he said with slight derision, returning it to his holster.

    "Sounds about right."

    Vicente grunted.

    Looking back toward Dimalanta and the sargento, we saw them returning¡ªwith an officer in tow. Not the captain, if I had to guess; the officer looked younger than Dimalanta... unless it was yet another case like that of del Pilar or Tinio.

    Ronaldo looked significantly more haggard when he returned. He wiped the sweat from his brow, slightly out of breath, and introduced the officer. "This is Teniente Paciano Ramos... ayudante to Capitan Luis Velarde."

    "May I know who I¡¯m speaking to?" Ramos asked, looking at me. He had clearly been pulled out of work. There was mud all over him, and he kept dragging and thumping his boots to shake off the soil caked onto the soles.

    I remained seated on the wooden crate of uniforms as I replied, "Heneral Martin Lardizabal... of the Distrito Militar de Marinduque, Mindoro y Romblo?n."

    The young officer pursed his lips at the name. "I haven¡¯t heard of a general in that part of the country... Heneral Diokno, I know... but¡ª"

    He paused and nervously gulped when I gave him a hard stare. Of course he wouldn¡¯t know¡ªmy appointment was only a few days old.

    "So you think I¡¯d go out of my way to impersonate a general... hire an escort detail... just to borrow your horses?"

    "Do I need to show you my letter of appointment from the President himself?" I asked sternly. "Are you confident in your Spanish?"

    I wasn¡¯t the only one giving him a hard stare. Everyone¡ªincluding the privates standing behind me¡ªlooked offended by his question.

    The young adjutant smiled and eagerly waved his hands in front of him. "Paumanhin, Heneral. There¡¯s no need to."

    "And the horses?" Vicente asked, a bit too sharply.

    "Yes... the Capitan is willing to give you one of the horses¡ªthe one I rode in," he said, pointing to the darker, less impressive of the two. "But he wishes to keep his own... if that¡¯s alright with you."

    "That works... Teniente."

 Chapter 39: Calle Real

    Chapter 39: Calle Real

    It wasn¡¯t until we were actually traveling¡ªno longer just planning¡ªthat it fully dawned on me how arduous a workaround the rising tensions with the Americans had forced us to take.

    Had we access to the port of Manila, we could¡¯ve boarded Alcantara¡¯s ship and reached Marinduque within a fortnight.

    But because we would almost certainly be apprehended the moment we set foot in the city, and because the Americans likely had eyes on Manila Bay and nearby ports through their navy, we had to go further south.

    Three days¡ªthat was the estimated travel time from our disembarkation point in Caloocan to the remote town of Ternate, Cavite. With the crates and the twenty-six-man escort detail, including Vicente, we could only move at marching pace.

    If Isidro managed to convince Sen?or Alcantara, and if all went as planned, we would arrive in Ternate on the 26th with the ship already waiting for us.

    After disembarking in Caloocan and acquiring a horse from the soldiers working the trenchworks around the town, we continued our journey southward.

    Our pace was hampered by the traffic. It wasn¡¯t just columns of uniformed men dragging their supplies who crowded the dirt roads¡ªsome civilians living around Manila had begun evacuating, like flocks of birds fleeing ahead of an oncoming storm.

    We reached another trench line under construction in La Loma, which made it the closest entrenchment to the American positions. It was there we learned that Heneral Luna was in the area, though we couldn¡¯t readily find him¡ªhe was off somewhere along the stretch, instructing troops.

    Instead, we found Colonel Bugallon again. We spoke briefly, and by the end of the conversation, he had secured for me two carabao-pulled carts for the crates. He offered additional men for my escort, but I declined. More men would only slow us down.

    "Is the Calle Real still passable, Colonel?" I asked as we were about to leave.

    The Calle Real was the main road connecting Intramuros to the neighboring provinces. It would be the fastest route by land to Cavite. But if the Americans already had a presence on that road, we would need to find an alternate route¡ªperhaps through Marikina and Pasig.

    "It should be, Heneral. The Americans are still holed up in the city. We¡¯ve got outposts and checkpoints all along the road... they¡¯ll help you," he said.

    To our collective relief, and on his advice, we marched onward. I rode at the head of the column on horseback, followed by the officers and soldiers on foot, and finally the carts bringing up the rear.

    He was right. The Calle Real was still in Filipino hands. The Americans only held the city center and the districts of Paco and Ermita. Since the mock Battle of Manila, they had made no major expansion of their occupied territory.

    But the route was vulnerable. The Filipino presence along the road consisted only of small huts and bamboo barricades. The entire stretch, lying close to the coastline, was flat¡ªeasy prey for artillery from within the city or from the monstrous ships in the bay.

    Still, that morning, there was no attack. Not yet. The road was still ours. The Filipino soldiers stationed there passed us through with ease and even seemed heartened by our presence.

    Before long, we reached San Juan, then Pasig, where we stopped at San Nicolas to buy live chickens for slaughter and sacks of rice from local farmers. The soldiers seemed pleased with my purchase, which came from the still-sizeable purse I¡¯d gotten from selling the abaca?.

    I sighed heavily at the thought that, with recent developments, I¡¯d never get the other half from that American clerk. In hindsight, I could¡¯ve gotten more if I had decided to sell to the Chinese.

    We pressed on, reaching San Pedro de Macati by noon. We made a stop to prepare lunch on the outskirts of a barrio called Malibay. Just before the huts that marked the village proper, we set up under the shade of several large mango trees beside a rice field.

    The soldiers excitedly took the chickens from their cages and dispatched them. Soon, the earthy scent of the paddies was replaced by the rich aroma of roasting chicken. On a separate pit, a large pot we¡¯d acquired in San Nicolas was used to cook rice. The crates were unloaded temporarily, and Dimalanta sent some men to fetch water from the barrio.

    The rice was slightly undercooked, and the chicken bland and gamey¡ªa far cry from Agapita¡¯s heavenly cooking. But I hadn¡¯t expected more. I was with soldiers, not chefs. Hungry and tired from the march, we ate it as if it were a feast.

    Afterwards, I ordered a thirty-minute rest before we braved the sun¡¯s heat and the road¡¯s dust again.

    Many of the soldiers took the opportunity for a quick nap, including Dimalanta. I watched them sleeping, their uniforms tinted gray beneath the shade, as I sat again on one of the crates, my back resting against the tree trunk.

    When I tired of watching them, I shifted my gaze to the spluttering sounds nearby. Across the road, a carabao was blissfully bathing in a muddy pool. The leaves of a tamarind tree overhead let through strings of golden light that landed in circles on its dark hide, the mud, and the ground.

    I envied the black big-horned cow. Sure, having a rope hooked through your nose or being forced to plow fields was no enviable life¡ªbut at least carabaos didn¡¯t worry. They lived in the moment like children, free from the weight of tomorrow¡¯s gathering storm clouds.

    But even the carabao couldn¡¯t hold my attention for long. I decided to check my handsome pistol again, but then remembered it wasn¡¯t the only gift I¡¯d received in Bulacan.

    With a sudden burst of enthusiasm, I rummaged through my bag and smiled when I found the item.

    I unwrapped the handkerchief and examined the sampaguita stems. My smile widened when I noticed the clumsy cut marks. She must¡¯ve done it in a rush¡ªperhaps as soon as she woke up and learned from her sister that I was leaving, she hurried to the yard.

    One of the stems still had a flower on it. I raised it to my nose and was pleased to find it hadn¡¯t yet lost its fragrance. Or maybe it had. I realized a moment later that most of the scent came from the handkerchief itself¡ªshe¡¯d perfumed it with the same scent she wore during the banquet.

    To my further amusement, I noticed her initials embroidered in the corner.

    "I think she likes you back, Don Martin."

    I nearly jumped off the crate. Once again, Vicente had appeared beside me like a phantom.

    "I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about, Vicente," I said, flustered. "I¡¯m old enough to be her father."

    Vicente chuckled¡ªfar too much, in my opinion. "For someone so old, you sure don¡¯t know women. Most of them prefer older men. You¡¯re aged just right."

    "Where do you even learn this?" I snorted and laughed. "Drop it."

    "I mean, she gave you her handkerchief. That right there is¡ª"

    "It¡¯s because she was in a hurry, Vicente," I interjected.

    "Nah. I don¡¯t think that¡¯s it. I think you should pursue her¡ª"

    "Drop it, Teniente," I repeated, firmer now. "That¡¯s an order."

 Chapter 40: Cavite

    Chapter 40: Cavite

    The travel was tiring, but the Calle Real provided a somewhat decent route¡ªoftentimes paved, and if not, we walked over worn yet well-maintained dirt. Before nightfall, we had crossed the Zapote River and officially entered the province of Cavite.

    Not far from the Zapote Bridge was a small sitio with a few huts where we sought refuge for the night. We were welcomed warmly and enthusiastically by the villagers. I felt flattered by the extra special treatment I received once they learned they were accommodating a general.

    An entire hut was vacated for me and my officers. They offered us the best menu they could muster¡ªfried tilapia, milkfish cooked in vinegar (paksiw na bangus), and small crabs in coconut milk (ginataang alimasag). Of all places, I had not expected a feast in such a small sitio.

    I had to sternly insist on reimbursing them, since they vehemently refused my money, saying it was their pleasure. If they went bankrupt from my visit, I imagined they would look back on it with not as much pleasure.

    The hut¡¯s bedroom had a window that offered a glimpse of Manila Bay. I watched the little waves of the calm waters reflect the dim light of the night sky. A couple of fishing boats could be seen on their nightly catch¡ªand not a single American ship in sight. The whiff of smoke rising from outside, where the common soldiers had made camp, completed the somewhat dreamy scene.

    Not long after, I joined the already-sleeping Trivin?o and Dimalanta on the nipa mat. Weariness overcame the stiffness of the surface, the roughness of the pillow, and the thinness of the blankets¡ªI promptly fell asleep.

    The following day started well.

    As we left the sitio, we were greeted by a pleasant surprise. Just as we were about to head deeper into Cavite, we encountered a company of Caviten?o soldiers who had come to begin trenchworks along the river. The orders from Malolos had finally reached the province.

    After a brief but pleasant conversation with their major, we resumed our journey in high spirits.

    The Calle Real still stretched onward, providing us with a smooth and secure road. As we continued, the warmer the reception became. We were hailed at every barrio, and more than a few times we were stopped to receive gifts¡ªrice cakes or simply cool, quenching water.

    We were, after all, in the president¡¯s home province and the site of some of the revolution¡¯s most glorious battles against Spain.

    In Bacoor, the gobernadorcillo begged us to stay at least until lunch. I was tempted by the man¡¯s passion, but the fear of missing the steamship helped me resist.

    The same happened in Imus, where a general named Tomas Mascardo offered to host us for lunch. I happily accepted¡ªthough only because it was already time for lunch.

    Still, I ended up wasting time. General Mascardo held me captive at the table, eager to talk about all sorts of things¡ªwhat had happened in Malolos, the situation in Manila, and my appointment. By the end of it, I had learned how devoted he was to the president, and how he abhorred the "arrogant" Luna.

    But for the trouble, he gave us rice, a small boar, and two additional horses. Naturally, the mounts went to the two young lieutenants, who were overjoyed. Although they were supposed to set an example for the troops, being young and with little experience in hard work, they often lagged behind.

    The worry that we had been delayed was put to rest later that afternoon.

    As we entered the more remote areas of the province, the smooth road of the national thoroughfare gave way to narrow and occasionally rugged rural roads¡ªa preview of what awaited us the next day.

    Still, we managed to reach San Francisco de Malabon by nightfall. The increased pace was likely thanks to Dimalanta and Vicente no longer slowing us down.

    Though the population became smaller and sparser, the sympathy for the cause and the hospitality toward a republican general like me had not waned. In town, we were accommodated in the modest mansion of a local principalia family and pampered like important guests.

    Now with a proper bed and a room of my own, I slept well that night. And I would need all the rest I could get for what was to come.

    The third day of our journey proved to be the roughest.

    South of San Francisco de Malabon, the roads grew even narrower and more winding, snaking through hilly terrain. The unpaved paths¡ªsome of which nature had already begun reclaiming¡ªwere difficult enough. But the slopes forced us to occasionally remove the crates from the carts and drag both upward.

    It seemed the day would only worsen when dark clouds gathered overhead. To make the rough road slippery as well would be hell on earth. But the heavens showed us mercy and grace¡ªthe clouds held their rain, offering us cool shade from the sun instead.

    We had our lunch stop at the barrio of Muzon in Naic. We barely enjoyed our meal with the looming sight of the Maragondon mountains in the distance.

    We braced ourselves for even harsher terrain. My escort, once lively in the first two days, had fallen silent. In their muddy uniforms, sunburnt and exhausted, some stared blankly into the air. Had Trivino and Dimalanta not received horses, I imagined they might have collapsed somewhere in Tanza. Yet even they looked miserable.

    What followed turned out to be far better than we had expected. None of us had ever gone this far into Cavite, and we didn¡¯t know where the roads would lead.

    A local farmer told us that the road wouldn¡¯t pass through the dreaded mountains. Instead, the path to Ternate hugged the coast, avoiding the ascent.

    The soldiers seemed to take heart. Though the coastal road was muddy and still rough on the carts, there were no steep climbs. I, too, began to feel encouraged¡ªuntil I remembered to scan the sea to the west of us.

    There were no American patrol ships in sight... but neither was the steamship. It was already late in the afternoon, and I began to wonder if they had left us behind¡ªor if Isidro had failed to convince Sen?or Alcantara after all.

    We crossed the Maragondon River over a wooden bridge that creaked dangerously as our carts passed. We arrived at the small, isolated town of Ternate just as the sun sank halfway into the horizon.

    The soldiers dropped to the ground in the town streets, exclaiming in both relief and exhaustion as we set foot in the town proper. Suddenly, my skin crawled. A creeping fear surfaced. What if all of it had been for nothing?

    I asked the first townsman I encountered where the port was, not even bothering to dismount.

    The gaunt-faced fisherman removed the straw hat from his head and squinted, trying to make out my face in the dim light.

    "Are you... are you Lardiza?bal?" he asked.

    I tilted my head and furrowed my brow. "I... am?"

    He smiled. The reason his face looked skeletal was now obvious¡ªhe had no teeth.

    "Ah... Sen?or Isidro has been waiting for you since earlier this afternoon."

    I scanned the sea again. Still, I saw nothing. But just as I was about to ask if Isidro was still around, I noticed it¡ª A silhouette jutted out against the backdrop of an island offshore.

    I spotted the smokestack¡ªit looked like a chimney atop a banana.

 Chapter 41: Home At Last

    Chapter 41: Home At Last

    I watched the animated shadows around the small cabin and listened to the creaks and groans of the ship.

    Having just woken up, I let my mind settle, staying still and silent by the bed.

    The three-day journey from Bulacan to the fringes of Cavite was over¡ªand without incident. Isidro had managed to convince Sen?or Alcantara, and the Diligencia was able to leave port on the morning of the 26th without garnering suspicion. She waited for us offshore of Ternate until dusk.

    I still couldn¡¯t believe everything had gone as planned.

    I tilted my head, noticing something for the first time. There was no sound of the engine. The ship wasn¡¯t traveling¡ªit was anchored.

    I stepped out of the cabin and made my way to the deck. The sun was already out in its full glory. The vessel sat still on the calm waters, gently cradled by the waves.

    There was only sky and sea, but somehow, the scene felt familiar to me. I turned toward the starboard side and saw the island of Marinduque in the near distance. That small cluster of houses nestled in a sea of green trees was Boac.

    I smiled as a shiver ran down my spine. Home at last.

    Leaning against the railings were some of the soldiers, dressed in their casual clothes, their uniforms still filthy with mud and grime. In sharp contrast to the miserable state they¡¯d been yesterday, they were now talking and laughing. While they chatted, they munched on leftover rice cakes and fruits from the generous Caviten?os.

    Near the captain¡¯s cabin, Dimalanta and Sen?or Alcantara paused their conversation to look at me.

    "How was your sleep, Don Lardizabal?" Alcantara hollered, grinning. "Or should I call you Heneral?"

    The ship captain extended a hand when I reached him, but I went for a hug instead, to which he responded with a surprised chuckle.

    "You have my gratitude, Sen?or Alcantara." I took his handshake only after releasing him from the embrace.

    I hadn¡¯t been able to speak with him last night. After a brief wash in town¡ªand skipping supper entirely¡ªwe were hurriedly ferried to the ship. I remembered cursing my shaking legs as we climbed from the barges to the deck. After that, I didn¡¯t remember much, only that I had stumbled to my cabin and dropped onto the bed.

    "When I heard you accepted the appointment as general, I couldn¡¯t say no, Isidro," Sen?or Alcantara said. "You¡¯ve taken a bigger risk than I did and shouldered a heavy responsibility."

    I smiled and sighed at his words. Though I was home, home was where the work began. There was much to be done, and many difficult decisions awaited.

    "Is Vicente still asleep?" I turned to Dimalanta. If I had to guess, it was already late in the morning.

    "No... Heneral," Dimalanta replied. "He came ashore with Isidro along with the crates and the horses. We didn¡¯t want to wake you..."

    "It¡¯s alright," I said, narrowing my eyes at the makeshift port in the distance. I spotted the crates under a shed, a couple of soldiers standing guard, and two horses tied to one of the coco lumber pillars.

    "Shall we move out, Heneral?" Dimalanta asked.

    I said yes. He responded smartly, walking over to the soldiers with his stern drill-sergeant face. Sen?or Alcantara and I chuckled as we watched the young lieutenant interrupt the men¡¯s good time and herd them into formation like a seasoned sheepdog.

    "Sen?or Alcantara," I said in a low voice, "you should join me for lunch at the Casa Real. There¡¯s something I want to talk to you about."

    He raised an eyebrow, and I thought he would ask a question, but instead, he simply nodded.

    ---

    I couldn¡¯t quite make out the reactions of the people of Boac. They halted in their tracks, stopping whatever they were doing to watch us pass by. Some grinned. Others furrowed their brows.

    None of us were in uniform, but the soldiers still had their rifles slung over their shoulders and wore their straw hats, a few with the Republic¡¯s coat of arms pinned on them. The crates also drew attention.

    "You¡¯ll know soon enough, Sen?or!" I hollered the same answer for the third time, as familiar faces peeked from their windows, shouting questions.

    A group of kids began to follow us, pestering the soldiers with a barrage of petty queries. One stern word from me, and they scattered.

    "How do you think the town will take it?" Sen?or Alcantara, who was on Dimalanta¡¯s horse, rode alongside me. He wore his ship captain¡¯s uniform¡ªa white long-sleeved shirt that, from a distance, looked similar to the camesitas the rest of us wore.

    "Most of them will be thrilled, especially the common folk," I answered. "But the elites... those are the ones that will need convincing."

    It had been the same when the revolt against Spain was being planned. Those with much to lose from the destabilizing effects of war were naturally less accommodating. The poor, having little to lose and no promising future ahead of them, often leapt at the chance to see the world turned upside down¡ªhoping to find themselves in a better place by the end of it.

    Vicente was waiting at the doors of the Casa Real. When I asked why he left the ship without my permission, he gave me a perfectly valid reason: he¡¯d had to urgently take a dump after an expired suman wreaked havoc on his stomach.

    "Where¡¯s Isabela?" I asked.

    "She¡¯s in the backyard, Sen?or," said Rafael, the mayordomo, ever the silent presence in the background. He seemed thrilled to see so many guests.

    I then asked Vicente to lead Alcantara and Dimalanta to the sala upstairs and instructed Rafael to have the staff prepare refreshments for the soldiers as well.

    Isabela was busy when I emerged in the backyard through the kitchen.

    She looked to be in a foul mood, pulling up the withered rose bushes she had planted along the wall last August.

    She sighed and whined as she worked, squatting down to uproot the dead shrubs¡ªmost of which had never flowered. I understood her frustration, but I did warn her that roses don¡¯t thrive in salty soil and aren¡¯t usually grown in coastal towns.

    She eventually noticed me in the corner of her eye and gave me a tight-lipped smile. Her otherwise pretty face was twisted in a scowl, wordlessly asking for help.

    "What¡¯s this? Too busy to even greet your father at the docks?" I smirked and placed both hands on my waist.

    She stood and brushed the dirt off her hands. "Nothing new. You always leave me behind, then stay away longer than you promised."

    "I said I¡¯d be in Manila for a week."

    "And it¡¯s been a week and four days. That¡¯s almost two weeks," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "And you didn¡¯t even bring me a pasalubong."

    She was right, I hadn¡¯t bought her anything and there had been several chances along the way. When she saw the look on my face, she dropped into a squat again and resumed pulling the shrubs¡ªthis time in an even worse mood.

    My mind scrambled for a solution.

    Then it hit me.

    What a convenient coincidence.

    I pulled out the stems from my bag, remembering to keep the handkerchief. I walked over and squatted beside her.

    For a while, I simply watched her in silence. While I¡¯d been in Bulacan, Paz¡¯s presence had overshadowed Isabela¡¯s memory. But now that I was with my daughter again, I was reminded that this little darling still owned much of my heart.

    "What?" she snapped when I brushed aside some stray strands of black hair from her face.

    "Why not try another plant? Maybe sampaguita?" I presented the stems to her. "They thrive in salty soil and love sunlight¡ªmuch better suited for your little garden here."

    "Not to mention," I added with a smile, "I¡¯ve always thought sampaguita flowers are more beautiful than roses."

 Chapter 42: Barely Begun

    Chapter 42: Barely Begun

    The sala rang out with laughter. Over snacks and drinks, Vicente and Ronaldo had begun teasing each other about their mishaps during the journey.

    Vicente was reminded of the time he tripped over a rock in Paran?aque and fell sharply on his back, or how he curiously picked up a goat dropping¡ªthinking it was some sort of berry¡ªas we passed by a farm in Bacoor.

    Ronaldo, on the other hand, got teased for earning the ire of a farmer¡¯s wife in San Nicolas when he haggled too hard over one of her chickens¡ªpossibly another attempt to impress me. Or for how he flirted with one of the maids in General Mascardo¡¯s house and got spectacularly snubbed.

    The back-and-forth would not end in a tie. Trivin?o gained the upper hand when he recalled how Dimalanta had tried to rally the discouraged troops during our miserable march near Naic. He nudged his horse to turn around and began delivering a speech, which fell flat when, in the middle of it, his voice cracked. He persisted in continuing, but his words had lost their power¡ªif they had any to begin with.

    Nobody laughed at him then, but now, recounting it in the comfort of the Casa Real, we howled, almost running out of breath. Sen?or Alcantara quickly got comfortable in our company and was just as entertained by the two youths.

    Isabela and two maids entered just as our laughter began to settle. With them came our lunch, and only then did we realize it was already noon¡ªand that we were starving.

    "How lucky you are, Don Martin... your daughter¡¯s not only a looker but already a good cook at such a young age," Sen?or Alcantara remarked, briefly pointing at Isabela with his fork.

    "I am indeed lucky, Sen?or... and very grateful," I said with a smirk, glancing at Isabela, who was by my side.

    Her tinolang tulingan (skipjack tuna fish soup) was superb, and every sip of the rich broth seemed to soothe every weary bone and sore muscle in my body. Her skill was no less than Agapita¡¯s, and how quickly the rice bowl ran out of rice! Already we were asking for seconds.

    "Grateful? I doubt that," she said, dramatically tossing her head. I snorted, and Sen?or Alcantara laughed again.

    By the time the maids were clearing the table, my stomach was full to the point of bursting. Dimalanta, with his big appetite, had to hurry to finish his last spoonfuls.

    Sen?or Alcantara glanced at me, prodding his tongue at his front teeth to clear a bit of food before speaking in a low voice.

    "So, Don Martin, what do you want to talk about?" Then, as if remembering we weren¡¯t alone, he glanced at the rest of the room. "Or should we talk about it somewhere private?"

    Only the two lieutenants and my daughter were with us. Isabela tilted her head, about to stand up¡ªperhaps thinking she didn¡¯t have clearance for what we were about to discuss. But I would trust her with my life.

    "No... I think we can talk about it now," I answered.

    The ship captain nodded. "So, what is it, Don Martin? It seems to me this is a serious matter."

    "It is," I said, leaning forward and folding my hands on my lap. "And it¡¯s about you and your ship."

    Sen?or Alcantara¡¯s expression shifted. His confusion was mirrored by the others in the room.

    "As Isidro may have already told you, I have been made brigadier general and placed in charge of the military district of Marinduque, Mindoro, and Romblon." I glanced around and saw the expected shocked reaction from Isabela, who covered her open mouth with one hand.

    I turned back to him. "All three are islands... separated by water."

    His face lit up. "I think I know what you¡¯re getting at, Don Martin. You want to hire me for transport¡ª"

    "Not just a transport ship," I interrupted, keeping my grim tone, since I was about to ask something significant. "I want your ship to be a navy ship... and you, a navy officer."

    "Marina de Guerra?" he repeated, as he glanced at the others¡¯ reactions. They were just as surprised. I had been cooking up the idea in my head during our grueling, boring march to Cavite but had mentioned it to no one.

    "Yes... I¡¯m proposing to turn Diligencia into a gunboat," I said with a smirk, thrilled to finally voice the idea. "There¡¯s an old cannon at the Spanish garrison we can bolt to the bow, and we¡¯ll reinforce the hull and deck."

    He let out a short, abrupt laugh and shook his head. "Wha¡ª It¡¯s not gonna stand a chance against the Americans."

    "It¡¯s not for the Americans," I replied. "If I¡¯m to command these three islands, I need to be respected in the waters around them. I need to at least make my presence known. The Diligencia given teeth would be enough for the job."

    Sen?or Alcantara mouthed a response but then looked down, studying the floor, deep in thought. If he refused, I would understand. But if he did, I¡¯d have to buy a steamship. While I could afford that, I¡¯d rather spend the money refurbishing an already-acquired vessel.

    He shook his head. "That would mean I¡¯d have to move my family here."

    "Yes... away from Luzon, where things are about to get ugly," I said. "You¡¯ll be given a house in Boac, and you¡¯ll be paid well. I imagine that if war breaks out, your work will be threatened."

    He scratched his head and leaned back on the couch. Then he glanced at me with a subtle smile. "And can I rename it?"

    My heart sank a little at the request. I had already been excitedly brainstorming names for the ship.

    "Sure."

    ---

    I had hoped to rest for the afternoon and postpone work until tomorrow. After the tiresome journey, I believed I had earned that.

    That plan was dashed when I received a visitor¡ªone I could not refuse.

    Colonel Abad could hardly believe his ears when I told him what had happened in Malolos. He was so stunned that I had to show him my letter of appointment and my shoulder patches.

    "I must admit, when you left for Manila, I thought it was your way of distancing yourself from us. I thought I sensed some hesitance in you," Colonel Abad said with a wide grin, blurting out words like an excited child. "But... I assumed wrong."

    "I take it you welcome the development?" I asked. I knew Colonel Abad had been impressed by my brief marksmanship instruction, but being his general was an entirely different matter.

    "Of course!" he exclaimed. "You already have some influence in the area, you have resources, and not to mention, knowledge in training soldiers. You are more than qualified... or at least, more qualified than anyone else I can think of."

    My smile stretched from ear to ear. That made him the second ally I had gained in a single day¡ªstill a long list to go, but not bad considering I had barely begun.

    "Well... I think you¡¯ll be more delighted by what I brought."

    I led him downstairs to the storage area where the crates were kept. Needless to say, the Colonel reacted like a child on Christmas morning. He pulled out a jacket, brushed his hand over the fabric, held it to his nose and breathed in the scent, and finally, tried it on.

    "How about the rifles?" he asked eagerly, taking a peek at a soldier outside with his Mauser.

    Rifles. Of course.

    While uniforms could raise morale, a good rifle did that too¡ªand, ultimately, was a far greater contributor to a unit¡¯s fighting prowess.

    "No... the soldiers in Luzon are running short on rifles as well." My smile faded but was quickly replaced with a determined nod. "But I think I can get them somewhere else... some other way."

 Chapter 43: Friendly Competition

    Chapter 43: Friendly Competition

    Two very different units¡ªbut of the same allegiance¡ªstood at the same beach where I had held my marksmanship training more than a week ago.

    At the sight of me and Vicente emerging from the coconuts and ferns, the soldiers scrambled into formation.

    The first group, led by Teniente Ronaldo Dimalanta, was composed of twenty-four men assigned to me by Heneral Torres as escorts. They wore the complete standard uniform of the Republic¡¯s regular units¡ªfrom the rayadillo jackets to the ammunition pouches, down to the polished boots.

    Dimalanta¡¯s group looked dangerous, armed with Mausers, and they looked the part with how they snappily and neatly arranged themselves at the authoritative instruction of their officers.

    The second group was led by my brother-in-law Pedro Madrigal. They were twice the number but significantly less intimidating. Just as I had left them, they still wore the plain white uniforms used in the revolt against Spain, remained barefoot, and still carried single-shot Remington rifles.

    They were well-drilled, but compared to the Bulacen?os, they were a little less sharp.

    As I approached, Dimalanta and the NCOs stiffened.

    "?Atencio?n!" the lieutenant barked, and boots snapped as the soldiers of my escolta stood at attention.

    Dimalanta proceeded to salute, confidently looking up at me as I rode past, "Heneral Lardizabal!"

    I responded with a nod and continued toward the other group.

    Pedro nervously glanced at me, looking as if he was about to say something. In the end, he gave me a simple, silent salute. That was a relief. The awkwardness would have killed us both. Just the other week, I was merely his brother-in-law and a symbolic governor to whom they didn¡¯t owe real allegiance. Now I was their general¡ªtheir direct superior.

    They would need some time to get accustomed to the change.

    Colonel Abad was waiting at the end of the line and gave me a casual salute. He looked sharp in the rayadillo uniform I had given him yesterday. All that was missing were the shoulder patches for his rank¡ªand maybe a matching peaked cap.

    He assisted me as I got off the horse.

    "At your orders, everyone who underwent your marksmanship training is here," said Colonel Abad, visibly in high spirits. "So what are we doing today, Heneral?"

    I smirked, realizing it was the first time he had addressed me with my new rank.

    "A little firing session for the troops, Coronel," I replied.

    I instructed them to place targets along the shoreline, just like during our training. Only now, there were two sets of ten tin cans¡ªone set twenty meters in front of each group. Then I asked for their best marksmen to form a line.

    The soldiers glanced at each other, starting to realize a competition was about to unfold¡ªbetween the Bulacen?os and the Marinduquen?os.

    Teniente Dimalanta began selecting from among his ranks, and each name he called confidently stepped forward. On Pedro¡¯s side, he let his soldiers work it out among themselves. It took a while before ten willing volunteers stepped up.

    "This is a friendly competition," I reminded them. "The goal is for everyone¡¯s improvement. The rule is simple: the group that knocks down their tin cans with the fewest volleys wins. The winning soldiers will each get three pesos."

    Smiles began to spread among the ranks, and excited murmurs followed.

    "I see what you¡¯re doing, Don Martin," Vicente said as the three of us¡ªhe, the Coronel, and I¡ªstepped back to a safe distance. "You trained them well last week, sure. But these Bulacen?os are Heneral Torres¡¯ best. They might have even been trained by Major Bugallon or Heneral Luna themselves."

    "You¡¯re from Bulacan, so naturally you¡¯re rooting for the Bulacen?os. And I¡¯m from here, so I¡¯m a little partial to the Marinduquen?os," I grinned. "Want to bet?"

    "I don¡¯t have money," he said matter-of-factly.

    I thought for a moment. "How about we bet our pistols?"

    "You¡¯re that confident?" Vicente sniggered. "All right. That¡¯s a terrible decision you just made."

    The Marinduquen?os went first. Pedro looked nervous as he tried to encourage his soldiers, ending up sounding more like a rookie baseball coach than a military officer. The fact that he hadn¡¯t been present for the marksmanship training¡ªhe had been conducting a recruitment drive in Mogpog that week¡ªprobably added to his unease.

    Asynchronously, the Marinduquen?o soldiers raised their rifles. Pedro raised a hand.

    "?Fuego!"

    The first volley rang out. Several hollow clangs followed the gunshots.

    I had expected them to nearly wipe all the targets. The actual result was disappointing¡ªthey only hit five cans on the first pull of the trigger. They were showing rust. I wondered whether Colonel Abad had continued the drills while I was away.

    The five who missed reloaded and fired again. This second volley dropped four more cans. One soldier still couldn¡¯t bring his down.

    He clumsily reloaded, trembling slightly under the pressure. Pedro let him take his time. The lone shot cracked, and finally, the last can fell.

    "An Orbea Hermano," Vicente muttered, eyeing my holster like a dog under the dinner table. "I could really use an upgrade. And I think you won¡¯t need it as much as I do. You¡¯re a general now¡ªyou won¡¯t be doing much fighting. Besides, you can afford a replacement."

    I only smiled. I really liked that gun. And now, I wasn¡¯t confident I could keep it¡ªor get my point across with this competition.

    Teniente Dimalanta glanced at us with a smug expression and gave a slight nod. It was my escolta¡¯s turn.

    "?Apunten!"

    In unison, and with one quick motion, the rifles were raised to the shoulder.

    "?Fuego!"

    The high-pitched crack of the Mausers echoed in the air. Then¡ªa single, weak metallic clunk. Only one of the cans had been grazed.

    Pedro let out a loud cackle, which he immediately remembered to suppress.

    In the awkward silence, Dimalanta cleared his throat. "Alright... with the rust out of our system... let¡¯s get this over with."

    Bolt handles clicked, spent cartridges ejected, and the rifles aimed again. This time, Teniente Dimalanta let a good five seconds pass.

    "?Fuego!"

    The silence that followed the fading gunshots was deafening. The Bulacen?os had squarely hit the water and the sand. Not a single bullet touched a can.

    The Marinduquen?os were polite enough not to laugh aloud¡ªbut they were huddling and howling silently, shoulders shaking as they tried to suppress their amusement. Pedro looked my way, and I couldn¡¯t help but return his oafish grin.

    "How shameful! I¡¯ve seen blind men with better aim!" Teniente Dimalanta huffed, shaking his head. "We are getting beaten by a backwater militia!"

    His insult gave them just enough fire to improve slightly. Their third and final volley was their best¡ªthree cans hit¡ªbut with six still standing, the competition was over.

    Pedro¡¯s men began cheering while the soldiers from the escolta watched them in silence, their bright confidence, gone.

    It had just been a guess. Drills and theory could be copied from manuals captured from the Spanish, sure. But only experienced officers could teach the hands-on techniques. Officers, which the Republic sorely lacked. That was why I hadn¡¯t been entirely impressed by the drills and formations in Malolos.

    I tapped Vicente¡¯s back. "I win. But you can keep your trash revolver, Teniente."

 Chapter 44: Bare Minimum

    Chapter 44: Bare Minimum

    I had to give out 150 pesos in total to the winners. That was a large sum¡ªmaybe a little too large. If I had offered just a peso, it would still have sufficed. The former Martin would have called me impulsive and feckless.

    But I almost didn¡¯t feel the loss. The Marinduquen?o soldiers giggled and excitedly talked among themselves, probably about what to do with their winnings. They had just been rewarded a laborer¡¯s weekly salary.

    The Bulacen?o soldiers scratched their heads as they listened to Dimalanta¡¯s grating sermon. I felt guilty, of course¡ªthese were the same men who had endured the tiresome journey with me. They could have used a small purse to explore their new place of assignment, as a reward for all that they went through.

    But I planned to keep them as my escolta, to provide security to the Casa Real and to my immediate family. That meant they would receive a higher rate of salary, and I would soon give them this week¡¯s wage.

    "Back to your formations," I raised my voice. Heads turned, and the order was echoed. A minute later, they were back in the positions I had found them in when I arrived.

    I mounted my horse and rode in front of them. The saddle doubled as an elevated stage, and I had in my vision every single soldier. I let them settle until there was only the sound of the waves.

    "I have in front of me two different units," I started. "The first one is from Bulacan¡ªthe escolta assigned to me as a newly appointed general. These soldiers have been trained in the Academia Militar

    , knowing all the drills and theories."

    "But probably couldn¡¯t hit an elephant right in front of them even for their lives," I continued, and saw Pedro smirking.

    "The second one is Colonel Abad¡¯s recruits. They underwent a week-long marksmanship training under me. They learned basic rifle handling, and as you can see, have better marksmanship."

    "But..." I glanced at Pedro, then at the soldiers behind him, "they know nothing past that. You can call them marksmen... but not yet soldiers."

    "Theory and technique¡ªwe will need both of these if we are to go up against the terrible might of the American army... and much more." I leaned sideways from my horse toward the soldiers, raising a fist. "You need your mind and body tempered. You need to learn how to survive and adapt in an actual battlefield. You need to be literate in tactics and principles, because it is only with knowledge that we can overcome might."

    I let my words sink in. I wanted them to. If I could only show them what I saw at the bay¡ªthe monstrous ships, the artillery batteries, the Gatling guns¡ªI would. What we were about to attempt, trying to resist the Americans until they grew weary of us, was a task that bordered on the impossible. The bare minimum would have to be our best.

    "Next week, all of you shall start proper training. Ready your hearts and minds. Say goodbye to your comfortable lives, because what awaits you is suffering," I continued after the pause. "If you don¡¯t think you have what it takes, you are still allowed to walk away now. But everyone who shows up in the plaza early at dawn this coming Monday should understand that they forfeit any right to back down."

    "Am I understood?"

    An almost deafening shout came as an answer. "Opo, Heneral!"

    I took another good look at the column of soldiers. I could barely imagine them as a battle-worthy force. It was like looking at an empty canvas and hoping that, when I had taken my last stroke, I would have painted a Mona Lisa.

    But as with all great work, it will look most intimidating in the beginning. Step by step, I shall see them become a fearsome brigade¡ªa worthy foe for the Yanks.

    A little while later, the soldiers had been dismissed, but Colonel Abad and Pedro stayed behind to talk.

    Pedro fired a fusillade of expected questions. Just like Colonel Abad, he needed to see my shoulder patches and my letter of appointment. By the end of it, he seemed to beam with excitement and pride.

    "I never thought this would happen. You, of all people... would dare to become a general," Pedro remarked. "It¡¯s almost as if someone else had taken over your body."

    I felt sweat start to form on my forehead, and I nervously swallowed as I turned to Colonel Abad. "Uhmmm... yes... about the recruitment... how many soldiers can you bring me in the plaza on Monday?"

    "I can¡¯t say for certain. We¡¯ve only just started recruiting in the barrios around Boac and Mogpog. But it won¡¯t be less than a hundred," Colonel Abad answered. "We could recruit more if we enlisted the help of the local big families. I would suggest that you hold a meeting soon in the Casa Real."

    The principalia of Marinduque could significantly boost our recruitment drive using their influence¡ªespecially the families in other towns, where I had little to no reach. But it would be no easy task convincing them.

    "A hundred will be enough," I said. "If I am to hold a meeting again... I will require an army."

    I didn¡¯t intend to scare them... but they immediately understood what I meant. The two of them suddenly tensed up at what I had just said.

    "Would that be necessary?" said Colonel Abad.

    "I¡¯m afraid it is," I answered. "And I hope I¡¯m not making a mistake by revealing it to you."

    I said that, although I already knew them to be people I could trust. Pedro Madrigal was family¡ªand the Madrigal clan in Marinduque were known to be strong supporters of the revolution. Maximo Abad was originally from Cavite, and as far as I knew, had no local allegiances. I had never doubted his commitment to the cause from the very beginning.

    Colonel Abad¡¯s face turned serious. "Only promise us, Heneral, that you will completely see this through."

 Chapter 45: Out of Character

    Chapter 45: Out of Character

    It was Fransisco Lim¡¯s first time entering the Casa Real. The former Martin had a close relationship with him but never really required him to leave his stall. But as soon as I learned he was at the tiangge on Friday, I took the liberty of inviting him to the more secure setting offered by the governor¡¯s residence.

    "What do you think about the Americans?" I blurted out the question, and only after saying it did I realize how abrupt it was. We had just finished our small talk.

    But if Lim was surprised, he didn¡¯t show it. He calmly completed his sip of coffee and slowly placed the porcelain cup back on the table. "The Americans? What do you mean exactly?"

    "They¡¯re good for business, aren¡¯t they? I mean¡ªwith all the new products they¡¯re introducing to the market," I said, trying to keep my tone as neutral as I could, "And the American dollar... it¡¯s a robust currency."

    Fransisco was a smart man. Though he nodded, he began to study my face. "Yes... you could say that."

    "And are you still of the opinion that we should avoid confrontation with the Americans at all costs?" I felt the air thicken around us as our friendly fac?ade dropped with my continued questioning.

    "It¡¯s too late for that. Aguinaldo has proven unwilling to compromise, and America has realized they can only get what they want through force. Any day now... war will sweep over Luzon." Fransisco looked me squarely in the eyes.

    "Do you think he made a mistake?" I continued to prod, knowing full well I was being impolite. "War is very disruptive to trade. Our merchants will likely lose clients and the lucrative deals they offer."

    "If he were a businessman... then purely in the lens of trade, yes¡ªperhaps even a terrible blunder," Fransisco said, stressing each word. "But as I understand it, he¡¯s trying to be a leader of his people. And in that regard, his refusal to bend to his country¡¯s intruders is commendable... even if it likely leads to a conflict he may lose."

    I nodded, then stroked my beard as I pondered my next question. "You don¡¯t consider yourself a Filipino? I noticed you speak of the country and the Filipino people in the third person."

    "Because the Spaniards made sure we¡¯d feel like aliens in this country. We do an honest living¡ªmore hardworking than even you indios¡ªand yet we¡¯re treated like third-class citizens." Fransisco let out a bitter chuckle.

    That wasn¡¯t the sentiment I was hoping to draw from him, but it was true. The Spaniards never trusted the Chinese, nor truly considered them subjects of the Crown. They were taxed separately¡ªand more heavily. And in Manila, they were confined to ghettos, segregated from the rest.

    "Are you perhaps suspecting me to be a friend of the Americans?" he asked, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief. He still hadn¡¯t taken another sip of his coffee.

    "No... but I just want to know... the specific reason why no one should suspect that."

    Fransisco clenched his jaw slightly. "Because as we speak, my homeland is being carved up like a cake by foreign powers. The north belongs to the Russians, the northeast to the Germans, the south taken by the French, the central plains by the Brits, and Taiwan by the Japanese. All our main ports harbor foreign warships."

    His gaze only intensified, and at last I looked away.

    "Name a more violated country than China, Don Martin," Fransisco said. "I am no friend to invaders. And if I could wish it¡ªI would want Aguinaldo to win this war. I would want these islands to belong to the Filipinos. Let the natives be the victors in these foreign incursions for once. But alas... I am just a merchant."

    I glanced back at him and found him still staring sternly. I fought the urge to immediately blurt out an apology in respect to his passionate response.

    Finally, he turned his gaze away and picked up his cup of coffee.

    "I do apologize... it¡¯s just... times are uncertain, and I need someone I can truly trust," I said, and I genuinely meant it. Fransisco had always been a straightforward man, and even as a merchant, he was honest and reasonable¡ªalbeit uptight.

    "What¡¯s the matter with you? Here I am, glad that you finally have me over as a guest, and then you question me like a criminal. It¡¯s rude and out of character for you." Fransisco sighed and shook his head, visibly easing. "I heard you went with Vicente to Manila and stayed there for more than a week. What exactly happened?"

    "Well..." I shifted in my seat and turned to the satchel beside me. As I had done for the Colonel and Pedro, I took out my letter of appointment and the shoulder straps to show him. "I am... one thing led to another... and I¡¯ve been appointed as a general, in command of the islands of Marinduque, Mindoro, and Romblon."

    Fransisco seemed unsure whether to look at me or at the items in his hands, which he held as if they were something he shouldn¡¯t be touching or seeing. "This is sensitive information, Don Martin. Are you sure I should be hearing this?"

    "I¡¯ve decided¡ªI will trust you. And I need you to do something discreet for me."

    I reached into my satchel again, this time for a folded paper and an envelope.

    Fransisco promptly unfolded the sheet and made a quick scan of its contents. "And why do you assume I would accept this?"

    "I heard you loud and clear, Sen?or Lim. Should my authority be established in this region, you will enjoy very favorable trade rights. And if the republic triumphs... I will champion better treatment for the ethnic Chinese in the country."

    Fransisco smiled. "Very noble of you, Don Martin. But I¡¯m a trader¡ªI don¡¯t deal in promises."

    "I thought as much," I nodded. "Inside the envelope are twenty crisp one-hundred-peso Spanish banknotes. I don¡¯t need the items fancy¡ªjust sturdy and functional."

    "You can charge whatever fee you think is fair."

 Chapter 46: A Different Path

    Chapter 46: A Different Path

    It had been a long time since I stayed up late writing. And the last time wasn¡¯t with a quill and ink. All I could hear were the crickets outside, and the partially opened window showed only a glimpse of darkness.

    I raised the parchment up against the candlelight. My cursive had been cursed back when I was John. But as Martin, my handwriting was immaculate¡ªhoned by years of writing ledgers and letters as a businessman.

    That night, I wasn¡¯t writing anything about the hacienda. The task had seemed impossible at first. But once I started, ideas and memories I thought were long forgotten returned, begging to be written down.

    I let the ink dry for a few moments, then placed the sheet of paper on the small pile. I had just finished writing the final draft of the training regimen that would be undertaken by all recruits under my command. Tomorrow, it would be implemented.

    I leaned on the table and mopped my face with my hands, massaging my weary old eyes with my fingers.

    The 20th-century military doctrine I was taught in ROTC and in the field was far more sophisticated than the military knowledge current armies in this timeline operated on. But things were never that simple... sophisticated didn¡¯t always mean better.

    What if there were things I had learned that weren¡¯t applicable or compatible with the 19th-century context? I wasn¡¯t even particularly good at military history. I had little idea how wars were fought back then.

    And even if the doctrine was superior¡ªwhat if I wasn¡¯t qualified enough to take advantage of it? Sure, I had been a good ROTC cadet, diligently taking notes during lessons and eagerly applying them. When the Korean War erupted, I was commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant, and in the field, I observed with interest how our commanding officers led and strategized. Eventually, I became a commanding officer myself¡ªplanning and leading attacks on my own. At the end of the Vietnam War, I was a Major.

    But I was still only one man. How could I possibly remember every important detail?

    Ever since I received the appointment, the doubt that I had bitten off more than I could chew had unceasingly gnawed at me. And that night... its voice was the loudest. Not that any of it mattered. It was too late to back down now.

    I scooted away from the table and pulled open the drawer underneath my desk. I took out Paz¡¯s handkerchief.

    The sampaguita scent was almost gone, and yet the memories were still vivid in my mind. The sound of strings, the buzz of the crowd, the way her dangling earrings swayed... her scent, her deep brown eyes that seemed to contain a world inside them.

    That dance¡ªthe night before the day of the republic¡¯s promulgation¡ªjust as I had thought then, was a comforting memory.

    I heard a knock on the door of my bedroom. It could only be Isabela, Rodrigo, or Vicente.

    "Papa, gising ka pa ba?" she asked, asking if I was still awake.

    "Oo, hija... what¡¯s wrong?" I placed the handkerchief back in the drawer and shut it before standing up from the chair.

    "Can you open the door?" she asked, her voice a little raspy.

    I was a bit worried, but there was no urgency in her tone. She just sounded really sleepy. So, I settled on being simply confused.

    I opened the door, and there she was in her camiso?n, hair disheveled, hugging a pillow. Her eyes lazily glanced at me before she walked straight to the bed.

    "What¡¯s the matter?" I asked again.

    "I can¡¯t sleep in my room," she said as she made herself comfortable, placing her pillow on one side of the bed and tucking herself in with my blanket.

    I chuckled. The last time she slept in her father¡¯s room was two years ago, when she was fifteen. Then, perhaps thinking she was too old to share a bed with her parents, she had asked for her own room.

    "You really did miss me, didn¡¯t you?" I said.

    She only grunted as she rolled over to her side, her back turned to me.

    Seeing her on the bed summoned a yawn from me. I would be needed early tomorrow.

    I blew out the candle and made my way to the bed beside Isabela. In the darkness, I glanced at my daughter¡¯s silhouette¡ªshe was still and silent.

    But she wasn¡¯t yet asleep. "Papa?" she asked just as my eyes were closing.

    "Yes?" I croaked.

    "Earlier... Sen?or Lim brought crates of stuff. Hats, boots, and other leather things. He said... you bought them." She was merely stating it, but I heard the question in her tone.

    She was talking about the big purchase I arranged with Francisco last Friday. I had been worried it wouldn¡¯t arrive in time, but thankfully, he found that the cobblers in Mindoro had plenty of products in stock. Unlike Marinduque, the neighboring island had a sizeable flatland for herding and, as such, a modest leather production capability.

    "Yes... it¡¯s for tomorrow¡ªfor the recruits," I answered.

    What followed was silence. Long enough that I thought she had fallen asleep.

    But then she spoke again, this time her voice much lower and softer. "Can¡¯t believe you¡¯ve become a general."

    She didn¡¯t say it like Pedro did. Maybe because she was sleepy, there was no enthusiasm in her voice¡ªbut her words sounded almost like an accusation.

    Maybe because I was guilty. I had made a big decision, one that would directly affect her and the entire world she had grown up in, without even asking for her opinion.

    I was reminded that there could have been a completely different path I could have taken. I could have stayed away from all of this. I could have stuck with my initial plan¡ªlet others fight this doomed war while I watched from the sidelines, away from the bullets and the shells, waiting for the storm to pass.

    "Are you worried?" I asked, turning and hugging her, kissing the back of her head.

    "A little bit," she said as she snuggled closer to me. "But you¡¯re smart, Papa. I know you¡¯ll figure it out."

 Chapter 47: Training Regimen

    Chapter 47: Training Regimen

    I woke up with a dull ache in my arm. The culprit was Isabela, who at some point in the night had turned over and placed her head on my arm, her hand and foot draped over my body as if I were a long pillow.

    She was still deeply asleep¡ªand no wonder. I had forgotten to close the window, and it already showed the distinguishable dimness of dawn. Despite having slept late last night, my body still remembered to wake up at the same time the roosters started crowing.

    I gently removed her hand and foot. As I always did every morning, I walked to the window for a whiff of the fresh morning air, and to rest my newly woken eyes on the beauty of the paradise I had found myself in.

    But I was forgetting something. It slowly came back to me when I heard a faint murmur as I neared the window. This was not the time to hear such a sound¡ªif there were noises, it would normally be the creaking of wheels or the faint voices of those who had woken early to fetch water.

    The sight in front of the Casa Real woke me like a rude splash of cold water. A large formation of young men in their white camesitas stood at attention in the plaza, facing the building. As Maximo had promised, I counted around a hundred recruits, with a few latecomers still trickling in.

    Naturally, the townsfolk had begun to take notice of the bizarre sight. Curious onlookers were already gathering around the plaza. As I had instructed, soldiers from my escolta patrolled around the recruits, keeping civilians at bay and ensuring they held their formation.

    Any lingering sleepiness was flushed out of my system. I hurriedly got dressed, fetched my draft from the table, and walked out the door with a sudden rush of energy.

    I halted in my tracks as I reached the sala and saw who was in it. I expected Colonel Abad, Capitan Madrigal, and the two lieutenants¡ªbut there were five more guests having breakfast at the table.

    "Good morning, Heneral," Colonel Abad noticed me first, as he always did. At once, all heads turned in my direction.

    "It¡¯ll be a busy day today... gentlemen." I took the seat at the head of the table, directly opposite Colonel Abad, who sat at the other end. On my left and right were Dimalanta and Trivin?o.

    The rest of the guests weren¡¯t strangers upon closer inspection. They were familiar faces¡ªif not acquaintances. The six young men brought by Colonel Abad were sons of prominent families in Boac and Mogpog. A couple of them had already served as junior officers in the revolutionary militia last year.

    "Heneral... I hope you don¡¯t mind, but I went ahead and selected officer cadets," Colonel Abad said next, just as I¡¯d predicted.

    "No, not at all. You¡¯ve chosen well, Colonel," I replied, offering the nervous-looking young men a tight-lipped smile.

    Two of them were Madrigals, relatives of Pedro, who had already joined the militia the year before. The others were a Nieva, a Nepomucena, and a Roque¡ªall members of the principalia.

    The officer corps of the Filipino army followed an aristocratic hierarchy. An outsider might call the practice backward, but for the time, it was practical. Most commoners were barely literate, and an officer needed to be able to read maps and write reports.

    Not to mention, like many other cultures before the 19th century, Filipino commoners often looked up to their rich countrymen as their betters. A principalia officer would likely command more authority than someone of the same status as the men he led.

    "I want you to take a look at this, Coronel." I placed the pile of papers on the table, which Dimalanta promptly picked up and passed toward Maximo.

    Colonel Abad received it and looked at the top sheet. "And this is?"

    "The training regimen I¡¯ve crafted for our recruits. The war will likely begin before we¡¯re ready, but it¡¯s necessary to train our soldiers for at least two months if we don¡¯t want a slaughter."

    The Colonel nodded and took another look. His brows furrowed, then a smirk appeared. He flipped to the next page, and the next, his excitement building. Only halfway through the draft did he pause, look at me, and huff.

    "Where... how is... how is this so detailed? Did the two lieutenants here from Manila help you out?" he finally asked.

    I chuckled, my pride slightly offended. "No. They don¡¯t know a thing. Even Heneral Luna and his Academia Militar

    couldn¡¯t come up with something this sophisticated."

    The sheets were passed to the others at the table, each of them curiously studying a page or two. My wrists still ached from writing the twenty-five-page document¡ªand that was only the bare bones of what I wanted. If I were to write a full codex, I¡¯d need at least fifty pages and a lot more time to think things through.

    "You know what... I agree. As far as I know, Luna was educated in Spain. But this... this isn¡¯t Spanish-made," Colonel Abad said, glancing at the remaining pages in his hands.

    "How then? Is it all you? But..." He chuckled, shaking his head and stuttering, "You continue to surprise me, Don Martin. Now that I think about it... that marksmanship training the other week... you couldn¡¯t have pulled that off if you weren¡¯t deeply knowledgeable."

    I couldn¡¯t fully enjoy the flattery, which was laced with suspicion. But I had expected this much. Maximo was smart and observant. I didn¡¯t know how long I could keep brushing off the questions.

    "It¡¯s a long story¡ªand difficult to explain at that. So I¡¯d rather you just trust me, Colonel," I said.

    "Of course! I trust you, Heneral. There¡¯s no need for an explanation. I was just in disbelief," Maximo said promptly.

    I nodded and smiled. I might eventually need a backstory to justify what I knew. But that was a problem for another time.

    "It¡¯s a long document, but I¡¯ll summarize the contents. The first two weeks will focus on foundations: basic military customs, physical training, and basic rifle-handling. The men from my escolta will assist with this."

    "The third and fourth weeks will cover marksmanship and maneuvers: target drills, map orientation, and mock patrols. Then the fifth and sixth weeks will focus on squad tactics¡ªthis is where we teach the recruits to fight as a team, with ambush drills and mock platoon battles."

    "Then come the final two weeks. The goal of this last phase is for recruits to apply everything they¡¯ve learned so far and prepare for real combat scenarios. So, we conduct large-scale maneuvers, war games, and night drills." I finally finished. As expected, many of the terms I used seemed unfamiliar to them. "Any questions?"

    To my surprise, one of the officer cadets immediately raised his hand. It was Lorenzo Madrigal.

    "Will we train alongside the recruits?"

    I smiled. I wondered how their fathers would react if they found out I had their precious little hijos crawling through the mud with the sons of farmers and fishermen.

    "No. You¡¯ll train separately¡ªand I¡¯ll personally mentor each one of you."

 Chapter 48: Pompous

    Chapter 48: Pompous

    The recruits had already been standing for about two hours by the time we started setting up.

    Several desks were placed facing the recruits. I asked the help of two clerks already working in the Casa Real to man the enlistment tables. I also tapped the town doctor to assist with basic medical screening. The rest of the crew consisted of the NCOs from my escolta.

    The boxes and crates containing the uniforms and gear were brought out and laid behind the desks. The recruits stirred with excitement at the sight, those in the back rows craning their necks for a better glimpse. The soldiers keeping guard barked rebukes to maintain their formation.

    But before anything could begin, there had to be a speech. They needed to understand the significance of their decision to come here¡ªand the consequences that came with it.

    Once again, I mounted my horse. I¡¯d be lying if I said I didn¡¯t think of myself as Napoleon, even if only in passing.

    I wore my khaki general¡¯s uniform¡ªthe same one from the dance and the parade¡ªcomplete with gold-plated regalia and red-and-gold shoulder straps. I was reminded that I needed a saber to complete the look. It was an outfit the town, and certainly these recruits, had never seen before. I could see it in their eyes¡ªthey were impressed.

    Pompous, maybe... but leadership needed to inspire. The higher they thought of me, the better.

    I had my horse prance before the formation, making eye contact with as many recruits as I could. My escorts called for silence.

    "You have crossed a line!" I shouted, and I liked how my voice echoed across the quiet plaza.

    "And you crossed it with your own two feet. You ignored the warning that suffering awaits you, and now, there is no turning back."

    "From now on, you will wake up before the sun rises. You will eat only when told. You will march in the scorching heat or the shivering cold when told. You will crawl like worms in the mud when told. You will fire when told. You will die when told."

    I paused, a bit taken aback by the severity of my own words. But I realized I had only spoken the truth. Someday, I might really order them to their deaths. I had taken such orders myself¡ªand we were supposed to be the superior force in both wars I¡¯d fought in.

    But there was no need to worry. My audience was full of young men eager to prove themselves. The more extreme the message, the more fired up they became. It was clear from the way they beamed at what was meant to be a somber line.

    "The peace will not hold with the Americans. They did not come as liberators but as would-be overlords." I dropped my voice. "If you wish to be the sword and shield of our Republic, you must endure the heat of the furnace and the beating of the hammer."

    "Will you endure?" I suddenly shouted.

    "Opo, Heneral!" came the resounding reply¡ªso loud it nearly knocked me off my horse.

    ---

    After the speech, the enlistment process began.

    Recruits were called in batches of ten. Their first stop was at the enlistment desks, where the clerks asked for their names and either their signatures or thumbmarks. They were also asked basic questions about their skills and literacy to identify potential NCOs¡ªor even officer candidates.

    They then proceeded to the town doctor, who performed brief visual checks for obvious signs of illness. In a more conventional army, we would¡¯ve done full physicals, but we lacked a proper medical crew¡ªand more importantly, we couldn¡¯t afford to be too selective. We needed every man we could get.

    After the screening, they moved to Vicente¡¯s oath-taking corner. The crude Philippine flag hanging from the Casa Real¡¯s balcony had been taken down and fastened to a long pole for the occasion. Rodrigo the cochero was assigned to hold the wrinkled Bible.

    They recited a simple yet powerful oath, crafted by Vicente himself:

    "I swear before this sacred Bible and my fellow soldiers,

    that I shall defend the Republic of the Philippines,

    with my life, my honor, and my strength.

    I shall obey the orders of my commanders,

    and fight without fear,

    for liberty, justice, and the dignity of our people.

    I pledge my loyalty to the cause of freedom,

    and I shall never falter in my duty,

    no matter the cost.

    So help me God."

    The boy did have a gift for words¡ªhe ought to, given how much he read. Sadly, the beauty and gravity of the oath were lost on most of them. Their eyes were glued to what awaited them at the next station.

    The gear had exhausted the sizeable purse I had given Francisco Lim¡ªeven after he¡¯d offered an uncharacteristically low fee. I had made sure each recruit received a complete soldier¡¯s kit. The only items I didn¡¯t pay for were the tunic and trousers. The rest¡ªthe Baliwag hat, cloth belt, bamboo canteen, blanket roll, and leather boots¡ªcame from my own coffers.

    It was almost worth the expense, seeing how the recruits received their kits like excited children. Most of them had never even worn shoes in their lives. But the purpose went beyond putting smiles on their faces. I wanted them to understand how serious this organization they were joining truly was.

    The final station was for platoon sorting. I had stripped my escolta of all its NCOs¡ªthe two sergeants and two corporals¡ªto serve as temporary platoon leaders. Accordingly, the recruits were divided into four platoons.

    The enlistment process went far more smoothly than I had anticipated. Much of the credit went to the Bulacen?o soldiers, who treated their roles with seriousness and kept everything running in an orderly manner.

    By early afternoon, I had a hundred recruits in the plaza, fully clothed in uniform. The only thing missing were the rifles¡ªwhich they would have to earn.

    Standing on the balcony, looking down at the neat formation of fresh recruits, I reminded myself not to count eggs before they hatched.

    The real test¡ªthe training¡ªwas still to come.

 Chapter 49: March

    Chapter 49: March

    Their newly issued jackets and trousers, as well as the straw hats, had immediately found their use. After the lunch break, the recruits were ordered back to line up in the plaza under the sweltering heat of the midday sun. Now, the formation was no longer one large block of men. They had formed into four columns, each consisting of 25 to 26 men, with the NCOs of my escolta standing at the head of each as platoon leaders.

    Meanwhile, in the relative comfort of the shadow cast by the Casa Real, I had the officer cadets, as well as Vicente and Dimalanta, form their own much smaller column. I also had them take the oath and issued them uniforms¡ªwith only a white sash to differentiate them from the other recruits.

    "I thought you said we¡¯d be trained separately?" Lorenzo Madrigal finally spoke up, after they had been standing for about thirty minutes.

    "Firstly, from now on, you will ask for permission before speaking," I said, gesturing for my horse to be brought to me. "Secondly, yes, you are going to be trained separately¡ªbut you are still going to train."

    "Permission to speak, Heneral!" Dimalanta, ever the exemplary officer, quickly set an example of how things were to be done. I had appointed him as platoon leader for the officer cadets.

    "What is it, Teniente?" I grunted, stepping into the saddle.

    "What exactly are we going to do next?" he asked.

    Vicente beside him seemed to share the same question. Only Pedro and Maximo, as senior officers, knew what I had in store for the recruits. The inclusion of the cadets in the activity was, in fact, a last-minute decision on my part.

    "You¡¯re about to find out." I took the reins and nudged the horse forward.

    Soon enough, I was riding in front of the recruits again. The young men looked at me with bright eyes, and I wondered how much it would take to douse the flames in them. I was about to give them their first trial.

    "You look good in your uniforms. Those came out of my own purse, and they cost me a fortune," I told them, earning a few chuckles. "Now... you will show me if you truly deserve to wear the uniform of a soldier. You will undergo a rite of passage¡ªto mark the beginning of your journey toward soldierhood."

    The audience fell quiet, anticipation thick in the air.

    "You will march to Mogpog and return before sundown."

    As soon as I said it, the soldiers glanced at one another, a low murmur rising from their ranks. It was an expected and understandable reaction. The distance to Mogpog via the coastal path was four kilometers¡ªeight in total. In the sweltering heat and wearing new boots, the march would surely lead to exhaustion and blisters.

    "Look." I pointed at the officer cadets, who suddenly tensed. "These are your future officers¡ªbrought up with silver spoons in their mouths¡ªyet they are willing to lead the march. Most of you are farmers, fishermen, and laborers. You should fare better... or will you?"

    I cast a grin toward the bewildered cadets. They would need more than just birthright to earn their stripes. I was playing with fire, of course. One of them could easily whine to his father, and I¡¯d have someone banging on the doors of the Casa Real.

    "I will lead the march in front¡ªon horseback, of course. The officer cadets, led by Teniente Dimalanta, will follow closely behind. Then the 1st Platoon under Sargento Guzman. Sargento Tolentino and the 2nd Platoon will follow. Then Cabo Garcia and the 3rd Platoon. Finally, at the rear, the 4th Platoon under Cabo Ramos."

    "The spacing between soldiers¡ªfrom side to side and front to back¡ªwill be one pace. The distance between platoons will be ten paces."

    I saw their hesitation, but they had no choice but to fall in line as I exited the plaza. My personal retinue, consisting of five armed guards¡ªone of whom carried the Philippine flag¡ªfollowed closely behind, right before the officer cadets.

    The streets of Boac soon kicked up dust, the steady rhythm of marching boots echoing off the walls. All heads turned to look at the long column of uniformed recruits. I knew how impressive the sight was. Before we even left town, a few "Mabuhay!" cheers rang out from the excited onlookers.

    This, too, was by design. Soldiers needed to become a common sight in Boac. I was setting the tone¡ªpreparing the town for what was to come.

    Thirty minutes in, we were well beyond civilization. The sea stretched to our left, a scenic view lost on the recruits who were beginning to show signs of fatigue. The sky mirrored the sea¡¯s blue, but no relief would come from the heat until the sun began to dip.

    Dry. The word captured the march in more ways than one. There was no moisture in the air. No breeze to even stir the drooping flag. No music but the shuffle of boots. The excitement had all but vanished¡ªthis was a far cry from the earlier energy during my speech.

    And it was in moments like these that resolve was truly tested.

    Soon, I found myself turning around and riding along the slowly unraveling column.

    "Cabo Ramos! Your platoon is dragging!"

    "Cabo Garcia! Your formation is too loose!"

    "Sargento Tolentino... you¡¯ve left one of your recruits behind!"

    "Sargento Guzman, slow down¡ªyou¡¯re outpacing the officer cadets!"

    If the recruits were struggling, the cadets had it worse. Dimalanta and Vicente were doing their best to push them along. Some cadets whined openly, even calling out my name in desperation.

    I would¡¯ve laughed if it weren¡¯t so pathetic.

    "Nestor Nieva!" I smacked the lad on the back with my hat. He had stopped completely, seemingly deciding he¡¯d had enough. He ignored Dimalanta¡¯s orders, causing the entire column to halt.

    "If you don¡¯t move, I will have you tied to a horse and dragged all the way to Mogpog!"

    The young man, no older than eighteen, was spooked enough to force his legs forward and rejoin the march. But it was clear¡ªmost of them wouldn¡¯t make it to the outskirts of the next town without dropping.

    I knew this. Expecting raw recruits¡ªwith no conditioning and barely any hydration¡ªto march four kilometers nonstop was pushing it. Any longer, and we¡¯d have injuries and broken morale.

    I let them push a little farther until the nipa huts came into view. Several uniformed men stood waiting by the road¡ªone of them was Capitan Pedro Madrigal.

    Barrio Buliasnin, sitting midway between the towns, was where my brother-in-law lived.

    It was also the true destination of the march.

 Chapter 50: Acclimating

    Chapter 50: Acclimating

    Pedro Madrigal was a wealthy coconut baron and landowner, and the cabeza de barangay of barrio Buliasnin. This was why my father quickly gave my sister¡¯s hand in marriage when he asked for it.

    Naturally, as my brother-in-law, he also became one of my greatest supporters and was among the happiest when I received my post as governor¡ªand more recently, as general.

    The idea for the march was only a day old. It had been discussed between me, Pedro, and the Colonel in a quiet corner of the cathedral¡¯s walled premises after Mass. When I suggested using his house as the midway stop for the march, he eagerly accepted.

    The soldiers, pleasantly surprised and a little bit confused, streamed into his beachfront property. They were made to rest, still grouped in their respective platoons, under the shade of the Talisay trees near the shore. The waves lapping at the sands made for a soothing, rhythmic sound.

    "Remember to only take sips from your bumbongs. We¡¯re only halfway," I reminded them, still on my horse. "We rest for fifteen minutes¡ªno more! After that, we march back to Boac!"

    The realization set in quickly. I immediately saw some recruits smile and scratch their heads in relief. They would not be marching to Mogpog for four kilometers and back for another four. It would only be a 4-kilometer march in total.

    The point of the march was not to break them. They were expected to endure and suffer¡ªbut not yet on day one, without the mental and physical conditioning to help them through.

    The real purpose was to test attitude: the willingness to follow orders and finish something hard. Obedience, after all, is the first step toward discipline. Not to mention, the march also taught footwork, formation, and chain-of-command dynamics.

    Isabela was already there, helping her cousins as they distributed rice cakes to the resting recruits. She seemed pleased to have something to do to help out. I gave her a wink, which she received with mock disgust.

    "Vicente, Dimalanta... and the cadets, you come with me."

    I dismounted in front of Pedro¡¯s house. On his sizeable porch, a table had been set up for the officers and cadets. It was a better spot to rest, but I had arranged for our snacks to be the same as the recruits¡¯¡ªjust rice cakes and cool water¡ªespecially since we were in plain sight.

    "I hope my cousins didn¡¯t bring shame to the family name on day one, Heneral," Pedro said.

    "They did not," I said with a chuckle. The Madrigals, for their part, kept themselves from whining or showing any signs of tiredness¡ªwhich, ironically, was not the best idea. They looked the most worn down among the cadets.

    Roque, Nepomucena, and Nieva, on the other hand, were already catching their breaths. Nestor Nieva stared blankly at the sea, smiling¡ªlikely remembering his earlier embarrassing mishap.

    The ten-minute break passed as if it had been only seconds. I stood up and shouted for them to form up again. The soldiers groggily left their feet, their faces scrunched up. Unbeknownst to them, they had already withstood the worst.

    The first two to three kilometers of a march are always the hardest. As a soldier myself, I should know.

    This is the time when your body is still adjusting to the sudden expenditure of energy. But after a while, a shift happens inside the body¡ªand if the soldier persists, the rest of the march becomes much easier.

    This fact was on full display during our march back to Boac. The formations were much tighter. The pacing was more even. The officer cadets managed to keep their mouths shut and, for the most part, were able to keep up. I was able to enjoy the ride, not needing to check as often.

    We returned to the plaza, to the same spots we had left earlier, by about four o¡¯clock in the afternoon. Colonel Abad was already there waiting for us, greeting us with a smile, seemingly having finished what I had asked of him.

    "Four kilometers... and it¡¯s as if you¡¯d gone to hell already," I chuckled, scanning the disheveled, dusted-up crowd. "But now at least you have an idea why the training ahead is important."

    "In war, you will have to march more than just four kilometers¡ªand while carrying a full bag, a gun, and accompanying ammunition. And it won¡¯t always be on a nice, well-maintained road like the one you just marched on. You might march through mire, mud, and rough forest trails. And it won¡¯t always be under the heat of the sun¡ªprepare to march through rain and chill, even in the darkness of night."

    "You won¡¯t always be marching at a walking pace either. There will be times you¡¯ll have to march double the speed, to urgently reinforce a position or perform an orderly retreat from a chasing enemy."

    I cleared my throat. I had been shouting since morning, and it was already my second speech of the day. Any more and I might actually lose my voice.

    "My point is... you still have a long way to go. Some of you might be accustomed to hard work, being sons of farmers and fishermen. But strength does not equate to endurance. And strength and endurance do not equate to discipline or skill."

    "Tomorrow is the actual start of your formal training. After this..." I glanced at the Colonel, who gave me an assuring nod, "...you will spend the rest of Dia Uno getting to know each other and acclimating yourselves to your barracks¡ªwhich will be in the building of the Escuela Municipal de Nin?os de Boac."

    As far as I knew, classes were still yet to resume, and the school building remained empty and unused. I had tasked Colonel Abad to repurpose it¡ªwhich, I imagined, only involved clearing out the desks, benches, and cabinets. The recruits would likely sleep on the floor with nipa mats and simple pillows¡ªnot a tall order for most of them.

    "Your platoon leaders will lead you out!" I said. "Dismiss!"

 Chapter 51: Cadets

    Chapter 51: Cadets

    It was improper¡ªnot a good way to start things.

    I shook my head as I watched the five officer cadets leave the Casa Real through the window of the sala. I had been forced to let them go home at the end of the day.

    I had assumed that these young men, having shown up in the morning, were already committed to training. But Colonel Abad informed me¡ªjust after I dismissed the recruits from the plaza¡ªthat this was not the case.

    He had merely introduced them as "candidates"; nothing was final yet. None of them had even asked their parents for permission or packed properly for a prolonged stay.

    Truthfully, I had not been prepared to receive them either. Their training regimen, although derived from that of the recruits, was still unwritten. I didn¡¯t even have accommodations ready for them.

    Still, it left a bitter aftertaste. Especially after I had made them take the oath, issued their uniforms, and called them cadets.

    And after making them stand for hours in formation and march under the heat of the sun¡ªgiving them a taste of the hardships to come¡ªI wondered how many would return.

    Despite the uncertainty, I ordered Vicente and Dimalanta to vacate the guest room they had been staying in and prepare it for the cadets. There were vacant servant rooms on the first floor of the Casa Real that could be repurposed.

    That night, I sat at my bedside table and wrote another manual¡ªa draft for the officer cadets¡¯ training schedule. Their program would overlap heavily with that of the recruits but would be tougher and more specialized. The goal was to make them physically and intellectually superior to the soldiers they would one day lead.

    It was quite a revolutionary idea for the time. Traditionally, aristocratic officers weren¡¯t expected to train harder than the rank-and-file¡ªonly to be noble and brave.

    But if I could manage it, it could make all the difference. An army, after all, is only as good as its leaders.

    I woke up a little late the next day. It wasn¡¯t the crow of the rooster that roused me, but the hurrahs of the soldiers practicing formations in the plaza.

    The NCOs of my escolta¡ªnow acting as platoon leaders¡ªhad been thoroughly drilled on formations and drills in Malolos. They could manage the first training sessions with minimal input from me.

    When I walked toward the sala, a familiar scene awaited me. The Colonel, the captain, the two lieutenants, and the young men sat at the table having breakfast.

    It took a closer look to spot the difference: only four of the five cadets from yesterday were present.

    "Where is Nieva?" were the first words out of my mouth as I made my way to the table.

    All heads turned. Colonel Abad answered with a cluck of his tongue.

    "About that... I don¡¯t think Nestor will be returning. I was told by their neighbors that they heard Sen?or Nieva shouting at his grandson last night. I think it¡¯s safe to assume he didn¡¯t approve."

    I nodded as I took my seat. I had expected worse. I would not have been surprised if none of them had come back.

    With Nieva out, only four officer cadets remained¡ªa perfect fit for the four platoons they would eventually lead in the final weeks of training.

    "I hope that those who returned already understand: you won¡¯t be returning home at the end of each day, like schoolboys," I said. "No matter how near your residence is."

    "I made sure they know that, Heneral," Colonel Abad answered.

    "I want to hear it from them, Coronel," I said, giving Maximo a hard stare. As a schoolteacher, Maximo had always been patient and gentle¡ªespecially with the children of his friends. But he was now in the army, and that softness would have no place here.

    "You two Madrigals... Roque and Nepomucena..." I turned to the cadets. "Have you told your mothers you won¡¯t be seeing them for a while? And your fathers that they might see me putting you through hard work, but that you consented to it, as future officers of the Republic?"

    Asynchronously, each of them answered with a weak and nervous yes.

    I liked it.

    There was nothing to be enthusiastic about in what they were about to go through.

    ---

    Not long after breakfast, I immediately started the cadets¡¯ training¡ªwhich should have begun at dawn.

    The morning sun found us once again marching toward the barrio of Buliasnin, though with a much smaller procession. Pedro Madrigal rode with me at the head, followed by the armed escorts, then the cadet column.

    I was well aware of the many questions the cadets might have asked if not for the fact they were no longer allowed to speak freely.

    Why were they marching instead of sitting in a classroom, learning theory and tactics? Why did the recruits seem to have it easier, running around the plaza? And why were they carrying weighted bags on top of everything?

    To their credit, they fared better than yesterday. Perhaps because they knew we were only heading to Buliasnin instead of Mogpog, or perhaps because their bodies were beginning to adapt.

    When we arrived at Pedro¡¯s residence, I let them rest for a long thirty minutes. The next part of their physical training would be tougher than the march.

    When they had recovered enough to be talking and laughing among themselves, I decided it was time to start.

    "Alright... time to turn your soft baby flesh into muscle. As it stands, it¡¯s hard to tell you apart from the ladies," I said, walking between them as they stood in formation, squeezing their arms and jabbing at their abdomens.

    "We will not leave until each one of you has done 30 push-ups, 30 sit-ups, and 30 squats," I said, raising my voice slightly. "First... we warm up."

    "Permission to speak, sir!" Dimalanta said.

    "Yes, teniente?"

    "What¡¯s a... what¡¯s a ¡¯warma,¡¯ sir?" he asked.

    "How do you not know tha¡ª" The realization hit me mid-sentence. I had accidentally spoken English words. Thankfully, there was no one around who could recognize them. There were no direct equivalents for "push-up," "sit-up," and "squat" in Tagalog.

    But there was a bigger problem.

    It had escaped me, while sleepily drafting the routine, that calisthenics in general would be a completely alien concept in the 19th century. Exercise routines were a fairly modern invention.

    "Oh boy..." I muttered to myself as it dawned on me. I would have to demonstrate each exercise myself, with Martin¡¯s old, untrained body.

    Needless to say, it was a messy and agonizing affair I¡¯d rather not recount in detail. It took them a long time even to imitate the movements, and even longer to do them repeatedly.

    In the end, I had to settle for them doing only 10 repetitions of each exercise.

    We spent so much time on it that midday found us still at the beach. We ended up eating lunch at Pedro¡¯s residence.

    On the way home, all my joints ached and I felt slightly feverish. I swung my arms around and twisted my neck occasionally to relieve the discomfort.

    Unfortunately for me, I wasn¡¯t the only one suffering that day.

    Colonel Abad was standing by the doors of the Casa Real when we arrived, arms crossed and frowning.

    He waited for me to dismount before delivering the bad news.

    "Sen?or Contreras and the gobernadorcillo are waiting for you in the conference room," Maximo told me grimly. "And they don¡¯t look too happy."

 Chapter 52: All Is Well

    Chapter 52: All Is Well

    "Are you out of your mind, Don Martin?"

    As soon as I stepped into the conference room, Fidel Contreras¡¯s deafening shout rang out. For a moment, I was completely taken aback, floundering nervously as I tried to insert my arm into the coat I had hastily grabbed from upstairs. It had been decades since anyone had shouted at me so rudely.

    I glanced at Sen?or Paras, the town mayor. I would find no sympathy from him. Florentino simply looked away, staring out the window at the backyard. It seemed Colonel Abad¡¯s warning had been accurate¡ªthe two men, usually at odds, had come together in agreement against me.

    "What is your problem, Don Contreras? Have you forgotten your manners, that you would shout at me before we¡¯ve even started talking?" I had collected myself and decided to be offended. A quick scan of Martin¡¯s memories confirmed that Fidel had never been this impolite before.

    "What¡¯s this I hear from Sen?or Nieva? You had his grandson marching under the scorching sun like the rest of the rabble you¡¯ve recruited for your little army?" Contreras continued, voice raised. "Where did you get the guts to do such a thing?"

    I chuckled in disbelief, straightening the coat now on my shoulders. The adrenaline pumping through my body had made me forget my aching muscles and stiff neck.

    "How is another man¡¯s grandson your business, Don Fidel? You don¡¯t know the whole story, and honestly, I don¡¯t feel obliged to explain it to you. I¡¯ll speak with Sen?or Nieva myself," I answered, stepping closer to make it clear he didn¡¯t intimidate me.

    Don Contreras smirked and shook his head. "I¡¯m curious¡ªwhat exactly do you think you are, Martin?"

    "I am an appointed general of the Republic, Fidel. If you want proof, I can show you the letter signed by the Presidente himself in Malolos," I replied through gritted teeth.

    Fidel looked as if he were about to respond. He raised his arms, but no words came. He simply huffed in frustration.

    "About the school building... Heneral," Florentino broke the silence. He said the word with a hint of sarcasm. "Maestro Rey and his students were shocked to find this morning that they could no longer use the eskwelahan. Your soldiers shooed them away."

    I raised an eyebrow. That surprised me almost as much as seeing Florentino on the same side as Contreras.

    "I was told it was unused."

    Florentino turned fully from the window to face me. Gone was his usual friendly expression.

    "You were told wrong. More than a dozen children from Boac had already returned to school. Maybe¡ªif you had consulted us first¡ªwe could have told you that."

    Don Contreras¡¯s eyes lit up, seizing the moment to continue his rant.

    "Yes! You should have convened a meeting like the first time. You can¡¯t just turn our town into a military camp because you feel like it. Even if you are a general, you do not supersede civilian authority in times of peace."

    I smirked and licked my lips.

    "You seem to forget that I am also your governor. And last I checked..." I paused for emphasis, "a governor can make decisions without consulting the town mayor or the principalia."

    Don Contreras huffed and turned around, stroking his beard. I continued:

    "And we are not in times of peace, sen?ores. War with the Americans is on the horizon. As you¡¯ve seen, I¡¯m racing to prepare the province for the inevitable invasion."

    I had hoped that argument might win over the town mayor, but Florentino only shook his head, avoiding eye contact.

    Fidel Contreras burst into bitter laughter.

    "War? War, Don Martin? Have the bullets started flying? I don¡¯t hear any cannons. In fact, I don¡¯t see a single American soldier!"

    He stepped closer and pointed at my chest, his finger inches away. The warmth of his breath and the stench of tobacco made me instinctively pull back.

    "You¡¯ve thrown in your lot with that so-called government in Luzon, stirring up a hornet¡¯s nest. If the Americans wanted war, they wouldn¡¯t be waiting! Why would such a powerful country bide its time, watching Aguinaldo¡¯s lackeys swarm Manila like a plague of flies?

    "No... it¡¯s not the Americans we should be afraid of. You want a war so badly¡ªso you can act like a little king and play soldier! And here I thought you were more reasonable than this, Martin!"

    My ears were ringing, not just from the volume but from sheer anger. I didn¡¯t realize my hand had reached out and caught his arm, instinctively stopping him from storming out.

    Fidel glared at me and brushed my hand away.

    He slammed the door shut behind him.

    The silence that followed did nothing to calm my nerves. I was about to grab a chair and throw it against the floor when I realized the gobernadorcillo was still in the room.

    "I supported the revolution from the beginning¡ªyou know that," Florentino said, looking at the door before meeting my eyes. "But this... this is not the way, Martin. You¡¯ve been avoiding us since your return from Manila. How hard would it have been to convene a meeting, like when that lieutenant from General Diokno arrived?"

    I had been giving them short answers every time they tried to question me¡ªand with good reason, one that had just been justified.

    "A meeting¡ªwith people like Contreras? A man who can¡¯t decide whether to treat the Americans as enemies or welcome them with a red carpet and banderitas? Didn¡¯t you hear him spout treason just now? A more rigid officer would¡¯ve had him hanged."

    "You exaggerate," he said quietly, picking up his hat and slowly placing it on his graying head. "At the very least, you could have consulted me... gobernador."

    I tried to reply immediately but found no words. He was a true supporter of the revolution, one of the first members of the Katipunan, and a close friend. Still, I couldn¡¯t bring myself to fully trust him.

    Even the former Martin had known him as a principalia through and through¡ªa man who would bicker with other elites until the entire hierarchy was threatened.

    An outrageous suspicion to have of a friend¡ªbut no longer outrageous.

    He walked toward me and gently tapped my shoulder.

    "Continue on this path... and you¡¯ll walk it alone."

    I let out a silent sigh. Suddenly, the weight of it all descended on me like a falling roof.

    I listened to his footsteps stop. Then the door creaked open.

    "Sen?orita Isabela," he said softly.

    I spun around immediately. Isabela stood by the door, holding a platter with what would have been our snacks. The smile she had offered the gobernadorcillo faded as he walked out of earshot.

    I rushed to her and took the platter from her hands before shutting the door. A closer look revealed her teary eyes and trembling expression.

    "Why... were they shouting at you, Papa?" she asked, her voice quivering.

    And just like that, I was more frightened than I had been the entire afternoon. She was a brave young lady¡ªbut she wasn¡¯t afraid for herself. She had only ever heard praise for her father, never raised voices or angry shouts.

    I placed the platter on the table and embraced her, kissing the top of her head. She began to sob against my chest and held on tightly.

    "Are you alright?" she asked, voice muffled.

    "All is well, hija," I told her softly. "All is well."

 Chapter 53: Reconcile

    Chapter 53: Reconcile

    I was a little tired and had sore joints and muscles from the impromptu exercise routine I did for the cadets. But I swore I could weather it and continue the training in the afternoon.

    But the confrontation took me by surprise¡ªand it would seem, so did my health. Just minutes later, Isabela noticed the cold sweat and the reddening of my cheeks. She gauged the temperature of my neck and forehead with the back of her hand and diagnosed me with a slight fever.

    Much to my regret, it only made Isabela worry more.

    She insisted I stay in bed and rest. A while later, she came back with a bowl of cold water and a clean towel. Very patiently, she sat at the side of my bed and placed the soaked cloth on my forehead. Every five minutes or so, she would re-soak it to keep it cold and effective.

    I told her not to fuss, but she wouldn¡¯t listen. She tended to me until the weariness¡ªand the warmth of her attention¡ªsent me into a blissful sleep.

    It might¡¯ve been an overreaction, but thanks to her treatment, the fever was gone when I woke up that evening. For good measure, she even served chicken broth for dinner.

    "What?" I finally dropped the spoon when she wouldn¡¯t stop looking at me, as if I had some terminal disease.

    She pouted, puffing up her cheeks before replying, "Why would they scream at you like that? What happened?"

    I chuckled lightly. "They? It was only Don Contreras who screamed at me. And that¡¯s just because he¡¯s old and grumpy."

    She gave me an exaggerated tight-lipped smile, clearly unconvinced by my answer. "You¡¯re just as old as Don Fidel, and you never scream at anyone."

    "How dare you! He¡¯s ten years older than I am!" I leaned over the table to roughly scramble her hair. "He¡¯s basically dead."

    "Basically dead," she repeated, and how my heart lightened to see her finally laugh.

    I could have looked at her the whole evening, but I soon heard footsteps on the stairs.

    Vicente appeared, followed by Dimalanta. Since last night, they were no longer allowed to sleep in the lucrative guest room upstairs, and starting today, they would no longer share my table unless I specifically requested it. Meals would be provided by the cooks, and they¡¯d now dine below with the servants and the cadets.

    "Don Mar¡ªI mean... gobernador... Heneral..." Vicente blurted out as he reached the top of the stairs, then shook his head at himself.

    "What is it?" I asked, still smiling.

    "There is someone here for you..." Dimalanta answered.

    "Can it wait?" I wanted more time with Isabela at the table, and I wasn¡¯t too fond of visitors after what happened earlier.

    "Yes... I think he can wait," said Dimalanta.

    I proceeded to spend another twenty minutes at the table, making small talk with my daughter, finding more pleasure in it than any other conversation I¡¯d had¡ªwell, except for certain moments in Malolos with another woman who also had a piece of my heart.

    But eventually, I headed downstairs, bracing myself for another possible confrontation. I tortured myself trying to guess which member of the principalia had come disgruntled.

    The one waiting for me, however, was one of the last I expected.

    By the entrance of the Casa Real, Nestor Nieva was speaking with the four cadets, now in their house clothes. They spoke without laughter or smiles, in low voices. The moment they noticed me, they stopped, and the cadets slowly moved away from Nieva as I approached.

    "How can I help you, young man?" I said, glancing at the folded clothes he carried, along with the pair of boots in his other hand. I realized it was the uniform I had ¡¯issued¡¯ to him the other day.

    "I am so... sorry... Heneral, for whatever inconvenience I caused. It wasn¡¯t me... even my lolo didn¡¯t want Don Contreras to confront you, but he did so anyway," Nestor stammered, stumbling over his words, overly eager and clearly nervous. "I hope it didn¡¯t go as bad as I think it did."

    "Don¡¯t worry. It didn¡¯t," I assured him with a smile. "Was offering an apology the only reason you came? If it was, then know that you are forgiven and free to be on your way."

    He glanced at his friends and nervously gulped. "The thing is... Heneral... I wish to rejoin the training."

    I raised an eyebrow. "Do you have your grandfather¡¯s blessing?"

    He shook his head.

    "How about your father and mother?" I asked.

    "No... they didn¡¯t want me to be here," he said with a puzzled expression.

    "Then why are you here, Nestor?" I asked him.

    He looked to his friends again, seemingly asking for help. "Well... because¡ª"

    "Because patriotism should be above filial piety... Heneral," Dimalanta proudly interjected, repeating what he had said to Vicente on the train two weeks ago. Nieva looked pleased, smiling widely at the lieutenant¡¯s intervention.

    "Wrong," I said matter-of-factly, and it was as if I had cursed the Virgin Mary, judging by their reactions. "You should cherish family above all else. There are thousands who¡¯d rally to the cause¡ªbut your parents... your sisters and brothers... you might be the only one they have."

    Before continuing, I scanned the faces of the young men intently listening. I lingered a little longer on Dimalanta. "And I hope that the reason you¡¯ll join my army is to fight for those you cherish."

    I turned to Nieva again. "Now, if your joining my army will alienate you from your family... then I wonder¡ªfor whom do you fight, Nestor?"

    The question seemed to have stumped the young man. But as I waited for his answer, I couldn¡¯t ignore the sting of my own hypocrisy. If I truly prioritized Isabela¡¯s well-being above all else, then volunteering myself as general had been the wrong decision.

    Yet, I did genuinely believe in the principle that family came first. Still, I struggled to reconcile that belief with my growing sense of nationalism¡ªif the two could even be reconciled. And that night, I wasn¡¯t feeling well enough to wrestle with such heavy thoughts.

    I just wanted to avoid further complications by refusing Nieva.

    Before he could continue, I took the uniform and boots from his hands. He gave them up reluctantly.

    "There¡¯s still time to convince your family, Nestor," I consoled him. "And believe me¡ªstill many chances to join my army, should you earn their blessing."

 Chapter 54: Orientation

    Chapter 54: Orientation

    I had lost, but then quickly gained, an ally.

    I had mentioned to Colonel Abad that I would be needing more senior officers. The very next day, he introduced me to Faustino Roque¡ªthe father of Teofilo Roque, one of the four officer cadets.

    Sen?or Roque had been present during the meeting I convened last year, though he hadn¡¯t had the chance to speak. I didn¡¯t know him well¡ªjust a casual acquaintance¡ªand I wasn¡¯t aware of his opinions regarding the Revolution or the Republic.

    The tall, lean man, another coconut baron like Pedro, turned out to be an undiscovered supporter. He told me how honored he was to learn that his son had been selected as a cadet. And when Maximo approached him with the offer, he accepted it without hesitation.

    He was a no-nonsense, straightforward kind of man¡ªjust my type.

    "I¡¯m tired of giving a portion of my money to the coffers of foreigners," he said with a chuckle during our talk in the sala. "They don¡¯t look like us, and they don¡¯t even bother to learn our language. The Americanos will be no different. In the future, if anyone wants to tax me, they better be speaking Tagalog."

    Needless to say, I promptly wrote him a commission with the rank of Captain and issued him a rayadillo uniform. I promised his shoulder straps would follow soon.

    After the officer cadets¡¯ physical training in the morning, I conducted my first lecture that afternoon. Along with the cadets and the two lieutenants, I included the three senior officers¡ªnow with Captain Roque¡ªin the class. Of course, this would be irregular in the modern military, but our senior officers, including Colonel Abad, knew little to nothing about commanding troops.

    The conference room became our classroom. I had one of the chalkboards from the escuelahan brought in and installed in the far corner. On the adjacent wall, I pinned a few maps I¡¯d fished out of dusty, web-covered cabinets. In the end, the room looked decent enough.

    The officers took their seats at the long table, with the senior officers seated nearest the front, and the cadets furthest.

    Naturally, the first class was mostly orientation. I had to make clear what was expected of them¡ªand what they could expect from me.

    "The recruits outside are being trained how to fight," I began. "But you¡ªthe officers¡ªwill be trained how to lead those who fight. That is why you will be held to a higher standard than those under your command."

    I proceeded to lay down the ground rules. "There will be no insubordination. You will follow my orders first and ask questions later. Absolute punctuality is required¡ªnot a second late to my class, or it will be counted as an absence."

    This was common military language, but I wondered how Sen?or Roque¡ªwho had only just become an officer¡ªwould take it. If nodding and smiling were any sign of approval, then I had nothing to worry about.

    Earlier that morning, I had scribbled something I had forgotten to do the night before, and had one of the clerks at the Casa Real hastily make copies. I handed them out to the officers.

    "Now... what is expected of an officer?" I picked up a chalk stick for the first time and began writing on the board. I wrote four bullet points before turning back to speak.

    "Lead by example..." I tapped my finger against the first point, instantly realizing I should have brought a stick like the one Major Bugallon used back in Malolos. "An officer¡¯s discipline sets the tone for the whole unit. Never ask your men to do what you yourself would not endure. And avoid doing things you wouldn¡¯t want them to imitate."

    "Initiative must be matched with accountability," I continued to the next point. "You give the orders, and your soldiers must follow without question. Be bold when needed¡ªeven merciless if the situation calls for it¡ªbut own your failures. A good commander takes the blame and learns from his mistakes."

    "Master both theory and practice," I said as I moved on to the third point. "Knowing how to lead is not enough. You must know where to lead them¡ªwhen to dig in and fight, or when to fall back and reorganize¡ªand understand the why behind every move. Study terrain, logistics, and the psychology of both your men and the enemy."

    I paused briefly to gauge their reactions. It had been a long time since I was in boot camp. Most of what I said wasn¡¯t drawn from textbooks or lectures I¡¯d since forgotten, but from lessons learned the hard way, in the field. And from the look of it, they were hanging on to every word.

    I cleared my throat. The fourth and final point might be the most controversial.

    "The men eat first," I said, underlining the phrase. "With rank comes privilege¡ªbut also duty. A good officer ensures his soldiers are fed, cared for, and rested before himself. Leadership is service, not comfort."

    There was no change of expression among them, but the former Marti?n had lived among these men for more than fifty years. I knew this would be something new to them¡ªoutrageous, even, to some.

    "I know that¡¯s not what some of you were expecting," I continued, "but this is the secret to effective leadership. If you lead from your high horse, it breeds resentment, disobedience, and collapse. But when you earn their trust and respect through your actions... they¡¯ll follow you to the gates of hell."

    I looked around again. There were smiles now. But I had to make sure they truly understood¡ªand accepted it.

    "Any questions?" I asked. "Any reactions?"

    "Don Lardi¡ªHeneral Lardiza?bal," it was Captain Faustino Roque who spoke first, "I had my doubts when I came here. This is far from what I expected... maybe because I didn¡¯t really know you."

    "What do you mean by that, Capita?n?" I asked, a bit puzzled. His words sounded critical, but his expression was anything but disappointed.

    "I don¡¯t know the first thing about the military," he said with a laugh that quickly spread across the room, "but I think you do. I honestly thought we¡¯d just be winging it. I never imagined it would be this professional. I think we might actually win this war against the Americans!"

    I laughed along, treating the comment like the jest it was... or at least, I hoped it was. Everyone in the room joined in.

    "This is just the beginning, Capita?n," I said. "And this is a good time to let you know that the senior officers¡ªmeaning Colonel Abad, Capita?n Pedro, and yourself¡ªwill have additional, more advanced sessions with me in the evenings."

    All three agreed without issue. Though the lectures would be shared between cadets and senior officers for efficiency¡ªI was, after all, just one man¡ªthere was still a need for advanced instruction for those taking higher command roles. I hoped to address this with an extra hour or two in the early evenings.

    I had nearly forgotten about the copies I had distributed, but remembered just before dismissing the class.

    "The handout I gave you contains the officer¡¯s code. I want it memorized by next meeting," I said. Then I glanced toward the far end of the table, where the cadets and lieutenants had been silently absorbing the entire lecture. "Teniente Dimalanta, Teniente Trivin?o... why don¡¯t you and the cadets recite a line each from the code?"

    At Dimalanta¡¯s lead, they snapped to attention and recited:

    "An officer leads from the front."

    "An officer¡¯s word is his bond."

    "An officer eats last and sleeps least."

    "An officer is calm when others panic."

    "An officer never abandons his men¡ªdead or alive."

 Chapter 55: Clever

    Chapter 55: Clever

    The month of February in the year 1899 arrived on a Wednesday. And once again, I found myself on the beach, conducting a marksmanship lesson.

    Yesterday, after our first lecture, I issued rifles to the cadets. I had considered using some of the Mauser rifles from my escolta for training, but eventually decided to go with the Remington rolling blocks.

    While Mausers would perform astronomically better in actual battle, the Remington was the superior training rifle. Its slow reload¡ªwhile a serious disadvantage in combat¡ªencouraged deliberate aiming on the training grounds, making it ideal for teaching fundamentals. Not to mention, it was simpler for beginners to handle, easier to maintain, and more durable and replaceable.

    Yesterday, I taught them the basics of rifle handling¡ªcleaning, maintenance, assembly, and disassembly. Today, they received their first lesson in marksmanship.

    They were more excited than I had ever seen them. Roque and Nepomuceno, in particular, wouldn¡¯t stop fawning over their rifles, polishing them to a gleam every other minute. For these young men, it was their first close encounter with a firearm¡ªunderstandable, given the strict Spanish gun control policies.

    When I told them they would be firing live ammunition, their faces lit up and their eyes sparkled.

    Gunshots rang out, one after another. The lieutenants and cadets stood in a line facing the shore, firing in succession at tin cans set up as targets.

    I sighed as I watched from the side. The results were just as I expected.

    Vicente got nearly everything right, landing an almost-hit. That wasn¡¯t surprising; he had been present when I first trained Abad¡¯s men and, although he didn¡¯t directly participate, he must have picked up a thing or two.

    Ronaldo had the posture down and didn¡¯t flinch at the shot, but he yanked the trigger and sent his bullet far off target.

    The four cadets performed like the absolute beginners they were.

    Thankfully, we had the entire afternoon to ourselves. And since I only had six trainees¡ªtwo of whom already had some experience¡ªI figured I could accomplish a lot in a short time.

    Well, I had to accomplish a lot. Next week¡ªthe second week of training for the new recruits¡ªthey would be issued rifles and taught marksmanship. I needed the cadets ready to assist in instructing all one hundred men.

    "What a bunch of frauds," I muttered as I walked along their line, looking each of them in the eye as they stood at attention. "If the Americans knew how absolute garbage your marksmanship was, they¡¯d throw a party and declare the war already won. You won¡¯t hit a thing¡ªeven if the enemy is charging right at you."

    I stopped in front of the cadet standing at the end of the line. "Roque... what are you again?"

    He nervously swallowed, struggling to hold eye contact. "Uhm... I am... I don¡¯t know... what you¡ª"

    "How do you not know? I just told you." I pressed a finger to his chest. "You are absolute garbage."

    "Now, what are you?" I asked again.

    "Ab... absolute garbage, Heneral?" he stammered.

    "Was that a question?" I huffed.

    "I am absolute garbage, Heneral."

    I nodded, then turned to the rest. "He¡¯s absolutely right. And so are the rest of you."

    "Now let¡¯s polish some gems out of you, trash."

    ---

    I found a chessboard sitting inside the wardrobe cabinet in my room during the first few weeks after I arrived in this place and time. I knew how to play chess¡ªjust well enough to be mediocre. I never cared much for spending time trying to master a board game.

    Still, it was an interesting find. It clearly wasn¡¯t mass-produced; each piece was intricately carved, and the board itself was made of thick, quality wood. I spent a few minutes admiring it, then put it away and forgot it existed.

    I remembered it again while brainstorming how to proceed with my first evening lesson for the senior officers.

    "There is a battle in history that mirrors¡ª in many ways¡ªour coming war with the Americans," I said, arranging the chess pieces along the middle lines of the board. The three senior officers seated at the table looked on, curious and amused.

    The conference room was dim now, lit only by lamps. The dimness made the chalkboards harder to see, but the silence ensured every word I spoke carried clearly.

    "It¡¯s the Battle of Cannae, between the Carthaginians and the Romans..." I revealed.

    "Romans..." Colonel Abad twirled the end of his moustache. "The same Romans who crucified Hesu-Kristo?"

    I smiled, suddenly enthusiastic, and raised a finger. "Exactly. Yes¡ªthe same Romans who crucified Jesus Christ."

    Of course, they knew the Romans. Not only because they were Catholics, but also because of the annual Moriones Festival celebrated on the island during Holy Week. During the festival, men and women dressed as Roman soldiers roam the town, scaring children and entertaining the townsfolk. It was a tradition dedicated to Saint Longinus, the centurion said to have pierced Christ¡¯s side and later converted to Christianity.

    "How about the Carthaginians?" Pedro asked.

    For a moment, I considered giving a detailed explanation. Then I decided against it¡ªI only knew the barebones of the battle myself. "Let¡¯s just say they were the mortal enemies of the Romans."

    "The Romans brought 80,000 men to the battle. Not riffraff¡ªdisciplined, heavily armored soldiers." I tapped the board near the black pieces, which I had designated as the Romans. Then I gestured toward the white pieces representing the Carthaginians. "The Carthaginians had only 50,000¡ªmixed troops, many poorly trained."

    I paused to allow someone to speak, and Captain Faustino Roque bit.

    "I¡¯m guessing we¡¯re the Carthaginians?"

    "Yes. Just like the Carthaginians, we are at a disadvantage¡ªfacing a superior enemy. The Americans, like the Romans, are better trained and far better equipped," I said seriously¡ªthen smiled. "But the thing is... it wasn¡¯t the Romans who won this battle."

    "The Carthaginian commander, a man named Hannibal, knew he couldn¡¯t win without being clever. So, he came up with a plan."

    I leaned forward and began manipulating the pieces. I pushed a trio of Roman pieces toward the Carthaginians, causing the white pieces to fall back a square.

    "When the battle began, Hannibal had his center intentionally collapse."

    "The Romans, thinking the Carthaginians were retreating, gave chase..." I narrated, pushing the white pieces back further and funneling more black pieces into the gap they left. Soon, the white line bent into a bow, with the Romans flooding into the center.

    "Confident in their victory and proud of their skill, the Romans pressed forward..." I continued, pushing the Roman pieces until some reached the far end of the board.

    "Then, just as the Romans were certain of their win... the trap snapped shut." I used both hands to swing the Carthaginian flanks inward, enveloping the Roman pieces. "Hannibal¡¯s flanks closed the rear and surrounded the Roman force."

    "Trapped and attacked on all sides, with no means of escape..." I tightened the circle until the Roman pieces had no room left to move. "The Romans were slaughtered."

    I stood and approached the chalkboard to write a staggering figure. The sound of the chalk stick in the hollow silence of the room sounded like music.

    "Fifty thousand. Fifty thousand Roman soldiers¡ªthought to be invincible¡ªwere slaughtered in a single day."

    I wouldn¡¯t call myself a master storyteller, but maybe the battle was compelling enough on its own. All three officers had followed me through the entire retelling, and they looked like they were dying to react.

    "What does this battle teach us?" I asked. Had I waited a second longer, someone would¡¯ve answered¡ªColonel Abad looked ready to raise his hand. But it was rhetorical, and I quickly followed up.

    "What we are hoping to accomplish has already been done before. Not just at Cannae. Underdog armies have prevailed against impossible odds throughout history," I said. "We cannot defeat the Americans by brute force¡ªbut we can outsmart them."

    "And that is my goal... to make clever Hannibals out of you."

 Chapter 56: Burn Crap

    Chapter 56: Burn Crap

    The NCOs of my escolta had done an excellent job instructing the recruits in the drills and formations they had learned in Malolos. By the third day of Week 1, they looked sharp and cohesive¡ªa spectacle for the townsmen as they marched and drilled in the plaza.

    The drills and formations, derived from Spanish military doctrine, were ideal for instilling discipline, building a sense of identity, and teaching obedience to command. They also served well in introducing military customs and culture.

    However, the war that was likely to come would prove this doctrine obsolete outside the parade grounds. It was a system created in the time of single-shot rifles and smoothbore cannons. The tight and rigid drills and formations would spell disaster and slaughter once faced with repeater rifles like the Krag and the Mauser¡ªand against the destructive power of the overpowered American artillery.

    That was why modern military theory advocates looser and more flexible formations. On Thursday, I decided to once again take over the instruction of the recruits.

    Early in the morning, we were marching again toward Buliasnin. Our procession was the same in composition and unit order as the first time. What changed was the spacing. I had the recruits march with a two-meter interval between them. And to avoid hogging the road entirely, I made them form a thinner, longer, but looser formation.

    Instead of keeping to the head of the procession, I realized it would be better to ride alongside them. Doing so made it easier for me to nitpick every mistake.

    Halfway through, I was already barking rebukes and corrections. The moment the recruits began to tire, they lost discipline and started to clump. Though only slightly, the looser formation slowed the pace. They would need to adjust their stamina and develop the mental focus needed to maintain the new spacing.

    After our rest in Buliasnin, I decided to teach them yet another lesson¡ªone not even taught yet in Western military institutions.

    "If you¡¯re in the field¡ªsay, marching just like what we did¡ªhow would you know when to stop... or when to move forward?" I asked the recruits, who were standing in formation according to their platoons, facing me with their backs to the shore.

    For a moment, there was silence. I suspected it was because the question seemed so obvious that it felt rhetorical.

    "Nobody here knows?" I said, letting them know I genuinely expected an answer.

    Dimalanta looked as if he were about to respond, and I was about to point to him when I heard someone closer speak up. It was a recruit from the Second Platoon.

    "We wait for your command... Heneral," said the young man in the third row, barely visible, but confident.

    "What¡¯s your name, recruit?" I asked.

    "Miguel Montiano, Heneral," he replied.

    "For my verbal command... Montiano?" I asked.

    "Yes," he said, a bit lower now¡ªperhaps beginning to get confused. But I was trying to make a point.

    "How about if we weren¡¯t marching on a peaceful coastal road, and instead walking into contested territory¡ªand if I shout, I¡¯ll risk exposing our position?" I asked again.

    It took longer for someone to answer. But I patiently gave them the time.

    "You can use gestures, Heneral," another recruit finally said¡ªthis time from the neighboring formation, the Third Platoon.

    "Who was that?" I asked.

    "Joel Historillo... Heneral," the recruit answered.

    I wasn¡¯t asking for their names for nothing. I was always on the lookout for potential NCO candidates in each platoon. Those who performed cleanly in drills, those who effortlessly did their push-ups, or those confident enough to answer questions during instruction¡ªI noted them. Recruits who showed toughness, skill, and initiative could climb up the ranks.

    "You are exactly right, Historillo," I nodded approvingly. "And what¡¯s a more convenient way of gesturing than just using your hands? I will teach you the basic hand signals... and I want them applied immediately during our march back to town."

    For almost an hour, I had them rehearse by the beach and emphasized that they must commit the signals to memory. Dimalanta, ever diligent, drew each signal on his little pad of paper.

    For the return to Boac, I reassumed my position at the head of the procession.

    The first hand signal I demonstrated¡ªthe simplest¡ªwas the signal to halt: raising one arm straight up, fingers pointed upward.

    I listened as the majority of boots ceased making noise... but not all. I quickly spun around and saw the procession in disarray. Some soldiers in the Third and Fourth Platoons had not halted in time. Perhaps they hadn¡¯t expected me to start just minutes after leaving Pedro¡¯s property.

    "Cabos, remind your soldiers again what the hand signal for ¡¯stop¡¯ is," I snapped. Accordingly, the corporals scolded and reminded them for me.

    To their credit, they were ready when I gave the ¡¯advance¡¯ signal¡ªraising one arm and pointing forward with outstretched fingers. From their stationary positions, I heard the synchronized steps of boots, and when I looked, they had maintained their spacing.

    After two successive demonstrations of hand signals, I kept my hands to myself until we were within sight of the town. So far, the recruits had caught their second wind, and they managed to maintain their loose but uniform formation.

    I reined my horse to a stop and made the halt signal. Most of the recruits halted, but like the first time, I still heard some stragglers. Without checking, I raised my hand and pointed my palm backward to signal a retreat.

    I heard the footsteps again¡ªthe shuffle of moving men. This time... chaos erupted behind me. The platoon leaders were shouting orders, and the recruits were grunting and murmuring. Moments later, I heard angry words and alarmed whispers.

    What awaited behind me was a mess. A brawl was erupting between recruits from the Second and Third Platoons. Their leaders tried to intervene but instead received stray punches and kicks. I recognized Montiano at the front lines of the brawl, hitting another recruit in the face and sending him to the ground.

    I was actually impressed. It had taken four days for something like this to happen¡ªconsidering most of the recruits were rough farm kids.

    "Heneral!" Vicente walked toward me while Dimalanta rushed to help the NCOs. "Should we have your escorts break them up?"

    As always, I had brought five armed escorts on the march. They looked at me expectantly.

    "Nah," I said, smiling. A sudden pang of nostalgia had me grinning. It seemed only yesterday I was involved in a brawl myself, as a Second Lieutenant in Vietnam, when I learned that boys from another platoon had taken the chocolate bars meant for my unit.

    A scrawny kid back then, I got pummeled¡ªchipped a tooth. Still nursing my injuries, we were made to burn crap together with the other platoon¡ªquite literally. The smell of burning latrine barrels I would describe as second only to the stench of rotting corpses.

    Incidents like this were unavoidable¡ªand, I would argue, necessary. Fistfights let men sort out their pecking orders and worked as a way to release tension.

    "Don Martin!" Vicente groaned, throwing his hands in the air.

    "Just make sure to list the names of the participants. We¡¯ll have them run laps in the plaza later," I said.

 Chapter 57: Embroidery

    Chapter 57: Embroidery

    "The next time you get into a brawl again, I¡¯ll have you run with kaings of coconuts on your backs!" I hollered from my window, a cup of coffee in hand, as the offending recruits passed by below. At the head of the pack was Montiano, who had taken a blow during the fight that left his right cheek swollen. None of them dared to look up or make a sound, though I knew they clearly heard me.

    Eight recruits had been listed as participants in the fistfight¡ªthree from the 2nd platoon and four from the 3rd. Trivin?o and Dimalanta managed to piece together what caused the incident. The 2nd platoon had immediately moved back after seeing my ¡¯retreat¡¯ hand signal, but the 3rd platoon failed to do the same, resulting in a crash¡ªseveral recruits from the latter were trampled by soldiers from the former. Tired and irritated by the heat, tempers flared and fists flew.

    If I¡¯m being honest, I actually liked that it happened. Things were starting to get too quiet. The officer cadets¡ªwith their well-mannered ways and sharp minds¡ªmade instruction almost too easy. In just two days, they¡¯d hit decent marksmanship. More surprisingly, during the march, they didn¡¯t even look tired and followed my hand signals with the precision. It was so smooth-sailing that I felt more like a university professor than a general.

    This little dose of chaos was just what I needed.

    I took a sip from my coffee and realized it was my last. My little entertainment at the window had come to an end.

    I turned to see the dying rays of the sun spilling into the empty and silent sala. I sighed, my mood swinging from amused to melancholic. The sala had never been this empty. It was either Vicente, sitting too lazily on the couch with a book, or Isabela chirping noisily about the events of her day.

    It reminded me that I hadn¡¯t talked to my daughter much since returning from Manila. I had anticipated this when I received my appointment, but only lately had I realized how sad it was to set aside my greatest treasure in this life for yet another so-called noble cause. The situation felt uncomfortably familiar.

    I still had about half an hour before the senior officers arrived below for our evening classes. I decided to spend that little time for myself.

    "Belang? Are you there?" I knocked on Isabela¡¯s door.

    "Yup," came her muffled voice.

    I pushed the door open¡ªit creaked slightly. Isabela looked at me, then promptly returned to what she was doing. She sat by her window, embroidering what looked like a cluster of roses onto her handkerchief. She was a girl of many talents, never half-hearted with any hobby she picked up.

    "Why aren¡¯t you doing that in the sala? It¡¯s dim in here; your window faces away from the sun," I said. Like that of the conference room, her window overlooked the backyard instead of the town and sea. She had lit a candle, but it wasn¡¯t enough.

    She just groaned.

    "Or just stop that¡ªit¡¯s late already," I added, a bit more sternly. "You¡¯ll ruin your eyesight."

    She rarely disobeyed a rebuke. She¡¯d been raised well. But she was, after all, just a child.

    "Isabela!" I said more firmly, as I sat down at the far side of her bed, facing her.

    She sighed and set the fabric and needle down on the table. She pouted as she looked at me.

    "What¡¯s wrong, hija?" I asked, furrowing my brow. "You¡¯ve barely talked to me lately."

    "You¡¯re rarely around, that¡¯s why," she chided.

    "Come here... sit with me." I gestured to the side of the bed. She reluctantly left her chair and sat beside me.

    I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She didn¡¯t resist.

    "Is that it? You¡¯re sulking because I can¡¯t be with you as much as I was before I became a general?" I asked with a chuckle. "You do know this is for a purpose... for the country."

    I didn¡¯t like how that sounded. It felt shallow. Terrible fathers always found excuses to justify their absence. I knew that¡ªbecause I used to do it when I was John. And I knew how miserably that ended.

    She leaned her head on my shoulder. "Naaawww... I just feel left out. If I were a boy, maybe you¡¯d find more use for me. I can¡¯t march or fight... I can¡¯t even carry a crate."

    That hit me like a barbed arrow. But I laughed¡ªperhaps to deflect.

    She looked up at me, puzzled.

    "You don¡¯t know how happy I am that you¡¯re a daughter and not a son..." I said softly, stroking her long black hair.

    "Really?" she asked.

    "If you were a son, at your age, I would¡¯ve already lost you. You¡¯d be chasing girls around town, drinking and brawling with your friends, and talking back to me." I chuckled. "Boys make for terrible children."

    Isabela giggled. "I guess that¡¯s true most of the time."

    I kissed her forehead. "And worst of all... if you were a son, I¡¯d be forced to have you join the military and fight in the coming war. But because you¡¯re a daughter, I get to keep you safe."

    She groaned and hugged me. "And how I wish you were a mother instead¡ªso you wouldn¡¯t have to do all this."

    I laughed louder this time. I couldn¡¯t imagine myself as a mother. No... you needed more qualifications for that.

    "Anyway... I think you can actually help me with something."

    As soon as I said that, she sat up straight, expectant.

    "You¡¯re good at embroidery?" I asked.

    She huffed. "Of course I am. I¡¯m even better than Tiya Maria and my cousins."

    I raised my eyebrows, lips curling. "Well then... I think I¡¯ve got the perfect job for you."

    Isabela smirked. "But I don¡¯t work for free, Heneral."

    "It¡¯s for your country, Isabela..." I said with a smile.

    "The recruits and soldiers have wages... and they¡¯re also doing it for the country. Or am I wrong?" she reasoned.

    I chuckled and threw my hands in the air. "Alright... name your price."

    "I want to learn Spanish."

 Chapter 58: God and Country

    Chapter 58: God and Country

    Once again, several carts arrived at the doors of the Casa Real on Saturday. The sight of them removed a thorn from my side. After delivering a shipment of boots and ammunition pouches last week, I had made another, much more difficult request. Ever the skilled tradesman, Sen?or Lim did not disappoint.

    Contained in twenty-five rectangular ammunition boxes¡ªmost of which I assume were looted directly from Spanish cuarteles, given their pristine condition and the royal crest still stamped on some¡ªwere twenty-five thousand rounds of .43 Spanish cartridges. Two other crates held two thousand rounds of 7.55 mm cartridges.

    He also brought me several dozen rifles, all of them Remingtons.

    I had asked him for more ammunition in anticipation of the large-scale marksmanship training I was planning for the recruits in the coming week, along with additional Remington rifles for replacements and repairs.

    "There was a trader in Samar who offered me nearly a dozen Mausers. He asked for thirty pesos each. What a rip-off," he chuckled, chewing on the delicious pancit bihon Isabela had cooked. I¡¯d be lying if I said I hadn¡¯t suggested the noodle dish because Sen?or Lim was Chinese.

    "You said Mausers?" I asked as I brought a small chest onto the table. "You didn¡¯t buy them?"

    "Yes," he pointed a fork at me. "That¡¯s double the appropriate price. Factory price from a looter?"

    He huffed and returned his attention to the noodles.

    "I would¡¯ve still paid for them, Sen?or Lim. Mausers are hard to come by," I told him.

    "That¡¯s why I¡¯m a trader and you¡¯re not," he said, glancing up again¡ªhis cheek puffed and some noodle strands spilling from his mouth. "If you want Mausers, just give me time. I¡¯ll find someone selling at a more reasonable price."

    I laughed softly and opened the chest, releasing the smell of old paper from the bills inside. "I¡¯ll count on you, Sen?or Lim."

    Inside were four piles of 100-peso bills, amounting to about four thousand pesos. It was one of three chests that held all of Martin¡¯s life savings. Each had once contained 6,000 pesos, but this particular box was the one I¡¯d been drawing from to fund the effort of building an army.

    I cleared one pile and took half from another, placing 1,500 pesos on the table¡ªthe price for the entire purchase, including Sen?or Lim¡¯s commission.

    Sen?or Lim looked at the chest, then at the pile of cash. Quite uncharacteristically for the honest but uptight trader that he was, he looked a bit guilty.

    "Tell me you don¡¯t plan to finance the whole war," he said in a low voice. "That would be unwise, Martin. I know you¡¯re feeling patriotic, but you have to think about the future."

    I laughed as I fetched the envelope in my lap and started placing the bills inside. "Don¡¯t worry... soon enough, I¡¯ll have others pitch in."

    He nodded. "As they should. It¡¯s their country too."

    "Agreed," I said.

    ---

    It was funny how quickly the tides turned. Last December, during the Misa de Aguinaldo, I would¡¯ve applauded Father Trinidad¡¯s anti-war message if I could. In fact, I had planned to shake his hand and express my appreciation, but somewhere along the conversations after Mass, I forgot.

    This Sunday, he preached the same message. But this time, it felt like it was aimed directly at me¡ªhe might as well have named me outright. And I know I wasn¡¯t just being defensive. Ever since accepting the appointment and setting preparations in motion for the impending war, I had revealed my position¡ªone directly opposed to the priest and his anti-war league.

    Maybe I was biased, having switched sides, but the message sounded so flat it hurt my ears. Especially when he started quoting verses to support a fully pacifist stance.

    "¡¯Behold, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves,¡¯" he read aloud, lifting the heavy Bible at the pulpit. "What does this mean in light of our times? That a Christian must not be hasty or reckless. We are called to walk in peace, even in the midst of violence."

    "Wise as serpents... harmless as doves..." he repeated. "We must wisen up and understand that violence¡ªwar¡ªis not God¡¯s way. We don¡¯t need to raise the sword to be victorious. We don¡¯t need to shed blood to be right. Because the victory of God is not always the victory of the sword."

    I know little of the scriptures and couldn¡¯t think of an immediate rebuttal... but I suspect he had twisted the verse. I wondered what he¡¯d say about the fact that Spain subdued the Philippines with the sword in order to spread the very religion he was now preaching.

    It was all the more awkward because, as governor, I always sat at the second or third pew. So I simply stared blankly at the dying figure of the crucified Christ behind the pulpit for the rest of the sermon.

    After the Mass, the tension didn¡¯t ease¡ªit rose. Many principalia figures who usually shook my hand and chatted after church didn¡¯t approach at all. Some didn¡¯t even make eye contact. Florentino Paras briskly strode past me before I could extend a hand or greet him.

    Conversely, others who weren¡¯t usually close came up and spoke with me. The fathers of the four cadets checked in on their sons and voiced support for what I was doing. Sen?or Nepomuceno, in particular, said he could free up some workers on his vast hacienda if I needed more recruits.

    As I left the cathedral, I saw Florentino again, huddled with Sen?or Nieva and several other familiar faces near the holy water stoup. Whatever they were discussing, I had no doubt my name would come up.

    "Now you know what I felt," Vicente said beside me as the four of us¡ªIsabela, Dimalanta, Vicente, and I¡ªbriskly walked toward the cathedral gate.

    "About what?"

    "What I felt last Christmas, listening to the Misa de Aguinaldo," he said.

    "You¡¯re forgetting to address me properly, Teniente," I replied, shaking my head at the memory.

    "It¡¯s not the time for priests," I added a moment later. "God and country need warriors."

 Chapter 59: Another Monday

    Chapter 59: Another Monday

    I woke up to yet another Monday. On the surface, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for the brief shower that occurred at dawn. As I understood it, during the first half of the year in the Philippines¡ªright before the rainy season¡ªrain typically fell in the afternoons.

    I didn¡¯t mind it. When I peered out the window, a dreamy mist had settled over the town, and the air was thick with petrichor.

    This Monday, the fifth of February, marked the first day of the second week of training. As planned, it was time to issue rifles to the recruits and begin marksmanship training.

    Unsurprisingly, the mere sight of rifle crates being carried out of the Casa Real had the recruits murmuring with excitement in their formation. Smiles spread across their faces despite the wet condition of the plaza, where mud and puddles soaked their boots.

    The escolta¡¯s NCOs had drilled them with wooden poles as dummy rifles the week before. They already knew where the rifle was supposed to go when standing in formation. In the "order arms" position, the rifle is held vertically at the right side, with the butt resting on the ground.

    I chuckled at the sight of some recruits looking frustrated when they realized that the clean rifles they¡¯d just received would be dirtied immediately. A few tried to work around this by subtly raising the rifles slightly off the ground¡ªnot proper "order arms," but I let it slide.

    Drilling and parading recruits had become a common sight in town. But now, with rifles completing their attire, a small crowd had gathered to admire them¡ªrecruits who now looked no different from real soldiers.

    To their likely disappointment, no ammunition had been issued yet. I decided to give them two days to familiarize themselves with the rifles and to be taught basic handling before introducing live rounds.

    Besides, the officers weren¡¯t ready yet to assist with marksmanship training. While they were now decent marksmen, knowing how to shoot and knowing how to teach shooting were two entirely different things. I figured another session or two would help prepare them.

    As always, we did our daily march toward Buliasnin, though this time each recruit was burdened with a rifle and slightly hindered by the muddy, slippery coastal road.

    I wasn¡¯t entirely surprised that the extra load and worsening terrain didn¡¯t make much of a difference. They were already building stamina, and the morale boost from carrying a real rifle likely offset the added weight.

    But something did surprise me, just as we were about to reach Buliasnin.

    I raised my hand to signal a halt. As in the first couple of drills, the entire formation didn¡¯t stop cleanly. But I didn¡¯t turn around¡ªI was too focused on the Sibuyan Sea.

    "Vicente!" I called out.

    I heard his footsteps before he appeared at my side. "What¡¯s the matter... Heneral?"

    "Is that Sen?or Alcantara¡¯s ship?" I asked, gesturing toward a silhouette in the distance that looked very much like the one I¡¯d seen off the coast of Ternate.

    He followed my gaze. "Yes... I think that¡¯s his ship."

    ---

    Sen?or Alcantara had arrived earlier than I expected¡ªif I expected him to return at all. All he¡¯d told me after our last conversation was that he would go home to Batangas and consult his wife.

    Apparently, they had decided to take the offer. Sen?or Alcantara stepped off the boat and onto the shores of Marinduque, accompanied by a sizeable retinue and a great deal of baggage.

    "This is Leonora Alcantara¡ªmy wife," he introduced the middle-aged woman as soon as we took shelter under the port¡¯s shed.

    In sharp contrast to her husband¡¯s unassuming demeanor, the lady looked every bit the socialite, judging by her thick makeup and the many pieces of jewelry that adorned her hair, ears, neck, and fingers.

    She extended a hand¡ªnot for a handshake, but for a kiss. After a brief pause, I took it and gave it a polite peck. "Welcome to Marinduque, Sen?ora Alcantara."

    "Thank you, Sen?or. I hope I will not be disappointed," she said with a tight-lipped smile.

    "I hope so too," I replied.

    "And this is my firstborn, Rosalinda," Sen?or Alcantara continued, introducing the young woman who was no less powdered than her mother, despite being no older than twenty.

    She extended her hand as well, which I ignored in favor of a slight nod. She looked offended.

    I had a feeling dealing with Sen?or Alcantara¡¯s family would not be as easy as I had hoped.

    He then introduced his two sons. "This is Andre?s," he said of the older one, likely fifteen or sixteen years old, "and this is Luis," he added, referring to the toddler.

    The boys smiled politely and bowed. They both looked far more agreeable than their mother and sister. I wondered which one he had mentioned he was willing to offer for an American warship when we¡¯d arrived at Manila Bay a month ago.

    "And this is my daughter, Isabela," I said, placing a hand behind her back. Isabela greeted them with a warm and modest nod. She wore far less makeup than the other two women¡ªthough in her case, she needed none to look beautiful.

    My escorts were already busy loading the baggage from the porters onto carts. Vicente and Dimalanta had taken the drivers¡¯ seats of the two carriages we¡¯d brought to carry the guests to the Casa Real.

    I didn¡¯t have a chance to speak at length with Sen?or Alcantara until we were traveling toward the town proper. Isabela ended up riding with his two young sons in one carriage, while his wife and daughter took the other. Our men followed at the rear, manning the carts.

    We led at the front, riding on horseback, just like the first time.

    "I thought I¡¯d lost you the moment you said you¡¯d consult your family first," I told him with a chuckle. "How did you even convince your wife to come to this backwater province?"

    He smiled at that, then let out a deep sigh. "You¡¯re right¡ªthey didn¡¯t like the idea at all... until yesterday."

    I raised an eyebrow.

    He glanced at me, nervously swallowing. "We received news that fighting had broken out in Manila."

 Chapter 60: Decisively

    Chapter 60: Decisively

    Last Saturday, the first shots had been fired. And just yesterday, a ferocious battle erupted in Manila as the Americans pushed outward against the entrenched Filipino forces surrounding the city. Sen?or Alcantara didn¡¯t have all the details, but word on the street before he left for Marinduque was that the Republicans had been driven out of their positions, suffering hundreds of casualties.

    I had Sen?or Alcantara break the news at the conference the following afternoon, with all officers present¡ªincluding the cadets and the NCOs in charge of training.

    It shouldn¡¯t have surprised me. I had always known it was only a matter of time before things took a sour turn. Yet it still did. The training had barely begun. Now I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if I could field a ready force in time¡ªor if the Republic would fall before I could do anything at all.

    But I had learned over a lifetime that doubt only leads to indecision, and indecision makes you lose battles you haven¡¯t even fought yet.

    If anything, this was the time to act more swiftly and decisively.

    I laid pieces of fabric on the table, while silence and a grim mood settled over the conference room. Isabela, with the help of her aunts and nieces, had finished what I asked of her in a matter of days. I hadn¡¯t thought I would be using them this early, having planned to take them out two or three weeks later.

    One by one, heads turned as the officers slowly recognized what they were. The embroidery on the straps glistened under the candlelight.

    I had tasked Isabela with creating the officers¡¯ shoulder straps. I consulted Dimalanta for the design, and as it turned out, the patches for Second Lieutenant up to Coronel only required an increasing number of silver and golden stars.

    Most of the patches were red¡ªthe same color as the ones on my own shoulders, signifying infantry. But a pair of black patches stood out from the lineup. The navy of the Republic was almost non-existent, and Luna had yet to come up with naval insignias. So, I decided to create my own.

    "Most of you would not know Sen?or Alcantara," I broke the silence, "but he owns and operates a steamship... a vessel that he has now offered to the service of the Republic."

    I smiled as I saw the mood shift quickly inside the room. Sen?or Alcantara, seated across from Colonel Abad near the head of the table, perked up at the mention of his name. He returned the smiles and nods headed his way.

    Vicente, taking my cue, stood up from his seat and walked forward with a folded uniform in his hands.

    "That makes him the founding officer of the navy under my command," I continued. "And as such, I intend to give him the appropriate rank."

    "Sen?or Alcantara, step forward and stand at attention in front of me," I instructed, snatching the uniform from Vicente¡¯s hands. "I ask that you wear this."

    The ship captain¡¯s expression turned serious, and he promptly stepped away from the table.

    He took the uniform from my hands and put it on. It was snug on him, and I noted that he¡¯d need a larger jacket.

    I took the pair of black patches from the table¡ªeach featuring a single silver star, the same embroidery used by an infantry captain. I had opted for a simple design, adapting naval ranks directly from their infantry counterparts.

    "As Heneral de Brigada, and the one in charge of the Distrito Militar de Marinduque, Mindoro y Romblon..." I began, fixing one of the patches onto his right shoulder, "I hereby confer upon you the rank of Teniente de Navio of the Philippine Republican Navy."

    He couldn¡¯t keep his solemn expression and grinned in excitement.

    "Thank you... Heneral," he said once I had finished installing both patches.

    He extended a hand instead of saluting. I decided to take it. Sen?or Alcantara and his crew had yet to receive their training¡ªwhich I looked forward to. Though I was an infantry officer in my past life, I had little idea how to train naval officers.

    I then turned to the remaining senior officers at the table. I had long been put off by the bareness of their shoulders¡ªbut no longer.

    I picked up the remaining patches and waved them in the air. "I believe you gentlemen have been officers long enough without proper rank patches. Tonight, you will have them."

    "We must look like a proper army... even if it¡¯s only in appearance for now," I added. "Tomorrow... it all begins."

    ---

    The two soldiers at the door stood at attention as I approached. I recognized them both¡ªmen from my escolta, as were most of the guards stationed around the Casa Real. I couldn¡¯t help but recall the great hike we took from Caloocan to Cavite.

    What a hellish journey that was. But I would rather endure that again than face what awaited me behind the door.

    Military training and instruction was exhausting, but it was like being a fish in water for me. Politics, on the other hand... I still couldn¡¯t get used to.

    I let out a heavy sigh.

    "Should I open it for you, Heneral?" Teniente Dimalanta asked from behind. I wanted the two lieutenants to accompany me inside, to make my entrance appear more official.

    "No," I said, then sighed again.

    I buttoned my cuffs, adjusted my rayadillo jacket, and pushed the conference room door open. Hushed conversations greeted me¡ªlike the distant hum of a swarm of bees.

    The long table at the center was crowded. Nearly all the prominent figures of Boac were present.

    My stomach tightened at the sight of hostile faces¡ªfriends turned foes. It was easy to spot them; they had clumped together at the far end of the table. I was facing a coalition.

    But I found comfort in the presence of Colonel Abad, Sen?or Alcantara, and two other senior officers seated near the head. At the sight of me, they stood up. My allies in the principalia soon followed. The other half of the table rose reluctantly, some grumbling under their breath.

    "Be seated, caballeros..." I said as I took my seat at the head.

    Even before everyone had settled, Don Contreras launched into a tirade. "This isn¡¯t the front lines, but there are too many armed soldiers in the vicinity. It makes us uncomfortable. Makes us think they¡¯re there for... for a purpose."

    I knew what he was talking about. Outside in the plaza, the recruits with rifles stood in formation. My 25-man escort was fully deployed¡ªroadblocks had been set up around the Casa Real, with every entrance covered.

    "What purpose do you mean, Don Contreras?" I asked, an amused smirk on my lips. "They¡¯re here for security¡ªespecially with all the big names present today. And you shouldn¡¯t feel uncomfortable. They are soldiers of your

    country."

    Don Contreras shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

    "I know why you¡¯ve called us here, gobernador. We¡¯ve heard that war with the Americans has begun¡ªwhich, I think, is to your pleasure," Sen?or Nieva chimed in.

    Captain Roque cleared his throat. "Nobody likes war, Sen?or Nieva."

    Don Contreras chuckled, picking up where Sen?or Nieva left off. "Yes... nobody, Sen?or Roque¡ªexcept those dying for an excuse to consolidate power. Tariffs, taxes, embargoes... we know what follows."

    "And we want you to know... if you intend to treat Marinduque like a frontline province in Aguinaldo¡¯s war... you will not have our support. And your army of farmboys will not be enough to intimidate us."

    Captain Roque and Pedro looked as if they were about to unleash an army of angry words when I immediately responded.

    "Aguinaldo¡¯s war... how interesting that you frame this conflict like a traitor," I said. Protests erupted, but I persisted.

    "This is not Aguinaldo¡¯s war... nor mine. This is a war between our country and a foreign invader."

    "What country? When did we ever have our own country?" Don Contreras argued.

    I slammed the table¡ªhard enough to make some nearly jump from their seats. "Any more from your vile tongue, Don Contreras... and I will have you hanged in the plaza for treason!"

    My shout echoed in the deafening silence that suddenly gripped the room. Many faces¡ªespecially those farther down the table¡ªlooked petrified. Perhaps they could easily imagine my army of farmboys arresting each one of them and marching them to the gallows.

    "You force my hand," I said softly, my expression stern. "Given your reluctance¡ªand even outright refusal¡ªto support the survival of our young nation... perhaps some force really is necessary."

    "Watch it, Don Martin," Florentino Paras, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "Do not be reckless."

    I cleared my throat, glanced out the window for a moment, then returned my gaze to the room.

    "As your Gobernador, and the military officer in charge of the Distrito Militar de Marinduque, Mindoro y Romblon..." I let the words hang for a moment. "I hereby place the entire province under martial law."

 Chapter 61: Assembly

    Chapter 61: Assembly

    Taking control of the entire province with my measly band of greenhorns would be extremely difficult¡ªthat is, if I relied solely on them. But I had at my disposal a much greater and more effective force. One that would frighten the principalia more than my armed men ever could.

    I had the news about the war spread as soon as I could. While I conducted the meeting in the conference room, it had already reached the town and nearby villages.

    When I called for an assembly that same afternoon at the plaza, a large, boisterous crowd responded.

    I had prepared accordingly, playing to their patriotic spirit. Along the fringes of the plaza, I had some recruits in their well-pressed uniforms and polished boots stand at attention. On the veranda, I stationed the senior officers in full dress, complete with shoulder straps.

    Isabela fixed my collar and readjusted the regalia on my khaki uniform as I stood, a bit nervous, near the doorway leading to the balcony¡ªalready hearing the cheers and whistles from the crowd.

    This was not Martin¡¯s first time. When the Spanish were defeated on the island a year ago, he had also made a public appearance. But back then, he was only a side character, with Colonel Abad and the gobernadorcillo taking center stage. All he did was say a few lines and wave a lot to the crowd.

    "You look sharp, Papa," Isabela said, standing on her toes to take a closer look at the embroidery on my shoulder straps. "You look every bit a general."

    I smiled. "You think so?"

    "Yeah. You¡¯re already intimidating me. You seem like a new person," she said, taking a step back to admire my attire. "The ladies outside will be swooning at the sight of you."

    She wore a smirk I couldn¡¯t quite read¡ªamusement, sarcasm... or both.

    A thought suddenly crossed my mind. I hadn¡¯t meant to say it aloud. It wasn¡¯t the time. But to my surprise, I did.

    "Do you think... it would be outrageous for me to remarry?" I blurted out.

    Her reaction made me chuckle. She wasn¡¯t outraged by the idea¡ªbut perhaps she thought I was being ridiculous.

    "What is this, Papa? Did someone catch your attention while you were in Bulacan?" she said, softly chuckling. "Was the handkerchief from her? The lady with the P.T. initials?"

    I huffed. "Were you sorting through my things?"

    "Nope. It was out on your table that one night," she said, still smiling widely.

    "Unbelievable," I muttered, slightly flustered¡ªmore at myself than at her.

    "And the answer to your question... would be no... I wouldn¡¯t be outraged. But... that still depends... I¡¯ll have to judge the lady myself," she said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

    I was so absorbed in our exchange that I hadn¡¯t noticed the crowd had fallen silent¡ªand that Colonel Abad had begun speaking. He was a schoolteacher, and honed by his profession, he had the gift of public speaking.

    "Peace is broken with the Americans..." he began, his baritone voice booming. "Just as we were about to completely defeat the enemy and were on the cusp of taking Manila, they arrived in the guise of friendly aid. Now, that guise has been discarded completely."

    A chorus of boos erupted from the crowd. "Invaders!", "Liars!"¡ªand viler words followed. Abad waited for the noise to subside before continuing.

    "Last Sunday, they began their expansion out of Manila. We lost our first battle... but the war is just beginning. The final victory will be ours!" he shouted. His voice cracked at the end, but the crowd didn¡¯t care. They roared their approval.

    I sighed, knowing my turn was coming.

    "Don Martin Lardizabal... I know you all know him... a beloved son of Marinduque," Colonel Abad continued, now adequately glazing my name. "He didn¡¯t need to do this. He could have stayed on the sidelines. But his love for country compelled him."

    "He has accepted the appointment from President Aguinaldo to be the Heneral in charge of Marinduque, Mindoro, and Romblon."

    A quieter, more respectful applause followed the announcement.

    "Until now, he¡¯s done everything by himself. The uniforms, the rifles, the bullets¡ªeven the wages of these soldiers now standing before you¡ªhave all come from his own pocket," Colonel Abad said. "Perhaps it¡¯s time we helped him."

    "Please welcome... Heneral Martin Lardizabal!"

    I roughly patted Isabela¡¯s hair, to which she responded by pushing me closer to the doorway.

    The crowd¡¯s cheers reached a crescendo as I stepped onto the balcony. Capitan Roque, Capitan Madrigal, and Teniente de Navio Alcantara patted my back as I passed. Colonel Abad shook my hand at the center of the veranda and stepped aside.

    I placed my hand on the warm stone handrail and took in the sight of the crowd. But the stage fright never came. If I had stood my ground before a hostile principalia, how could I not before a friendly mob?

    There were more than a thousand attendees, many familiar faces¡ªworkers, farmers, fishermen. And they could help me, just as they were.

    "My fellow countrymen... all that I do and will do, and all that I will ask of you... will not be for myself or for Aguinaldo¡ªbut for the Inang Bayan," I began. "As sons and daughters of this country, it is our duty to defend her when she is threatened... at all costs."

    "Alas, we are fighting a mighty opponent in the Americans. It will take everything from us to stand a chance."

    The crowd listened intently¡ªuncharacteristically silent.

    "All able-bodied men will be conscripted. Resources and services will be requisitioned. Curfews will be implemented. You¡¯ll see soldiers left and right, as we come under military governance," I said. "It will be difficult¡ªbut I hope you¡¯ll join me in this sacrifice."

    I sighed in relief when my message was met with loud cheers and applause. It was surreal how the poor would more graciously accept hardship than the rich would tolerate even slight inconvenience.

    But I had not yet reached the most important point. Everything I had said until then was merely a fac?ade. I could have announced it without this grand speech in the plaza. This assembly had another purpose.

    This crowd could be my army, even without enlisting them.

    I continued, after the noise died down.

    "And finally, my friends... our province overflows with patriots. But a few among us sympathize with the Americans," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Should you notice any suspicious activity, any violations¡ªfrom anyone, whether a humble fisherman or a wealthy hacendero¡ªdo not hesitate to report it to us."

 Chapter 62: Bribe

    Chapter 62: Bribe

    The 6:00 p.m. curfew made little difference in the town of Boac. Most people were early to bed and early to rise.

    Like always, just before sleeping, I stood in front of the window, gazing outside with a cup of coffee in my hands. Caffeine had long since stopped being a stimulant for me. Instead, it had the opposite effect¡ªit warmed me like milk and calmed my mind, slowly making me drowsy.

    The plaza outside stood empty and silent, a sharp contrast to how lively it had been earlier in the afternoon. The only things moving and making sound were the stirring leaves of the acacia trees and the creaking, swaying lantern carried by a pair of patrolling soldiers.

    Above, a thousand stars shone in their usual stations, too lofty to be touched by whatever ills and storms afflicted the world of men.

    The peaceful scene first put me at ease¡ªthen I felt a silent ache. The same stars that looked down on quiet Marinduque also bore witness to the chaos and bloodshed now wreaking havoc in Manila. On our way to Cavite, I had seen several trench lines being built; some of them had likely fallen to the Americans during the Sunday battle. I wondered, among the many faceless soldiers I had passed and the generals and officers I had met in Malolos¡ªhow many of them still walked the earth.

    Having been reminded of Malolos, the train of memory led me to the Tiongson house.

    I wondered if Paz was looking at the same night sky at the same time I was, breathing in the scent of jasmines as she did so. I wondered if she was safe.

    Then, like an idiot, I found myself smiling. I remembered what Isabela told me earlier. She had been very young when her mother died¡ªperhaps that was why she wasn¡¯t opposed to me remarrying. In fact, I had a feeling she had been hoping I¡¯d come to the idea for a long time.

    It was the former Martin who refused to look at another woman. Through his memories, I could still recall how heartbroken he had been fifteen years ago when he lost his wife to a terrible fever. He hadn¡¯t eaten properly for months afterward.

    But I was another man now. I still carried his memories, some of his sentiments¡ªbut no longer his heart. Isabela... and dare I say, Paz... it was John who fell in love with them.

    "You called for me, Heneral?"

    I had heard Vicente climbing the stairs before he spoke, so I wasn¡¯t startled. I turned around and saw him in his house clothes, his eyes still teary¡ªclearly pulled from sleep. I had called for him, suddenly remembering something I¡¯d been meaning to bring up.

    "Have a seat."

    He sat on the couch nearest him, and I sat opposite. It didn¡¯t take long for him to notice the impressive object placed in the center of the table¡ªthe very same Orbea Hermano pistol he¡¯d been eyeing before.

    With a knowing smirk, I pushed the sidearm toward him.

    "What¡¯s this for, Heneral?" he asked, glancing from the pistol to me, puzzled.

    "How¡¯s your Spanish, Teniente?" I asked in return.

    He tilted his head and chuckled. "Why do you ask? I don¡¯t see the connection."

    I tutted. "Answer the question, Teniente."

    He shrugged. "Es bueno, Heneral. Me tome? mi educacio?n en serio."

    I couldn¡¯t help but smile as the Spanish slid gracefully off his tongue. I clearly heard the elegant lisps of the Castilian accent¡ªthe British accent of the Spanish language.

    In comparison, I only knew enough Spanish to hold a conversation, and I had the accent of a gasping carabao. If Vicente had the social status to match, he would look significantly more dignified than me.

    I had never doubted his academic pedigree.

    "That¡¯s great, Teniente. It so happens that Isabela wants to learn Spanish. Believe it or not, she¡¯s a bookworm like you¡ªalthough not as severely addicted. Part of it is because most of the books in the house are in Spanish, and she can¡¯t read what she can¡¯t understand," I said.

    Martin¡¯s wife¡ªa daughter of a college professor from Cebu¡ªhad been into reading. Martin, ever the devoted husband, had bought any book offered to him by a trader, resulting in a collection of about a hundred books.

    I took it as a positive sign when Vicente suddenly let out a soft laugh. "Yes... I¡¯ve noticed. You have a lot of good books, Heneral," he said, glancing at the small cabinet at the far end of the sala, near Isabela¡¯s room. "It¡¯s a shame they¡¯ve been resigned to the mote and dust."

    I cleared my throat. Knowing him, that might have been a jab. "Well... unlike you lazy bums, I have more important things to do than laze around reading books."

    Vicente chuckled, but the laughter quickly died down. "Yes... I can teach Isabela Spanish. But I don¡¯t think this is the best time, with everything going on. Wouldn¡¯t you need me somewhere more important?"

    I shook my head. "Trust me, Vicente. You¡¯ll be right where I need you."

    His brows furrowed. "Am I not up to the task that you¡¯re relegating me to the sidelines, Heneral? This pistol... is this a bribe?"

    I glared at him. "Bribe, Teniente? Might I remind you that you are a soldier under my command¡ªand you will follow orders with or without incentives."

    "My escorts are spread thin. And now, with martial law declared, I¡¯ve upset some folks... powerful folks. People who might be upset enough to target what would hurt me the most¡ªIsabela." I pushed the pistol closer to him. "You¡¯ll be her Spanish teacher and her bodyguard. And I reckon you¡¯ll need a more reliable sidearm than your junk pistol to do your job. Take a pair of escolta soldiers to assist you."

    He nervously gulped, then looked away. Finally, he picked up the pistol and raised it to the moonlight, making its clean metal shine.

    "Will I be exempted from training, then?" he asked.

    I stroked my beard. "From most of it... yeah."

    "Most of it, Heneral?"

    "She wakes up late," I smiled. "I think you can still join the daily march and be back in time to greet her good morning."

 Chapter 63: Proper Governor

    Chapter 63: Proper Governor

    The province of Marinduque had six towns¡ªBoac, Mogpog, Sta. Cruz, Torrijos, Gasan, and Buenavista. But only three of these were major settlements; the rest were remote and of relatively low value, though still useful.

    Boac was the provincial capital and the administrative heart of the island. It was the seat of the Casa Real, and housed the governor and the majority of the island¡¯s elite families. Its central location also provided easy access to the other settlements. Keeping it as the cabecera and designating it as the logistical headquarters would be wise.

    Sta. Cruz, on the other hand, was the agricultural hub of the province. It was home to vast rice fields and the largest labor pool in Marinduque, making it ideal both for requisitioning food and conscripting men for the war effort. Additionally, the expansive flatlands that allowed for large-scale farming also made it ideal for constructing training camps and drill fields. Therefore, the town could serve as our main source of supplies, as well as the recruitment and training center.

    The third town was Mogpog, the most defensible among the three. Unlike Boac and Sta. Cruz, which sat near the coast, Mogpog was farther inland¡ªmaking it less vulnerable to naval landings and out of reach of American warships. Its rugged, mountainous terrain further strengthened its defensive value. It was the most ideal site to fortify and build a military headquarters.

    I discussed this ambitious plan in the conference room immediately after the morning march.

    By the end of the presentation, the chalkboard was covered in scribbles, and the audience was abuzz with energy. All of them enthusiastically approved.

    But planning was the easiest part. For the plan to come to life, I would need to enforce martial law in all three towns. As it stood, I had only around a hundred barely trained men and a political mandate that was more symbolic than solid.

    I had subconsciously¡ªand unwisely¡ªassumed that the war would not break out until I had at least two or three hundred trained soldiers under my command. But alas, war had come early.

    And now, I had to make do with what I had.

    "Colonel Abad... how many of the young men I trained last month are currently in our pool of recruits?" I asked, my throat dry from the exhausting presentation.

    He answered quickly, "All fifty of them, Heneral."

    "And they¡¯re scattered across all four platoons?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

    "Yes, I believe so, Heneral," Colonel Abad replied.

    I scratched my head and sighed. It felt improper¡ªalmost cruel¡ªto break up platoons just as they were beginning to form bonds and a sense of identity. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

    "Well then, Colonel, I want you to identify those fifty and separate them from the rest. I¡¯ve already trained them in basic marksmanship, and I believe they can skip this week¡¯s drills," I said.

    Then I turned to the captains. "They will be reorganized into two platoons, and the captains will each take command of one. Capitan Roque and his platoon will head for Mogpog, while Capitan Madrigal will go farther out to Santa Cruz."

    "Your task is to declare martial law and ensure the cooperation of the gobernadorcillos. Arrange a meeting for me with the principalia, and remain in town until I arrive. Be firm¡ªdo not let yourselves be intimidated. You will be carrying sufficient ammunition should your safety be threatened, but if you can, do not fire a single shot."

    Both officers stood at attention and saluted.

    Neither Roque nor Madrigal were seasoned commanders. They had only recently learned the basics of leading men. But I wasn¡¯t sending them because of tactical brilliance¡ªI was counting on familiarity. Roque had relatives in Mogpog. Pedro¡¯s mother hailed from Santa Cruz.

    I was relying on familial ties to smooth the operation. While patriotism might stir the common folk, the elite were more easily swayed by clan-based loyalties.

    And so, even though assigning a cadet under a relative¡¯s command didn¡¯t sit well with me, I knew it would increase the chance of success.

    "Tomas, you will go with Capitan Roque. Lorenzo, you¡¯re with Capitan Madrigal," I said to the cadets. "You¡¯ll act as second-in-command¡ªconsider yourselves tenientes. See to it that the recruits maintain their daily drills."

    The two cadets stood and saluted, wide smiles spreading across their faces.

    "What about the rest of us, Heneral?" Teniente Dimalanta raised his hand.

    "You¡¯ll stay here, but don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll be just as busy."

    ---

    "Where are you headed, Sen?or Paras?" I asked, intercepting the gobernadorcillo and his family as they exited the Casa Real. This was shortly after I had dispatched the two captains to Mogpog and Sta. Cruz. They were carrying their possessions in sacks and bags, handled by their servants.

    They had been living in the other wing of the Casa Real since his appointment as gobernadorcillo a year ago. It had been a peaceful cohabitation¡ªlargely because we kept to ourselves.

    It was his toddler son who noticed me first. The boy smiled and tried to wave, but his mother quickly pushed his hand down upon seeing me. Dimalanta stepped forward, ready to help the servants with their luggage, but Sen?ora Paras¡¯ glare stopped him in his tracks.

    Sen?or Paras slowly turned around and shook his head slightly at the sight of me.

    "I misjudged you, Don Marti?n," he said. "I thought you were a simple, practical man who only wanted to tend to his hacienda and raise his lovely daughter. I never once imagined you were this thirsty for power."

    His words stung. Not long ago, he had been one of my closest friends. I removed my hat and said, "We both misjudged each other, Sen?or Paras. I thought your heart was with your country."

    "It was¡ªand still is," he replied through gritted teeth as he turned fully to face me.

    "No... I know exactly what changed," I said, resting my hands on my hips. What I was about to say wasn¡¯t fact¡ªit was a hunch, shaped by experience. "The moment you realized I intended to assert authority, your attitude changed. Because if I do, your position as mayor of Boac becomes irrelevant. This small town isn¡¯t big enough for the both of us."

    "Exactamente, Gobernador," he scoffed bitterly. "You¡¯re only governor because of your money. In other words, you bought your title. I, on the other hand, worked for mine. I deserve to be gobernadorcillo... Yours was always meant to be symbolic."

    I returned my hat to my head. I had heard enough. I had hoped to be wrong. But now I was certain¡ªI had lost him. Any more words would be wasted.

    "Is this a resignation, then?" I asked calmly.

    The question caught him off guard. "No... no way. I cannot simply live under one roof with a¡ª"

    "Then you are dismissed from your post," I said, turning back toward the door, ignoring his sputtering protests and rising voice.

    I felt a pang of guilt... because, in truth, I was relieved.

    Now, at last, I had the Casa Real to myself¡ªlike a proper governor.

 Chapter 64: Dare

    Chapter 64: Dare

    I fulfilled my promise of a house for Sen?or Alcantara¡ªat great expense. Because I wasn¡¯t sure he would accept my offer, I hadn¡¯t arranged for his residence when he arrived. So I was forced to give him my own house in Boac¡ªthe very place I had lived in before I was given the governor¡¯s quarters in the Casa Real.

    I still dread telling Isabela. And sooner or later, Isidro¡ªwho stays there whenever he¡¯s in Marinduque¡ªwill find out once he returns from wherever he¡¯s gone these past few days.

    I was accommodated in the sala, which, although not as furnished as the one in the Casa Real, was more spacious. As I sat there, everywhere I looked, memories came streaming in. It was surreal to have my emotions stirred in a place I had never technically been in before.

    To my surprise, Sen?ora Alcantara warmly received me when I paid them a visit. I suspect this was either because she hadn¡¯t expected their accommodations to be this decent, or because she had just learned what my position truly meant. After all, she had been present during my speech.

    Just as we were about to finish our small talk and get to the purpose of my visit, she entered the room with a cup of coffee for me and her husband.

    "Sen?or Gobernador... forgive me if the coffee took too long. I don¡¯t usually serve guests, you see. But I¡¯ll be learning," she said with a slightly exaggerated smile on her thickly painted lips.

    "I¡¯m flattered, Sen?ora," I replied, raising the cup to smell its contents. "Ah... this is strong. I like it."

    "I hope you do," she said as she made her way back to the door.

    Her husband watched her with a smile until the door shut behind her.

    "So... how can I help you, Heneral?" he asked.

    "About your ship, Sen?or Alcantara... I think we should start planning how to convert it into a gunboat," I said. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d need it anytime soon, but if the elites knew I had a gunboat at my disposal, I¡¯d appear more formidable. And for martial law to be upheld, I needed them to be intimidated.

    I took a sip of the coffee¡ªand it was the bitterest thing I had ever tasted. My eyes watered, but I forced down a gulp.

    Sen?or Alcantara wasn¡¯t as resilient. At his first sip, he spat it all out onto the floor.

    "I¡¯m so sorry about this," he said, coughing. "My wife¡¯s a tea person, Don Martin. I bet it was her first time making coffee. I assure you, she meant well."

    I chuckled. "I dearly hope so. This coffee is bitter enough to be a murder weapon."

    We both laughed like schoolboys at a dirty joke. So loud were our laughs that we didn¡¯t immediately notice the door open.

    Sen?ora Alcantara returned, looking both horrified and confused at the sight of us.

    "Uhmm... there¡¯s someone looking for you, Sen?or Gobernador."

    ---

    My martial law declaration was challenged just two days after I announced it.

    Teniente Dimalanta came looking for me about an altercation at the port between Colonel Abad¡¯s men and the workers of a hacendero who was about to ship off his goods.

    When I arrived, I found a pathetic scene. Perhaps to avoid escalation, Colonel Abad had instructed his men not to use their rifles. So the soldiers had their rifles slung behind their backs as they tried to push through a blockade of older, more muscular workers.

    Some sacks were already being carried to waiting boats. In the distance, another steamship¡ªaside from Alcantara¡¯s¡ªwas moored.

    I quickly recognized the hacendero. Sen?or Grimaldo owned a sizeable portion of the rice fields in the town. I had seen him seated at the far end of the table during the meeting, likely an ally of Don Contreras.

    "Colonel Abad, have your men withdraw!" I ordered from atop my horse. Colonel Abad hadn¡¯t seen me coming, being in the middle of the pushing and shoving himself. He looked surprised to hear my voice.

    "Withdraw!" he repeated, and the soldiers stepped back.

    Sen?or Grimaldo¡¯s eyes widened, and he laughed. "Ha! All bark and no bite! I knew you wouldn¡¯t dare!"

    "Quick, everyone¡ªget the sacks to the boats before they get their hands on them. You can¡¯t just use a war happening hundreds of miles away to justify confiscating other people¡¯s property!" he continued, while his workers scrambled to move the cargo.

    I sighed and then shouted, "?Listos!"

    The soldiers looked up at me and began to take their rifles off their backs¡ªbut not fast enough.

    "?Listos!" I said louder. This time, even Sen?or Grimaldo heard.

    The soldiers moved quickly. Soon, rifles were raised and bolts clicked into place.

    "?Apunten!" I barked. The soldiers took aim at the workers, who began to slow as they noticed what was happening.

    "You wouldn¡¯t dare!" Sen?or Grimaldo shouted, his voice filled with fury. "Shoot, and they¡¯ll storm the Casa Real and drag you through the streets!"

    My cheeks burned. Grimaldo was a hothead, yes¡ªbut he wouldn¡¯t behave this outrageously unless someone had been feeding the fire. I had suspected as much, and I needed to respond accordingly.

    I reached for my sidearm¡ªonly to remember I¡¯d given it to Vicente.

    I looked around and quickly snatched a raised rifle from one of the soldiers nearby. Still on horseback, I aimed it at Sen?or Grimaldo.

    He paled and took a step back.

    My finger rested on the trigger.

    "H-Heneral..." Teniente Dimalanta cautiously stepped closer.

    Just before I pulled, I shifted the rifle slightly.

    The gunshot cracked through the air. The fat Sen?or Grimaldo nearly jumped off the ground in fright.

    The bullet struck one of the sacks being carried near him. The worker dropped it and dove to the ground, frantically checking his head and neck, grunting in fear.

    "Did you not listen during the meeting?" I called out, throwing the rifle back to the soldier. "All exports must go through me."

    "Any violators will be shot."

 Chapter 65: Scandalous

    Chapter 65: Scandalous

    "You will pay for this!" Sen?or Grimaldo struggled against the soldiers as he and his workers were dragged through the corridors of the ground floor of the Casa Real. The officials and scribes in front of their respective offices nervously made way, whispering to each other about the scandalous sight.

    The Casa Tribunal, along with other government offices, was located inside the Casa Real. And with the courtroom, there were also detention cells located at the rear of the building¡ªtwo small, windowless rooms. They hadn¡¯t found much use for a while, since crimes were not rampant in rural Marinduque, and the barrio chiefs usually dealt with petty offenses in their barangays.

    "This will make noise..." Colonel Abad said to me as we watched the soldiers and the offenders disappear around a turn at the back of the Casa Real. The last time someone from the principalia was apprehended, it was a Spanish governor who ordered it.

    If my enemies meant to provoke me, then they had succeeded. I could only wait and hope more were intimidated than outraged. If I had simply let it pass, then I would have undermined my own declaration. Martial law should be accompanied by an iron hand.I was about to take the stairs when Colonel Abad tapped me and pointed me in the direction of someone.

    Coming from the same hallway where Sen?or Grimaldo and the soldiers had gone was a familiar face, waving at me.

    Don Crisostomo De los Santos was an intimidating man, with his broad frame and tall stature. He also held an intimidating government position¡ªBoac¡¯s juez de paz, which put him second to the gobernadorcillo in the town¡¯s administrative hierarchy.

    But both his looks and his position were deceiving. He was large but very mild-mannered and non-confrontational. And his position as juez de paz was just as symbolic as my governorship initially, since criminality was not rampant in the rural town, and the petty offenses that did occur were dealt with locally by the cabezas in their barrios.

    Now the position was even more irrelevant, as my military tribunal would take over judicial matters.

    "Wasn¡¯t that Sen?or Grimaldo?" he asked me as soon as he reached me. "What happened, Don Martin?"

    "He was caught trying to export his rice through the usual means, which is a violation of the restrictions I had declared," I answered the juez de paz, amused by how he looked away as soon as I made stern eye contact. "To generate income for the war effort and requisition necessary supplies¡ªhad I not said in the meeting that all exports will go through the government?"

    He swallowed before he spoke. "Yes... you did say that. But this might provoke others, Don Martin. What if they come for you?"

    "With what army?" I said almost instinctively, and what I said next was half-bluff. "I am the highest authority in the province, respected by the people, in control of a sizeable army, in possession of large caches of rifles and ammunition, and..."

    I grinned as I remembered something, "... and a gunboat, I might add."

    "To expect me to bend is ridiculous," I continued. "And it is time for you to pick a side, Don De los Santos. I would say choosing me is the wiser choice."

    ---

    Ricardo Grimaldo, the only son of Sen?or Grimaldo, arrived late that afternoon at the Casa Real. I watched him warily observe the drilling recruits in the sala. He flinched at every hurrah and looked uncomfortable at the sight of the rifles. When he was escorted to me upstairs, the already sickly-looking lad was devoid of color.

    I did not know the lad that well, but already I could tell he was the opposite of Sen?or Grimaldo. And it was not surprising for an ill-tempered man to have a scaredy-boy.

    He was accompanied by his uncle, who unfortunately did favor his brother¡¯s temperament. A simpleton, all he did was threaten me, and our conversation went nowhere.

    But I already had an idea how to deal with the matter.

    It was very early the next morning that I decided to visit the cells. I had not specified how they should be detained, so it must have been Colonel Abad¡¯s decision to lump all the workers in one room, and give Sen?or Grimaldo the other all to himself.

    It must have been also his arrangement to give him comfortable beddings.

    Colonel Abad was too soft-hearted for someone in his position, but I did not mind his gesture. Torturing someone is good at getting answers, but it was never effective in producing long-term cooperation.

    I had the still-grumbling hacendero brought to the balcony, in sight of the recruits who were doing their exercises before their daily march. The Madrigal and Nepomuceno cadets had taken over as the platoon leaders, with the NCOs returning to my escolta, and were competently leading the routines. The harsher physical training I had them do last week had come to fruition, and I bet they were thankful for it.

    Dimalanta stood in front, barking orders and instructions. He had done a great job overseeing the week¡¯s training. Already I was seeing decent marksmanship results from the recruits.

    "Is this to intimidate me, Don Lardizabal?" he said with his newly-woken hoarse voice.

    "Yes... but that¡¯s not the only reason," I told him, shifting my gaze from the recruits to him.

    He still had crust in his eyes, but I guess that was the least of his concerns at the moment.

    "Your son... I don¡¯t think he will survive this kind of training," I said to him, and promptly I saw his mouth twitch. "Which is unfortunate... because I must require all men of age to join the army."

    "You really think you can lord over us... because of an appointment from Manila?" he said with a chuckle.

    "Yes," I said matter-of-factly. "Because I think you are excessively underestimating my authority."

    "You and your brother... who came here yesterday... threatened that your friends will hear of what I did and retaliate. But how?" I shrugged, throwing my hands in the air. "Come at me with a mob of laborers armed with bolos and get cut down in the hundreds by my well-trained and well-armed men?"

    "It is impossible to overthrow me... but let¡¯s say you did..." I said, my grin widening.

    "Nearby generals of the Republic, appointed by the same man who appointed me, will hear of it. One of them will come here with his army and make sure all of those responsible hang."

    He looked outraged, almost about to burst, but he did not say anything.

    "I will not be taking your rice for free. I will buy it¡ªalthough at a sharp discount... a little sacrifice for the country," I leaned back on the handrail, glanced at the soldiers, then back at him. "And should you cooperate... I might consider exempting your son from conscription."

 Chapter 66: Cabezas

    Chapter 66: Cabezas

    Taking control of Boac was the first step to it all.

    That was the reason for the grand speech I made at the plaza¡ªto energize the common populace for the war effort and put pressure on the principalia. It was a leap of faith, a move that should work on paper, but things did not always turn out according to plan.

    But in my case, it would seem that it did.

    I had sent an order to all the cabezas de barangay, giving the barrio chiefs quotas for both men and supplies. They were technically part of the principalia, but unlike the elites in town, the cabezas were somewhat closer to the common people due to the nature of their work. And if my speech had done its job, they would be the most exposed to the patriotic fervor of the people and would find it difficult to contradict my demands.

    I had not expected an immediate response, as the requests were not something to be arranged overnight, but I grew anxious when nothing arrived in the following days.

    It was only on Friday when the first cabeza turned up at the doors of the Casa Real¡ªand his was from one of the farther inland barangays, about two hours¡¯ walking distance from the town.

    Sen?or Tiburcio Sales was the cabeza of barrio Canat, the same barrio where my abaca plantation was located, and I had long been on good terms with him. Accompanying him was none other than my dutiful capataz, Leonardo Perez.

    As I had written down in the quota for the barrio, the cabeza brought with him ten men. I had required less from barangays that already had some of their young men in my current pool of recruits, but being distant, Canat must not have been reached by the colonel or by Pedro in their recruitment drives.

    Sen?or Sales also managed to deliver his quota of resources and supplies¡ªand even exceeded them.

    Carried in muddied carts and pulled by old carabaos were three piculs of abaca, two piculs of copra, ten cavanes of rice, two gantas of coffee, two jars of tuba, generous amounts of root crops, and several bundles of firewood.

    Impressed and very pleased, I ended up giving him the market prices for the products, though I told him it was the discounted rate.

    As for the recruits, I immediately had the clerks take down their personal information and assigned Dimalanta to handle their accommodations and preliminary rituals.

    "I could not believe you actually dared to do this, Don Martin. I did not know you had the cojones!" Sen?or Sales said with boisterous laughter. "What you are doing is quite ambitious... and potentially dangerous... but we need bold men like you in these times."

    I had them stay for the night, since they had arrived late in the afternoon. For the first time that week, I felt truly relaxed and let down my guard in accommodating them. It was refreshing to deal with friendly and supportive folk, for a change, after all the confrontations.

    "You only need to call for me, Gobernador," said Sen?or Tiburcio as they were about to leave the following early morning. "I will be ready to help."

    And I might really call on him soon. If the recruits continued to come streaming in, I would need more loyal and reliable men as military officers¡ªor civilian leaders to operate the auxiliary wing.

    As it turned out, he would be the buena mano. Not long after he left, my sister took the reins in Buliasnin in the absence of her husband and arranged for carts of supplies¡ªmost of which were fish¡ªand delivered them herself. I had not required more men from her barrio, since they had already provided eleven recruits, but she brought with her three more.

    I was touched by the gesture and sent her away with a generous purse for the supplies and two armed escorts to ensure her safety and that of my niece while Pedro was away.

    In the afternoon, I was surprised by four cabezas de barangay arriving one after another. All of them brought the number of recruits I had asked for. They also brought along several carts, though not all of them managed to fulfill my quota for food and supplies. Some of their reasons had merit, but I was convinced they just weren¡¯t ready to go all out yet.

    Still, I was simply happy they responded, so I let it slide. Although, I was not as generous with them as I had been with the first two¡ªoffering them the actual discounted price.

    "You are being very cheap with us, Don Lardizabal. It is very unlike you..." one of them complained when I offered a 30% discount on their goods. Which was actually being generous, because I didn¡¯t know if Sen?or Lim would even be able to sell them¡ªor if he would agree to it at all.

    If he didn¡¯t, I would likely be bankrupt.

    "Well, I am not buying this as a businessman, Sen?or Sumulong," I said to the cabeza of Agot. "I am requisitioning it as a general of the Republic. My price is a fair price, given what we are fighting for."

    He didn¡¯t argue further after that. Maybe he agreed with me¡ªor was at least unwilling to be called unpatriotic. Or maybe it was because Vicente was coincidentally polishing his pistol in the background.

    I had a suspicion that the bulk of the cabezas would arrive on Sunday, and to my delight, I was proven right. Fifteen cabezas de barangay arrived in the town proper in the morning, their caravans causing a rare traffic jam in the streets. The clerks¡ªwho were supposed to be having their day off¡ªwere made to work double time, recording the names of recruits and taking inventory of the supplies.

    I had been anxious for nothing. The cabezas needed more than a couple of days to arrange everything. Their constituents needed convincing, the recruited men needed to prepare and say their goodbyes, carts and carabaos had to be acquired, and distances¡ªsometimes through narrow trails¡ªhad to be traveled.

    Sunday was just the right time.

    I was so relieved and in such a good mood that the fiery sermon that followed¡ªperhaps the priest¡¯s sharpest attack on me yet, though still without naming me¡ªdid little to dampen my spirits.

    By Monday, I felt I had done enough in Boac to finally venture into Mogpog and Sta. Cruz.

 Chapter 67: Stern

    Chapter 67: Stern

    "Buenas... di?as... papa... aqua esta? ti cafe?," Isabela said as she poured me coffee, practicing her Spanish at the same time.

    "Gracias, mi hija," I replied, immediately putting the mug down on the table, lest I spill it in the middle of my chuckling. "And what a good way to tell me Vicente hasn¡¯t been doing his job."

    Trivin?o, seated opposite me, let out a heavy sigh. Since becoming her Spanish tutor and bodyguard, he had regained his seat at my table¡ªwhich, I must admit, had made the sala lively again.

    "Well... the sen?orita has her own schedule and ends the lessons as she pleases," he said, avoiding the gaze of the girl who had been smiling at him¡ªuntil he said that.

    I chuckled, louder this time.

    Isabela¡¯s face twisted as she took her seat.

    "Well... not my fault. You¡¯re too stern, like a real maestro," she chided, pouring milk into her coffee.

    "I am your maestro. And believe me, Sen?orita, I¡¯m more qualified than the so-called maestros you have here in Marinduque," he responded with a smug smirk.

    I shook my head, though I couldn¡¯t help grinning. It was a disrespectful thing to say, but perhaps not untrue. He looked at me and shrugged.

    "A gentleman is respectful and humble, Sen?orito Trivin?o," Isabela snapped back with a disapproving glare. "And not a tattletale like you."

    Trivin?o huffed and stared her straight in the eye.

    "Well thank goodness... because I¡¯m not a gentleman."

    Isabela tilted her head in confusion. "What do you mean by¡ª"

    "Alright, stop it, you two. It¡¯s too early in the morning to be arguing," I interjected. I didn¡¯t believe my sweet Isabela would think any less of him if she learned he wasn¡¯t from the principalia. But it might cause her to question his credentials, which would only make it harder for him to teach her Spanish.

    The two fell silent, though they continued clashing through their facial expressions.

    I cleared my throat. "I¡¯m leaving for Mogpog today. I have business there."

    It was Vicente who reacted first, raising his eyebrows. "Has Capitan Roque sent word?"

    I nodded. "One of his men arrived last Saturday. Said it went smoothly. I would have gone myself if I didn¡¯t need to receive the cabezas. But I can¡¯t delay any longer."

    "Why are you even telling us..." Isabela muttered, sipping from her cup as she stared out the window. "You¡¯re always out of the house anyway, so what¡¯s the difference?"

    I sighed. "Because after that, I might proceed to Sta. Cruz. Your Tiyo could send word any day now. I might be gone for a week."

    "That¡¯s what you said last time..." she pouted.

    I glanced at Trivin?o. He gave me a look that said, Now you understand what I mean.

    I ignored them both. "I¡¯ll be leaving with half of the escolta and half of the trained recruits. That means there¡¯ll be less security around here."

    "And you, Teniente Trivin?o, will be in command of the remaining escorts. Make sure my daughter doesn¡¯t stray too far from the town center. Bring extra men with you every time you go out," I told him seriously. "My absence might attract foul attempts from those who have grown to dislike me."

    He seemed to understand the severity of the matter, snapping to a salute. "I¡¯ll do my best, Heneral."

    "Blrrrf." Isabela blew through her lips, unimpressed by the exchange. "Not only are you leaving me behind... you¡¯re going to make me a captive of this man."

    "Don¡¯t worry, Sen?orita," Trivin?o sighed. "It¡¯ll be just as miserable for me as it is for you."

    ---

    By Monday, the cabezas had brought a total of fifty new recruits into the fold. That morning, the plaza once again hosted a hundred men in formation¡ªthough that wouldn¡¯t last for long.

    Two weeks of training made a significant difference.

    The two newly formed platoons stood disheveled, furiously sweating, and slightly pale. The two-week-old platoons, on the other hand, stood sharper and sweated only lightly, as if they¡¯d just gone for a short jog.

    "You said you¡¯ll be leaving for Mogpog. Will I go with you?" asked Colonel Abad as we stood by the doorway of the Casa Real, arms crossed, eyes surveying the recruits.

    I shook my head.

    "How about me?" Dimalanta asked.

    "Neither of you will be going with me," I replied.

    "Dimalanta, you¡¯ll be in charge of training the new recruits. You participated during the first week and I¡¯ve seen your notes. You¡¯re an exemplary soldier, and your meticulousness makes you a good instructor." I gave him a pat on the back. I meant no flattery¡ªonly the truth.

    "Basic drills and formations during the first couple of days. Then introduce the advanced formations and the exercise routine I taught you by the third or fourth day. If I don¡¯t return within the week, go ahead with the marksmanship training next Monday."

    Ronaldo grinned widely, clearly enjoying the compliments. His heels clicked as he gave me a sharp, crisp salute.

    I nodded approvingly, then turned to the Colonel. Unlike Dimalanta, I wasn¡¯t as confident in Maximo. There was no doubting his intellect¡ªhe was perhaps the smartest in my staff, maybe second only to Vicente. He absorbed lectures quickly and applied them with ease.

    But his past as a schoolteacher in the escuela municipal de los nin?os had given him a mild demeanor¡ªnot one to be stern or strict. And as the port altercation had shown, he could be a bit indecisive.

    Still, being a good teacher and an even better learner, I hoped he¡¯d grow from the heavy task I was about to give him.

    "In my absence, Colonel Abad, you will be the highest authority in this town." I stepped closer and spoke in a low, stern voice. "I¡¯ll be leaving with half of the escolta and half of the trained recruits. You¡¯ll command the remaining trained platoon."

    "Post guards at the port, at the town entrances, and at the storehouses. Keep patrols on the streets," I added, staring at him silently before continuing. He looked unsettled but held my gaze.

    "Most of all, Colonel, do not hesitate to use intimidation or force if necessary. If need be... remember to use your rifles."

    Given his temperament, I expected questions followed by a reluctant nod.

    But perhaps Dimalanta had rubbed off on him. He snapped to attention and saluted crisply.

    "Para sa Republika, Heneral."

    "Para sa Republika, Coronel."

 Chapter 68: Difference

    Chapter 68: Difference

    Through a letter delivered by one of the recruits under him, Capitan Roque reported that the news of my martial law declaration had been well received by the gobernadorcillo and the principales of Mogpog.

    I was expecting a warm welcome into the town¡ªbut not as warm as the one that would greet us after the nearly two-hour journey.

    If I hadn¡¯t known any better, I would have thought a fiesta was going on. Even from a distance, we could see the colorful banderitas and the crowd lining the main street, and we could already hear the lively music of the rondalla.

    Greeting us at the entrance of the pueblo were Capitan Roque and his soldiers, along with the principalia led by Mogpog¡¯s gobernadorcillo, Don Fernando Lagran.

    "What a momentous event for our young country, Gobernador¡ªand how happy I am to be part of it," the old town mayor told me as he shook my hand. Already then, I knew the afternoon would only get better.

    After marching through the streets and being hailed and cheered by the boisterous townsfolk, we were led to the private residence of Don Lagran to enjoy a small feast.

    It did not escape my notice how the elites of Mogpog treated me with more respect than my peers in Boac.

    I believe part of it was due to the old saying: no prophet is accepted in his hometown. Most of Boac¡¯s principalia had grown up with Martin¡ªoverly familiar, aware of his flaws and humble beginnings. They knew him as the unassertive and mild-mannered man, and my sudden assertion of authority must have been at best surprising¡ªand to some, even outrageous.

    It could also be that the elites of the much smaller and more rural Mogpog were not as politically competitive as their counterparts in Boac, which was both the administrative and commercial center of the province. It had always been the case that the smaller the settlement, the less divisive it was¡ªsocially and politically.

    But I would soon discover a much simpler reason.

    "Sen?or Gobernador... I want to introduce you to the Mendez brothers," Don Lagran said as our plates were nearly empty and our stomachs nearly full. "I think you might have heard of them."

    The Mendez name was one of the more well-known in Marinduque. I think Martin had once dealt with a Mendez hacendero, but that man was from Gasan, not Mogpog¡ªand I did not recall more than one Mendez.

    "Forgive me, Don Lagran, but I am old. I might need my memory jogged," I replied.

    He chuckled and pointed to the men seated near Capitan Roque. "This is Basilio Mendez, the leader of the revolutionists here in Mogpog during our struggle against Spain," he said, referring to the older man, who looked to be about forty years old. "And this is his brother, Vicente Mendez, who was second-in-command," he said, referring to the younger Mendez, about ten years his junior.

    Both men stood and gave me a respectful nod.

    I raised my eyebrows, smiling, "It is a crime that this is the first time I¡¯m hearing of you two. I hope you¡¯re not already retired? I¡¯m afraid our struggle for independence is far from over, especially with the arrival of the Americans."

    "No, not at all. We are ready to serve, should our service be called upon," Basilio replied, then glanced at Capitan Roque. "I¡¯ve heard from Sen?or Faustino that you¡¯re training men in Boac?"

    "Indeed I am," I said. "And I plan to train recruits here in Mogpog as well. I¡¯ll need officers for them¡ªand I believe the two of you would be the best candidates."

    The Mendez brothers beamed at what they heard. A round of congratulatory applause rose from the other guests.

    "You¡¯ll find no difficulty getting recruits here in Mogpog, Sen?or Gobernador," the younger Mendez added eagerly, nearly on the edge of his seat. "I think I can provide fifty men as soon as tomorrow¡ªfriends of ours who fought with us against Spain." His passion drew a few chuckles from around the table.

    I laughed and nodded. "That¡¯s good, Sen?or Mendez¡ªbut tomorrow is too soon. Monday will do... and I¡¯ll be expecting more than fifty."

    Since all the elites were already present, I proceeded to conduct the meeting regarding what they should expect under martial law¡ªand what I expected from them.

    First, I informed them that Capitan Roque and his men would remain in town to enforce martial law guidelines until native units were raised to take their place. That must have come as a surprise to Capitan Roque, who had expected to stay only until my arrival. But he made no protest.

    Since the gobernadorcillo was cooperative, there was no need for me to take over his position. I tasked him with assigning quotas for men and supplies to the cabezas de barangay, and instructed him to cooperate fully with Capitan Roque in all matters related to the enforcement of martial law in the town.

    To the principales, I announced that their produce would be requisitioned by the republic to supply the troops and raise funds for the war effort. They would be paid for it¡ªalbeit at a discounted rate.

    Those were tall orders¡ªones that naturally earned resistance from some elites in Boac. But here, I was met only with solemn silence. I watched the officials and hacenderos absorb the instructions, and by the end of it, most either smiled or nodded in acceptance.

    What a pleasant feeling it was to be at the head of that table. The difference between Boac and Mogpog was stark: in the latter, patriotism thrived not only among the common folk but also among the ruling elites.

    I had expected to spend a few days handling affairs in the town, but by the end of the meeting, I felt as though I could proceed to Sta. Cruz the next day.

    But since it was already late in the afternoon, we accepted Don Lagran¡¯s offer to host us for the night.

 Chapter 69: Moro

    Chapter 69: Moro

    I hadn¡¯t yet received any letter from Pedro when we decided to set off early the next morning. It would not be surprising for him to face resistance in Sta. Cruz. The town, being distant from Boac and also having its share of very wealthy principales, would not readily submit to a fledgling governor.

    Still, he could have sent a report. Perhaps he did not want to send anyone back until he had succeeded.

    But I was starting to get worried. We had no news of him for five days already. And even if he was safe, to have no result for that long must mean he might need my personal help.

    The coastal road continued toward Sta. Cruz, but to travel it on foot would take six to eight hours, and with our number, we might be delayed. Not to mention that if the occasional downpour arrived, the dirt road would become mud and twice as hard to navigate.

    It was the gobernadorcillo who advised us to take the sea route. He had some of his people escort us toward the coastal barrio of Balanacan.

    I had a sizeable retinue with me. I took ten men from the escolta and then a platoon of 25 recruits, totaling 35. I did not need that many to secure my safety in the relative quiet of Marinduque. I could scare the local highwaymen even with just a single rifle.

    And my 35-man company was not there to scare off bandits but to give substance to my title as an appointed general of the republic. It had already worked its wonder in Mogpog.

    Three bancas were arranged to transport us. Two of them were meant to contain the bulk of my company, fifteen each. The last boat would only contain six, including me.

    "Heneral!"

    A voice rang out in the air, attracting the attention of everyone in the cove, just as I was about to climb the gangway toward the boat. Emerging out of the small path that led to the sands from the coconuts was the son of Capitan Roque, the cadet Tomas Roque, on the back of a horse.

    The young man rode toward me and then produced a piece of folded paper from one of his chest pockets.

    "We intercepted a messenger from Capitan Pedro who was intending to ride toward Boac. He did not look too happy," the cadet told me, still trying to catch his breath.

    The letter was not carried gently. It was slightly crumpled, slightly wet with sweat, and had stains of dirt. To make it worse, Pedro did not have the best penmanship, having dropped out of college.

    Still, I was able to decipher his report through careful reading.

    It was as I had suspected.

    Until his arrival, no news about the war in Luzon or my Martial Law declaration had reached the town. And when he arrived with it, it was taken badly, with some of them doubting that there really was a war in Manila.

    To add salt to the wound, even his mother¡¯s family did not take his side.

    He asked to be given more time, which I had to deny.

    ---

    Sen?or Alcantara¡¯s ship would be useful for intertown travel. Not only would it be faster than using the coastal road, it would also matter little how many men and how much baggage I brought with me.

    Unfortunately, I had already sent Sen?or Alcantara and his ship to Iloilo, where he said the industry and skilled labor existed to reinforce the hull of the steamship. Marinduque lacked any shipbuilding capacity beyond crafting small to medium wooden sailboats.

    So, we had to make do with the bancas, which, even with the light load in mine, still did not offer enough space for comfortable sitting. After just an hour, my butt cheeks were burning, and my legs and back aching.

    The only consolation was the beautiful view that graced our eyes. Our route involved us hugging the coast the whole way, which meant that we did not sail somewhere deep, and we could see the beautiful sea floor below through the crystal clear, clean water. We were also shown the province¡¯s coastline, beautiful enough to build resorts on.

    Somewhere along the way, the wind picked up, and our traveling speed increased. Soon, the helmsman was telling us we had gone past the boundary between Mogpog and Sta. Cruz.

    The sea traffic was very light, but throughout the journey, I had seen multiple fishing and transport boats.

    But I did not spot any ship as large or as decorated as the one that would soon loom in the distance. The first thing to be noticed were the colorful square masts, and the splash around it produced by tens of rowers.

    I grinned in admiration although I did not really know what I was looking at. And I would soon know enough.

    We were at the head of the flotilla, and the crew of my boat were the first ones to notice it. As soon as they did, they froze where they were, and only a few moments later would I know it was not to admire.

    "Jesu?s, Mari?a y Jose?... is it not too early in the year for them to be doing this?" the helmsman shouted above the sound of the waves, his eyes still on the impressive wooden ship, presumably talking to the oarsmen behind him.

    "What... what is it?" I asked because he did not seem too excited.

    "Moro, sen?or," he said to me grimly.

    Then suddenly animated, he shouted to his crew and to the boats following us, "Take down the sails!"

    "Pirates!"

    ----

    We landed on the shores of a barrio called Baliis. As soon as the boats hit shallow water, some of the crew jumped out and rushed to warn the populace.

    The reaction from the dwellers was immediate and chaotic. Villagers quickly emptied their houses of their valuables, their livestock pens of every animal, and mothers snatched their kids as they scattered out of the barrio. A few brave men remained, armed with bolo knives and bamboo spears.

    Before I even stepped on the ground, the barrio was as quiet as a ghost town.I was still trying to process what had just happened. Pirate attacks were common in Marinduque, but it had been a while since Boac itself was touched by the Moros. And neither Martin nor I would have been able to distinguish a pirate Moro ship.

    "Any chance they will be heading here?" I asked the same helmsman, whose name I did not know.

    Unlike the other boatmen with him, he did not run along with the villagers. He accompanied us to the shore and stayed at my side while we surveyed both the sea and the nearly empty village

    ."No... this barrio has nothing worth raiding," he answered, his hands on his hips. I took another look at the village and knew what he meant. It was just a humble village whose only livelihood was fishing and only consisted of a little more than ten houses.

    "They are likely headed to Kasily..." he continued. "That one would be worth raiding. They have a few warehouses for salt, rice, and copra. Not to mention... a few wealthy families."

    "And that¡¯s... how far is that from here?" I asked him.

    He turned to me and then to the soldiers, his eyes widening as if he had just remembered something. "It¡¯s the next barrio over."

    We communicated with just our eyes. I knew what he was thinking, and I thought of it as soon as I heard the word Moro. What a coincidence for them to appear when I was around.

    "How would Kasily... defend itself?"

    His mouth opened but no words came out until he shook his head. "They won¡¯t be able to defend themselves. If they¡¯re lucky, they¡¯ll see the Moro ship early and flee from the village before the pirates come ashore... and that¡¯s if they¡¯re lucky."

    He maintained eye contact, growing serious by the second. "If you want to help... I can lead you there."

    I heavily sighed. The Moro ship likely contained around the same number as us and would only be armed with melee weapons... but unlike my recruits, these were warriors, used to the sight and scent of carnage. And while we did have guns, most of them were single-shots and terrible at close quarters.

    The man framed it as a question, but there could only be one answer. How could I, who not only claims to be the governor of the island but also a general that would lead the fight against the Americans, shrink against mere pirates?

    Sargento Guzman, the only NCO I brought with me, already had the men stand in formation as soon as they stepped ashore. They had been curiously watching me as I conversed with the boatman.

    "Load your rifles..." I left the side of the helmsman without a word and walked toward the soldiers, "and prepare to move out and expect to be engaged."

    I scanned the ranks, and the young, speckless, and scared faces did nothing to comfort me. But it would not be my first time leading riffraff.

    I walked closer to the sergeants. "Sargento Guzman... I will be leading the Mausers at the front. You and the Remingtons will keep behind."

 Chapter 70: Hasta la Vista

    Chapter 70: Hasta la Vista

    "It¡¯s the bell of the chapel," the helmsman¡ªwho I now know as Eduardo¡ªpaused as he led our long file through the very narrow trail that he said would lead us the fastest to the village.

    What he was describing was the rhythmic metallic ringing that rode the air, making its way to us through the coconut trees.

    I did not say anything, but silently, I took heart. It meant that they had already spotted the pirates coming, and maybe, just like in Baliis, the villagers had scampered out of the barrio before the pirates could get their hands on them.

    We continued onward, rushing but hampered by the footpath that only allowed a one-man file. Until we noticed that the mud underneath our boots was now sand, and that the dense, layered vegetation transitioned to a much looser and lower undergrowth.

    At the same time we heard the distant screams, we saw the plume of smoke rise up into the sky. I had failed to notice that the church bell had stopped its clanging. Horrified, we abandoned our one-man file, letting the soldiers navigate through the low plants to make our movement much faster.

    Soon we saw the end of the treeline and the glimpses of the chaos that awaited. My heart jumped at the sight of my first pirate, and instinctively I raised a hand to signal a halt.

    It was the 19th century, and still the man managed to look like someone from the past. He wore no shirt at all, and the bronzed and muscled body featured tribal tattoos. His headgear was a colorful turban, and he had brightly colored trousers on¡ªones you would expect to see in the Middle East, not in Christian Philippines.

    His right hand carried a naked kris sword, while the other supported a large sack on his shoulder. He walked away, out of sight.

    I then signaled for a slow approach, and we crept up nearer for a better look.

    I gritted my teeth at the harrowing sight. Of all the possible scenarios, the worst of them unfolded before us.

    The attack must have started only minutes before we arrived, and the barrio had been taken completely by surprise. Huts were ransacked one by one, and out of them, young women were dragged by their hair and young children carried like small pigs. A warehouse had been found, and the pirates giddily and immediately started emptying its contents.

    Houses that had been completely pillaged were put to the torch.

    The pirates operated like veterans. The raid had a method. They moved fast and efficiently. There was no wasted effort. Like many outlaws, they relied on hit-and-run tactics, and I knew I did not have much time to be sitting idly.

    I gestured for Sargento Guzman to approach. He kept his head low while he moved toward me with light feet.

    "Sargento... you will stand your ground in this position. Have the recruits form two lines along the cover of the trees, and have them alternately fire... just like the old-fashioned way," I whispered closely to his ear so as not to be drowned out by the sound of screams and angry shouts.

    I immediately realized we did not have the luxury of time, or of well-trained men, to be doing anything sophisticated. And since we were fighting melee pirates, we could afford to do it simple.

    "The escolta will be with me, and we will flank around," I said to him. "And you will only open fire once you have heard a gunshot from us. Am I understood?"

    "Opo, Heneral," the sergeant eagerly nodded.

    He was about to leave my side to be about his business when I held onto him. I just remembered I did not have a gun myself when I was about to lead an assault.

    "Do you have a sidearm, Sargento?" I asked the Sargento Primero.

    He looked at me, confused, and shook his head.

    "Then I suggest you stay behind the lines and focus on shouting orders. I will be borrowing your Mauser rifle."

    ---

    Eduardo had never been to Kasily, I would later find out. But he had the instincts to sniff out paths used by workers tending the coconuts.

    In no time, he had found a way around the village. Earlier we approached from the south. Our new entryway would have us enter from the southwest.

    We emerged into the backyard of a bahay-na-bato house and were greeted by loudly clucking chickens.

    It likely belonged to one of the wealthy families Eduardo claimed resided in Kasily. Unlike Boac, Sta. Cruz¡ªbeing an agricultural town¡ªhad much of its principalia families scattered loosely around its territories, residing near their estates.

    I had the soldiers slowly approach the house. Noise was all around, but we could clearly hear some of it coming from inside. There were thuds, the sound of shattering glass, angry manly grunts, and a struggling female¡¯s squeals.

    The windows showed us nothing.

    The back door suddenly swung open. Instinctively, I raised my rifle and aimed at whatever would come out from the doorway. The soldiers quickly followed suit.

    I lowered my rifle at what I saw next. A young woman sprung out with her dress torn from her left shoulder, showing a breast.

    Her eyes immediately found us, and she did not mind her nakedness as she ran in our direction.

    She raised her hands¡ªfrom horrified to relieved, to horrified again¡ªas I raised my rifle once more.

    "Mga sundalo! Dagan!" the pirate who had come out the door after her managed to scream and turn his back, right before I hit him at the nape of his neck.

    He held his bleeding throat as he collapsed on the stone low steps.

    Before the echo of my gunshot faded, we heard the first Remington volley erupt in the air.

    For a brief moment¡ªperhaps for only half a second¡ªthe whole barrio went silent, right before the chaos doubled.

    "?Fuego a voluntad!" I shouted in Spanish, telling the soldiers to fire at will.

    The soldiers responded with the best attempt at war screams and rushed past the house, to the streets of the barrio. Soon, I heard the scattered sharp cracks of the Mausers, complementing the coordinated rolling-block fire.

    I felt something at my feet. The young woman, perhaps only a year or two older than my Isabela, hugged my leg, her watery eyes begging,

    "Please, Sen?or... my father... the pirates have him inside the house."

    Immediately, I took off my jacket and knelt down to cover her.

    "Will we go inside, Heneral?" a soldier stayed behind. I recognized his face. He was one of the two soldiers standing guard by the door of the conference room when I met with Boac¡¯s principalia last week.

    "No, soldado. Take care of the girl," I said to him. "I will go alone inside."

    ---

    The storeroom waited behind the back door. It was in disarray. Cabinets were emptied, and all around were spaces left behind by the confiscated sacks and baskets. Some rice grains were spilled on the floor.

    The thick stone walls muffled much of the noise from the outside. And it made it possible to hear the distant conversation from somewhere inside the house, straight ahead.

    I entered the ante-sala, and from compact dirt, the floor was now Narra wood. This was one of the parts of the house that was typically most furnished, being the waiting room for guests. And to no surprise, it was now bare¡ªeven the chairs were not spared. If the mahogany table weren¡¯t so heavy, the pirates might have snatched it away as well.

    A shattered vase lay on the floor, and a clumsy pirate would have likely been terribly scolded for it. At a corner of the room was the altar table draped with lace, featuring a smashed figure of the Virgin Mary. The Moro, after all, were mostly Muslims and were not too fond of what they called idols.

    Nearer now, I was certain the voices came from the front sala. The door leading to it was slightly ajar, and I approached cautiously.

    I drew a heavy breath and steeled my resolve as I took a few more steps forward to aim the rifle at the slight opening.

    The first thing I saw was a pirate worriedly looking out the window. He was talking to someone out of my sight, in a language that featured too few familiar words to be understood.

    "Andito na mga kawal! Ubos na kayong lahat!" out of nowhere, a man shouted, then laughed boisterously.

    The laughter turned into a pained grunt as the man was hit hard out of my view. I was reminded of why I was there. The only Tagalog-speaking man in the room must be the girl¡¯s father.

    I did not know how many were waiting for me, and it should not matter. A repeater rifle is a good equalizer.

    The gunshot rang loud and deafening in the confines of the thick walls. The pirate by the window got hit in the back near his left shoulder blade and immediately fell, slumping against the wall lifelessly.

    I kicked the door and it widely swung open. I stormed in and immediately aimed at my second target. There were two more people there, one of whom was the captive.

    The other was another pirate who quickly lunged at me. I fired a shot in haste, and it grazed the pirate¡¯s arm¡ªnot enough to stop him.

    I hastily stepped backward, until I stepped back out to the ante-sala. But the pirate had a long stride and a long sword and immediately outpaced me.

    I would be halved in two before I could reload.

    Then¡ªa thud.

    The pirate¡¯s overhead swing was parried by the top of the doorway.

    He grunted as he tried to dislodge the blade but could not, at least not immediately.

    My heart still beating loudly, I grinned.

    I pulled the bolt handle back and heard the rifle click. I took a good look at the man who was soon to be dead. He was no ordinary pirate. He had golden earrings, an elegant elongated turban, and an embroidered jacket.

    How unfortunate that he would die the same way as the rest of the riffraff.

    Oddly, the scene brought me back to that 1991 film.

    "Hasta la vista, baby." I pulled the trigger.

 Chapter 71: Better

    Chapter 71: Better

    The pirate who had been alive and formidable just moments ago was now a lifeless corpse sprawled on the floorboards. He had meant to slice me in half with all his strength, and that very power had driven his sword deep into the wood of the doorframe. It now hung there firmly above him despite its weight.

    "You have just killed a panglima..."

    I quickly shifted my gaze upward from the corpse to the man standing across the doorway. He was older than I was, which made his injuries all the more pitiful. His lips were busted, his cheeks swollen, his eyes blackened, and his body bore many more wounds that made him walk with a limp and a slight hunch.

    His white camesita was torn and stained with blood.

    "Panglima... what is that exactly?" I asked.

    "The captain of these pirates... I heard his men refer to him as that," the man said, examining the hanging sword between us.

    That explained the jewelry and ornate garments he wore¡ªas well as the athleticism and aggressiveness. "You seem familiar with them... is this not the first time this barrio has been attacked?"

    He looked back at me. "This is the first time for Kasily... but a few years ago, they raided Buyabod, not too far from here. The villagers saw them coming and managed to flee with their belongings. The pirates only grabbed a few things before reinforcements from the pueblo scared them off."

    As if remembering something, the man¡¯s unswollen eye widened. He took a few painful steps toward me. "My daughter... have you seen her?"

    I briskly approached the man, who looked as if he might collapse. I took one of his hands and wrapped it around my shoulders.

    "Yes... she¡¯s safe. And the pirate who tried to lay hands on her is dead."

    He sighed, and I had to help him down to the floor as his legs gave out. "Are you alright?"

    The old man swallowed and nodded. Then he smiled. "Yes... thank you... thank you..."

    We both flinched as the main doors of the house shook. Someone from outside was trying to break them open. The first hit sounded like a kick. What followed was a body slam.

    "Is anyone inside? Come out with your hands up!" a soldier shouted.

    I sighed and called back, "Stop that! It¡¯s me... all the pirates inside are dead!"

    After a brief pause, the soldier replied in a more polite tone, "Forgive me, Heneral..."

    I noticed that the gunfire outside had become sporadic. No more Remington volleys, no more screams or squeals¡ªjust the distant shouts of my soldiers.

    "Heneral?" the old man repeated. I stood up and was about to head for the door when he asked, "Why is... why is a Heneral here?"

    I reloaded, bracing for more of the fighting that might be waiting outside the door. "I am Martin Lardizabal, Sen?or... your very own gobernador, and the Heneral appointed by the Republic to take charge of Marinduque."

    ---

    The fight had barely lasted ten minutes.

    Part of the reason I had led the Mauser-equipped soldiers to assault from another direction was that I didn¡¯t trust the Remington-armed recruits to hold their ground alone. I feared that if they opened fire without my distraction, the pirates would charge at them, and in their inexperience, the recruits would flee at the sight.

    After the fighting, eight pirates lay dead on the sands near the coconut trees where they had taken cover¡ªall victims of the volleys. None of them appeared to have charged; they were killed where they stood or cut down while trying to flee.

    The soldiers I brought with me to flank around faced slightly fiercer resistance, fighting in the open streets of the barrio without cover. Still, they managed to kill five more pirates.

    I personally killed three¡ªincluding the chief.

    Unbeknownst to us, we had faced a force far larger than we¡¯d assumed. We had believed the enemy to be roughly equal in number to us, but they had actually numbered fifty-two. Of the thirty-six survivors, most did not put up much of a fight. They threw down their weapons and surrendered.

    Perhaps their fearsome reputation had been overstated. Or perhaps they were smarter than people gave them credit for. Had they fought to the last, they likely would have been wiped out.

    The once-feared men lost all their fierceness as they were rounded up like sheep in the center of the barrio. My soldiers stood guard, but they allowed the villagers to pelt the prisoners with mud and stones. I couldn¡¯t blame them.

    Our only casualty was minor: a soldier had sprained his ankle while retreating from a charging Moro.

    All the looted property was recovered. We even managed to seize the Moro warship.

    Unfortunately, five villagers perished in the raid. Three men¡ªtwo of whom had been beheaded¡ªand a mother had died trying to fight back.

    Then there was the child¡ªkilled by a stray bullet. Sargento Guzman told me they thought they were firing only at pirates fleeing to their ship with livestock and stolen goods. In the chaos and suddenness of the signaling gunshot, they hadn¡¯t noticed the child in the pirate¡¯s arms.

    The bullet struck the child in the side, killing him instantly.

    His mother had fallen to her knees in the sand, cradling his pale, lifeless body. It was her second loss¡ªher husband had been one of the men killed earlier. She silently caressed her son¡¯s face as tears streamed down her cheeks.

    No one blamed us. Not even her.

    "If they had managed to take him away... a terrible fate would have awaited him," she said, her voice trembling. "This is God¡¯s mercy."

    I doubt merciful is an apt word for any god who would sanction the death of a child.

    But this was no fault of the divine.

    Professionally speaking, this was an operational success. We have prevented a massacre, and either killed or captured all enemy combatants. The child was justified collateral damage.

    But I knew we could have done better.

    I could have done better.

 Chapter 72: Kampilan

    Chapter 72: Kampilan

    Eduardo survived the battle unscathed. The helmsman soon busied himself examining the Moro warship we had captured. The soldiers said several pirates had managed to board the ship, but since it would take at least twenty men to row it with any real speed, they immediately gave up on escaping once the warning shots were fired.

    There were four swivel brass cannons¡ªtwo of which could have been used against Sargento Guzman¡¯s group¡ªinstalled on the ship. But perhaps in their shock, none of the pirates thought to operate them. And even if they had, it would take at least a minute to load one¡ªtoo much time to be standing still against anyone with basic marksmanship training.

    Eduardo told me it was a Garay warship, though it was undermanned. It could accommodate up to eighty men aboard.

    "It¡¯s a bit old, but still very much seaworthy," he told me excitedly when he finally stepped off the ship. "It could be requisitioned for your use... Heneral, maybe for your journey back."

    I nodded, studying the impressive structure. I still couldn¡¯t believe we had managed to seize such a thing. It was a worthy addition to our fledgling navy¡ªprimarily as a transport vessel. While the steamship was undoubtedly the better ship, it was a waste of coal to use it for every purpose. Not to mention that with the Garay warship, personnel could be carried directly to shore without the need for ferry boats.

    But that would also mean we¡¯d need more navy personnel¡ªspecifically, people who knew their way around outrigger sail ships.

    "What do you think about working for me, Eduardo?" I asked him.

    He didn¡¯t seem too surprised by the question, as if he had been expecting it. "You want me to operate this ship for you?"

    I nodded. "You¡¯ll be paid well, and you¡¯ll be given a naval rank."

    This time, he was surprised. His smile faded and he huffed, "Heneral... it would be an honor!"

    "But first, Eduardo... I want you to search for your crew¡ªwherever they fled to like little girls," I said, tapping him on the shoulder. "And have the sails replaced with plain white ones. We wouldn¡¯t want to be mistaken for pirates."

    The outrigger warship was our biggest catch, but not our only loot.

    Later, Sargento Guzman showed me the regalia, accessories, garments, and weapons confiscated from both the dead and captured pirates. Most had either gold, silver, or ivory in them. I wondered if Sen?or Lim would be able to sell them for a decent price.

    But I wasn¡¯t keen on selling everything. The pirate chief¡¯s sword was a magnificent piece of craftsmanship that awakened my collector¡¯s spirit.

    It was a two-edged sword, as long as a grown man¡¯s arm. The blade widened near the tip into a distinct flare, designed to deliver powerful slashing blows. Intricate engravings of talismanic symbols were etched into the metal. The hilt was made of hardwood, carved into the head of a snake. Silver fittings reinforced the grip, and red tassels were tied to the pommel.

    It was too heavy for an old man like me to wield, but it would look good mounted on a wall. A great conversation starter¡ªand a proud reminder of the time we wiped the floor with the feared Moro pirates.

    One of the soldiers told me the sword was called a kampilan.

    "Heneral, Capitan Madrigal has arrived," a soldier informed me.

    I placed the kampilan back on the sheet of fabric they had laid out to display the loot. I stood from the fallen coconut log I had been using as a seat and gestured for Sargento Guzman to come near.

    "Distribute the silver and gold accessories to the families of the dead," I told him.

    Then, realizing how unfair it would be for the soldiers to go home empty-handed after doing all the work, I added, "And tell the recruits who fought today that their salaries will be doubled this week."

    ---

    I had sent a messenger on horseback to the town proper of Sta. Cruz to call for my brother-in-law. I needed more men to transport the pirates to the pueblo.

    But they had already been alerted by one of the barrio dwellers, and Capitan Madrigal met the rider halfway.

    At the same spot where I had made my three kills, we rested and talked over coffee and bread. The faint stench of blood still lingered in the air, even though the corpses had been taken away and the floorboards wiped clean of bloodstains.

    I glanced at the doorframe¡ªat the deep mark left by the sword. Then at Capitan Madrigal, before my eyes finally settled on the gobernadorcillo of Sta. Cruz, who had come along with a horde of armed townsmen.

    Also seated around the mahogany table was our battered host, trying to smile despite his aching facial muscles. Beside him was his daughter, leaning against his shoulder, staring blankly into the air. She was still wearing my jacket.

    "You... you captured all of the attacking pirates, Gobernador?" Don Eugenio Suarez, the town mayor, repeated in disbelief.

    "Well... everyone who wasn¡¯t killed. There are thirty-six of them¡ªsecured and ready for transport," I replied.

    The mayor, who looked a little too young for his post, chuckled softly and grinned.

    But I wasn¡¯t done. I preferred to tell him directly, since it couldn¡¯t be hidden anyway: "Unfortunately... a child from the village was killed in the crossfire. A stray bullet."

    Had it been a seamless operation, I could have bragged freely about it. But the death of that child was enough to take the sweetness off the victory. And it could easily be used to discredit me by those who opposed my plans¡ªmany of whom were among the town¡¯s principales.

    "A tragic loss... but unavoidable in an attack of this scale," Don Suarez said solemnly. "But still... it does not take away from the fact that you saved the village and made sure this band won¡¯t be ravaging any more communities."

    He glanced toward the wounded host and the dazed young lady. "And I am personally indebted to you, Sen?or Gobernador. I heard you saved my sister and father yourself."

 Chapter 73: Sta. Cruz

    Chapter 73: Sta. Cruzn¦Òvel.c?m

    The gunshots had ceased, the bloodletting was over, and all that remained was a barrio both physically and mentally scarred. Almost every hut and house had broken-down doors. Some of the smaller ones had collapsed completely, and a few had been burnt to ashes.

    The villagers themselves were traumatized, each reacting in their own way¡ªblank stares, silent sobs, and angry outbursts as we passed by. Stones were still being thrown at the pirates, now bound together by a single sturdy abaca rope to form a human chain. Some of the rocks struck our soldiers instead.

    It had been a tragic event, but in truth, the damage was relatively minor. Everything the pirates had tried to take had been returned. The broken and burned huts could be rebuilt in a week. And while the five deaths were tragic, they barely dented the village¡¯s population.

    We received a few thank-yous, but expecting a jubilant welcome from people who, just hours earlier, thought they¡¯d be butchered like pigs was asking too much. Not to mention, these people had never before been subjected to the sheer volume of gunfire we had unleashed on their soil.

    It was a relief when we finally left the miserable scene at Kasily. From the barrio, Sta. Cruz was now close enough to be traveled by foot. Our procession numbered a hundred men, not counting the captives. Helping us escort the pirates was a large band of civilians from the town proper and nearby villages, armed with an assortment of melee weapons and antiquated firearms.

    Because of this, I was able to leave Sargento Guzman and ten soldiers behind to distribute some of our loot to the residents most affected by the raid, and to set up a watch in case any pirate reinforcements arrived.

    "Might I ask, Don Suarez... how old are you?" I asked as we rode side by side at the helm. The road, more often used for inter-barrio travel, was good enough for a leisurely pace. We were near the coast, and the shade of Talisay and Mahogany trees shielded us from the late afternoon sun.

    "I get that question a lot. Thirty years old. Too young for a gobernadorcillo, no?" he said with a smile.

    "Well, you must¡¯ve been exemplary for the old fossils to give way to you," I replied.

    He chuckled. "Or maybe they just weren¡¯t really interested in politics. With the country in its current state, government posts don¡¯t carry the weight they used to."

    I paused, letting my horse stop to allow him slightly ahead. An ipil-ipil branch jutted out over the road, making it impossible to pass on my side.

    Once I caught up, he continued, "Although I must say... I didn¡¯t expect our governor to command such a sizeable, well-armed force¡ªand one that seemed well-trained to deal with pirates so easily."

    I shook my head, smiling. "That ¡¯well-trained¡¯ force has only been drilling for about two weeks. I¡¯ve got more training lined up for them. And I intend to raise several hundred more men¡ªideally a thousand troops here in Marinduque."

    He looked at me for a moment, his thoughts wandering, then turned his gaze back to the road. "So... you really are serious about fighting the Americans."

    "I am," I said.

    ---

    We entered the town proper just as night began to fall¡ªthe time when the streets were usually quiet and empty. But the townsmen had been waiting for the return of the party from Kasily, and we arrived in Sta. Cruz to a crowd.

    The town rivaled Boac in size, although the latter had more stone buildings, and its population was even greater.

    When the people caught sight of the bound pirates, the crowd erupted. The town came alive. Hearing the commotion, more poured out of their homes, gathering on both sides of the street.

    "Mabuhay si Don Suarez! Mabuhay ang Sta. Cruz!" they chanted, praising the gobernadorcillo and hailing their town¡ªnot the Republic.

    Unlike in Mogpog, this welcome was spontaneous, louder, and more heartfelt. Yet I couldn¡¯t help but feel conflicted. It seemed they believed Sen?or Suarez had led the men to victory, while we were merely a supporting act.

    And they had no idea who I was. Before leaving for Mogpog, I had changed out of my khaki uniform into my rayadillo. To them, I was just another officer.

    The soldiers didn¡¯t look too pleased either, but it wasn¡¯t the time to argue¡ªwe were all too tired.

    The fanfare ended once we reached the town center. Don Suarez urged the townspeople to continue the celebrations tomorrow and to let us rest.

    He then offered me accommodations in his private residence. Unlike the gobernadorcillo in Boac, the mayors of the other towns did not live in the government buildings. The presidencia municipal

    was just large enough for their offices.

    "Capitan Madrigal¡ªwas he offered accommodations elsewhere?" I asked when I noticed Pedro and hadn¡¯t followed us, instead walking with the train of soldiers down another road.

    I had planned to speak with him privately and ask him to expand on his earlier report. I¡¯d likely be meeting the principalia tomorrow, and I needed a better understanding of the political landscape.

    "I offered to host him and his nephew in my house," said Don Suarez, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "But I don¡¯t know, Don Martin... I think I may have offended him. They chose to stay with the soldiers on the second day."

    That was strange. Pedro wasn¡¯t the type to be easily offended. More likely, he was frustrated with the principales¡¯ reaction rather than anything the gobernadorcillo had done.

    "Would you excuse me, Don Suarez? I¡¯d like to check up on my brother-in-law," I said, nudging my horse forward and turning around.

    I took the other road that led away from the town center.

    I had to ride along the length of the two-man column. With the fifteen men I had brought with me, the force now numbered forty. The prisoners were positioned in the middle, sandwiched between twenty soldiers in the front and twenty at the rear.

    I caught up to him in a quiet corner of town, near the edge where the dirt road ended and the forest began. There were no houses¡ªjust two large storehouses that reeked of copra.

    It was dark, and the sound of marching boots masked my horse¡¯s hooves. Pedro didn¡¯t notice me until I dismounted and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked surprised.

    "Don Martin... why are you here?" he asked.

    "That should be my question," I said, glancing around at the storehouses. Lorenzo and the soldiers were forcing the pirates into one of the buildings. "It¡¯s a good place to keep the prisoners¡ªout of town and spacious enough for thirty-six men."

    I then looked at the rest of the soldiers. "But why bring everyone here?"

    "Because this is where the soldiers usually sleep, Don Martin," he said, giving me a weak smile. "We are not exactly welcomed. They didn¡¯t even bother to remove the copra¡ªor give us rags for blankets. I had to dip into my own purse just to buy food for the men."

    He looked away, then added quietly, "I can¡¯t enjoy a well-cushioned bed while the soldiers sleep on cold stone floors."

 Chapter 74: Copra

    Chapter 74: Copra

    What Pedro said was true. The storehouses hadn¡¯t even been emptied, with mounds of copra hugging the walls.

    Copra was an abundant resource found everywhere on the island. It¡¯s the dried kernel of the coconut, used to extract coconut oil. A landowner who knew little about agriculture could still grow rich if he had coconut trees on his property, since they barely needed tending.

    But copra reeked¡ªit smelled earthy, oily, musky, and smoky all at once. The scent clung stubbornly to fabric, which must¡¯ve been why I¡¯d been smelling it the whole way and assumed it was coming from somewhere else.

    To its credit, copra made for a soft cushion.

    "What are you doing?" Madrigal asked in alarm.

    "Come on now, you know you don¡¯t have to be careful around copra," I replied. Copra wasn¡¯t delicate and was usually handled with little care. All it needed was basic protection from the elements. My body weight pressing on it wouldn¡¯t cause any damage.

    He shook his head. "No... why are you here?"

    I kept laying on the bed of copra and shrugged. "You¡¯re all sleeping here. Why can¡¯t I?"

    Pedro chuckled. "No... you don¡¯t have to. You¡¯re the governor and the general. We wouldn¡¯t mind if you slept somewhere else. You¡¯d be breaking the morale of the troops."

    "Do they look like their morale is breaking?" I said, gesturing to the soldiers. Some were giggling and following my example.

    "Do you remember what I told you during our first lesson?" I asked him. "The men eat first. A good officer ensures his soldiers are fed, cared for, and rested before himself. And you¡¯ve done just that, Capitan Madrigal. You¡¯ve made me proud."

    "Now... let me walk my talk. I am, after all, also an officer, bound by the officer¡¯s code."

    His expression¡ªa mix of perplexed and amused¡ªwas the last thing I saw before I laid my head down and closed my eyes.

    Then I remembered something and suddenly sat up. I scanned for Lorenzo and saw him trying to imitate me and the soldiers, awkwardly kneeling down at the foot of a copra mound.

    I wondered how his parents back in Boac would react to seeing their son so atrociously accommodated. To his credit, I had yet to hear him whine since they arrived in Kasily, or even see him scowl. And the fact that he¡¯d followed his uncle to this horrid place was, to say the least, surprising. The training had really changed him.

    "Lorenzo!" I called.

    "Heneral!" he snapped to his feet and briskly walked toward me.

    "I want you to have a few men set up a blockade outside," I told him. "And if anyone comes looking for me, even if it¡¯s the gobernadorcillo, tell them I am not to be disturbed."

    ---

    The next morning, I heard what I¡¯d expected from the soldiers who had stood guard. They had erected a makeshift barricade out of leftover coco lumber and fallen coconut leaves, placing it across the road.

    "Don Suarez came last night, Heneral. He insisted on speaking with you, but as you instructed, we told him you were not to be disturbed," one soldier reported.

    "He tried to push through... so we had to raise our rifles to threaten him," said another, struggling to meet my gaze and glancing nervously at his companions.

    "You¡¯ve done well," I assured them with a nod. "But who is he?"

    I pointed at a young man slumped asleep against the barricades on the other side.

    "He¡¯s a servant of the gobernadorcillo," I was told. "I think he was left behind to speak with you the moment you showed yourself."

    I chuckled. "Well, he¡¯s doing a poor job. Wake him up."

    A soldier walked around the barricade and started shaking the young man¡¯s shoulders.

    The boy grunted for a moment, then suddenly sprang to his feet as he remembered where he was and what he¡¯d been tasked to do. Horrified, his eyes widened when he saw me.

    "Sen?or Gobernador... the don... the gobernadorcillo... Don Suarez... he... he wants to apologize and would like to talk to¡ª" the young man blurted out, stammering.

    "If your master is truly sincere in his apology," I said, "he will bring enough coffee and bread for all the soldiers here."

    The young servant nodded eagerly. "I shall tell him that at onc¡ª"

    "I¡¯m not finished," I interrupted. "I also want a meeting arranged with all the oficiales and the principales early in the afternoon."

    ---

    The coffee and bread were delivered¡ªand in generous amounts. Before noon, several townsmen, likely at the gobernadorcillo¡¯s urging, brought food to our makeshift barracks.

    From them, I heard quiet thank-yous, and they asked about a certain Heneral who led the battle against the pirates yesterday.

    The eyewitnesses must have begun spreading the accurate version of events: that my men had done the real fighting, and that Don Suarez and his militia had arrived late.

    Sta. Cruz was growing more welcoming by the second.

    But what impressed me more was that my request for a meeting was granted¡ªand on time.

    I still reeked of abaca when I entered Don Suarez¡¯s house, where the meeting was being held. At the long table in the sala

    sat several old men in a mix of suits and barongs, all watching me curiously.

    The seat at the head of the table had been reserved for me, while Don Suarez sat at the opposite end.

    The moment the gobernadorcillo saw me, he scrambled to his feet. The rest quickly followed suit.

    I kept my expression stern as I took my seat. I let them stand for nearly a minute before they slowly sat back down, unsure, in the silence broken only by the low murmur of the crowd gathered outside.

    "I understand... you are terribly upset, Gobernador," Don Suarez was the first to speak.

    "I am, indeed, gobernadorcillo," I replied. "Is this how you treat the servants of the Republic? You threw them into a filthy bodega without even blankets to fend off the cold?And would you have let them starve if they didn¡¯t have money to buy their own food?"

    I glanced at Pedro, who stood at attention by the door. "Among them is my brother-in-law. If they had been your prisoners instead, I suspect they would have been treated better."

    All of them were silent. None of them met my eyes¡ªexcept one.

    Pedro¡¯s maternal grandfather, a terribly old man¡ªolder than I had been in my past life¡ªspoke up with a quivering but defiant voice.

    "You must understand, Gobernador. We have yet to confirm if there truly is a war in Manila. What you ask of us... through your declaration of martial law, is heavy."

    Pedro had failed to mention that his mother¡¯s side of the family in Sta. Cruz wasn¡¯t fond of him. But to be fair, I hadn¡¯t asked before sending him. It was only this morning I learned that Pedro¡¯s father was never forgiven after eloping with the old man¡¯s daughter.

    "That is reason enough for this maltreatment?" I huffed. No answer.

    "Well, I am here now," I continued. "And I will not wait for one of you to personally travel to Manila and hear bullets whizzing past your ears before you comply."

    "If I do not get your approval today, then the military will fully take control of this town." I snarled. "And if you resist, may I remind you how quickly we dealt with the pirates yesterday? Ten. Ten minutes."

    My words were met with more silence. Several men glanced toward the gobernadorcillo, until at last, he spoke.

    "We had actually already decided to follow your demands and fully comply with your declaration of martial law¡ªbefore you arrived," Don Suarez said.

    "We only ask for one very small request."

 Chapter 75: Cruel

    Chapter 75: Cruel

    The very next day after the meeting, the people of Sta. Cruz gathered to witness a public execution. It was early in the morning¡ªjust bright enough to not be dim. Still, the townsfolk responded in force, eager to witness what would be a first in their town.

    Children were perched atop their parents¡¯ shoulders, young men swam through the crowd to get a better view, and vendors took advantage of the event, selling sweets and rice cakes. Even the young women of the principalia attended, escorted by their servants and hiding their faces behind unfurled embroidered fans.

    Where we set up would have been an odd choice were it a regular gathering. We were at the far end of the town plaza, away from the presidencia municipal, near the uglier portion of the town. Behind me stood an abandoned stone structure¡ªthe remains of a former Spanish government building.

    The gobernadorcillo and the principales had taken refuge under the shade of a nearby mabolo tree.

    I wasn¡¯t overly fond of the fact that women and children were in the audience, and how the event was being treated like casual fanfare. But it would serve my purpose all the same.

    I nodded to Pedro, who stood not far from me, near the front ranks of the crowd.

    "?Silencio! ?Silencio!" Capitan Madrigal suddenly shouted, raising a fist at the crowd. The soldiers forming a human barricade repeated the command. Slowly, conversations died down, and heads turned in our direction.

    The presidencia municipal lacked a balcony. Nor was there a stage in the plaza for speeches.

    So, once again, I climbed onto the back of my horse and used it as a platform¡ªone I could move at will.

    I nudged my horse forward until I was inches away from the soldiers. I studied every anticipating face as I rode along.

    "Good people of Boac!" I began. "Your peace¡ªyour way of life¡ªis being threatened. When we pushed out the Spaniards, we thought we were finally free of foreigners. That at last, we needn¡¯t pay tribute or swear loyalty to a faraway king."

    "But just as we are on the cusp of ridding the country of the Spaniards, a new foreign overlord threatens to take their place." I paused for effect. "The Americans have declared war against the Filipino people!"

    I nodded theatrically as I heard the gasps and murmurs ripple through the crowd. I hadn¡¯t needed a speech in Mogpog¡ªthere, I was confident the Mendez brothers would do the exhorting for me. But Sta. Cruz, with its hesitant principalia and distance from Boac, needed a firmer push.

    I thought about mentioning the battle that had already occurred but realized it wasn¡¯t necessary. These people didn¡¯t need the details¡ªthey just needed to be riled up.

    "Our Filipino brothers in Manila are resisting this unjust invasion," I continued. "But soon the war will spread across the country¡ªand reach the shores of Marinduque."

    Most of the people by now likely knew I was the general who defended the village of Kasily. But a proper introduction was still necessary.

    "I am Marti?n Lardiza?bal... gobernador politico-militar of Marinduque, appointed for my contributions to the Revolution," I declared. "And last January, I met the Presidente in Malolos, and he appointed me Heneral in charge of Marinduque and the neighboring islands."

    The crowd remained silent¡ªbut I knew they believed me. Since they first saw me, eyes hadn¡¯t stopped admiring the khaki uniform I wore for the occasion, or the impressive kampilan sword fixed to my saddle.

    "I have already begun my work in Boac and Mogpog. As we speak, the cabezas are delivering their quotas of goods and men, and my officers are training recruits into soldiers. I have stockpiles of rifles and uniforms ready for any man who has what it takes to join the army."

    I looked to Lorenzo, giving him the cue to do what he was tasked to do.

    "And if yesterday wasn¡¯t proof that I can lead us to victory¡ªthen what is?"

    The crowd, silent until then, came alive as Lorenzo and the soldiers escorted out the first batch of blindfolded pirates¡ªten of them.

    The ¡¯very small request¡¯ the principales had asked of me was the public execution of all the pirates. Many had lost loved ones during the raids or seen their property looted and destroyed. The pirates were hated in Sta. Cruz, and never once had the people been able to avenge their losses. Now they sought justice.

    I was not overly fond of the outlaws, but my modern sensibilities had subconsciously caused me to overlook execution as the proper punishment. Yet the more I thought about it, there wasn¡¯t a viable alternative. We didn¡¯t have enough detention facilities, and I doubted I had the means¡ªor desire¡ªto reform these men, who were not only of a different faith, but hardened by lives of pillaging and killing.

    Aside from their blindfolds, the pirates had their hands tied behind their backs. They were made to face the stone wall of the abandoned building, while Lorenzo and the same soldiers who had escorted them lined up behind.

    "Fifty-two pirates dared to attack the village of Kasily under my watch. Sixteen were killed outright. All thirty-six survivors were captured," I said, standing up in the stirrups to prepare for the next theatrics. "I killed three myself, including their captain¡ªthis sword belonged to him."

    I unsheathed the sword and lifted it high to the roar of the crowd. It was heavy and cumbersome in combat, but perfect for ceremony.

    "And today, we shall send his men to the afterlife¡ªalong with him!"

    In the deafening tumult, I rode toward Lorenzo and his men.

    I raised the sword above my head. "?Preparen armas!"

    The soldiers loaded their rifles.

    I lowered the sword parallel to the ground. "?Apunten!"

    The soldiers aimed.

    I paused. I could never get used to killing men completely at my mercy. But these ones deserved it.

    I swung the sword down. "?Fuego!"

    Gunshots cracked through the air. Blood sprayed against the wall. The pirates dropped lifeless to the ground. The crowd cheered.

    The corpses were dragged aside. Another ten pirates were escorted into place. The crowd, now fully stimulated, began hurling projectiles at the prisoners. Colonel Abad tried to calm them.

    Then the chaos doubled. Perhaps having realized their fate, the pirates began struggling against the soldiers. Lorenzo didn¡¯t know what to do, and some of his men began to be overpowered. Nearby soldiers rushed to help, but they couldn¡¯t fire unless the prisoners were facing the wall and still.

    Mauser ammo was scarce, so the executors had only Remingtons, which reloaded slowly.

    I sighed, sheathed the kampilan, and dismounted. I snatched one of the Remington rifles from a soldier and asked for a bullet.

    After reloading, I grabbed one of the pirates and wrestled him to the ground. With a foot against his chest, I shot him point-blank in the head. Blood sprayed across my face and soiled my uniform.

    The soldiers began copying what I did¡ªless skillfully, more brutally. They beat the pirates with the butts of their rifles until they collapsed. Then came the gunshots.

    The crowd only grew wilder. Under the tree, some principales had stood up¡ªcheering and laughing.

    It never ceased to surprise me how cruel people could be.

 Chapter 76: Refurbished

    Chapter 76: Refurbished

    After the execution of the pirates¡ªwhich, although done at their request, also served as an effective show of force¡ªeverything went smoothly in the town of Sta. Cruz.

    I still had to personally visit some members of the principalia who couldn¡¯t attend the meeting or witness the execution due to age, distance from town, or in some cases, both. But when I showed up with twenty men and an authoritative, sometimes angry fac?ade, most of them bent their knees. Pedro¡¯s maternal grandfather remained stubborn, but thankfully, his son¡ªnow effectively in control of the estate¡ªwas far more reasonable.

    I decided to keep the copra storehouses as the barracks for Pedro¡¯s men. I liked their location¡ªout of the way from the town¡¯s daily activity¡ªand the fact that the two structures were spacious.

    Of course, I had the owner remove all the abaca and ordered the buildings thoroughly cleaned until the smell was minimal. Then I requisitioned nipa mats, beds, and pillows, as well as basic furniture like tables and chairs.

    While one copra storehouse served as the soldiers¡¯ quarters, I had the other set up as Capitan Madrigal¡¯s office and a temporary recruitment center. As expected, our battle with the pirates¡ªand the spectacle at the plaza¡ªwas enough to attract hordes of young men to sign up.

    We recorded nearly a hundred on the first day alone.

    By the end of it, I had made more progress in Sta. Cruz than I had in the previous two towns.

    ---

    I gave Eduardo three days to modify the Garay warship, but just two days later, he was already at Sta. Cruz with the vessel anchored at the port in Buyabod.

    Not only had the sail with the Moro design been replaced, it was now significantly larger, with an auxiliary sail added near the stern. This made the ship more reliant on sail power, reducing the need for rowing and cutting nearly in half the number of required rowers.

    Accordingly, some of the rowing stations were removed, and several oar ports were sealed with planks. This opened up more space for men and cargo¡ªperfect for the ship¡¯s new role as a transport vessel.

    The ship, which had once stunk of sweat and tobacco, had been thoroughly cleaned. Some deep-seated smudges and dirt marks remained, but all in all, it looked neat. Eduardo also added a tarpaulin over the central platform to protect against rain and sun.

    He claimed to have improved the steering gear as well, though I couldn¡¯t check it myself, as it was below the waterline¡ªand even if I could, I wouldn¡¯t know what I was looking at.

    All the modifications had been done in Balanacan, where shipbuilding activity was still alive.

    "I imagine all this cost a fortune," I said, sitting down on a wooden chair nailed to the center of the platform¡ªprobably the same one where the pirate captain I killed had once sat. The tarpaulin provided shade but not much relief from the heat. The ship would get cooler once it set sail.

    From that vantage point, I had a good overhead view of the rest of the ship, where the soldiers curiously explored. Lorenzo and his uncle were toying with one of the swivel cannons¡ªthe latter even testing its flexibility. Some inspected the sealed oar ports, while others explored the storage area below.

    The Buyabod port, situated on a thin strip of land jutting into the water, hosted several smaller ships. Villagers from the nearby barrio and crews from nearby boats had gathered out of curiosity.

    "Yes, 200 pesos in total. But... uhm... the workers agreed to a delayed payment," Eduardo hesitated to add¡ªprobably because I had only asked him to change the sail, not to completely refurbish the vessel.

    But I understood his excitement. I had once modified my first car¡ªa hand-me-down Ford F-100¡ªuntil I broke it. I¡¯d added a Cadillac V8 engine, which ended up blowing out the gears.

    "Next time... ask me first," I said, watching him nervously swallow. But when I softened my expression, he smiled. "That said... you¡¯ve done well. I didn¡¯t even need to explain the sails or the oars. A transport ship wouldn¡¯t be very efficient if the passengers had to double as rowers."

    "Two hundred pesos is more than reasonable. Your folks in Balanacan will be paid."

    He frowned guiltily. "Well... it¡¯s actually... 256 pesos."

    I chuckled at the thought that he was ready to shoulder the extra 56 pesos himself¡ªa large sum for a humble boatsman¡ªif it meant avoiding my anger. "No worries. Just remember: if you¡¯re going to do something that¡¯ll cost me... inform me first."

    Eduardo relaxed, his smile widening.

    "On that note, Heneral... I was also thinking we could add a deep keel to improve balance. And we could make more adjustments to the sails¡ªmaybe add a new mast and a mizzen sail. It would also help if we redesigned the hull¡ª"

    "Alright," I raised a hand to cut him off, "we¡¯ll talk about it when we get back to Boac. In the meantime, introduce your folk to me."

    I was referring to the fifteen people he had brought along. Five stood with us on the platform, while the rest waited at the foot of the stairs. They had polite smiles and clasped their hands like shy children at Sunday service.

    The soldiers and their rifles, not to mention the fact that they were standing before a Heneral¡ªone they had heard dispatched pirates with ease¡ªlikely made them nervous.

    "The crew that will be helping me operate the ship... if you¡¯ll accept them, Heneral," Eduardo said. "These five here know the rigging and the sails. The rest will be rowers, though several can double as carpenters or soldiers."

    "I¡¯ll defer to your expertise, Eduardo," I told him. "From now on, you are the captain of this ship. We¡¯ll discuss all other details with you and your crew in Boac."

    He took a deep breath¡ªlikely of relief. "Thank you, Heneral."

    "Now..." I looked out at the deck, the soldiers, the newly cleaned ship, and the modest crowd gathered on the dock. "What do we name the ship?"

 Chapter 77: Moro-moro

    Chapter 77: Moro-moro

    We laughed and clapped to the beat of the bamboo poles and the fast-paced string music of the rondalla.

    Multiple pairs of the town¡¯s young men and women performed the precarious dance called the Tinikling at the center of the plaza. For each pair, two long bamboo poles were held horizontally and tapped and slid against the ground in rhythm, while the dancers had to skillfully slide in and out of the poles¡ªor else risk getting painfully caught at the ankles by the clapping bamboo.

    The former Martin had seen the dance multiple times before. But still, I couldn¡¯t help but hold my breath as the rondalla music picked up speed¡ªand so did the rhythm. I saw a few feet get caught, but the dancers brushed it off with a smile.

    The music grew even faster, and the agile young feet responded in kind, their shadows dancing alongside them against the glow of the bonfire, until the final strum was struck and the bamboo made its last sharp clap. At once, the audience cheered and applauded as the dancers struck a pose, their chests rising and falling with exhaustion.

    "I appreciate this, Don Suarez. What an exhilarating performance," I leaned in and whispered to his ear, clapping along with the townsfolk.

    "You flatter us, Gobernador... That performance was lackluster. So bad, I¡¯m almost tempted to have them face your firing squad," the gobernadorcillo jested.

    I didn¡¯t like the joke¡ªespecially since I still had nightmares about the whole ordeal¡ªbut for politeness¡¯ sake, I laughed.

    During my last night in the town, the gobernadorcillo held a feast in my honor. All the townspeople were invited, including the soldiers, Eduardo, and his crew. Lechon, roasted chicken, rice cakes, fruits, and liquor were served in abundance.

    To accommodate everyone, long tables were set up in the plaza. The head table, placed in front of the presidencia municipal

    , seated me, the gobernadorcillo, Pedro, and the juez de paz. Ours were the choice portions of the meats and generous servings of every dish¡ªas well as a large bottle of two-decade-old rum.

    Not to mention the best view of every performance.

    Don Eugenio Suarez¡¯s family owned hectares of rice fields, coconut plantations, fishing boats, and even operated large-scale salt production. His rise to the highest government post in town followed the same path as mine¡ªhe had made significant financial contributions to the revolutionaries.

    So it was no surprise that he could host a feast like this on short notice. He had only learned of my departure earlier that morning, shortly after Eduardo and the ship arrived.

    I had hoped to speak with his father again, but he was still recovering from his injuries and couldn¡¯t attend. I worried for him¡ªhe looked to be at least eighty. If I were seventy-five and took the beating he got from the pirates, it probably would¡¯ve been the death of me.

    But his daughter, Don Suarez¡¯s younger sister, was present. As the dance ended, I saw her stand from her seat at the adjacent table and approach us. In her hands was a small, polished wooden box. I knew what was coming¡ªher long overdue expression of gratitude.

    But as she came closer, my attention shifted from the box to her face. She didn¡¯t look happy to be there. Though she had powdered her face, it couldn¡¯t hide her swollen, puffed eyelids and watery eyes. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and her dress not thoroughly pressed.

    Despite it all, she mustered a smile in my direction as she neared.

    Now certain she was coming for me, I excused myself from the table to meet her.

    "Are you alright?" I asked.

    She ignored the question. Her smile widened as she handed me the box, which turned out to be heavier than it looked.

    "I ask for your forgiveness, Heneral. I am only thanking you now. You... you saved my life," she said, her voice coarse and nasal.

    "There is nothing to forgive, young lady..." I replied, then slightly raised the box. "And what is this?"

    "My... my grandpa... he wanted to give it to you. He bought it when he was much younger¡ªin Manila," she replied.

    I raised an eyebrow. "Can I open it now?"

    She nodded. "Yes... I think he¡¯d like to know how you reacted to his gift."

    "Alright," I smirked.

    The box creaked open, and inside, laid on a pad of velvet, was a pistol. An antique piece, possibly even older than the Remington rolling-block rifle¡ªa Lefaucheux pinfire revolver. It had been widely used by American officers during the U.S. Civil War, and many of my collector friends had one. It was oddly comforting to encounter such a familiar piece in such a foreign place.

    The revolver was so well maintained that, in modern times, it could fetch a couple thousand dollars from a collector. Even in the very late 19th century, it would¡¯ve already been considered a luxury item¡ªantique, foreign, and finely crafted.

    The box had several compartments, including a custom-shaped recess that snugly held the pistol itself. There were also smaller compartments for the pinfire cartridges, a ramrod, a vial, and some other tool I didn¡¯t immediately recognize.

    Inside the box was also a folded piece of paper¡ªlikely a letter from the old man.

    "Heneral! The presentation is starting! We¡¯d like you to see this," hollered the gobernadorcillo.

    There was another act about to begin in the plaza. From the attire and props, I already knew what it was. A play¡ªspecifically, a moro-moro¡ªtypically portraying a battle between Christian and Muslim warriors in slow, gliding motions. And, of course, it always ends with the Christians winning.

    Yet while the Moros wore the usual theatrical costumes, the "Christians" were dressed in our army uniforms.

    I huffed when I noticed that I was also being portrayed¡ªone of the actors even wore a fake beard and moustache to mimic me.

    It took a moment before I realized I was still mid-conversation.

    "Sen?orita¡ª" I turned back, only to find her gone. She hadn¡¯t returned to the table, nor was she anywhere in the crowd.

    And I would never see her again that night.

 Chapter 78: News

    Chapter 78: Newsfr§Ö?ewebno?e?l.com

    Pedro was not happy when I told him he would be staying in Santa Cruz for a while. Unlike Capitan Roque in Mogpog, he didn¡¯t have any welcoming relatives in the town, making the distant place feel even more distant from home.

    But he eventually agreed when I told him that I had sent men to protect his property and family in Buliasnin¡ªand that he would only need to stay until the new recruits finished their two-week basic training in drills and marksmanship.

    In truth, I felt guilty for forcing him into something that wasn¡¯t pre-agreed. But I really had no choice. The soldiers in the town needed an officer present for morale¡ªand, not to mention, someone prominent and related to me had to be around for martial law to be respected.

    As a desperate attempt to console him, I left him five of my Mauser-equipped escorts to bolster his force. I suspected that part of his hesitation stemmed from feeling insecure, intimidated by the idea of being in charge of such a large and faraway town.

    He was smiling when I left him the following morning.

    The fog was still thick when we set out from the port in Buyabod.

    I had proudly sat on the central platform at the start of the voyage, only to retreat shortly after from the chill down to the bodega below. A soldier offered me a pillow and blanket, and, slightly hungover, I took the opportunity to get some more sleep.

    To my shame, what I intended to be a half-hour nap stretched into three hours.

    When I woke up, we had already passed Kasily, and Sargento Guzman and his men had already been picked up. I had intended to make a brief stopover in the barrio to check how it was recovering¡ªand, in the meantime, visit the gobernadorcillo¡¯s father to personally thank him for his gift.

    But it was entirely my fault. I hadn¡¯t mentioned anything to Eduardo.

    I contented myself with asking the sergeant about what had happened in the village. If his appearance was any indication of their stay, then Kasily must have treated them well.

    "The people of Kasily want to extend their gratitude to you, Sen?or Gobernador," he opened with a wide grin. "They were still in shock when you left, Heneral, so you weren¡¯t able to see how thankful they really were."

    "They gave us a large hut all to ourselves for the duration of our stay. And they fattened us like pigs for the slaughter, with everyone giving us a portion of each meal they cooked. In return, we helped rebuild the village and kept watch over the sea. I¡¯d say our men have completely recovered from the incident."

    "In truth, we were praying you wouldn¡¯t come so soon," the NCO added with a chuckle.

    I shook my head, smiling. And here I was, feeling guilty for enjoying Don Suarez¡¯s feast, thinking I had left them in the village to starve.

    "Oh... how about the gobernadorcillo¡¯s father? Is he recovering well?" I asked.

    "About that... Sen?or Gobernador..." he sighed, turning his gaze to the sea, "I just heard from the villagers this morning. I was planning to visit their house to confirm it myself, but... then you arrived."

    My heart pounded in my chest. "What is it?"

    "He died last night. The neighbors told me that the sen?orita left for Santa Cruz shortly after¡ªmaybe to inform her brother."

    ---

    It took us eight hours in total to get from Santa Cruz to Boac.

    We rowed directly to the docks aboard the Garay warship. It was the other Madrigal cadet posted at the port, and I saw him and his men anxiously watching the ship even from a distance. Some of them looked like they had already loaded their rifles.

    But their twisted expressions quickly turned into bright smiles and enthusiastic waves once we were close enough for the sun to reveal our blue-striped uniforms and familiar faces.

    As soon as we disembarked, questions were thrown at us about the warship, and the soldiers with me eagerly retold the story of the battle with the pirates. The raised eyebrows and squinting eyes of skepticism faded when the loot was brought out of the ship.

    Then the recruits at the port wouldn¡¯t stop asking for more details. Madrigal tried to congratulate me, but I ignored him. I was not in the mood for talking.

    It was Dimalanta I saw first when I arrived at the Casa Real. He was in the midst of what I had tasked him with¡ªtraining the new recruits. And it seemed that while I was gone, more men had joined the ranks. I counted more than a hundred, maybe even as many as a hundred and fifty.

    But Dimalanta dropped what he was doing the moment he spotted me.

    He was smiling as he approached, but that faded when he got a good look of my face.

    "You look upset, Heneral," remarked Dimalanta as I dismounted from my horse. "Have you already heard?"

    From mild annoyance at his unwarranted attention, I became curious. "What do you mean?"

    "About Don Contreras¡¯ grandson and Sen?or Alcantara¡¯s daughter?" he said, visibly eager to see my reaction.

    "Dios Mio, Teniente... I haven¡¯t. Just spit it out," I snapped, raising my voice. If it turned out to be a dating rumor, I was ready to kick him in the shin.

    "Oh no," he whispered to himself, before stammering out, "This just happened last night, Heneral. Something happened between them."

    "Goodness gracious." I held myself back from kicking him but immediately turned for the door. "Fornication¡ªbad, yes. But bother the priest with that."

    "No, Heneral." Dimalanta quickly followed behind. "Sen?orita Alcantara is claiming that Abel Contreras raped her."

    I immediately halted. A bitter taste rose in my mouth. At once, I forgot everything else.

    "Where... where is Colonel Abad?" I blurted out.

    "He¡¯s been trying to talk with Don Contreras to get custody of Abel. But the Contreras family is refusing to hand him over."

 Chapter 79: Assumptions

    Chapter 79: Assumptions

    How badly I wanted to be in a quiet room all by myself.

    The events in Sta. Cruz had been physically and mentally exhausting, and I had been looking forward to a quiet day or two in the Casa Real.

    But alas, it would seem that God had other plans.

    As soon as I arrived¡ªwithout even being able to greet my daughter¡ªI set out again.

    The townsmen whispered to themselves as I crossed the plaza, accompanied by Dimalanta, Sargento Guzman, and a dozen soldiers.

    Boac should have been abuzz about our impressive feat on the beaches of Kasily by now, but that had been buried by a heavier event. Now they whispered about a potential civil war or someone getting hanged.

    We arrived at my former home, where the Alcantaras were now staying. I was impressed to learn that Colonel Abad had stationed men to guard the residence. Two stood at the main entrance, one at the back door, and the Sargento Segundo was stationed inside himself¡ªall Bulacen?os, without local allegiances.

    It was a wise precaution. With Sen?or Alcantara away, the family was especially vulnerable if a large clan like the Contrerases decided to silence them.

    Understandably, Sen?ora Alcantara did not look her best when she received us. She wore no powder, and didn¡¯t seem to mind how visible her puffed eyelids were, or how tousled her hair had become. I felt a pang of guilt for convincing them to come to this backwater place, only for them to experience something this tragic.

    She led us to the sala, mustering a weak smile.

    As if suddenly entering a trance, she blankly stared at the table once she sat on the couch across from us.

    Then, just as suddenly, she sprang out of it.

    "Oh no... would you... would you wait, Heneral? I will make you coffee..."

    "No, no, no..." I eagerly waved my hands. "There¡¯s no need, Sen?ora. We¡¯re just here to check on your daughter."

    She stared at me as she slowly settled back into her seat. Her silent expression shouted for help.

    "I can¡¯t say enough... how sorry I am for this, Sen?ora. This is an oversight. I should have sent some people to assist and guard you from the very beginning¡ªespecially with your husband away," I said.

    She gently shook her head. "This is not your fault, Heneral. And I appreciate... Sargento Tolentino being here."

    I nodded, glancing at the officer standing behind us.

    I was surprised by her reaction. My impression of her had always been that of a smug socialite¡ªsomeone I would¡¯ve imagined losing her mind over something like this and demanding we hang the offender at once.

    But maybe I should stop making assumptions.

    Maybe it would be the lighthearted Sen?or Alcantara who would give the more fitting reaction. I wouldn¡¯t even know how to greet him when he returned from Iloilo¡ªor whether he¡¯d still keep to his commitment. If it were Isabela... God knows what I might do.

    "And where is the sen?orita?" I asked, scanning the room and letting my eyes settle on the corridor leading to the bedrooms.

    "She is in her room... she is refusing to come out," she replied.

    "That¡¯s to be expected. I can only imagine what she¡¯s going through. I hope you..." I lowered my voice, "I hope you¡¯re making sure she wouldn¡¯t do anything... to herself."

    "I think she¡¯ll be... she¡¯ll be fine, Heneral," she answered.

    It would be too much to ask to talk to her this soon. I just wanted to check how they were holding up¡ªand it would seem they were doing better than I had expected.

    "I will make sure that the accused is detained urgently, and that justice is served," I assured her, putting my cap back on as I stood.

    She looked as if she were about to say something, but instead simply smiled.

    ---

    Don Contreras had fled his residence in the town proper and retreated to his large farmhouse in the barrio of Balagasan, where it was suspected he was harboring his grandson.

    The reason was simple: to seek the protection of the workers on his large sugarcane farm. And it was a wise decision.

    The band of farmers¡ªmany of whom had worked for his family for generations¡ªremained loyal and erected barricades around the farmhouse. They numbered nearly thirty and armed themselves with bolo knives, farm tools, and bamboo stakes.

    When I arrived, it was already dark. The two opposing camps were made obvious by the glow of their torches.

    Colonel Abad had brought the entire platoon of trained recruits I had left him, save for the five assigned to Severino Madrigal at the port. He had them spread out around the house, forming a loose encirclement. The soldiers eyed the noisy workers with unease, their fingers tense on the triggers.

    The Colonel himself had made camp in a nearby shed used for nipa thatching. The Boac River was nearby, along with the thick growths of nipa on its banks. With him was the cadet, Mario Nepomucena, who was the first one who noticed me and called the attention of the Colonel.

    Abad smiled broadly when he saw my approach, bringing another dozen soldiers as reinforcements.

    "How¡¯s it going?" I asked as soon as my boots touched the ground.

    "It¡¯s as bad as you look," he muttered. "I was allowed inside to talk to Don Contreras this morning, but after that... he refused to speak again."

    I handed the reins of the horse to Dimalanta, "What did he say to you?"

    "What you¡¯d expect. That his grandson is innocent, falsely accused..." Abad said with a shrug.

    "And which grandson was it?"

    "Oscar Prospero¡ªson of his daughter, Imelda."

    I knew the young man. He was a known ladies¡¯ man, though he had always seemed tame. He¡¯d even politely nod whenever we crossed paths. But appearances could be deceiving.

    He was also Fidel¡¯s youngest grandson, so it was no surprise that he wouldn¡¯t be handed over willingly.

    "And what does the town think?" I asked.

    "Oscar isn¡¯t exactly the most beloved. I think most believe the accusation¡ªand they¡¯re outraged that his grandfather is shielding him," Colonel Abad said.

    "But if we push ourselves in, and gunshots erupt, and bodies start falling... I¡¯m not entirely sure we can keep the people on our side," he added.

    I nodded. These workers had families and friends. Their deaths would lead to chaos.

    "Then we¡¯ll take this slow. Make sure no food or water gets in. Let¡¯s starve them out."

 Chapter 80: Lamplight

    Chapter 80: Lamplight

    The sala was dim, empty, and quiet.

    I had arrived in Boac mid-afternoon, but I wouldn¡¯t get home until very late in the evening.

    On the table was my cold meal, covered in banana leaves¡ªa bowl of rice and a bowl of milkfish stew. Beside them were a plate and a spoon and fork.

    Isabela must have waited for me for a while.

    I threw my rayadillo jacket onto the sofa, and it left my shoulders like a bag of stones.

    Then I removed the socks¡ªthey had felt like cold metal chains wrapped around my legs.

    Tired and hungry, I dug into the meal wordlessly. The staleness of the food and the silence of the house could almost make me cry. Heavy thoughts swirled in my mind, suffocating. I was too old for this.

    So it was music to my ears when I heard the door creak open.

    Isabela stood in the doorway of her room, scratching her newly woken eyes. After a moment, she smiled at the sight of me¡ªand it chased away the dark cloud hanging over my head.

    "Buenas noches, papa...

    " she croaked, and it was the first grammatically correct sentence she¡¯d ever said. "I can heat up the stew for you."

    I shook my head. "No need... it¡¯s still delicious."

    With a burst of energy, she skipped over to the table and sat close beside me. She was ever the gossip queen, and I thought she¡¯d want to talk about the problem with the Contrerases. Even if she had, I still would have gladly obliged.

    But she picked a better topic.

    "Was it true... about the pirates in Santa Cruz?" she asked, eyes wide, her hand on my fork-bearing wrist. "You beat fifty pirates easily?"

    "Why¡ªdon¡¯t you believe it?" I raised my eyebrows.

    "I believe your soldiers could defeat them. What I¡¯m dubious about is you killing three pirates. A pirate captain, at that," she shrugged, curling her lower lip.

    I dropped both utensils, letting them clang against the glass plate. I huffed in mock indignation. "Well, I did. And you should have seen the pirate captain¡¯s face when I shot him."

    Her tiny snub nose curled. "I don¡¯t believe you. Wasn¡¯t it not long ago you slipped on carabao poop and ended up bedridden for months?"

    "Everyone slips, Isabela. It¡¯s not indicative of one¡¯s combat prowess," I replied with a chuckle. "And that was long ago¡ªtwo years, in fact. You don¡¯t plan on forgetting it, do you?"

    It was, in fact, the former Martin who slipped. But to his defense¡ªwho lets their carabao take a crap in the middle of a downward narrow footpath? I could still feel the damage to the hip through his memories.

    She was still laughing¡ªbright as flowers, as cute as a month-old puppy. I decided I¡¯d had enough of the meal and gave her a sudden bear hug.

    "You¡¯re odd," she giggled. "You don¡¯t usually do this!"

    I sighed as I let her go. "I thought I¡¯d die in Santa Cruz."

    Her smiling face immediately melted into one on the verge of tears. Then it was her who dove in for a hug.

    How I yearned to spend this second life entirely in moments like these. I could have, in fact. And many times already, I had doubted the wisdom of my decision.

    "How were you while I was away?" I asked, stroking her hair, her small head leaning against my arm.

    She slowly sat up and crossed her arms. "Teniente Vicente... he¡¯s a handful, really. He¡¯s mean when he¡¯s teaching, and he¡¯s too controlling when escorting me. He even doubts my friends."

    "You can¡¯t blame him. If something happened to you, I¡¯d have him hanged," I said, gently pulling her back to lean on me again.

    "I¡¯d be fine if you hang him right now," she mumbled into my shirt.

    I chuckled. I totally believed her. Vicente really was a handful. His nerdiness made him very particular with details. But it was precisely for that reason I trusted him.

    That said, it was possible for him to go overboard.

    "I could replace him, if you want," I offered. "You can choose from any of the junior officers or cadets. But I¡¯m afraid only Vicente would be able to teach you Spanish."

    Isabela sat up straight again, faster this time. "Well... uhm... yeah, I still want to learn Spanish. And he¡¯s not that

    overbearing... well, actually, he is..."

    "But what I meant to say is... I can handle him. You know."

    I raised my eyebrows, amused. I¡¯d seen that look too many times to be mistaken. Flushed cheeks... playing with her hair... unable to make eye contact... stuttering.

    Very dangerous.

    ---

    Isabela chose to sleep in my room that night.

    As soon as she hit the bed, she resumed the sleep I had interrupted.

    I followed suit. I slipped under the thick blankets and laid my head on the pillows. I thought I¡¯d fall asleep immediately, being both mentally and physically exhausted.

    But after a few minutes, I grew uncomfortable. Maybe the nap on the ship had ruined my body clock.

    I sat up at the side of the bed and, for a moment, in the silence, wondered what to do to pass the time.

    The sight of my satchel gave me an idea.

    I took something out of it and moved to the bedside table.

    I was annoyed. Under the lamplight, I noticed a smudge on the wooden box. It was minor, but it had been given to me pristine. Even the gun case was a beautiful thing¡ªpolished mahogany, if I had to guess.

    I briefly considered finding out who had handled my satchel while I was on the ship. But with all that was going on, it felt like an unnecessary bother.

    I opened the box. The smooth metal and velvet gleamed. It was only my second look at it, but the first time I truly had the chance to admire it.

    The pinfire revolver really was a thing of beauty. Produced in the mid-19th century, but with an old-world charm¡ªit wouldn¡¯t have looked out of place in the 17th.

    My eyes went to the folded piece of paper. At once, I was reminded of the tragedy. A letter from a dead man¡ªone I thought I had saved.

    I assumed the paper looked small because it had been folded many times. But it turned out, it was only folded twice¡ªand was, in fact, just a small piece of paper.

    On it were only two sentences:

    "To our savior and defender, Heneral Martin Lardizabal. May you continue to save and defend."

 Chapter 81: Bruises

    Chapter 81: Bruises

    I woke up being shaken by Isabela.

    Seeing her alarmed face, I sprang from the cushion and scanned the surroundings.

    It was still night. The lamp on the table remained the brightest thing in the room. Through the gaps in the window, I saw only darkness.

    There was no one else but the two of us.

    "What¡¯s wrong, hija?" I focused on her. She looked freshly woken but neither sick nor in pain.

    "It¡¯s Vicente... he¡¯s knocking outside," she told me.

    I furrowed my brow. I remembered how she was blushing last night.

    My still-groggy mind immediately conjured a theory. What if something had happened between them in my room¡ªsomething that happened nightly¡ªand Vicente had simply forgotten I had returned, demanding entrance to continue it?

    But my indignation lasted only a moment. What I heard next filled me with terrible shame for ever doubting the two of them.

    "Heneral!" Vicente knocked again, clearly looking for me.

    "What is it, and why couldn¡¯t it wait until morning?" I called out.

    "It¡¯s Don Contreras¡¯ grandson... he¡¯s been caught."

    That was news. Colonel Abad must have finally succeeded. But how could he have done it without force? And why did it require my immediate attention?

    My heart began to race as my ears adjusted and picked up the other sounds¡ªa low murmur from a crowd below.

    I left the bed at once and moved to the door.

    Vicente stood outside in a crumpled uniform. His buttons were uneven, and his holster wasn¡¯t tightly fitted. The news must have come to him just as suddenly.

    "What¡¯s the matter?" I asked, then walked toward the window in the sala to glimpse what was happening below.

    "Severino Contreras was caught trying to flee toward the river, where a boat had been arranged for his escape," Vicente answered.

    That was good news, but something still didn¡¯t sit right.

    The town had been roused. Townsfolk were opening windows and doors to peek out. From the street below, a furious crowd holding torches was being held back by Dimalanta and the escolta.

    I looked back at Vicente. This should have been a moment of satisfaction. But his face was troubled.

    "Did something happen, Vicente?" I asked sternly.

    "Severino... he was brought here bleeding and beaten."

    He was only supposed to be detained, not punished¡ªhe hadn¡¯t even been tried.

    "And how did this happen? Why didn¡¯t Colonel Abad stop it? This will make things worse." I palmed my hair in frustration. All that training was supposed to instill discipline, only for them to make a blunder like this.

    "No, Heneral... he wasn¡¯t caught in Balanacan. It wasn¡¯t Colonel Abad¡¯s men who apprehended him," Vicente said. "...or any of our soldiers."

    My face twisted in confusion. I slightly shook my head.

    "He was caught in Tabigue. The villagers there recognized him and tried to apprehend him."

    Tabigue¡ªjust the next barrio over. Closer, and in the opposite direction from Balagasan. We had been played by Don Contreras. But it seemed his plan had ultimately backfired.

    Vicente swallowed nervously before continuing, "But he resisted, and all hell broke loose. The villagers dragged him here... his face swollen, bruises all over his body."

    I immediately went downstairs.

    The young man lay in the same bed, in the same cell Sen?or Grimaldo had once used. He was, as Vicente described, terribly beaten, unable even to sit up. The maids carefully washed his wounds, tears in their eyes at the pitiful state he was in.

    I hadn¡¯t known he was conscious. But when his eyes opened and saw me standing at the cell door, he tried to sit up¡ªhe couldn¡¯t. His face contorted in pain.

    "Don Martin..." he said, sobbing, his voice muffled by his swollen, violet lips, "I didn¡¯t do it... I promise... I didn¡¯t."

    My heart ached at the sight, and my skin crawled. I walked out of the cell. Vicente followed me, he had reacted the same as the maids minus the tears.

    "What do we... do next?" he scratched his head.

    "Get the town doctor," I ordered. "And send word to Colonel Abad¡ªhave him and his men recalled here."

    ---

    "He has bruises from his head to the soles of his feet. The deeper wounds will need stitching. I also suspect a couple of fractured ribs," said Sen?or Nicanor Soriano, standing just a meter outside the cell door. "But I believe he¡¯ll pull through¡ªassuming, of course, that he¡¯s allowed to rest and I¡¯m permitted to treat him."

    I nodded. Sen?or Soriano had been the town doctor since his father¡¯s death. Like most doctors of the time, he could hurt a patient as much as heal him. But when it came to physical trauma, I trusted him.

    "Thank you, doctor. And yes, you¡¯ll be allowed to tend to him regularly¡ªand you will be paid for your services accordingly," I assured him.

    He shook his head and sighed. I suspected he disapproved of what had happened and likely blamed me. I watched him walk away until he disappeared through the main door.

    The crowd had been dispersed. Sargento Guzman and his men were fully deployed, setting up checkpoints around the Casa Real.

    Peace and silence returned¡ªbut I knew it was only the calm before the storm.

    Once the sun rose over the horizon, the town would be in chaos.

    I would rather face the pirates again than what awaited me in the morning.

    I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, unaware I was starting to drift off, when I heard the sound of hurried footsteps. I stood up straight, wiping my mouth of the drool.

    Dimalanta appeared at the far end of the corridor and turned toward me at once.

    "There¡¯s someone here for you, Heneral," he said.

    "Has Colonel Abad arrived?" I asked. If I was to maintain order, I would need his men.

    He shook his head. My chest tightened.

    "Is it Don Contreras?" I furrowed my brows. But that would not make sense.

    "No, it¡¯s not, Heneral. It¡¯s Sen?ora Alcantara... and she looks real upset."

 Chapter 82: Drama

    Chapter 82: Drama

    Standing in front of the conference room doors had given me trauma. I was only ever there for work¡ªor for a confrontation. Today, it would be the latter, and I suspected there would be more than one.

    The doors creaked open, revealing Sen?ora Alcantara seated at the rearmost chair of the long table, staring out the window, biting her nails.

    I might have misinterpreted what Dimalanta meant by upset. She looked more worried than angry.

    Sen?ora Alcantara took a few moments to notice me. She had been out of sorts lately¡ªand understandably so. When she finally did see me, she sprang up from her seat like a coiled spring.

    "Heneral!" she exclaimed.

    "Please, be seated, Sen?ora." It was immediately clear there would be no fiery confrontation today. That said, I was now worried for her. "Were you escorted on your way here?"

    She returned to her seat as I took the one opposite her. "Yes... by two soldiers. I left Sargento Tolentino to watch over my daughter... and the house."

    "How can I help you? Did something happen?" I asked, noting how panicked she looked. Her hands were trembling, constantly rubbing against each other, and her eyes darted about, never settling on anything for long.

    "I¡¯m here for the lad... What happened to him?" she asked.

    Of course, she was.

    "He is in our custody. The people of Tabigue caught him trying to flee toward the Boac River, where a boat had been arranged for his escape."

    "I was told he was beaten."

    "He was. Terribly. I suspect they used not just fists but clubs as well. He will survive, but he¡¯s bedridden for now," I said. Though it was bitter on the tongue, I added, "Which he deserved¡ªif he truly sexually assaulted your daughter."

    To my surprise, her face fell even further.

    "Oh God... what have we done?" she murmured, bowing her head and covering her face. Then she pulled at her hair. "The poor lad."

    I leaned forward, resting my hands on the table. Something was wrong.

    "Don¡¯t be afraid to tell me anything, Sen?ora," I said gently, suspecting she knew something I didn¡¯t. "I¡¯m here to help. I¡¯m obligated to¡ªI owe a debt to your husband."

    The tears began to fall. I reached across and held her trembling hands. For the first time, she looked me in the eye.

    "Severino... he started courting my daughter the day we settled into the house," she began. "My daughter entertained him... and just days later, I learned they were seeing each other."

    "Before long, the boy was regularly calling on our house. I permitted it. He seemed polite, and I had heard he was the grandson of a wealthy hacendero in town," she continued.

    "But just a couple of days ago, right before she approached Colonel Abad with the accusation..." her voice trembled, "I overheard them arguing outside. The boy was breaking up with my daughter."

    I stared at the chalkboard behind her, seeing characters and symbols without registering them, as I processed what she was trying to say.

    "You mean to say... your daughter might have made the accusation because she was upset about the breakup?" I said slowly.

    "That¡¯s a heavy charge to lay on your daughter, Sen?ora," I added in a low voice. "Are you sure... that she wasn¡¯t assaulted before that argument?"

    "I don¡¯t know," she sobbed. "But from the time they started seeing each other until that night... she looked very happy."

    I was silent for a while.

    "I will need to speak with your daughter, Sen?ora," I finally said, my voice now firmer. "Someone nearly died."

    ---

    As expected, she would not let us into the room. She screamed at us¡ªat her mother¡ªrelentlessly. At one point, her curses nearly rivaled General Luna¡¯s sharp tongue.

    Eventually, her mother gave us permission to break down the door.

    The first few minutes inside were pure chaos. She screamed at the top of her lungs and hurled everything she could grab. A sewing kit struck me in the head.

    "What¡¯s this? You don¡¯t believe me? Do I have to get naked and have my private parts examined?" she spat her words like bullets from a Gatling gun.

    It seemed I had no other choice.

    "Tomorrow..." I said, dodging another projectile and raising my voice above her hysteria, "Tomorrow, Severino will be hanged!"

    Like a spell, the feral young woman froze. My ears rang in the sudden silence.

    "What... what do you mean?" she asked hoarsely.

    "In accordance with martial law¡ªwhich this province is under¡ªrape is classified as a grave offense and is treated as a capital crime," I told her. "The punishment is death."

    I was telling the truth. I had mentioned this both in the meeting with the principales and during my speech at the plaza. It was listed alongside treason and murder. Likely, this was why Don Contreras was doing everything in his power to help his grandson evade capture.

    What I lied about was the date. Severino would not be hanged tomorrow. I would never hand down such a sentence lightly. It would require a military tribunal¡ªone I would personally preside over¡ªand I would need definite proof.

    "No... just exile him or something," she blurted.

    "If he had indeed sullied your honor, young lady... death is not a punishment in excess," I told her.

    She shook her head, and then broke down again. She let out a bitter chuckle.

    "And sullied my honor... indeed he had."

    "It wasn¡¯t... it wasn¡¯t rape. We made love¡ªbecause he promised he would marry me," she said. "But after he got what he wanted... after he stained my honor, he threw me aside like crumpled paper."

    "Tell me¡ªhow is that any different from rape?"

    I closed my eyes and wiped my face.

    Estupro¡ªtaking a woman¡¯s virginity through deceit, such as a false promise of marriage¡ªwas a significantly lesser crime than rape. But it was still a terrible offense, especially when committed against a principalia woman in a society that directly ties her honor, value, and marriageability to her virginity.

    What I had signed up for was a war with the Americans¡ªnot this level of drama.

    The woman: both accuser and victim.The man: both predator and prey.

 Chapter 83: Merciless

    Chapter 83: Merciless

    "What do we do?"

    Sen?ora Alcantara¡¯s face was impossible to draw. She was a pretty lady, and she had proudly flaunted that¡ªwearing thick makeup and the finest dresses of the time. But that day, all of that fac?ade had been torn down. She hadn¡¯t changed her clothes from the day before. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and snot and drool stained her face. She looked like a wounded, wet pup.

    I could only imagine how terrible she felt.

    At first, she had thought her daughter to be a terrible villain¡ªsomeone who, out of pettiness, had lightly accused a man of a crime punishable by death.

    Now, she must have felt like a terrible mother. Not only had she failed to keep her young daughter away from dishonor, but she had also disregarded the possibility that the girl might have had a reason to behave so outrageously. The false accusation of rape was far from justified... but, to some degree, understandable.

    I sat down on the couch beside her and gestured for Dimalanta and Sargento Tolentino to leave the room.

    "I don¡¯t know what to feel. I pity the lad... but my daughter... she... she was wronged as well, Heneral," she groaned. "Am I a terrible mother?"

    Maybe. But all of this wasn¡¯t entirely her fault.

    I scooted closer and hugged her. She leaned into me. She didn¡¯t smell nice.

    "My husband... he¡¯ll be terribly angry with me... I don¡¯t know what I¡¯ll tell him," she continued to mumble, her body trembling as she cried.

    Then she pulled away and stared at me with wide, fearful eyes. "Don Contreras... if he finds out, he¡¯ll kill us. Do we need to escape? Can you arrange it, Heneral?"

    "Calm down, Sen?ora," I said, rubbing her back. "I¡¯ll find a way to deal with Don Contreras. As for your husband... I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll have to deal with him yourself."

    She studied my face, and perhaps, concluding that I meant what I said, she nodded and wiped her eyes.

    "But Sen?ora... make sure you speak to no one else about this. I¡¯ll have my men keep their lips sealed."

    ---

    The sun was already high in the sky when I exited the Alcantara residence.

    I could still hear whispers about the controversy. More eyes than usual followed me, and neighbors and passersby spontaneously formed gossip rings near the Casa Real.

    But peace had been upheld. The town carried on with its daily activities.

    That was partly thanks to the strong presence of soldiers posted at every corner. I also had Dimalanta continue training the recruits in the plaza, to give the appearance of bolstered numbers.

    When I returned to the Casa Real, the platoon from Balagasan had just come back, further increasing the armed presence.

    Colonel Abad greeted me with a salute as I entered.

    "Have you been properly briefed about the situation?" I asked, scanning the reception hall for Vicente. Only Mario Nepomucena was present. Vicente was likely with Isabel, continuing her instruction¡ªor in the cell, keeping watch over Severino. "The Contreras lad was caught. Unfortunately, the people of Tabigue got too excited."

    Colonel Abad nodded, his expression dark. "Yes, Heneral. I¡¯ve been informed."

    He pointed toward the conference room with his chin. "And so has Don Contreras."

    I had never felt so unprepared for a confrontation. In truth, I had no idea what to say or do. I¡¯d hoped for at least a few hours to collect my thoughts in peace.

    On top of that, I hadn¡¯t had enough sleep. I was so physically and mentally exhausted I felt I might collapse. But heavy is the head that wears the crown. This, too, was part of my duty.

    I forced my unwilling legs to move toward the conference room.

    The moment the doors opened, I saw his figure. Don Contreras stood with his back turned, seemingly studying the maps I¡¯d mounted beside the chalkboard. No one else was with him, but outside, I recognized the capataz of his sugarcane farm. He had likely come in haste¡ªperhaps even alongside Colonel Abad.

    "Have you seen the state of my grandson?" Don Contreras asked before I could even announce myself. Either he had eyes at the back of his head, or I had a distinctive smell¡ªhe didn¡¯t even turn away from the maps.

    "A regrettable thing, Don Contreras. But you don¡¯t need to worry¡ªSen?or Soriano has examined him. He¡¯ll recover," I replied.

    His shoulders shook, and I thought he was laughing.

    "And if he does recover? What¡¯s the use? You¡¯re going to kill him anyway!" he snapped as he turned around.

    I had never seen him cry. I¡¯d always known him as a strong, hard man. But there he was, sniveling, wiping the tears that freely streamed down his cheeks. He looked nearly as distraught as Sen?ora Alcantara.

    It was so unexpected, I didn¡¯t know how to react. Oddly, I found myself slightly afraid of the bizarre sight.

    "Kill him? He hasn¡¯t even been tried¡ª"

    "But you will kill him," he spat, pointing an accusing finger at me. "He¡¯ll be tried in a tribunal where you will preside, and you won¡¯t give him a fair trial. You¡¯ll condemn him to death because I¡¯m a thorn in your side."

    "I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if you manufactured all of this to break me."

    He continued shaking his head, then paced around, roughly scratching at his hair. Then he stopped.

    "Well, you win, Don Lardizabal," he said, throwing his hands in the air. "Name your price... just let my little Severino go."

    Telling him about the sen?orita¡¯s confession would have been the right thing to do¡ªor at least to remind him that he was getting ahead of himself, getting too frantic. All I had done so far was pressure the principalia into submission, and it must have finally taken its toll on him.

    His pitiful state almost urged me to come clean. We were both old men, and I understood his love for his grandson. Here in rural Marinduque, even the toughest and meanest had a soft side for their family.

    Or I could do the opposite. Stay quiet about what I heard in the sen?orita¡¯s room. If it would serve a higher purpose, what was one more sin on my already full list? It would be merciless¡ªespecially to the lad¡ªbut I had done worse in my past life.

    I walked to the table and leaned against the edge, directly staring down at the old man on the other side.

    "This is more serious than you think. Your grandson isn¡¯t just accused of assaulting some mere young woman. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re aware, but Sen?or Alcantara is the commander of our fledgling navy and captains a gunboat," I said, tapping a finger on the table¡ªthe untrimmed nail making a loud clack. "And... Sen?ora Alcantara¡¯s father owns a shipping line in Batangas."

    I wasn¡¯t actually sure about the latter. Alcantara had once mentioned he¡¯d married up, and that his father-in-law gifted him the steamship. He hadn¡¯t said the man owned a shipping line¡ªbut it was possible. And in the chaos of war, it would be hard to confirm or deny.

    "Is there nothing you can do?" Don Contreras asked, seeming to believe me.

    "It¡¯ll be difficult, Don Contreras. But there might be something I can try," I said after a pause. "But what are you willing to do for me?"

 Chapter 84: Guns

    Chapter 84: Guns

    It was with great excitement that we escorted the slow-moving caravan.

    For decades, the cannons had rusted on the platforms of the Boac Cathedral walls, barely used. In time, the townspeople had regarded them no differently than statues¡ªmerely decorations.

    The Spanish had placed them there, facing the river, in case of Moro pirate attacks. But when the pirates stopped targeting Boac, their purpose became merely symbolic.During the revolution against Spain last year, the defenders fired a few rounds¡ªonce or twice¡ªthough only for intimidation, not real combat.

    But today, we were transferring them somewhere they could actually be of use.

    Two carabaos led the caravan, pulling a cart that carried four swivel guns, dismounted from the fort¡¯s stone parapets. I was surprised to see they weren¡¯t actually more impressive than the pirate swivel guns found on the garay warships.

    The ones from the port were plain, made of cast iron, and had limited flexibility. The Moro swivel guns, on the other hand, were ornately designed with intricate carvings, made of bronze, and could swing widely side to side and tilt sharply up and down. The European models were likely mass-produced, while the Moro cannons were hand-crafted.

    I had considered stripping the garay warship of its swivel guns and transferring them to the steamship¡ªbut I doubted Eduardo and his crew would take kindly to that. Besides, the garay¡¯s ability to tread shallow water meant it would likely be used for close-quarters battles, where swivel guns were most effective.

    So the fort¡¯s inferior swivel guns would go to the gunboat¡ªbut so would its largest cannon.

    Another two carabaos followed behind, pulling a large, heavy cart containing the 8-pounder cannon. It was a labor to move and would likely cause us more hardship later on¡ªbut it was our greatest firepower asset.

    It would give the gunboat its gun, granting it the ability to seriously damage enemy vessels or shore fortifications. Loaded with grapeshot, a well-aimed shot from the 8-pounder could single-handedly cause a massacre among coastal defenders.

    At the rear was a single carabao with the lightest load, pulling the 4-pounder cannon. This lighter piece would be installed on the garay warship. It had half the firepower of the larger cannon but was still a serious weapon¡ªenough for the repurposed pirate ship to offer fire support or hold its own in a skirmish.

    "I still can¡¯t believe the story about the pirates... How I wish I had been there," said Sen?or Alcantara.

    We followed behind the caravan, moving at a snail¡¯s pace, but we didn¡¯t mind. We were all excited and enjoyed watching the cannons being transported.

    Sen?or Alcantara rode beside me, and he had been beaming ever since we left the fort.

    It had been more than a week since the incident.

    Fortunately, the public had accepted my explanation: that the sen?orita had not pressed charges, and both families had resolved the matter amicably. To atone for his ¡¯crime,¡¯ Severino had joined the army as a common soldier and would be trained and stationed in Santa Cruz. In addition, the Contrerases paid a significant sum in reparations to the Alcantaras.

    It was a better outcome than most had predicted, but the incident would still stain both families¡¯ reputations.

    To the Alcantaras, it may have seemed like an insult¡ªafter all, their daughter had been violated, and all they received was money and a lenient punishment for the offender.

    But knowing what really happened¡ªhow the lad had nearly been beaten to death¡ªthey accepted the outcome gracefully. Sen?ora Alcantara had worked her magic, and the Teniente de Navi?o even thanked me for how I resolved the matter.

    As for the Contrerases, it was a dark blot on their family¡¯s name. Had the crime been only estupro¡ªthe actual offense committed¡ªit could have been resolved through marriage, avoiding much of the shame.

    But Don Contreras, perhaps unsure of his grandson¡¯s innocence and believing I might truly carry out an execution, was grateful for the arrangement and kept his end of the bargain.

    With his help, I secured the compliance of much of Boac¡¯s principalia

    . He also agreed to have the goods and products from his estates¡ªincluding the Mogpog copper mines¡ªrequisitioned at sharply discounted prices.

    As a result, I now had firm control of Boac.

    Eduardo was waiting for us at the port. He and his crew now wore uniforms. Eduardo himself bore the black shoulder straps bearing two silver stars¡ªthe insignia of an Alfe?rez de Navi?o. He was now a naval officer, reporting directly to the Teniente de Navi?o.

    Upon our arrival, he and his men eagerly took the 4-pounder and began installing it on the garay.

    When I had sent him back to Balanacan to settle his dues, I had given him permission to modify the ship further.

    It had taken a week, and he had returned just yesterday¡ªbut even if the pirates were to rise from their graves, they would not recognize the ship.

    The sails and rigging had been completely redesigned to resemble that of a schooner.

    The two square sails were gone, replaced by three fore-and-aft sails¡ªtriangular in shape and running lengthwise from bow to stern, rather than across.

    The mainmast had been replaced with a thicker, taller mast to carry the mainsail, and a foremast had been erected near the stern to carry the foresail. A long wooden arm sticking out from the ship¡¯s front¡ªthe bowsprit¡ªnow carried the jib sail.

    Below was a complex web of ropes, and I had only the faintest idea what any of them did. Little metal parts now glinted from crooks and corners, reinforcing the vessel.

    A wooden pivot mount¡ªone that must have required skilled carpenters¡ªhad been constructed on the prow to carry the cannon.

    We had commissioned a large barge to bring the 8-pounder to the moored gunboat. The workers struggled to transport the heavy piece of metal, and their final challenge came when they had to hoist the cannon from the barge up onto the ship.

    But with the help of pulleys and Alcantara¡¯s experienced crew, the cannon finally touched the deck.

    Unlike the garay warship, the steamship had not undergone a full overhaul. The modifications done at the Iloilo shipyard were limited to building a gun platform and reinforcing the hull.

    It would have been far too expensive and impractical to fully coat a wooden gunboat in metal, so armor plating had been strategically installed only on vital sections: the front hull, the gun deck area, around the waterline, the engine compartment, and the captain¡¯s cabin.

    A wooden sled with four wheels had been prepared for the cannon. It was secured with ropes to prevent it from launching backward when fired. Around the sled, the deck had been reinforced¡ªlayered with extra planks and framed with iron bolts. The 8-pounder¡¯s recoil was powerful enough to crack an unreinforced deck.

    Treating the cannon like a sacred relic, the crew delicately moved it into place. The trunnions fell neatly into their sockets.

    The steamship was now a gunboat.

    We clapped spontaneously at the sight.

    There was still more to do¡ªthe swivel guns needed their mounts, and sandbags were needed for rifle positions¡ªbut those could all be done here in Boac.

    "What¡¯s the name of that ship?" Sen?or Alcantara asked me as we stood at the bow, looking out toward the docks. The cannon had been installed on the garay, completing its transformation.

    "Kampilan," I replied. That was the name I had given it back at Buyabod port¡ªfor a simple reason: its direct, fast assault capability made it like a swift stabbing sword.

    "And have you thought of a name for the gunboat?" I asked him.

    He shook his head. "On second thought, I think you deserve to name this ship. You looked terribly disappointed when I suggested I should name it."

    I chuckled. "Was I really that obvious?"

    "So... have you thought of any?" he asked after a pause.

    The sea breeze blew gently, carrying the scent of salt and the memory of that day on the beach in Kasily.

    "El Defensor," I muttered.

    "The Defender," he repeated. "Simple... I like it."

 Chapter 85: All Out

    Chapter 85: All Out

    We soon received word that the second battle of the war had been fought¡ªand that the Republic had suffered another defeat. More than two weeks after the Battle of Manila, Heneral Luna launched a counterattack aimed at recapturing the city. It failed, with Filipino KIAs reaching up to five hundred.

    Of course, I did not inform the people of Marinduque about this.

    Nor was I discouraged.

    The political war in the province¡ªor at least in the three major towns¡ªhad been won. I had achieved political supremacy. I could now shift my focus from merely trying to look intimidating to becoming genuinely intimidating¡ªand being ready to join the war as soon as possible.

    It had become increasingly clear to me that I could not train the recruits to the level I wanted to. I was, after all, only one man, with no instructional resources aside from what I had in my mind¡ªand we did not have the luxury of time.

    So I decided to redraft my eight-week training regimen and trimmed it down by half.

    The first two weeks would remain unchanged. Discipline was paramount, and decent marksmanship was non-negotiable. These could not be rushed. I tasked the trained platoons stationed in Mogpog and Santa Cruz to act as model units for the recruits in those areas.

    I had initially set aside the third week to focus solely on small-unit cohesion, but I realized I could insert trench construction and trench tactics into the mix. Small-unit movement and fire-and-maneuver tactics would work best when grounded in a realistic battlefield environment¡ªone that included trench warfare. Training squads to move and fight effectively while also understanding how to build, occupy, and defend trenches would tie those skills together naturally.

    The fourth week would be the culmination of everything they had learned. There would be full-day combat exercises simulating ambushes, flanking maneuvers, trench defense, and trench assaults. They would also be trained to handle stress and confusion through the use of noise, smoke, shouting, and disorder. This was where cadets and NCOs would be tested¡ªforced to lead under pressure.

    Accordingly, the training regimen for the officers and cadets would also be modified in parallel with that of the recruits. Physical training would be shared between officers and recruits to build camaraderie and mutual respect. Leadership simulations would be integrated into the field drills, with cadets taking turns commanding squads. There would be less theoretical instruction and more emphasis on combat leadership and decision-making.

    Naturally, I would personally supervise the final two weeks. And since I could not be in three towns at once, I intended to proceed with my plan of building training fields and barracks in the plains of Santa Cruz. After their first two weeks of training, all recruits from Boac and Mogpog would be funneled into that town.

    I would speak to Don Suarez about securing large tracts of flat land on which to build training facilities. The first batch I had trained¡ªthe four platoons now busy either training the second batch or enforcing martial law¡ªwould undergo advanced training next. They would become my cadre: instructors and demonstration troops who would help me train the rest.

    It was an ambitious task. But if I could manage it, I would be able to establish a training system that no longer required my direct oversight¡ªwhich would be vital, especially since I hadn¡¯t even begun recruiting from Mindoro and Romblon.

    That said, my stockpile of soldier kits had run thin. While food and other resources continued to pour in from the cabezas of the three towns¡ªso much that the storehouses were overflowing¡ªI had no local source for uniforms, rifles, boots, and other equipment.

    Our defeat of the pirates had become the talk of the province, and new recruits poured in faster than we could handle. In Boac alone, the number had swelled to two hundred. Capitan Roque reported 120 recruits in Mogpog, and Pedro reported 150 in Santa Cruz. The uniforms I received from Heneral Luna were only good for 500 men, and the rifles we had totaled only about 300.

    So it was to my great relief when Francisco finally returned to Marinduque on the last Monday of the month.

    A lot had happened since he last visited. When he left, there was no martial law, no pirate attack, no Contreras-Alcantara controversy, and no gunboat or Garay ship docked in the port.

    He had heard of some of the events on the way, and the first hour or two of our meeting consisted of him bombarding me with questions. It was amusing to watch how often he paused and stared at me in disbelief.

    Francisco massaged the bridge of his nose while leaning his elbow on the table. The meal prepared for him was largely untouched. He smiled and chuckled silently.

    "So... you managed all that, and now there are storehouses full of products you want me to sell?" he asked.

    I gave a tight-lipped smile, knowing full well I wasn¡¯t asking him for a small favor."Yeah... there¡¯s abaca, copra, rice, timber, honey... even copper."

    "So... you really did go all out, huh," he said, eyeing the Kampilan sword mounted on the wall in the sala.

    I nodded silently. In truth, I was nervous. If he refused, I¡¯d have to find someone else... and I didn¡¯t think I could find anyone as trustworthy or skilled as he was.

    "I¡¯m sorry, Don Lardizabal..." he began. My heart skipped.

    "... I wasn¡¯t able to bring you the number of rifles I promised. Someone else has been buying up the guns¡ªmaybe a nearby general," he continued. "I don¡¯t think there¡¯ll be any more rifles to scavenge around the nearby islands."

    He had brought 201 Remington rolling blocks and 50 Mausers. I was, frankly, superbly impressed. But maybe to him, it felt like a failure. He had promised me 500 firearms, including at least 100 Mausers.

    "So...?" I muttered. I almost didn¡¯t want to ask the question. If there were no more rifles, what was the point of having all those trade goods? The requisitioned resources¡ªeverything that wasn¡¯t food¡ªwould just rot in the storehouses.

    "I think it¡¯s time for me to go all out," he said, almost in a whisper, locking eyes with me.

    I tilted my head. "What do you mean?"

    "I have friends in Hong Kong. Maybe I can find rifles there for you. I think we¡¯ll have enough to arrange a high-level deal," he said.

    I didn¡¯t smile immediately. I raised my eyebrows. "Wouldn¡¯t that be dangerous?"

    "It will be. There are a ton of ways this could go wrong," he said, "which is why you should only agree to this if you trust me enough."

 Chapter 86: Transition

    Chapter 86: Transition

    The soothing sound of the chalk stick against the blockboard was all that could be heard in the conference room. We watched Vicente write on the board what was written on the piece of paper I had handed him beforehand. He had neat handwriting¡ªplain and utilitarian, as if he had trained himself to conserve ink with every letter.

    He moved quickly, and soon enough, the last title and its accompanying colon had been written at the bottom of the board.

    I shifted my gaze from the chalkboard to the people seated at the table. Present were the principales of Boac¡ªthose who had bent the knee. And they were about to be rewarded.

    With my authority established, it was time for a transition. It was time to smoothen the operation of the province under Martial Law. Roles had to be defined. It would be impractical to burden every task on me and my small cabal of officers. The civilians had to do their part.

    "I have failed to inform you... that the gobernadorcillo has been dismissed from his post," I opened the meeting, clasping my hands in front of my lips. "Thus... his post is vacant."

    I pointed at the board and to what was written on it. "And so are these posts, which will be necessary in directing the entire province for the war effort."

    They shifted in their seats. Some cleared their throats. A few whispered to their seatmates.

    "Sen?or Augustin Nepomuceno... I will appoint you as the new gobernadorcillo de Boac," I announced. "You shall see to its daily affairs and serve as an intermediary between the public and the military."

    It was silent at first¡ªperhaps because they had not expected it to be so unceremonious, or maybe they had expected an election. But eventually, Sen?or Nepomuceno¡ªfather of officer cadet Mario Nepomuceno and one of my most enthusiastic supporters¡ªstood up.

    He bowed slightly in my direction, then to his colleagues, who exploded into applause.

    His appointment was not solely due to his loyalty, although that was a large part of it. He was also known to be a friend to all¡ªsociable, unthreatening, and never intimidating. No one would feel uneasy about his promotion. He didn¡¯t need charisma; the post would be largely symbolic.

    I simply needed a friendly face to soften the rigidity of military rule.

    "I¡¯m afraid, however, that the quarters for the gobernadorcillo in the Casa Real will no longer be available," I informed him. "But you will be given a personal guard."

    "Heneral... This is a great honor," he beamed.

    I knew it wouldn¡¯t be a deal breaker. In most towns, the gobernador had the Casa Real to himself, while the gobernadorcillo lived in a private residence and only had an office in the building. In Marinduque, the gobernadorcillo had lived in the Casa Real because of a now-obsolete reason:

    Until the revolt, Marinduque had been a sub-province of Tayabas, without its own governor. The Tayabas governor rarely visited, and the gobernadorcillo had often acted as the island¡¯s highest authority. Thus, his presence in the Casa Real had once been necessary.

    The promise of a personal guard would suffice. After all, gobernadorcillos typically did not have professional escorts. I planned to assign him two escolta guards¡ªboth to ensure his safety and act as my eyes and ears.

    "Sen?or Jorge Grimaldo..." I called out the man who, just a few weeks ago, had been on the other side. "You will be the Supply Commissioner."

    Sen?or Grimaldo raised his eyebrows, curved his lips, and nodded. Ever prideful, he only lifted his rear a few inches from the chair and gave me the subtlest of bows before sitting back down. The applause that followed eventually forced a smile onto his face.

    Oddly enough, since our confrontation, he had grown increasingly supportive. Days after I had confiscated the rice he tried to export, he brought more to the Casa Real¡ªthis time, voluntarily.

    I think he was one of those men who resisted authority until you proved yourself worthy of it. Once you did, they respected you.

    As one of the largest hacenderos, he had ties to other landowning families and would know where the resources were and who to get them from. His infamous temper also gave him a fearsome reputation¡ªsomething I hoped would help smoothen the requisition process.

    "Our Transport and Storehouse Manager will be Sen?or Dante Madrigal," I continued, referring to the father of the Madrigal cadets. "It will be your job to oversee the movement of goods and the management of our storages in the province."

    The Madrigal patriarch was perhaps the most loyal to the cause. I needed someone trustworthy to entrust the supplies to.

    Not to mention, Dante was one of the few rancheros in the mostly rugged and mountainous province. He had a large herd of carabaos I had been meaning to requisition for logistics. I hoped the new post would give him the hint.

    "Don Crisostomo delos Santos... you will be our Construction Foreman," I announced next. "You shall be in charge of construction, repairs, and infrastructure needed by the military."

    You didn¡¯t need legal training to be a juez de paz. Don delos Santos, in fact, was known to have graduated from the Escuela de Artes y Oficios, an engineering school in Manila. But upon returning to Marinduque, he had found few opportunities¡ªthis island wasn¡¯t exactly a hotbed for public works.

    Now, there would be great need for his expertise. The coastal road needed improvements, large depots had to be built in Boac, and camp and training facilities in Santa Cruz had to be constructed.

    He was shocked at first, then huffed in delight. Clumsily, he stood and gave me a deep bow. "I will do my best... Heneral."

    I took another look at the blackboard. We had filled half the posts. After the next one, the rest would be minor positions to be given to the less influential members of the principalia.

    I scanned the faces before me at the long table. Almost all of them were anticipating my next announcement¡ªexcept for one, who had good reason. Perhaps he expected to be given a minor role, like postal delegate or recruitment officer.

    "Don Contreras..." I muttered. The table stirred at once. The controversy was still fresh in everyone¡¯s minds. "You will be the Public Order Commissioner. You will be in charge of enforcing curfews and other laws in the province."

    Don Contreras¡¯ strong will, persuasive nature, and desire to protect those he cared for made him a good fit for the role.

    I didn¡¯t know if he had fully switched sides. But the posts, although important, was not as powerful as it sounded.

    He wouldn¡¯t actually command soldiers or get hold of any firearms. His assistants would be armed only with clubs and torches and he would still answer to the military. And because the post requires him and his men to be out and about, any odd moves would be easily observed.

    Still, there were risks.

    But if I could win his loyalty, which what I was trying to do by giving him the post, he would be a great asset. The sooner I did that, the smoother things would run. I could benefit greatly from his province-wide influence.

    Don Contreras didn¡¯t look thrilled, nor did he look annoyed. He slowly stood and gave me a curt nod.

 Chapter 87: Young

    Chapter 87: Young

    "Oh... to be young," sighed Colonel Abad, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding below.

    From our vantage point on the ridge, we watched the young soldiers enjoying themselves in the river. They splashed and chased one another, disturbing the fish and creating waves in the otherwise serene water. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if, before long, their playfulness turned rough, and we¡¯d have a repeat of the brawl that had broken out during their first week of training. It was surreal to think that had been only a month ago.

    Others were more content to remain on the banks, where they gathered around fire pits, roasting generous portions of fish and pork I had provided for the outing. Dimalanta, ever the instructor, hadn¡¯t shed his military mode. In a quiet corner under the shade of a tree, he sat with a group of recruits, animatedly lecturing as he scribbled notes and diagrams into his ever-handy paper pad.

    Vicente was there as well, but due to his obligation, he had to invite Isabela. They found a spot for themselves that, at first glance, looked like a couple enjoying a picnic. But upon closer inspection, it was clear the teniente wasn¡¯t enjoying it as much as my daughter. Perhaps he wished he were in a library instead, reading another boring book.

    Altogether, about a hundred recruits spread across the riverbank, covering a broad stretch of the waterway. The local women, who had come to wash laundry or fetch water, found themselves entertained by the half-naked young men frolicking in the sun. Some blushed, others giggled, and a few exchanged whispers behind their hands.

    Meanwhile, my senior officers and I had set up our own camp on an elevated patch of land, just before the slope dipped sharply toward the river. Beneath an old acacia tree, we sat on large stones¡ªcourtesy of the rocky terrain¡ªand gathered around a small wooden table where platters of roasted meat, cooked by the soldiers below, had already been laid out for us.

    This first batch of recruits had worked hard since the beginning. They had served as trainers, patrolmen, peacekeepers¡ªand nearly a fourth of them had already tasted real combat. After completing the two-week training of the incoming replacements for the three towns, I decided to reward them with a much-needed seven-day break.

    They would need the rest. After their short reprieve, these men would be the first to undergo advanced training in Santa Cruz. Upon completion, they would resume their roles as instructors and demonstrators for the next waves of recruits. There would be no rest once things picked up again.

    "We are still young, Colonel," I uttered absentmindedly, enjoying the sunny weather and the picturesque view of the emerald waters. I especially felt young when I remembered that I had been twenty years older before I came to this world. That I shouldn¡¯t be enjoying the gentle touch of the breeze, the soothing music of rustling leaves, or the company of friends¡ªbecause I should be dead.

    "That¡¯s true," Capitan Roque agreed, spearing a thick slab of roast pork belly with his fork and dipping it into a bowl of vinegar and crushed chili. "We¡¯re still young. Old is bitter and grumpy¡ªlike Don Contreras. Young is like the gobernador: energetic and ambitious."

    The officers chuckled at the remark. Chuckles turned to full-bellied laughter when we saw Roque struggle to fit the tough slab of meat into his mouth¡ªonly to succeed with a triumphant grunt.

    "You couldn¡¯t be more right," Pedro chimed in, laughing the hardest of us all and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "Don Contreras... what a joke he is. I don¡¯t understand why you gave him that post. Just a few weeks ago, he was resisting us¡ªand now you¡¯ve given him the authority to suppress resistance?"

    As my brother-in-law, Pedro had the privilege of speaking freely, but I could tell the others shared the sentiment, even if they dared not voice it.

    I had my reasons. Maybe guilt was one of them. Maybe, deep down, I was trying to make amends.

    "If we isolate him, he and his allies will remain our enemies," I replied, my voice steady and serious¡ªcutting through the merriment like a blade. "Let¡¯s extend a bridge. If we can win him to our side, we¡¯ll have a stronger grip over the province."

    There was a moment of silence. Then I turned to Pedro, looking to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Anyway... how¡¯s Severino doing in Santa Cruz?"

    Pedro pursed his lips thoughtfully. "To be honest... he¡¯s been doing well. He¡¯s strong, smart, quick with the drills, a decent marksman... If it weren¡¯t for his misdeeds, I would¡¯ve considered him for an NCO position."

    I sighed. A familiar pang of guilt twisted in my chest. I still couldn¡¯t forget the sight of him in the cell¡ªbruised, beaten, and bleeding.

    "I wouldn¡¯t mind promoting him... if he¡¯s earned it," I murmured.

    Pedro raised an eyebrow. "But isn¡¯t that his punishment, Heneral? Being enlisted as a common soldier?"

    He was right, of course. And for a moment, I had no answer.

    "Well... an NCO isn¡¯t that much of a promotion anyway," I tried to reason aloud.

    The expression on their faces told me they weren¡¯t convinced. Rape was a serious crime. Some of them already believed the punishment had been too lenient. And now I was floating the idea of rewarding him?

    "I think we should give the boy a chance," said Sen?or Alcantara, breaking the silence. All eyes turned toward him at once, given the topic. "We were all foolish and impulsive once. Maybe the beating and the training knocked some sense into him."

    There was no immediate reaction. But if the father of the alleged victim was willing to give the offending boy a chance, who were they to object?

    "You have a point..." Capitan Roque was speaking again, this time there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Have I told you that when I was young, I carved a hole into a banana tree¡ªand my father caught me trying to hump it?"

    "No, you have not, Capitan Roque," I said, shaking my head as the officers erupted into renewed laughter. "And I wouldn¡¯t reveal that kind of story, even if you had me at gunpoint."

 Chapter 88: Entrust

    Chapter 88: Entrust

    A large Chinese junk appeared off the coast of Marinduque. They were a usual sight, but since I had been tending to ships lately, I had come to appreciate their aesthetics more. While the steamship was a product of European culture, and the Garay a product of Moro culture, the vessel known as the junk was distinctly Chinese.

    Contrary to what its name might suggest, it was a majestic ship. It had large sails reinforced with wooden slats, giving them a ribbed appearance, and from a distance, they spread like the wings of a dragon. The go-to ship of Chinese merchants, it had three decks and ample cargo space¡ªperfect for the shipment we had prepared.

    Francisco, ever reliable and punctual, had arranged for a merchant ship just three days after our discussion.

    Just barely, we also managed to stick to the timetable. Dante Madrigal, as the Transport and Storehouse Manager, had proven to be a wise appointment.

    Just last night, the last of the carts had arrived from Santa Cruz.

    As I had hoped, he provided nearly half of his herd of carabaos for the task. In coordination with Sen?or Grimaldo, he had also managed to requisition more animals from Mogpog and Santa Cruz, expanding the fleet of carabao-drawn carts.

    On the expert advice of Sen?or Lim, I had Sen?or Madrigal prioritize the transport of high-value, low-bulk goods¡ªproducts that could yield high returns without hogging the limited space on the ship, and were easy to load and unload. Gunrunning, after all, was all about secrecy and space.

    Early in the morning on the appointed day, the town was already alive with the sound of creaking wheels and snorting carabaos as an impressive caravan made its way from the storehouse doors to the docks.

    Naturally, the cargo was composed mostly of abaca¡ª35 tons in total, 10 percent of which came from my plantation. It was the province¡¯s best cash crop, with an excellent value-to-weight ratio. We expected it to contribute more than half of the shipment¡¯s total revenue. The province could have produced even more had it been harvest season.

    Next came 20 tons of dried copra. While not as valuable, it remained a decent trade item and one of the most abundant products in the province¡ªperhaps only surpassed by rice, fish, and salt.

    Then there were 3 tons of beeswax, which, although produced in small quantities, would be the priciest item per ton in the cargo. Almaciga resin, harvested from the Almaciga tree and used in varnish and incense, was another compact trade good¡ªthe second priciest in terms of value per ton.

    Ten tons of copper ore from the Mogpog mines¡ªmore than a third of which belonged to Don Contreras¡ªalso made it onto the manifest. Contrary to my earlier assumptions, it turned out to be a poor trade item. Most of the ore was low-grade, the product of manual mining, and it required large quantities to have any real value. Ten tons of the ore would likely fetch the same price as three tons of beeswax.

    The same could be said of the hardwoods. Though traders sought them, they were slow and bulky to move. Just a few logs could take up an inordinate amount of space. Rice and salt, while plentiful, were perishable and had very low trade value.

    That said, just to fill the remaining space, I added ten logs of Ipil wood, five tons of rice, and five tons of salt.

    "That¡¯s a lot to entrust to a single man... especially someone who isn¡¯t from Marinduque," Sen?or Madrigal remarked as we watched the junk grow smaller on the horizon, sailing into the morning sun.

    "Or a Filipino..." I said.

    "What?" Dante turned to me sharply.

    I chuckled. I remembered how, both times I had asked him, Francisco had delivered impressively¡ªyet each time, he seemed disappointed in himself, always wishing he had brought more.

    "He doesn¡¯t consider himself Filipino because of the way Spaniards have treated the Sangleys. Or at least, that¡¯s what he claims," I said with a smile.

    "Personally, I think he¡¯s already more Filipino than some of our own countrymen."

    ---

    I sighed in disappointment when I saw Isidro emerge from the stairs into the sala.

    I would have wanted him to accompany Sen?or Lim to Hong Kong, but he had been nowhere to be found in Boac, Mogpog, or Santa Cruz. Now, finally, he had returned¡ªjust shortly after the junk had set sail.

    "Where were you all this time?" I scowled.

    "I was in Gasan," he replied, his expression far brighter than mine. He looked like he was bursting with questions. He had been gone even longer than Francisco. When he disappeared, I hadn¡¯t even started training recruits in Boac. I could only imagine the flood of information that hit him about all the events that had transpired while he was gone.

    Gasan was the neighboring town southwest of Boac. While sorting through Martin¡¯s memories for clues about what business he might have had there, one piece of information stood out¡ªand my expression darkened further.

    "Were you with that woman again?" I asked. Isidro¡¯s large frame and unattractive face didn¡¯t help his confidence in matters of love, but he had been courting a woman in Gasan for some time. I wouldn¡¯t have minded that she was a commoner. The problem was, she was a known whore.

    He shook his head. The grin on his face turned sheepish. "No... I have a niyugan there."

    I huffed. "Ah, yes... your five-acre coconut plantation. Were your few hundred coconut trees so important that you stayed there for more than a month?"

    "Tiyo, let¡¯s talk about that another time," he said with a dismissive wave. "Let¡¯s talk about what¡¯s happened here."

    "I left you for only a month, and not only have you started training soldiers¡ªyou declared Martial Law, fought pirates," he paused and grinned widely when he saw the kampilan sword hanging on the wall, "brought in a Moro warship, built a gunboat, and dealt with a scandal involving Don Contreras."

    Left with no choice, I had him sit on the opposite couch and brought him up to speed¡ªfrom the beginning until the recent appointment of civilian posts and Sen?or Lim¡¯s departure.

    By the end, he looked more excited than when he first arrived.

    "I want to help too, Tiyo," he said, hands folded in front of him. "Are there any civilian posts still available?"

    I shook my head. All civilian posts had already been filled during the last meeting. Had he been present, I would have given him the position of Supply Commissioner. He was a skilled merchant¡ªperhaps not quite at Francisco¡¯s level, but still fitting for the role.

    He looked disappointed, but I quickly had an idea. There were no civilian posts left... but I could offer him a military one.

    "How about I give you the rank of Captain?" I offered.

    His eyes widened, and he pointed at himself in disbelief. "Me? Capitan, as in Capitan who commands soldiers?"

    I nodded. With the three towns under control, it was time to deal with the rest of Marinduque. Gasan, being nearby to the southwest, was the natural next target.

    "Yes. And your job is to announce Martial Law in Gasan and ensure their oficiales and principales cooperate," I said. "I¡¯ll assign a few dozen soldiers to assist you."

    "Can you do that?" I asked. Although, in truth, it wasn¡¯t a difficult task¡ªGasan was a significantly smaller and more rural town. It would require minimal force to make it submit.

    "Consider it done," he said, attempting a salute that ended up looking more like someone checking himself for a fever.

 Chapter 89: Cluttering

    Chapter 89: Cluttering

    Boac had grown very busy. The quaintness I once loved about it was gone. I could no longer hear the birds, drowned out by the shouting and the thumping boots of the recruits in the plaza, and the sound of sawing and hammering from the buildings being constructed.

    The town streets had been taken over by roving bands of civilian patrolmen and supply carts cluttering in and out of town.

    Nor could I smell the scent of the sea anymore, with all the carabao droppings littering the streets. Someone had paid the town kids to deal with it, but the kids, being kids, weren¡¯t exactly efficient.

    It reminded me of Malolos. And perhaps we were the only place in the Philippines, far from the frontlines, that was this busy. I don¡¯t think the other generals had been as aggressive as I was.

    Behind all the activity was the spillover of the recruits. Knowing that we couldn¡¯t train all the men who were willing to sign up, we had temporarily stopped accepting new ones. Instead, they were redirected to work for the civilian officers¡ªespecially for Sen?or Grimaldo as collectors, and Sen?or Madrigal as movers.

    "How has it been?" I asked Sen?or Alcantara as we stood on the same balcony where I had once made my speech.

    We watched Rodrigo scold a group of kids below, tasked with removing the carabao droppings right in front of the Casa Real. They didn¡¯t have shovels, so they tried scooping the large turds with scrap planks¡ªand ended up spreading crap all over the place.

    With Colonel Abad, Dimalanta, and the cadets on their break, and with me soon leaving for Santa Cruz, I had asked the teniente de navi?o to take over military command in Boac.

    Dimalanta had just finished training the 200 new Boac recruits. Aside from a platoon I had sent with Sargento Tolentino to assist Isidro in Gasan, Sen?or Alcantara would have the rest under his command to oversee the provincial capital.

    I hoped that would compensate for his inexperience and make things easier for him.

    "Quite frankly... I don¡¯t feel qualified," Sen?or Alcantara said, tight-lipped. "I don¡¯t even understand the words some of these recruits have been saying. I don¡¯t even know how to properly salute. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they¡¯re laughing behind my back."

    That, I knew. He hadn¡¯t undergone training¡ªnor had his crew. I hadn¡¯t found the time, although it wouldn¡¯t need to be as intensive as for the infantrymen. Being sailors, they¡¯d be taught just a sprinkling of drills and basic marksmanship. But they would have a specialized lesson on how to use a cannon, and I dearly hoped it wouldn¡¯t be too different from using a mortar¡ªor I¡¯d have nothing to teach.

    For that reason, I intended to leave Sargento Guzman with him. The NCO, along with Sargento Tolentino, had proven to be reliable and trustworthy. Not to mention, his role in the Kasily battle was widely known, and he had earned the respect of the recruits.

    "It wasn¡¯t as bad as I thought it would be... but still... it¡¯s awkward between me and Don Contreras," he added.

    That, I had not thought through. As Public Order Commissioner, Fidel would have to report to Sen?or Alcantara. But maybe... it could be a way toward eventual reconciliation. Or it could also lead to further complications.

    It wasn¡¯t lost on me that since the battle in Kasily, I had been taking a lot of risks. It could be that the near-death experience had reintroduced some boldness into my usual cautious approach to things.

    "I believe you have what it takes¡ªRonaldo," I said, patting him on the back. "It¡¯s all on your head. The first key to leadership is confidence... and the key to building confidence is by pretending to be confident at first, until you¡¯re no longer pretending."

    "And if you¡¯re that worried about how to properly salute or the terminologies, I can have Dimalanta give you a brief lesson," I added.

    Sen?or Alcantara finally smiled. "That would be very much appreciated, Don Marti?n."

    ---

    On the first of March, I finally left Boac for Santa Cruz to check on how Don delos Santos was faring with the task I had given him. I had sent him ahead to scout for possible locations to build the barracks and drill fields, and to coordinate with Don Sua?rez to acquire the lands.

    Eduardo looked incredibly disappointed when he told me we couldn¡¯t use the Garay due to poor sailing conditions. I could have used the gunboat instead, but I wanted to conserve coal, and I didn¡¯t want Sen?or Alcantara to be distracted from his duties.

    So I chose to take the coastal road, bringing only a couple of escorts. All three of us rode on horseback.

    Even on the way there, I could already see Don delos Santos¡¯ handiwork. Parts of the road that had been slowly reclaimed by the forest had been cleared. The slippery and steep portions had been overlaid with gravel. Small makeshift bridges had been erected over the many brooks and streams.

    This could have been done a long time ago, and transport and trade would have long improved in the province. I planned to eventually have him build roads further inland as well. People often underestimate the economic value of decent transportation infrastructure.

    Our journey ended after four hours of travel¡ªtwo hours earlier than expected. A large part of that was thanks to the better roads. But it was also because we encountered Don delos Santos before reaching the town proper.

    We noticed a group of villagers carrying hoes, shovels, and wheelbarrows near the barrio of Landi, about two kilometers from the town. A little farther ahead, we spotted Don delos Santos by the rice fields.

    "We¡¯re building shallow ditches to dry out the field... we¡¯re going to redirect the water to a nearby stream," he explained. "Then we¡¯ll let it dry under the sun for about three days, and work on flattening it."

    I remained on horseback, taking in the view of the rice fields on both sides of the road. The paddies were unplanted¡ªperfect for conversion into dry fields. It was vast, but not as vast as I had wanted. Maybe just about 15 hectares in all. I would have preferred at least 20.

    "So this is the site you were able to secure. It¡¯ll do, but it¡¯s a little tight," I told him.

    "I know, Heneral," Don delos Santos replied in a low voice. "There were wider and better tracts of land further south... but Don Sua?rez had difficulty negotiating for them."

    "No problem... we can manage with this," I assured him immediately.

    On second thought, I could make a slight modification to my plans for the land. I had planned for eight training stations to be built, but maybe I could do away with one.

    A live-fire range with its long lanes and buffer zones could easily take up 10 hectares. But it wouldn¡¯t be absolutely necessary, since they had already been taught basic marksmanship.

    I could just build it somewhere else¡ªmaybe alongside the facilities for basic training. If more flatland could be found, we could proceed with the plan of having all training, from Week 1 to Week 4, done in Santa Cruz.

    "You¡¯ve done well, Don delos Santos," I said as I dismounted. "And the roads¡ªthey¡¯re a lot better now. I actually enjoyed the travel here."

    Don delos Santos smiled. "I hope we¡¯re just beginning, Heneral."

    "Indeed we are."

 Chapter 90: Rice Fields

    Chapter 90: Rice Fields

    More and more workers arrived, streaming out of the nearby barrios, until their number reached up to forty men. They came not out of sheer patriotism¡ªthough that sentiment might have flickered in some hearts¡ªnor did they do it for money. Had that been the case, then with all the building and preparation we¡¯d done just this week alone, my coffers would¡¯ve been emptied dry.

    Workers were paid in rice. And for some, that was handsome pay enough. Although rice was abundantly grown in the province, not everyone could afford it. The poor often contented themselves with root crops¡ªcassava, sweet potatoes, taro¡ªand only savored rice during rare celebrations. A few sacks of rice could mean a week of full bellies for a whole family.

    Don delos Santos had them gather around him. With an authoritative tone I was not used to hearing from him, he assigned the roles to the workers. Some were to destroy the dikes, which bordered the paddies and helped lock water in place. The rest were to build ditches to guide water out of the area.

    Then the work began in earnest, and the men, armed with their shovels, spades, and bolo knives, battled the stubborn soil and thick mud. The sun bore down on them, and before long, shirts were stained with sweat and dirt. The rhythmic clanging of metal against earth echoed across the field.

    Don delos Santos watched hawkishly from the road with us.

    "So, how long will this take us, all in all?" I asked the juez.

    He took a good scan of the rice fields and sighed, "Just the draining and the drying could take up to five days. Then, depending on what you want to do with the field, this could take us a week or two."

    "That wouldn¡¯t work," I said, scratching my head. The training of the first batch should start on Monday.

    That is, if I want the second batch trained within the month¡ªMarch 6 to 17 for the first one hundred, and then March 20 to 31 for the newly trained recruits.

    "What would it take for you to finish this by Monday?" I asked him.

    "Monday... that would be very tight," Don delos Santos said, sharply inhaling through his teeth. "I would need a lot more men¡ªmaybe a hundred more¡ªand ready access to the materials. I would also need your close supervision on what you want done. That means you¡¯ll have to stay here at least until Sunday."

    He shook his head. "I would suggest we give this a good week. Do whatever you had planned next, next Monday. I could say with some certainty all will be done by then."

    I considered his suggestion. Having this all done by Monday would be pushing it. That said, I didn¡¯t know if I still had time to waste.

    "A hundred more workers, huh," I repeated, staring at the rice fields.

    "Yes. But our workforce is spread thin," he answered. "I suppose we could scour the nearby barrios for more workers, but that in itself would also take time."

    I put on my cap and walked toward my horse. The two escorts who were with me also went to their horses when I mounted.

    "I will give you a hundred more workers, Don delos Santos," I said.

    ---

    My presence quickly registered when I entered the town proper. As I rode through, townsmen paused in their daily tasks to wave or shout a greeting. Even the children recognized me, their curious eyes following me from windows and doorsteps.

    Unlike Boac, Santa Cruz remained relatively quiet. The points of activity lay outside the town proper¡ªthe training grounds in Landi and the barracks that stood on the fringes. The main roads retained their calm. Still, I noticed a few supply carts creaking by and recruits patrolling the streets or standing guard in shaded corners, their rifles held with discipline.

    The barricade I had erected during my last visit still stood¡ªonly now it was no longer the makeshift affair of coconut fronds and fallen branches. Someone had reinforced it with wood and bamboo, with sandbags neatly stacked at strategic points.

    Interestingly, the same boy who had once fallen asleep outside that very barricade¡ªthe one Don Suarez had sent to plead with me¡ªnow stood behind it proudly in uniform. A strip of white cloth tied around his shoulders marked him as an officer cadet. That surprised me.

    Still, my attention shifted. I saw another familiar face. Coincidentally, Severino Contreras was also assigned to the checkpoint. There were faint discolorations on his face, remnants of past bruises. He avoided eye contact, his posture rigid.

    "How can I help you, Heneral?" the boy cadet asked as I approached. He offered a crisp salute. "We weren¡¯t informed you¡¯d be around."

    I heard the rhythmic shouts of drilling soldiers in the distance. I glanced toward the noise and saw two platoons of recruits engaged in physical training on a newly cleared field. When I left, that space was still cluttered with shrubs and tree stumps. Now it had been flattened and tamed.

    The barracks had multiplied as well. What was once just two converted copra storehouses had become three. The third building had been built in the same style as the others, perhaps for aesthetic consistency or simple practicality.

    I glanced back at the lad. Unless Pedro, for some reason, had decided to be progressive in selecting cadets, it wouldn¡¯t make sense for a mere servant to be chosen as one. "You are an officer cadet? What¡¯s your name?"

    "Adan Suarez, Heneral," he replied.

    I raised my eyebrows. It was starting to make sense. "Adan Suarez... any relation to the gobernadorcillo?"

    "I am his younger brother," he answered, a little confused. Perhaps wondering how I did not know that... and I was wondering the same.

    I chuckled and started dismounting from the horse. "Alright, Adan... can I ask where your commanding officer is?"

    "Capitan Sadiwa is in the building in the middle," he pointed to the same storehouse I had converted into the officers¡¯ quarters and the recruitment center.

    Just as I was about to go around the barricades, I saw Adan nudge his men to take our horses.

    Severino was the one who took mine.

    "Are you alright, hijo?" I asked him, in a low voice.

    He seemed surprised to have heard what I said. He stared at me and then weakly smiled, "I am fine, Don Martin."

    ---

    Gabriel Sadiwa. He was the one Pedro had suggested be commissioned as the senior officer for the Santa Cruz recruits. His grandfather had served as a Guardia Civil, and as if that alone conferred military acumen through blood, the principales of the town had floated his name without hesitation.

    I was not aware of his qualities yet, but when I told him that I would need a hundred of his men to help with the construction of the training grounds in Landi, he enthusiastically agreed. The remaining fifty would be enough for patrols and manning the checkpoints.

    I also visited the one Sen?or Madrigal had appointed to be in charge of the storehouses in the town¡ªSen?or Benjamin Abante, the cabeza of a nearby barrio. I tasked him to ensure that he and his men were in close coordination with the construction for easy access to the resources.

    I had been in town for less than an hour, and somehow, Don Suarez already knew of my arrival.

    He offered to host us for snacks in his residence. I accepted, but told him we would need a full meal instead. We hadn¡¯t eaten anything since we set out from Boac early in the morning.

    He readily obliged. With his large retinue of servants, a bountiful meal was served at our table within an hour: large crabs cooked in coconut milk paired with squash, roasted stuffed milkfish, and chicken adobo. I was not overly fond of Don Suarez¡ªsomething was off with him¡ªbut at least during the meal, I had forgotten all of that and was only grateful to him.

    "Forgive me, Heneral... that piece of land in Landi was all I could arrange. Don delos Santos seemed disappointed as well," he opened the topic without me initiating. "There was a nice piece of untouched flat land in Biga, but the man who owned it was quite stubborn. Don Zoleta said he used it for grazing, and if it were requisitioned, he¡¯d have nowhere to move his large herd of cows and carabaos."

    "It¡¯s alright, Don Suarez, we can work with the rice fields. Don delos Santos already has a plan," I replied. Maybe the gobernadorcillo did try his best, and it wasn¡¯t enough. His youth didn¡¯t make him very intimidating.

    I could take that land by force. And as for the herd-slaughter the cows for dried meat and put carts on the carabaos¡ªbut better not restart the struggle I had with the principalia in the area.

    "Oh! You did mention you¡¯d be staying here for a few days," he said.

    "I will. Don delos Santos needs me to be around," I replied.

    "Kasily is nearby," he said. "If the town is too far for you to go back and forth, you could use my father¡¯s house there as your temporary residence."

    That was true. Kasily was just a barrio away. And with the villagers still grateful for our deeds, I could enjoy hospitable neighbors.

    But the owner of the house, the old man I had failed to save, had just recently died. I didn¡¯t know if it would be right to disturb his house this soon.

    Don Suarez took my silence for agreement. "I¡¯ll send word to Alicia."

 Chapter 91: Company

    Chapter 91: Company

    The manpower from the town proper arrived in Landi by mid-afternoon. It couldn¡¯t be helped. Capitan Sadiwa had, in fact, acted on my orders without delay, but gathering the scattered recruits, briefing those who had been left behind, and locating the proper tools still took an hour or two.

    To their credit, they immediately joined the others in the mud and muck as soon as they arrived, no complaints or hesitation. Don delos Santos was very pleased when I returned a little while later, having eaten and rested at Don Suarez¡¯s residence.

    Capitan Sadiwa was out in the fields himself, sleeves rolled up and getting dirty like everyone else. The officer cadets and NCO candidates coordinated closely with Don delos Santos¡¯ assistants and directed their men with remarkable clarity. I didn¡¯t see Adan or Severino¡ªlikely, they were among those left behind to help oversee the town.

    "I like these young men, Heneral," the juez said, beaming with satisfaction as he watched the dikes being dismantled and the ditches dug in precise, systematic rows. "Your training makes them faster, stronger... and very quick to follow orders."

    "You are very welcome, Sen?or," I replied, smiling faintly. In truth, trained soldiers were overqualified for this kind of work. But they were also perfect for it. I remembered how, in Korea, our undermanned battalion of hungry, exhausted men dug over a mile of trenches in six hours. Of course, the fear of being caught in the open by advancing Norks had been a powerful motivator.

    Still, the discipline and coordination ingrained in soldiers made them ideal for manual labor¡ªefficient, uncomplaining, and cohesive.

    By the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, the rice field by the road was ninety percent finished. An impressive feat, though I failed to fully appreciate it. Even if everything was done by tomorrow, we¡¯d still need at least two days just for the drying. That would only leave Sunday¡ªone day before Monday¡ªto complete the construction of the stations.

    Despite my concern, I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle as I watched Capitan Sadiwa organize the withdrawal from the fields. His men fell into formation, leaving the area in an orderly march back to town. In contrast, the civilian laborers¡ªtired, scattered, and muddy¡ªheaded off in the opposite direction, clearly outclassed in every way by the disciplined recruits.

    Perhaps they were beginning to wonder if we still needed them. And indeed, we did. I would do anything to shorten the timetable¡ªeven by just a bit.

    "Where will you stay for the night, Don delos Santos?" I asked as the field grew quiet again. The soldiers were gone, leaving only my escorts and the juez¡¯s assistants behind. A V-formation of birds squawked overhead, and the frogs and crickets sang from all corners of the darkening field. We were, unmistakably, in the middle of nowhere.

    Don delos Santos mounted his horse. "I have a friend in Buyabod¡ªCarlos Ojeda. You may know him. He¡¯s been hosting me the past couple of days. If you¡¯ve nothing arranged yet, I could¡ª"

    "No, it¡¯s alright," I cut in gently. "A residence has been arranged for me in Kasily." I walked over and stroked the mane of his horse. "I actually thought of inviting you over."

    "I would have to inform Sen?or Ojeda..."

    "It¡¯s alright, Don delos Santos. Take care."

    ---

    I was already beginning to regret accepting Don Suarez¡¯s offer. Upon traveling back to Kasily, I realized it wasn¡¯t actually closer to Landi than the town proper¡ªif anything, it was a little farther, with a rougher road that slowed us down.

    Still, I hadn¡¯t been able to say no to Don Suarez. Maybe I didn¡¯t want to. I¡¯d been meaning to check on the village and visit the old man¡¯s residence for quite some time.

    But it was just as awkward as I¡¯d feared. By the time we arrived, it was already early evening. Our mounted, uniformed trio drew attention from the villagers, but no one seemed to recognize me in the darkness. The awkwardness would be complete, I thought, if we reached the old man¡¯s doorstep only to find that no one was home¡ªor worse, that no one was prepared to entertain guests.

    The bahay-na-bato still looked lived in. The warm light of lamps slipped through the narrow gaps in the windows.

    I dismounted and approached the main doors. It was quiet inside¡ªso quiet that I hesitated before knocking. Eventually, I raised my knuckles and rapped twice.

    "Magandang gabi po?" I called softly.

    There were faint footsteps, then some muted thuds. No immediate reply.

    I knocked again.

    This time, I heard rushed steps approaching. The door swung open suddenly, and my hand instinctively reached for an empty holster. If I¡¯d had a sidearm, I might¡¯ve drawn it. But I had left the old pinfire revolver beneath my desk¡ªtoo outdated and unreliable for combat.

    To my surprise, it was Don Suarez¡¯s sister who stood at the doorway. She smiled when she saw me.

    "Heneral... I¡¯ve been waiting for you," she greeted.

    I hadn¡¯t expected her to be here. With the death of her father, I assumed she had already moved out. She looked thinner than before, and her eyelids were puffy¡ªstill in mourning, I supposed. It had been less than a month since the old man¡¯s death. Understandable.

    She must have been informed early, as she was already dressed to receive guests.

    "Forgive us for intruding..." I said, removing my cap.

    "Please come in," she said, stepping aside. "You¡¯ve arrived just in time. Supper is almost ready."

    We were led upstairs to the main sala. It resembled the one in the governor¡¯s quarters in Boac¡ªsame shape, same size¡ªbut it was sparsely furnished. Perhaps she was indeed in the process of moving out.

    She left the three of us seated at the table, where plates and utensils had already been set. When she returned, she brought an elderly maid with her, both carrying dishes covered with woven food covers. It seemed the two of them had been managing alone, so I motioned for one of the soldiers to help. They refused at first, but I insisted.

    Soon, dinner was served.

    The round table was a little too small for five people, but the senorita didn¡¯t seem to mind. She sat beside me, visibly cheered by our presence.

    As we ate she would not stop smiling and looking at my direction.

    My coming there, after all, was not totally pointless. If I could be of any comfort, I would be willing to provide her company.

 Chapter 92: Try

    Chapter 92: Try

    "Are you alright, Heneral?" one of my escorts hurriedly rushed to my side.

    It was embarrassing. I had only been hard at work for less than an hour, and already I was out of breath. I had collapsed into the mud, sitting heavily with my back hunched and my eyes squinting up against the sweltering sun. The sky was a perfect blue, and the heat bore down like a punishment. This was one of those times I wished the weather wasn¡¯t so good. A light overcast would have been perfect¡ªjust enough cloud cover to dull the sun¡¯s wrath.

    "I am alright," I brushed off the soldier¡¯s helping arms as I stood up with some difficulty by myself. My knees were shaking.

    I thought of rejoining the line of workers digging the ditch, but I wasn¡¯t feeling too well. I felt a bit dizzy and had no more strength in my arms and legs. In the end, I accepted the soldier¡¯s offer to assist me back to the road.

    It was all clearly a mistake. My uniform was all mud now and I had not even brought more than two sets of clothing. I was confident I could do a little help without getting too much dirt.

    Now, not only was I filthy, I was also disrupting the work. Several of the soldiers had paused to glance in my direction, curious or perhaps concerned. Capitan Sadiwa, standing legs-deep in muck, noticed as well. He began wading toward me.

    "I am alright, Capitan! Carry on!" I hollered to him and gave him a thumbs-up. He clearly did not understand what a thumbs-up meant, but at least he heard what I said. He paused, and then after giving me another look-over, he smiled and turned to where he was overseeing his men, trying to unclog an irrigation canal.

    I could only shake my head at the bother I was causing. It was like that one time in my previous life when I tried to help a young woman with her groceries in the parking lot, at 70 years old, oblivious that she was then stronger than me. She was polite about it, but she probably did not like me dropping and consequently tearing one of her grocery bags.

    Don delos Santos was chuckling as he helped lift me up out of the fields to the elevated road.

    "We are too old for this, Heneral," he said, and I suspected he found entertainment in my disheveled state. He did try his best to discourage me from making the foolish decision.

    "Unfortunately, you are right," I sighed in defeat. "And look... I don¡¯t think they need any more help."

    The trained recruits continued to impress me. They completed what was left of what needed to be done in the fields we were working on yesterday before Don delos Santos and I could even arrive earlier. It turned out, Capitan Sadiwa and the Sta. Cruz recruits arrived there at dawn, making Landi their destination for their daily march.

    We had already moved on to the paddies on the other side of the road. And it was only mid-morning, and we had already done more than half of that portion as well. The soldiers, having acclimated yesterday, knew what to do now and purposely went about the work. Don delos Santos and his assistants were barely needed.

    I was almost certain that the draining part could be done before noon.

    "Is this for us?" the juez asked. I looked in the direction where he was staring.

    A carabao-pulled cart, carrying pots of water and sacks I suspected contained snacks, was headed our way. The creaking wheels were enough to attract the attention of everyone. But a pretty, smiling young lady was also in the cart.

    Sen?orita Alicia Suarez was seated beside the cochero, waving at us.

    "It is," I said.

    ---

    As I had predicted, we finished removing the dikes and digging the ditches on the rice fields on both sides of the road. We proceeded to the drying part¡ªor more accurately, the waiting part. Not only should the surface be rid of the little pools of water and the mud, but the soil beneath should also attain some dryness. And the speed by which that can be attained was at the total mercy of the sun.

    "I just want to be honest with you, Don Lardizabal. I really think it would be difficult to have everything ready by Monday," repeated Don delos Santos as we made our way to Kasily, where Alicia and I had convinced him to have his lunch.

    "You really think so?" I asked him, watching as some dark clouds formed on the horizon. It would seem that another shower was bound to fall around mid-afternoon, just like in the previous days. That would mean the rice fields would be wet again, and our waiting time extended.

    "Not to mention, I don¡¯t think you have brought enough sets of clothing with you," Don delos Santos observed accurately. I only had one remaining set of clothes in my satchel. "You should return to Boac... rest. We don¡¯t need to rush this."

    "My father¡¯s clothes would suit you, Heneral. I could let you borrow his clothes," Alicia suddenly chimed in from behind us in the same creaky cart, after having been silent since we left Landi. "And I believe in you... I think you can finish everything this week."

    "Is that so, Sen?orita?" I looked back at her. Her eyebrows were clashing against each other, as eagerness took hold of her small face.

    It was more likely she did not want me to leave than her believing in me. But I understood. I could only imagine how lonely that house was with only her and the maid living in it, while in every corner lay a memory of her dead father.

    I glanced at Don delos Santos. He was waiting for my answer.

    "I think we should give it a try this week, Don delos Santos."

 Chapter 93: Nightmares

    Chapter 93: Nightmares

    I sighed despairingly as I looked out the window. It had, after all, rained that afternoon¡ªa steady shower that lasted until the late hours of the day. When the clouds finally cleared, the sun reappeared, already beginning to set. Its tawny rays pierced through, making the wet leaves of the trees and the blades of grass glisten.

    It had only been hours earlier that I had so hopefully told Don delos Santos I would try my luck this week. I wondered if he was growing tired of me.

    First, he had discouraged me from joining the workers in the field earlier, and ignoring him, I had made a fool of myself. It was becoming increasingly likely that there would be a repeat. I¡¯d be waiting in Kasily like a fool, hoping the fields would dry within a day¡ªpartly urged by the desire to provide company to a grieving girl.

    Maybe my presence did offer some comfort. But was I really that necessary? There was even a chance I was prolonging her grief just by being here.

    "Don Suarez¡¯s clothes do fit you, Sen?or Heneral," the elderly maid commented from behind me. She had been in the front sala for a while, wiping down the mahogany table where we had eaten lunch with the juez.

    I leaned away from the window to smile at her, then glanced at the clothes I was wearing. The white camesita and trousers were slightly baggy, but those were the very qualities that made house clothes comfortable. Which was odd, since the old man looked a lot smaller than me.

    "Yes... thank you for this one," I said.

    She paused her wiping of the already gleaming tabletop to shake her head. Then she picked up the broom to tackle the dusty floor.

    "Do not thank me, Sen?or. It was the sen?orita who frantically searched the cabinets to find clothes that would suit you. She realized you wouldn¡¯t fit in her father¡¯s clothes, so she had to check the old cabinets for Don Suarez¡¯s," she said with a chuckle.

    I raised an eyebrow. I had assumed that when she said "Don Suarez," she was referring to the father.

    "Don Suarez... her brother? He used to live here as well?" I asked, seeking clarification.

    The maid¡¯s eyes widened at my question, and she straightened her back. "Yes, he did live here before. This was the Suarezes¡¯ first house."

    "And not brother... half-brother," she added casually.

    The conversation was getting interesting. Don Suarez remained largely a mystery to me, and I might as well gather more information while I was here. I walked to the couch and took my seat, still watching the maid as she resumed sweeping.

    "You said half-brother? I didn¡¯t know that."

    The maid smiled, excited to share more. "Yes, half-brother. Don Eugenio is the son of Don Joaquin¡¯s first wife, while Sen?orita Alicia is the only child of his second. It was quite a controversial affair, really. The gobernadorcillo hated his father for remarrying, and they never reconciled."

    Joaquin. It was surreal to think that this was the first time I had learned the old man¡¯s name¡ªand from the maid, of all people.

    Things started to fall into place. It explained the awkwardness I¡¯d sensed when I once sat with both of them in the same sala, after the pirate attack. The gobernadorcillo had expressed gratitude for me saving his father and sister, but I didn¡¯t remember him even addressing them.

    "And now, with Don Joaquin dead, he only has the sen?orita left to hate. Just a few days ago, he tried to force her out of the house¡ªremoving furniture, even firing the servants," she continued absentmindedly. "But he failed when she ran to her room and locked herself in."

    I leaned forward, placing my elbows on my lap and clasping my hands together in front of my face. I hadn¡¯t expected to be bombarded with so much information. She was a blabbermouth¡ªthe kind of maid one wouldn¡¯t want around if privacy was a priority. But I wasn¡¯t complaining just then.

    She paused her sweeping again to beam at me. "I¡¯m very thankful you came here, Heneral. I thought she¡¯d starve herself in her room. But when I knocked and told her you were coming, she suddenly came to life. She even managed to dress herself¡ª"

    "Camela!" a soft but high-pitched voice interrupted her. I recognized it.

    Then came the sound of someone running away.

    The maid stared in horror in the direction of the voice, then looked at me. "I messed up."

    I stood up hastily and went after her. The maid told me the sen?orita hadn¡¯t gone upstairs, so I headed toward the kitchen.

    It was quiet there. The only sounds were the distant voices of my two escorts. The open back door revealed them plucking the feathers off three slaughtered chickens. They were nearly done, and Alicia must have come to inform the maid¡ªonly to overhear that we had been talking about her behind her back.

    I shook my head, terribly disappointed with myself. Since when was I a gossip?

    A soft sob reached my ears, coming from somewhere I had already passed. I slowly walked backward toward the door leading to the sala, trying to discern shapes in the dimness of the kitchen. Then I saw something move¡ªat first, I thought it was a cat.

    Under the staircase, between a few empty nipa baskets, Alicia sat hugging her legs, still crying.

    I slowly approached, unsure of what to say.

    "You don¡¯t need to pity me, Heneral," she said, peering out from behind her curled legs. Her wet eyes reflected the dim light of the room. "I can manage. You don¡¯t need to bother yourself. Just leave me alone."

    I ran a hand through my hair, unsure of what to do next.

    Eventually, I squatted down to be at eye level with her. "Hija... just like that day... I won¡¯t¡ªI can¡¯t¡ªleave you alone."

    I swallowed before continuing. "You... you can run to me."

    She stared at me for a while.

    Then, slowly, she unfolded herself from the tight curl. Without saying a word, Alicia crawled toward me and collapsed into my arms. She began to weep against the camesita.

    Her voice came out strangled, barely above a whisper. "The nightmares... they won¡¯t leave me alone. The pirates... they keep coming for me every night..." A hiccup broke her flow. "My papa... he¡¯s in every thought... and my brother... he hates me like I¡¯m vermin."

 Chapter 94: Grueling

    Chapter 94: Grueling

    We had underestimated the tropical sun.

    It was sunny the entire Friday. And that same sweltering heat that had made me collapse just the other day had done its wonder. When they checked the soil on Saturday, the flattened rice fields were already dry enough¡ªat least most of them.

    Still, only two days were left before the advance training was supposed to commence. The moment I was notified of the soil condition, I rode hard toward the town proper to summon Capitan Sadiwa¡¯s men and to order the local storehouse manager to have the needed resources delivered without delay.

    The number of workers from the nearby barrio had been doubled, and along with the soldiers, the labor force now numbered about two hundred men¡ªwhich Don delos Santos was pleased to inform me was large enough to build just about anything within two days.

    Of course, he did not fail to remind me that to fully take advantage of the large number of workers, we needed three things: a clear plan for what I wanted done, a clear division of work, and close supervision. I was willing to provide all three.

    Before all the laborers could gather, I had Don delos Santos and his assistants help me mark and lay out where the stations should be. I took my time visualizing everything. The layout couldn¡¯t be done willy-nilly¡ªI had to take into consideration that some stations needed to be in specific spots to be effective, and that the distance and order would affect the rhythm of the training cycle.

    In the end, a bit overwhelmed, I decided not to overthink it. I could simply make necessary adjustments after a few rounds of training.

    We marked and framed the zones with bamboo stakes and twine.

    With the layout done, we returned to the road where a large crowd of workers awaited, and proceeded with the partitioning of the work.

    Some stations required more skill than labor. Some required more labor than skill. And some required both.

    Perhaps the easiest of the stations was the drill and discipline fields. It only required basic clearing, maybe some tamping of the soil, and drawing lines on the ground. I assigned ten workers to handle it.

    A close second was the weapons handling and bayonet dummies. This station needed only an open field, and the dummies could be erected easily using wooden posts, bundled bamboo, or sacks. Another ten workers were assigned here.

    The medical and casualty simulation station required some light crafting¡ªthe building of stretchers and training mannequins, and the designation of casualty zones¡ªbut it still wasn¡¯t labor-intensive. Fifteen workers were assigned to it.

    Moderate in difficulty was the squad maneuver training station. The challenge here came mostly from hauling the needed props¡ªbarrels, boxes, and logs¡ªand arranging them. I assigned twenty-five workers.

    The camp life and logistical zone required carpenters, and fortunately, we had a number in the crowd. They and their aides were tasked with building tents, tables, and latrines. Thirty men were assigned to the station.

    The two remaining stations were the most labor-intensive and difficult to build. If anything would delay us, it would be the construction of these two.

    The obstacle and assault course required a lot of materials and a lot of men¡ªnot just unskilled laborers but also carpenters and those familiar with rope work. Among the complex structures needed to simulate battlefield conditions were crawling spaces, walls, and climbing structures. I assigned forty men to this station.

    Finally, the most difficult of all was the trench warfare zone. Not only would it span around five hectares of land, but the digging alone was backbreaking. On top of that was the construction of fortifications and the trench interiors, which also required skilled carpenters and knowledgeable overseers. The rest of the labor force¡ªmostly soldiers and a good number of carpenters¡ªwere dedicated to this massive task.

    The work did not start smoothly. Due to the vastness of the field, some workers got lost or joined the wrong groups. The supply carts I had arranged from the town proper¡ªbringing the tools and materials¡ªalso took time to arrive.

    Don delos Santos and I had to ride around the large expanse shouting orders and instructions. Slowly, the cogs started moving¡ªrough at first, and uncoordinated. When work resumed in the afternoon after lunch, we began to hit our stride.

    I closely supervised the two most difficult sites, which I had constructed alongside each other. Don delos Santos took care of the rest of the stations, only occasionally coming to ask me clarifying questions.

    It was a difficult and grueling effort. At times I had to dismount and demonstrate the work myself.

    Fortunately, the workers¡ªespecially the recruits¡ªkept their discipline and toiled in the mud and muck to their limits. I had grown fond of Capitan Sadiwa. In his mid-twenties and looking as sheltered as your average principalia, he had shown the initiative of someone significantly older and worked alongside his men like a commoner.

    To their credit, the laborers from the nearby barrios also showed ingenuity. Despite close coordination with Sta. Cruz¡¯s storehouse manager, some materials and supplies still failed to arrive, and many of the workers chose to improvise. Some crafted what they needed right on site, while others hauled resources from their own villages.

    One thing that helped motivate everyone was the festive spirit that hung in the air. Nearby villagers had gathered around, excitedly murmuring among themselves¡ªboth in awe of the structures being built and proud that their sons and fathers were participating in it.

    By Saturday, the easier training stations had been completed.

    Work continued on Sunday. The freed-up workers joined in on either building the obstacles for the assault course or enduring the hell of trench construction.

    By sundown... all of the training stations had been built. I had not felt so excited in a long time¡ªwitnessing its completion, and hearing the joyful clapping and cheering of the spectators.

    The involved Sta. Cruz recruits would have their pay for the week doubled. The civilian workers would each receive an extra five gantas of rice.

 Chapter 95: Retelling

    Chapter 95: Retelling

    I made Kasily our cuartel for the training, where there was no busy civilian activity to interrupt. Not to mention that the town proper was already housing 150 recruits. A hundred more and the town would be as busy as Boac, and I didn¡¯t think the townsmen there had signed up for that.

    Alicia helped me greatly with the preparations. As it turned out¡ªthough not entirely surprising¡ªher father was the cabeza of the barrio. She knew exactly whom to talk to, and the villagers, out of gratitude to me and respect for her, cooperated without hesitation.

    Two storehouses had been emptied of salt and copra to be converted into the quarters of the recruits, while a large hut had been arranged to accommodate the four officer cadets.

    Alicia¡¯s house, one of the few bahay-na-batos in the area, would host me, the senior officers, and the two tenientes.

    I had contacted the gobernadorcillo in the town proper to arrange the delivery of the necessary supplies to feed us in Kasily, since that would be an overwhelming task for the small barrio.

    The modified Garay warship, with its reduced crew and oaring ports, had enough space for a hundred passengers. It landed along the same shore where the pirates did several weeks ago.

    I was smiling as I watched them jump down to the sands, until I noticed someone jumping done who wasn¡¯t supposed to be there. Isabela looked like she enjoyed the journey, smiling and waving at the curious crowd of villagers that had gathered at the beach.

    "Vicente, why is she here?" I asked the lieutenant. I had not indicated in the letter for Isabela to be brought. In fact, I wanted Sargento Guzman to take the role of guarding Isabela and taking command of the security around the Casa Real.

    Teniente Trivin?o placed his hands on his hips and gave Isabela a hard stare, to which she responded with a pout and a shrug. "She insisted, Heneral. Told me that if I were to stop her, she would tell you to hang me."

    I raised my eyebrows. "And you believed her?"

    Vicente sighed. "Of course, I didn¡¯t. But she wouldn¡¯t stop whining and crying."

    She eventually reached where we were standing and gave Vicente¡¯s arm a punch before mumbling out, "I wasn¡¯t crying..."

    "Alright," I finally let out a chuckle. In hindsight, having her here would actually work. I wouldn¡¯t need to constantly worry about how she was doing, and she could help out with the chores. "...Isabela, this is Alicia."

    Alicia had been quietly smiling by my side. She perked up upon the mention of her name.

    "Alicia... this is Isabela, my daughter."

    They exchanged polite nods and warm smiles. I hoped they¡¯d get along. Both were kind-hearted girls, but Alicia was more reserved, more mature in how she carried herself. Then again, that could be the lingering trauma... and the fact that I was still, in many ways, a stranger to her.

    I shifted my attention as Colonel Abad, Teniente Dimalanta, and the two captains approached.

    "Please... tell us, Heneral, where did the battle occur?" Capita?n Roque asked.

    "Right where you are standing, Capita?n," I left Vicente and the two girls to greet the senior officers, suddenly excited in retelling the event. "This is the same sands where eight pirates had fallen."

    They quickly followed my hand as I pointed at the coconuts to our left. "And that is where Sargento Guzman and his platoon had taken cover, and where they released their deadly volleys."

    The three stared at the trees and the ferns for a minute, as if visualizing the scene.

    "And I was told you weren¡¯t with them. That you attacked from a different direction, with your escorts," said Colonel Abad with an amused smile. "Where did you kill the three pirates... including their captain?"

    "Ah!" I softly laughed. "Well... follow me."

    I proceeded to tell them the rest of the details of the events. I informed them where each of the killed pirates had fallen as we walked the streets. In a low voice, I told them of the unfortunate death of the child in the incident... a detail that didn¡¯t quite make it into the rumors.

    When we arrived at the house, I brought them around to the back, retelling the scene in full. I described how Alicia had burst through the back door, a pirate chasing close behind. How I had crept through the shadows, inch by inch, until I reached the antesala. How I killed the second pirate before he could react. How the pirate captain had nearly sliced me in half¡ªif not for the doorframe that saved me at the last second.

    I showed them the gash in the wood, still visible and untouched.

    Of course, I did the retelling without Alicia around. She must still be outside getting to know Isabela. Her maid, though, was in the house and intently eavesdropped on the conversation, utterly entertained by my story.

    Before long, everyone was called to gather for lunch. Alicia had supervised the women of the barrio in turning the supplies from the town proper into a feast large enough to feed more than a hundred men.

    The officers, including the cadets, ate in the front sala, while the recruits sat outside in the shade of the many trees, eating off unfurled banana leaves.

    I would have wanted the training to start earlier in the dawn. But yesterday I was not too sure we could finish the stations in time and only wrote and sent the order already late in the day.

    They left Boac early in the morning today and only arrived near noon. With half of the first day already gone, I decided to only conduct the orientation and some basic drills to start the week.

    After lunch and a brief siesta, I finally brought them to Landi.

    Needless to say, the recruits could hardly believe their eyes at what I had prepared for them. The wide spread of structures and earthworks looked like a small town in itself.

    The laborers had done their part¡ªnow it was thei

 Chapter 96: First Week

    Chapter 96: First Week

    I got de?ja? vu from all the activity and noise happening around me. The actual training in the constructed fields had the same busyness as its construction¡ªbut instead of suffocating and overwhelming me, I thrived in all of it. I was thrilled at the sight of the same recruits I had trained on day one, now finally nearing the end of their instruction and well on their way to becoming full-fledged soldiers.

    The soldiers retained their original platoons along with their officer cadets. Those who had been deployed with Capitan Roque to Mogpog were still under Cadet Roque¡¯s command. Those sent to Santa Cruz with Pedro remained under the leadership of Lorenzo Madrigal. The platoons left in Boac were still led by Mario Nepomuceno and so was the younger Madrigal. These four platoons would train side by side, cycling through the seven stations during the two-week exercise, with four stations operating simultaneously each day.

    Each training group had its set time and schedule. A posted chart by the bahay-na-bato laid out every platoon¡¯s rotation and location to minimize confusion. Their instructors included all senior officers and lieutenants. They had been thoroughly briefed Monday evening. I had given them copies of my handwritten training manual before I left for Santa Cruz, so most of them already had a good grasp of the lessons.

    Of course, I provided extensive supervision, going from station to station on horseback, checking both the instructors¡¯ approach and the recruits¡¯ progress. I mentally noted what methods worked best, what needed changing, and who among the instructors showed natural aptitude for teaching.

    The recruits had already seen enough of basic drills and formations in their first two weeks to grow sick of it. But here in Landi, in the drill and discipline fields, they were pushed far beyond simple marching. They were trained to quickly react¡ªto form into a skirmish line, shift into a column, then break into a wedge formation in seconds. Commands were barked, and movements were expected to follow instantly, their boots stamping against dirt and gravel.

    They also learned how to rapidly set up a defensive perimeter¡ªassigning sectors of fire, spacing themselves to avoid overlapping fields of fire, and responding to simulated ambushes. Their NCOs were drilled to think on their feet and reposition squads in real-time.

    Bayonet training wasn¡¯t new to them, but the station on weapon handling and close combat expanded their understanding. Here, they learned how to switch quickly between rifle combat and sidearms, how to fall back and regroup if disarmed, and how to react if their bayonet got stuck in mud or flesh. They practiced jabbing, parrying, and even how to deliver a proper kick.

    What was completely unfamiliar to them was the medical and casualty simulation zone. The recruits learned to extract the wounded while staying low, moving quickly but carefully. Using canvas stretchers and makeshift litters, they practiced dragging and carrying their fallen comrades out of danger. They received lessons on triage, identifying wound severity, and improvising treatments¡ªbandaging, using clean cloth to apply pressure, and splinting limbs with wood and cord.

    In the tent and camp life station, the recruits were taught how to organize functional campsites. They laid out designated areas for sleeping, latrines, mess, and command posts using pegs and flagged rope lines. Emphasis was placed on hygiene¡ªwashing hands, digging waste pits properly, and keeping food preparation areas away from latrines. Disease prevention was drilled into them, and Isabela¡¯s presence gave an unexpected boost to morale. I had her lead a quick lesson on basic cooking using foraged ingredients: boiled cassava, roasted bananas, and stews made with wild greens. Alicia, volunteered to assist her, stirring pots over open fires as smoke filled the air.

    Perhaps the most critical and modern concept introduced was the fire team doctrine introduced in the fire team maneuver zone. Each fire team was composed of four members: a team leader, two riflemen, and one runner or messenger. They were drilled in how to move as a unit¡ªflanking, bounding, covering each other with suppressive fire while advancing or retreating. The idea was simple: don¡¯t fight as a rigid line, but as a flexible chain. It was a challenge for them to unlearn the instinct to clump together or advance in a straight row, but progress was visible by the third day.

    The doctrine carried into the obstacle and assault course, where fire teams were required to move together through a brutal gauntlet. They crawled under low logs, scrambled up walls, jumped ditches, and ducked through thick hedges. They carried unloaded rifles the entire way and weren¡¯t allowed to fall out of formation. Each team was timed¡ªthe best given praise, the slowest assigned extra duties. The course was as entertaining as it was exhausting. Spectators, including curious villagers, watched recruits slip in the mud, cry out from exertion, or get scolded by hoarse-voiced NCOs.

    Dimalanta, who oversaw the station, had asked me if we should send the villagers away due to the distraction. I told him that in a real battle, the distractions would be worse¡ªteasing was a small price to pay for learning under pressure.

    The trench warfare zone was the hardest to build but quickly became the favorite among the recruits. Dug with real effort over several days, it mimicked the trench systems we used back in Korea and Vietnam during the later years of the 20th century. It had dugouts, shallow firing steps, rudimentary duckboards, and even latrine trenches. The soldiers learned how to move crouched, avoid skylining themselves, post sentries, and create simple firing positions with sandbags and wooden planks. They practiced loading and firing from the parapets using dummy rounds, learning how to keep their heads low and their eyes sharp.

    Construction lessons were also included: how to dig drainage, where to reinforce the trench wall, and how to hide an ammo cache.

    The whole affair was rough and far from perfect. Just like when we were building the stations, mistakes were made¡ªropes broke, structures leaned awkwardly, lessons were occasionally out of order. But I was fortunate to have cooperative officers and eager recruits. Most of the lessons had been pulled straight from memory and hastily turned into written guides, but the men were forgiving, willing to learn, and most importantly, willing to try.

    Before I knew it, we had finished the first week, exhausted but in a way, satisfied.

    The second week would be significantly more exciting.

 Chapter 97: No Waiting For Daylight

    Chapter 97: No Waiting For Daylight

    "I think that girl has a crush on you," Vicente uttered in a low voice in the stillness of the night.

    I was staring at the sky and its beautiful host of stars, listening to the music of the crickets and the gentle rustle of the grass, when the random statement came out of nowhere.

    I looked at him across the small campfire. His round eyes reflected the flames. He had gained a bit of flesh in his cheeks, likely due to the extra rations Isabela had been giving him ever since she took charge of the kitchen staff in Kasily.

    "What girl?" I asked, scratching an itch on my neck and reflexively slapping at it. My palm came up empty. False alarm¡ªbut I had already killed maybe twenty mosquitoes, and my hands, face, and neck were riddled with bites.

    The mosquitoes were having a feast in Landi, especially with a hundred recruits sprawled out in the open, asleep in the middle of the road. They lay with their backs against the soil and their heads resting on their packs. All their equipment¡ªexcept for their uniforms, ammunition pouches, rifles, and boots¡ªhad been removed and laid neatly beside them.

    It was the second week of advanced training, meaning a far more intense regimen and even more drills packed into their already tight schedule. That night, they hadn¡¯t expected to be sleeping out in the open¡ªbut I was introducing yet another lesson.

    Surrounding the sleeping recruits at a distance were small campfires for the officers I had assigned to stay awake. Vicente and I had taken position to their east; Colonel Abad and Capitan Roque were to the west; Dimalanta and Pedro, to the north. To the south, hidden from sight and knowledge, were Eduardo and his men, along with a couple of swivel guns they had temporarily unmounted from the ship.

    "Sen?orita Alicia... she lights up whenever you¡¯re around, and she won¡¯t stop staring at you," Vicente said, picking up the pan that had slid down from the coconut log he¡¯d been using as a seat.

    I exhaled loudly and returned my eyes to the stars and the silver crescent moon. "She¡¯s just grateful, Vicente. Don¡¯t read too much into it. If I had saved you, you¡¯d be beaming at the sight of me too."

    "Yeah... but I wouldn¡¯t be twirling my hair or raising the pitch of my voice when I talked to you," he muttered, pursing his lips.

    I chuckled. "It baffles me how you can be that observant and still as dense as a rock."

    He raised his eyebrows and leaned in with a hand cupped to his ear.

    I picked up the iron pot and the corresponding metal ladle from beside me and stood. "I said it¡¯s time to wake them up."

    He promptly followed, snatching up his pan and a rock before waving to the rest of the officers. Soon enough, they stood from their seats, each armed with their own noise-making instruments.

    I exhaled deeply, cleared my throat, and struck the pan with the ladle. Then I began yelling as I walked slowly but deliberately toward the sleeping recruits. Vicente and the rest of the officers followed suit, with Dimalanta¡ªever the overachiever¡ªshouting at the top of his lungs.

    Suddenly, the roar of a small cannon tore through the air. We flinched, even though we¡¯d expected it. Eduardo and his men had begun firing the swivel guns with dummy rounds.

    As anticipated, the initial response was chaos. The recruits immediately grabbed their rifles and started aiming them, despite being unloaded, as if it would save them. The cadets had been briefed beforehand, but they too froze momentarily.

    Teofilo Roque emerged as the most promising of the cadets during the first week of advanced training. That night, he was also the first to recover from the shock. After a few moments, he began shouting orders to his men, instructing them to grab their gear and run to the drill fields. Lorenzo Madrigal was the second to compose himself and quickly mirrored Roque¡¯s commands. Mario Nepomuceno and Cristobal Madrigal took a bit longer to snap out of it but eventually remembered their instructions.

    We continued marching forward, banging pots and pans, shouting, and herding the recruits toward the drill fields like exorcists driving out demons in some bizarre ritual. In their panic and haste, some left equipment behind. One recruit ran straight into a bayonet dummy and got knocked out¡ªCapitan Roque had to drag him up by the collar to get him back on his feet. Several others ended up in the wrong platoons and had to push their way back through the running crowd.

    Finally, I raised a hand to halt the noise. One by one, the swivel guns fell silent. The last echoes faded into the night.

    Breathless, disheveled, and wide-eyed, the recruits stood in formation in the drill field, grouped by platoon.

    Roque¡¯s men had arrived first, but several had left their equipment behind. Lorenzo¡¯s platoon came in second, almost all fully geared. Nepomuceno¡¯s group was third¡ªmany lacked rifles or wore only one boot. The younger Madrigal¡¯s platoon came dead last, but perhaps already expecting to finish last, they had at least made sure to bring all their gear.

    Though not as frightened, we officers were just as drenched in sweat, still catching our breath. I might¡¯ve lost my voice from all the yelling¡ªbut thankfully, I wouldn¡¯t be the one handling the debriefing.

    Colonel Abad had been doing some of the lectures on my behalf these past few days. Among the officers, he had studied my training materials the most thoroughly. With his background as a schoolteacher, he could instruct effectively¡ªsometimes even better than me or Dimalanta.

    I gave him a nod. He returned it and cleared his throat.

    "What a disastrous result this is," he began, his voice slightly hoarse. "Most of you were caught asleep. If this had been a real ambush or attack, you would¡¯ve been annihilated. You must understand that in real war, there will be no warnings¡ªno waiting for daylight. That¡¯s why you need to learn how to perform under sudden pressure and in total darkness."

    "This was your first drill, and failure was expected," he paused. "But some of you performed better than the rest, and here, we reward those who excel."

    "All platoons except Lorenzo¡¯s will march an extra mile during your daily march."

 Chapter 98: Already Soldiers

    Chapter 98: Already Soldiers

    "Incoming barrage fire!" I shouted without warning, standing above ground and overlooking the recruits as they went about their routine in the trenches.

    Just like the night drill a few evenings prior, the enemy attack was once again simulated using noise. This time, we hired spectators to bang on metal pots and pans, while Eduardo fired his swivel cannons on cue.

    The cadets who had been briefed beforehand immediately shouted orders for the recruits to either drop to the trench floor or duck behind the parapets. Knowing the drill by now, the recruits obeyed without question, following their cadets¡¯ and NCOs¡¯ instructions to the letter.

    At the other end of the trench, Colonel Abad shouted, "Enemy fire! Some of our soldiers are hit!"

    Vicente and Dimalanta sprang into action, pointing at random recruits and tagging them as either dead or wounded, instructing them to stay put. The more alert cadets quickly ordered their men to drag the tagged recruits to the rear trenches to simulate casualty management.

    Then it was the captains¡¯ turn.

    "The enemy has breached the left flank!" Pedro shouted after blowing his whistle. "Enemy soldiers are inside our trenches!"

    Cristobal Madrigal and his platoon were closest to the leftmost section of the trench. In stark contrast to his slow response during the night drill, the young cadet immediately sprang to action.

    "Fix bayonets!" he bellowed. "To the left flank, charge!"

    All twenty-five of his men moved in impressive unison, following him as he lunged toward the left side of the trench where the imaginary enemies had appeared.

    "The center of the trench is breached!" Capitan Roque shouted soon after.

    In an impressive display, the remaining three platoons coordinated their efforts to handle the simulated breach. It was an impromptu application of the tactics they had been studying during our evening lessons.

    Lorenzo¡¯s and Mario¡¯s platoons, stationed on either side of the breach, had some of their men switch firing positions to lay down suppressive fire toward the center. Teofilo Roque¡¯s platoon, which had been in the rear trenches before the drill, advanced through the communication trenches in fire teams to counterattack and retake the position.

    To outsiders, the spectacle would have seemed ridiculous¡ªgrown men shouting at invisible foes, stabbing the air. But to me, it was a glimpse of their growth. I stood silently, arms crossed, as pride swelled in my chest.

    Now came the final stage of the drill.

    I mounted my horse, gripping the reins tightly. The senior officers followed suit. The cadets below looked up, recognizing the shift. The mood tensed.

    I raised my whistle and blew one long note.

    The cadets barked orders: "Onto the fire steps!" Confused but obedient, the recruits clambered up the interior walls of the trench, boots scraping wood and clay as they took position. Some adjusted their rifles, others simply looked around, unsure of what was to come.

    I let a few moments pass, giving space for a brief silence.

    Then I blew three sharp bursts.

    "Over the top!" I shouted, rising slightly in my saddle. "Forward!"

    The cadets leapt up and over the trench lip, shouting with instilled fervor, bayonets raised. The recruits followed, more tentative at first, then with increasing confidence. They charged across the open clearing¡ªour designated no man¡¯s land¡ªboots thudding over dry grass and churned dirt.

    The officers and I galloped behind them, shouting encouragement.

    The dummies made of bamboo and sacks stuffed with rice husks awaited on the other side. They were no match for the adrenaline-charged recruits, who knocked them down, some even breaking them from the sheer force of the charge.

    I halted far behind, watching as the recruits erupted in cheers and shouts upon reaching the far line. Some jumped over the fallen dummies like barbaric warriors trampling their slain enemies. I grinned widely at the sight. I never imagined we could produce such caliber of recruits without modern resources or professional instructors to aid me.

    But here they were¡ªperhaps already the most battle-ready force in the Republic.

    "That was fun," Capitan Roque said as he rode up beside me, an even wider grin on his face. "Do you think they can fight toe-to-toe with the Americans now?"

    "I am not too sure..." I replied honestly. There were other factors consider. "But these here... are already soldiers."

    ---

    I returned to Kasily at day¡¯s end, in the best of moods. I savored the grass-scented air, the gentle caress of the afternoon breeze, and the warm touch of the late sun.

    The advanced training was nearly over. Tomorrow, Friday, would be our last day¡ªmostly evaluations of the soldiers¡¯ competencies, a mere formality by now, since I had already seen all I needed in the drills and exercises. On Saturday, they would graduate. The cadets would earn their patches, and the NCOs, their stripes.

    I hadn¡¯t felt this sense of achievement in a long while.

    When I arrived at the Suarez residence, I found Alicia and Isabela in the backyard, helping the maid make rice flour. It was likely for puto¡ªwhich means something else entirely in Spanish, but in Tagalog, refers to a delicious rice cake that pairs well with dinuguan, a pork blood stew that sounds scarier than it actually is.

    The milling had to be done outdoors. Turning rice grains into powder involved a large wooden pestle and a matching mortar¡ªlaborious enough that having three women at the task wasn¡¯t overkill.

    Isabela was the first to notice me as I rode around to the back.

    "Papa!" she beamed. "You¡¯re back! Is Teniente Vicente with you?"

    My expression darkened. I immediately had a sense of why she was asking.

    "And the rest of the officers... Dimalanta, Tiyo?" she added, a little more nervously.

    "Nope," I said. "Your Vicente will be staying in Landi again tonight¡ªfor their final night drill." I couldn¡¯t help but enjoy watching the brightness in her face fade.

    "Heneral, someone was looking for you," the maid said.

    I raised an eyebrow.

    "It was Capitan Sadiwa," Alicia clarified, "and he says it¡¯s something serious."

 Chapter 99: Theory

    Chapter 99: Theory

    "What do you mean missing?" I almost shouted¡ªhad I not remembered that I was in the front sala and not in a more private room.

    Capitan Sadiwa flinched, surprised by my reaction. He shifted in his seat and fully turned to face me. His lips moved, but no words came out.

    Gone was the good mood. What I had just heard was not something one wanted to hear¡ªespecially in a culture of discipline I was trying to cultivate among the recruits.

    I wiped my face and said in a much calmer, lower voice, "When did this happen? And why are you only telling me now?"

    Capitan Sadiwa swallowed hard. I could hardly believe this was the same man who had impressed me just the other week with his energy and organization.

    "Last Sunday, Heneral... when we returned from the final day of construction in Landi," he said. "Cadet Suarez informed me as soon as I got back to the barracks. I hadn¡¯t told you sooner... because... I thought we had just misplaced them..."

    "Sixty rifles?" My voice rose again. "You think you misplaced sixty rifles, Capitan Sadiwa? There is no worse act of negligence than losing your firearms!"

    The Santa Cruz recruits who had helped with the construction work in Landi had left their rifles stored in wooden crates at the barracks. I had drilled into my trainees that they should treat their firearms like their wives¡ªsomething to be watched over, guarded, and never abandoned. But these weren¡¯t my trainees. They were trained by Pedro, and that was the risk. Instructors fresh from their own training often failed to pass down the full weight of discipline.

    Even so, I hadn¡¯t spoken up when I saw them in Landi without their weapons. Part of me thought their rifles were indeed safer back in the barracks than unattended at a bustling construction site where laborers and townsfolk came and went.

    Capitan Sadiwa shrank further in his seat. His eyes dropped to the wooden floor. He didn¡¯t even try to defend himself¡ªperhaps because he knew there was no defense to be made.

    "Who was in charge of guarding those crates?" I asked.

    "It was... it was Adan Suarez, Heneral. I had left him responsible for the barracks while we were gone," Capitan Sadiwa answered.

    My heart beat faster. It was too early to leap to conclusions, but a theory had begun to form in my mind.

    ---

    We had to travel in the darkness of early evening. My escorts carried torches¡ªbut even with their flickering light, the road was difficult to navigate. Roots jutted from the path, and loose stones shifted under the horses¡¯ hooves.

    Still, this was a matter that could not wait until morning.

    The town proper was silent when we arrived. Only a few people lingered in the streets. With the roads mostly empty, we rode directly and swiftly to the barracks.

    Coincidentally, the faces at the barricade were the same ones I had seen during my last visit. They smiled at the sight of me¡ªuntil they noticed the displeasure etched across my face. The smiles faded, replaced by nervous expressions.

    "Good evening, Heneral," Adan blurted out, uncertain of his words.

    I halted my horse just short of the barricade. The torchlight revealed his young, anxious face. He glanced at the others¡ªone of them was Severino¡ªbefore turning back to me.

    "Is something wrong, Heneral?" he asked, his voice tighter now.

    I dismounted and stepped closer. "You tell me... Adan."

    "Capitan Sadiwa," I called out. He had just dismounted and rushed over.

    "Si?, Heneral?"

    "Wake the rest of the recruits."

    Capitan Sadiwa moved quickly. He strode to the nearest wooden buildings and knocked firmly on each door. He shouted orders¡ªshort, sharp commands¡ªand within moments, recruits began pouring out of the buildings in full uniform, rifles in hand, belts tightened. They assembled with practiced efficiency, forming clean lines on the open dirt field used for drills.

    Within a few minutes, the shuffle of boots and the clatter of canteens quieted. The night fell silent once again¡ªexcept now, more than a hundred men stood in formation before me.

    "Sixty rifles are lost," I shouted, loud enough for my voice to carry across the fifty meters separating me from the drill field. "That¡¯s more than a third of the firearms entrusted to you. This is no small oversight. It¡¯s a grave failure."

    "The price of each rifle is twenty pesos," I continued as I stepped off the road and moved closer to the recruits, now standing stiffly at attention. "That means you¡¯ve just cost the Republic 1,200 pesos."

    I stopped in front of the first row.

    "And if those rifles have fallen into enemy hands... then every civilian or soldier killed by them will be on your conscience."

    "Who was in charge of security around the barracks when the rifles were stolen?" I asked again, though I already knew the answer.

    "Cadet Suarez and his platoon, Heneral," Capitan Sadiwa confirmed.

    I nodded, then turned to face the pale, petrified soldiers manning the barricades. Adan Suarez stood frozen. He shook his head slightly but said nothing. His face was ghost-white.

    "Capitan," I said slowly, enunciating every word, "you will disarm Adan Suarez and his men. They will be detained until we get to the bottom of this."

    Capitan Sadiwa moved quickly. He ordered a platoon forward to carry out the task. The stunned recruits didn¡¯t resist as their weapons were taken.

    "Heneral! I swear by the Virgin Mary, we didn¡¯t see anyone come near the barracks! No one was even around!" Adan cried. "We would¡¯ve noticed¡ªthere are only three buildings here. The rifles..." He paused as one of the recruits took his rifle from him. "They were probably missing even before that day!"

    I gritted my teeth and turned to Capitan Sadiwa. He looked deeply troubled, perhaps empathizing with the cadet.

    "Ready fifty men to come with me," I said.

    "Where are we headed, Heneral?" he asked.

    "To the gobernadorcillo¡¯s residence. Just as a precaution."

 Chapter 100: Generous

    Chapter 100: Generous

    I had not liked Don Eugenio Suarez, even with his generous gestures during my time in town.

    I could not forget how he had let Pedro and his men sleep in a storehouse filled with drying copra. For all the displays of hospitality he extended toward me, he hadn¡¯t even bothered to have the copra cleared out¡ªor at the very least, to provide them with simple mats and a few proper meals.

    And, of course, it was not lost on me how coldly he treated his own family. Despite the circumstances, a proper human being would have shown at least a hint of sorrow over his father¡¯s death, and some measure of compassion for his grieving half-sister. Yet according to the housemaid, he had tried to evict her from the very house she had grown up in¡ªjust a few days before I arrived.

    I wouldn¡¯t even be surprised if he had been one of the reasons why the principalia in the town had initially resisted me. For all I knew, he had been undermining me from the start. Perhaps he was even personally opposed to the martial law. That tale about his failure to acquire the fields in Biga¡ªmaybe that was a lie, too.

    In short, he was not what I would call a pleasant man. A two-faced coward, who bowed with respect and heaped praise upon me in person, only to work against me once my back was turned.

    Now... I suspected him of stealing the rifles, with his younger brother Adan as his accomplice. For what purpose, I still did not know. But if he thought I would simply let the matter slide, he was gravely mistaken.

    I arrived at his residence flanked by a small armed force, rifles in hand, torches in the other. The rhythmic pounding of boots on the dirt road echoed into the night, waking more than a few neighbors. Some peeked from their windows, while others stepped warily onto their doorsteps to see what was happening.

    I ordered Capitan Sadiwa to knock.

    It was late in the night, so we didn¡¯t expect a ready welcome. After a few tense minutes, a maid finally opened the door. Her eyes immediately went wide as they took in the line of riflemen behind me.

    "The gobernadorcillo is asleep..." she said in a voice barely above a whisper, her eyes darting nervously. "But I can wake him up for you."

    I stepped forward onto the landing, causing the maid to retreat into the doorway as if burned.

    "There will be no need," I said.

    Without looking back, I gave the order to the capitan. "Have your men surround the house. Post guards at every opening¡ªdoors, and windows. Send a dozen inside with us. We clear every room."

    Capitan Sadiwa saluted. The recruits moved with crisp precision, their training evident. One platoon spread out around the house, securing the perimeter. The others positioned themselves by each visible point of egress. The rest followed us inside.

    The house¡ªlarge, old, and built in the traditional bahay-na-bato style¡ªerupted into confusion as we entered. Maids and servants, roused from their sleep, shuffled in their nightclothes, whispering and gasping at the sight of armed soldiers trampling through the house. I barked at the recruits to round them up and keep them out of our way.

    The old mayordomo, who must have been nearly sixty, attempted to stop us. A young soldier shoved the butt of his rifle into the man¡¯s gut. He dropped with a painful wheeze, clutching his stomach.

    A servant boy dashed across the hallway from the other wing, clearly hoping to escape. I caught him by the arm and slammed him against the nearest wall.

    "Where is Don Suarez¡¯s room?" I demanded.

    The boy trembled, visibly trying to hold back tears. He looked no older than fifteen. I released my grip, but the next moment I caught the glint of steel and heard the click of a bolt being drawn.

    "Sagot, bata!" Capitan Sadiwa barked, raising his rifle at the child¡¯s head.

    The boy broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. A dark patch spread down his trousers.

    "Upstairs!" he choked out. "The door nearest to the window in the main sala!"

    The captain looked ready to strike him, but I raised a hand and laid it on his shoulder.

    "Enough, Capitan."

    We proceeded upstairs. Our boots struck the wooden steps with purpose. As with most homes of its type, the second floor opened into a large main sala¡ªa receiving hall. There would be no need to break down any doors. The man we sought was already awake.

    Don Suarez stood waiting, still groggy, his camiseta wrinkled and his trousers loosely tied. His face was puffy from sleep, and he blinked against the harsh torchlight. Yet unlike his terrified servants, his expression was one of confusion rather than fear.

    "Restrain him!" Capitan Sadiwa called from behind me.

    "Stand them down," I said immediately, my voice level but firm. The captain was being overzealous¡ªeager to use his rank beyond the barracks or the construction site in Landi. His tone grated on me.

    The recruits obeyed.

    I walked toward a small receiving table set in the corner of the sala. For grand feasts and formal events, Suarez used the large hall downstairs. But for official guests, he preferred this room. It was decorated lavishly: thick, colorful carpets lined the floor; chandeliers hung from the ceiling; varnished wooden panels gleamed in the torchlight; and expensive-looking furniture filled the space.

    "Have a seat, Don Suarez," I said, gesturing to the couch opposite mine.

    He cast a quick glance at Sadiwa, then sat down across from me. "It¡¯s the middle of the night," he said. "What could possibly be so urgent that you¡¯d storm into my house¡ª?"

    "Sixty rifles have gone missing from the barracks," I interrupted. "Last Sunday. Your brother was the one assigned to secure them while most of the recruits were helping with the construction in Landi."

    Suarez blinked, then slowly shook his head. "That¡¯s... unfortunate. But how do you know Adan is at fault?"

    I didn¡¯t answer. I merely exhaled sharply and fixed him with a hard stare.

    "Sixty rifles," he repeated. "What¡¯s the cost of that? I can arrange payment. But first, you¡¯ll need to prove that Adan¡ª"

    Capitan Sadiwa cut in. "We suspect you, Eugenio. That you had a hand in it."

    The use of his first name made it personal. Given their age, I assumed they had known each other since childhood.

    Suarez¡¯s face twisted. "Don¡¯t tell me, Heneral, that you think I¡¯m the one who stole the rifles? You think I ordered Adan to do it for me?"

    I crossed my arms. "We suspect, yes. But you are not yet convicted, Don Suarez. While I investigate, you will remain under house arrest."

    He stood up, face flushed with anger. "Why would you suspect me? I spared no expense to accommodate you! Have I not been generous? I spent a fortune to ensure you were welcomed warmly. I have fulfilled your every request! And now you accuse me of theft?"

    I stared him down, gritting my teeth.

    "Generous, you say. You left my brother-in-law and his men starving and freezing in a stinking copra storehouse when they first arrived. And you¡ªso generous¡ªtried to evict your half-sister while she was still grieving. All because you were bitter still at your father even after his death."

    "You treat me well," I continued coldly, "because I have power over you. But the true measure of a man is how he treats his inferiors."

 Chapter 101: Unpredictable

    Chapter 101: Unpredictablefr§Ö?ewebno?el.?o?

    Nothing ever went smoothly as planned. Through the years, life had never failed to remind me of that.

    And yet, I still couldn¡¯t get used to the unpredictable ebb and flow of existence.

    The loss of the sixty stolen rifles was a huge blow to our already limited arsenal. But it would pale in comparison to the political turmoil that could arise from my decision to apprehend the gobernadorcillo and his younger brother.

    I ordered Capitan Sadiwa to further tighten the enforcement of martial law in the town proper. No recruit was to be left idling in the barracks. Checkpoints were to be reinforced, and patrols doubled.

    I also instructed him to launch an investigation into the incident and to take into custody anyone suspected of involvement.

    By the end of it all, I was both mentally and physically drained. Too tired, and with the roads too dark to risk a return trip, I was forced to spend the night in the same guest room inside Don Suarez¡¯s residence I usually slept in when I was in town. Sleep did not come easily. I lay there for a long while, troubled by dark thoughts and the weight of awkwardness.

    The officers and recruits in Landi had no idea what had transpired. While I had been storming the gobernadorcillo¡¯s house, they were conducting the final night drill of the training. I was slightly consoled when Colonel Abad informed me of its success and the commendable performance of the recruits.

    Eventually, I had to inform the officers of what had happened. All of them were taken by surprise, though some less than others.

    "I always had a bad feeling about Don Suarez. This doesn¡¯t surprise me at all," Pedro commented. "I think if it weren¡¯t for your intimidating feat of defeating the pirates in Kasily, he wouldn¡¯t have shown you any respect."

    Pedro¡¯s opinion was far from unbiased, but I couldn¡¯t disagree with his hypothesis. I had noticed a clear shift in how Don Suarez treated me after the brutal execution of the pirates in the town plaza¡ªfor him and all to see.

    "That said, it¡¯s too early to pass judgment. It¡¯s a heavy accusation, and in some ways, it doesn¡¯t quite make sense," Vicente reminded us. "Why would he steal firearms? To sell them? Isn¡¯t he already rich? That seems like a risky and foolish way to make money."

    Trivin?o, ever the smartass, argued the opposite position. That said, he had a point. Before any verdict could be passed, I would need real evidence. I planned to shift all my focus to the matter next week, once the training was concluded.

    It was Friday¡ªthe final day of training. The recruits were to be evaluated to see if they had attained a satisfactory level of proficiency in the skills I had intended to teach them.

    For the last time, they cycled through the drills at their assigned stations. From the get-go, I saw the difference. There was a sharpness in how they moved, a clarity in their execution that hadn¡¯t been there just two weeks ago.

    In the drills and discipline station, they transitioned from formation to formation with marked precision and respectable speed. They didn¡¯t stumble over one another anymore, didn¡¯t fumble for commands. Orders were heard and carried out smoothly.

    In the weapons handling and bayonet combat station, their grips were firmer, their movements cleaner. They jabbed and parried with confidence¡ªnot the clumsy enthusiasm of amateurs, but the measured control of soldiers beginning to understand violence as craft.

    In the medical and casualty care zone, recruits worked quickly to apply bandages, carry wounded comrades, and simulate triage under pressure. They weren¡¯t medics yet, but the battlefield demanded everyone know how to save a life.

    In the tent and camp life station, I watched each platoon erect a small field camp. Within thirty minutes, they had set up tents, dug latrines, and arranged their cooking areas. Campfires were lit with dry brush, mess kits unpacked in orderly fashion. Their routines had become second nature.

    In the fire team maneuver zone, they performed flanking, bounding, retreating, and advancing as fluidly as modern infantry. Gone was the chaos of their first attempts. They moved as one, shouted as one, and executed their tasks with tactical rhythm.

    They ended at the obstacle and assault course. I watched with arms crossed as the squads vaulted walls, crawled under wire, and stormed mock enemy trenches. Their times were faster. Their movement was cleaner. There was less shouting, less fumbling. Just grit and momentum.

    Then came our grandest exercise: trench warfare simulation. All four platoons participated. Two launched an assault, while the other two defended their muddy, sandbag-lined positions . Spectators were instructed to make as much noise as possible to simulate battlefield chaos. Drums were beaten, bamboo was slammed, whistles shrieked. Eduardo¡¯s crew fired the last of the dummy rounds from the swivel cannons for added effect.

    It was a proper spectacle, loud and chaotic. Roque¡¯s and Lorenzo¡¯s platoons stood out with their coordination, but even the other two platoons held their ground well.

    We had planned to conduct revisions the next morning if any stations showed subpar performances, but there was little need. If anything, only a few slower recruits showed minor shortcomings. Overall, the training was a success.

    "You shall have tonight, and tomorrow morning, for yourselves," I told them at the end of the day. We were gathered once more at the drill field, the sun dipping low behind us.

    Their faces were red from exertion, soaked in sweat and grime, but the moment the words left my mouth, their expressions lit up. Cheers rang out, whistles pierced the air, and a few tossed their straw hats into the sky.

    "Spend the time preparing for your graduation," I said with a faint smile. "Soon, you will be full-fledged soldiers."

    Their joy was contagious. For a moment, I allowed myself to feel the same.

    For a few hours, I forgot about Santa Cruz. I forgot the missing rifles. I forgot the political implications. The thought of having a fully-trained company under my command dulled the headache pounding at the back of my skull.

    But it seemed fate was determined to remind me that I was not yet free from its games.

    Without warning, Sen?or Alca?ntara arrived in Landi. He looked like he had ridden without pause since docking at the Buyabod port¡ªclothes rumpled, horse lathered, hair wind-tossed and face pale from fatigue.

    The smile I had worn only moments earlier faded instantly.

    My mind spun with possibilities. Had the pirates returned and attacked Boac? Had Don Contreras betrayed me? Or was there a message from Luzon¡ªthe war lost, the Republic dissolved, and Aguinaldo captured?

    We were just about to depart for Kasily. I had one foot in the stirrup when I heard the thunder of hooves and saw the cloud of dust rise at the edge of the field.

    He reined in beside us, leapt off his horse, and landed with unsteady feet.

    "What is wrong, Sen?or Alca?ntara?" I asked, my voice tight, already dreading the answer.

    He bent over, catching his breath, eyes wide with urgency. He looked at me, swallowing hard.

    "Your cousin..." he said, his voice raw. "Isidro has been abducted in Gasan."

 Chapter 102: Pulajanes

    Chapter 102: Pulajanes

    The graduation of the recruits was cancelled.

    With our clothes still drenched in sweat from the day¡¯s training and caked in the dust of Landi¡¯s scorched fields, I ordered everyone to march in formation with Sen?or Alca?ntara back to the gunship anchored offshore. We were heading for Gasan at once.

    Well... almost everyone.

    I had given separate orders to Vicente. At first light, he would return to Kasily with the Bulaken?o soldiers and escort Isabela back to Boac via the Garay, ensuring her safety. That left me with the bulk of our exhausted company, marching in silence as the sun dipped below the horizon.

    I said nothing on the ride to the port. We were in too much of a hurry for small talk, and I¡ªI was afraid to ask for more details. Part of me clung to the hope that it wasn¡¯t as bad as it sounded.

    The moment we were aboard the gunship, the senior officers drifted instinctively to the prow, not far from the gundeck. The metal of the deck groaned faintly under our boots as we leaned over the railings, watching the moonlight shimmer across the sea. The warm, briny air did little to soothe the heaviness in our chests.

    When Sen?or Alca?ntara joined us, it wasn¡¯t me who broke the silence.

    "When did this happen?" Colonel Abad said, his voice unusually hushed.

    "I think it happened last night," Sen?or Alca?ntara replied. His tone was rushed, uneven, like the words were escaping before he could fully form them. "The news didn¡¯t reach us in Boac until late this afternoon."

    "And have you already been to Gasan?" Capitan Roque asked next.

    "Yes... but all we found was..." he paused, swallowing visibly. "Our... dead."

    The word hung in the air like smoke. I blinked, startled. "Dead?" I finally said, my voice cracking with disbelief.

    Sen?or Alca?ntara exhaled deeply, glancing at the shimmering water before meeting my eyes again. "Sar... Sargento Tolentino is dead. And so were twelve of the recruits with him."

    The words hit me like a sack of rocks. In my mind¡¯s eye, I saw his gaunt, sunken face, always with that tired but good-natured smile. Along with Sargento Guzman, he had been one of my few reliable men, even before I had started training the new recruits.

    I remembered assigning him to guard Sen?ora Alca?ntara during the scandal in Boac. He did such an impressive job that she had offered money from her own pocket for his bonus. I rejected the donation, but still granted the sergeant a bonus from our own funds. I¡¯d heard he lost it all in a card game later that night¡ªbut showed up the next day just as cheerful, just as ready to serve.

    A simple man. But as trustworthy as they come.

    "How did... how did it happen?" I asked quietly. Around me, the officers remained still, their expressions unreadable. These were our first true losses.

    "I heard they were taken by surprise in their sleep," Alca?ntara answered. "The villagers said they heard shouting¡ªthen screaming¡ªand then gunshots."

    I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. They hadn¡¯t learned yet how to post sentries at night. They hadn¡¯t trained for a midnight assault. That kind of ambush... they wouldn¡¯t have stood a chance. And knowing Tolentino, he would¡¯ve fought back anyway, blindly, in the dark.

    "Only four of them escaped..." he continued, after a pause that stretched painfully long. "The rest, including Isidro, are missing. We believe they¡¯ve been abducted."

    That last word sank like a stone. Abducted. And even that wasn¡¯t certain. I had sent him there¡ªwith raw recruits, barely weeks into training. But who would have imagined such violence on this island? Much less after our triumph in Kasily, which should¡¯ve scared off any would-be bandits or rebels.

    "Who do you think was behind this?" Colonel Abad asked, now speaking in the kind of voice one uses for bad omens.

    Sen?or Alca?ntara glanced left and right. He seemed to weigh the risk of even saying it aloud. "Have you heard of the Pulajanes?"

    ---

    Gasan was a small town¡ªalmost too small to be called one at all. It had the feel of an overgrown barrio. Only a handful of bahay-na-bato stood scattered across the narrow, dusty roads. The town plaza was rough and uneven, with tufts of grass growing unchecked at the corners. The few stone structures bore cracked walls and chipped capiz windows. Nothing had been whitewashed in years.

    It was already midnight when we arrived. We had taken the faster route from Santa Cruz, passing through Torrijos, but it still took us four hours aboard the steam-powered gunship.

    We were ferried into a small cove about a kilometer north of the town proper. By then, most people should have been asleep. But the sight of torchlight flickering in the darkness¡ªand the sound of two hundred marching boots¡ªmust have roused half the town.

    As we entered the settlement, a small crowd had already gathered to meet us. They looked afraid¡ªand understandably so. For one, they had never seen this many armed men assembled in their lifetimes. For another, their memories of Spanish rule had taught them that the arrival of soldiers usually meant someone was about to be punished.

    Sargento Guzman met me at the plaza, his platoon standing stiffly behind him. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, his uniform crumpled from what looked like hours without rest. He¡¯d been close to Tolentino¡ªI didn¡¯t even have to ask.

    I moved toward him and spoke quietly. "Where are the bodies?"

    He said nothing at first, only raised a shaky hand and pointed toward the chapel.

    The small churchyard was lit with candles, their flames fluttering in the night breeze. There, just outside the chapel walls, were several fresh mounds of dirt. Simple wooden crosses marked each grave, hastily fashioned from branches and tied with cord.

    I frowned, feeling a lump rise in my throat.

    "No wake?" I asked. "We could¡¯ve brought them back to Boac."

    Sargento Guzman bowed his head, his voice cracking.

    "The bodies... were mutilated... Heneral."

 Chapter 103: Rebellion

    Chapter 103: Rebellion

    A sitio near barrio Banot had been the site of the incident. Isidro and Sargento Tolentino¡¯s platoon had taken refuge there for the night, seeking shelter inside three small huts situated just off the shore, where the trees gave way to the open beach.

    The huts were simple structures, hastily built from bamboo, nipa palm, and driftwood, the kind often found along the coasts¡ªcool in the daytime, and just dry enough during light rains. Nipa was an excellent material for shade and ventilation, but it was fragile¡ªsusceptible to fire, knives, and the elements.

    All three huts had sustained significant damage. One of them was on the verge of collapse, its roof slanting dangerously and its supports weakened by deep gashes. The doors had been broken down, likely kicked in or struck with brute force, and the walls were riddled with holes and long, jagged slashes.

    The survivors told us the attackers were armed with bolo knives and machetes. This was not hard to confirm. The bloodstains smeared and spattered across the floors and walls were consistent with slash wounds¡ªwide arcs, violent strokes. Bamboo planks bore dozens of sharp notches, and the supporting wooden posts looked as if they¡¯d been hacked repeatedly.

    I might have suspected pirates, if not for two things: the attackers did not come from the sea, and their targets were exclusively the soldiers. Just beyond the huts, a dense wall of rainforest began, with ferns and undergrowth creeping out from the tree line. The foliage looked undisturbed now, but it would have offered the attackers easy cover before and after the strike.

    "Trying to pursue them without knowing their destination would be a fool¡¯s errand," Gasan¡¯s gobernadorcillo, Sen?or Ramon Ornate, said as he stood beside me, staring into the treeline. "It rained yesterday morning, so whatever tracks they left behind have likely been washed away."

    I turned to look at him. Ornate, a balding man in his thirties, still looked disheveled from being roused before sunrise. Last night, he had greeted me wearing only a thin camisa and slippers, offering me a cot in his home. I¡¯d awoken him at first light and asked to be led here, and he had agreed without protest.

    I did not suspect him of involvement. The Pulajanes had no friends among the principalia. Their cult¡ªthis strange mix of folk magic, distorted Catholicism, and peasant rage¡ªwas virulently anti-elite. They saw the principalia as another face of oppression, no different from the Spaniards, while the principalia, in turn, saw them as dangerous heretics and anarchists.

    The former Martin had heard of them before¡ªhow they rose during the twilight of Spanish rule, conducting their own brand of violent revolution. They attacked both the Spaniards and fellow Filipinos, often leaving carnage in their wake.

    Looking at Ornate¡¯s round, pockmarked face and untidy mustache, I remembered something. "Do you know a... Gabriela, I think her name was? Isidro had been courting her for some time."

    "Yes, I do, Heneral," the gobernadorcillo replied with a nod, his face lighting up with recognition. "In fact, that hut there¡ª" he pointed at the most heavily damaged one, "¡ªwas her house. The villagers say he was alone with her that night, when the attack happened."

    "Hay naku, Isidro," I muttered under my breath. That was a detail Sen?or Alcantara had failed to mention. So that was why they had camped here, in this remote sitio. He had let his tiny pecker, dictate their movements. If they had stayed within the town limits, the outcome might have been different. They might have deterred the attack altogether.

    "Where is Gabriela now?" I asked.

    "That, I don¡¯t know, Heneral. But she should still be nearby. She spoke to Sargento Guzman yesterday."

    "Sargento!" I called out.

    Guzman was speaking with Colonel Abad and a few men by the doorway of one of the battered huts. He turned immediately upon hearing my voice and jogged over.

    "I want you to find Gabriela," I told him. "Bring her to me."

    ---

    But Gabriela was nowhere to be found. After a quick sweep of the surrounding area, we learned she may have returned to her home barrio in Torrijos. Guzman said he had tried speaking with her the day before, but the girl had been nearly catatonic¡ªtraumatized and distant, barely responsive.

    In hindsight, I doubted we would¡¯ve gotten much out of her even if she had spoken. The shock she must have endured... It was likely beyond words.

    The four surviving recruits were badly shaken, but at least they could speak. We interviewed them in turn, though their accounts were vague and repetitive. They told us nothing we hadn¡¯t already heard from the villagers. It had all happened so fast, under the cover of darkness. The only solid detail was that the attackers wore red headbands and bore amulets¡ªboth calling cards of the Pulajan cultists.

    One of the recruits had a gash along his arm that looked dangerously inflamed. It would need proper attention. With our leads drying up in Gasan, I decided it was time to return to Boac, where Sen?or Soriano could treat the wounded.

    It had been two and a half weeks since I last stepped foot in Boac. I had hoped returning would provide some measure of comfort¡ªfamiliar walls, familiar voices. But as I dismounted in front of the Casa Real, I felt no relief. Only the growing weight on my shoulders. I had started to associate this place with grim duties and heavy decisions.

    The Bulaquen?o soldiers I brought with me in Kasily, was already in the building. Vicente and Isabela too, likely waiting inside.

    As I climbed the stairs to the second floor, I could already hear their voices echoing faintly down the hall. They were practicing Spanish again. From the tone of Vicente¡¯s voice, I could tell he was losing patience¡ªbut not seriously. Isabela was laughing too hard to take him seriously. I heard a mispronunciation, followed by a burst of giggles.

    I paused, my ears catching another sound¡ªanother girl¡¯s laugh. Curious, I took the last steps two at a time and stepped into the sala.

    There were three people inside.

    Vicente stood animatedly wagging a finger, playfully chastising Isabela, who was half-curled on the couch, shoulders shaking with laughter. Sitting beside her, sharing in the mirth, was Alicia.

    She was the first to notice me. Her smile widened instantly as she stood up.

    "Heneral, you¡¯re home!" she said with excitement.

    I smiled back. I should have expected this. After everything, the girl wouldn¡¯t want to be left alone again¡ªnot when she had tasted the comfort of company.

    And truth be told, I didn¡¯t mind. If she wanted to stay, she was welcome to.

    ---

    I had barely closed my eyes when I was woken up again.

    An unexpected visitor had arrived.

    Don Fidel Contreras was once again waiting for me in the conference room. He was never the bearer of good news. A cynical part of me almost expected him to reveal himself as the true mastermind behind the abduction and to offer a trade¡ªhis grandson for my nephew.

    I opened the door to a familiar sight. Don Contreras stood facing the large maps pinned beside the chalkboard, hands clasped behind his back. But this time, he wasn¡¯t alone. Seated at the long table, shoulders slumped and head buried in his hands, was Nestor Nieva¡ªthe former cadet candidate.

    They weren¡¯t known to be close. Seeing them together raised questions.

    "How can I help you, Don Contreras?" I asked, the creaking door nearly drowning out my voice.

    He turned to face me. His expression was serious, but not confrontational.

    "Heneral," he said, unusually formal, "I have information about Isidro¡¯s abduction in Gasan."

    My exhaustion vanished at once, though skepticism remained. Why would he have information on that?

    I was about to ask when I heard a faint sob. Nestor had uncovered his face. His eyes were red, and tears still streaked down his cheeks.

    "My grandfather..." he croaked, "the gobernadorcillo... he blackmailed him, Heneral. He didn¡¯t want to join... but he was relentless. He kept forcing him."

    I blinked. "Gobernadorcillo... Sen?or Nepomuceno? Who¡¯s blackmailing who? What does this have to do with the abduction?"

    Don Fidel answered for him. "The former gobernadorcillo, Don Lardizabal. Sen?or Florentino Paras, it seems, has been organizing an armed rebellion against you. He coerced Sen?or Nieva to join him."

    The pieces began to fall into place. Both Paras and Nieva had withdrawn from the public eye lately. I thought they had simply lost interest in politics.

    "An armed rebellion? Then you¡¯re saying the Pulajanes didn¡¯t act alone?"

    "They didn¡¯t," Fidel replied. "Sen?or Paras has somehow rallied the Pulajanes to his side. Rumors suggest that Buenavista and Torrijos have already been overrun. Their gobernadorcillos¡ªeither dead or imprisoned."

    I narrowed my eyes. That was heavy information, "And you know this from Nestor?"

    "Partially," he said, glancing at the sobbing young man with something akin to pity. "He overheard some of their conversations. But I also have a mine near Gasan, on the border with Buenavista. Some of my miners and their families fled this afternoon. They brought word."

    He stepped around the table toward me, reaching into his coat. He pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

    "Here are the names they¡¯ve heard... those involved."

    I stepped forward and snatched the note from his hand. Ink still slightly damp. Most of the names meant nothing to me¡ªprincipales from obscure barangays or remote haciendas.

    No Suarez... but a Sadiwa.

 Chapter 104: Failure

    Chapter 104: Failure

    I took Don Contreras¡¯ information with a lot of salt. Even with Nestor¡¯s realistic emotional distress, it could still have been some elaborate ploy.

    But I immediately moved my hand, just in case.

    I had sent scouts to Buenavista and Torrijos to confirm the information. I dispatched Capitan Roque and Mario Nepomuceno with his platoon to reinforce Sargento Guzman in Gasan and to set up basic defenses. At home, I tasked Pedro with posting sentries along the Boac River, which stretched toward Torrijos. Vicente, as always, was made commander of the Bulaquen?o guards to secure the Casa Real.

    I personally headed for Santa Cruz aboard the gunboat, accompanied by Colonel Abad, Dimalanta, and the remaining three platoons recently trained in Landi.

    We were already tense before arriving. The thought of fighting Capitan Sadiwa¡ªand more than a hundred recruits with rifles and basic training¡ªwas uncomfortable. They would be more formidable than pirates armed with nothing but machetes and bravado.

    So it did not help when we found the port of Buyabod unusually quiet.

    The usual hum of coastal life was gone. No boatmen lounging about, no vendors hawking fruits or grilled fish by the docks. Even the fishermen, who often waved or shouted greetings from their bancas, were nowhere in sight. It was unnerving.

    "This doesn¡¯t look good, Heneral," Colonel Abad murmured beside me, arms folded as we watched our men disembark via the gangplanks. His tone was low, but the tightness in his jaw was unmistakable.

    "It does not," I replied, my heartbeat already quickening.

    From the pier, the terrain jutted forward into a narrow strip of land connecting to the mainland¡ªdangerous ground. Advancing inland along that causeway would make us easy targets for any hidden sharpshooters. If an ambush lay in wait, we¡¯d be encircled and slaughtered.

    "Lorenzo!" I called out to the cadet officer already leading his platoon ashore. He turned swiftly, rifle slung over his shoulder. "Send a few men ahead to scout the approach. Quiet and low."

    Without hesitation, he nodded, then gestured to Montiano¡ªnow an NCO candidate¡ªand two other recruits. The trio slipped away, rifles in hand, moving with cautious, measured steps along the edge of the brush that bordered the trail ahead.

    "The poblacio?n looks peaceful to me," Dimalanta observed, squinting at the modest skyline of Santa Cruz¡ªa clump of buildings, a church steeple, the recognizable red-tiled roofs of the municipal hall and schoolhouse. There were no signs of chaos. No smoke. No fleeing civilians. No panicked bells.

    But something felt off.

    Too quiet.

    It took me a second to realize what was wrong with what we were seeing.

    "Someone¡¯s coming," Colonel Abad said, pointing toward the coconut grove flanking the inland road. A lone figure on horseback had emerged, galloping hard toward the docks.

    Montiano and his scouts spotted the rider but didn¡¯t raise their rifles.

    As the rider came closer, I recognized the face.

    It was Don Suarez. His lip was swollen, and a fresh welt bloomed across his cheekbone. He looked worse for wear¡ªand far from pleased to see me.

    "You looked more handsome when I left you, Don Suarez," I called out as he neared.

    His horse slowed to a jog, then a trot, before finally halting. "Capitan Sadiwa is not a very gentle man, I would say."

    "And, uhmm... if I had to guess, he¡¯s no longer in town, is he?" I asked, already grimacing at the ugly situation.

    He nodded. "He left yesterday morning... with all your rifles."

    ---

    It wasn¡¯t just the gobernadorcillo who had taken a beating.

    The whole scene in the town square was a testament to humiliation. Clusters of bruised recruits loitered near the presidencia municipal, many sitting with slumped shoulders and dull eyes. Some had torn uniforms; others bore bandages hastily wrapped around arms or foreheads. The townsfolk watched us with guarded silence.

    No cheers. No relief.

    This failure was mine.

    I had entrusted arms and authority to a man I did not truly know.

    Inside Don Suarez¡¯s, I found Adan Suarez seated in the main

    sala, nursing a lump near his temple and a chipped tooth. Despite his injuries, he rose as I entered and gave a formal salute.

    He briefed us immediately. "He tried to convince others to join him, Heneral, but most of the recruits refused. So he beat them, one by one, and took their rifles anyway. Then he ransacked the barracks¡ªsmashed the doors, stripped the stores, even broke through the inner wall."

    I nodded grimly. No refreshments were offered even when we had been sitting there for minutes. A small detail¡ªbut a telling one. I had allowed Capitan Sadiwa to slap around the household staff during our last visit, and now we should not expect any warm hospitality.

    "How many followed him?" Abad asked.

    "No more than a platoon, Colonel. Most were from his barrio."

    "They were so well-drilled, they didn¡¯t even consider resisting," Dimalanta remarked, lips curled in irony.

    That was true. We had trained them too well in obedience, but not yet in judgment. Decentralized command wasn¡¯t in their vocabulary. Not yet.

    I turned to Don Suarez, who had been watching me without blinking. When our eyes met, he finally snapped.

    "You don¡¯t look surprised at all, Heneral."

    I shifted in my chair and cleared my throat. It was time to trust Don Contreras¡¯ report.

    "There is currently an armed rebellion on the island, Don Suarez. The former gobernadorcillo of Boac and his allies have allied with the Pulajanes. My nephew Isidro was abducted in Gasan. We¡¯ve taken casualties."

    The words landed like a hammer. For a moment, Don Suarez stared at me in open shock.

    Then his eyes narrowed.

    "I wouldn¡¯t be surprised, Heneral, if you¡¯re here to falsely accuse us again¡ªthat I and my brother are not just thieves but rebels as well," he said, bitterness laced in every syllable. "All, of course, because I could not love my womanizer of a father, who abandoned my mother on her deathbed."

    His voice cracked slightly at the end.

    Now it was my turn to be stunned. I looked away, my eyes lingering on the fraying edge of the carpet.

    "It is not good for a general to be quick to judge¡ª" he began again, more forcefully.

    "Watch your tone, gobernadorcillo," Dimalanta growled from behind the couch where I was sitting.

    "It¡¯s alright, Ronaldo," I said with a dry chuckle, raising my hand, "I actually deserve this."

 Chapter 105: Pray

    Chapter 105: Pray

    All the scouts had returned by Monday morning, and they painted a clear picture for us.

    Don Contreras¡¯ report was accurate¡ªFlorentino was the mastermind behind the plot. As it turned out, he had been planning this since last month. He had coordinated with the leader of the Pulajanes¡ªa man who fancied himself Papa Hilario, in imitation of the Pope in Rome. It was no surprise. Sen?or Paras had never been known for his piety, so it made perfect sense that he could stomach forming a pact with heretics.

    The rebellion had ignited in Buenavista, the poorest of Marinduque¡¯s towns. According to the reports, nearly everyone there was either a Pulajan or a sympathizer. Sen?or Paras and his allies had, in effect, held de facto control of the town for weeks. Unbeknownst to us, the gobernadorcillo and parish priest had long been executed¡ªprobably quietly, to avoid drawing attention.

    It was only recently that they decided to extend their reach into Torrijos¡ªanother neglected and underdeveloped town. Just like in Buenavista, resistance was minimal. The only opposition came from the gobernadorcillo, the town priest, and a handful of principales¡ªmost of whom were slaughtered. The rest of the town, either out of fear or conviction, had seemingly joined the cult overnight.

    Perhaps they had also tried to bring Gasan into the fold. But there, they had found Isidro already at work¡ªwinning over the townspeople in my name. That, I suspected, was the reason for the attack on Gasan.

    Still, that part remained only a theory. Strangely enough, none of the scouts had heard a word about Isidro¡¯s abduction. No reports of a prisoner. No signs of a chase. It was as if he had vanished without a trace.

    Later that day, I gathered nearly every commissioned officer in Boac. Inside the conference room of the Casa Real

    , I laid out our next move. The long table was flanked by uniformed men with strained faces. At the far end hung the Spanish-commissioned map of Marinduque. Until now, it had been more decoration than utility. Today, it would become the centerpiece of a war plan.

    "We will not be fighting mere pirates," I began, placing my hands on my waist as I scanned the determined faces across the table. "Pirates are glorified bandits¡ªonly in it for money, the thrill, and perhaps a story to tell. But the Pulajanes? They are driven by ideology. They believe they are fighting for a divine cause. So we should expect them to fight harder¡ªmore desperately."

    There were nods. Others stiffened in their seats.

    "Not to mention," I continued, "that while pirates carry only bolos and machetes, the rebels now have firearms¡ªsome, perhaps many. We don¡¯t know the exact number. But Capitan Sadiwa in Santa Cruz has betrayed us and taken with him one hundred and fifty rifles."

    A collective groan rippled through the room like a cold gust. That number was enough to arm an entire company.. Even before the first shot had been fired, we were already playing from behind.

    "We will get them back," I said firmly, cutting through the mutters. "But since we are fighting a determined and now armed enemy, we need a strategy."

    I turned to the large wall map, my boots echoing against the tile. The map of Marinduque spread before us in faded ink and delicate lines. My finger hovered past Gasan and pointed further south.

    "Buenavista will be our first target. According to the scouts, this is their stronghold. If we strike quickly¡ªdecapitate the leadership and take control of the town¡ªTorrijos, having only recently fallen, may collapse easily."

    I traced a rough path across the island as I continued. "It¡¯s also the more vulnerable of the two. Buenavista has a small population. Fewer houses. Fewer fighters. It¡¯s isolated¡ªsurrounded by rough terrain and forest¡ªmaking it easier to cut off and encircle without fear of outside reinforcements."

    I glanced behind me. Most officers were nodding in agreement. Not that the matter was open to debate.

    "The scouts reported no armed presence until the outskirts of the town proper." I tapped a thin blue line on the map¡ªa river. "The Tipo River flows close to the town. We¡¯ll send the Garay warship up the river. It should carry our assault force to within striking distance."

    "Of course," I added, turning to the rear of the table where the two tenientes and the four young cadets stood straight and silent, "we will be sending our best to carry out this operation. The four platoons trained in Landi will form the core of the attack."

    I noticed the cadets trying not to grin. Lorenzo leaned over and whispered something to Teofilo, who stifled a smile.

    I moved to the chalkboard beside the map and sketched a rough diagram of the area based on terrain reports. A squiggly line for the river, a square for the town, hills to the north, and forest to the south.

    "This," I said, drawing a bold line to the river¡¯s mouth, "will be our landing point. Before sunrise tomorrow, we should already be in this position."

    I drew the first arrow¡ªa sweeping curve south of the town. "Teniente Dimalanta will lead Lorenzo¡¯s platoon. You will maneuver wide and attack from the south. You¡¯ll be the anvil."

    A second arrow curled along the west side. "Teniente Trivino will lead Cristobal¡¯s platoon. You are to apply pressure to the eastern flank. You are not to assault unless ordered. Your main goal is to draw attention and hold your ground. Do not get overextended."

    Then I drew two arrows from the north. "I will lead Roque¡¯s and Nepomuceno¡¯s platoons. We will perform the main assault from the northern road."

    "Sen?or Alcantara and his gunboat," I continued, "along with Eduardo and the Garay warship, will provide naval support from the west."

    The cadets¡¯ smiles had long vanished. Vicente and Ronaldo looked at me, their faces grim and pale. Even I felt the tension. A failure here could break us. We could lose our most seasoned recruits in one day. Not to mention, I and the two tenientes would be participating and exposing ourselves in the same risk.

    My gaze shifted to the front table, where the senior officers sat. They didn¡¯t look much more composed. They knew the gravity of what we were about to do. All the training, all the political struggle, all the sacrifices- tomorrow we shall find out if they worth it, or if they were for all for naught.

    The room had fallen silent.

    "And what will the rest of us do, Heneral?" Colonel Abad spoke for the first time.

    "Colonel, you will command Boac in my absence. Keep your eyes on the river. If the Pulajanes dares an assault on the town, it would come from there," I said.

    "Capitan Mendez," I turned to our visitor from Mogpog, "take your men and reinforce Santa Cruz. They currently lack firepower, and we must ensure the Pulajanes don¡¯t exploit that weakness."

    Mogpog was relatively stable and the furthest from the two rebel towns. It could afford to go without a garrison for now.

    "As for the rest of you..." I scanned the room, my eyes settled on Pedro and Capitan Roque.

    "Take time to pray."

 Chapter 106: Eden

    Chapter 106: Eden

    Pedro hosted us for lunch at his pleasant residence in Buliasnin.

    The mahogany-covered beach was nostalgic. This was where it had all begun.Just like during our training sessions, the officers and cadets ate on the porch. The recruits dined in the backyard¡ªthough this time, Pedro had taken the effort to offer them tables and chairs for the small feast.

    From inside, laughter and giggles erupted. Isabela and Alicia were clearly having fun cooking and serving food alongside my sister and nieces.

    Served for everyone were roasted whole chickens, large stuffed tuna, barbecued pork strips, and generous servings of rice.

    I leaned more comfortably into the wooden chair at the head of the table, staring at the calm sea with a smile. The birds chirped while the salty breeze stirred the trees, rustling their leaves. More and more, it felt foolish to leave behind all this beauty and peace¡ªto endure hell tomorrow.

    North Carolina had its own kind of beauty. To be lost among the pines, in the depths of the Appalachian Mountains, with no company but oneself and nature, was an experience close to heaven. And yet I had left it for the rainforests of Vietnam, with their endless mosquitoes, thick and stubborn undergrowth, and hiding Viet Cong guerrillas whose life¡¯s purpose was to sink a bayonet deep into our guts.

    I once wondered why men would ever exchange paradise for hell.

    Perhaps it is because, deep down, man knows he does not deserve Eden.

    Thus, he exiles himself¡ªgoes on a journey, hoping to find redemption and return as someone more deserving.

    I feel the same now.

    Why should I be in the company of angels when I bear horns and a tail¡ªand hands that could set a field of flowers ablaze? If everyone knew of my past, they would chase me out themselves.

    "You don¡¯t have to go tomorrow, Heneral," Vicente said from beside me. He was the only one paying me any attention. Pedro, Dimalanta, and the cadets were busy laughing about their experiences in Landi.

    I huffed. "And leave you all alone to die?"

    "Well... if we do die¡ªwhich we won¡¯t, because we¡¯re well-trained¡ªwe are young and unmarried men," Vicente said, pausing with a heavy sigh before continuing. "But you... you have a daughter. Isabela would be terribly distraught if she lost you."

    I raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he was growing fond of my daughter after all."Well, Teniente... you speak as if you don¡¯t have a family of your own. What will I tell your parents in Calumpit? That I sent you to your death while I watched from a distance?"

    He didn¡¯t have an answer to that. He gave me a weak smile, then turned his attention to the table, forking a piece of roasted fish from the platter.

    We were nearing the end of the meal. Most plates were picked clean. A few of the cadets and the recruits had begun lounging back in their chairs, sipping water or wiping sweat from their brows. I considered finishing the remaining drumstick in front of me but decided against it. Riding back to the Casa Real on horseback with a stomach too full was a recipe for discomfort.

    "Have you done what I asked?" I asked Vicente after a short pause.

    He straightened, quickly swallowing his mouthful. "Yes. I spoke to the escolta soldiers who were with you during the Kasily attack. They¡¯ll be joining the assault. I¡¯ve also reserved a Mauser rifle for you, as you have requested.

    The escolta would form the spearhead of the main assault. While they did not undergo training in Landi, they had battle experience, having charged at the pirates during that fateful day. Their nerves were tested, and their bolt-action rifles could still turn the tide.

    "Dimalanta," I called across the table. He was laughing at some crude story Pedro was sharing, but his face sobered instantly. He turned toward me like a man caught mid-theft.

    "My instructions¡ªhave they been carried out?"

    He nodded promptly. "Yes. The crates of ammunition were loaded into the Garay warship this morning. The alferez supervised the loading himself."

    "And the bolo blades?" I asked. Nearly half of the new recruits had rifles without bayonets¡ªthe shipment from Lim had been piecemeal, rifles looted or stripped of attachments.

    Dimalanta scratched his neck. "Sen?or Grimaldo is still gathering them. He said he¡¯ll have them ready before we depart. His men are checking the smithies and the nearby barrios as we speak."

    I nodded. "Good. We¡¯ll need every man armed for melee for tomorrow¡¯s attack"

    "What... attack?"

    My heart skipped. Isabela had just stepped out, holding a tray of apples, sliced mangoes and bananas. Her face was bright with concern, brows furrowed in alarm.

    "Attack? Did I say attack?" I forced a chuckle.

    "What¡¯s happening?" she asked, pausing near the table, eyes scanning the faces of the officers.

    Vicente jumped in. "He means training, Sen?orita. Just training exercises. Nothing serious."

    "Yes, just a mock attack," Dimalanta added with a grin. "Like the ones we did in Landi. You remember those, right?"

    "But Kuya Eduardo said you¡¯re going to... Gasan?" she asked as she stepped forward and gently placed the tray on the table in front of me.

    I pressed my lips together. I¡¯d forgotten to tell Eduardo to keep his mouth shut.

    Vicente grabbed an apple from the tray and gave her an overly cheerful nod. "Yup. We¡¯ve grown bored of Santa Cruz and Boac, so we¡¯re training in Gasan, this time."

    Still, she frowned, arms crossed. The pout on her lips betrayed her worry.

    "Papa!" she squealed a moment later when I suddenly pulled her down into my lap. Her apron smelled of charcoal, herbs, and sweat¡ªhonest kitchen labor.

    "What¡¯s this? Are you worried about me... or your little boyfriend Vicente here?" I teased, wrapping her in a tight bear hug.

    "Papa!" she shouted again, this time louder, struggling out of my arms with a laugh and a gasp. She turned away and stormed back into the house, hand covering her face.

    The table burst into laughter.

    Vicente turned as red as the apple in his hand.

 Chapter 107: Godéˆ¥æªš Avenging Hand

    Chapter 107: God¡¯s Avenging Hand

    The armed rebellion was kept secret from the public. We did not want panic or instability spreading like wildfire across the island. Don Contreras was instructed to keep the information to himself and ensure that, if there was a leak, it would be immediately tracked and contained. Any sign of disorder had to be crushed before it could take root.

    At the Casa Real, information and discussions were confined to the conference room. Isabela remained unaware of Isidro¡¯s abduction¡ªfor her own good. She was close to him, and she would be worried sick. And of course, she did not know about our planned assault on Gasan.

    In fact, only the civilian officers and their most trusted staff, the senior military officers, and the recruits involved in the assault had been briefed. Everyone else remained in the dark.

    So it was to my surprise that Padre Saturnino Trinidad was waiting for me when I returned from Buliasnin. He had offered to conduct Mass for the soldiers before we departed for Gasan.

    It was a pleasant and welcome surprise. I discreetly ordered the four platoons, the cadets, and the officers into the cathedral. Father Trinidad gave a heartfelt and passionate sermon, encouraging the soldiers¡ªa change of tone, considering he had not stopped criticizing me every Sunday.

    "The pulajanes claim they fight for God, but by their fruits you shall know them. They have slaughtered good Christians. They have martyred priests. They are servants of devils and speak only lies and blasphemy. They place, alongside Christ, the pagan gods of this land... but there is no other God than Christ!"

    He spat the words out with righteous anger, and for the first time in a long while, I found myself enjoying his display of eloquence.

    "They twist holy names. They wear false amulets and fancy themselves prophets and apostles. Some of them even claim they are invincible to blade and bullet... but hear me now, soldiers of Christ! You will cut through them like sharp bolo knives against blades of grass!"

    Near the end of the Mass, he raised a large silver crucifix that glistened in the candlelight.

    "Go now, soldiers of the Cross! Your victory is assured! You will go forth with Saint Michael and the angels of Heaven. Should you fall, may you fall in grace. Should you live, live as lights of the Truth."

    "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."

    Dozens of soldiers crossed themselves in unison. The recruits kissed their crucifixes, many of them murmuring quiet prayers. Some wept, silently, their eyes fixed on the altar. It would help morale. Even those who doubted the Church¡¯s authority still found comfort in the idea of divine protection.

    I had avoided doing it for several Sundays. But sensing that he had changed his tone toward me, I approached Father Trinidad near the sacristy after the Mass. The stone walls back here were cool and shadowed, the scent of incense thicker.

    The priest smiled and offered his hand. I thought I would hesitate¡ªbut I didn¡¯t. It was wise to acknowledge his spiritual authority, especially in a land so deeply Catholic. I took his hand and kissed it.

    "You shall do God¡¯s work by ridding the province of these cultists, Heneral," the priest addressed me by my rank for the first time.

    With a lower and rawer voice, he continued, "I personally know the parish priest in Buenavista. A humble man of God. Pure and kind enough that even heathens should not have any reason to harm him."

    "Be God¡¯s avenging hand, Heneral," he added, quietly.

    "Do not worry, Padre. We shall prevail," I assured him.

    ---

    "Papa!" Isabela hugged me as I was about to leave the shed for the boat. "You will come back safe, won¡¯t you?"

    I turned around. Her brows were furrowed, and her teary eyes could almost convince me to stay. It seemed I hadn¡¯t fooled my daughter after all. The solemn and quiet demeanor of the soldiers didn¡¯t help¡ªnor how often I sighed on the journey toward the port.

    "Of course, hija," I said as I kissed her forehead and hugged her back. "I won¡¯t be gone long. Just a couple days of training."

    She stared up at me. There was something in her sorrowful expression that told me she might know more than I thought. But she said nothing, only hugged me tighter.

    "Heneral! We must go now!" Vicente called from the water¡¯s edge, near the boat that would take us to the gunboat. We would be using the Garay for the assault, but for the journey to Gasan, we needed faster transportation to arrive before sundown and allow time for final drills and the briefing.

    "Alicia," I called out to the girl who stood watching us. She looked just as worried. One of the reasons I didn¡¯t mind her staying in the Casa Real was because she provided company for Isabela while Vicente and I were away¡ªwhich we would be for months, once we joined the war in Luzon.

    The Sua?rez girl walked toward me, uncertain of what to do next. I reached for her and pulled both girls into my arms.

    "Now, I want the two of you to be good girls while I¡¯m gone. Listen to Cabo Garcia. Don¡¯t wander too far from the town center. If you want to go somewhere else, you can go to Buliasnin¡ªbut make sure you¡¯re accompanied by guards."

    Both of them nodded. It would seem I was now a father of two beautiful and obedient daughters. Perhaps a compensation for having been given a not-so-good son in my past life.

    Isabela broke from my hug and pulled something from her bag. Just from the bright colors, I already knew what it was. She handed me the folded Philippine flag I had asked her to sew weeks ago. I had almost forgotten about it.

    Then she gave me my cap¡ªthe one she borrowed during the training exercise in Landi.

    Embroidered along the band was a small sampaguita flower.

 Chapter 108: Nothing More, Nothing Less

    Chapter 108: Nothing More, Nothing Less

    Sen?or Alcantara, the alfe?rez, the tenientes, and the cadets streamed into the small room quietly. Their shadows stretched along the walls, dancing in the flickering light cast by the sole lantern at the center of the table. One panel of the Capiz shell window was slightly opened, letting in the scent of damp soil and the croaking of frogs and chirping of crickets from outside.

    The conference room in Gasan¡¯s presidencia municipal was only half the size of the one in the Casa Real, but it was just enough to accommodate eight people comfortably. The wooden chairs scraped against the stone floor, loud in the otherwise silent night, as the officers took their seats.

    Newly roused from sleep, some were still scratching their eyes, others stifled yawns. Boots shifted, belts creaked, and the faint smell of sweat and oil from their rifles filled the cramped space. After they settled down, they looked to me, their faces dull from drowsiness, waiting for orders. Some stared blankly, letting their eyes adjust to the light and their minds to the weight of what was coming.

    The former Marti?n had been to Buenavista once or twice¡ªhardly enough to give me a reliable grasp of the town¡¯s layout. But the scouts had done their job well, providing enough information to build a rough picture of the key positions.

    "The Tipo River... our landing spot, is about a mile away from the town," I began. My voice came out hoarse, a jarring sound after the long silence. "That¡¯s just near enough for us to reach the town center in under thirty minutes, and just far enough to keep our approach hidden."

    They began to pay attention. Chairs stopped creaking. Even the yawning stopped.

    "With our primary objective being the Parroquial del Santo Nin?o Jesu?s¡ªthe church at the center of town. It is likely that the Pulajanes have camped in the convent. If we¡¯re lucky, this might be where we find Papa Hilario¡ªour main target."

    The parish church, especially in a remote town like Buenavista, would likely be the most solid structure around¡ªstone walls, limited windows, a defensible position. The Pulajanes, being religious extremists, would have seized it for both spiritual and strategic reasons.

    If we were to ensure a faster and less bloody takeover, we needed to strike hard and fast¡ªgo straight for the jugular.

    "Once the gunshots start ringing out, the town will be roused. Pulajanes reinforcements will come from two directions," I said, raising my hand to gesture in the air as I outlined the plan.

    "About a hundred meters east of the church is the presidencia municipal," I continued. "According to our scouts, it also houses a sizeable number of Pulajanes combatants. Cristobal¡¯s platoon under Teniente Trivino will provide suppressing fire from entrenched positions¡ªdraw their attention and thin their ranks."

    I locked eyes with Vicente. "As I said back in Boac, you will not initiate an assault until you receive orders directly from me. The presidencia is hidden behind a tight cluster of houses¡ªlikely filled with more combatants. Close-quarters fighting there would be brutal, and I don¡¯t think a single platoon is enough for that."

    I kept my eyes on him until he nodded. Then I did the same with Cristobal Madrigal, who gave a firm nod of his own.

    "Reinforcements may also come from the residential area. We don¡¯t know how many of the townsfolk have sided with the cultists or how many are armed and willing to fight us." I turned to Dimalanta.

    "To the southwest of the church is the largest residential zone in the poblacio?n. By the time we breach the parish, Teniente Dimalanta and Roque¡¯s platoon must already be in position. Once the firing starts, you¡¯ll enter the neighborhood from the rear and clear it. If any civilians take up arms, consider them combatants."

    "After securing that area, regroup with us at the church."

    Dimalanta, now fully focused, nodded and gave Roque a glance. The younger man shifted in his seat, swallowing hard.

    "Once the church is secured, we move on the presidencia municipal together."

    The weight of what we were planning sank into the room like a fog. I wanted questions or suggestions¡ªsome exchange¡ªbut there was none. The orders were clear, and the silence told me they understood.

    "Do remind me, Heneral¡ªwhat¡¯s our role?" Sen?or Alcantara was the first to break the silence. He was seated at the head of the table, directly to my left. Beside him, Eduardo listened attentively.

    Back in Boac, I had designated them as naval support. In theory, they could provide fire from the Garay or the gunboat. But I had since realized that those cannons were almost worthless for precision support¡ªtheir accuracy was poor and their use limited to large, open-area bombardment.

    At least, while we were still inside the town.

    They had a different role now, one I hoped we wouldn¡¯t need.

    "If God forbid, our mission fails... the beaches will be our fallback point. The Garay should be on standby to extract us. And your 8-pounder cannon must be ready to discourage any pursuers."

    ---

    Thirty minutes later, the rest of the recruits were roused from their sleep. Officers moved through the presidencia and the surrounding huts, gently shaking shoulders and whispering names.

    Final checks were made. Rifles were inspected¡ªbolts tested, barrels wiped, and slings adjusted. Ammunition belts were counted, the clinking of cartridges cutting through the quiet.

    Some of the literate men sat down under torchlight or lanterns to write final letters to their families. Others simply sat still, clutching rosaries or staring into the flames.

    The local priest arrived soon after, his presence arranged the day before. He wasn¡¯t as passionate or eloquent as Padre Trinidad, but he had a calm presence. He didn¡¯t raise his voice or use lofty words¡ªjust quoted scripture softly, letting his voice blend into the stillness. That alone steadied nerves better than any speech.

    Out in the plaza, the lieutenants and cadets gave their final briefings. Dimalanta and Vicente reviewed formations and fallbacks. Sergeants moved among the men, checking for missing gear, adjusting rifle straps, and making sure no bayonet was left dull or loose.

    Roque busied himself checking the condition of the bayonets, rubbing down the blades with oil, tapping them to check for cracks. Then he ran through a short refresher on weapons handling and bayonet training they had in Landi¡ªespecially for the ten Bulaken?o soldiers who were only taught yesterday.

    "Heneral... you called for me?"

    I turned to see Sargento Guzman approaching, boots still muddy from crossing the plaza. Because of space constraints, the soldiers had been housed separately¡ªthose involved in the assault were quartered in the presidencia and nearby homes, while the garrison troops slept in the chapel.

    "I was thinking I¡¯d need you after all¡ªfor the assault," I said, my eyes scanning the rows of men still gathered near the plaza. Some were forming into loose ranks. Others were warming their hands near torches.

    "What... what do you mean, Heneral?" Guzman asked, clearly caught off guard.

    "I mean you did well in Kasily. This is a delicate operation. I¡¯ll need a veteran by my side. You¡¯ll lead the soldiers from the escolta for me."

    I looked at him again. He looked stunned. Rightfully so.

    "You can refuse, of course," I added.

    He shook his head quickly. "No, no... I¡¯m ready, Heneral."

    I gave a small smile. "I know you are."

    ---

    For stealth, all lanterns aboard the Garay were extinguished. Eduardo, experienced with nighttime sailing, used the stars to navigate. Even so, I worried we¡¯d miss the mouth of the river. From the ship, we couldn¡¯t even tell where the sea ended and the land began.

    That fear slowly eased as night turned to gray. The outline of the island to our left became visible. The sun hadn¡¯t risen yet, but the horizon had begun to pale.

    After nearly two hours of shivering in the cold wind, Eduardo¡¯s crew pointed toward a dark line in the distance. They unfurled the sails in near silence and began to row. The oars dipped and pulled with soft splashes as we turned toward the shoreline.

    Suddenly, a cold fear seized me. It was that familiar dread of the unknown. I didn¡¯t know what waited for us on land¡ªor whether I¡¯d live through it.

    But I¡¯d felt this fear before.

    I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, as if trying to blow the fear away.

    I turned to the recruits gathered on the deck, rifles gripped tightly in their hands. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, packed tightly on the narrow deck like sardines. Their eyes were on me as I made my way to the bow.

    "Calm and steady, boys. Remember your drills. Watch your officers and listen closely. Rules of engagement: shoot anyone who brandishes a weapon, don¡¯t fire on civilians unless they act hostile, and keep track of your targets¡ªdon¡¯t shoot your own."

    They nodded, some more confidently than others. One or two clutched their rifles tighter.

    "It¡¯s alright to be scared," I added. "Just keep it to yourself. The secret to bravery is simple¡ªpretend. Pretend to be brave, act brave, speak brave... nothing more, nothing less."

    The wind brushed past us, carrying the scent of the coast. The final silence before the battle had begun.

 Chapter 109: Near Perfection

    Chapter 109: Near Perfection

    I raised a hand in the air as I slowly went down on one knee.

    At once, the squelching of boots against the damp ground and the hiss of grass brushing against fabric ceased. The line froze. Sargento Guzman crept to my side, his movements smooth despite the mud. He was followed by Mario, who crouched low, unable to hide the nervousness on his face¡ªhis wide eyes flicked between the trees and the distant lights of the town.

    On the other side of the field, Roque¡¯s platoon had also halted. The cadet and a few of his men had pushed slightly ahead of our line, now crouched behind a group of large boulders. Their outlines were barely visible in the faint grayness before dawn.

    We had successfully advanced to the outskirts of Buenavista. The treeline, scattered shrubs, and tall cogon grass, coupled with the slight downward slope, gave us the cover we needed to approach undetected.

    Our first hurdle lay just ahead¡ªright at the mouth of the town proper.

    A makeshift barricade blocked the road. It was constructed of bamboo poles lashed together with vines and reinforced by a few wooden stakes. Smoke from a dying campfire drifted lazily in the air, carrying the faint scent of burnt wood. Beside it, two men stood guard. We could hear the low murmur of their conversation carried by the breeze, mixing with the distant rustling of palm leaves.

    They wore the expected attire¡ªred strips of fabric tied around their bodies. One had a band across his forehead, the other had pieces wrapped tightly around both arms. From the silhouette of their postures, I could tell they were armed with rifles, though the low light made it difficult to identify the type.

    Teofilo spotted them before I did. He was watching from a concealed position closer to the front, eyes steady. He looked toward me. I nodded once. He already knew what to do.

    Roque, crouched behind the rocks, gestured with two fingers. Two of his men silently separated from the group and crawled forward. They moved efficiently and silently¡ªclearly the lightest and quickest in his platoon. Roque whispered instructions to them, barely more than a breath. They didn¡¯t nod or reply¡ªthey just moved.

    A small clump of banana trees stood within striking distance of the checkpoint. The two recruits took the long route, slipping through the tall grass and circling behind the trees. The rest of us held our breath, rifles ready.

    We didn¡¯t hear it¡ªbut maybe the sentries did. A faint rustle. A sudden shift in the breeze. Whatever it was, the Pulajanes stopped chatting. The one nearest the trees stepped forward, gripping his rifle tighter, eyes scanning the darkened thicket. The other looked less concerned¡ªhis weapon still loosely pointed at the ground, more for show than readiness.

    Teofilo¡¯s sharpshooters had already trained their rifles on the sentries, fingers resting on triggers. The safety was off.

    It happened fast.

    The curious sentry took one more step, trying to part the banana leaves.

    A bayonet struck from the shadows¡ªclean into his throat. The man jerked back, gurgling. Before the second sentry could even bring up his rifle, the second recruit rushed forward and buried his blade into the man¡¯s chest, pushing deep into the heart. Both collapsed nearly at the same time.

    The only sounds were the soft thud of bodies hitting earth and the short, sharp whimper from the second man as he dropped to his knees.

    Executed to near perfection.

    Roque looked to me again from across the field. I slowly stood up and raised my arm forward¡ªsignal to advance.

    The rest of the recruits emerged like ghosts from the grass and bushes. What had looked like an empty field a moment ago suddenly produced fifty armed men, moving swiftly and low. The barricade was pushed aside with minimal noise.

    We were inside the town¡¯s edge now.

    The outer huts of the poblacio?n loomed ahead¡ªsimple wooden structures, some with thin thatched walls, others with rough planks and open windows. Working in squads, the recruits advanced using what they¡¯d learned from the obstacle course. They sprinted from cover to cover, sticking close to walls and using fences and sheds as shields.

    Roque covered the left flank with his group, clearing alleyways and front yards. I moved with Mario on the right flank, staying just behind the lead element to coordinate movements. The two flanks crept toward the center street, converging as we went.

    We passed more nipa huts, then some larger houses. The church was already visible from here¡ªits stone bell tower piercing the horizon like a dark silhouette against the pale sky.

    It was about 4:00 a.m. The air was cool and still. Even the earliest risers in town would not be up for another hour. At least, that was the hope.

    As one recruit prepared to cross into the next backyard, I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.

    The back door of a nearby house creaked open.

    An old man stepped out, barefoot and muttering to himself. He wore a thin undershirt and loose trousers. His gray hair was uncombed, and he looked half-asleep as he stretched his arms with a loud yawn.

    He stepped to the edge of his small backyard, turned to the bushes, and began to piss.

    I glanced at Sargento Guzman. To his credit, he had stayed tight behind me through every twist and turn. I could say the same of the Bulaken?o recruits.

    Mario and his platoon had taken a different path, likely threading through one of the many narrow lanes between the clustered homes.

    Guzman and I exchanged a nod.

    We crept forward slowly. The sandy soil beneath our boots gave a faint hiss with every step, no matter how carefully we moved.

    The old man didn¡¯t notice¡ªuntil the metallic click of Guzman pulling his bolt handle echoed faintly in the still morning air. The rifle was now pointed squarely at the back of his head.

    The old man froze, his stream stopping mid-flow.

    I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it.

    "I have already given you everything I have," he said quietly, almost conversationally, his hands slowly lifting into the air. "Is there anything else I could help you with?"

    Sargento Guzman looked at me for guidance. I gave him a faint smirk.

    "That¡¯s interesting," I replied. "I haven¡¯t even asked Gasan for support in the war against the Americans yet."

    The man turned his head slightly, just enough to glance behind. His eyes landed on my face, then dropped to my uniform¡ªthe rayadillo, the silver regalias glinting faintly in the pre-dawn light.

    His expression shifted instantly.

    A wide, toothy smile spread across his wrinkled face. He dropped his arms and turned around completely, seemingly forgetting the rifle still pointed at him.

    "?Gracias a Dios! Are you from the Gobernador?"

    "Lower your voice, Sen?or!" I hissed.

    He immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, but his grin remained.

    "And you are in fact... talking to the Gobernador," Sargento Guzman added, not lowering his rifle yet.

    The old man blinked, eyes wide with surprise, then nodded eagerly.

    We didn¡¯t have time to explain¡ªbut it seemed we wouldn¡¯t need to.

 Chapter 110: Unlucky Encounter

    Chapter 110: Unlucky Encounter

    "Kalaban!"

    The shout was from a woman¡ªsharp and sudden, it pricked the ears. It resounded in the silence, and at once all of us froze.

    The three of us in that yard¡ªme, Guzman, and the old man¡ªstared at each other while we waited to see how the town would react. For a moment, I hoped it would be ignored. It was a cold morning, and everyone should hate leaving the warmth of their blankets and beds. And it was not followed¡ªthe said woman must have been dealt with.

    But the silence would be no more. It started with creaks¡ªfootsteps on the floorboards, windows being opened. Slowly, the faint buzz of murmurs and whispers behind the walls of the huts and houses reached our ears.

    Our cover had been blown.

    Mario emerged from one of the alleyways, sweating, and rushed towards me, now abandoning any attempt to be quiet.

    "Heneral... what do we do?"

    I gritted my teeth and turned to the old man. "Sen?or... shut your doors and windows. Keep yourself and your loved ones inside a secure room¡ªa cellar, if you have one."

    The old man nodded eagerly, as sweat started to form on his brow. He jogged toward the backdoor.

    Then I looked at the sargento and the kadete. "We run! We run straight to the church!"

    I pushed through the low gate and into the town street, boots pounding against packed dirt. My heart thudded in my ears like a war drum. Sargento Guzman and the escolta followed close behind. Mario and his platoon emerged from behind the house and took the rear, weapons raised and ready.

    I chambered a round into my Mauser as we moved, the action loud in the early morning stillness.

    A few civilians stood frozen on their doorsteps, startled by the sudden rush of armed men. Some raised their hands as our rifles swept past them. I scanned the street¡ªstill no Pulajanes in sight, but that would not last.

    I turned my eyes in the direction of the church. It was now less than a hundred meters away, but all I could see of it was the bell tower. Much of the building was hidden by the houses, being located a little further from the road.

    The soldiers matched my pace when I started to run. Soon, the thumping of boots sounded in the streets.

    Roque¡¯s platoon saw us and quickly fell into formation, emerging from side alleys like ants pouring from a mound. Our small force was coalescing.

    Before long, Teofilo was beside me, running hard.

    "I¡¯m sorry, Heneral!" he called out between breaths. "An unlucky encounter. We turned a corner and saw a woman drawing water."

    I kept my eyes ahead, adrenaline rushing through my veins. "That no longer matters now, Kadete. We must get to the church before the whole town wakes up! We¡¯d take a lot of casualties if the Pulajanes found us in the open!"

    The kadete nodded grimly and broke off to relay my orders to his men..

    We soon reached the bend. One of the soldiers was already there, leaning against the wall of a house, taking a peek in the direction of the church. I landed my back on the stone wall when I reached him.

    "What do you see?" I asked, while I caught my breath.

    He leaned away from the edge of the wall and turned to me. He seemed shocked to see me there. I recognized him as one of the two soldiers earlier who took care of the sentries.

    "Five Pulajanes fighters, Heneral. In the church yard. All with firearms," he reported.

    "Lemme see..." I said. The soldier gave way.

    With my rifle at my chest and a sigh, I peered out. Every Catholic church building in the country has an open space in front of it. Cathedrals like the Barasoain Church and the one at Boac could have something as large as a plaza. Smaller parishes would have something smaller¡ªjust a front yard for hedges and flowers.

    The Buenavista parish was less grand than most and only had a yard of low grass. The soldier¡¯s account was accurate. Five Pulajanes fighters were roaming in front of the church and the convent, alert and looking around. But none of them had their hands on the trigger.

    "Fuego a voluntad!" I raised my voice as I emerged from cover.

    I raised my rifle. The nearest man turned toward me. Before he could raise his weapon, I pulled the trigger.

    The shot cracked, echoing down the street. The man doubled over and collapsed, clutching his stomach.

    A volley burst from behind me. Two more Pulajanes dropped in the grass. Another screamed as a shot tore through his hand, his weapon falling as he stumbled toward the convent doors.

    The last of them managed to fire¡ªbut his bullet went wide, striking nothing. He was gunned down before he could reload.

    "Salakay!" I shouted. "Take the church!"

    The town rang out with loud cries as the young recruits heeded my orders and ran headlong for the building. Some of the soldiers stopped mid-run to aim at the Pulajanes fighters who emerged from the church¡¯s doors.

    In a display of the fanaticism I had warned everyone about, three Pulajanes fighters charged down the low steps at the horde of recruits, armed with nothing but machetes. Two of them were shot down before they could swing their blades. Another took a shot in the shoulder but kept attacking. He got skewered by three bayonets.

    The rest tried to shut the door of the church. The same recruit I had just talked to earlier rushed forward and flew in with a kick to prevent the doors from closing. He hit it hard enough that they swung wide open, making visible the pews and the altars¡ªand about ten Pulajanes fighters scrambling around the altar.

    Then a single gunshot rang out.

    It wasn¡¯t ours.

    The recruit who kicked the door was still airborne, mid-stride, when the bullet struck him clean in the forehead.

    His body stiffened, and he dropped backwards onto the church steps¡ªarms spread, rifle still in hand.

    His face stared up at us, unchanged except for the new, dark hole between his eyes.

    Blood pooled beneath his head, soaking into the churchyard grass.

 Chapter 111: Fish In Water

    Chapter 111: Fish In Water

    It was strange¡ªor maybe not really.

    I was more afraid while I was on the Garay nearing the landing point than I was when I saw the recruit¡¯s corpse with its fresh bullet wound, generously bleeding on the church steps.

    The dead and the bleeding were familiar sights. The scent of blood and black powder was no foreign smell. I thrived in the noise and the chaos. As much as I dreaded the idea¡ªthanks to the modern U.S. Army¡ªI was a fish in water in the midst of the battlefield.

    Barely a second had passed when I raised my rifle and aimed into the church interior. The five pulajanes fighters had formed a line around the pulpit, their figures silhouetted by the flickering candlelight behind them. The contrast made them easy targets, even if their features were lost to shadow.

    My first target was the pulajanes who had just fired¡ªthe one who killed the recruit. He was now scrambling to fish a bullet out of his cloth cartridge bag, the barrel of his rifle still exhaling thin trails of smoke. But then I spotted movement from another direction¡ªanother fighter already raising his sights toward me.

    I shifted my aim and fired.

    The sharp crack of my Mauser echoed inside the church, bouncing off the stone and wood. The cultist I hit was behind a pew, but my shot tore through the wood and caught him square in the right shoulder. His upper body jerked back violently, and he fell with a heavy thud. His rifle clattered across the marble tiles, slipping under the next row of pews.

    Without delay, I pulled the bolt, chambered another round, and returned my focus to the first man. He was still fumbling with his cartridge like a nervous grandmother trying to thread a needle. He hadn¡¯t even started to reload properly.

    I didn¡¯t give him a chance. My second shot caught him in the chest. He let out a groan¡ªpain mixed with frustration¡ªbefore dropping to one knee and falling sideways like a sack of rice.

    Two pulajanes down in about five seconds. Not too shabby.

    I immediately ducked back behind the stone doorframe, anticipating return fire. Sure enough, shots rang out from within the church. Stone chips flew from the steps and wooden splinters popped from the nearby panels, but nothing hit flesh.

    To my surprise, Mario took the initiative. He was across from me, taking cover behind the opposite wall. While the pulajanes were still likely reloading, he stepped into the open alongside a few of his men and loosed a volley into the church.

    The shrieks and groans that followed told me they struck home.

    I peeked back inside. Now all I saw were bodies¡ªstrewn in the aisle and clustered around the pulpit. Some lay motionless, others twitched weakly. The sight of death in what should be hallowed ground made my stomach turn.

    Gunshots erupted again¡ªthis time from my right. Roque and his men had reached the convent¡¯s side entrance. A small mound of corpses formed in the doorway, five pulajanes dropped in their tracks. The cadet¡¯s quick action had saved us from being flanked.

    "Roque... you clear the convent!" I barked. The cadet pivoted his head toward me and gave a firm nod before rallying his men deeper inside.

    "Everyone else... we clear the church interior!" I said to Sargento Guzman, Mario, and the rest of the platoon.

    A couple of Mario¡¯s men dragged the dead recruit aside. His body left a long, dark trail of blood over the stone and onto the grass. I averted my eyes.

    I was the first up the blood-soaked steps. The church was quiet now. No more shouting. No more firing. But the air felt heavy¡ªstill charged with fear and the stench of fresh death.

    My finger remained tight on the trigger, rifle raised, as I advanced inside. I scanned the flickering shadows along the pews, the corners near the confessionals, even the choir loft above.

    Every creak of my boots echoed louder than the gunfire. I could hear the shallow breathing of the men behind me. Each step forward felt like walking into a trap.

    Then I heard it¡ªa faint crumple, like cloth brushing wood.

    Instinct kicked in. I took a sharp step back.

    A machete blade sliced the air where I had just been standing, the strike whistling inches from my nose. Out of the shadow lunged a large pulajanes fighter. He had eyes wide with fervor, not fear. Around his neck dangled a copper amulet, its surface etched crudely with a triangle and an all-seeing eye, bordered by Latin inscriptions.

    Adrenaline surged through me. My body moved before I could think. I drove my bayonet into his gut and charged forward, pushing him backward into the center aisle. He coughed blood¡ªsome of it spattering onto my face. His strength didn¡¯t leave him. Not yet. He grabbed the barrel of my rifle, planted his foot, and tried to halt the push.

    Then he swung.

    His machete came in low and wide, aiming for my neck.

    I pulled the trigger.

    The blast shook the hallway. Shards of stained glass from a nearby window burst inwards. The fighter gasped and staggered back, clutching his abdomen. His hands slipped, and the machete fell from his grip.

    His wide eyes, now finally registering fear, locked with mine.

    He collapsed stiffly onto the floor.

    Behind him, the statue of the Virgin Mary at the altar lay shattered. The gunshot had hit it squarely, blowing off the upper half.

    "Oh... crap..." I muttered under my breath.

    The guilt didn¡¯t last long. It was swallowed quickly by a wave of horror.

    I saw something move¡ªreflected in the polished silver of a fallen candleholder.

    I spun around just in time.

    Another gunshot cracked beside me. A pulajanes fighter, bolo raised above his head, dropped to the tiles at my feet. His blade bounced and slid under the pews.

    Sargento Guzman lowered his rifle. Smoke still curled from the barrel.

    He nodded silently from the doorway.

    I returned the gesture, heart still pounding in my ears.

 Chapter 112: Lunatic

    Chapter 112: Lunatic

    The rest of the recruits streamed inside, clearing every nook and cranny of the church. I half-expected a few more pulajanes to spring out from the dark corners¡ªshouting, blades raised¡ªbut no more fighters revealed themselves.

    Mario¡¯s men began dragging the corpses from the altar to the side aisles, clearing the way. The recruits carrying the ammunition crates finally arrived, grateful for the shelter offered by the church¡¯s thick stone walls. They dropped the crates behind the pews, some of them sitting down to catch their breath, their faces streaked with sweat and soot.

    The battle inside the church was over.

    Outside, it was just beginning. The noise was getting worse¡ªshouting and scattered gunfire. Chaos echoed from every direction, like the town itself was crying out.

    It seemed Vicente and Dimalanta had also engaged the enemy. The gunfire was now everywhere.

    But some of the noise was closer than the rest.

    Then I remembered¡ªI had tasked Roque with clearing the convent.

    I quickly scanned the wall behind the altar. The sacristy door was right where it usually was¡ªtucked off to the side. If we moved quickly, we could coordinate a pincer maneuver: Roque from the front, and us through the corridor that connected the church to the convent via the sacristy.

    "Mario," I said sharply. "Set up a perimeter outside. I want men watching the approaches from the residential areas¡ªespecially to the southwest, and to the east, toward the presidencia."

    The cadet gave a sharp salute and immediately set about the task, barking orders as he moved.

    The scouts had reported about a hundred pulajanes fighters scattered across the town. We¡¯d only accounted for about twenty so far. Reinforcements would arrive soon¡ªmaybe already had.

    "Sargento Guzman," I called, "and the Bulaken?o troops¡ªyou¡¯re with me. We¡¯ll breach the convent from the sacristy."

    Guzman nodded, and the escolta fell in behind him. Their Mausers gleamed faintly in the flickering candlelight as we crossed the marble tiles toward the door.

    The door was locked.

    Guzman glanced at me, then stepped back. He knew what came next. He took a short run-up and launched a solid kick at the door. I raised my rifle and aimed center-mass. Last time someone kicked open a door, it cost him his life. There would be no repeat of that.

    The wooden door burst inward with a groan.

    We were greeted by a dimly lit sacristy. A single candle flickered atop the vestment drawers, casting long shadows on the walls. In the glow, we saw a man seated on a bench. His silhouette flinched violently, nearly standing up in shock.

    "Hands up! I¡¯ll shoot if you run!" I barked, stepping forward and training my rifle on the man.

    He hesitated, then slowly stood. Loose fabric rustled as he rose¡ªhe was wearing a robe.

    I tilted my head. It might¡¯ve been the parish priest... but I was fairly certain the priest had been reported killed.

    The man stepped closer to the candle, and the light revealed more. He wore priestly vestments¡ªlong and white, like what Padre Trinidad wore during mass. In his hand was a silver crucifix¡ªlarge, but not large enough to use as a weapon.

    Still, I didn¡¯t lower my rifle. Something was off.

    "Why should I run?" the man asked with a smirk.

    His beard was the first giveaway. Not just a beard¡ªan unkempt, tangled mass of hair clinging to a face that hadn¡¯t seen a blade in months. I never saw Catholic priests with beards back when I was John in the 21st century¡ªand especially not in 19th-century Philippines. Beards on clergy were rare, and none as filthy as his.

    His bare feet were caked with dirt, his nails thick and yellow. His hands were the same¡ªrough, with blackened cuticles and scars like those of a laborer. The vestments clung awkwardly to him, like a pig in a borrowed robe.

    I saw the stole¡ªthe strip of cloth around his neck. It had been vandalized with strange symbols and Latin inscriptions, not prayers, but sigils. Around his neck hung a copper amulet¡ªthe same kind worn by the fighters we killed earlier.

    "None can harm a servant of God," he said, raising the crucifix high. "In the name of San Miguel, the Santo Nin?o, and the Blessed Mother¡ªyour bullets will turn to wind, your blades to leaves!"

    Sargento Guzman curled his lip. "Stop... or we¡¯ll really shoot. And you¡¯ll find that God will not be mocked!"

    The man laughed¡ªloud and mad. "Then shoot, soldado! And heaven will strike you down!"

    Guzman looked to me, asking for permission without a word.

    I smiled and shook my head, lowering my rifle.

    He followed suit, albeit reluctantly, and the rest of the escolta mirrored us. There was no need to waste a bullet on a lunatic.

    I handed my rifle to one of the soldiers behind me and rolled up my sleeves. Tilting my head from side to side, I cracked my knuckles as I approached the self-proclaimed prophet.

    He raised his arms and voice in unison.

    "Saint Michael... oh, captain of the angels of heaven, use your sword and strike him do¡ª"

    I cut him off with a haymaker.

    My fist crashed into his jaw with a satisfying crack. His head snapped sideways like a doll¡¯s, and he dropped to the ground in a heap, his crucifix clattering beside him.

    "You should¡¯ve prayed for protection from fists," I said, grinning. "Rookie mistake."

    Laughter erupted behind me. The escolta and even some of Mario¡¯s men clapped and whooped. Guzman gave the man a nudge with his boot. No response.

    Out cold.

    But the fanfare didn¡¯t last.

    We heard footsteps¡ªfast, multiple¡ªfrom deeper inside the convent.

    At once, the room filled with the sound of bolts chambering and metal clinking. The soldiers raised their rifles in unison.

    From the shadows emerged Roque, his men following behind him. His uniform was streaked with blood, and his bayonet still glistened red.

    He raised both hands in peace when he saw us, and we lowered our rifles.

    Roque¡¯s eyes shifted to the crumpled man on the floor.

    "That... might be Papa Hilario," he muttered.

 Chapter 113: Riflemanéˆ¥æªš Rule

    Chapter 113: Rifleman¡¯s Rule

    We took our second casualty not long after we cleared the church.

    Mario had done exactly as I asked. The church had about ten windows along the nave walls¡ªfive on each side¡ªand two more by the choir loft. Most of them were now manned by a recruit, each one watching and aiming his rifle outward into the unknown. Their faces were pale and drawn, but they were alert.

    Outside, our perimeter was beginning to take shape. Men hugged the stone walls and low fences of the surrounding houses. They were crouched in twos and threes, their eyes locked on the narrow lanes leading in from the presidencia and the southern road.

    Two of our men were crossing the churchyard¡ªperhaps sent to retrieve more ammunition or check on a comrade¡ªwhen a sharp, echoing crack split the air.

    One was cut down where he stood, right at the center of the yard.

    The other broke into a sprint. He bolted toward the church steps, stumbling in panic. Another shot rang out, and we all flinched. I saw the bullet rip through the air above him, cutting his straw hat clean off his head. He let out a cry, lost his balance, and fell hard against the stone steps.

    He crawled the last few feet, collapsed against the wall, and pulled himself into a crouch. His hands were trembling. He wiped his forehead, checked his scalp, and stared at the red-tinged tips of his fingers¡ªjust a scratch.

    "Where is that coming from?" I shouted, my eyes wide, as I stared out into the yard at our second dead recruit.

    "From the southwest, Heneral... I think from one of the houses," Mario said, as he leaned down to peer out through one of the slightly opened Capiz windows. Beneath him, a recruit was kneeling, taking aim in the same direction.

    "Do you have a clear shot?" I asked the recruit.

    The young man looked at me and shook his head. "No... Heneral... he fired from behind the house. I only saw the barrel of the rifle, and only for a few moments."

    I was still by the door of the sacristy when all of it transpired, watching the escolta tie up the still unconscious priest. I crossed towards the opposite side, and Roque and Guzman followed me.

    I peered through the same window. Mario pointed me to the said house. Just as he did so, the barrel of the rifle emerged again, jutting out of the wall like the beak of a predatory bird. The enemy was scanning the churchyard again.

    The recruit was not lying. All we could see through the window was the front view of the house. The enemy, firing from the backyard, was out of sight. The recruits outside, taking cover behind the wooden fence of the house directly beside the church, was stuck with the same terrible angle.

    We could fire through the main doors of the church. But because of the closeness of the houses, we would still have a tight view of him, while he had a good view of the yard¡ªeffectively making it his killing field.

    The only way was to flank around and have a shot at him from a different direction. With the town teeming with hostiles, I would need to lead such a maneuver.

    I was about to bark the order when I got a feeling I was forgetting something¡ªlike a much better way to deal with the enemy.

    "The belltower! Have we cleared it?" I suddenly blurted out loud when I remembered.

    I had completely forgotten about that part of the church¡ªeven back when we were assaulting through the yard. Up there, the enemy could have fired down at us. In the dimness, it blended with the church¡¯s grey fac?ade, and in the chaos, I had overlooked it.

    "I don¡¯t know, Heneral," Roque answered. "But one of my men shot down a Pulajanes manning it while we were charging to the church."

    "We have cleared it, Heneral," Nepomuceno confirmed a moment later. "There¡¯s no one there but the very same dead Pulajanes."

    I chuckled in relief. I wasn¡¯t fighting this battle alone. So far, the cadets and the recruits¡ªat least Roque¡¯s and Nepomuceno¡¯s¡ªhad performed satisfactorily.

    "So, how do we get to it?"

    Mario pointed towards the choir loft. Tucked unassumingly to the side was a wooden ladder.

    I remembered to reload before ascending. I pulled the handle back, and the spent cartridge was spat out. So far, no bullet had been wasted. Five rounds for five dead Pulajanes. I intended to keep it that way. I reached for my ammunition belt and grabbed a stripper clip.

    "Should I send one of our best marksmen up there, Heneral?" asked Roque.

    "Yes... I¡¯ll be going. I am, after all, our best marksman," I answered, and thought how awesome I sounded.

    I wouldn¡¯t feel that way for too long. All the fighting had made me feel young again. But my body was still old. My joints were aching and glute muscles burning as I took the creaky steps. As soon as I reached the platform, I collapsed to the floor to catch my breath and rest my legs.

    A recruit was already stationed there. A familiar face. Historillo... one of Nepomuceno¡¯s NCO candidates. He had just fired at the direction of the shooter when I arrived, the spark that came out of the barrel mirrored by the large brass bell that hung suspended in the middle.

    There were already three spent cartridges lying at his feet. And by the frustrated look on his face, he had just missed again.

    At the sight of me, he stood up from his kneeling position to salute.

    "Hey, hey, hey! Keep your head down," I said to him.

    The tense soldier mumbled a sorry as he promptly crouched back down. The belltower had four large windows facing the cardinal directions¡ªexcellent openings to shoot and get shot at.

    "How¡¯s the hunting, soldier?" I asked, settling in behind him with my back to the wall.

    I peered out the window. From up here, we had a clean view of the shooter¡¯s position¡ªelevated, slightly offset to the left of the house. The pulajan was leaning against the far wall. Only his hands and feet were visible. But once he tried to aim at the yard again, he¡¯d have to step out¡ªand expose himself entirely.

    Historillo shook his head. "I don¡¯t know... Heneral. I¡¯ve got a few clear shots... but I keep missing."

    For a second, I saw the head of the Pulajan fighter, taking a brief peek at the yard. Too brief for a good look. But it showed that the fighter wasn¡¯t mindful of the belltower. Probably because the recruit hadn¡¯t shot anywhere close enough to grab his attention.

    Historillo was far from a bad shot. In fact, very few among the recruits were bad shots. They were almost all between decent and above average. I would know, because I would watch from the window of the Casa Real when they underwent their marksmanship training in the plaza.

    I thought of proceeding with my plan of shooting the shooter myself. But this was a good chance to teach what their basic marksmanship training did not cover. If I weren¡¯t mindful of our limited time, Landi would have featured advanced marksmanship training as well.

    "Aim a little lower next time," I muttered.

    "Sorry, Heneral?" Historillo furrowed his brow.

    "You¡¯re overshooting," I continued. "When firing from an elevation against a mid-range target... you have to aim lower than you would on the ground. Aim for the waist instead of the chest."

    This was called the rifleman¡¯s rule. Over short to mid-range distances, gravity has minimal effect on a bullet traveling a vertical path¡ªmeaning that the bullet flies higher than expected and the shooter would need to compensate by firing lower than usual.

    The target was less than a hundred meters away from the church¡ªwell into the mid-range category.

    He stared at me blankly for a moment, processing what he had heard. Then he reached for his ammunition belt and loaded another cartridge into his rolling block. He crawled nearer to the window and, after glancing at me, aimed in the same direction.

    He was aiming for a long time. After about twenty seconds, I peeked out again. For a moment, I thought we had lost the target. If the shooter had any sense, he would have repositioned himself. But I doubted he had the intellect¡ªthe very lack of it was the reason one would join a cult.

    True enough, I still found him leaning against the wall. The recruits behind the fence were firing vainly at his position, only hitting the ground and the wall. The shots had no chance of hitting him, but they scared him enough not to take too many peeks.

    I spotted movement to the side. Another foolish recruit was crossing the churchyard. Perhaps desperate for bullets, which they had wasted firing at stone walls.

    I held my breath when the shooter moved away from the wall to aim at the sprinting recruit. Instinct told me to say something to Historillo, but he likely already had the man in his sights. Now the question was: who fires first, and who hits.

    The gunshot echoed against the brass of the bell. The black smoke drifted from the barrel toward me, introducing the pungent smell of gunpowder.

    The shriek of the recruit filled the air. He dropped the rifle to the ground. He carried his limping and bleeding hand into the church¡¯s door.

    A hundred meters away, the Pulajanes fighter was sent kneeling to the ground, clutching his bloodstained chest.

 Chapter 114: Muzzle Flashes

    Chapter 114: Muzzle Flashes

    With Roque¡¯s men freed up from the assault on the convent, we could provide more men to solidify our cordon, which had proven to be too loose.

    I sent Historillo down with orders.

    Mario was to personally lead all of his men to further secure our western flank, especially from the southwestern residential area, where shots from hidden Pulajanes fighters continued to ring out.

    Roque was to take half his platoon to reinforce the eastern flank, primarily in the roads and alleyways which faced the presidencia. The other half would remain to protect the church.

    As for Sargento Guzman and the escolta, they were to act as my personal reserve¡ªa compact force I could throw at any critical point without delay.

    The response was quick. Soon the church¡¯s doors creaked open, and the rayadillos spilled out into the yard, Mario¡¯s shouts rising above the chaotic assemblage of noises.

    In a repeat of the lessons instilled at Landi, our entrenched men laid down precise cover fire for Mario and his group. Bullets zipped overhead and punched into stone and soil as the squad dashed across the open plaza, sprinting from doorway to doorway, hugging the shadows, and diving for cover behind stone fences and overturned carts.

    I trained my rifle ahead of their route, looking out for any hostile that might jump at them from cover. From the elevation of the belltower, I had an excellent view of the alleyways and the town streets. Enemy muzzle flashes were visible in the darkness, but most of them were from those engaging the already entrenched soldiers, participating in a gunfight where all that was hurt were soil and stone.

    Minutes later, Historillo returned up the steps, panting heavily, his tunic clinging to his sweat-soaked back. Three soldiers from the escolta followed behind, their rifles shouldered and eyes alert, boots thudding against the creaky stairs.

    I had ordered the young kadete to return and to bring with him Guzman¡¯s best shots.

    "Each of you will cover a cardinal direction," I barked as they assembled around the great bronze bell that loomed over the tower floor. "You¡¯ll provide supporting fire, yes¡ªbut more importantly, you¡¯ll observe."

    I stepped closer, voice rising above the crackle of nearby volleys and the occasional cry echoing from the streets below.

    "Report to me every development. If you see enemy movement, you report. If you see our units being pinned down or about to be overrun, you report. By the same token, if you see our units capturing enemy positions or neutralizing enemy units... you report. And you report without delay!"

    Historillo and the Bulaquen?o soldiers responded at the same register and saluted.

    "Historillo," I added, slinging my rifle back over my shoulder, "you¡¯re in command of this squad. Teach them what I taught you."

    He gave a brisk nod and got to work, assigning each man a window and pointing out key landmarks¡ªthe convent to the south, the presidencia to the east, the distant rice fields to the north.

    I turned toward the stairwell, testing my leg as I stepped down. The pain had dulled to a tolerable throb, my blood warmed by the steady rhythm of command. The tower offered an excellent vantage point, but I needed to be closer to the action¡ªwithin shouting distance of the squads, able to issue orders face-to-face if needed. These were greenhorns, after all. I couldn¡¯t afford to leave them without oversight for long.

    I watched the four Bulaquen?o soldiers take position at each window. Historillo stood by the bell, already briefing them on the things he had observed from the height.

    I sighed and approached the staircase opening. As soon as I dipped my foot into the stairs, fresh gunshots sounded.

    "He... Heneral..." Historillo called out to me with some hesitation.

    I spun around and saw him staring towards the east, where the presidencia was. "Yes?"

    "I think Kadete Roque is in trouble..." he continued as he raised his rifle, and he aimed very low, eyes pasted in the same direction.

    I had no choice but to confirm what he just said.

    Looking down through the eastern window, I saw that Roque had fallen into a predicament. Just fifty meters away from the backdoor of the church where they had exited, he was pinned down behind a well, along with one of the recruits.

    He sunk down to the ground, his back against the well, as low as he could, as bullets chipped away at the stone and sprayed dirt from the ground all around him. The other nine of the men he brought with him watched helplessly from the cover of the acacia tree behind the church.

    About five shooters, firing behind the windows of the second floor of a bahay na bato house, alternately fired at the position.

    The same pickle earlier presented itself to our recruits.

    The soldiers taking cover in the acacia tree did not have vision on the house.

    They could maneuver around to flank the house, but Pulajanes fighters already had scattered firing positions throughout the area, which could cause such an effort to likely lead to another disaster without Roque leading it.

    Not to mention that more enemy reinforcements were pouring out of the presidencia compound.

    In the distance, sparks flickered by the treeline, where Vicente was providing distracting fire at the presidencia municipal. But it would seem it was not distracting enough.

    I could count about ten Pulajanes fighters running along the eastern town road, towards the sound of the gunshots, like a school of piranhas having smelt blood.

    I was about to order them to provide cover fire while I went down and led a maneuver to take the house, when something happened that changed my mind.

    The recruit stuck with Roque, perhaps losing his sanity from all the bullets ricocheting all around him, knelt up and tried to fire back. Teofilo tried to keep him down too late. I saw his body jerk three times before crashing down.

    Some of the blood splattered on Roque. I watched him wipe his cheek and look at his bloody palms. I could barely make out his eyes in the dimness, but he reared his head upwards to the belltower, and I thought we made eye contact.

    There was not enough time.

    "I need one more man manning this window!" I said, as I looked around the rest of the Bulaquen?o soldiers in the tower. Then I pointed at the man manning the northern window, "You! Join your amigo here."

    The northern part of the town, through which we entered, had little activity. Maybe just a couple of shooters, and the rest, Pulajanes fighters armed only with blades, peeking out now and then, perhaps still mustering the bravery to make a suicidal charge. Nothing that the soldiers manning the northern perimeter couldn¡¯t handle.

    Soon there were two soldiers kneeling by the eastern window, while I and Historillo aimed by the wall, standing up above them.

    "But I don¡¯t think we can hit them from here, Heneral... we can¡¯t see anything..." Historillo said.

    What he said was true. It was growing brighter by the minute, but the sun was yet to rise, and the brightness was akin to a night with a full moon.

    The windows where the enemy shooters were firing from only showed us pitch-black darkness. Not to mention that the enemy would only be exposing their heads¡ªa small target especially if you¡¯re shooting blind. On top of that, it would likely be out only when they¡¯re firing.

    Too tall an order for soldiers only trained in basic marksmanship.

    But maybe not for me.

    "Just provide cover fire. Try to shoot into the windows. Make them take fewer shots," I said.

    I swallowed nervously. I just noticed how dry my tongue was, and how I craved water. But I¡¯ll have to reach for my canteen after the job was done.

    The first soldier fired a shot, and it hit the roof.

    "Aim lower..." Historillo said just as I was about to say it. "When firing from an elevation, the bullet flies higher than you expect. So, if you want to hit the window, aim at the sill."

    "It¡¯s called the Rifleman¡¯s Principle," Historillo glanced at me, perhaps looking for my approval.

    It was called the Rifleman¡¯s Rule, but close enough. I gave him an acknowledging nod.

    The following shots were much better, but still off. It wasn¡¯t only the rule that messed with the aim. Shooting downwards also forced the soldier into a non-standard stance, having the rifle away from the line of shoulders.

    But I never expected them to hit.

    I placed my finger gently around the trigger, not firing until I saw the chance.

    Then it happened.

    A muzzle flash illuminated the rightmost window. For a split second, I saw the head with the red bandana on. I immediately steered my rifle and aimed lower than the window sill.

    White smoke curled up from the barrel of my Mauser.

    I thought I missed, then I saw a rifle fall from the same window, dropping to the overhanging roof below.

    I had no time to revel in the beautiful shot. Sparks lit the center window, and I promptly swung my rifle in that direction. I had no time to aim properly, and I thought I had aimed a little too high.

    A shriek erupted to tell me I had aimed low enough.

    In the corner of my eyes, I saw Roque make a run for it. I cursed under my breath. Not yet.

    I chambered quickly, anticipating a shot from the window.

    It did not come.

    Perhaps me killing two of their own within a second had scared them enough.

 Chapter 115: Constrict

    Chapter 115: Constrict

    "Teniente Dimalanta has broken through!"

    The enthusiastic, almost surprised shout came from the soldier manning the western-facing window of the belltower.

    I turned and smiled, but took another glance at Roque. He had made it safely to the cover of the storehouse behind the well. Then I shifted my eyes to the dead recruit¡ªour third casualty.

    The stiff resistance in the approach toward the presidencia was to be expected. The church was taken with relative ease due to the element of surprise. The presidencia, however, would have to be pried away from an enemy now fully awake.

    The cordon to the east was too shallow for comfort. But it would have to hold, for now.

    "Historillo, go down and have someone send word to Roque¡¯s platoon to stay where they are," I ordered. "To the rest of you, keep your eyes peeled to the east. Make sure to inform me if the enemy makes an advance."

    Historillo hurried down the spiral steps of the belltower, rifle slung across his shoulder.

    I briskly walked around the bell, boots echoing against the worn wooden floor, and approached the western window.

    I had been too preoccupied with Roque¡¯s debacle that I hadn¡¯t noticed how the guns had fallen silent in rest of the town. The gunshots now erupted mainly from the presidencia and its defenders.

    The soldier beside me pointed to the near distance¡ªabout 200 meters away¡ªto the southwest. I followed his finger and first saw Lorenzo, emerging onto the street by the residential area. He walked confidently, without fear of enemy snipers, shouting at someone out of sight.

    More rayadillos emerged from the alleyway.

    Then the Pulajanes fighters came into view. Disarmed, all bound, and some of them wounded. The recruits dragged them into the street for us¡ªand for Mario¡¯s men¡ªto see.

    One had a wound on his head, which bled liberally down his face and shirt. He would not last. Another had a gash across his leg and limped painfully as the recruits kicked at him to move faster. The remaining ones simply looked tired and defeated. There were about five of them in total.

    The recruits manning the defense to the west of the church erupted in cheers. They spilled into the streets from their hiding places¡ªbehind carts, barrels, windowsills¡ªraising their rifles in triumph.

    I finally saw Dimalanta emerge much nearer, directly west of us, walking past the sniper Historillo had shot down. He had a squad of recruits with him and one captured Pulajan with a swollen, beaten-up face.

    Nepomuceno, who was manning the nearby barricade of carts and barrels, leapt out of cover to hug the lieutenant out of both joy and relief.

    As if to celebrate with us, with the battle turning to our favor, the first ray of the sun slipped from the horizon. It rode the waters, casting its pale-yellow beam against the waves beyond the town.

    The silhouette of the gunship came into view. The ensign¡ªthe Philippine flag sewn by Isabela¡ªflew proudly at the stern, the sunlight that touched it making it shine like its own source of light.

    I sighed as the weight of it all came crashing down on my shoulders. The battle had gone long enough. Nearly an hour had gone by.

    It was time to take one final, heavy step¡ªto end it.

    ---

    With the rest of the town cleared, the eastern cordon was strengthened to full capacity with elements from all three platoons. The Pulajanes fighters there were giving us a hell of a fight, and gunshots still loudly reigned across the town center.

    I was half-expecting them to make a run for it¡ªinto the fields behind the presidencia¡ªand be massacred by Vicente¡¯s men, who had taken cover in the treeline. But they were cultists for a reason. Fear would not be in their vocabulary... at least not for most.

    Three of the six Pulajanes captured by Lorenzo¡¯s platoon had surrendered after running out of ammo¡ªperhaps the least deluded of the cultists. But the rest, including three wounded ones they had captured, fought to the very last.

    I called a conference of all the officers from the platoons that had converged on the church.

    We gathered around the altar table, which I respectfully cleared of the shattered statue and other holy relics. I set aside a broken crucifix and dusted off shards of glass from a toppled candleholder.

    There was no need for candles now, with the sun already up in the sky. Light spilled through the arched windows and other small openings, illuminating the dust in golden shafts.

    "Enemy strength in the residential area to the southwest, I estimate to be about fifteen soldiers¡ªsix of which we captured, and we confirmed to have killed five. As for the rest, they might have been eliminated by Nepomuceno¡¯s platoon or slipped away into other parts of town," Dimalanta reported when I asked for details of their assault. He said it without excitement, and I would soon know why.

    "At... at the cost of two of our men," the sergeant continued, his voice faltering. "A wrong turn cost an NCO and the recruit right behind him their lives. A Pulajan charged out of the darkness and hacked both of them to death before¡ª"

    "And their sacrifice will not be forgotten," I interjected, before things could get emotional. We would have time to weep after all this was over. For now, we needed to remain emotionally detached.

    "The two platoons I led also suffered three dead," I said, looking around at the grim faces of the officers. Roque, who had been fairly composed even after he had charged and slaughtered his way through the convent, was now staring blankly into the air.

    I slammed the table with my palm to jolt them from whatever dark thoughts they were drowning in.

    "But no more!" I declared, voice rising. "We will take no more casualties."

    I unfurled a piece of parchment I had secured from the convent. On it were rough sketches¡ªhastily drawn lines and symbols marking the position of the presidencia and nearby buildings.

    "We will divide our force into four and attack from four different directions," I said, my hand drawing invisible arrows on the parchment. "No need to be hasty. Our cordon¡ªand Vicente¡¯s men entrenched in the east¡ªhave encircled the presidencia and its defenders. We¡¯ll move slowly from cover to cover. We¡¯ll constrict the remaining Pulajanes until they¡¯ve been bled dry."

    All of their eyes were on me now, but they still looked as groggy as when I had woken them up at midnight, earlier.

    I slammed the table again, louder this time, the echo reverberating through the church.

    "Para sa Republika!"

    They flinched, then in unison, crisply saluted.

    "Para sa Republika!"

 Chapter 116: Old Men Trip Sometimes

    Chapter 116: Old Men Trip Sometimes

    The cultists didn¡¯t have a chance.

    They had been part of the group harassing our perimeter¡ªfiring potshots at the men from a concealed position. They were holed up in a narrow flood-control ditch that ran along the edge of town, now repurposed into a crude trench. The elevation drop and earthen banks gave them good cover, and they made the most of it, keeping our defenders pinned near the church.

    They didn¡¯t know we had circled behind them. Their attention remained locked on the church and the soldiers dug in around it. That was their first mistake.

    I had taken the ten-man escolta with me for the flanking maneuver. Ten was small enough to move swiftly and quietly, but still large enough to mount a counterattack if anything went wrong.

    We were crouched about ten meters from the ditch, behind a nipa hut raised slightly on bamboo stilts. Its walls were thin and brittle, and the roof sagged under years of sun and rain. The space beneath it was cluttered with firewood, a pile of discarded tools, and a few clay pots.

    From the cover of the hut¡¯s wall, Sargento Guzman leaned out. Without a word, he raised his rifle, aimed at the nearest fighter, and fired.

    The crack of the shot echoed down the alley.

    The cultist was hit square in the forehead just as he was slotting a bullet into his rifle. The round in his hand dropped with a light clink onto the pile beside him. His body slumped forward, limp, against the trench wall, head lolling at an unnatural angle.

    The two others beside him spun around in confusion, but they were cut down instantly. Two of our men fired in quick succession. The bullets tore through the enemy¡¯s thin cover of grass and wood, hitting center mass. The cultists collapsed without firing a shot.

    Their blood mixed with the murky ankle-high water in the ditch, flowing in streaks along the canal¡¯s length.

    I wasn¡¯t watching the ditch. My eyes were on the second-floor window of a nearby bahay-na-bato. It had a clear line of sight over the field where we now stood. Earlier, that was where the enemy snipers had pinned down Roque and killed one of the younger recruits. I had been keeping watch on it even before we moved in.

    There it was¡ªa glint of light. A rifle barrel slowly edged past the window frame, catching the morning sun.

    I didn¡¯t hesitate.

    I raised my rifle and fired.

    A scream rang out, followed by the crash of a body falling through the window. It hit the ground with a heavy thud and rolled to a stop on the dirt path.

    "Run! Toward the door!" I shouted.

    The soldiers jolted into action. Their boots slammed against the packed earth as they surged forward. From the compound, gunfire erupted again. Shots came from the narrow alley between the bahay-na-bato and the hut adjacent to it. Bullets chipped the stone walls and sprayed dust and gravel across the ground.

    A few of it missing the soldiers by mere inches.

    I clenched my jaw. This wasn¡¯t what I expected. I had assumed we were dealing with farmers¡ªhastily armed, poorly trained, disorganized. But these men weren¡¯t firing wildly. They were using cover, coordinating shots, picking targets.

    The recruit who was gunned down earlier on the steps of the church. Another who fell crossing the open yard. Roque barely making it out alive. These were marksmen. Trained or experienced¡ªpossibly both. Something about it all was off.

    "Sargento! Suppressive fire!" I barked.

    Guzman and two others moved to the edge of the wall and took position. They chambered rounds and on my signal, leaned out and unleashed a short but aggressive volley.

    As soon as the first shots rang out, I and the rest of the escolta sprinted from cover.

    My knees screamed in protest. My joints throbbed. But I pushed forward. We dashed across open space toward the stone house, boots kicking up dust and gravel. Gunfire snapped overhead. A round punched through a fence post just behind me.

    I forgot the aching in my muscles, ignored the pain in my joints. I ran with everything I had. Buenavista wasn¡¯t a city¡ªnot even close¡ªbut the intensity, the close quarters, the snipers hidden in stone houses, the ideology-fueled fanaticism¡ªit reminded me of Seoul. I had been there when we took it back from the Norks... and when we lost it again. I had tasted this kind of chaos before.

    Then, like a whip crack¡ªeverything stopped.

    Something slammed into the side of my head, and I was thrown to the ground.

    Dirt scraped my cheek. My ears rang. For a moment, I thought it was over. But the pain said otherwise. I was alive. Barely.

    My vision swam. Everything spun. Voices became distant and garbled. I was alone in a spinning world of confusion and ache.

    I touched my temple. My fingers came back wet and red.

    Blood.

    A graze.

    My cap was gone. I blinked through the blur and spotted it a few meters away¡ªflung near a wooden barrel. The band was torn open where the sampaguita had been sewn in.

    I growled under my breath and started crawling toward it.

    A firm hand gripped my arm and yanked me back. I was dragged across the ground behind the stone wall of the house.

    I looked up.

    Sargento Guzman. His face, pale and stricken with worry, stared down at me. It pulled me out of the fog.

    Around me, the other soldiers looked equally shaken. Fear, raw and unguarded, was etched across their faces¡ªmore fear than I had seen on them all morning.

    I had let my emotions blind me¡ªand at the worst time.

    Gunfire still cracked all around. It hadn¡¯t stopped.

    Cloth tore beside me.

    Guzman had stripped off his jacket and was tearing a strip from the shirt underneath. He pressed a thick piece to the wound, staunching the flow. Another soldier knelt beside him and tore fabric from his camesita. Together, they wrapped a crude bandage around my head, tying it tight.

    I sat still for a moment. The throbbing dulled. My vision began to settle.

    Then I stood¡ªslowly¡ªmy legs unsteady. Guzman held my elbow to keep me upright.

    "Forgive me, mi soldados," I said quietly, looking at their faces. I had marched with these men from Caloocan to Cavite. I had watched them sweat and bleed as they help my work in a province far from home. In just a few months, it felt like they¡¯d been with me for years.

    "What are you talking about, Heneral?" Guzman grinned. "Old men trip sometimes. That¡¯s normal."

    I let out a short laugh, pressing the bandage tighter. "You¡¯re right, Sargento."

    Laughter followed from the others. Brief, but genuine.

    For a second, the war felt far away.

    But only for a second.

    Then came a voice¡ªmuffled but loud¡ªfrom inside the house.

    "We surrender!"