BANGIS

Previously published in the Sunday Magazine of the Manila Times

Bangis By Relly Carpio

We were out reconnoitering for hostile forces reportedly seen by the locals near the barrio of Tikling, Sultan Kudarat. It was a Wednesday. The team was composed of myself: Lieutenant First Class Tiberius Jose "TJ" Perez, my second: Master Sergeant Amado Fabian, Radioman: Technical Sgt. Caparas, rebel intergree: Staff Sgt. Ahmed Jamal Murangi, Heavy Weapons Specialist: Corporal Alejandro, our medic: Lt. Libay, and my riflemen: Corp. Gomez, Private First Class Buscano, and PFC Charles "Aris" Poblete.

Our team was rounded out by a Civilian Armed Forces Government Unit (CAFGU) member who simply went by the name Tata Bert. He was old enough to be my father, about M. Sgt. Fabian's age. His accent was thick, and his gun was an old Remington .22 bolt action bird rifle, which couldn't kill a chicken on a good day, but served the psychological purpose needed to enforce the government's control.

Tata Bert led us to where the "tango" or target was last seen. It was a densely wooded area with a patch of high grass that could easily hide a carabao.

The target reportedly took a potshot at the local Barangay Captain and managed to wound him in the shoulder. The wound was made by a rifle, with a high caliber bullet. Sarge Fabian has seen enough bullet holes to know to which caliber an entry wound might belong. The bullet was still lodged somewhere in the earth beside where the Barangay Captain was seated while he was talking to the barrio elders.

The size of the exit wound and the fact that the slug had enough force to dig into the earth after crashing through skin flesh and bone told us it was from a rifle. Pistol rounds don't have enough firepower to do that.

The shooter, or sniper, was either very dumb or the government official was very lucky. Two more inches to the left and the bullet would have made pulp out of the Barangay Captain's skull instead of just ripping through five inches of flesh through his left shoulder, starting from the nape outwards. I think the government puke was lucky — he was reaching for his coffee when the shot rang out.

"Dito nakita ng mga kausap ni Kapitan iyung bumaril." Tata Bert explained, pointing his rifle at a patch of grass that was obviously crushed by the shooter as he sat and waited. Tata Bert had the sunburnt skin of a farmer, and only five front teeth, all of which were yellowed. He cradled his rifle like it was a rolled sheaf of blueprints. His only other weapon was the bolo at his hip. He took a drag on his cigarette and smiled like he was expecting a pat on the head for pointing the obvious out to us.

"Mayroon bang ibang gumalaw sa lugar na ito mula ng nabaril si Kapitan?" I asked.

"Wala naman, siyempre ng wala ng nagpaputok uli, eh, sinugod na namin ang lugar. Eto na lang ang inabutan namin, tsaka nakita namin iyung basyo." He pointed at my left breast pocket, indicating the spent shell the locals found in the grass. It was a 7.62mm, same caliber as the rebellion's favored Russian Kalashnikov AK-47 assault rifle.

"May nakapansin ba kung saan tumakbo?"

"Wala."

Useless piece of shit.

"Caparas! Radyo!"

"Eto ser." Caparas handed me the handset.

"Zzzzzt...Bravo Six to Juliet six-five, how copy over...Zzzzzt." Juliet six-five is the code name of the nearest Marine detachment in the area, and was designated as our base of operations. Nearest, meaning they don't need a helicopter to get to us and they're just two hours away by truck. Near enough to make sure rebels would be worried about trying to attack my squad, since they won't have time to run like the cowards that they are. Far enough to make me feel a little uneasy to have only Tata Bert as my backup. What is he gonna do, smile at the rebels and hope that they fall over dead from his tartar-encrusted smile?

"Zzzzzt...Juliet six-five to Bravo Six copy you three by five over how copy...Zzzzzt."

Bravo six is obviously me, this is Bravo Squad, 3rd platoon, Musang Company, 91st Infantry Battalion, Philippine Army. Six is the squad leader's designated number, Sgt. Fabian is Two-Six.

"Zzzzzt...Bravo Six copy you two by five, request further instructions over...Zzzzzt."

The quality of transmission on a radio is measured by five degrees, five by five being the clearest, one by five meaning its mostly the crackle of static and snippets of words.

"Zzzzzt...Roger Bravo Six, twenty and situation, over...Zzzzzt."

"Twenty" is short for 10-20, the code for current location. Other "10 codes" mean different things, short for certain specific messages. I'm not being condescending, I just want it crystal clear that you understand.

"Zzzzzt...Coordinates 344 by 445, one click from Barrio Tikling, have found sniper roost of suspect who shot the local Barangay Captain as ordered, request further instructions, over... Zzzzzt."

I hoped he wouldn't say search and destroy. I didn't feel like going into the jungle today.

"Zzzzzt...Pursue and capture tango if possible. RTB in 24 hours with or without tango. Fire only if fired upon. Repeat and confirm orders... Zzzzzt."

Shit. Now we were cops. RTB means Return To Base; meaning we give the search 24 hours before calling it quits, that means 24 hours through the jungle or wherever the shooter's trail takes us, and the same amount of time to get back here to Tikling.

"Zzzzzt...Roger Juliet six-five. Pursue and capture tango if possible. RTB in 24 hours with or without tango. Fire only if fired upon, over... Zzzzzt."

"Zzzzzt...Roger on confirmation. Good hunting gentlemen, over...Zzzzzt."

"Zzzzzt...Roger, salamat, Bravo six over and out...Zzzzzt."

"Leche! Murangi!" I tossed the handset back to Caparas, who was already frowning at the news.

"Ser!" Murangi replied. He's my tracker — thank God, or Allah — that he got sick of the MILF and decided to join us, I'd hate to have him hunting me down. If Alice had Murangi as a tour guide in Wonderland, the book would have been a pamphlet, and the rabbit would have been stew in chapter three.

"Alam mo na gagawin mo." Murangi started to look around the area for signs of a trail.

I shouted to the team. "Men! Two man teams, five meters apart, sundan n'yo si Murangi, Poblete, Alejandro, kayo rear! Walang lelempot-lempot, baka sniper ang hinahabol natin. Sarge, ikaw na bahala. Tata Bert? Sama ka?" The men paired off as Tata Bert started scratching his head at the question.

Sarge Fabian barked out orders to the rest of the team. Him and radioman Caparas usually stick with me, with Alejandro stuck with the newbie Poblete, Doc Libay was paired with Buscano, Gomez was to share point with Murangi.

"Kailan tayo makababalik? Kukuha pa ako ng gamit." Asked Tata Bert.

"Hanggang nasusundan ni Murangi ang ating target o beinte kwatro oras, alin man ang mauna. Baka mamyang hapon naandito na tayo uli. Pero pinakamatagal na ang Biyernes ng gabi. Baka helicopter extraction naman tayo pag nagkataon eh."

He lit up at the words helicopter. Not many CAFGU get a chance to ride a chopper. The members of Bravo Squad — that's my squad — get to ride a lot. Helps when one of your godfathers is an Airforce Lieutenant General.

"Kunin ko lang jacket ko at helmet." He ran off to gear up like a kid about to go to the mall.

"Sige. Paki bilisan lang Tata Bert." I shouted after him, and he gave a wave in understanding.

I shook my head smiling as I went to told Sarge Fabian to signal Murangi to wait awhile. I then pointed to Alejandro and said "Ikaw. Bantayan mo yan ha, baka ako mabaril niyan, masakit din yung sumpit na dala niya."

'Sino ser? Si Tata Bert o etong uhugin na si Poblete?" Alejandro the joker.

Everyone had a laugh at that. I replied, "Pareho." A little jibe before the jungle helps.

II

Its been four hours since we left Tikling, we were beside a small stream at the foot of a hill. Its an hour past lunch, but its an unwritten rule in my squad that once we start to march, the next hour-long rest is four hours later, with fifteen minute rests in between as needed.

Ordinary civilians don't realize what a jungle really is. A few individuals who go mountaineering find out the punishment the jungle deals out to the human body. But most people think the jungle is what they see in the movies, an area where a lot of things can hide.

Movies need cameras and equipment, so if they do shoot in a real, jungle, they hack into it, create a pocket where they can shoot, preferably a flat area, clear it of extra debris and bring along electricity and fans to move the air around.

I know, we had to escort a movie crew once when they shot a jungle battle scene, complete with two dozen bad guys, the scantily clad sexy leading actress and the hero. It took the better part of four hours to clear the brush enough for the 15-minute shoot. And we were only two hundred yards from the road.

That is not a jungle, that is a movie set, heaven forbid that a movie star break into an unnecessary sweat and ruin his or her make-up. Or that any of the set equipment break down because of humidity or fall into thick, suck-your-socks-off mud.

A jungle is composed of a number of elements — all punishing the intrepid trekker simultaneously. The number one punisher is heat. It is like being in the belly of a beast when you are inside a triple-canopy jungle. The sun's energy is absorbed by the highest treetops and is used to fuel the plant. This makes the whole plant warm up while it goes through photosynthesis. The smaller plants feed on this heat and they release some more. Raising the temperature to the point where carbon dioxide-producing fungus and bugs are comfortable, somewhere in the thirties.

I've experienced stripping naked and being able to squeeze sweat from my briefs. Or machine gunners like my Alejandro faint from heat exhaustion from the sheer effort of lugging around the M-60.

The heat helps maintain the humidity. The previous rains bring moisture into the jungle and this precious commodity is not easily released. The heat ensures that the air is choked with moisture, but it is not released into the atmosphere. It is kept near ground level by the heat that makes sure there is evaporation, but not enough to make the water molecules rise too far and out.

This produces the moisture. Its like walking through a cunt. You will get wet, be it through your sweat, the condensation on the cooler grass blades, the puddles of water that are left unevaporated on the floor of the jungle, or from the drops of water that fall from the trees as the humid air condenses on their undersides.

It's like it's always about to rain, and it doesn't. The moisture sticks to everything, so the equipment seems to get heavier and anything that will tarnish or rust will. There are stories of rifles jamming from rust that accumulates on a mission. This is why we try and clean the damn things whenever time and security allow us to. Ever tried cleaning something that weighs 13 pounds in the dark? While it's raining? With bugs crawling all over? Neither have I. I clean my gun in the morning after everyone is awake and at their stations. The rebel fucks never attack before breakfast.

Anyway, the jungle is the perfect sample of the adage "Life finds a way." Being the perfect eco-system that it is, not a single inch of jungle is wasted. Plants will fight over an inch of sunlight beaming through the canopy. Where there is light, there will be growth. Whatever dies is immediately devoured for its material by animals, bugs and fungus. There will always be something underfoot. Every step will damage a life and continue the process of decomposition. Decomposition releases more heat and moisture into the humid air.

That's why you can use your sense of smell to find a dead body. Whether there is wind or not, that unmistakable stink will be there and will remain, drifting in all directions. The more you gag, the closer you are to that maggot- and beetle-infested carcass that used to be human. Be assured that within a few hours of death, a body would be a little chomped up by some carnivore. So body parts could be strewn about an area. Same thing for human shit. You could find a rebel night bivouac by the smell of morning shit.

There are times that the humidity of a jungle makes it feel like you're walking through water. Body sweat is useless, it doesn't evaporate on your skin, so it doesn't cool the system. Your lungs are so full of moisture that the oxygen, though insanely abundant, cannot be absorbed anymore.

If all the moisture were removed from a jungle and the oxygen left, a single spark would cause an explosion that would burn the whole jungle in a matter of minutes. Too much oxygen induces a condition where the body begins to feel giddy and sleepy at the same time. It impairs decision-making, as if you were on a natural high. Your senses are heightened to the point of hallucination.

Drowning in warm water, it's like being boiled alive. Or you could hallucinate yourself into a chasm. The heat could screw up your balance and make you accidentally twist your ankle. The leaves on the floor may hide a snake, or a pit, mud, gnarled roots, a significantly deep pool of water. You could just fall dead from heatstroke.

There was once an ambush in the middle of May, and the heat was incredible. The rebels rose around the skirmish line of a group of hardened marines. Two people were already dead before somebody screamed "Ambush!" One of the surviving sergeants said he saw the head of one of the privates vaporize in front of him, and he just stared until the body hit the ground and stopped twitching. Bullets were whizzing around him and he could hear the chatter of rifle fire around him, but he was so exhausted and focused on not fainting from the heat that he just couldn't remember what he was supposed to do. His mind had gone totally blank.

It could have been avoided if they had made more rest stops, but their lieutenant was a stupid fuck who had his men carry his gear for him. So he had them rest only when he was tired. By that time, all his men were exhausted. The ambush resulted in the deaths of everyone except the sarge and a private who made it to safety before bleeding to death.

The jungle is the meanest place on earth. If death had a parlor, this place would be it. You can't see the stars or the sun. You can easily lose track of time, or your bearings. A map is useless. You can't see any landmarks unless you climb a tree. So many things can happen, so many things could be lurking in the bushes. Like a sniper.

III

The boys were having their lunch and refilling their water canteens from the nearby stream. Straining it through cotton handkerchiefs and popping in water treatment pills to kill any unwanted organisms in the water. Nothing is worse than swallowing a small leech which will attach to your throat suck your blood and bloat on it there until your air passage is blocked. Diarrhea is the least of our worries.

"Ser, huwag kayong malikot." It was Tata Bert.

I looked at him and he was slowly pointing his rifle at my direction. I was in the middle of putting food in my mouth. I was sitting on the grassy bank, my back against a rock. The other guys looked in our direction and watched the drama unfold.

"Bakit? Ano gagawin mo?" I asked.

Sarge Fabian answered the question. "Ser may ahas sa paa nyo."

I looked at my foot and saw a Philippine cobra, naja naja Filipiniana, one of the 10 deadliest snakes in the world, coiled, head raised in the posture that tells me it is about to strike. It was staring intently my elbow.

KRAK!

The snake recoiled when the bullet punctured its neck, death spasms making its scaly body whip about on the ground as its jaws reflexively snapped open and shut. I stepped on its head and waited till the wriggling stopped. Tata Bert tapped my leg away and picked the thing up by its neck. He unsheathed his bolo and proceeded to behead the snake. He removed the venom sac and fangs from its mouth and put the rest of the replite in the thigh pocket of his cargo pants.

"Hapunan na iyan mamya ser." He beamed his five-toothed smile again.

"Salamat Tata Bert. Buscano, baba mo na iyang baril mo at baka mabaril mo pa si Tata Bert." PFC Buscano, thinking I was in danger, had raised his weapon and was ready to waste the old-timer. I knew that if Tata Bert was out to get me, I would have had an inkling of it. I returned to my lunch.

"Sorry ser, kala ko kasi." Buscano was embarassed. "Tata Bert, sorry po."

"Okey lang iho, alam ko namang may gatas ka pa sa labi eh." Good thing Tata Bert was good-humored.

Murangi crashed through the foliage from across the stream with Corp. Gomez following a second later, visibly catching his breath. Murangi immediately lowered his weapon seeing that all was okay, and Gomez followed suit, and bent over trying to ease the burn in his chest. They came from the listening post, 30 meters forward from our position.

"Ano nangyari? Sino ang bumaril?" asked the battle-hardened Murangi.

"Wala, ahas." Caparas answered matter-of-factly as though it happened often.

"Lagii! Sa ulit, hampas nyo na lang ng kahoy, o kaya itakin nyo. Napakabayot nyo naman, ahas lang, gisayangan nyo pa ng bala. Marinig pa kayo ng ginahabol nato, eh di lalong di natin inabutan iyon." Murangi disgustedly turned his back and started trotting back to his position. Gomez sat down holding his side, obviously having a side stitch.

"Huwag mong pansinin iyon Tata Bert, talagang mainitin ang ulo noon." I quickly soothed the old man's hurt feelings. I was used to Murangi's angry outbursts. Constantly being point had a way of fraying one's nerves. Being in the front of a column of soldiers means you die first in the case of booby traps, or second after the officer in case of an ambush.

Like clockwork, PFC Poblete's footfalls came from the rear of our position and eventually came to the clearing, the same question was mirrored on his face. He was with Corp. Alejandro at the rear listening post.

"Wala, nayamot ako kay Gomez dahil sobrang guwapo kaya, binaril ko, ayun siya sa kabila." Doc Libay's attempt at easing the tension, was obviously a joke directed at our squad's resident prettyboy. Gomez upon hearing this started pretending to have convulsions and death rattles.

Everybody burst out laughing. The poor newbie Poblete stared at us like we were crazy, smirked, scratched his shaking head and started walking back to his position with Alejandro.

KRAK!

Another rifle shot rang through the jungle.

BRAKACHATAKACHATAKACHATAKACHATAKA!

That was Alejandro's heavy machine gun laying down suppressing fire.

KRAK!

The second rifle shot silenced the heavy machine gun.

"Putang ina! Gomez! Si Murangi papuntahin mo dito. Perimeter! Take cover!" I barked out the orders knowing that Alejandro might be dead from a sniper's bullet by now. Gomez picked up his rifle screaming "Murangi!" as he burst back into the jungle to get our point-man.

I looked around and saw that each man of mine was already either behind a rock, tree or similar outcropping; their helmets on and their rifles pointing outward from our perimeter. I leaned lower behind my rock. The cobra's severed head looking at me with damning death in its eyes.

I heard the rustle of pebbles and crash of foliage behind me as Poblete suddenly burst back into the foliage headed for the rear listening post.

"Poblete teka! Hoy! Putang…" Sarge Fabian got up and ran after the newbie, who was obviously trying to get back to his teammate.

"Ay gago, Pob…! Hoy, bumalik ka di…! Buscano! Sundan mo si Sarge! Libay, sumunod ka na, tingnan mo si Alejandro. Ingat kayo. Tata Bert, Caparas, tara!" I followed with Caparas and Tata Bert slowly, compared to the crashing movements of Sarge, Buscano and Libay.

KRAK!

"Aaaaaaaargh!" That was Poblete's scream. He was hit.

"PWOK!"

A plume of yellow smoke rose just ahead of us. Sarge had enough cool-headedness to pop a smoke grenade at the machine gun nest to conceal them from the sniper.

"Sarge! Aray! Me tama ako. Medic! Libay! Putang ina kang tarantado ka! Kapag nahuli ka namin babalatan ka namin!"

He was obviously cursing at the sniper.

"Poblete huwag kang maingay! Baka barilin niyan ang bunganga mo!" Sarge was at the his side. "Libay! Diyan ka lang! Buscano! Tulungan mo ko!"

Libay crouched behind a large tree a safe distance from Alejandro's machine gun nest. Already unpacking gauze and bandages and a few packages containing morphine and what-have-yous that "corpsmen" bring in the field. Unlike other fire teams, mine was blessed. Libay was a bonafide MD with some units in neurosurgery. As I said, having a Lt. General as a godfather has its perks.

"Caparas, dito ka lang, pagdating ni Murangi, sabihin mo sa kanan sila ni Gomez. Pengeng radyo. Aside from the field radio that was provided by the government, each member of my team had a short range radio which was complete with all-weather earphones and throat microphones. The same kind used by the US Navy Seals. I purchased them from the states during one of my longer R&Rs. I have Caparas hold on to them to prevent "accidental loss."

Gomez lost a unit during one of his "whore runs" including his sidearm, his cash and his uniform. Since then, I deemed it better if I have the most responsible member keep 'em until needed.

"Bigyan mo na rin sila pagdating nila dito. Tapos tulungan mo si Libay. Tata Bert, tara." I veered to the left to flank the sniper, Tata Bert huffing at my heels. I fixed the radio into my web belt's left shoulder pocket and proceeded to attach the corresponding wires to my ears and my throat. I gave a double click on the transmit button to test it and received a single click from Caparas in acknowledgment.

I heard some mumblings from the direction of the nest, must be Sarge saying something.

KRAK! PTING! KRAK! PRRSH! KRAK! PRAT!

The sniper was firing blindly into the smoke with voices. Luckily he's hitting foliage rather than flesh. He was either very sure of himself, or very stupid. The sniper's rule is shoot and scoot. Never stay in one place, once your position has been established, a grenade can easily take you out.

KRAK! PRRSH!

There! Muzzle flash! About sixty meters from the smoke plume. I got behind a tree and signaled Tata Bert to take cover and get down. He looked excited rather than afraid, all his five teeth were glistening with excitement. He fixed his vintage World War II GI helmet and gave me a thumbs up.

I gave him the signal to take a look see and hunkered down and tried to get an exact fix on the sniper's position. I got my binoculars and scanned the forward area with them. It's a low valley. An area between two hills, we were supposed to pass the area, along the slope of the northern hill. The fire was obviously coming from the opposite hill.

Good thing we went for the stream on the other side of the northern hill to rest. If we didn't, it would have been an ambush. Thank providence we had an impatient sniper. He must have panicked when we stopped and turned. And when he heard Tata Bert's gunshot, he thought we found him and shot Alejandro who was guarding our rear flank. He must have been staring at Alejandro and Poblete for the past half hour, wondering what the machine gunner was doing.

Now, I just hope Sarge has gotten Poblete and Alejandro, if he's still alive into a safe…

BRAKACHATAKACHATAKACHATAKA CHATAKACHATAKACHATAKACHATAKA!

The M-60 rattled off what must have been fifty rounds into the tree line where the last shot came from. Alejandro was alive, he was the only team member who knew how to shoot that thing with such accuracy. But I'm sure he's wounded and pissed.

"PUTANAMOTARANTADONGAGOKA! MASAKIT YON!"

BRAKACHATAKACHATAKACHATAKA CHATAKACHATAKACHATAKACHATAKA!

Yep, he's alive alright. Don't know which is worse, his dirty mouth or the last long burst of .30 caliber ammo ripping into the jungle.

"Tata Bert!" I called the attention of the CAFGU, he was peering with glee from his position at the rampage the machine gun was doing to the foliage. He looked at me with his jagged, yellow smile and snickered.

"Ano tinatawa-tawa mo?"

"Ang galing ser, parang si Rambo!"

I shook my head in disbelief. Rambo? "Tara na, yuko ha, isang ligaw na bala lang mula kay 'Rambo' sabog ang ulo mo."

He nodded and I moved from my position to further flank our quarry. The thought running through my head was, what if this was bait, the single shooter being surrounded by the ten of us, while fifty rebels in a larger circle began closing their net. Or what if our shooter laid booby traps along the flanks of his position to maim any ambushers?

I moved up a few trees up and then stopped again, Tata Bert right behind me. I crouched low, listening again. Whoever was firing the M-60 was reloading by now. That would take about a minute.

I clicked the throat button for the radio "Six to Moon, over."

Nothing. Moon was Murangi's callsign on our little personal tactical net. I was six, Sarge Fabian two-six, Gomez was Pogi, Libay was Doc, Alejandro was Big Boy. Caparas and the others still went by their names.

"Six to Moon, over."

"Ser? Sino kausap nyo?" Tata Bert asked.

"Shhh. Wag kang maingay, kinakausap ko si Murangi sa radyo." The amazement in his eyes was priceless. Oh, he knew about cellphones, we all had cellphones, well, maybe, except Tata Bert.

"Tata Bert? May cellphone ka?"

"Oo."

Okay, we all had cellphones, but the Vox-88 Throat Switch Short Range Radio was as alien to him as a mochaccino. I got back to trying to reach Murangi.

"Six to Moon? Six to Caparas."

"Caparas here."

"Asan si Moon? May vox na ba siya?"

"Meron na ser, baka di pa niya nasusuot."

"Team check in!" I had to know who has radios. To avoid confusion each team member counted a certain number of seconds before he replied. Two seconds apart each transmission, taking a total of 16 seconds for the whole team. Sgt. Fabian starts off and it ends with Caparas who was usually with me.

"Two-Six here." A pause. "Pogi here." A long pause. "Doc here. Sir kasama ko si Poblete, at si Caparas. Si Alejandro may tama lang sa braso, okay daw siya, si Poblete sa hita, medyo masama, pero malayo sa bayag; mahal talaga ni Lord ang mga tanga. Over."

"Six, Two-Six, andito ako kay Alejandro, tapos na kaming mag-reload, under cover na kami. Kasama namin si Buscano."

"Roger doc. Stay put, Sarge, pop ka uli ng smoke pag kailangan, ayokong umalis ang ating sniper agad. Pogi si Moon? Teams acknowledge."

"Two-Six acknowledge."

"Doc acknowledge."

"Pogi here, sir nakaposition na ako sa 3 o'clock ng sniper position. The Moon is hunting. Over."

Three o-clock position is to the right of the sniper when you're facing him. Directly opposite from my position, give or take a few meters. Murangi is the Moon not because he's Muslim, but because he's like the moon, either hiding behind things or full in your face, and has phases. Then of course there's the adages: hunter's moon, killing moon, and once in a blue moon; which refer to what he does best, hunting and killing — and the frequency of his humor, respectively. Crazy muthafucka, but he's one of my best. A younger, angrier Fabian.

"Six is directly opposite your position Pogi, with Tata Bert. Be advised, check your fire."

He might mistake us for the sniper and take a shot. The smoke was beginning to clear at the Sarge's position.

PAK! KLATSAK! PAK! KLATSAK! PAK! KLATSAK! PAK! KLATSAK!

"Ser ayon!" Tata Bert was firing into the bushes near the sniper's last known position.

I looked and saw a glimpse of light brown amidst the green.

"Target sighted! Fire at will!" I ordered over the tacnet and brought my rifle to bear.

BRAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAW! PAK! KLATSAK! PAK! KLATSAK! PAK! KLATSAK! PAK! KLATSAK!

BRAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAW!

Muzzle fire erupted opposite my position from Gomez's post.

BRAKACHATAKACHATAKACHATAKA CHATAKACHATAKACHATAKACHATAKA!

Alejandro's machine gun erupted from the dissipating smoke and began mowing the area we were firing at.

Sarge Fabian and Buscano's rifles joined the cacophony.

KACHATAPAKTAWKATAWCHATAPAK KACHATAWTAKATAWCHATAPAKTAW KACHATAKATAWCHATAWPAKTAKA CHATAWTATAWKATAWPAKCHATATAWKA! KLATSAK! PAK!

"Ceasefire! Ceasefire! Hold your fire!"

It was Murangi on the vox.

"Ceasefire! Ceasefire! Hold your fire!" I shouted the command and the fire stopped.

I heard Tata Bert reloading. I decided to do the same.

"Move in! move in!"

Murangi again. He suddenly popped out of a copse of trees from the top of the northern ridge where the sniper was supposed to be and bolted down the low hill to the fire zone. Sarge Fabian jumped out of the smoke and ran to his support, Gomez was already sliding down to join his buddy. I got up and started hopping and skipping down towards them.

Tata Bert fumbled on one more bullet and followed me, holding his helmet to make sure it didn't fall off.

"Doc! Clear na ang area, check Alejandro throughly, kamusta na si Poblete?"

"Stable and movable. Going to Alejandro now."

When Sarge Fabian got to Murangi I clicked on my radio again. They were about 70 feet from me.

"Two-Six report." When I reached the base of the valley, I lost sight of Sarge, Murangi and Gomez.

"Sir, still looking."

"Roger, hold your position, am on my way." I weaved my way through the foliage. Ducking under the low leaves, around thick trunks and across muddy puddles.

"Sir, blood trail…" It was Murangi. "Sir papunta sa direction mo!"

"Shit!" I immediately stopped, crouched, and raised my rifle to bear. I slowly walked backwards towards a tree. I was in a very small clearing, thick bushes in front. If anyone shot through it.

TRRRSH!

To my right! I turned and time seemed to slow, in the corner of my eye I saw a greenish figure burst through with a rifle about 15 feet from me. It was Tata Bert.

TRRRSH!

My back was turned to whatever it was that just burst through to what was my left. I saw Tata Bert as his surprise at my pointing my rifle at him faded to horror. He began to raise his rifle towards me. It has to be the sniper that's behind me. I used the momentum of my turn, continuing it into a full circle. As I began to get a glimpse of our quarry, I realized I would have to raise my rifle to prevent it from hitting the trunk of the tree behind me.

I heard the distinct sound of flesh slapping onto wood, the sound made by a hand gripping the muzzle of a rifle. Our sniper was gonna spray us.

I finally turned enough to see our friend. He looked young, probably no more than twenty-five. He looked tired and as surprised as us, his eyes wild from the pain he's feeling from a wound. A dark splotch is already growing on his arm.

He has what looks like a bolt-action rifle and he's bringing it to bear. He's gonna have that up before I get mine. At least I know that he's not going to be able to spray us. Its either he gets me or Tata Bert.

I decided to gamble. I pulled the trigger of my rifle even before I'd aimed it.

BRAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAW!

Chunks of earth, wood and leaves flew all around us. The sound startled the guy and he also pulled his trigger.

KRAK!

A fiery pain bolted through my leg.

PAK!

A bullet zinged near my right ear, followed by the sick sucking sound of metal puncturing flesh that heralded time returning to normal.

Our friend dropped his rifle and clutched his stomach. He knelt, so did I. He looked at me with a hatred, looked past me to Tata Bert his hatred changed to fear as I heard footsteps in the mud.

Tata Bert passed me, his rifle held tight in both hands as if marching in parade. He got to within two feet of the sniper. They exchanged looks for a few seconds. Tata Bert then whipped the butt of his rifle up, hitting our buddy's jaw with a bone-crushing thud.

As he fell to the ground, Murangi, crashed through the foliage behind him, Sarge Fabian emerged also from behind me. Gomez almost bowling Tata Bert over. They scanned the area. The last thing I saw was Murangi checking our sniper for a pulse; I heard was Sarge Fabian scream for Doc on the tacnet and then everything went black.

I awoke back at the clearing where Doc was initially treating Poblete. I was propped up on the trunk. Alejandro lying on his side, smoking a cigarette. Poblete was asleep beside him, drugged for the pain, just like I was.

"Caparas…" I whispered through parched lips.

Alejandro looked at me, and shouted for Caparas. He offered me a cigarette and though I don't smoke, getting shot is a good reason for having a drag. Caparas came after awhile.

"Ser?"

"Radyo."

I took the receiver and thumbed the transmit button.

"Zzzzzt...Bravo Six to Juliet six-five, request immediate medevac, over...Zzzzzt."

"Zzzzt…Roger Bravo Six, acknowledge request for medevac. Status? Over….Zzzzt."

I looked at our prisoner, his hands tied behind his back, he was alive, but his face was already half swollen from the broken jaw, and his shirt had been ripped off, a bandage covering a gunshot wound. I still couldn't believe that a bird rifle saved my life. Our shooter must have never been shot before. The fear in his eyes at his supposed imminent death was laughable. Nobody dies from a .22 caliber in the stomach. Unless you're not brought to a doctor within a day. Idiot.

"Zzzzt…Tango captured but injured, Six and two others wounded. Over….Zzzzt."

"Zzzzt…Roger that, tango captured three friendlies wounded. Medevac in three-zero minutes. Over…Zzzzt"

"Zzzzt…Roger that Juliet six-five. Bravo Six over and out….Zzzzt."

I handed the radio back to Caparas, he gave me a fatherly pat on the shoulder, took the cigarette from my hands and threw it away. "Masama iyan sa iyo." He smiled and walked off. I gave him this incredulous look and smiled.

"Ser?" It was Tata Bert. He was standing at the edge of the clearing and was looking skyward.

"O?"

"Lilipad tayo?"

"Oo."

He gave me his priceless, five-toothed yellow smile. All I could do was chuckle.

-wakas-