More Optional Mood at Anak Sapatero

ON POETRY

Poetry is art. Writing is a craft. Compared to an imperfect haiku, an award winning essay is but a long lesson in wind instruments. Better left to those filled with hot air to spare. See what I mean.

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-

GABI SA BASILAN

Previously published in the Sunday Magazine of the Manila Times 

 

Gabi sa Basilan

By Relly Carpio

 

"Isa na namang magandang gabi sa gitna nang gubat para sa inang bayan" mused Corporal Alejandro. "Ang mamatay nang may putik sa ilong." Chorused the rest of the fire team. My fire team.

 

Lieutenant First Class Tiberius Jose Perez, Philippine Army, 91^st Infantry Battalion, Musang Company. Another wet night in the jungles of Basilan. I went through four years of college for this?

 

"Hoy, tumahimik nga kayo! Ano ba naman kayo? Kita nyo nang may nakasagupa na tayo kanina eh ang ingay nyo pa." That was my sergeant, Amado Fabian, been in these jungles since the time of Marcos, he's the only one who likes it here. Everybody respects him, more than they respect me. But I need their obedience, not their respect. That will come soon enough. Who knows? Maybe it'll be today.

 

After all, why should they respect a coño like me. If we weren't in the same jungle I'd probably be enjoying a vacation in Guam or even Maui right now, boffing some blonde chick; while they would be toiling at some dead end job just to feed their families galunggong at the end of the day. The jungle equalizes everybody faster than any situation. But respect? It still comes from proving yourself. Its not easy with trained operators like my team.

 

I've been in Basilan what, eighteen? Twenty weeks? I just don't know anymore. The humid days and the infested nights make one wonder if time actually moves. Only the presence of canned sardines, high powered rifles and the erstwhile crackle of the radio remind you that you're still alive. Radio…that reminds me.

 

"Caparas…radyo."

 

"Eto ser." Technical Sergeant Caparas, my friendly resource of communication. Yes, we all have cellphones, its damned cheap in the black markets of Mindanao, but this mission demanded quiet. Besides, we have to conserve battery time.

 

"Sarge Fabian, bahala ka na. Radyo muna ako sa kampo."

 

"Yes sir. Alejandro unang bantay ka; Gomez, Poblete, luto na kayo. Murangi sama mo si dok, kuha kayo nang tubig."

 

"Zzzzt…Bravo six actual to Juliet six-five over…Zzzzt"

 

"Zzzzt…Juliet six five, come in, how copy? Copy you four by five over…Zzzzt"

 

"Roger, copy you three by five over. Juliet six five bivouac muna kami; coordinates…"

 

I gave our position for the night. Its roughly six kilometers from the nearest road, twenty from the nearest base, and seven thousand islands from my mother's home near Marikina City. I wonder what she's doing now? Maybe watching a sitcom or some such on cable, sitting inside her air conditioned room, sipping Sandoman port, smoking a Capri.

 

I could be in Makati, some corporate managerial position, in a monkey suit, headed for an expensive bar in my Porsche. But instead I'm in the jungles of Basilan, two days' march away from the nearest semblance of civilization, dressed in muddy camouflage, sweaty and smelly, eating out of a can, and eventually sleep on a plastic sheet over mud. Hah! That's okay. There's something in the way the words "assault rifle" just roll off your lips. It just so much cooler than "financial report."

 

I must be crazy. Four years of PMA instead of MBA. Just because I love my lolo enough to let him have his wish. I remember his words like he just told them to me two days ago before we left the firebase. "Wala nang sundalo sa pamilya, TJ. Mamatay ako na wala man lang pumalit sa akin sa ating hukbong sandatahan, nakakahiya, lahat ng anak ko kung hindi babae, duwag." I liked it when he called my father a coward, I still hate that drunken womanizer. So I enlisted right after college, left all that for this.

 

My fire team consisted of Sarge Fabian, Radioman Caparas, and Alejandro my machine gunner; Gomez, Poblete, Buscano, and Murangi my riflemen; Libay the medic and our latest addition for the Balikatan 2002 – 04: Mendoza, intel. Yep, another one of those intel folks. They scare me you know, they look like they could eat human livers for breakfast, lunch and dinner — then ask for seconds around midnight.

 

The mission is simple, a major explosion in the middle of the jungle was the last evidence of the existence of a certain Colonel Corgan, two pilots and an entourage of six. An American entourage of the Balikatan 2002 – 04 Military Assistance Command, our commanding officer Colonel Nazareno wants to me to get at least their tags, or teeth, whatever can be used for identification. Would've been easy if the chopper hadn't blown up en route to Gensan, over the thicker jungle canopy of the Basilan wilds.

 

Air Force has confirmed the crash site, but needs us to walk there. The trees in the area are too high to allow a rappel. Problem is, the nearest clear Landing Zone is three days away from the crash site. If there was no jungle to hack through, I could jog it in a day. Local forces were ordered to gather any human remains and crash site evidence, since there was recent rebel activity in the area. We can't have any more American soldiers dying in our jungles, and certainly not in combat.

 

"Ser? Okey lang kayo?" It was Fabian bringing me out of my reverie.

 

"Oo sarge, pagod lang. Sino kaya iyung naka-engkwentro natin? Nakita mo ba?"

 

"Wala akong nakita ser, puro ilaw nang putok lang, tsaka umiwas naman sila agad eh. Parang ayaw din nilang makipagpatayan, ba."

 

"Iyun nga di ko maintindihan eh, imbis na umatras sila, eh, nagpumilit na lampasan tayo." Pretty weird indeed, usually these rebels fire on you, hope they kill someone, then move away to set up another ambush up ahead, or disappear totally. These guys we encountered actually charged toward our right flank and ran past our position.

 

"Baka papuntang bayan iyung mga iyon, nagmamadaling makapagbeerhaus. Hehehe."

 

"May kumakausap ba sa iyo Alejandro? Diba sinabi kong maghanap ka na nang posisyon mo?"

 

"Tong si sarge di na mabiro. Eto na nga pupunta na eh."

 

There goes Alejandro with another of his coarse jokes. I wonder where these people find the strength to crack jokes in the face of this kind of adversity. Most of my college   classmates would be crying for their mommies, or daddies, if they had to go through this crap. I guess growing up poor has its privileges too.

 

"Saan ako ser?" It was Mendoza. The slayer.

 

I look at the intel guy and wonder how many people he's killed. You don't get that look in your eyes by pencil-pushing. He looks about as old as sarge is, but isn't as fatherly-looking. He walks so silently through the jungle that I wonder if he's a ghost. Maybe all the ghosts of the men he's killed muffle his footsteps as they walk around him wherever he goes.

 

"Ikaw, Mendoza, ano ba gusto mo? Bantay muna o matulog?." Last night Mendoza took first watch with me and we talked shop. His answers to most of my questions were: "Sorry ser, classified 'yon."

 

"Last watch na lang ako ser, gusto kong nakikita ang pagsikat nang araw e."

 

He flashes a smirk which turns my blood cold and turns to walk away to his pack. Excuse me, Mr. Slayer, would you like to eat my liver? I wonder if Mendoza drinks his Mochachino latte out of a human skull.

 

My team is composed of the following characters. Alejandro is our local comedian, his aim with the heavy machine gun isn't as corny as his constant jokes. Buscano and Poblete are the younger members of the group, both still considerably fresh after only two years in Basilan. They've both had their share of firefights, but have to yet score a face-to-face kill. They find solace in each other's incompetence.  

 

Murangi is a local, a rebel integree, and knows the home terrain very well. His knowledge of enemy tactics is pretty useful. Gomez is a college drop-out who decided to join the army after a heart-wrenching argument with a girl. Usually quiet and keeps to himself, I've caught him crying with guilt a few times after romping with a whore. Libay was an intern who got excited about all the war stories he heard at V. Luna and decided to sign up. He likes cracking jokes about injuries while he's fixing them.

 

Caparas is the exception to the rule. He's a family man with kids and, unlike most soldiers I know, is actually loyal to his better half. He used to be a junior technician with a phone company before he got disgruntled and left. Command offered him a job as a radio tech and got assigned to me four years ago. We spent those years in Luzon doing communication repairs in Quezon. When the escalation in Basilan occurred, we got assigned to this team.

 

I was wet-dreaming about my ex-girlfriend Mina when I felt a hand shake my shoulder. I reluctantly woke up to replace the visage of Mina mouthing a suppressed "oh" to see Sergeant Fabian crouched above me, his lips mouthing "ser" repeatedly. This better be good.

 

Mendoza was behind him, bent, with his rifle pointing out. Buscano was to my left kicking Gomez awake, Alejandro was already up with the M-60 machine gun defending our rear.

 

"O bakit Sarge?" I whispered, looking at my watch. It was quarter to three a.m. I went for my rifle and helmet. The whole area was still dark even with the small bonfire near the middle of the camp.

 

"Gising ser, may bisita ata tayo."

 

 "Ano?" Rebels never do night jungle assaults. Its too difficult to see what you're shooting at. But if there's anything I learned in the last few weeks, its that you just never know.

 

Then I heard it, just as the Buscano was waking up doc Libay and my radioman Caparas.

 

"SER!!! SER!!! SARGE!!! TULUNGAN NYO KO! DIYOS KO!!! AAAAARRRGGGHHH!!! ANG SAKET!!!"

 

That got us all bolting to our feet and pointing our rifles in separate directions. It was blood-curdling to hear a big guy like Murangi scream like that. What was going on?

 

"Sarge, sama mo si Gomez at si Buscano, tingnan niyo si Murangi at si Poblete kung anong nangyari sa kanila!" It was latter pair's time for guard duty, they should be at the listening post thirty feet ahead of our camp.

 

"AAAAAARRRRGGGHHH!!!! SER! SARGE! GOMEZ! TULUNGAN NYO AKO!!!"

 

"Ser, hindi si Murangi iyon."

 

When I looked at Fabian, I saw something I never thought I'd ever see. Fear. Fear, in the eyes of a man who's been in the business of war and killing for more than twenty years.

 

"Ano? Sarge, kilala ko naman siguro ang boses ni…"

 

"Ser, hindi si Murangi iyon…" blurted Mendoza

 

"Bakit ba marunong ka pa sa akin Mendoza…" I was starting to get irritated.

 

"AAAAARRRGGGHHH!!! SER! SARGE! GOMEZ! MENDOZA! PARA N'YO NANG AWA! ANG SAKIT!!! AAAAHHHHRRRRGGG!!!"

 

Mendoza was a statue with his rifle pointed solidly outwards of our defensive circle. He slowly let go of his rifle muzzle and pointed to the ground beside him. All the while not looking anywhere else except for his field of fire.

 

That's when I saw the blood splatch on Mendoza's neck and shoulders. Beside him, on the ground lay the decapitated head of Murangi. The eyes were open as though his head was torn off at the moment of terror. And torn off it was, it wasn't a clean cut or anything like that. Part of the flesh of his shoulders still clung to the base of the neck, his jaw was jammed askew at an impossible angle and there were cuts on his cheek like from knives. I knew I'd never forget that sight for the rest of my life. The flicker of firelight made the sight worse as much of the detail was left to my imagination.

 

"Anak nang…MENDOZA! Ano ginawa mo kay Murangi hayop ka!" I started to lift my rifle to kill Mendoza.

 

"SER! HUWAG! Hindi si Mendoza may gawa niyan." Sarge quickly stopped my movement by body-hugging me, pinning my rifle to my torso and grabbing both my arms. Mendoza gave me a quick glance of reprimand, the kind one gives a child who asks a foolish question. Seeing I would not be able to murder him, Mendoza resumed his watch.

 

"Ser, easy lang. Nagising ako nang may bumagsak sa dibdib ko na akala ko kung ano. Pagdilat ko ulo ni Murangi. Initsa ko sa pagkabigla, tinamaan si Mendoza sa braso nang madugong parte. Hindi siya ser!"

 

I looked hard at my sergeant to see if he was lying, he wasn't.

 

"Nagising siya, at ginising na kita agad. Nang makita niya ang ulo ay madali siyang tumayo at ginising na niya si Alejandro at si Buscano. Ser, pare-pareho nating di alam ano nangyayari. Easy ka lang ser!"

 

His back turned to me, Mendoza voices a suggestion, "Lieutenant Perez, may sitwasyon tayo na kailangan mong asikasuhin. I suggest you start taking command of it sir. I'm sorry you lost a man, pero kung hindi ka magmamadali baka mawalan ka pa nang isa. Si Poblete nasa damuhan pa."

 

"Sige, naniniwala ako sa iyo. Sori Mendoza, nabigla lang ako." Mendoza looked back, I gave an apologetic look that also said 'sorry Mr. Slayer, forgive the crazy newbie.' He gave me a nod, and resumed his position.

 

"Okay that's it! Sarge, lika dito! Everybody else watch your perimeter! Shoot anything that moves…Caparas get on the horn. Kailangang malaman natin ang nangyari kay Poblete."

 

Hindi maintindihan nang isip ko kung paano nakakasigaw ang isang taong sigurado ko nang patay. Pero hindi ko makakaila na boses ni Murangi ang naririnig ko, pati ang puntong Bisaya niya, kuhang-kuha. Galit na ako. Nagsisimula na akong magbigay nang utos sa Ingles at mag-isip sa Tagalog.

 

"AAAAARRGGGGHHHH!!! SER!!! SER! SARGE! GOMEZ! BUSCANO! TULUNGAN NYO KO! SINASAKTAN NILA AKO!!! AAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!"

 

Speaking of the devil. I looked around trying to find the source of the scream. All the jungle gave me was a dark, wordless stare.

 

"Si Poblete!" Buscano broke rank and started to run toward the jungle. I'm sure he was running in the wrong direction, but with the disorienting darkness I wasn't sure. He was immediately stopped by Gomez.

 

"Bitawan mo ako Gomez! Kailangan ako ni Aris!"

 

"SARGE!"

"Sarge…"

 

My stern order for Sarge Fabian to assist Gomez sounded eerie when mixed with the latter's plea. I immediately took position in the breach that the panicking Buscano left. I pointed my rifle at the foreboding bushes, not knowing what the hell I was even aiming at. Or if I was even going to fire at anything.

 

"Gaddemit! Maintain discipline mga hinayupak kayo!" Sarge was a disciplinarian, and this insanity was getting on his nerves. The two struggled with the young man until they wrestled him away from the perimeter and unto the ground.

 

"Pare huwag! Baka ikaw ang sumunod pag humiwalay ka! Hindi natin alam kung ano may gawa niyan!" Gomez pleaded with the young man.

 

There were no other sounds except that loud screaming voice. The jungle was silent, the scream itself was confusing, like it came from all directions, like I was hearing it from inside my head. There were no cricket sounds, no brushing of leaves against the trees, no frogs croaking, not even the occasional buzzing of mosquitoes. Nothing. It was like… like we were in a graveyard.

 

AAAARRRRGGGHHH!!! TULUNGAN NYO AKO!

 

"Si Poblete! Pare ano ba?! Pakawalan niyo ako! Si Poblete!" Buscano was starting to cry.

 

"Sarge! Patahimikin mo 'yan bago ko mabaril 'yan!" I was beginning to lose it as the whole situation was beginning to sink in.

 

SLAP!!!

 

How could I have heard the voice of a dead man screaming for help?

 

"Ano ba Buscano! Hihinahon ka o patatahimikin kita?!"

 

Why was I hearing all these screams inside my head, and not with my ears?

 

"Si Poblete! Tulungan natin si Poblete!"

 

Was it really possible to tear a human head off like that?

 

SLAP!!!

 

What killed my man and is my other man alive?

 

"Hoy!"

 

Is this voice from the grave also?

 

"Si Poblete! Tulungan natin si Poblete!"

 

BRAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAKATAW!!!

 

I fired my rifle into the air. The sudden muzzle flash and noise broke the commotion. Everyone looked towards my direction. There I was, lit only by firelight, holding my assault rifle, its muzzle pointing up, the smell of gunpowder in my nose. Shell casings at my feet. "Shutdafakap!!! Get your ass off the ground! Pick up your rifle! And get back to your position! Or, so help me God, I will bury you right here beside Murangi's head!"

 

I hate getting mad. I revert to coño language.

 

"TULUNGAN NYO AKO! PARANG AWA NIYO NA! TULUNGAN NIYO AKO! MASAKIT! TUTULUNGAN NIYO AKO O PAPATAYIN KO KAYONG LAHAT!"

 

That brought Buscano back to his senses. "Ye…yessir…sori ser… sarge, Gomez. Okey na ko. Sori ser." They let Buscano go and they all got up to reinforce the perimeter. I got back the middle of the circle. Caparas was desperately trying to reach base on the radio, but I could only hear static in reply to his every call. Its either the base was asleep or we didn't have a signal.

 

"Ser. No reply ang base."

 

"Keep trying Caparas."

 

My men were semi-crouched, surrounding our equipment at six points along the perimeter. Our camp was roughly twenty-five feet in diameter. We were all tense from waiting for whatever it was that was wrecking our sanity. I was beginning to wonder if this was a bad continuation of the wet dream I was having earlier.

 

"AAAAARRGGGGHHHH!!! SER!!! SER! SARGE! GOMEZ! BUSCANO! TULUNGAN NYO KO! AAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!"

 

I willed myself to wake up. No good. I don't think it's a dream.

 

"Caparas pag nakontak mo base sabihin mo may kaengkwentro tayo dito sa bivouac. Bigay mo uli posisyon natin. Sarge Fabian, Mendoza, halikayo dito. Men, guard your perimeters."

 

Sarge Fabian and Mendoza came up to me. Leaving only one man facing each compass point. We crouched into a huddle beside Caparas.

 

"Ano Sarge? Puntahan natin si Poblete?"

 

"Ewan ko lang ser. Duda na ako eh, makatapos ang nangyari kay Murangi, hindi ko na alam. Masama talagang kutob ko, eh."

 

"Ikaw Mendoza? Ano masasabi mo? May alam ka ba sa mga nangyayari?"

 

"Nakarinig na ako nang mga istorya nang mga biglang nawawalang sundalo sa gitna nang bivouac, pero nililista lang na AWOL ang mga iyon; mga deserters, minsan, pero hindi mga patay na nagsasalita."

 

I was torn whether to leave the safety of the circle of rifles for the bush. I couldn't hide the fact that I heard the voice of a dead man scream for help. But I had to try and save this man, he was one of mine. I turned to Mendoza with a nod of invite to join me. He approved and led the way.

 

"Sarge, ikaw na muna bahala. Pag hindi kami bumalik, ano man ang mangyari, huwag na kayong susunod. Paumaga kayo tapos bumalik na kayo sa LZ, pa-extract kayo. Abort ang mission. Huwag na kayong pakabayani."

 

"Yes sir, ingat kayo."

 

I turned away with a nod, "POBLETE?! STEADY KA LANG PAPUNTA NA KAMI DIYAN!"

 

Mendoza and I took a few steps into the bush, our rifles pointing forward. I led the way, stepping over the ground vine and low bushes. I felt the jungle embrace my presence as I moved into her.

 

"HUWAG NA, SER!" It was Poblete's voice. "HUWAG NA KAYONG PUMUNTA DITO SA LISTENING POST!"

 

"HA? BAKIT?!"

 

"Kasi andito na ako sa likod nyo."

 

The hair on the back of my neck crawled. My stomach knotted with fear. I turned around to see Mendoza, Sarge and Libay also turn towards the center of the camp. Everybody turned around at that voice that definitely came from behind all of us. Even Caparas stopped calling on the radio and turned to look at his back.

 

Time seemed to slow down as I turned. My doubt and fear gave way to horror as I saw standing in the middle of the camp what was left of Poblete. His eyes were rolled up in their sockets his hair matted and tousled with a liquid sheen that could only be blood. His mouth was agape and had blood and spittle drooling out of it. The center of his torso was caved in and his shirt was torn in various places. He was covered with so many gashes that blood soaked his camouflage uniform black.

 

I don't know who screamed first, me or Caparas who upon seeing the corpse standing right behind him screamed and scrambled backwards from it.

 

"WALANG BABAREL! MAGKAKATAMAAN TAYO!" It was Mendoza. He was right, my bullets would have torn through Poblete's corpse and hit Gomez or Buscano.

 

"Hold your fire…" My words came out as a hoarse whisper more than an order.

 

KLATSAK!

 

Someone was cocking his rifle. "I SAID HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

 

I heard a whipping sound, like someone pulling bootlaces out of a shoe. In the flickering light, I saw a thin ropelike tendril release Poblete's neck and quickly move up, beyond the light, into the dark treetops. A leafy branch silhouetted against the blue-gray sky moved, as if something that was weighing it down had left it. I looked back down to see Poblete's body lurch forward and thud to the ground. No movement.

 

"Check your perimeter. NOW! Libay, tingnan mo si Poblete. LIBAY!" I looked at our doctor and saw him slowly come back to his senses with a few blinks. He immediately rushed to the body, but as he grabbed Poblete's shoulders to turn him over, his head rolled away from his shoulders and whatever blood was left in the body began to ooze out. Libay gave a shriek and jumped back.

 

I peeled my eyes away to see my men still staring at the corpse. "GOMEZ! BUSCANO! ALEJANDRO! SARGE! ANO BA?! CHECK YOUR PERIMETER. ANO MAN ANG MAY GAWA NIYAN BAKA ISUNOD TAYO! LIBAY GET BACK IN POSITION!" That got them jumping. They turned and formed a tighter circle, moving closer to the fire, as if that would help protect them from the menacing jungle dark. Mendoza and I returned to the center to reinforce any side that would get attacked.

 

A breeze passed over the camp and made our firelight flicker. The sound of a single cricket began the jungle's symphony of noise again, followed by his brethren and the frog-song and a night bird joined in the trilling.

 

TU-KO!

 

Even the mosquitoes seemed to realize it was again safe to buzz at our ears.

 

Dawn brought no comfort. We found Murangi's body mutilated, his torso was torn apart as if by some wild animal. Mendoza and Sarge Fabian searched our teammates' bodies but found no bullet or knife wound on them. They were the only ones who had the guts to look at the bodies in the glaring daylight without throwing up.

 

I've seen death, but not like this. We set out to bury them and continue on our way. We finally contacted the base and informed them of the attack and the deaths. They issued the order for us to push on to the crash site and complete our mission.

 

Day four. We held watch within camp last night. Nothing happened. Whatever killed Murangi and Poblete was not hunting us. I pushed the team out early to get to the chopper before midday. We got to the crash site. There were no bodies. Whole bodies that is. There were burnt human parts everywhere, the bones that lay around were picked clean, some seemed to have been chewed on. I ordered the men to split up into pairs and search the perimeter of the crash site for anything we can use to identify the bodies by.

 

"Ser dito!" It was Libay.

 

He found all the American's dogtags neatly hung on a branch, at the bottom of the small tree were nine skulls, clean of all flesh. The tree trunk bore claw marks.

 

A hoax? A gross joke played on us by the rebels? I don't know anymore. We bagged the skulls and I pocketed the tags. We also got the flight recorder and guidance system of the chopper.

 

We didn't take the same route going back. There was an alternate LZ for extraction. We took that one and got there in record time. There was a silent consensus that we would only stop when it was too dark to push on. No one complained, even if we walked all day and guarded four at a time all night.

 

We got to the LZ in three days. The mission was considered a success, Mendoza explained to me that I should change our report into a more believable one, lest we all get discharged for insanity. I explained this to the team and we made a story up on the last day of our march. Mendoza promised to stick to our story.

 

And what a story it was, more of a lame yarn than anything. Compared to what really happened. My After Action Report read "…was ambushed 024500 hours by unknown assailants on early morning DAY 3 of mission. Short firefight ensued, after which we found the mutilated, decapitated and dismembered bodies of our perimeter guards Pfc. Charles Poblete and   Sgt. Ahmed Jamal Murangi. Assailants suspected to be same group earlier encountered 153300 hours afternoon of DAY 2. Mission delayed due to burial duty. No evidence of injury or casualties to opponents…"

 

Command didn't take it well that we lost two men to such a simple search and recovery mission. But considering it could have been American lives that were lost instead of my men, there was no investigation held. None the less, losing an asset, like Murangi, won't be one of the better parts of my record.

 

The Americans were grateful and gave medals and commendations, some unfortunately posthumous, to the whole team. They appreciated the fact that they will get to bury skulls and use the tags to appease their bureaucracy. They said they'll come back someday to check out the area themselves; when the rebels are gone.

 

Hah! Yeah right. The fools, there are worse things than toy soldiers of a cowardly liar in that jungle. Sarge Fabian asked for reassignment after that mission. He said "Ayoko na ser, sa tinagal ko sa gubat ngayon lang ako nakaranas nang ganoon. Iyon na ata ang hudyat sa akin nang Diyos na 'umuwi ka na bago ikaw ang sumunod." He's now a drill sergeant in Camp Karingal training the next Mendoza, or the next Poblete.

 

I am still here in the jungles of Basilan, Caparas still by my side. So is Alejandro, Libay, Gomez and Buscano. Three new boys are on the way to join our ranks. Mendoza's back with his intel group, no longer a stranger, we trade favors every now and then. It was difficult going back into the jungle, worse trying to get some shut eye when on a night bivouac. But as long as I have my assault rifle beside me, and my fire team around me; I'm cool.

 

 -30-

ON BIRTHDAYS

BIRTHDAYS

 

once again add another one to your age
once again to your history add a page
remember three great wisdoms from the sage
one: be free, life is not a gilded cage
two: make love, let go of anger and rage
three: dress well, pink does not go with beige
 

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