Pedro hosted us for lunch at his pleasant residence in Buliasnin.
The mahogany-covered beach was nostalgic. This was where it had all begun.Just like during our training sessions, the officers and cadets ate on the porch. The recruits dined in the backyard—though this time, Pedro had taken the effort to offer them tables and chairs for the small feast.
From inside, laughter and giggles erupted. Isabela and Alicia were clearly having fun cooking and serving food alongside my sister and nieces.
Served for everyone were roasted whole chickens, large stuffed tuna, barbecued pork strips, and generous servings of rice.
I leaned more comfortably into the wooden chair at the head of the table, staring at the calm sea with a smile. The birds chirped while the salty breeze stirred the trees, rustling their leaves. More and more, it felt foolish to leave behind all this beauty and peace—to endure hell tomorrow.
North Carolina had its own kind of beauty. To be lost among the pines, in the depths of the Appalachian Mountains, with no company but oneself and nature, was an experience close to heaven. And yet I had left it for the rainforests of Vietnam, with their endless mosquitoes, thick and stubborn undergrowth, and hiding Viet Cong guerrillas whose life’s purpose was to sink a bayonet deep into our guts.
I once wondered why men would ever exchange paradise for hell.
Perhaps it is because, deep down, man knows he does not deserve Eden.
Thus, he exiles himself—goes on a journey, hoping to find redemption and return as someone more deserving.
I feel the same now.
Why should I be in the company of angels when I bear horns and a tail—and hands that could set a field of flowers ablaze? If everyone knew of my past, they would chase me out themselves.
"You don’t have to go tomorrow, Heneral," Vicente said from beside me. He was the only one paying me any attention. Pedro, Dimalanta, and the cadets were busy laughing about their experiences in Landi.
I huffed. "And leave you all alone to die?"
"Well... if we do die—which we won’t, because we’re well-trained—we are young and unmarried men," Vicente said, pausing with a heavy sigh before continuing. "But you... you have a daughter. Isabela would be terribly distraught if she lost you."
I raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he was growing fond of my daughter after all."Well, Teniente... you speak as if you don’t have a family of your own. What will I tell your parents in Calumpit? That I sent you to your death while I watched from a distance?"
He didn’t have an answer to that. He gave me a weak smile, then turned his attention to the table, forking a piece of roasted fish from the platter.
We were nearing the end of the meal. Most plates were picked clean. A few of the cadets and the recruits had begun lounging back in their chairs, sipping water or wiping sweat from their brows. I considered finishing the remaining drumstick in front of me but decided against it. Riding back to the Casa Real on horseback with a stomach too full was a recipe for discomfort.
"Have you done what I asked?" I asked Vicente after a short pause.
He straightened, quickly swallowing his mouthful. "Yes. I spoke to the escolta soldiers who were with you during the Kasily attack. They’ll be joining the assault. I’ve also reserved a Mauser rifle for you, as you have requested.
The escolta would form the spearhead of the main assault. While they did not undergo training in Landi, they had battle experience, having charged at the pirates during that fateful day. Their nerves were tested, and their bolt-action rifles could still turn the tide.
"Dimalanta," I called across the table. He was laughing at some crude story Pedro was sharing, but his face sobered instantly. He turned toward me like a man caught mid-theft.
"My instructions—have they been carried out?"
He nodded promptly. "Yes. The crates of ammunition were loaded into the Garay warship this morning. The alferez supervised the loading himself."
"And the bolo blades?" I asked. Nearly half of the new recruits had rifles without bayonets—the shipment from Lim had been piecemeal, rifles looted or stripped of attachments.
Dimalanta scratched his neck. "Señor Grimaldo is still gathering them. He said he’ll have them ready before we depart. His men are checking the smithies and the nearby barrios as we speak."
I nodded. "Good. We’ll need every man armed for melee for tomorrow’s attack"
"What... attack?"
My heart skipped. Isabela had just stepped out, holding a tray of apples, sliced mangoes and bananas. Her face was bright with concern, brows furrowed in alarm.
"Attack? Did I say attack?" I forced a chuckle.
"What’s happening?" she asked, pausing near the table, eyes scanning the faces of the officers.
Vicente jumped in. "He means training, Señorita. Just training exercises. Nothing serious."
"Yes, just a mock attack," Dimalanta added with a grin. "Like the ones we did in Landi. You remember those, right?"
"But Kuya Eduardo said you’re going to... Gasan?" she asked as she stepped forward and gently placed the tray on the table in front of me.
I pressed my lips together. I’d forgotten to tell Eduardo to keep his mouth shut.
Vicente grabbed an apple from the tray and gave her an overly cheerful nod. "Yup. We’ve grown bored of Santa Cruz and Boac, so we’re training in Gasan, this time."
Still, she frowned, arms crossed. The pout on her lips betrayed her worry.
"Papa!" she squealed a moment later when I suddenly pulled her down into my lap. Her apron smelled of charcoal, herbs, and sweat—honest kitchen labor.
"What’s this? Are you worried about me... or your little boyfriend Vicente here?" I teased, wrapping her in a tight bear hug.
"Papa!" she shouted again, this time louder, struggling out of my arms with a laugh and a gasp. She turned away and stormed back into the house, hand covering her face.
The table burst into laughter.
Vicente turned as red as the apple in his hand.