I woke up with a dull ache in my arm. The culprit was Isabela, who at some point in the night had turned over and placed her head on my arm, her hand and foot draped over my body as if I were a long pillow.
She was still deeply asleep—and no wonder. I had forgotten to close the window, and it already showed the distinguishable dimness of dawn. Despite having slept late last night, my body still remembered to wake up at the same time the roosters started crowing.
I gently removed her hand and foot. As I always did every morning, I walked to the window for a whiff of the fresh morning air, and to rest my newly woken eyes on the beauty of the paradise I had found myself in.
But I was forgetting something. It slowly came back to me when I heard a faint murmur as I neared the window. This was not the time to hear such a sound—if there were noises, it would normally be the creaking of wheels or the faint voices of those who had woken early to fetch water.
The sight in front of the Casa Real woke me like a rude splash of cold water. A large formation of young men in their white camesitas stood at attention in the plaza, facing the building. As Maximo had promised, I counted around a hundred recruits, with a few latecomers still trickling in.
Naturally, the townsfolk had begun to take notice of the bizarre sight. Curious onlookers were already gathering around the plaza. As I had instructed, soldiers from my escolta patrolled around the recruits, keeping civilians at bay and ensuring they held their formation.
Any lingering sleepiness was flushed out of my system. I hurriedly got dressed, fetched my draft from the table, and walked out the door with a sudden rush of energy.
I halted in my tracks as I reached the sala and saw who was in it. I expected Colonel Abad, Capitan Madrigal, and the two lieutenants—but there were five more guests having breakfast at the table.
"Good morning, Heneral," Colonel Abad noticed me first, as he always did. At once, all heads turned in my direction.
"It’ll be a busy day today... gentlemen." I took the seat at the head of the table, directly opposite Colonel Abad, who sat at the other end. On my left and right were Dimalanta and Triviño.
The rest of the guests weren’t strangers upon closer inspection. They were familiar faces—if not acquaintances. The six young men brought by Colonel Abad were sons of prominent families in Boac and Mogpog. A couple of them had already served as junior officers in the revolutionary militia last year.
"Heneral... I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and selected officer cadets," Colonel Abad said next, just as I’d predicted.
"No, not at all. You’ve chosen well, Colonel," I replied, offering the nervous-looking young men a tight-lipped smile.
Two of them were Madrigals, relatives of Pedro, who had already joined the militia the year before. The others were a Nieva, a Nepomucena, and a Roque—all members of the principalia.
The officer corps of the Filipino army followed an aristocratic hierarchy. An outsider might call the practice backward, but for the time, it was practical. Most commoners were barely literate, and an officer needed to be able to read maps and write reports.
Not to mention, like many other cultures before the 19th century, Filipino commoners often looked up to their rich countrymen as their betters. A principalia officer would likely command more authority than someone of the same status as the men he led.
"I want you to take a look at this, Coronel." I placed the pile of papers on the table, which Dimalanta promptly picked up and passed toward Maximo.
Colonel Abad received it and looked at the top sheet. "And this is?"
"The training regimen I’ve crafted for our recruits. The war will likely begin before we’re ready, but it’s necessary to train our soldiers for at least two months if we don’t want a slaughter."
The Colonel nodded and took another look. His brows furrowed, then a smirk appeared. He flipped to the next page, and the next, his excitement building. Only halfway through the draft did he pause, look at me, and huff.
"Where... how is... how is this so detailed? Did the two lieutenants here from Manila help you out?" he finally asked.
I chuckled, my pride slightly offended. "No. They don’t know a thing. Even Heneral Luna and his Academia Militar couldn’t come up with something this sophisticated."
The sheets were passed to the others at the table, each of them curiously studying a page or two. My wrists still ached from writing the twenty-five-page document—and that was only the bare bones of what I wanted. If I were to write a full codex, I’d need at least fifty pages and a lot more time to think things through.
"You know what... I agree. As far as I know, Luna was educated in Spain. But this... this isn’t Spanish-made," Colonel Abad said, glancing at the remaining pages in his hands.
"How then? Is it all you? But..." He chuckled, shaking his head and stuttering, "You continue to surprise me, Don Martin. Now that I think about it... that marksmanship training the other week... you couldn’t have pulled that off if you weren’t deeply knowledgeable."
I couldn’t fully enjoy the flattery, which was laced with suspicion. But I had expected this much. Maximo was smart and observant. I didn’t know how long I could keep brushing off the questions.
"It’s a long story—and difficult to explain at that. So I’d rather you just trust me, Colonel," I said.
"Of course! I trust you, Heneral. There’s no need for an explanation. I was just in disbelief," Maximo said promptly.
I nodded and smiled. I might eventually need a backstory to justify what I knew. But that was a problem for another time.
"It’s a long document, but I’ll summarize the contents. The first two weeks will focus on foundations: basic military customs, physical training, and basic rifle-handling. The men from my escolta will assist with this."
"The third and fourth weeks will cover marksmanship and maneuvers: target drills, map orientation, and mock patrols. Then the fifth and sixth weeks will focus on squad tactics—this is where we teach the recruits to fight as a team, with ambush drills and mock platoon battles."
"Then come the final two weeks. The goal of this last phase is for recruits to apply everything they’ve learned so far and prepare for real combat scenarios. So, we conduct large-scale maneuvers, war games, and night drills." I finally finished. As expected, many of the terms I used seemed unfamiliar to them. "Any questions?"
To my surprise, one of the officer cadets immediately raised his hand. It was Lorenzo Madrigal.
"Will we train alongside the recruits?"
I smiled. I wondered how their fathers would react if they found out I had their precious little hijos crawling through the mud with the sons of farmers and fishermen.
"No. You’ll train separately—and I’ll personally mentor each one of you."