Rebels of Mindanao (35 page)

The announcer came back on. “We, formerly known as the Moro National Liberation Front, confirm our agreement with the New Peoples Army to provide security in the South as they will in the North. Voters do not need to fear going to the election sites to vote out the imperialists.”

The announcement by Radio Free Mindanao intimidated many who would otherwise have considered voting for candidates supporting the federalist movement and opposed to the NPA. Terrorist groups were integrated into their
barangays
, the small local districts, and everyone knew everyone else and their politics. If the mullahs monitoring the election did not know you or were unsure how you would vote, it would be
best to stay home. The RFM newscast ended with a call to prayer, after which the station reverted to recitation of the Koran in Arabic on a looped tape that continually replayed,
“Bismilahi rahumani rahimi.”

Mahir, Lateef, and the NPA leaders left the hut after the newscast and their personal prayer session ended, rolling up their multi-purpose prayer rugs and tucking them into their combat gear. Lateef walked with Mahir and asked him, “What is the real reason that you are with us?”

Mahir thought for a moment and replied, “For the honor of it. That is why I made the long trip, that is why I started, anyway, but I have to say that Ali's promise of other rewards is what keeps me here now, for these next few weeks. Why do you stay?”

Lateef knew his reasons and explained to Mahir, “There must be justice. We will continue the kidnapping of foreigners and Christians, like that girl we have tied and gagged over there—maybe we can trade her for something—until we have justice.” He jerked his head in Elaiza's direction.

“But,” Mahir was not sure if Lateef had it right, “Islam means peace. When can we end this war and begin the peace?”

“When we have restored central Islamic authority over the world, as in the time of the Prophet Muhammad.” The answer was obvious to Lateef.

“How do we involve the people in an Islamic democracy? Is that possible? We are fighting for their freedom to choose their leaders and governments.” Mahir was still confused by Lateef's logic.

“Democracy and Islam are like oil and water. They do not mix without adding flour. We achieve the faith of oneness because we will provide the flour, we warriors of Jihad.” Lateef understood his role.

“For me, I want to get this over with and then leave here for a while. I have some things to attend to back home, and down south in Digos as well. Ali has made me an offer to work with him in the new country. I will see.” Mahir looked around him at the collection of men and women who composed their army, the Islamic cell of organized terror in Mindanao. He asked Lateef, “What will you do after our victory?” They had reached their tents.

It was easier for Lateef to decide; he had no conflicts of interest. “I have no place else to go.” He reflected, logically, he thought, “I will work
overseas someday, unless I die in jihad and go to paradise, or perhaps move to Davao City and study to become a nurse, and then get a high-paying job in Europe. Or maybe work as a truck driver in Saudi. But sometimes, I think my time may have passed.”

W
ings spread, silently sailing upward on an invisible wind drafting out of the valley, Kabayan soared. The last Philippine eagle, son of renowned parents Pagkakaisa and Pag-asa, was looking for lunch, perhaps a slow-moving tarsiers monkey in the treetops or an even slower rat in the grass farther below. Kabayan observed an unfamiliar object, perhaps a rock from an erupting volcano, pass below him in slow motion as it reached the apex of its trajectory and slowed in its arc, changed pitch and began its acceleration downward toward the alluvial plain slanting away from the highest point in Mindanao, where it exploded upon contact. The object Kabayan watched was the first artillery shot fired in the battle of Mount Apo.

The AFP artillery did not need to call on their forward observers to give them estimated coordinates for the radio station; they knew exactly where it was, already marked on their maps with a bright red X. The fire direction center had the firing directions for the radio station not
only memorized but pre-programmed, waiting for the inevitable order to fire.

“This way, follow me with those bags!” Mahir yelled to the cargo porters. Mahir untied Elaiza from the tree, released the gag in her mouth so she could breathe while running and pulled her with him. He had to get out of Itig with the cash.

Colonel Liu had decided to hit the surprised enemy force in Itig village with “punitive action” as authorized by Galan and ordered a barrage of five volleys from the entire battalion, a total of ninety high explosive rounds to be walked across the target area starting at the edge of Itig and progressing along its main street.

For this important fire mission, the artillery battalion commander called for high explosive munitions with fuses to explode on impact, targeting the sandbagged radio station and its dug-in defenders. After the rounds were in the air, Liu knew he could forget about RFM and that the insulting radio station at Itig and the bastards around it who made him so angry. Now it was time to decimate the enemy. Leaving the artillery to do its bloody work, he retuned to his jeep, where he gave orders to the infantry brigade commanders, “Chase them and keep firing until they surrender, then put any captives into confinement behind barbed wire until we have new orders from Manila.” It would be troublesome for the junior officers and their sergeants to contain and take proper care of any survivors, and the fewer the better anyway.

In Itig, the incoming rounds raked across the road and through the city center, now clogged with men dropping their weapons and struggling around the wounded to get their bicycles. It was as if the gods of the mountain had suddenly lifted the entire town up and then dropped it back to earth in a muddy clump, so suddenly had their world changed.

A quarter of a mile from the target, natives were buying rice and hardware items in a small
sari-sari
store when an errant round penetrated the corrugated steel roof, exploding on contact. Irregular shards of metal shredded five people buying or selling canned and dried goods, and parts of them became mixed indistinguishably with their purchases. It was one small mistake of “friendly fire” that would not be worth reporting by either side.

The Itig radio station exploded, along with huts, and the village was
pulverized. People with all they owned and their animals were torn apart and thrown into the air. A man mounted his bent bicycle and did his best to navigate around bodies strewn in the street and a sobbing woman holding a dead baby.

As the smoke gradually cleared after the last artillery rounds had exploded, the ear-splitting noise was replaced by absolute quiet-not a bird left to chirp. But shortly thereafter the silence suddenly ended and the wailing and screaming started. The shrill cries of the injured were heard above the low moans of a wounded dog, and a new storm commenced as a Philippine infantry brigade, held for the last two hours in attack positions, now moved quickly into the town and toward Ali's shredded hut, the almost-empty command post of a suddenly less proud New Peoples Army.

While the artillery attack was underway, the infantry soldiers maneuvered through the sugar cane fields, up the incline hill as fast as they could move, each soldier carrying assault packs of rifles, ammo attack gear, and their all-important water canteens. As they emerged from the field, the infantry continued the attack, and the troops formed into firing lines parallel to the road from where they could take aim at any suspected NPA. The riflemen fired well-aimed shots, hitting the demoralized NPA members almost at will.

Some women and children accompanying the NPA forces were felled during the crossfire, hit by stray or ricocheting bullets. They shared the tragic fate of the other innocents who had been caught by the artillery shelling.

The retreating NPA were too confused to stop and surrender or simply to drop their guns. Withering fire covered whatever direction they chose to escape.

The radio station in the center of Itig village, around which rebel soldiers and their supporting followers had been assembled, was a scattered stack of splinters and junk-the survivors now being eliminated one shot at a time by the pursuing AFP soldiers.

Colonel Liu had just congratulated the artillery unit commander and his headquarters staff, and Lieutenant Colonel De la Rosa was wrapping up his after-action report, when Thornton and the STAGCOM troopers emerged from the bush on the north side of the road. Dirty
and dripping with old rain and new sweat, Thornton charged straight to Liu's command post as the briefing was breaking up.

“Reggie, you killed her!” Thornton said, not thinking about the bloody cuts on his head and body.

“What the hell happened to you?” Colonel Liu stood up and grabbed Thornton, trying to push him into a chair.

“Your damn artillery, you killed Elaiza.” Thornton almost sobbed out the words.

“What are you talking about?” Liu was shocked.

“We were near Itig, trying to get close to get a look, when your artillery hit us.” Thornton faced Liu directly, “What's the matter, Reggie, you attacked too soon again. You weren't supposed to do that.”

“I think this is what happened.” Liu surmised. “At first, we just probed Itig with an infantry platoon, to see what was there. Then your Major Hayes, who had accompanied our troops, against my advice by the way, got hit and disappeared. So we fired a few rounds of artillery to keep their heads down while we tried to locate him. You know the old leftover artillery ammunition that Uncle Sam gave us is not so accurate anymore after all the years of being stockpiled. And we had no time to calibrate those howitzers. In any case, there will be some stray rounds from every batch of ammo, old or new.”

“Well, your second attack blew up STAGCOM, and killed a wonderful girl, Reggie. We had gotten close.” Thornton sat down. “She was on the point, with me. Blown up by your artillery! I saw it. She just disappeared.”

“Tom, you were not supposed to attack. It's your own fault.” Liu felt sympathy for Thornton, but did not feel guilty. He had to tell him, “There's more. They executed Hayes.” Liu told Thornton about the RFM broadcast of the beheading.

“Those bastards!” Thornton collapsed weakly on a chair and covered his eyes. “Reggie, I have to get them. I gotta get even.”

Colonel Liu put a sympathetic hand on Thornton's shoulder. “We also found the Pajero in Bual, brought it here for you. The young Otaza is dead. Shot in the ear with a pistol, close range.”

While Thornton was trying to absorb all the shocking information he had just learned, Liu's radio operator handed the colonel a message. He
passed it on to Thornton. “You've got a meeting with Hargens in Manila. Right now. Take my helicopter. You can't do anything here.”

Thornton didn't think for a second before answering Liu, “No. I'm going back to Itig.”

“Then good luck to you. I thought you might do that. I had gas put in your vehicle for you. Compliments of the Philippine Army.” Liu pointed to where Thornton's SUV was waiting. “And for God's sake, don't get too close to the NPA when the shooting starts again. Remember the first Rule of Combat: Friendly fire isn't friendly.”

“Thanks, Reggie.” Thornton was already up and running toward the Pajero. On the way he grabbed Starke and turned him around, “No time to rest yet,” and motioned to the Otazas to jump into the Pajero. Wheels spun in the mud as they sped off.

Twenty minutes later Thornton drove into Itig. The village was destroyed, but they heard some sporadic firing at the far end and continued through the village, past burning huts. Thornton parked the Pajero behind a mound of rubble when he saw a group of armed men on the far side of the village.

“That must be an NPA squad. Hank, take the Otazas and circle around, cut them off. I'll attract their attention from the front,” Thornton, angered and seeking revenge on any enemy he could find, ordered his men out of the vehicle.

Thornton fired a few shots from his carbine, mostly to make noise; he was too far away to be accurate, but it worked. The NPA squad faced him and returned his fire as he crawled forward. A burst of fire came at him, and he hit the dirt, rolled and came up behind a clump of thick grass. Now he was closer and took the time to take careful aim. This time he hit one of the enemy directly in the forehead, the man dropped the duffel bag he was carrying as the remainder of the NPA squad tried to retreat, just as Starke and the Otazas hit them on their flank and pursued them into the tree line.

Suddenly Thornton was standing alone where the NPA had been and checked the body of the man he had shot. His face looked like the photos he had seen of Kumander Ali. Thornton picked up the duffel bag, wondering. Could it be? He opened it; it was. He scooped up the bag of cash and tied it down on top of the Pajero among the other bags
of equipment lashed on the roof. Just as he finished, Starke returned from behind a blown-up building, leading the Otazas past a squad of approaching soldiers of the AFP, entering the town to mop up.

The sergeant leading the patrol located another duffel bag, charred and barely recognizable as what it once was, and gave it a kick. The bag fell apart in blackened fibers and charred chunks of burnt paper that once were bound stacks of hundred dollar bills tumbled out. He ignored the bag and continued on, hurrying to rejoin his patrol.

The infantry soldiers of the Philippine Army walked through the village, itching to shoot anything that moved. As they took pot shots at barking dogs and stray chickens, a few burned and blackened bank notes swirled along the street in the wind.

Thornton finally had to admit there was nothing more that could be done in Itig. There was no Elaiza to be found. He drove the Pajero back to Liu's command post, but this time, he had new instructions for Starke. “Hank, take the Pajero. Use it to go back to Davao; there's nothing more for us here. Park it in front of the Lady Love, and leave the keys with Morris if you're not there. But take the long way back, and make a stop here.” Thornton pointed out a gravesite on a map and showed Starke what was in one of the duffle bags lashed to the top of the Pajero.