Chapter 70: Hasta la Vista

    "It’s the bell of the chapel," the helmsman—who I now know as Eduardo—paused as he led our long file through the very narrow trail that he said would lead us the fastest to the village.

    What he was describing was the rhythmic metallic ringing that rode the air, making its way to us through the coconut trees.

    I did not say anything, but silently, I took heart. It meant that they had already spotted the pirates coming, and maybe, just like in Baliis, the villagers had scampered out of the barrio before the pirates could get their hands on them.

    We continued onward, rushing but hampered by the footpath that only allowed a one-man file. Until we noticed that the mud underneath our boots was now sand, and that the dense, layered vegetation transitioned to a much looser and lower undergrowth.

    At the same time we heard the distant screams, we saw the plume of smoke rise up into the sky. I had failed to notice that the church bell had stopped its clanging. Horrified, we abandoned our one-man file, letting the soldiers navigate through the low plants to make our movement much faster.

    Soon we saw the end of the treeline and the glimpses of the chaos that awaited. My heart jumped at the sight of my first pirate, and instinctively I raised a hand to signal a halt.

    It was the 19th century, and still the man managed to look like someone from the past. He wore no shirt at all, and the bronzed and muscled body featured tribal tattoos. His headgear was a colorful turban, and he had brightly colored trousers on—ones you would expect to see in the Middle East, not in Christian Philippines.

    His right hand carried a naked kris sword, while the other supported a large sack on his shoulder. He walked away, out of sight.

    I then signaled for a slow approach, and we crept up nearer for a better look.

    I gritted my teeth at the harrowing sight. Of all the possible scenarios, the worst of them unfolded before us.

    The attack must have started only minutes before we arrived, and the barrio had been taken completely by surprise. Huts were ransacked one by one, and out of them, young women were dragged by their hair and young children carried like small pigs. A warehouse had been found, and the pirates giddily and immediately started emptying its contents.

    Houses that had been completely pillaged were put to the torch.

    The pirates operated like veterans. The raid had a method. They moved fast and efficiently. There was no wasted effort. Like many outlaws, they relied on hit-and-run tactics, and I knew I did not have much time to be sitting idly.

    I gestured for Sargento Guzman to approach. He kept his head low while he moved toward me with light feet.

    "Sargento... you will stand your ground in this position. Have the recruits form two lines along the cover of the trees, and have them alternately fire... just like the old-fashioned way," I whispered closely to his ear so as not to be drowned out by the sound of screams and angry shouts.

    I immediately realized we did not have the luxury of time, or of well-trained men, to be doing anything sophisticated. And since we were fighting melee pirates, we could afford to do it simple.

    "The escolta will be with me, and we will flank around," I said to him. "And you will only open fire once you have heard a gunshot from us. Am I understood?"

    "Opo, Heneral," the sergeant eagerly nodded.

    He was about to leave my side to be about his business when I held onto him. I just remembered I did not have a gun myself when I was about to lead an assault.

    "Do you have a sidearm, Sargento?" I asked the Sargento Primero.

    He looked at me, confused, and shook his head.

    "Then I suggest you stay behind the lines and focus on shouting orders. I will be borrowing your Mauser rifle."

    ---

    Eduardo had never been to Kasily, I would later find out. But he had the instincts to sniff out paths used by workers tending the coconuts.

    In no time, he had found a way around the village. Earlier we approached from the south. Our new entryway would have us enter from the southwest.

    We emerged into the backyard of a bahay-na-bato house and were greeted by loudly clucking chickens.

    It likely belonged to one of the wealthy families Eduardo claimed resided in Kasily. Unlike Boac, Sta. Cruz—being an agricultural town—had much of its principalia families scattered loosely around its territories, residing near their estates.

    I had the soldiers slowly approach the house. Noise was all around, but we could clearly hear some of it coming from inside. There were thuds, the sound of shattering glass, angry manly grunts, and a struggling female’s squeals.

    The windows showed us nothing.

    The back door suddenly swung open. Instinctively, I raised my rifle and aimed at whatever would come out from the doorway. The soldiers quickly followed suit.

    I lowered my rifle at what I saw next. A young woman sprung out with her dress torn from her left shoulder, showing a breast.

    Her eyes immediately found us, and she did not mind her nakedness as she ran in our direction.

    She raised her hands—from horrified to relieved, to horrified again—as I raised my rifle once more.

    "Mga sundalo! Dagan!" the pirate who had come out the door after her managed to scream and turn his back, right before I hit him at the nape of his neck.

    He held his bleeding throat as he collapsed on the stone low steps.

    Before the echo of my gunshot faded, we heard the first Remington volley erupt in the air.

    For a brief moment—perhaps for only half a second—the whole barrio went silent, right before the chaos doubled.

    "?Fuego a voluntad!" I shouted in Spanish, telling the soldiers to fire at will.

    The soldiers responded with the best attempt at war screams and rushed past the house, to the streets of the barrio. Soon, I heard the scattered sharp cracks of the Mausers, complementing the coordinated rolling-block fire.

    I felt something at my feet. The young woman, perhaps only a year or two older than my Isabela, hugged my leg, her watery eyes begging,

    "Please, Sen?or... my father... the pirates have him inside the house."

    Immediately, I took off my jacket and knelt down to cover her.

    "Will we go inside, Heneral?" a soldier stayed behind. I recognized his face. He was one of the two soldiers standing guard by the door of the conference room when I met with Boac’s principalia last week.

    "No, soldado. Take care of the girl," I said to him. "I will go alone inside."

    ---

    The storeroom waited behind the back door. It was in disarray. Cabinets were emptied, and all around were spaces left behind by the confiscated sacks and baskets. Some rice grains were spilled on the floor.

    The thick stone walls muffled much of the noise from the outside. And it made it possible to hear the distant conversation from somewhere inside the house, straight ahead.

    I entered the ante-sala, and from compact dirt, the floor was now Narra wood. This was one of the parts of the house that was typically most furnished, being the waiting room for guests. And to no surprise, it was now bare—even the chairs were not spared. If the mahogany table weren’t so heavy, the pirates might have snatched it away as well.

    A shattered vase lay on the floor, and a clumsy pirate would have likely been terribly scolded for it. At a corner of the room was the altar table draped with lace, featuring a smashed figure of the Virgin Mary. The Moro, after all, were mostly Muslims and were not too fond of what they called idols.

    Nearer now, I was certain the voices came from the front sala. The door leading to it was slightly ajar, and I approached cautiously.

    I drew a heavy breath and steeled my resolve as I took a few more steps forward to aim the rifle at the slight opening.

    The first thing I saw was a pirate worriedly looking out the window. He was talking to someone out of my sight, in a language that featured too few familiar words to be understood.

    "Andito na mga kawal! Ubos na kayong lahat!" out of nowhere, a man shouted, then laughed boisterously.

    The laughter turned into a pained grunt as the man was hit hard out of my view. I was reminded of why I was there. The only Tagalog-speaking man in the room must be the girl’s father.

    I did not know how many were waiting for me, and it should not matter. A repeater rifle is a good equalizer.

    The gunshot rang loud and deafening in the confines of the thick walls. The pirate by the window got hit in the back near his left shoulder blade and immediately fell, slumping against the wall lifelessly.

    I kicked the door and it widely swung open. I stormed in and immediately aimed at my second target. There were two more people there, one of whom was the captive.

    The other was another pirate who quickly lunged at me. I fired a shot in haste, and it grazed the pirate’s arm—not enough to stop him.

    I hastily stepped backward, until I stepped back out to the ante-sala. But the pirate had a long stride and a long sword and immediately outpaced me.

    I would be halved in two before I could reload.

    Then—a thud.

    The pirate’s overhead swing was parried by the top of the doorway.

    He grunted as he tried to dislodge the blade but could not, at least not immediately.

    My heart still beating loudly, I grinned.

    I pulled the bolt handle back and heard the rifle click. I took a good look at the man who was soon to be dead. He was no ordinary pirate. He had golden earrings, an elegant elongated turban, and an embroidered jacket.

    How unfortunate that he would die the same way as the rest of the riffraff.

    Oddly, the scene brought me back to that 1991 film.

    "Hasta la vista, baby." I pulled the trigger.