Republic Reborn: Against the Stars and Stripes-Chapter 105: Pray

All the scouts had returned by Monday morning, and they painted a clear picture for us.

Don Contreras’ report was accurate—Florentino was the mastermind behind the plot. As it turned out, he had been planning this since last month. He had coordinated with the leader of the Pulajanes—a man who fancied himself Papa Hilario, in imitation of the Pope in Rome. It was no surprise. Señor Paras had never been known for his piety, so it made perfect sense that he could stomach forming a pact with heretics. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

The rebellion had ignited in Buenavista, the poorest of Marinduque’s towns. According to the reports, nearly everyone there was either a Pulajan or a sympathizer. Señor Paras and his allies had, in effect, held de facto control of the town for weeks. Unbeknownst to us, the gobernadorcillo and parish priest had long been executed—probably quietly, to avoid drawing attention.

It was only recently that they decided to extend their reach into Torrijos—another neglected and underdeveloped town. Just like in Buenavista, resistance was minimal. The only opposition came from the gobernadorcillo, the town priest, and a handful of principales—most of whom were slaughtered. The rest of the town, either out of fear or conviction, had seemingly joined the cult overnight.

Perhaps they had also tried to bring Gasan into the fold. But there, they had found Isidro already at work—winning over the townspeople in my name. That, I suspected, was the reason for the attack on Gasan.

Still, that part remained only a theory. Strangely enough, none of the scouts had heard a word about Isidro’s abduction. No reports of a prisoner. No signs of a chase. It was as if he had vanished without a trace.

Later that day, I gathered nearly every commissioned officer in Boac. Inside the conference room of the Casa Real, I laid out our next move. The long table was flanked by uniformed men with strained faces. At the far end hung the Spanish-commissioned map of Marinduque. Until now, it had been more decoration than utility. Today, it would become the centerpiece of a war plan.

"We will not be fighting mere pirates," I began, placing my hands on my waist as I scanned the determined faces across the table. "Pirates are glorified bandits—only in it for money, the thrill, and perhaps a story to tell. But the Pulajanes? They are driven by ideology. They believe they are fighting for a divine cause. So we should expect them to fight harder—more desperately."

There were nods. Others stiffened in their seats.

"Not to mention," I continued, "that while pirates carry only bolos and machetes, the rebels now have firearms—some, perhaps many. We don’t know the exact number. But Capitan Sadiwa in Santa Cruz has betrayed us and taken with him one hundred and fifty rifles."

A collective groan rippled through the room like a cold gust. That number was enough to arm an entire company.. Even before the first shot had been fired, we were already playing from behind.

"We will get them back," I said firmly, cutting through the mutters. "But since we are fighting a determined and now armed enemy, we need a strategy."

I turned to the large wall map, my boots echoing against the tile. The map of Marinduque spread before us in faded ink and delicate lines. My finger hovered past Gasan and pointed further south.

"Buenavista will be our first target. According to the scouts, this is their stronghold. If we strike quickly—decapitate the leadership and take control of the town—Torrijos, having only recently fallen, may collapse easily."

I traced a rough path across the island as I continued. "It’s also the more vulnerable of the two. Buenavista has a small population. Fewer houses. Fewer fighters. It’s isolated—surrounded by rough terrain and forest—making it easier to cut off and encircle without fear of outside reinforcements."

I glanced behind me. Most officers were nodding in agreement. Not that the matter was open to debate.

"The scouts reported no armed presence until the outskirts of the town proper." I tapped a thin blue line on the map—a river. "The Tipo River flows close to the town. We’ll send the Garay warship up the river. It should carry our assault force to within striking distance."

"Of course," I added, turning to the rear of the table where the two tenientes and the four young cadets stood straight and silent, "we will be sending our best to carry out this operation. The four platoons trained in Landi will form the core of the attack."

I noticed the cadets trying not to grin. Lorenzo leaned over and whispered something to Teofilo, who stifled a smile.

I moved to the chalkboard beside the map and sketched a rough diagram of the area based on terrain reports. A squiggly line for the river, a square for the town, hills to the north, and forest to the south.

"This," I said, drawing a bold line to the river’s mouth, "will be our landing point. Before sunrise tomorrow, we should already be in this position."

I drew the first arrow—a sweeping curve south of the town. "Teniente Dimalanta will lead Lorenzo’s platoon. You will maneuver wide and attack from the south. You’ll be the anvil."

A second arrow curled along the west side. "Teniente Trivino will lead Cristobal’s platoon. You are to apply pressure to the eastern flank. You are not to assault unless ordered. Your main goal is to draw attention and hold your ground. Do not get overextended."

Then I drew two arrows from the north. "I will lead Roque’s and Nepomuceno’s platoons. We will perform the main assault from the northern road."

"Señor Alcantara and his gunboat," I continued, "along with Eduardo and the Garay warship, will provide naval support from the west."

The cadets’ smiles had long vanished. Vicente and Ronaldo looked at me, their faces grim and pale. Even I felt the tension. A failure here could break us. We could lose our most seasoned recruits in one day. Not to mention, I and the two tenientes would be participating and exposing ourselves in the same risk.

My gaze shifted to the front table, where the senior officers sat. They didn’t look much more composed. They knew the gravity of what we were about to do. All the training, all the political struggle, all the sacrifices- tomorrow we shall find out if they worth it, or if they were for all for naught.

The room had fallen silent.

"And what will the rest of us do, Heneral?" Colonel Abad spoke for the first time.

"Colonel, you will command Boac in my absence. Keep your eyes on the river. If the Pulajanes dares an assault on the town, it would come from there," I said.

"Capitan Mendez," I turned to our visitor from Mogpog, "take your men and reinforce Santa Cruz. They currently lack firepower, and we must ensure the Pulajanes don’t exploit that weakness."

Mogpog was relatively stable and the furthest from the two rebel towns. It could afford to go without a garrison for now.

"As for the rest of you..." I scanned the room, my eyes settled on Pedro and Capitan Roque.

"Take time to pray."