Republic Reborn: Against the Stars and Stripes-Chapter 108: Nothing More, Nothing Less

Señor Alcantara, the alférez, the tenientes, and the cadets streamed into the small room quietly. Their shadows stretched along the walls, dancing in the flickering light cast by the sole lantern at the center of the table. One panel of the Capiz shell window was slightly opened, letting in the scent of damp soil and the croaking of frogs and chirping of crickets from outside.

The conference room in Gasan’s presidencia municipal was only half the size of the one in the Casa Real, but it was just enough to accommodate eight people comfortably. The wooden chairs scraped against the stone floor, loud in the otherwise silent night, as the officers took their seats.

Newly roused from sleep, some were still scratching their eyes, others stifled yawns. Boots shifted, belts creaked, and the faint smell of sweat and oil from their rifles filled the cramped space. After they settled down, they looked to me, their faces dull from drowsiness, waiting for orders. Some stared blankly, letting their eyes adjust to the light and their minds to the weight of what was coming.

The former Martín had been to Buenavista once or twice—hardly enough to give me a reliable grasp of the town’s layout. But the scouts had done their job well, providing enough information to build a rough picture of the key positions.

"The Tipo River... our landing spot, is about a mile away from the town," I began. My voice came out hoarse, a jarring sound after the long silence. "That’s just near enough for us to reach the town center in under thirty minutes, and just far enough to keep our approach hidden."

They began to pay attention. Chairs stopped creaking. Even the yawning stopped.

"With our primary objective being the Parroquial del Santo Niño Jesús—the church at the center of town. It is likely that the Pulajanes have camped in the convent. If we’re lucky, this might be where we find Papa Hilario—our main target."

The parish church, especially in a remote town like Buenavista, would likely be the most solid structure around—stone walls, limited windows, a defensible position. The Pulajanes, being religious extremists, would have seized it for both spiritual and strategic reasons.

If we were to ensure a faster and less bloody takeover, we needed to strike hard and fast—go straight for the jugular.

"Once the gunshots start ringing out, the town will be roused. Pulajanes reinforcements will come from two directions," I said, raising my hand to gesture in the air as I outlined the plan.

"About a hundred meters east of the church is the presidencia municipal," I continued. "According to our scouts, it also houses a sizeable number of Pulajanes combatants. Cristobal’s platoon under Teniente Trivino will provide suppressing fire from entrenched positions—draw their attention and thin their ranks."

I locked eyes with Vicente. "As I said back in Boac, you will not initiate an assault until you receive orders directly from me. The presidencia is hidden behind a tight cluster of houses—likely filled with more combatants. Close-quarters fighting there would be brutal, and I don’t think a single platoon is enough for that."

I kept my eyes on him until he nodded. Then I did the same with Cristobal Madrigal, who gave a firm nod of his own.

"Reinforcements may also come from the residential area. We don’t know how many of the townsfolk have sided with the cultists or how many are armed and willing to fight us." I turned to Dimalanta. freēnovelkiss.com

"To the southwest of the church is the largest residential zone in the población. By the time we breach the parish, Teniente Dimalanta and Roque’s platoon must already be in position. Once the firing starts, you’ll enter the neighborhood from the rear and clear it. If any civilians take up arms, consider them combatants."

"After securing that area, regroup with us at the church."

Dimalanta, now fully focused, nodded and gave Roque a glance. The younger man shifted in his seat, swallowing hard.

"Once the church is secured, we move on the presidencia municipal together."

The weight of what we were planning sank into the room like a fog. I wanted questions or suggestions—some exchange—but there was none. The orders were clear, and the silence told me they understood.

"Do remind me, Heneral—what’s our role?" Señor Alcantara was the first to break the silence. He was seated at the head of the table, directly to my left. Beside him, Eduardo listened attentively.

Back in Boac, I had designated them as naval support. In theory, they could provide fire from the Garay or the gunboat. But I had since realized that those cannons were almost worthless for precision support—their accuracy was poor and their use limited to large, open-area bombardment.

At least, while we were still inside the town.

They had a different role now, one I hoped we wouldn’t need.

"If God forbid, our mission fails... the beaches will be our fallback point. The Garay should be on standby to extract us. And your 8-pounder cannon must be ready to discourage any pursuers."

---

Thirty minutes later, the rest of the recruits were roused from their sleep. Officers moved through the presidencia and the surrounding huts, gently shaking shoulders and whispering names.

Final checks were made. Rifles were inspected—bolts tested, barrels wiped, and slings adjusted. Ammunition belts were counted, the clinking of cartridges cutting through the quiet.

Some of the literate men sat down under torchlight or lanterns to write final letters to their families. Others simply sat still, clutching rosaries or staring into the flames.

The local priest arrived soon after, his presence arranged the day before. He wasn’t as passionate or eloquent as Padre Trinidad, but he had a calm presence. He didn’t raise his voice or use lofty words—just quoted scripture softly, letting his voice blend into the stillness. That alone steadied nerves better than any speech.

Out in the plaza, the lieutenants and cadets gave their final briefings. Dimalanta and Vicente reviewed formations and fallbacks. Sergeants moved among the men, checking for missing gear, adjusting rifle straps, and making sure no bayonet was left dull or loose.

Roque busied himself checking the condition of the bayonets, rubbing down the blades with oil, tapping them to check for cracks. Then he ran through a short refresher on weapons handling and bayonet training they had in Landi—especially for the ten Bulakeño soldiers who were only taught yesterday.

"Heneral... you called for me?"

I turned to see Sargento Guzman approaching, boots still muddy from crossing the plaza. Because of space constraints, the soldiers had been housed separately—those involved in the assault were quartered in the presidencia and nearby homes, while the garrison troops slept in the chapel.

"I was thinking I’d need you after all—for the assault," I said, my eyes scanning the rows of men still gathered near the plaza. Some were forming into loose ranks. Others were warming their hands near torches.

"What... what do you mean, Heneral?" Guzman asked, clearly caught off guard.

"I mean you did well in Kasily. This is a delicate operation. I’ll need a veteran by my side. You’ll lead the soldiers from the escolta for me."

I looked at him again. He looked stunned. Rightfully so.

"You can refuse, of course," I added.

He shook his head quickly. "No, no... I’m ready, Heneral."

I gave a small smile. "I know you are."

---

For stealth, all lanterns aboard the Garay were extinguished. Eduardo, experienced with nighttime sailing, used the stars to navigate. Even so, I worried we’d miss the mouth of the river. From the ship, we couldn’t even tell where the sea ended and the land began.

That fear slowly eased as night turned to gray. The outline of the island to our left became visible. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the horizon had begun to pale.

After nearly two hours of shivering in the cold wind, Eduardo’s crew pointed toward a dark line in the distance. They unfurled the sails in near silence and began to row. The oars dipped and pulled with soft splashes as we turned toward the shoreline.

Suddenly, a cold fear seized me. It was that familiar dread of the unknown. I didn’t know what waited for us on land—or whether I’d live through it.

But I’d felt this fear before.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, as if trying to blow the fear away.

I turned to the recruits gathered on the deck, rifles gripped tightly in their hands. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, packed tightly on the narrow deck like sardines. Their eyes were on me as I made my way to the bow.

"Calm and steady, boys. Remember your drills. Watch your officers and listen closely. Rules of engagement: shoot anyone who brandishes a weapon, don’t fire on civilians unless they act hostile, and keep track of your targets—don’t shoot your own."

They nodded, some more confidently than others. One or two clutched their rifles tighter.

"It’s alright to be scared," I added. "Just keep it to yourself. The secret to bravery is simple—pretend. Pretend to be brave, act brave, speak brave... nothing more, nothing less."

The wind brushed past us, carrying the scent of the coast. The final silence before the battle had begun.