Republic Reborn: Against the Stars and Stripes-Chapter 49: March

Their newly issued jackets and trousers, as well as the straw hats, had immediately found their use. After the lunch break, the recruits were ordered back to line up in the plaza under the sweltering heat of the midday sun. Now, the formation was no longer one large block of men. They had formed into four columns, each consisting of 25 to 26 men, with the NCOs of my escolta standing at the head of each as platoon leaders.

Meanwhile, in the relative comfort of the shadow cast by the Casa Real, I had the officer cadets, as well as Vicente and Dimalanta, form their own much smaller column. I also had them take the oath and issued them uniforms—with only a white sash to differentiate them from the other recruits.

"I thought you said we’d be trained separately?" Lorenzo Madrigal finally spoke up, after they had been standing for about thirty minutes.

"Firstly, from now on, you will ask for permission before speaking," I said, gesturing for my horse to be brought to me. "Secondly, yes, you are going to be trained separately—but you are still going to train."

"Permission to speak, Heneral!" Dimalanta, ever the exemplary officer, quickly set an example of how things were to be done. I had appointed him as platoon leader for the officer cadets.

"What is it, Teniente?" I grunted, stepping into the saddle.

"What exactly are we going to do next?" he asked.

Vicente beside him seemed to share the same question. Only Pedro and Maximo, as senior officers, knew what I had in store for the recruits. The inclusion of the cadets in the activity was, in fact, a last-minute decision on my part.

"You’re about to find out." I took the reins and nudged the horse forward.

Soon enough, I was riding in front of the recruits again. The young men looked at me with bright eyes, and I wondered how much it would take to douse the flames in them. I was about to give them their first trial.

"You look good in your uniforms. Those came out of my own purse, and they cost me a fortune," I told them, earning a few chuckles. "Now... you will show me if you truly deserve to wear the uniform of a soldier. You will undergo a rite of passage—to mark the beginning of your journey toward soldierhood."

The audience fell quiet, anticipation thick in the air.

"You will march to Mogpog and return before sundown."

As soon as I said it, the soldiers glanced at one another, a low murmur rising from their ranks. It was an expected and understandable reaction. The distance to Mogpog via the coastal path was four kilometers—eight in total. In the sweltering heat and wearing new boots, the march would surely lead to exhaustion and blisters.

"Look." I pointed at the officer cadets, who suddenly tensed. "These are your future officers—brought up with silver spoons in their mouths—yet they are willing to lead the march. Most of you are farmers, fishermen, and laborers. You should fare better... or will you?"

I cast a grin toward the bewildered cadets. They would need more than just birthright to earn their stripes. I was playing with fire, of course. One of them could easily whine to his father, and I’d have someone banging on the doors of the Casa Real.

"I will lead the march in front—on horseback, of course. The officer cadets, led by Teniente Dimalanta, will follow closely behind. Then the 1st Platoon under Sargento Guzman. Sargento Tolentino and the 2nd Platoon will follow. Then Cabo Garcia and the 3rd Platoon. Finally, at the rear, the 4th Platoon under Cabo Ramos."

"The spacing between soldiers—from side to side and front to back—will be one pace. The distance between platoons will be ten paces."

I saw their hesitation, but they had no choice but to fall in line as I exited the plaza. My personal retinue, consisting of five armed guards—one of whom carried the Philippine flag—followed closely behind, right before the officer cadets.

The streets of Boac soon kicked up dust, the steady rhythm of marching boots echoing off the walls. All heads turned to look at the long column of uniformed recruits. I knew how impressive the sight was. Before we even left town, a few "Mabuhay!" cheers rang out from the excited onlookers.

This, too, was by design. Soldiers needed to become a common sight in Boac. I was setting the tone—preparing the town for what was to come.

Thirty minutes in, we were well beyond civilization. The sea stretched to our left, a scenic view lost on the recruits who were beginning to show signs of fatigue. The sky mirrored the sea’s blue, but no relief would come from the heat until the sun began to dip.

Dry. The word captured the march in more ways than one. There was no moisture in the air. No breeze to even stir the drooping flag. No music but the shuffle of boots. The excitement had all but vanished—this was a far cry from the earlier energy during my speech.

And it was in moments like these that resolve was truly tested.

Soon, I found myself turning around and riding along the slowly unraveling column.

"Cabo Ramos! Your platoon is dragging!"

"Cabo Garcia! Your formation is too loose!"

"Sargento Tolentino... you’ve left one of your recruits behind!"

"Sargento Guzman, slow down—you’re outpacing the officer cadets!"

If the recruits were struggling, the cadets had it worse. Dimalanta and Vicente were doing their best to push them along. Some cadets whined openly, even calling out my name in desperation.

I would’ve laughed if it weren’t so pathetic.

"Nestor Nieva!" I smacked the lad on the back with my hat. He had stopped completely, seemingly deciding he’d had enough. He ignored Dimalanta’s orders, causing the entire column to halt.

"If you don’t move, I will have you tied to a horse and dragged all the way to Mogpog!"

The young man, no older than eighteen, was spooked enough to force his legs forward and rejoin the march. But it was clear—most of them wouldn’t make it to the outskirts of the next town without dropping.

I knew this. Expecting raw recruits—with no conditioning and barely any hydration—to march four kilometers nonstop was pushing it. Any longer, and we’d have injuries and broken morale.

I let them push a little farther until the nipa huts came into view. Several uniformed men stood waiting by the road—one of them was Capitan Pedro Madrigal.

Barrio Buliasnin, sitting midway between the towns, was where my brother-in-law lived.

It was also the true destination of the march.