Republic Reborn: Against the Stars and Stripes-Chapter 55: Clever

The month of February in the year 1899 arrived on a Wednesday. And once again, I found myself on the beach, conducting a marksmanship lesson.

Yesterday, after our first lecture, I issued rifles to the cadets. I had considered using some of the Mauser rifles from my escolta for training, but eventually decided to go with the Remington rolling blocks.

While Mausers would perform astronomically better in actual battle, the Remington was the superior training rifle. Its slow reload—while a serious disadvantage in combat—encouraged deliberate aiming on the training grounds, making it ideal for teaching fundamentals. Not to mention, it was simpler for beginners to handle, easier to maintain, and more durable and replaceable.

Yesterday, I taught them the basics of rifle handling—cleaning, maintenance, assembly, and disassembly. Today, they received their first lesson in marksmanship.

They were more excited than I had ever seen them. Roque and Nepomuceno, in particular, wouldn’t stop fawning over their rifles, polishing them to a gleam every other minute. For these young men, it was their first close encounter with a firearm—understandable, given the strict Spanish gun control policies.

When I told them they would be firing live ammunition, their faces lit up and their eyes sparkled.

Gunshots rang out, one after another. The lieutenants and cadets stood in a line facing the shore, firing in succession at tin cans set up as targets.

I sighed as I watched from the side. The results were just as I expected.

Vicente got nearly everything right, landing an almost-hit. That wasn’t surprising; he had been present when I first trained Abad’s men and, although he didn’t directly participate, he must have picked up a thing or two.

Ronaldo had the posture down and didn’t flinch at the shot, but he yanked the trigger and sent his bullet far off target.

The four cadets performed like the absolute beginners they were.

Thankfully, we had the entire afternoon to ourselves. And since I only had six trainees—two of whom already had some experience—I figured I could accomplish a lot in a short time.

Well, I had to accomplish a lot. Next week—the second week of training for the new recruits—they would be issued rifles and taught marksmanship. I needed the cadets ready to assist in instructing all one hundred men.

"What a bunch of frauds," I muttered as I walked along their line, looking each of them in the eye as they stood at attention. "If the Americans knew how absolute garbage your marksmanship was, they’d throw a party and declare the war already won. You won’t hit a thing—even if the enemy is charging right at you."

I stopped in front of the cadet standing at the end of the line. "Roque... what are you again?"

He nervously swallowed, struggling to hold eye contact. "Uhm... I am... I don’t know... what you—"

"How do you not know? I just told you." I pressed a finger to his chest. "You are absolute garbage."

"Now, what are you?" I asked again.

"Ab... absolute garbage, Heneral?" he stammered.

"Was that a question?" I huffed.

"I am absolute garbage, Heneral."

I nodded, then turned to the rest. "He’s absolutely right. And so are the rest of you."

"Now let’s polish some gems out of you, trash."

---

I found a chessboard sitting inside the wardrobe cabinet in my room during the first few weeks after I arrived in this place and time. I knew how to play chess—just well enough to be mediocre. I never cared much for spending time trying to master a board game.

Still, it was an interesting find. It clearly wasn’t mass-produced; each piece was intricately carved, and the board itself was made of thick, quality wood. I spent a few minutes admiring it, then put it away and forgot it existed.

I remembered it again while brainstorming how to proceed with my first evening lesson for the senior officers.

"There is a battle in history that mirrors— in many ways—our coming war with the Americans," I said, arranging the chess pieces along the middle lines of the board. The three senior officers seated at the table looked on, curious and amused.

The conference room was dim now, lit only by lamps. The dimness made the chalkboards harder to see, but the silence ensured every word I spoke carried clearly.

"It’s the Battle of Cannae, between the Carthaginians and the Romans..." I revealed.

"Romans..." Colonel Abad twirled the end of his moustache. "The same Romans who crucified Hesu-Kristo?"

I smiled, suddenly enthusiastic, and raised a finger. "Exactly. Yes—the same Romans who crucified Jesus Christ."

Of course, they knew the Romans. Not only because they were Catholics, but also because of the annual Moriones Festival celebrated on the island during Holy Week. During the festival, men and women dressed as Roman soldiers roam the town, scaring children and entertaining the townsfolk. It was a tradition dedicated to Saint Longinus, the centurion said to have pierced Christ’s side and later converted to Christianity.

"How about the Carthaginians?" Pedro asked.

For a moment, I considered giving a detailed explanation. Then I decided against it—I only knew the barebones of the battle myself. "Let’s just say they were the mortal enemies of the Romans."

"The Romans brought 80,000 men to the battle. Not riffraff—disciplined, heavily armored soldiers." I tapped the board near the black pieces, which I had designated as the Romans. Then I gestured toward the white pieces representing the Carthaginians. "The Carthaginians had only 50,000—mixed troops, many poorly trained."

I paused to allow someone to speak, and Captain Faustino Roque bit.

"I’m guessing we’re the Carthaginians?"

"Yes. Just like the Carthaginians, we are at a disadvantage—facing a superior enemy. The Americans, like the Romans, are better trained and far better equipped," I said seriously—then smiled. "But the thing is... it wasn’t the Romans who won this battle."

"The Carthaginian commander, a man named Hannibal, knew he couldn’t win without being clever. So, he came up with a plan." novelbuddy.cσ๓

I leaned forward and began manipulating the pieces. I pushed a trio of Roman pieces toward the Carthaginians, causing the white pieces to fall back a square.

"When the battle began, Hannibal had his center intentionally collapse."

"The Romans, thinking the Carthaginians were retreating, gave chase..." I narrated, pushing the white pieces back further and funneling more black pieces into the gap they left. Soon, the white line bent into a bow, with the Romans flooding into the center.

"Confident in their victory and proud of their skill, the Romans pressed forward..." I continued, pushing the Roman pieces until some reached the far end of the board.

"Then, just as the Romans were certain of their win... the trap snapped shut." I used both hands to swing the Carthaginian flanks inward, enveloping the Roman pieces. "Hannibal’s flanks closed the rear and surrounded the Roman force."

"Trapped and attacked on all sides, with no means of escape..." I tightened the circle until the Roman pieces had no room left to move. "The Romans were slaughtered."

I stood and approached the chalkboard to write a staggering figure. The sound of the chalk stick in the hollow silence of the room sounded like music.

"Fifty thousand. Fifty thousand Roman soldiers—thought to be invincible—were slaughtered in a single day."

I wouldn’t call myself a master storyteller, but maybe the battle was compelling enough on its own. All three officers had followed me through the entire retelling, and they looked like they were dying to react.

"What does this battle teach us?" I asked. Had I waited a second longer, someone would’ve answered—Colonel Abad looked ready to raise his hand. But it was rhetorical, and I quickly followed up.

"What we are hoping to accomplish has already been done before. Not just at Cannae. Underdog armies have prevailed against impossible odds throughout history," I said. "We cannot defeat the Americans by brute force—but we can outsmart them."

"And that is my goal... to make clever Hannibals out of you."