Fiction: War Zone (Part 4 of 10)

(Published in the January 28, 2012, issue of Philippines Free Press)

“His eyes should be gouged,” Ikang said, looking neither at Badong nor at Gaston.

Gaston swung again, and Badong contracted his belly when the chief’s fist landed on it.

The chief’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck,” he said, “what kind of amulet do you have?” He was on to Badong again with a flurry of punches, releasing all the pent-up emotions he had had since morning. Badong crouched and coughed, but nothing more.

Ikang noticed too that Badong was not as hurt as he should have been. She came to the young man and put her hand under his neck, searching for the tiny bottle inside his shirt. When she took the bottle out, she stared at it surprised. “I didn’t make this. Where is this from?”

Before Badong could answer, Ikang released the bottle with a start. “It’s getting hot!” she said. Her palm was red. “Who made that amulet?”

“Answer the question,” Gaston said. He acted to hit Badong again, but he was cut by a voice outside calling out for him. “Do not disturb me!” he shouted back.

The man outside peeked in. It was Titing. When Ikang screamed earlier, he stood up right away and ran, leaving Badong behind. Gaston caught Badong, and the chief did not seem to be aware that Badong had had someone with him. “It’s important, Kumander Gaston,” Titing said. “I have good news and bad news.”

“What is it?” the chief asked.

“Which do you want me to tell you first,” Titing asked, “the good news or the bad news?”

“What is it!”

“Well,” Titing said, scratching his head. “I guess I have to tell you the good news first. Colonel Bangit and Kumander Higante have arrived.”

Gaston glared impatiently at Titing.

“And the bad news is that they only had a few men with them, not the few hundred that you expect.”

Gaston clenched his jaw. He turned to Badong and said, “Stay here. I’m not yet through with you.”

The chief followed Titing out of the dugout. All the while, Titing acted as though Badong was invisible. 154) As soon as Gaston was out of sight, Ikang confronted Badong. “How were you able to convince Nong Seño to make you an amulet?”

“I . . . I don’t know what you are talking about,” Badong said.

“You’re a bad liar,” Ikang said. She took out her own amulet and held it to Badong’s view. The bottle and the abaca string were exactly the same as that of Badong’s. “You can’t deny that it’s the same hands that created our amulets,” she said. “The contents, of course, are slightly different. Yours have black roots, mine has brown. But our bottles both contain a red pebble and a tiny piece of paper folded thirteen times. Nong Seño told me all the amulets he makes contain those two items.”

Ikang let go of her amulet, letting it rest on her bosom, well aware that Badong’s eyes were following it.

“Badong,” Ikang said. “You’re Badong, right? You must be something. I thought I was the youngest recipient of Nong Seño’s amulet. Well, I’m not exactly young. I’m in my late twenties. But compared to the other babaylans, I’m not as experienced. For instance, Higante, that evil beast, is already forty. It’s really a surprise to meet you.”

Badong watched Ikang in silence, both wary and mesmerized.

Ikang stared at the unconscious boy. “Now I know,” she said, “it’s not just a coincidence that you found this boy. And now I understand why you doubted if I can heal him.” She came near Badong and said, “Show me what you can do.”

“You’re mistaken,” Badong said. “I can’t heal him.”

“He might die if you won’t help him,” Ikang said. “Do you want that to happen?”

Badong breathed deeply. After a while he said, “The bullet, I’ll take it out first.”

Ikang smiled. “Do you need a stick? A knife?”

“No,” Badong said. “Please get me some coconut husk.”

* * *

“We cannot go tonight, Gaston,” Kumander Higante said. His stentorian voice matched his built. At about six feet, Higante towered the other warriors.

“Why not, Higante?” Kumander Gaston said. “I’ll skin those bastards alive!”

“They’ll be ready and waiting for us,” Higante said. “We must wait for some time, until they let their guards down.”

“What difference would it make? Their bullets, their kris, we’re impervious to them.”

“But they’ll put up a fight. Why waste our men’s strength now if we can easily crush them later?”

“Just say it if you don’t want to join us.”

“Gentlemen,” Colonel Bangit interrupted, “the last thing we need is for you to fight each other. Don’t lose sight of who the true enemy is.”

“Colonel,” Kumander Gaston said, “you said we have the support of the President. Why do you refuse to help us now?”

“Gaston,” Bangit said, “it’s true that the President deems your group valuable in fighting the separatist rebels. Protocol, however, forbids the military from having an overt alliance with vigilantes. Rest assured, though, that we will provide you guns and relay to you all vital intelligence.”

Gaston clenched his jaw. “So what information do you have for us now?” he asked.

“We’ve received reports that there are three enemy troops operating in these parts, each led by a datu,” Bangit explained. “Datu Unsay has about fifty members. Datu Kling has ninety, and Datu Watamama, two hundred. As you can see, Gaston, your camp is easily outnumbered by any of them; you only have more or less forty men. If you want to attack, you need reinforcement from Higante, who has seventy men. Now, even if you and Higante combined forces—”

“You forgot the other commanders,” Gaston cut in.

“I’m sure they’re willing to help,” Bangit said. “But I’m afraid we shouldn’t let them in on this. The camps of the other vigilante groups are too far from here, and they have their hands full warding off the Moros in their areas. If the other commanders send their men here, they will put to risk their own territories. I hope you understand that, Gaston.”

Gaston did not say anything, still looking defiant.

“As I was saying, Gaston,” the military man continued, even if you and Higante combined forces, you still cannot just attack any or all of the enemy groups.”

“Why not?” Gaston said. “We will start with the smallest group, then proceed to the next two.”

“No, Gaston. The General does not want vigilantes to directly attack any of the rebel camps. Such operation should be left to the military alone. You are only to fight the Moros in so-called neutral grounds. However, in this case, the General is making a little exception. You may raid a camp, but take note—this is important, Gaston—you may raid only the camp of those who killed your sister. He expects you to agree with that.”

It took a while before Gaston spoke. “I am not happy with this arrangement, Colonel,” he said. “But because I want to avenge my sister at once, I will accept your terms for now. Please inform the General, though, that I want more leeway in the future.”

“It will reach him,” Bangit said. “Right now, however, we have a problem. We have no way of identifying the datu who attacked Kumander Dalia.”

“The boy,” Gaston said, “he’s the key.”

“What boy?” Bangit asked.

“We found a young fighter in Kumander Dalia’s camp,” Gaston said. “He can probably identify who attacked them. But he’s in a critical condition. Our babaylan is attending to him now.”

“Critical you say?” Higante said. “Let me see him.”

The three leaders went out of the hut and proceeded to the dugout, where they found the boy tossing and turning on the sack. Right away Higante crouched beside the boy and touched his forehead.

“Don’t touch him!” Ikang said.

Higante stared back at Ikang. “This boy needs my help,” he said.

“I’m the babaylan here,” Ikang said. “I can take care of him on my own.”

“Ikang,” Gaston cut in, “let Kumander Higante see what he can do.”

(To be continued)