Love Beyond: Walang Hanggang Pagmamahal

by Grant Leishman

  None of his soldiers actually heard Hernando’s order, above the cacophony of noise that roiled around the valley, but as promised, his soldiers, pumped up and thirsting for action were up out of the paddies they had been hiding in and charging toward the Spanish soldiers, most of whom, still left standing, were running around in circles desperately looking for some leadership from their Officers. Unfortunately, for them, most of the Officers, on their horses, had taken the brunt of the explosion head-on and were now just scattered bits and pieces – chaff, spread all over the road and surrounding fields.

  Being on horseback, Hernando reached the milling Spanish soldiers first and commenced to hack, with his sabre, at whoever was unfortunate enough to come into his field of range. Glancing up at the small hills on either side of the cutting, he was deeply grateful to see rebel soldiers pouring down on the still, somewhat befuddled Spanish, from either side. He knew their element of surprise would only last a short time. These Spanish soldiers were not green, rookies. They were battle-hardened combat troops and Hernando knew, even if the bulk of the officers had indeed been wounded or killed, the tough NCO’s would quickly take control of their men and then the battle would truly begin. He knew he had to keep his mind firmly on the task at hand otherwise he was a dead man, but part of his brain was still somewhere at the rear of the column, with his beloved Minda. How was she doing? he wondered. God forbid she was wounded, or worse… killed. That thought alone sent a shudder through his body and he forced himself to concentrate on the clash of steel that was happening all around him. The worst possible thing, for Minda, he wryly thought, would be for me to die because I was thinking about her, rather than protecting myself in this battle. The perverseness of his thought brought a soft chuckle to his lips.

  Swinging around in the saddle, too late, he saw a soldier slice his sword across the two back legs of his horse. Swinging his body off the saddle and slashing downward he managed to separate the man’s head from his torso, but it was too late to save his courageous steed, which was already buckling at the knees from the sliced tendons in the back of his leg. Realising if he didn’t react quickly he could well end up crushed underneath the horse’s immense bulk, Hernando slid his feet from the stirrups and vaulted sideways, grunting deeply as he hit the ground on his side, the air driven from his lungs. He glanced to his side, and saw his beloved horse, bellowing in its death throes. He wanted to draw his pistol and put the horse out of its misery, but he knew that every second he lay there on the ground he was vulnerable to attack. When he tried to push himself to his knees he realised he couldn’t draw a breath. The fall had winded him so badly he was struggling desperately to get some air into his lungs.

  He saw the Spanish soldier raise his sword and prepare to bring it down in a murderous arc aimed directly at his chest and he resignedly realised there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop what was about to happen. Nevertheless, he frantically scrabbled to draw his pistol and shoot the sword-wielding killer, but his brain told him it was too late. Closing his eyes, Hernando waited for the death blow to end his life. His last words on this earth would be to his beloved Minda. “Stay alive, my love. I’ll wait for you in eternity…” he whispered to himself. The pain never arrived, though and he felt a hand grasping his forearm trying to pull him to his feet. A saviour had arrived, he thought. Opening his eyes he was stunned to be looking into the dark brown and twinkling eyes, of Arturo.

  Jumping to his feet, his breath recovered somewhat, he stuttered, “A… A… Art! How? I thought you left for Iloilo?”

  Arturo laughed. “You didn’t really think I was going to leave the winning of the revolution to a Spanish dog like you, did you? No, I owe it to you and Minda to stay and fight by your side.”

  Hernando just stared at his saviour, dumbfounded. “B… b… but, you only have one arm…” he managed.

  Again, Arturo laughed. “One arm is enough to fight these curs.” Clapping Hernando on his shoulder, he added, “time for the whole story later my friend, for now, we have Spaniards to kill.”

  Grinning maniacally Hernando nodded his head furiously. “Right you are, Art.”

  The pair formed a classic defensive circle, back to back with each other and for the next half hour, they fought furiously, chopping, slicing and stabbing at any Spanish soldiers stupid enough to come into their perimeter. Both men, high on adrenaline and the blood-lust, were laughing uproariously as they fought. Anyone who witnessed the strange scene of a Spaniard and a Filipino fighting back to back, screaming and shouting with joy, would have been hard-pressed to explain it. Hernando looked around at similar groups of rebels, fighting for their lives. It was becoming clear that grossly outnumbered, with the element of surprise now evaporated and the Spanish soldiers becoming more regimented under their NCO’s command, the rebels could not continue this fight for much longer. They would surely be overrun and massacred. He knew he needed to give the command for the rebels to disengage as quickly as they were able and to rush back to the fort to bolster their defences, once the Spanish finally arrived at Fort Kakarong de Sili.

  All around him men lay dying or dead. The death moans of the injured were perhaps the most ethereal and disturbing sound Hernando had ever heard. He had no way of knowing how many Spanish they had managed to kill in this attack, or indeed how many of their own men they had lost, but one thing he was sure of was they had blunted the confidence of the mighty Spanish Army and that really was all they could have hoped for with this ambitious ambush. There was no way for Hernando to formally trumpet or announce the rebel’s disengagement, but when he had addressed the men earlier he had stressed that at some point they would need to stop fighting and run from the battlefield.

  Turning his head, he shouted at Arturo. “Art, it’s time to break off and head back to the fort. Are you with me?”

  Arturo paused briefly as he surveyed the raging battle. “That, my friend is easier said than done,” he shouted back.

  Hernando grimaced as he replied, “let’s just start pushing our way toward the road and when we’re ready, we’ll dive into the rice fields and make our escape through there. The Spanish won’t know how to follow us through the fields and I suspect they won’t be terribly keen on doing so, either.”

  Arturo shouted back. “Okay, let’s go.”

  By the time the pair had hacked themselves a way to the edge of the melee, it gave Hernando the opportunity to race up the small hill at the top of the cutting and survey the gruesome and panoramic scene that lay below him. He could still see pockets of rebel soldiers fighting, but he could also see many soldiers scampering through the rice fields, for the safety of the forest and eventually the fort. “It looks like everyone got the point that we eventually needed to make a run for it. Come on Art, let’s join them.” He cast a hopeful glance at the rear of the column in the vain hope of catching a sight of Minda, but clearly, she and her contingent had already either made their escape back to the fort or lay amongst the thousands of dead or wounded. He tried to put that idea out of his head, but the sheer quantity of soldiers, from both sides, he could see sprawled on the road and the nearby fields quickly reminded him of the utter devastation and human tragedy that had taken place there that day. The dusty road had turned to a sea of red mud. The Spanish and Filipino blood finally mingling, peacefully, into the soil, both deemed to belong to them. The irony of that was not lost on Hernando and he shed a tear that it had taken such brutality to finally bring the two peoples together. Why did it have to be this way? he pondered.

  It was only when he felt Arturo pulling frantically on his sleeve that he noticed several Spanish soldiers had spotted them on top of the hill and were rapidly coming for them, swords swinging and throats lustily roaring. “Oops, time we weren’t here,” he fired at Arturo. Together they plummeted down the back side of the hill and into the cloying mud of the nearest rice field. Pulling themselves up onto the solid border, they hot-footed it towards the welcoming sanctuary of the trees.

  By th
e time the pair reached Fort Kakarong de Sili, they were just two of the many hundreds of Filipino soldiers who dragged their bleeding, cut bodies to the welcoming maw of the open gate. All of them were buoyed by the cheers of those left behind at the fort who urged them on to make the entrance, before it was closed in their faces and provided covering fire on any Spanish soldiers who had the temerity to emerge from the treeline, in pursuit.

  As he and Arturo finally made it inside the gate, each with an arm around the other, supporting their comrade, the first sight Hernando saw was the grinning, bloody face of his beautiful wife, Minda. She caught him in her arms as he collapsed, wheezing and weeping with the effort and emotion.

  ***

  THE SEIGE:

  When Hernando finally regained his senses he gazed lovingly at his wife’s face. When he saw the amount of blood on her face, he immediately panicked. “Darling, you’re hurt?”

  She grinned at him. “Nope – not my blood,” she scoffed. “I’ve just been tending to some of the wounded as they’ve limped back into camp.” She looked at Hernando’s own bloodied and weary face, “but you my love, you’re covered in cuts and bruises.” Grabbing him by the arm she entreated, “come with me, darling. I’ll clean you up in the medical tent.” It was at that point she noticed Arturo standing beside her husband, his face betraying the bemusement, even he was feeling, at being back where he was to be sentenced to death.

  Her face dropped and she gave a sharp gasp. “Artie, for God’s sake, what the hell are you doing here? You should be halfway to Iloilo by now.” As the realisation hit her, she swung her head around from side to side. “My God Art, if the General sees you, you’ll be up in front of the firing squad before you can say ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph’,” she shrieked.

  Arturo bowed his head in embarrassment. “Hey, what can I say? I couldn’t leave you two to face the Spaniards all on your own, now could I? We’re family… sort of,” he mumbled.

  That caused Minda to giggle and she grabbed both of them by the crook of their elbows and began to drag them to the temporary, field hospital they had set up in a nearby park. “Well,” she chortled delightfully, “I guess I’ll just have to bandage up your whole face, except for your eyes, so even your own beloved mother wouldn’t recognise you, now won’t I?”

  Once Hernando’s minor wounds had been tended to, Minda set about totally disguising Arturo with bandages and gauze. She gazed at his left shoulder, where his arm had once been. “Hmmm, that’s a bit of a giveaway too, my friend. I mean, how many one-armed soldiers do we have in our little army, eh?” The light of an idea flashed in her eyes and she smiled as she grabbed one of the bloody cleaning rags lying all over the hospital tent. Using the rag, she wiped as much blood as she could over Arturo’s arm stump. Finally, satisfied with the result, she sat back to survey her handiwork. “Just think Art, you will be an absolute hero now. You’ll be known as that wounded man who kept on fighting despite having already lost his arm in battle. They’ll talk about your exploits for generations to come, around the campfires. The ‘one-armed Katipunero’ will become legend.” Her tinkling laugh seemed forlornly out of place in that tent of misery, where wounded soldiers lay dying and moaning, but somehow it seemed appropriate for this trio.

  “I hate to interrupt this little laugh-fest my love, but the General is striding this way. I suggest you get Arturo well buried under those blankets and moaning just a little. He’s supposed to be mortally wounded after all.”

  General Roque bustled up to Hernando and Minda as they sat at the edge of Arturo’s temporary hospital bed. “Colonel,” he began. “I’m thrilled you made it back.” He took in the wounded men lying all around the tent and he couldn’t help but to wipe a brief tear from the corner of his eye, with the finger of the leather gloves he was holding. “It looks like we paid a heavy price for slowing down the Spanish advance, though. Was it worth it?”

  Hernando sighed before replying. “Sir, you don’t know the half of it. We ambushed the column as planned, but there were just so many of them. We never really stood a chance.” His head dropped down and he placed his hands over his face before continuing. “A lot of very brave Katipunero’s gave their lives today, for our freedom. I have no idea how many died out there at the ambush site, but what I can tell you Sir is that our men fought like men possessed. They were fighting for an ideal, whereas the Spanish… well, they were fighting for… actually, I’m not sure what they were fighting for, but it was a lot less than our men…” Hernando began to softly weep into his hands.

  The General placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard son, but what you and your men accomplished today gives us a fighting chance of holding this Fort against the remaining forces.” He lifted Hernando’s sunken chin and looked at his eyes with compassion and a fatherly understanding. “How long before they get here do you think, Colonel?”

  “They’re right behind us, Sir. We better get ready to defend ourselves.” He pushed himself onto his feet, swaying slightly from side to side. “No time to waste General, I’d better get the men organised for the defence of the fort.”

  “Slow down, son. You’ve still got some time. Lieutenant del Pilar has done an absolutely splendid job of preparing the fort for the Spanish arrival. I’m most impressed with that young man. We’ll make a soldier out of him yet.” He clapped his arms around Hernando and hugged him. “No, you two take a few minutes to recover and when you’re ready, go and join the archers and riflemen on the outer perimeter, above the gate. You trained them Colonel and you are the best man to lead them.” He turned and smiled at Minda. “And you, young lady, you just make sure this husband of yours takes a proper rest. We need him fit and strong when the Spanish arrive.”

  Minda nodded and then, to everyone’s surprise, leant over and kissed the General on his cheek. “Yes Sir,” she added, saluting him crisply.

  The Generals fingers went up to touch his cheek and his face turned a bright shade of pink. “Hmmm, first time I’ve ever been kissed by a Lieutenant of mine.” He laughed. “Have to say… I quite like it, actually.”

  Just then, Arturo, for reasons only known to him decided to let out a realistic and unnecessarily loud moan. Hernando glanced at Minda and rolled his eyes in horror.

  The General glanced at the pathetic bundle of bandages and cloth lying on the camp stretcher. His face fell as he looked at Arturo’s face, just the brown eyes peeking out between the bandages. “Poor, poor man,” he muttered to Hernando and then turning his full smile on Arturo, he spoke softly. “You, soldier is what this is all about. You’ve given everything in the battle for freedom. I and your country are so proud of you.” The General snapped to attention and fired off a salute at Arturo’s prostrate form. “God Bless You Private,” he added, before turning on his heel and marching purposefully toward the Admin building.

  Arturo sat up spluttering, desperately trying not to laugh. Minda, having no care at all for Artie’s, albeit, superficial injuries, slapped him hard across the side of his head. “You idiot!” she remonstrated jokingly. “Are you trying to get us all executed, or something?” Hernando and Arturo’s response was just to laugh even louder.

  ***

  Hernando, Minda, and Arturo, still swathed in bandages and looking like a refugee from an Egyptian burial ceremony, stood on the ramparts that overlooked the gate. They gazed intently at the forest, around a hundred metres away from where they knew the Spanish forces would eventually emerge. There had been a few soldiers who had emerged from the jungle, almost as if they were testing the waters, so to speak. Hernando's archers had quickly cut them down where they stood. He knew the soldiers were now just massing, readying themselves for the final push at the Fort’s gates. Although he knew they could cut down a fair quantity of the enemy before they made it to the entranceway, he also knew the sheer volume of numbers that would come rushing out of the trees was always, eventually, going to overwhelm them. He was nervous and yet there was no fear.

  Looking to eith
er side of himself, he acknowledged that if he was going to die this afternoon, he would die with the two people who meant the most to him; his beloved wife and surprisingly, the man who had tried to kill him. Smiling wryly at that thought he turned to Arturo, just as a series of bugle blasts rent the air. Quickly, he refocused on his men standing on the platform with him. “Here they come men. Pick your targets and make sure your shots count. May God protect us! Mabuhay ang Rebolusyon (Long Live the Revolution),” he shouted. His men responded with rousing cheers.

  As soon as the first line of Spanish soldiers emerged from the trees, in a straight column, at least fifty men wide, the revolutionaries began to pick them off with their crossbows, bows, and rifles. As accurate as Hernando had trained them there was simply no way they could hold the volume of soldiers pouring towards the walls. A massive explosion ripped into the wall halfway down from where the trio stood, knocking them off their feet. Staggering back up, he looked to ensure Minda and Arturo were okay and was relieved to see both of them climbing back up. Shaking his head to try and eliminate the resounding bells that he was hearing and was sure they were also, he knew they would have to abandon the gantry soon, especially now he realised the Spanish had cannon. They may only be small, portable cannons, he thought, but hell, the walls of the fort couldn’t sustain that sort of punishment for long, before they collapsed.