Rebels of Mindanao

by Tom Anthony

  When they saw the rusty vehicle of the Abu Sayaf, Elaiza took over and ordered the driver in his own dialect, “Follow the old jeepney!” The jeepney puffed its way south, with the taxi following at a distance.

  When Mahir, Lateef and their squad pulled into the resort area, it seemed to be their immediate destination. Thornton and Elaiza had the taxi drop them and they left the roadside to enter the brushy foliage. They climbed the wire fence around the resort just in time to see the last two of Mahir’s men disembark from the jeepney and enter a reedthatched cottage on an empty beach on the Gulf of Davao, near the center of the Lake Forest Resort.

  The jeepney had entered the tourist facility unchallenged through a sentry-guarded gate, the private security for the resort. The Abu Sayaf had no need to have their own man on alert, as the resort management did not suspect them of being the terrorists the radio was reporting on. The rental cottages for tourists were directly on the black sand beach; the lagoon behind them was an artificial lake created by diverting the flow of a small stream. The lagoon blocked off the approach of any police or army unit that would come after them, but it also blocked the men’s own escape. They would have to choose a more difficult route around the lake when they resumed their move back toward Digos.

  Although Task Force Davao acted quickly to seal off Davao City proper, Mahir and the Abu Sayaf squad had already arrived back at the seaside resort by the time the order was implemented. Because they had checked in as tourists some days before and had gone out and later returned in the same jeepney, there was no suspicion about their movements. There had never been a question about the truck, as it was apparently part of Kadayawan. Now they would abandon the jeepney, leaving it parked in front of the two cottages they had taken for their accommodations, the bill having been paid a week in advance. The entire team would disappear when the night was darkest, after 2:00 AM, when Lateef knew there would be no moon. The squad spent the early evening trying to rest. Events of the frantic day had strained their physical and emotional limits and had drained their energies, but none were able to sleep immediately after they returned, although resting was exactly what they needed to do. Only Ugly Maria slept, making guttural noises and slobbering saliva onto the floor mat. The others gradually nodded into slumber.

  Thornton had found a patch of garden crops surrounded by vines growing on a wire fence and stomped out a clearing where he and Elaiza could observe the cottages. “You rest for a while, later it will be your turn,” he told her.

  “Right, like I can just go to sleep after all this,” she answered, but curled up with her back pushed against his and closed her eyes.

  Thornton planned to stay hidden there in the fast approaching night, the sun setting quickly this close to the equator. He wanted to take out that tall dark Arab, leave him dead, but mostly he wanted the money without having to get into hand-to-hand combat with several rag-tag Muslims. He knew the U.S. had the capability to do the job with one high explosive bomb and pinpoint accuracy based on Elaiza’s tracking with the TIAM. Then they could walk in and claim the bags of cash. But, after all, it was not just about the money; Thornton knew he had to get Kumander Ali too if he was going to make Charlie Downs happy.

  Shortly after midnight when the world had turned charcoal black, Elaiza took her turn on guard; Thornton could doze off for a while. When she initially heard more than saw the squad of Abu Sayaf leave their beach cottages, she quickly awakened Thornton. “I believe I see the silhouette against the sea of a taller man who could be the Turk.”

  Thornton squinted, “I think you’re right. Let’s go.”

  The Abu Sayaf squad pulled out slowly, not leaving the resort through the gate, but around the lake and parallel to the Davao-Digos highway, then stealthily overland through the brush, where they did not expect to be seen after they entered the thicker growth.

  Six hundred meters down the road and south of the resort, the hit squad paused. When it was quiet on the road with no traffic or pedestrians moving in either direction, they crossed all at once in a line parallel to the road, pulling along the stumbling Lito tied by a leash around his neck, with Ugly Maria tugging at the other end of the short rope.

  Thornton and Elaiza waited as long as they could before crossing the road without losing direction or being seen. They paused almost too long, but the night was dark and their target moved slowly. It was easy to follow them now. The Abu Sayaf moved cautiously, but made some sounds while tramping down brush. Thornton went first, and Elaiza followed him along the new path bent through the high grass, and later through thicker underbrush and then the jungle itself. The torment of the mosquitoes and the flesh-cutting grass blades gave way to volcanic black mud swamps. When the footing turned solid again, it was a shortlived blessing, as the trek up steeper terrain drained valuable moisture from their bodies and they had no drinking water to replace lost fluids. Thornton could continue to follow the group, he supposed, but he would have to keep them in sight in the minimal ambient light.

  On the outskirts of Digos in the province of Davao del Sur, about seven miles from the resort where they had started their trek, Lateef stopped and checked his map. Thornton saw them all kneel or lie down and take up defensive positions, indicating that these soldiers were well trained and disciplined when on patrol. Elaiza took advantage of their halt to turn on her iPod again, with one earplug speaker in use. She tuned in to Moser’s program as the DJ. was nearing the end of his show for the night. She waited for Schloss Code messages, prefaced by something like “For my loyal listener Luv-Luv …” It didn’t matter what name he gave; the key words “My loyal listener” would indicate to Elaiza that the message was for them. The Chopin First Piano Concerto was playing. Then, after the predictable requests for Strauss’s “Blue Danube,” Moser announced, “And for my loyal listener, Magda, in Bislig,” and some mumbled words in German: “Zwoa Kalb Thurgau Kalb.” It was the Schloss Code.

  And later after another similar dedication, “Silvaner Fluss.”

  The two messages literally were the code words for cardinal directions and the words Zwoa for Zwei, meaning “two” and Fluss for “river.”

  Elaiza and Thornton listened, and figured out that Starke and the Otazas were located two miles east northeast on the south side of a river from their present location, which had been tracked and reported to Major Hayes by a text message from the embassy; Hayes had then passed it on to Moser for encoding and transmission.

  “Elaiza, it’s working! The Schloss Code works. Starke and your uncles also took the road south after getting our position. When we need them, they’ll be near.” Thornton was relieved to know that Starke and the five well-armed, definitely motivated, and well-rested Otaza brothers would be ready to move out within minutes after he gave the order.

  Looking at his map, Thornton drew a semi-circle on it with a two-mile radius from the point where the code told him STAGCOM was positioned. He was situated on that curved line, two miles on a back azimuth west-southwest from where it intersected with the point where the river crossed the highway. Thornton now knew that with Elaiza’s help in communication he could direct STAGCOM. He felt reassured. The insurgents had no idea that they were being followed, so Thornton held the strategic advantage. After the message was received, Elaiza moved four paces backward on the line of approach and then forward again, with two side paces notching the line. She was right back where she had started, but her movement was detected by the TIAM, mounted along with the GPS device on the iPod circuit board. By prior agreement with the embassy, her movement signaled, “Your message received and understood,” and “those I am following are dead ahead along this line one hundred meters.” She did not draw a circle to signify a fire mission; Thornton wanted to take out Mahir himself, with STAGCOM. No international mess, no questions.

  Thornton had covered himself with a small canvas tarp he had folded into his back pocket, to keep the light of his small flashlight contained while he did map reconnaissance, and it had made him sweat even mo
re than when he had been moving through the stagnant night air. He now folded it back up. Mosquitoes smelled his warm blood and took out their frustration on the netting hanging loosely from his safari hat.

  Beside him, Elaiza was sweating. The scent of Innocent Angel was gone, and she had changed into the fatigue outfit she kept in her butt pack. She had covered her face with a scarf to protect herself from the thirsty insects. There was some movement of the air, but it was not a cooling breeze; it was hot, wet wind. They were thankful when Mahir began to move again, continuing south, and they followed.

  When the last star began to fade, the Abu Sayaf halted. They would need to find a place to spend the day, to “lie dog,” the tactic of waiting quietly and in concealment until after dark, before continuing. The general area had been reconnoitered on their way north through it a few days before, the local inhabitants were few, and even fewer lived inland away from the road.

  “Our patrol needs to find a place to survive the heat; the day that is coming soon will be hot,” Mahir told Lateef, wanting to know his tactical plan. “Maybe this high grass is not enough shelter.”

  “And we will need fresh water if we are to continue, fresh, running water which should be easy to find in this region; water runs away in all directions from the summit of the big mountain. But we do not want to be walking back and forth in the open carrying water.” Lateef understood their situation and led them to the luxury of a grassy mound under a broad-leafed tree floating like an island on a sea of savanna grass with a small stream running through. It would do, and it was just in time as they could discern recognizable forms beginning to take shape in the blackness of the dying night.

  Thornton saw the spot they chose, and made a similar plan for the coming day, opting to stay near the tree line from where he could observe them, a scant distance of less than a hundred yards separating them, elevated in a copse of broad-leafed scrub brush raised a few feet above the grassy plain.

  Elaiza, breathing hard, had some good news. “Look what’s here. These are “paco”—salad ferns. We can strip fronds off the young and tender plants and eat them for the moisture they contain, as well as for nourishment.”

  As soon as they settled in and felt concealed, they collected what they could and stuffed more ferns into a plastic bag for later, if they had to move out suddenly. “Wherever we find more growing along our way, we should eat as much as we can on the spot and collect what we can carry with us.” Elaiza set herself to the task.

  During the night’s trek, they had not been able to see well, and there was no opportunity to pause. Now the paco ferns would be all they would have to eat or drink for at least the next twenty-four hours, and they were thankful. Their position was tactically good. Thornton and Elaiza were located where they could observe the resting Abu Sayaf, but could not be seen themselves. However, the great disadvantage was that they were not near even a small rivulet of fresh water.

  Thornton tried some of the bland-tasting ferns Elaiza handed him, “I’d call this good luck. Dinner and drinks in a comfortable place, and where we’re concealed from the enemy. And this is the second night we’ve slept together.”

  Elaiza couldn’t help smiling at Thornton’s humor, “Unintentionally slept together! The first night was more uncomfortable for me.” But she lay down near him as they settled in to get some rest before the next grueling trek. Still, she found it difficult to fall asleep, uncertain about whether the apprehension came from the danger of their situation or because of the physical presence of the guy she felt next to her.

  18

  Delusion

  Mahir did not like Lito, but respected him for the way he reacted to his captivity and was at least curious about him, a kind of academic interest. So he tested Lito, who was tied up and kneeling beneath him in the camp, “Stupid Christian, why does your kind of people come to impoverished lands like this and start new churches? Why give new names to old ideas? Do you think you can invent your own church?”

  “I did not invent any church. I am just a security guard.” Lito knew he was being taunted, and he chose his words carefully. “Outsiders come to new lands for business and to spread their religions. In Mindanao, this was done by both the Muslims and the Catholics, except the Muslim traders arrived here first.”

  “Prisoner, Jesus Christ may be your God but he is not mine. The God of Abraham is Allah.”

  “People call their God many names in many languages, but I think they all mean the same God.” Lito needed a tactful answer, so he answered slowly and deliberately.

  “How can you be so arrogant as to think so? That is your personal arrogance, nothing more. Abraham was the trusted friend of God, and he deduced there must be a God, thus did God reveal himself to Abraham. And Abraham was not a Jew or a Christian; he was a man of God, a Muslim. What rules you Jews and Catholics make do not apply. Our destiny is the will of Allah.” Mahir did not like the attitude of his prisoner and was determined to set him straight.

  “I do not know the rules of the Jews because I have never met a Jew in my entire life. And I am not familiar with the rules of the Catholics. I only repeat what the missionary told me.” Lito was getting worried by his captor’s rising anger.

  “Catholic or not, you are all unbelievers. Who is this guy John? What salvation, doesn’t salvation just mean washing with water?”

  “We baptize into the faith with water as a symbol, but it was the blood sacrifice …”

  Mahir lost patience with what he saw as blatant stupidity and almost shouted, “Blood sacrifice!” interrupting Lito. “You mean like slitting the throat of a goat, or even young children bought from their parents for the purpose of pouring their blood over a new stone bridge to make it last longer? Yours is a religion for the insane. You preach peace, but you attack Muslims who are already living in peace.”

  “God is angry because his law was violated in the Garden of Eden. Only Christ could atone for our sins by dying on the cross. Jesus is God and came here to die for us.”

  “How can he be God if he is the Son of God? It does not make any sense. We know Jesus was a great prophet, but we also know the final prophet of God is Mohammad. Enough of this. Why do you Christians continue to sin against God by killing Muslims? Do you not get it? Your way will never work. The same message has been sent over the generations; happiness comes from worshiping Him only.” Mahir continued, getting more disturbed with the direction of the discussion. “You Christians are still fighting the Crusades, coming into peaceful lands and killing us so you can go to heaven. It is time for your missionaries to go back to Kansas and Mississippi and convert the inhabitants of their own poverty-stricken cities. Start there! Why do they come to Mindanao, or Afghanistan, or Turkey? Because they think we are more stupid, easier to convert than the lost souls in their own country? Will they get a higher rate of conversion here? Your missionaries should stay in your homelands and leave other people to their personal superstitions, if that is what you think their beliefs are.”

  “But I did not come from another land.” Lito stated the obvious. “I come from the north of here, where I was born, and only came to the city to find work.”

  “Even sadder for you, you do the work of the Yankees and the Zionists, against your own people.” Mahir spoke while quietly counting through his string of a hundred beads that he always carried, especially useful in situations where there was nothing else to do.

  “But I am just a poor security guard.”

  Mahir was not being kind to the hobbled prisoner. “Look at these men with me. To have a home with a metal roof and a daily income, or to own a jeepney, would make them rich men. They have nothing and would not eat tomorrow if they were not members of this squad and humbly received the gifts of those we protect as we move through the land.” The captor was losing his desire to continue the discussion, but did not replace the gag in Lito’s mouth, which obviously caused discomfort. Mahir was bored, realized he was tired, and shortly fell asleep. It was not so easy for Lito to res
t, but he began to doze after the sun passed its highest point of the day and began to decline.

  When Lateef observed that the light was fading, he ordered the team to prepare to move out for the second night’s march. He called Ugly Maria before the others awoke from their afternoon sleep and instructed her, “The Christian is no longer of use to us as a hostage and tonight will be a difficult hike for us. Get rid of him and I will pay for you to have another of your tribal tattoos put on your forehead when we reach our destination.”

  Ugly Maria understood the message and, before the rest of the party began to assemble their equipment, proceeded with her assignment. Lito was dozing, not quite awake. She replaced the gag and pulled him into the grass by his hair. She applied her usual technique; she flipped Lito around and from behind sliced his jugular vein open with her short, sharp utility knife and completed the incision from ear to ear. It was quick. Lito looked surprised as he felt the life pumping out of his body with red, bubbling liquid spurting down his arms and torso and he knew he was dying quickly. Ugly Maria pushed the living carcass into the brush so its kicking would not disturb the men’s meal of dry fish, warmed in the sun on the grass near where Lito had been sitting. The unfortunate security guard, just so much heavy baggage, would not be continuing with them.

  The patrol moved out of camp shortly after nightfall.

  19

  The Chinoy

  Colonel Reginald “Reggie” Liu had built a new, modern home in Manila with his wife, Trisha, on grounds next to Fort Bonifacio, near the headquarters of the Philippine Army. They were planning ahead for his retirement, which was scheduled in two years unless he succeeded in being promoted to general officer rank before then, giving him the chance to continue his career. They also had a home in Albuquerque, New Mexico, partly as an investment and partly as a future second home so that whenever Liu finally did retire they could be near their son and his wife. Many Filipinos, even family members of senior professionals and politicians, sought work overseas to supplement the relatively low salaries at home, including senior army officers, especially the ethical ones. In fact, during Liu’s overseas assignments, Trisha had spent years working as a pharmacist in Santa Fe while Reggie fought the battles, overseas and alone. Liu was a gentleman, well respected by his contemporaries, his seniors in the army, and the men he led.