The eternal struggle for an independent cultural
identity had haunted the Filipinos throughout their short history. Long before
the Spanish-American War, there were other colonizers who had attempted to
stake their claim to these 7,000 islands. This was especially true to the west.
The Spanish had attached the name Bangsamoro to the natives.
Bangsamoro.
‘Bangsa’ meant ‘country’ and Moro meant ‘Moors’. The
Spanish had also attached the word ‘Moro’ to the Moroccans, who inhabited the
lands just thirteen kilometers across the Mediterranean Sea from Spain’s
southernmost point.
When the Spanish arrived in Mindanao, they
immediately noticed the similarities between the natives of the Sulu
Archipelago and their Moroccan neighbors.
The Bangsamoro inhabited the outlying areas of the Philippines and were
dark-skinned Muslims, similar to the Moroccans. Calling them Moros just seemed
right.
The Filipino Moros adhered to the name and used it to
identify themselves as, separate from the mainland Filipinos.
However, the term Bangsamoro didn’t gain widespread
notoriety until the Sabah incident and the formation of the Moro National
Liberation Front.
Sabah, one of Malaysia’s thirteen provinces, sits on the
northeastern tip of Borneo, just west of Sulu. Sabah had been passed back and
forth between the Sultans of Brunei and Malaysia for over seven centuries,
including the Sultans of Brunei, Malaysia, and even into the hands of the
Sultan of Sulu.
In a 1761 agreement between the Sultan of Sulu and the
British East India Company, the company set up a trading post in Sabah, which
also allowed the British to hold moderate control. This colonized form of
independence made an easy alliance between the British and Malay.
However, the Sultan of Sulu maintained loose control over
the region and had signed several agreements, including one asserting his
control over the Sabah region. The Malaysian government, however, dismissed all
of the Sultanate’s claims, stating that Sabah ceded from Filipino control when
Sabah residents voted to join Malaysia in 1963.
Although Malaysia had essentially been an Islamic Republic
for over 500 years, the Philippines was still largely Catholic. This left the
Bangsamoro at a loss. During the 60s, as worldwide racial and religious
tensions flared, college campuses became the lightning rod for revolt.
A University of Philippines, a student activist named Nur
Misuari formed an Independent Mindanao Movement, aimed at creating a separate
Muslim Republic throughout the southwest Philippines. Eventually, Misuari’s
advanced political role led to the establishment of the ARMM, or Autonomous
Region in Muslim Mindanao.
From that time on, rebel separatists had repeatedly clashed
with the Philippine Army on Basilan Island. As recently as 2007, the fighting
increased to war-like levels as the Philippine Marines stormed the village of
Tipo-Tipo on Basilan’s southeastern coast. Reports never identified the rebel
force, but eleven Marines were found beheaded on the island – with pictures
sent to several media outlets. Filipino news reports filtered out most of the
harshness although photos did make the international circuit via the Associated
Press.
Around that time, the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF)
and Moro Island Liberation Front (MILF) had created a certain peace between
themselves and the Abu Sayaaf, all in of keeping the Philippine Government out
of their homeland.
Yet again, it would be more of the same as all-out civil war
erupted on Basilan Island.
“This is Mya Amores reporting from Isabela town on Basilan
Island. Although the media remains sequestered in a business complex within
city limits, our camera crews have spotted UN forces holding positions in and
around the nearby banana plantation. Exchanges of gunfire can be heard at all
hours of the day and fighting has progressed into the heart of the city …”
Out in the Philippine Sea, the U.S.S. Carl Vinson and a
group of Philippine Navy support ships awaited their next orders. Meanwhile,
Master Sergeant Ralj Licayan led the pre-engagement briefing below the flight
deck of the carrier Vinson.
“A small group of rebels has crossed the perimeter and
headed into the city proper. Our scouts have located the general position of
these rebels and latest intel has them near the central market.
At 1900 hours, we’re heading to Basilan Airport, where we’ll
rendezvous with a platoon of Rangers. The extraction point will be here near
the terminal just like the previous deployment.
The airport has been cordoned off and civilian activity at
Basilan airport has been curtailed, including all air traffic. Six fully
equipped support teams are stationed at all egress points in and around the
airport. Our forces have established a three-kilometer perimeter around the
rebel base camp, but the small band of rebels has broken through the northwest
perimeter in a valley facing the city. The ground forces estimate that the
rebel group numbers around thirty troops and ha headed into two high rise
buildings near the market.
Currently, we’re not taking action against that group until
we gather more intel on their position, supplies, and contacts. Our mission
tonight is purely one of extraction.
Additionally, since chopper three is out for repairs, we’ll
only be using three birds for this mission. The third crew will stand down and
await further orders, if and when they come.”
The Master Sergeant paused to check his watch.
“It’s just before 1800 hours now. That gives you sixty-five
minutes to grab some chow and ruck up. Remember, this is an extraction mission.
There are still multiple targets inside the perimeter and we should assume
they’re aware of our entry and exit points, based on the previous staging and
deployment missions.”
“Sir,” said Sergeant Gonzalez, “If our entry point is
compromised, isn’t there any chance we can use another extraction point?”
“We’ll have ample cover from the ground forces positioned at
the airport and around the cordoned areas. Additionally, naval forces will be
standing by. Just keep on task.”
After the briefing convened, Specialist Serencio kept a
curious eye on mission leaders MSGT Licayan and SGT Gonzalez. The Master
Sergeant always played it close to the vest while Gonzalez jad a reputation for
operating a little more ‘balls to the wall’. Maybe that was why everyone called
him Gonzo. Gonzo and Licayan never particularly got along, either. Someone up
above decided this mixture of personalities would be today’s recipe for
success. Only time would tell.
“Gomez, Serencio, Ramirez,” called the Master Sergeant,
“let’s get moving. We still have to inspect the bird.”
The trio got out of their confined lunch circle and followed
Licayan out to their Black Hawk. After the crew’s usual pre-flight routine,
Gonzo and his men loaded onto Licayan’s chopper. Head Pilot Ramirez flipped a
switch and the rotors whistled their same old high-pitched tune.
Three choppers left the carrier’s flight deck and assumed
flight formation. They headed west into the blackness of night. Soon, they’d
reach the coastline. Soon, they’d touch down. Soon, they’d receive the Rangers
and deliver them back to the carrier Vinson.
“Alright men,” stated Licayan, “we’ll be leading in on this
extraction, with Gonzo taking the lead. He’ll draw any RPGs or stingers in the
field. This will allow us to drop in and pluck our Rangers. We’ll have two
little birds escorting us on the evac, which will make for an easy go. Serencio
and Gomez, you’ll still need to keep your eyes peeled since there are only
three birds in and five birds out.”
All three Black Hawks skirted the city as they entered the
airspace surrounding Isabela. The bright white airport lights illuminated the
clouds in an eerie blue-black glow and the silhouette of the airport shone
brightly against the black backdrop of the powerless city around it. Below, the
island looked lifeless and deserted. Like a class full of guilty children, the
island was much too calm and quiet.
“All birds proceed with caution,” the Master Sergeant stated
plainly. Three choppers approached the tarmac in a file. Just seconds from
touch down, two clusters of light flared from within the plantation.
“RPGs!” shouted a spotter.
The rocket flew by the Black hawks in a snap. It missed the
top of chopper three’s rotors, but the exhaust buffetted the blades. The rotors
chattered as a multitude of alarms filled the cockpit. Pilot Ramirez
immediately shut off the power and sat the bird on the ground. His snap
decision saved all five blades and every soldier inside the big black bird.
“Everybody out!” shouted Ramirez.
All passengers, including the Master Sergeant, quickly
obeyed the pilot’s direct and sudden command. The Black Hawk’s rotors groaned
as they wound down, but the blades did not fray or spit, causing the always
deadly blade shear. Instead, the Black Hawk’s rotors just came to a stop. That,
in and of itself, was nothing less than a miracle.
As the blades came to a stop, Ramirez called out again.
"Gomez, Serencio, Licayan, I need you here immediately.”
Ramirez called Gomez first. Specialist Gomez was also the
flight engineer, able to help Ramirez assess the extent of the damage and down
time. With RPGs out in the field, every moment was vital.
A batallion of troop transports and assault vehicles stormed
the edge of the tarmac and set up a loose perimeter around the choppers. Both
little birds quickly ascended to survey the area below. Within moments, they
laid down a hailstorm of cannon fire from their mini-guns. The perimeter forces
went to work, too, firing into the heart of the plantation. Bright white tracer
rounds lit up the grove,
A battlefield commander strode towards chopper three with an
attache at his side.
“Master Sergeant, what’s the E.T.A. on these rotors?”
Licayan looked to Gomez.
“Thirty minutes, sir.”
“Make it twenty,” said the commander.
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you need us to do?” the Master Sergeant asked
Specialist Gomez.
“Some of this wiring is shot. Just hold this casing while I
see if I can Jimmy rig it to get us back to the Vinson.”
Gomez worked feverishly, but there were too many things
wrong in the wiring. When the commander’s attache returned to inqire with the
Black Hawk crew, Gomez only had bad news.
“I could repair this chopper, but there’s no way it’d be
safe for flight.”
“What do you need?”
“A whole slew of things. Some heavy-guage wire, new wire
nuts to replace the ones that are stripped, a new rotor casing, a new rotor
engine, and I haven’t even looked at the prop blades. From the sound of things
earlier, I’m pretty sure they’d shear apart once I started the engines again.
I’m not risking my buddies in this thing.”
“What do you advise, Master Sergeant?”
“Just what my engineer says,” replied MSGT Licayan, “if this
bird isn’t safe to fly, then it’s not safe. Can we tow it to one of the
hangars?”
“I’ll check with our commander.”
The attache was on the phone for only a few moments. A few
moments after that, a tow truck was speeding down the tarmac with a cargo sled
in tow. The crew secured the Black Hawk to the sled and tethered it to the tow
truck. Soon, it was being wheeled towards the terminal, leaving two Black Hawks
on the tarmac.
“We can’t all fit into two choppers,” said the Master
Sergeant, “we’ll do better if we ruck up and help with perimeter operations
while we wait for reinforcements to arrive.”
The Master Sergeant strode towards one of the supply jeeps
with his crew in tow.
“Hold out your arms.”
He loaded each soldier down with field armor, quick packs,
and fully loaded Semi-Auto Rifles.
“I haven’t fired a rifle in over a year,” said Serencio.
“It’ll be just like Basic Training, then. It’s just like
riding a bike. When’s the last time you rode a bike?”
Serencio paused for a moment.
“Can yosu still ride?”
“I guess so.”
“No time to guess here, just point and shoot. You’ll go out
with Gonzo and his boys. You’ll be fine.”
Serencio adjusted the ruck on his back and fell into file
with Sergeant Gonzalez’s unit.
“Everyone keep tight formation. We’re heading directly to
the perimeter and meeting up with another unit. We’ll be providing cover for
their six. We’re just keeping the raiding party from being surprised from the
rear.”
Gonzo and his boys did double time across the tarmac.
Serencio was on high alert, glancing back and forth across the edges of the
field. From the safety of his cat bird seat in the Black Hawk, it always felt
so easy: just point and shoot.
“Come on, rookie,” said another of the soldiers, “you’re
holding us up.”
Serencio made triple time so he wouldn’t lag behind the
others. With the soles of his feet already aching and the weight of the
rucksack pushing down on the hollow of his shoulders, he knew he was way out of
shape for ground maneuvers. Still, he wasn’t about to complain.
The edge of the tarmac gave way to rough bedrock, which gave
way to tall swamp grass, which gave way to the loamy edge of the banana fields
standing along a high ridge. That’s where they rendezvoused with the other
unit. The unit commander stretched out a hand and gave Sergeant Gonzalez a firm
handshake.
“Good evening, boys. Welcome to the hilltop. If you look
over my shoulder you’ll see nothing but black. About three kilometers in,
there’s a small cave complex buried in the middle of that blackness. That’s
where my boys are headed. Gonzo’s unit will be escorting us about half way,
covering our rear flanks. Although we may meet resistance before we get to the
halfway point, it won’t be its hairiest until after that point. A lighter crew
will be able to move faster and maintain a focused attack point. We have a
couple of Ranger teams in the trenches and we’re offering support for the
extraction. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir!” answered the troops.
“Then let’s head out.”
Gonzo’s team straggled behind, giving about one-hundred
meters of gap between them and the lead extraction unit. Serencio’s feet were
beginning to boil in his shoes now. He could already feel blisters begin to
form with the constant friction of the boots against his toes. The knotty
banana tree roots were like thick, wooden tentacles lying just below a blanket
of half-dead leaves. To Pidro, it was like walking on a pile of twisted, wet
towels.
“Everyone put on their night vision goggles,” ordered Gonzo,
“so use hand signals and limit your verbal communication from here on in.”
Both teams maintained a crouched profile the whole way to
the crest of the hill. Peering down into the valley, the heat emanating from
the cave entrance left a faint green glow against the dark outline of the rock
face surrounding it. The other unit commander held a hand parallel to the
ground. Gonzo stopped and rested on his haunches while his unit crouched behind
him. Gonzo laid a hand parallel to the ground. The entire second unit went
belly-down and planted their rifle stands along the ridge. Serencio quickly
joined the formation.
The first unit split into pairs and rushed down into the
valley. Tracer rounds spat from one of the ridges just as the first unit
approached the cave entrance. That drew the full load of fire from all points
on the ridge and illuminated the entire valley.
Gonzo directed the second unit to fall in line behind one of
the Humvees perched at the top of the ridge. As Specialist Serencio settled
into position, he unfastened his gun mount and planted it firmly in the soil
beneath the Humvee and pointed his rifle towards the valley.
“Pick up that SAR,” said a soldier to Serencio, “this
assault vehicle is an RPG magnet.”
“Yessir,” said Pidro as he snapped the gun mount back
against the barrel.
“You don’t have to ‘yessir’ me. I’m a buck private,” said
the other soldier as pointed to the single bar on his shoulder patch.
“This is my first time in action. Out here in the field,
you’ll be the commanding officer.”
The other soldier simply nodded to Pidro as Gonzo gave his
next string of commands.
“I want everyone to split into teams of two and pick up
forward positions about twenty meters downhill. I also want about twenty meters
of space between pairs. The older guys take positions near the flanks.””
The men fell out until Pidro and his partner were the only
ones sitting behind the Humvee.
“Since we’ll be out here a little while,” said the other
soldier, “my name is James.”
“I’m Pidro.”
“Good to meet you, Pidro. Let’s get hucking.”
He motioned towards a jagged rock formation off to the
right. Serencio nodded and the soldier took a crouched sprint towards the
outcropping. Serencio followed, about two beats behind the soldier, sliding
into the dirt just behind the rocks. He quickly set up his gun, fixing the gun
mount into place and taking aim at the cave below.
“Take it easy partner, we’ll be here for awhile,” said James
“some days, you’re just trying to stay alive.”
While Pidro and James settled into their position on the
ridge, the rest of Pidro’s crew was back on the tarmac repairing the Black
Hawk. At home, news reports filtered in on the hour, keeping Pidro’s family
from getting a good night’s sleep.
“Thanks for staying with us, Rosie,” Maria Serencio
whispered quietly into Rosie’s ear. Rosie leaned down and gave the little girl
a giant hug. Even through the curfew, a small group of families huddled
together around Brian Rudie’s Emergency Radio.
“This is Mya Amores reporting again from Isabela City on
Basilan Island. Fighting has increased as ground troops have advanced on the
underground complex near the Banana plantation just south of the city.
Additionally, the constant report of cannon fire has kept all city dwellers on
high alert. For those of you on television, you can plainly see the dust mask
around my neck. Most news crews have moved into the basement level of an office
building within mid-town Isabela. Still, occasional mortar shells have struck
the building, causing dust and cinders to fall here in the basement.”
“Maybe Pidro and Ralj’s Black Hawk team is down there,” said
Brian.
“I hope not,” said Mrs. Velasco.
“I’m worried that Pidro’s in trouble,” said Maria.
“Maria!” scolded her mother, “Why would you say such a
thing?”
It didn’t matter, though. It was the very thought on
everyone’s mind, especially with the recent visit from the Gensan soldiers. The
look on Maria Serencio’s face said it all. It was Basilan Island. Rosie had
been told about the recent history of the southern Philippines and the fighting
over Mindanao. It was part of the curriculum for most any missionary headed to
the islands: this is a third world country. Not only are the laws different
here, but the entire culture is different. You’re a stranger in a strange land.
Mr. G. had even told Rosie stories about the Basilan Island massacre. He’d also
told her about the troubles of being a single girl alone at night in the
Philippines.
“Girls like you, alone at night, can never be too careful. There
are so many dangers, and I’m not talking about wild dogs or getting mugged for
the contents of your wallet.”
“I know,” said Rosie.
“Girls who don’t watch themselves – even those that do – are
always in harm’s way. The body snatchers take young girls up in the night and put
them to work as a slave.”
For Rosie, this suddenly translated to something deeper. The
horror stories had not truly haunted her, although she did make it a habit to
double check all the doors at night just to make sure everything was locked
tight. Still, she’d never been scared, even when she most probably should.
That night, Rosie slept in the kid’s bedroom at the Serencio
house. Mrs. Serencio came in after everyone, including Rosie, had settled down
into their beds. Mrs. Serencio went from net-to-net and carefully pinned each
mosquito net into place. She sat at the edge of Rosie’s bed and flicked a large
winged bug off the mattress. It clicked and buzzed as it righted itself and
flew up towards the fluorescent light.
“I don’t want any of those nasties biting any of my children
tonight,” she said with a smile, “and that includes you.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Serencio.”
“No problem, dearie.”
Mrs. Serencio flicked off the light and walked to her room.
Rosie listened as Mrs. Serencio’s sandals scraped along the concrete floor and
the bed springs groaned under the pressure of the old woman’s weight. Soon, it
was just the sound of that same big bug buzzing and clicking and walking across
the ceiling. Anguished thoughts swam around in Rosie’s head.
“When will the troubles end?”
She stared into the darkness as the black of night enveloped
the children’s room. Brief moments of light allowed her to trace the
rectangular outline of the bright yellow mosquito net. At times, she could even
feel the netting brush against her arm and remind her of the nasties lurking
just out of harm’s way. Maybe that should be enough to comfort her, but it
wasn’t.
Far from it.
.
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