A cluster of cumulus clouds circumnavigated the sun
and created a golden halo around it. Irregular shadows fell on the city below
as sea breezes pushed the clouds this way and that. For someone as
superstitious as Eiselle Lee, the changeable weather would be a sure sign of
things to come.
However, while the morning unfolded ominously,
Eiselle slept through it all. Lorna, however, stepped out onto her back porch
and admired the shape shifting clouds before she concerned herself with the
pile of mud consuming her backyard.
“I guess I’d better get at it,” she declared as she grabbed
a shovel and transferred mud into a wheelbarrow and carted it out to the
expansive field behind the nearby church. The mudpile in the backyard provided
a constant battle, but it was one Lorna didn’t mind fighting. In fact, the
mindless, repetitive work cleared the way for other thoughts, including plans
for Eiselle.
“I think a positive change would do her quite a bit of
good,” Lorna said to the empty backyard, “and I’m going to be the one to
finally fix that girl before it’s too late.”
Two hard hours of work passed until Eiselle was awake. Even
with all that time, Lorna hadly made a dent in the mud pile. With a full
night’s sleep, however, Eiselle was raring to go. Still, it was hard for her to
resume what she considered a mundane way of life.
“Hello, dearest!” she called from the back step.
“Why don’t you come out here and lend a hand?”
“You want me to work a shovel? You must be joking.”
“No joking this time. There’s a garden spade leaning against
the wall right there next to you.”
Eiselle glanced at the garden spade and quickly looked away.
“If you’re staying at my house, you’ve got to do something
to earn your keep.”
“I’ll pay you.”
“How are you going to pay without any money?”
“I have money.”
“You have my money.”
“I will have enough of my own money soon enough. You know
I’m good.”
“I don’t need or want your money, Eiselle. I just want your
help.”
“I can’t do it without a good pair of gloves.”
“You’re just full of excuses. I don’t know that you’ve done
an honest day’s work in your entire life.”
“I have so.”
“When?”
“Must I remind you of all the party planning I’ve done?”
“That’s not honest work. I mean had work – live shoveling
dirt.”
“Pish-tosh!”
Lorna strode towards the doorway and snatched Eiselle by the
wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“Look at these smooth palms. You’ve never done enough hard
labor to work up a single blood blister. Your palms are as smooth as silk. Like
I said, you haven’t done a single day of honest work.”
“Give me a pair of work gloves and I’ll show you.”
“All I have is an old pair of dishwashing gloves.”
“Where are they?”
“Right next to the kitchen sink.”
Eiselle darted inside and quickly returned with
bright yellow gloves covering her hands. She grabbed the spade and joined
Lorna, but she still wielded it quite poorly.
“You’re never going to get anything done that way.”
Lorna demonstrated once and watched as Eiselle mimicked her.
“Not perfect, but I guess it’ll do.”
Eiselle struggled with her work, but managed to keep pace.
When Lorna was ready to take a quick smoke break, Eiselle continued to work.
She huffed and puffed through her work as she completed the next load with
little help from Lorna and hauled it to the church lot. When the girls
approached the house, Eiselle parked the wheelbarrow in the front yard and
parked herself on the porch swing.
“Alright, now we can take a little break, but I don’t want
you to go saying I’m a useless person.”
“I never said that, Eiselle!”
“It sure sounded like it.”
As Eiselle peeled the dishwashing gloves off her hands, she
turned them inside out and draped them across the seat bench to dry.
Meanwhile, Lorna shook a pair of cigarettes out of her pack
and lit them. She offered one to Eiselle and the two old-time friends sat
side-by-side and took long, slow puffs on their cigarettes. Lorna stretched a
hand through her front window and turned on the radio.
“Good morning, Mindanao. This is Mya Amores reporting from
Isabela City. While gunfights continue day and night, increased rioting in and
around South Cotabato has been the government’s main focus in recent days. One
of the minarets at the Yellow Mosque has collapsed due to recent fire bombings
there.”
Lorna gasped.
“Isn’t the Yellow Mosque right next to the summer home?”
Eiselle nodded as she listened intently to the radio.
“In addition to the firebombing at the Yellow Mosque, there
has also been a report of vandals breaking into the Santa Maria Cathedral in downtown
South Cotabato. Several pieces have been reported missing from the cathedral’s
antiquities collection.”
“Thank you, Mya,” said Francis at the news desk, “Now we
turn to Jeanie Abordo at our Weather Desk in Davao.”
“Hey-lo Mindanao! As they sing on Broadway, ‘Gray skies are
gonna clear up, so put on a happy face!’ The storm front that hovered over
south central Mindanao has circulated out of the area and we should be
expecting more of that rare good weather here in the middle of rainy season.”
Eiselle quickly switched off the radio. It was a rare moment
where Eiselle seemed engaged with anything other than her own affairs.
“Why did you do that?’ asked Lorna.
“I just don’t like the Islamists. They make so much trouble
for us.”
“They make trouble? What on earth are you talking about?
They’re the ones in trouble.”
“Who do you think stole those items from Santa Maria?”
Lorna shrugged.
“Of course, it was the Islamists. They should just get out
of Mindanao. Nobody wants them here.”
“Oh, come on, Eiselle! Some of our best friends are Muslim.”
“Pish-tosh! I don’t know any Muslims.”
“We have plenty, of Muslim friends, including the Solimans,
Mr. and Mrs. Ansad, the Beliyu family, and of course, Mohay Iqbal. Need I go
on?”
“None of them are my real friends, they’re just people I
know.”
Eiselle’s lips puckered tightly around her cigarette as she
inhaled forcefully. The ember glowed brightest orange as her fingers held the
cigarette in place. She exhaled in one long, hot breath through her nostrils.
Then, she snatched the cup of lemonade from the table and took a long sip from
the straw. Lorna glanced down at the end of the straw as Eiselle returned it to
its place. Several sets of waxy red lipstick prints covered the straw’s tip.
For some reason, it always bothered Lorna. It was careless and messy. It
reminded her of the pretentious city girls from her college days. Sometimes,
she felt that way with Eiselle, too.
“Let’s get finished with this work,” said Eiselle as she
took one last long puff on her cigarette before letting it slip from her
fingertips and grinding it into the sidewalk with the tip of her shoe.
Lorna followed Eiselle to the backyard where
wheelbarrow-by-wheelbarro, they made short work of the remaining mudpile.
Eiselle peeled the dishwashing gloves off her hand to reveal
a set of blisters on the notch between her pointer fingers and thumbs.
“Aw, gawdammit,” she groaned as she gently massaged the
blisters with her fingers.
“I told you,” Lorna gloated, “not an honest day’s work ‘til
now.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work, dearie, but why work hard when
you can work smart?”
Lorna shrugged.
“I’m afraid to tell you this, but I think I’m one of the
smartest people around.”
“I guess you are,” said Lorna agreeably. Eiselle had been
arrogant all her life, but Lorna did indeed know it wasn’t without reason.
Eiselle had a way of using all her God-given tools to get from Point A to Point
B, and no matter what, she’d find her way out of the stickiest situation.
Eiselle dumped a load of gravel from her shoes onto the porch
before the girls headed to the bedroom to wash and put on a fresh change of
clothes. Then, they hopped into the little, red, sports car and sped over to
Eiselle’s childhood home for a visit with Mrs. Santiago.
Her brother Mat and his friends were gathered around the
television, eating snacks and drinking beer.
“Mat? What are you doing?”
“Watching old boxing replays.”
“Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“We’re finished today.”
Eiselle checked her watch.
“It’s not even noon.”
“All the real customers come at night.”
“Are you at least taking care of mom?”
Mat shrugged indifferently at his sister.
Eiselle marched directly into her mother’s bedroom. Mrs.
Santiago was laying on her side, staring at the wall.
“Oh! Hello, girls. It’s a long time since I’ve seen you,
Miss Lorna.”
“Do I need an invite to see you, Mrs. Santiago?”
“Of course not, dearie.”
Lorna and Eiselle sat on opposite sides of Mrs. Santiago as
each of them took a hand and held it lovingly.
“What do you need, ma?”
“Maybe you girls could get me moved to the living room.”
“Mat and the boys are out there.”
“It’s my house! I don’t care if the President is out there.
Now let’s get me to the shower so I can fix myself.”
The girls went about the business of helping the old but
feisty woman get ready. It was short order, too, while Mrs. Santiago directed
the girls every step of the way.
“Lorna, you can brush my hair while Eiselle works on my
makeup.”
“Ma, why on earth would you need makeup?”
“Look at you, all made up like a cosmetics sales girl
telling me what I do and don’t need. I don’t need a reason for makeup.”
“The apple sure doesn’t fall from the tree,” said Lorna with
a chuckle.
“Hush up and keep brushing.”
When Mrs. Santiago was ready, she got out of her chair,
grabbed her cane, and walked to the living room under her own power. She swept
the walking cane across the living room furniture, banging Mat in the shins. He
promptly made space for his mother as she plopped herself on the couch.
“Are you watching boxing again? Turn it off and find
something more interesting.”
For Mrs. Santiago, she only whittled away the time on one of
two things – MindaNews or Telenovellas. Either way, the news was the lesser of
two evils among the group. Eiselle promptly turned off the television and tuned
the radio to MindaNews. Updates on the riots continued from both Isabela City
and South Cotabato.
“Earlier today, two men emerged from a minivan parked in
front of Santa Magda Cathedral in South Cotabato and ran off into the crowds.
Moments later, a loud explosion rocked the city center and destroyed the
cathedral. All that remains now is a bare skeleton of the centuries-old
building; three of the four walls completely ripped from their foundation and
crumbled to the ground. Over thirty are injured and nearly a dozen, including
priests and church officials, are feared among the dead…”
“Oh, for chrys-sakes!” exclaimed Eiselle, “the Islamists are
at it again, ma!”
“Now, now,” whispered Mrs. Santiago, “we don’t know who’s to
blame. Nothing good can come from a rush to judgment.”
“Who else would do it, ma?”
“You know what the Bible has to say about throwing stones,
don’t you?”
“I know what the Bible says,” interrupted Mat, “but they
would take Eye for an Eye! I think you are to do unto others what they’d do to
you.”
“You’re twisting the words,” said Lorna.
“This isn’t even their land,” said Mat, “it hasn’t been
theirs since the Spanish arrived.
“But the Autonomous Region…” started Lorna.
“They shouldn’t be here,” said Eiselle, “the Philippines
belongs to the Catholics now.”
Lorna and Mrs. Santiago, were both devout Catholics, but
still believed in the identity of the Muslim Filipinos – the Bangsamoro. With
that being said, Mat and Eiselle weren’t about to compromise, even though they
were both absolutely in the wrong.
Both Mindanao and the Sulu Archipelago had been Muslim lands
since the mid-14th Century and even with the arrival of the Spanish
and subsequent colonization, the south and western regions had been undeveloped
by Spanish missions. In light of this, the original Muslims had continued to
flourish and develop their own culture.
During the struggles of such national heroes as Emilio Aguinaldo and
Jose Rizal during the Spanish-American War, the Autonomous Region was seen as a
separate but equal part of the Republic. After the War, the Organic Act was
instrumental in providing the backbone for the formation of the First
Philippine Republic. In addition to forming a Philippine Assembly, it also
regulated the substitution of Filipino priests to replace all Spanish priests
within two years of signing. Additionally, the Organic Act
During World War II when Japanese forces controlled Sulu and
Mindanao, it was the combined Philippine and American forces that attacked the
Japanese entrenchment in the lower Archipelago.
Fighting began in mid-March as Marines invaded the jagged
coastline and slogged through swampy areas just beyond the coast, eventually
penetrating the rugged and nearly impassable inner regions where the Japanese
had developed several strongholds in the last days of the war.
In mid-August 1945, after the Americans pushed the Japanese
out of the Philippines, they celebrated VJ Day – Victory over Japan. Less than
eleven months later, on July 4th, 1946, the Treaty of Manila was
signed, granting full Independence to the Philippines. The Filipinos,
celebrated this day as National Day until 1962, when Filipino President
Macapagal proclaimed June 12th,as Filipino Independence Day, to
commemorate the day Filipino National Hero Emilio Aguinadlo declared
Independence from Spain.
This national awareness coincided with the cultural
awareness of the Bangsamoro – the reclamation of the half-century between the
end of the Philippine-American War and the beginning of World War II – also
meant looking into other parts of history, especially in the southern
Archipelago.
The Bangsamoro identity clashed with the Filipino
Nationalists, sometimes in bloody battles, until President Marcos attempted to
establish an Autonomous Muslim Region in the mid-70s. However, it was voted
down by referendum. In 1979, another attempt was made at creating an Autonomous
Region, but that was also vetoed by the people of Mindanao.
It wasn’t until 1996 that the ARMM – or Autonomous Region of
Muslim Mindanao was formed. Thirteen areas, all parts of the original
Bangsamoro homeland, were considered for inclusion. However, only five of the
thirteen provinces voted in favor of inclusion in the ARMM, including Lanao del
Sur, Maguindanao to the north of Gensan and the outlying islands of Tawi-Tawi
and the Sulu Archipelago to the west.
While the Santiagos debated history in Gensan, a group of
individuals gathered atop a platform overlooking Sarangani Bay in attempts to
make history.
Arvind Lee, Mary Kirkpatrick, and Jaki Gomez stood across
from a cluster of government officials with their eyes focused on the future
and on the surroundings far below.
The city planner casually waved his hand over the shantytown
of Baluntay.
“Why haven’t you requested rezoning this area down here?” he
asked.
“We have a curious relationship with the impoverished locals
which we are looking to fix,” said Arvind.
“And just how do you think you’ll manage that?”
“Instead of exporting these people, Arvind Construction
looks to create a symbiotic relationship with them. We plan to build low-rent
condos in what I like to call a utilitarian community project.”
“What, exactly is a utilitarian community?”
“We can re-establish the area as a blended use community,
providing areas for people to shop, play, and develop socially. Additionally,
the surrounding resorts can use these people as a valuable human resource.”
“But that area is prime real estate,” said the city planner.
“That area is in need of redevelopment, I agree, but
relocating these people isn’t the best answer. We can build new three-bedroom
condominiums and establish an infrastructure core that includes all the basic
needs. It’s the perfect symbiosis – two things working together as one.”
“Like indentured servants?”
“Not at all,” interrupted Mary, “Great Britain has had its
own troubles with the working class, and we feel that a mixed-use resort and
adjacent low-rent properties can be tied together quite nicely.”
“I don’t think the working class can mingle successfully
with the upper tier.”
Jaki, whose family was from the Baluntay, rolled her eyes.
Arvind gently laid a hand upon the small of her back and guided her away as he
worked diplomatically to handle the situation.
“That’s why we’re creating a separate but equal community.
We feel that the working class has as much upward mobility as the upper tier.
I, myself, was from a working class family, too.”
“But you’re not from here,” said the city planner, “it’s not
the same. These people are not of the same mental character.”
Jaki clenched her teeth and jaw tightly. Arvind took quick
notice and looked to defuse it completely.
“Our resort needs hard working people. Are you willing to
find hundreds of housekeepers and customer service personel and provide a mod
of mass transit to and from work, as well as any other necessities the current
plan doesn’t provide?”
“What do you call your plan again?”
“Utilitarian Living Complex.”
“Yes…that,” said the business manager, “We’ll see what we
can do. Until then, we’ll just make sure the current project goes forward.”
Arvind guided Jaki to the freight elevator with one hand while
he guided the business manager with the other. Managing to keep them apart was
like parting the Sulu Sea. Somehow, though, Arvind handled the task
effortlessly.
While Jackilyn
Gomez attempted to keep her rolling emotions in check, her brother kept a steady
hand as the gunfights commenced again near the Isabela City Airport.
“This is Mya Amores reporting from Basilan Island where
tensions have once again escalated as new rebel forces have joined in the
fighting. Reports have come in from Isabela City airport of a rebel insurgency
near the terminal. We’ll update you when we hear more…”
As soon as Master Sergeant Ralj Licayan’s Black Hawk was
downed, the mission changed. The USS Carl Vinson, which sat a dozen kilometers
away in the Celebes Sea, immediately dispatched an second air support team.
Chief among them was the fourth Black Hawk that had been left back on the
carrier during the first run to Basilan. There were also four additional Boeing
AH-6 choppers, known as Little Birds, for extra support.
The AH-6 Attack Helicopters came fully equipped with two
30mm chain guns and two 7.62mm miniguns. The two chain guns had enough armament
to rip through a forest of banana trees. The seven-millimeter miniguns provided
the necessary overkill. Beyond that, every Little Bird was equipped with two
rocket tubes with 14 Hydra 70mm rockets as well as two Hellfire Anti-Tank
Missiles and two Stinger Anti-Air Missiles.
While Specialist Gomez hadn’t made the mission commander’s
hasty deadline, he did manage to fix the rotor on his Black Hawk and get
everything back to ship-shape. Now, however, there were other, more pressing
matters.
“Philippine Army Command to Master Sergeant Licayan, be
aware that we’ve got hostile ground forces pressing in from the northeast
corner.”
“I can hear the action from here,” replied the Master
Sergeant.
A small squadron of minivans and refurbished Jeepneys sped
through the roadblock near the end of the runway. As gunfire was exchanged, one
of the minivans rolled onto its side, blocking the way for the remaining
insurgents. An old rusted vehicle rammed into the minivan’s undercarriage and
careened off the runway. Other vehicles cut through the center.
“Gomez! Get on the gun!” shouted Licayan, but Marco was
already in the roost. The Black Hawk’s miniguns placed a burst of suppressive
fire into the grill of the the first vehicle. The converted Jeep ran on fumes
until one of the tires blew. Then, it also careened to one side, taking a few
more vehicles with it.
Meanwhile, the action on the tarmac rang in the ears of the
Philippine Rangers and extraction team down in the valley.
“Tiime’s up!” Gonzo shouted into the team’s headsets,
“We’ve gotta go in now! Private Kesuma, I need you and the
new guy to press the right while we hit the left hard.”
“Yessir!”
Gomez motioned to Pidro to move along the ridgeline and
press through the brush towards the cave below. As soon as Pidro left his
position, shots spat from the cave.
“Damn!” he shouted.
“Pidro! Get over here! They need us!”
Private Kesuma tugged on Pidro’s armored vest, pulling him
into place at the edge of the rocks. Then, Kesuma slithered over the thick
bramble to a spot behind a clump of trees while Pidro watched. Pidro froze as
the private waved him over.
“Come on!” he hissed.
Pidro scurried forward as Kesuma kept an eye on the cave.
Gonzo’s extraction team was nearly at the entrance by now. Kesuma motioned for
Pidro to set up on the other edge of the bramble.
“Let’s hit ‘em with some suppression,” ordered Private
Kesuma.
Pidro followed his lead, firing three-round bursts just over
the cave entrance. The Rangers peeled back, light weapons in hand. Single shots
rapped out a cautious beat as the Rangers moved uphill to the safety of the
cliff.
“Go boys, go!” Gonzo shouted over the radio.
The most exhilarating sound came from behind them as a pair
of Little Birds buzzed the treetops and let out two ribbons of cannonfire.
Nearly 2,000 shells spat towards the opening within a thirty-second interval.
Then, a single Hellfire whooshed towards the cave. Pidro’s belly trembled as it
hugged the rocky earth.
“Come on, rookie, let’s get up to the Humvees.”
Pidro scurried to the ridge and high-tailed it up the cliff
to rendezvous with the rest of the crew. They quickly loaded into the trucks
and sped to the tarmac where all eight birds, big and little, patiently waited.
“Come on, troops. Let’s do a head count before we scoot on
out of here. Get with your original units.”
MSGT Licayan waved to Pidro. He hucked it to his Black Hawk
where the rest of his crew waited.
As he jogged towards the chopper, his right knee burned. He
looked down to see a pool of blood forming on his fatigues.
“Dammit!” he shouted.
“Let’s get someone on that quick!” ordered the Master
Sergeant.
“Alright,” replied Pidro as he hobbled to the Black Hawk’s
starboard bay.
“Hey! What are you
doing in my roost?” Serencio shouted to Gomez. Gomez turned to look towards
Serencio. Three crisp gunshots whizzed past his ear. A spray of blood hit his
cheek.
“Shit!” yelled Pidro.
Gomez looked over at Serencio. Sniper fire came from the
edges of the tarmac. One of the bullets hit Pidro, again in the right leg. Immediately,
most of the troops laid down a barrage of gunfire, lighting up that corner of
the tarmac. Everyone quickly beat it towards the vehicles and the Little Birds
were at it again as they pivoted in place and threw everything they had into
the banana grove. The Humvees retreated towards the terminal as the area around
the tarmac fell silent.
“You okay, buddy?” a voice shouted towards Pidro. It was
Specialist Gomez, who had come over to help the Black Hawk’s paramedic. He put
all his weight on the compress covering Pidro’s shin. Pidro smiled faintly.
“We should go back in there and get ‘em.”
“That’s not our job,” said Gomez, “Our job’s over.”
“For now,” said Pidro.
“You just take it easy, chief. I bet someone back on the
ship just might give you a few weeks of R and R.”
“God, I hope not.”
Marco laughed wholeheartedly. Pidro stared past Marco’s
shoulder and looked at the bright blue sky. It was a little surreal to look out
the starboard side from the gurney. The rush of adrenaline had faded and Pidro
felt weary. Still, it could be worse, thought the young Specialist. Eight birds
were up and away and headed east and Pidro was alive, if not kicking.
.
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