The colonel's secret - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Bungot was right about the subsequent retaliation by the Japanese. Since they could not find the guerrillas, they targeted the civilians, accosting them at checkpoints, harassing them, raiding households and confiscating food and everything that could be useful to them. They had installed a puppet mayor, a cousin  of Dr. Sarte, hoping to give legitimacy to their ruthlessness, but the hatred of the residents against them only increased.

On the fourth day after the encounter at the cemetery, troops were sent to Rizal  in bigger numbers, until they found what they were looking for: the family of Bungot. They had hidden in a farm a kilometre away from the center of the village, an area that was easily accessible on foot. That afternoon, Bungot’s parents were horrified to face a squad of Japanese soldiers staring at them in the face and asking in broken English: “You arrr de pader end  mader of our worst enemi, huh?” 

It was the young Japanese garrison commander, suddenly holding the right arm of Buingot’s father and pulling him up to stand. The man slowly stood up, holding on to the chair he was sitting on, and limping on his left foot. His rheumatic pains had caused his right ankle to swell. His wife was made to stand too, and they stood together meekly before their imperious captor who barked orders to tie their hands with abaca ropes they found in the house.

As they moved out of the house dragging the two old captives, a baby’s cry was heard from inside the house, causing the young commander to stop. Her ordered his men to inspect the rooms of the house and when they emerged, they were dragging a young women with a baby child in her arms.

“So, dis is de wipe of our worst enemi, huh,” grunted the young man in his broken English. “You cam wit us to de tawn.”

A soldier also tied her hands after taking the baby. Another soldier was told to carry the child. The group reached the town more than three hours later as the dusk settled. The old parents of Bungot had bruises all over their body, their faces filled with dirt and their feet swollen and bloody. They had to walk barefoot over a distance of five kilometres on a rough road that was filled in some parts with sharp stones. Often they had to be pulled and dragged by their ropes to force them to move forward. They faces were contorted in pain but one could not hear them cry. An hour later, two rifle shots shattered the silence of the evening in Dagami’s empty plaza..

Bungot would learn of it only much later in the evening when a courier from the town came inside their headquarters at Hitumnog breathless. He had a painful story to tell.  Bungot listened in silence, then bowed his head. The worst of his fears had come. This was war getting to be very personal. He held his .45 pistol tightly, as he caressed his lengthening beard with his other hand, engrossed in his thoughts.  He was beyond tears. Martyrs are sometimes necessary to dispel inertia, he told himelf. A plan was forming in his head. He called for a short conference that night and told his men to rest. The next day would be a day of retribution.



AT CAMPO Langit, the two friends were huddled at the makeshift table in their new mess hall roofed with leaves of anahaw, a specie of palm that grew in abundance in the area. Two of the soldiers supervised their installation having used the leaves in their own homes.

Blas and Merin were contesting over some members of the Tancinco who had shown themselves to be rabidly pro-Japanese.

“These brothers have to go.  We can’t keep them as prisoners here,” Miranda said.

“Can’t we just send them stern warnings first?” said Merin.

“No. People like them don’t need warnings anymore. They knew well beforehand the consequences of serving the enemy.”

“Jeesus, Blas, they are Filipinos, just like us.”

“I think they have forfeited their rights as Filipinos the moment they betrayed us. No Filipino in his right mind would abandon  his people to sell this Japanese co-prosperity crap. That’s all baloney.”

“Well….” Merin did not finish his sentence.  He knew he could not win his arguments against his friend. He did not wish to have tension between the two of them. He stood up, looked out of the improvised window and gathered his thoughts. The three brothers –Antonio, Teofilo and Arturo – had to go. Of the three, he knew Antonio slightly. His feelings would have mattered had he known them intimately. The sentence was passed that morning. In three days, two of their best shots would be sent down to carry them out.

One other soldier, whose family used to be tenants of Arturo, volunteered to go. He had a 20-year old grudge to settle. For 20 years, Arturo had ruled with an iron hand, often using the whip to castigate erring tenants.  Permission was granted after he explained his purpose.

Two others who were sent out to organize units in the north and the south had positive results. A group started to operate in the dense forests of Albuera led by somebody who called himself ‘Robin Hood’ because his guerrilla base was Serab, sometimes called ‘Sherwood’ by some who were familiar with the Rodin Hood story. Japanese patrols using the highway were bound to be waylaid by Robin Hood’s men. It was said that the enemy no longer patrolled the interior villages of Albuera 14 kilometers to the south.

The other soldier who reported on developments in the north said a unit was also organized in Valencia, a village located along the highway 12 kilometers on the road to the capital town. They armed themselves with homemade shotguns, known as ‘latong’, whose barrels were made of two GI pipes. Their group was slightly bigger than a squad yet they had expressed readiness to fight the enemy in their area, familiar as they were with its numerous trails and byways. The group was led by one called Sgt. Decino, a former soldier in Luzon island.

“Let’s have a conference next week,” Miranda said. “Invite the leaders.”



THE outlines of the coast where Domingo landed on a sailboat looked hazy in the dark. The boat was led upstream about 50 meters into a river that emptied to the sea. The landing site was  a nipa groove that had a sand dike that served as port. At first he could not place the man who met him that night, but he was confident he had met him somewhere in Mindanao in one of his errands to the army headquarters in Davao before war broke out. Yes, the man was one of the assistants of the commanding general Sharp who had issued the surrender orders after Gen. Wainwright submitted his command to the Japanese Imperial Army. So the guy escaped to this part of Leyte, he thought.  He was probably one of Col. Kodir’s contacts here.

Domingo and the sailboat operator were led to one of the huts in the village, given food and told to rest. They had spent more than eight hours at sea, a feat considering that the crossing usually took more than 10 hours of rough to moderate seas. Domingo’s trip did not fare that badly, although they experienced large waves somewhere in the mid-portion of the crossing. They were told to rest because the next day they were going on a land trip to guerrillas’ headquarters far in the mountains. Their host went to another hut nearby after assuring his visitors the place were guarded by local militias.

“You are in safe hands,” he said.

He would learn about the identity of his host when they arrived at the headquarters in Campo Langit the next day.  The camp looked neat, well organized and functional. It was obviously a product of sound planning. It had now four small buildings made of wood but topped with anahaw leaves.

Miranda came out from the central building, shook hands with his host first, then hugged him tightly. They were classmates at the Academy. Merin was looking. He too gave the new arrival a bear hug and a pat on the back. A small group of men in soiled khaki pants and stripped to their waists looked on.

“Major, this is Lt. Anselmo. It seems as if you have not introduced each other yet,” Miranda said.

“I was looking forward to this. Major Marcial Domingo, class ’27,” Domingo said. He noted the young commander even looked younger because of his small size and boyish looks that belied a sharp intellect and an intrepid spirit.

“You were five years ahead of us, major,” said Miranda.

“Let me see if I remember where I saw you before. You were at the office of General Sharp, right?” Domingo asked Anselmo.

“Yes, I was. I left right after the surrender,” Anselmo said. The man was slightly bald, had thick brows but an easy disposition. He looked much older than Miranda and Merin.“I was an adjutant.”

“Col Khodir has very high regards for you two,” said Domingo to Miranda and Merin. Merin looked taller, had a straight bearing that typified most graduate at the military academy. He seemed serious, spoke only when needed.

“We got news of your great escape from our former teacher. A strict mentor, if I may comment, but a good man,” said Miranda. ”Lt. Anselmo here arrived here ahead of you. He’s from this place. He was tipped by one of our men in the field about the camp and immediately he came here on his own. He almost got shot by one of the guards. He didn’t tell us how he found it.”

“Oh, this is an open secret, if you don’t know, Blas,” Anselmo said, amused.”I asked around.”

“Really? I don’t believe you.” Blas said.

“It was Galo who tipped you, right?” Merin butted in.

“Of course. That man is everywhere. He’s a good intelligence operative. Him and that other one.”

“They are Merin’s network, his army. You should congratulate him for a job well done. Meet the master spy,” Miranda said, patting his friend’s back. Merin only grinned.

Miranda invited the small group inside their mess hall and asked one of his men for coffee and if there was something to eat for his tired visitors. Two men stripped to their waist served food and steaming coffee after a few moments.

“I have something to tell you,” Domingo told the three after they had settled. ‘It’s about my commander in Monkayo. Something’s not right with him.”

“Shoot, major. We’re all ears for your story. Col. Khodir tipped us about it but we wanted the story from the right sources,” Miranda.

He started with the surrender rites when the colonel had a long secret talk with the Kempetai and his non-appearance at the prison camp in Butuan.

“It was as if he was not a prisoner,” he said.

“We gathered that he became a member of the Japanese Bureau of Constabulary,” Miranda butted in.

“Yes, he was. He went back to Davao to convince other non-surrendered USAFFE to give up. Nobody followed him. That’s probably why the Japanese had found another use for him here.”

“But why Leyte? It’s not even as strategic as Mindanao,” said Miranda.

“They must be planning something here,” said Anselmo.

“And what would be the role of the colonel in this enterprise?” Domingo had his pensive moment too. It had to be important.

“There are not even too many Japanese troops here in the entire island.  With a little more time, we could put them on the defensive, “ said Miranda.

“Cebu is very close to Leyte at some points. There’s plenty of Japanese troops in Cebu,” said Anselmo.

“They will be reinforcing their troops here? For what? They are not under siege,” said Miranda.

“Not now. But in the future, probably they expect something big to happen here,” said Domingo.

“I’ll ask our friends to dig deeper,” butted in Merin. “Lucilo can probably draw out more information from his playmates at the mah-jong table.”

The discussion lasted well into the night but the mystery of the colonel’s mission remained. At this time, they did not know that the colonel had wormed his way into a guerrilla unit in the southern part of the island.