The colonel's secret

1 - Major Domingo
Army Major Marcial Domingo took off his glasses and wiped them with his white handkerchief, beads of perspiration dripping from his forehead, which he rubbed with the sleeve of his right forearm. He had forgotten to bring a face towel. He and his men were exposed to the heat of the sun in the middle of a clearing as large as a 400-meter oval grounds. As early as 0700 in the morning, the 100 troops were called to assemble, but at 0900, no Japanese officer was in sight. The surrender rites were supposed to be at 8:00. His men were restless. They have been since yesterday when the surrender was announced.

A lot of questions played in Domingo's mind. Why? Were there no other options left? he reflected. The Monkayo camp was located in the midst of a lush forest of tropical trees, connected to the reservation of Aeta and Manobo natives that had lived there for centuries. Domingo was sure the natives would not refuse to hide them should they choose not to surrender. In the few years that he had been assigned in Monkayo, he had made many friends among them, erasing impressions that they were savages. He had joined in one of their hunting trips and had partaken of the deer meat which he brought to camp to share with fellow soldiers. No, the natives would not refuse.

But his superior officer, the one who preferred to be simply known as 'the colonel', had already signed agreements with the Japanese and made promises in behalf of his men, Domingo was told. He had compromised the entire company, promising his men would not make any trouble and would willingly lay down their arms. This was supposed to take place this morning.

He heard some of them grumbling, muttering unintelligible words. A few were cursing, calling their commander all sorts of names under their breaths. Domingo could sense this surrender was not going to be that peaceful. His men were in a dark mood. Probably they were also cursing him being the second in command. He looked around, but the colonel did not show himself. He was still in a conference with some Japanese officers starting a hour ago.

Finally the colonel went out of the Quonset hut that served as the main quarters and office of the company. He appeared to be lost in thought, with deep furrows on his forehead, his back hunched. He signaled for Domingo to issue the call for attention. Domingo did as told and stood rapt in attention. Then the colonel spoke.

"Let me start by saying that there is no good news. Not since Gen. Wainwright has surrendered our forces in Bataan. That surrender has obligated us, faithful soldiers, to follow his path, which, I can sense, does not sit well with you. I know this is difficult to take. But what can I do? The Japanese have threatened to make our lives more difficult if we do not give up peacefully. Even if they cannot touch us because we have fought, they will vent their anger on civilians in the municipalities. It is they who will suffer. I have seen such kinds of atrocities in Davao a few days ago. Innocent men, women and children were bayoneted at checkpoints, their bodies left to the dogs to eat. Men, I'm afraid we do not have many options. "

The colonel's words were few, his high pitched voice increasing as he ended his short talk. Then a few seconds of silence. No one grumbled or said anything. They were like stone-cold statues. As abruptly as he came, he went back to the Quonset hut where Japanese officials had waited. Probably they listened too, thought Domingo. After all, a few of them could speak the English language haltingly.

The troops had scattered as soon as the colonel had finished speaking. They did not wait for Domingo to issue the 'dismiss' order. Soon the grounds were empty. Everyone had gone back inside their huts to ponder on their fate. An aide of the colonel would later make rounds of these huts and tell them to pack up their belongings and be ready for the trip to Butuan the next day. The place was more than 100 kilometers northeast, the capital town of Agusan province. The entire company was going to be held in a concentration camp the Japanese had built for surrendered and captured soldiers.

That night Domingo was tempted to crawl out of the camp to the lush forests around it, then to his friends, the Aetas and the Manobos. But he was not sure about the status of the camp. Was it being surrounded by the Japs? It was dark in the camp. Only the crickets could be heard. But he assumed the Japs had posted sentries around. He slept with his thoughts confused.

He woke up the next day at 6:00 to prepare his breakfast, heating his kettle for coffee. That would be his last breakfast here. He peeped outside through a hole in his window and saw some figures in khaki uniforms moving about. They must have been there since last night, he thought.

"We move out at 8 hundred hours," a Japanese officer barked, shouting at the top of his lungs.

No one answered back.

"Does everybody understand?" The officer sounded angry. A few 'yes' could be heard.

Domingo hurriedly sipped his coffee and ate his breakfast -a hardboiled egg with two pieces of dried fish and rice, his last ration. From now on, they would be eating Jap ration.

THE road to Butuan looked like it had seen much better days. The rains that started on the last week of May had softened up the remnants of a system left by huge trucks carrying round timber from Agusan's forests on their trips to the capital town. It was pockmarked by gaping holes filled with mud and little sand and gravel. Still the six trucks used by the Japanese to haul their prisoners remarkably remained intact as they swayed and rocked in the mud holes like tortured pack animals.

They rested and spent nights in isolated roads away from the population, sleeping inside the trucks in seating positions, mosquitoes feasting on their exposed skins. In the truck of Domingo, none of the men were able to sleep, including their Japanese guards who kept muttering in Niponggo. A seventh truck kept their provisions of rice, canned sardines, and drinking water. Some of the prisoners, assigned to cook and distribute the food, rode in that truck.

Domingo thought they could have easily overpowered the outnumbered guards, but it seemed fear and uncertainty kept the men fettered to their seats. They would be meekly herded into their new residence three days and two nights later. The place, located at the outskirts of the town, used to be the provincial jail before the Japanese came. It was recently enlarged and surrounded by barb wires rolled out like it was a no-man's land, with improvised wooden towers at four corners. At its entrance was an 8 x 8 foot door made of slabs from rough lumber nailed together on an 'X' frame, closed by a heavy iron chain with a lock as large as an adult fist. From the outside, it looked formidable.

The Japanese guards curiously eyed the prisoners as they marched in double file to their quarters in another building that was also enclosed inside another barb wire fence. They made sure that none of their prisoners escaped. Domingo suddenly realized this was going to be his residence for an indefinite time - unless he did something about it. Now he began hating himself for not even attempting to escape when he had the chance, like his two friends, Maj. Soliman and Capt. Olayvar. The night before their formal surrender, the two had left camp unknown to everybody else, when everyone was bewildered about their status. They did not hesitate. They simply disappeared. The colonel didn't even know. Domingo could only guess where they could have gone. Free!

The prisoners were divided into groups of thirty in cramped barracks, their rough wooden double bunks closely arranged, with hardly any room to move about. Good thing they had brought along their blankets and mosquito nets, otherwise they would be easy prey to the flying insects. Two small windows with iron bars were the only sources of fresh air. At day time, the galvanized iron roof heated up the barracks, so that the men had to strip themselves to their underwear. Sometimes, they could roam around the camp perimeter to get some sun. But most of the time, they were locked inside their dorms, suffocating in the heat. Domingo longed for the more comfortable huts at their camp in Monkayo, freshened by the cool wind from the lush forests around.

On the night of their arrival, Domingo realized that their camp commander , the one they called 'the colonel', did not accompany his men to the concentration camp. His absence became more obvious at the cramped quarters. The bunk assigned to him was empty. Probably they had given him special quarters, thought Domingo. Probably he had a more comfortable bed and better food. Probably he played chess with his new-found Japanese friends. Hell!