The rest of the day passed without urgency. While most of the army went about their chores or waited for orders from the generals, our corner of the camp was quiet.
I returned to our bamboo shelter, where Julian, Pasco, Sanchez, and Roberto were resting. Roberto sat with his injured leg stretched out while Sanchez carefully replaced his bandage.
"How bad?" I asked, crouching down.
"It stings," Roberto admitted. "But I can walk."
Julian chuckled from the corner. "You'll complain the whole way to Bulacan, though."
Roberto scowled and threw a small twig at him. Pasco leaned against a supply crate, slowly running a cleaning cloth down his rifle barrel. He looked up at me.
"You look serious, Sarge."
I pulled out the folded paper Todri had given me. "Starting tomorrow, we are getting four new transfers. I expect you all to get along with them."
That got their attention. Julian sat up. "Are they replacements, boss?"
"Not exactly. Transfers from other sections."
Pasco whistled quietly. "So, eight men now. Plus you."
Sanchez nodded thoughtfully. "That means we will be operating as a proper squad."
The wound on Roberto's leg looked clean. No swelling yet. "You rest tonight," I told him, patting his shoulder. "Tomorrow, you march with the rest of us."
Roberto grinned. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
The sun had barely crested the horizon when I gathered the men in the center of the camp. Julian was stretching, Pasco was yawning, and Roberto was leaning on a heavy wooden walking stick—already moving much better than yesterday.
"You sure about this, man?" Julian asked Roberto.
"I'm not missing the introductions," Roberto replied firmly.
I unfolded the paper. "They should be here any minute."
Pasco looked around the clearing. "Who's making the announcements? Is it you, Sarge?"
"That's the plan," I replied. "And when we are on duty, it's Sarhento or Sarge. Got it?"
Before he could answer, the crunch of boots against dry earth announced their arrival. Six men were walking toward our clearing. I straightened up immediately.
Teniente Todri was leading the way, flanked by the young Alperes from the command tent. Behind them marched four unfamiliar soldiers in faded rayadillo uniforms.
The transfers.
"Teniente," I saluted sharply.
Todri nodded. "Good morning, Sarhento."
Pasco leaned over to Julian, whispering out of the corner of his mouth. "Well... looks like the big boss is doing the honors."
Julian elbowed him hard in the ribs. "Shut up."
We gathered in the clearing. It wasn't a formal parade ground, but there was enough space for the men to form a neat line. Todri looked at the four new men first.
"You were transferred here by my order," Todri said, his voice echoing in the morning quiet. "From today onward, you will serve under Sarhento Valerian."
He stepped down the line, gesturing to each man.
"Soldado Miguel." A tall, lean man stepped forward. "Soldado Mateo." A broad-shouldered soldier nodded confidently. "Soldado Andres." A quiet youth with sharp, scanning eyes. "And Soldado Tomas." The oldest of the group gave a crisp, respectful salute.
The four men stood perfectly at attention. Todri then turned to face my original squad.
"The four men who carried out the recent sabotage operation deserve recognition," Todri announced.
Pasco blinked. Julian's jaw dropped slightly. Sanchez remained calm, but his eyes sharpened. Roberto straightened his posture despite his injury.
"Julian, Pasco, Sanchez, and Roberto," Todri's voice carried clearly. "For your actions against the American outpost, you are hereby officially promoted to the rank of Soldado."
For a moment, silence hung over the clearing. Pasco looked completely stunned.
"Technical errors held up your official enlistment and pay previously," Todri continued. "But because you followed your leader, obeyed orders perfectly, and got the job done, your progress is being acknowledged today."
The Alperes stepped forward, handing each of them a freshly issued set of clean clothing and a blank cloth pip to pin to their collars. Nothing fancy, but it was the official mark of a soldier of the Republic.
Todri folded his hands behind his back. "You fought well."
In perfect unison, my four originals snapped a salute. "Yes, sir!"
I felt a surge of genuine pride swelling in my chest. Finally, my training was bearing fruit.
Todri turned to me one last time. "You now command eight soldados, Sarhento. Do what you need to do."
"Yes, Teniente."
Todri gave a final glance over the nine of us, then turned and walked back toward the command tents with the young officer.
Left alone with the squad, Pasco looked around, a grin splitting his face. "Well, Sarge..."
"Looks like we're a real unit now," Julian laughed.
The dynamic was shifting. Eight men. Eight lives I had to protect.
"Alright," I said, my voice calm but firm. "No more celebrations. Training starts now."
As the morning assembly broke apart, we got to talking. I wanted to know where these new guys came from.
"What were your previous assignments?" I asked.
Mateo crossed his arms. "Miguel and I were under Sarhento Corazon. Tomas and Andres were under Alperes Silva."
"What were your roles?"
"Artillery," Miguel answered. Mateo nodded in agreement.
"Andres and I were scouts," Tomas explained, his voice gravelly. "We paint the target and map the terrain before the big guns open up."
"But Sarhento Corazon caught a tropical disease and was discharged," Miguel explained. "And Alperes Silva was reassigned. So, we were transferred here."
Artillerymen and scouts. I tried to hide my grin. That was a tactical jackpot.
"An artillery crew and forward scouts," I chuckled. "It seems I hit the jackpot. I've been wanting to get my hands on some field guns, though that might be above my pay grade for now."
"Whoa, Sarge," Pasco teased. "Big dreamer! Planning to take over the whole army?"
"Shut up, Pasco," I shot back, though I was smiling. I regained my composure. "You've heard about how I run this unit. I have my own ways of training. Expect hell."
The four new men didn't flinch. "Yes, Sarge!"
"Pasco! Take the lead on physical conditioning. Double time!"
Pasco snapped a salute. "Attention! Right face! Double time, run!"
The eight men fell into formation and began their run around the perimeter. I watched them, feeling the heavy gears of a real squad beginning to turn.
Later that afternoon, I was sitting inside my command tent, mapping out training schedules.
The sound of light, measured footsteps approached. Not the heavy, clomping boots of the recruits. Someone who knew how to move quietly.
A figure stepped into the tent. They wore the standard revolutionary tunic, a cartridge belt cinched at the waist, and a rifle slung expertly across their shoulder.
But as the soldier approached, the differences were impossible to ignore. The hair was lighter than any local—a dirty blonde, tied back in a tight, severe braid. Her posture was rigidly military.
She stopped a few feet from my desk and snapped a textbook salute.
"Kabo Anya Reyes. Reporting for reassignment, Sarhento."
I blinked, momentarily caught off guard. I hadn't requested any more transfers, let alone a woman. And certainly not a Kabo.
"I think you have the wrong section, Corporal," I said slowly.
The woman reached into her pocket, pulling out a folded document. "Am I?"
She handed it over. I opened the paper and scanned the ink. It was an official transfer order, signed in heavy ink by Teniente Todri himself. It was completely legitimate.
I looked up from the paper, then back at her. A modern tactical mind, eight hungry soldiers, and now a professional, ice-cold female Kabo as my second-in-command.
History was about to get very interesting.