I looked over the transfer papers and then up at her. "State your name for the record."
She answered calmly. "Kabo Anya Mikhaela Reyes."
I nodded. The name was Filipino, but Mikhaela was distinctly Russian. It explained the lighter hair, the sharper facial features, and the faint, rolling lilt in her Tagalog. I raised an eyebrow. "Did you work your way all the way from the Russian Empire to Cavite? That is quite impressive."
She shook her head once. "My grandfather did."
That made sense. I leaned back in my chair. "I didn't know Russians were fighting in this war." I folded the paper and tapped it against my desk. "You are a Kabo."
"Yes, Sarhento."
"And you requested a transfer into my unit?"
"I did."
"May I know why? I assume a veteran Corporal doesn't jump units on a whim."
Anya didn't blink. "I heard about the raid on the American outpost."
So, my exploits were drawing attention. I shrugged it off. "It was just a run-of-the-mill sabotage mission. Most officers aren't that impressed by it."
"In my opinion, Sarge, it is exactly what this army needs," Anya countered calmly. "I believe my time would be best spent working alongside a leader who values tactics over numbers."
I looked at her skeptically. It was an optimistic take. "I appreciate the honesty, but we are just a humble squad. Don't you have your own fireteam to lead?"
Her eyes darkened slightly. "Things happen in war. My previous fireteam were dead due to heavy losses."
I understood what she wasn't saying. Her unit had been chewed up in a bad engagement. Since Teniente Todri had approved the transfer, I had no reason to reject a veteran NCO. If she was half as good as her record suggested, she was a massive asset.
"Fair enough," I said, standing up and extending my hand. "Welcome to the team, Kabo Anya. Since you hold rank, you will act as my second-in-command. You will help me organize the squads and run the drills."
She accepted the handshake, her grip firm and calloused. "Thank you, Sarhento. I look forward to working with you."
~~
Anya's POV
Before I ever knew the sound of a Mauser rifle, I knew the sound of the sea.
I grew up near the docks of Cavite, where massive iron and wooden ships from distant lands anchored for trade. My mother sold dried fish and salted goods to the foreign sailors who passed through. The docks were always a chaotic roar—men shouting in Spanish, Tagalog, and English.
But there was one voice I always remembered clearly. My grandfather's.
Mikhail Petrov.
He was a Russian sailor who had arrived years ago on a merchant vessel and simply never left. He married a local woman and stayed in the islands long enough that the locals just called him Lolo Misha.
He was the one who taught me how to shoot. Not because he wanted me to be a soldier, but because he believed in self-reliance.
"A rifle is like the sea, Anya," he used to tell me in broken Tagalog. "If you respect it, it will carry you. If you fear it, it will drown you."
I was a natural. By the time I was sixteen, I could hit glass bottles bobbing on the waves farther out than any of the dockworkers could manage. Life was simple.
Until the Revolution against Spain.
Since the death of Jose Rizal, the revolution erupted and war changed everything. The docks became recruitment grounds. Young men vanished into the jungle to join the Katipunan. Some returned with horrific stories. Some never returned at all.
I joined the revolutionary forces as a courier at first. It was the only job the old-fashioned officers would give a woman. But being a courier meant moving between units. And moving meant learning. I watched how soldiers trained, how officers commanded, and how battles were fought from the edges.
Eventually, one of the top guns noticed I was outshooting his recruits during target practice. The first time I proved myself, I dropped a target at seventy meters using a captured Spanish bolt-action rifle.
After that, they stopped treating me like a messenger. They gave me a rifle, and later, they gave me rank. Kabo.
Some soldiers respected it. Others merely tolerated it. But no one could deny that I had earned it with blood and lead.
When the Spanish war ended and the Americans arrived, the fighting became much harder. The Republic's army expanded too quickly. Raw recruits were handed rifles and sent on patrols before they even knew how to march.
I had commanded five men under the command of Teniente Ramos. They were brave boys, eager and full of fire, but they were raw. Untrained. They would fire too early, panic under stress, and die needlessly in the mud because no one had taught them anything beyond pulling a trigger.
Then, it happened, it was just a skirmishes, we were pinned down on one of the operation. Then, an artillery hit accurately, just enough to hit all my men, and died on the the spot.
It frustrated me. It broke my heart. War required absolute discipline, but in our army, discipline was a rare currency.
Until I overheard a conversation by the supply fires one evening.
"You heard what happened to that American outpost?" a wounded soldier asked, his arm suspended in a blood-stained sling.
"No," his companion replied, chewing on a hard piece of dried meat.
"Blown to hell."
"By a battalion?"
The wounded man shook his head. "By a small unit. Five men."
I stopped cleaning my rifle, the oil rag freezing in my hand. Taking an American fortification usually meant a human-wave attack—hundreds of our men swarming a position like they used to do against the Spanish in the stone churches. Slicing through a camp with five men was unheard of. It sounded like a suicide mission. Unless they were smart.
"How?" the other soldier asked, leaning forward.
"It was done during the night, the men was in disguise, and I heard that they detonate the ammunition wagons, until the Americans were searching for them." The wounded man lowered his voice. "The Sarhento—he was a Kabo back then—trains his men differently."
"Differently how?"
"He doesn't just teach them to shoot. He makes them run every day. They practice with knives in the blind dark. They say his men can move through the jungle without snapping a single dry leaf."
That night, sleep refused to come. A leader who actually trained his soldiers. A unit that used stealth over blind bravado. If even half of it was true, it was a miracle. It was a place where soldiers might actually survive.
The next morning, I stood before Teniente Ramos.
"I want a transfer, Teniente."
Ramos blinked in surprise, leaning back in his creaking wooden chair. The morning light cut through the cracks in the convento walls. "To where?"
"Teniente Todri's command."
"Why?" Ramos frowned, rubbing his stubbled chin. "You are one of my best Kabo, Anya. I am sorry about your squad, but war is loss. It does not mean you can just abandon your post."
"I am not abandoning it, sir," I replied, my voice quiet but unyielding. The faces of the five boys I had buried flashed through my mind. I had failed them because I didn't know how to keep them alive. "I lost them. All of them. I cannot watch another group of boys die because we do not know how to fight. I need to learn how to keep my men alive. If I stay here, I am just waiting to bury more."
Ramos stared at me for a long time, the irritation in his eyes softening into something like pity. He sighed, reached for a scrap of paper, and dipped his quill into the ink.
"Fine," he muttered, the quill scratching against the paper. "Transfer approved. Go see if this Todri is as good as the rumors say."
I packed my kit, said goodbye to my men, and set out for Todri's sector. It was a long trek, but by afternoon, I was standing in Teniente Todri's command tent.
Todri read my request, his eyes narrowing. "You want to serve under Sarhento Valerian?"
"Yes, sir."
Todri leaned back. "You realize he was only promoted yesterday?"
I was surprised. Fast. "I didn't know that, sir."
"And you realize you are a Corporal? You will be the highest-ranking NCO in his squad besides him."
"Yes, sir."
Todri studied my face. Then, unexpectedly, he asked, "Your grandfather was Russian, correct? Mikhail the sailor?"
"He was."
Todri nodded slowly. "I remember him from Cavite. A good man." He tapped his desk. "You know Valerian runs his unit unusually, don't you?"
"That is exactly why I am here, sir."
Todri offered a faint, grim smile and signed the paper. "Very well. Report to him tomorrow morning. You might find his methods strange, Kabo."
I took the paper. "So are mine, Teniente."
The next morning, I found them at the edge of the tree line.
Nine men were standing in formation. One man stood at the front, watching them with a calm, calculating gaze. He was young, but his posture was flawless. That was Valerian.
I walked up to him, slung my rifle, and snapped a salute.
"Reporting for reassignment."
He looked at me, momentarily confused. And that was where my journey with Valerian's squad truly began.
~~
I decide to pay Teniente Todri a visit.
"Oh, look! It's the young boy Sarhento!" the soldiers tease as I pass their cook fire.
"Shut up," I shoot back with a smirk. "Is Teniente Todri in there?"
"Yes, he's inside, drowning in paperwork as usual."
I nod and pull back the tent flap.
"Ah, Valerian. Good to see you," Todri says without looking up from his desk. "It's hard to find good tactical minds nowadays."
"May I know why Kabo Anya asked for a transfer? And specifically to my team?" I get straight to the point. "Don't you think it's weird?"
He stops writing, leans back in his creaking wooden chair, and lights a cigar. "What do you think, boy? A woman Kabo from the old Katipunan days suddenly asking for a transfer. In my observation, she isn't what you'd expect. She is unique. Secondly, you stand out, Valerian. Your achievements are starting to catch up to you."
I fall silent, absorbing his words.
"Anya was considered one of the best under Teniente Ramos, you know?" Todri says, offering me a sly wink. "So, make sure you take care of her."
Damn son, you old fox, I think to myself, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "I think I get the gist of it, sir."
"If you've found the answers you're looking for, then get out of here. Prepare your squad and stand by," Todri dismisses me with a wave of his hand.
I salute and walk out into the humid morning air.
"Damn," I mutter to myself, looking over at where Anya is drilling the recruits. "That's quite an explanation."