Todri led me and Anya as soon and possible as our steps are quite fast than usual. As we arrived, The command post was a converted stone convent, its thick walls still bearing the scars of Spanish remains from years prior. Outside, the indigo-clad Tiradores stood like statues, their eyes tracking us with a predatory stillness as Teniente Todri led Anya and me toward the heavy oak doors.
Todri stopped at the entrance, his hand hovering near the latch. He looked at me one last time, a bead of sweat tracing a line down his temple. "Remember, Sarhento... make sure you keep it simple when the General asks. Don't speak unless he looks at you."
He pushed the door open.
The room inside was thick with the scent of map ink and expensive tobacco. A long wooden table was covered in topographical charts of the current location which is the riverbanks. Standing over them was a man whose presence seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room. General Antonio Luna was shorter than I expected, but his posture was like a coiled spring, his moustache sharp and his eyes burning with a restless, manic intelligence.
Beside him stood Colonel Paco Román, a man with a steady gaze and a calm demeanor that acted as the anchor to the General's storm. Leaning against a pillar was Capitan Eduardo Rusca, his hand resting casually on his hip, watching us with a smirk that suggested he found the entire world—and us—mildly amusing.
Luna didn't look up immediately. He was stabbing a finger at a map near the Bagbag River. "If the Americans cross here, it's not because they are brave, Paco! It's because our officers are cowards who would rather negotiate than dig!"
"General," Todri announced, his voice cracking slightly. "Sarhento Valerian and Kabo Anya, as requested."
He stepped toward us, his boots clicking sharply on the stone floor. "Teniente, well done on bringing these two guests, truly well done, you're dismissed Teniente, stand by for orders."
Todri salutes, and leaves the post, leaving us both on them.
He ignored me at first, stopping in front of Anya. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowed as if he were trying to recall a specific line from a dusty ledger.
"Anya Mikhaela Reyes," Luna said, his voice dropping into a low, inquisitive growl. "I read the after-action reports from the '96 uprising. There were whispers of a 'White Ghost' among the Katipunan ranks during the siege of the Spanish garrisons—a woman of northern blood who didn't know how to miss. The reports say you survived the retreat to the mountains while men twice your size broke and ran."
He took a step closer, his face inches from hers. "Don Teodoro's letter confirms it. He says the veteran of the old revolution has found a new purpose in this section. Is that true, Kabo? Or has the fire from '96 finally gone out?"
Anya didn't blink. She didn't salute. She simply stared back with that icy, Siberian indifference, her hand resting naturally on the hilt of her bolo. "The fire is still there, General. I just have better wood to burn now."
Rusca let out a short, barked laugh. "I like her, Paco. She's got more steel in her voice than the entire cabinet in Malolos."
Luna turned his fury on me next. "And you. Valerian. The man who it seems managed to 'recovers' crates that the Republic's own quartermasters couldn't find. The man who moves his squad in 'fire teams' like those westerners instructors." He leaned in so close I could smell the bitterness of the coffee on his breath. "Teodoro's letter says you are a catalyst. I say you are either a genius or a very lucky thief."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper—the communiqué from the capital.
"It is a fortunate gesture that somehow, one of the influential familia, the Santos suddenly willing to 'contribute' to the men through his warehouses across the Luzon. Honestly, I prefer that he do it to the republic itself, but it seems that it was an exclusive ones.," Luna stated, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Also, he add a condition that as long as you still under my wing, he agreed to help. It seems he trusts a mere Sarhento more than he trusts my entire command staff."
Colonel Román stepped forward to General Luna, more like he want to whisper. "General, if the Sarhento has the tactical mind Teodoro claims, he could be an asset in the coming offensive."
Luna slammed his fist onto the table, rattling the inkpots. "I don't need 'assets'! I need soldiers who don't run! I need men who understand that the only way to beat a modern army is to become one!"
He glared at me, his eyes searching for a crack in my composure. I stood my ground, my modern mind calculating the risks. I knew the history. I knew the temper. But I also knew the desperation.
"We can make this war a completely lost cause for them," I explained. "Currently, United States is the only major power that currently does not have a colonial foothold in this region. If we make the war itself too economically and politically expensive for their public to endure, they will realize that owning even an inch of our land is entirely futile."
I leaned forward slightly, gesturing to the topographical maps. "To achieve that, we have to make sure that in every single battle we have with the Americans, they suffer heavily—not just in casualties, but in their vital supplies and ammunition, even if we lose, they lose even more. If I were to simplify our objective, what I'm saying is—"
"We must also attack them silently," Captain Rusca interjected, nodding in agreement. "Like the raid you pulled off previously, Sarhento. Actually, thanks to your previous operations, the Americans starts to slow down the skirmishes along northern Manila."
"Yes Kapitan, supply raid, night attacks, even guerilla tactics, we must utilize it while the enemies is still at bearable amount."
The room fell into an abrupt, jarring stillness. A flicker of genuine surprise washed over Colonel Román's steady features, and Captain Rusca's smirk momentarily locked in place. Neither officer had anticipated this kind of cold, calculated grand strategy coming from a low-ranking grunt. They had expected a soldier begging for resources or boasting of frontline bravery, not a man laying out the economic and political expiration date of an invading superpower.
The silence in the room stretched, heavy and suffocating. General Luna remained motionless, his eyes drilling into me as he weighed the concept of an economically unsustainable war. From the shadows near the map table, Colonel Paco Román broke the quiet, stepping closer to the General and leaning in slightly to whisper.
"General... a mind like this shouldn't be wasted in a trench lip. If Don Teodoro's backing is tied to him, a promotion to Alperes or even Teniente would secure the Santos logistics permanently. It would give us the standardization we desperately need."
Capitan Rusca pushed himself off the stone pillar, his boots softly clicking as he walked over to join them, dropping his voice to a low murmur. "Paco is right, General. I've seen this boy's work firsthand. He doesn't just talk about logistics; he turns raw recruits into a functioning unit before breakfast. Give him the commission."
Luna's jaw tightened, his sharp moustache twitching as he listened to his closest confidants. For a moment, it looked like the weight of their arguments might actually bend his iron will.
But then, the General let out a harsh, mocking breath and raised a hand, cutting them both off instantly.
"A promotion?" Luna chuckled, though his eyes remained entirely cold. "You both want me to hand out silver pips based on a wealthy merchant's letter and a few clever phrases? No. This army is already crawling with 'Civic Officers' who bought their ranks with family gold and political favors. I will not add another hotshot kid to the ledger just because he knows how to read the clouds."
He stepped past Román and Rusca, stopping directly in front of me again, his posture like a coiled spring ready to snap.
"You talk of making the enemy bleed, Sarhento. Your emphasize on the war of attrition and how confident you explain, as if you've already won it in your head. But theories don't just stop a bayonet charge, and clever words don't silence a howitzer battery. I want to see for myself how this Sarhento is truly different from the standard, clueless soldados we throw into the teeth of the American fire."
Luna turned back to the topographical chart, slamming his hand down onto a heavily contested sector right at the center of the Bulacan line.
"The riverbanks near the bridgehead," Luna ordered, his voice echoing with absolute finality. "The Americans are probing the sector daily, and the regular companies there are on the verge of cracking. You want to make this war expensive for them, Valerian? Then you and your nine people will take charge of the front line at the absolute center of that meat grinder."
He looked back up, a harsh, testing grin spreading across his face.
"Hold the line. Execute your 'fire teams'. Make them bleed. If you survive the week and prove your unorthodox methods actually keep men alive, I will personally pin the officer's stars to your collar. But if you run... I will have the Tiradores shoot you as a deserter before you can even look back at Malolos."
I felt Anya stiffen beside me, her hand tightening subtly on the hilt of her bolo. But I kept my composure, locking eyes with the Iron General.
"Understood, General," I said, my voice dead steady