The telegraph key inside the command post chattered frantically, its sharp metallic clicks echoing the rising panic of the northern front.
Colonel Paco Román held the freshly transcribed dispatch in his hand, his eyes scanning Valerian's neat, precise handwriting twice over. "Two kilometres out... three modern field pieces, and a staging force exceeding a thousand boots," Román muttered, turning toward General Antonio Luna. "The Sarhento's scouts confirmed it. The main assault on Bagbag is imminent."
General Luna didn't hesitate. "Telegram Mascardo in Pampanga immediately," he growled, slamming his fist onto the map table. "Tell him to mobilize his brigade and move to reinforce the river's left flank at once! If we pin the Americans at the bridgehead, we can crush their vanguard before MacArthur brings up his reserves!"
Capitan Eduardo Rusca, his eyes bloodshot and his fingers ink-stained from hours of endlessly drafting orders, requisitions, and official letters, sighed heavily as he operated the telegraph key. "Sending now, Heneral..."
~~
Minutes dragged like hours in the humid room. Then, the key clattered back.
Rusca read the incoming tape, his expression hardening into sheer disbelief. "Heneral... it's Mascardo."
"What does he say?" Luna demanded, leaning over the table like a predator about to strike.
"He... he refuses to send a single soldier," Rusca said softly, taking a cautious step back. "General Mascardo states that he is currently attending a town fiesta in Guagua, Pampanga. He adds that he recognizes military authority only from President Aguinaldo—not from you."
Silence fell over the convent room—a suffocating, terrifying stillness.
Then, Luna snapped and smacked the table, as the table was tossed upside down..
"INSOBORDINATE COWARD!" Luna screamed, his face flushing a deep, dangerous posture. He kicked his chair back, sending it crashing against the stone floor. He grabbed the inkpot and hurled it against the wall, shattering glass and splattering black ink across the maps. "While soldiers bleed in the mud at Bagbag, he dances at a fiesta?!"
"Antonio, calm yourself!" Román pleaded, stepping between the General and the doorway. "The Americans are two kilometres from the river! We cannot afford an internal war right now!"
"I will not tolerate mutiny in my army!" Luna roared, his eyes wild with unbridled fury. "Rusca! Send a telegram of direct threat to Mascardo! Tell him if he does not report to my headquarters within the hour, I will march to Pampanga myself and execute him for high treason!"
"Antonio, listen to reason!" Román tried again, his voice tight with desperation. "If you march to Pampanga, who will support the defense line at Bagbag? Even with its current forces, we dont have much firepower."
"My Tiradores will come with me!" Luna barked, completely deaf to Román's warnings. "We take the locomotive! We arrest Mascardo, enforce discipline in this Republic, and return before the Americans even cross the creek! And Rusca!, report this to President Aguinaldo and request for an arrest. I want you to meet the President."
"Antonio, no—"
"That is a direct command, Colonel!" Luna spat, buckling his saber to his belt and sweeping out of the convent with his staff.
Román stood frozen in the center of the room. He looked at Rusca, who simply slumped into a chair, rubbing his aching temples, thoroughly drained by the sheer, endless madness of high-command politics.
"He's taking the sharpshooters..." Rusca muttered, tossing his pen onto the table with a hollow, bitter laugh. "He's taking the train and the elite marksmanship... to settle a grudge over a fiesta."
Román didn't answer. He picked up his cap, adjusted his tunic, and stepped out into the humid night. He needed to find Valerian while Rusca quickly typing the order.
~~
Down in the mud of the forward dugout, the rhythmic scraping of shovels had slowed as the men took a short breath.
The crunch of heavy boots announced Colonel Román's arrival. The Colonel looked ten years older, his face pale under the flickering lantern light.
I stood up immediately, snapping a salute. "Colonel. Did the General receive the scout report?"
Román looked at me, then at Anya, and finally at the sixty-three men digging in the dark behind us. He let out a long, heavy exhale that carried the weight of a dying Republic.
"He received it, Sarhento," Román said, his voice dropping to a low, quiet hum. "And he did sent a telegram to General Mascardo for reinforcements."
Anya's eyes narrowed. "And?"
"Mascardo refused flatly." Román said flatly. "Right now, he is hosting a fiesta in Pampanga and refuses to obey Luna's authority. The General... has taken the Tiradores de la Muerte, commandeered the locomotive, and is currently marching to Pampanga to arrest him for treason."
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over our dugout. Even the sound of the shovels stopped.
Pasco blinked, his jaw dropping. "He... he left? The heneral himself left the front line?"
"We are on our own, Valerian," Román said, looking me dead in the eye, his gaze filled with a mix of apology and grim respect. "There are no reinforcements coming. No elite marksmanship unit to support the firepower, and even no General to relay the order. It seems the center of this entire national defense rests entirely on your shoulders, the front will be its final gates to our heart capital itself."
To be honest, I am aware of this situation, which makes it one of the reasons why the defense failed, without the support from the elite forces, it is not practical, and right now the retreat would be a reasonable approach, but retreat and they will hold more foothold.
I looked up from the map, my mind tracing the historical timeline and the strategic disposition of the Republic's forces across Luzon. I remembered about Del Pilar's brigade being dispatched with General Luna but I'm not sure of its numbers.
"What about General Gregorio del Pilar's brigade?" I asked, my voice cutting through the heavy silence of the dugout. "His troops are stationed in the Bulacan sector. Can we draw from his men to fill the gap left by the Tiradores?"
Colonel Román let out a dry, tired sigh, shaking his head. "Del Pilar's forces are currently held in reserve near the Baliuag and Quingua corridors, Sarhento. He has been tasked with guarding the eastern flank against any secondary American crossing. Even if we sent an urgent courier right now, del Pilar takes his orders directly from President Aguinaldo—and without Luna's explicit authority, he won't shift a single company to our sector."
"So del Pilar is tied down watching the east, Mascardo is dining in Pampanga, and Luna is chasing ghosts," Anya remarked dryly, her thumb tracing the steel frame of her Mauser. "It is a brilliant display of unity."
"Now we know that we are entirely on our own," I said, leaning back against the earthen wall. "Which means what we are trying to do right now is the only thing that stands between this crucial section and total annihilation."