Rebels of Mindanao (31 page)

Ali was sure the Manila central government would cave in, and the NPA would win the war. But he would have to fight and win soon; time was not on his side, and without a decisive victory the alliance he had molded would be forced to disband and revert to small unit actions by local cells. They might never again have the chance to mass their combined forces and achieve ultimate victory and freedom. Ali decided to call the tribal leaders and the key men of the New Peoples Army together. This took some rounding up, as not all agreed among themselves who the key men were. But Ali achieved a quorum.

He rejoined Bumbog and the others sitting inside one of the few wooden houses available to them, an old building raised off the ground on stilts with the walls covered with colorful hangings of Maguindinaoan tapestries.

Mahir could hardly comprehend all the enthusiasm for the cause. So many signed up for the cause who were barefoot and skinny little men carrying nothing more than a
malong
sack with some fruit and a few personal belongings, bolos sheathed but sharpened, many of them bringing their wives and sometimes three or four kids under the age of five with them. He asked Lateef, sitting on the porch next to him, “Why, especially after our defeat, are so many new recruits joining up?”

“Brother”—it was only the second time Lateef had addressed Mahir in this familiar way—“these men fight for rice. They have little to lose, and hope we will feed their families and provide candy and cigarettes for them. Most have not heard about what happened to us during the encounter between the rivers, and even if they knew of that defeat, we would still be their best chance for future rice, maybe even rice with viand sometimes.”

Mehmet walked up and sat with the other two. He was chewing betel nut, and stains of the red narcotic dribbled down his chin, dropping into
bright puddles of tarnish on the dusty floor. He chewed leisurely while he listened to the other two discuss what to do next. He told Mahir, “The genius of Kumander Ali is his ability to see our weaknesses clearly and to turn them into our strengths” It was an eloquent statement of strategy formulation.

“Yes,” agreed Mahir. “We have a saying in our country—an army of sheep led by a lion will defeat an army of lions led by a sheep.”

“And we have our lion in Kumander Ali. I opposed him before; perhaps as a leader I was a sheep. That is why I agreed to adopt the name of NPA and to put my trust with him.” Mehmet's concession was the single most important one that had made the wider revolution possible.

The NPA mujahadeen knew they would eventually have to fight the Philippine forces now approaching them from the south. Feeling the pressure of time, Kumander Ali announced that after the upcoming battle his followers would disperse throughout Mindanao. Operationally mobile groups would return to their home regions and make individual attacks on any government or army facility they could identify as a target. Each local cell would choose its own target. But they would wait for implementation until the decisive date: the 29
^th
of the next month, and the time would be one minute after midnight, the first minute of the historic date, the anniversary of the original founding of the NPA. Ali explained to the newest arrivals that they could either choose to become Muslim or not be included in the new society. It made their choice to accept his plan easy; no single tribal chief could refuse as he would just be replaced by another. So it was no surprise that acceptance by the tribal leaders was unanimous.

After the other leaders had left, Mahir heard Kumander Ali explain to Lateef, “We have money now, but when we spend it, we will have it no more. Then the situation will go back to exactly what it was last year. These people will be back in their fields and villages, and nothing will have changed.

“Those who do not join us now will find their brothers will have taken over their lands and their homes, maybe even their wives, when they get home with no money or power. So they join.” Kumander Ali presented his very logical plan.

Lateef understood the rationale, “We will have a local chieftain on
our side in every village. All together that constitutes a new nation. We will have won.”

“Our radio is reporting all good news.” By saying the word “independence” and not being contradicted, Kumander Ali had solidified his position as leader of the combined and renamed NPA. “And we have named a specific date for elections.”

Mahir was still dubious and asked, “Elections? How can you organize elections?”

Ali spoke tangentially, not directly answering Mahir, gazing around the room. “It is time I delegate leadership. Lateef, you have agreed to drop the Abu Sayaf name. For this, I want you to lead the military effort. Mahir, you will be one of his lieutenants.”

“I cannot. I do not know this land, the languages, or this people.” Mahir stood up to object. “I was not NPA, not MNLF, I am a Turk. These
peoples
with so many tribes, languages and cultures, are difficult to lead. Any military leader would have the same problem. I cannot lead them. I have little real combat experience, less here.”

Ali was surprised by Mahir's reluctance, and did not respond immediately. Then he picked up the conversation again in a way that gave Mahir confidence. “I will command. But I need leaders of men in combat. You are better than most, and you speak English, which gives you an aura most others do not have. It overcomes tribal rivalries because it demonstrates that you are not from a rival tribe. My decision is easy for me. You must lead an important part of our army.

“I will be occupied with more important matters. I
will
organize the elections, and be elected.” Kumander Ali continued. “Mahir, you will safeguard the money to be certain I win. I will name the polling places and appoint our representatives at each place to collect the ballots and to pay those who vote. Each man on our list will receive an American ten-dollar bill as he leaves the voting place. That is more than a week's wages for most of them, if any had work before. Women will not vote, of course; and the men not on our list will be talked to and discouraged, or rather explained the realities of living in their villages after the election with our men mixed together with them. And we
must
get the men back to their villages, away from our camps, as soon as we achieve one decisive military action in the field. We cannot support them very long,
but our troops must think we can. That is why we will give each voter real money, dollars that circulate freely in their world, so the men will vote.”

“I thought my duty was done when I delivered the money to you. Now you are trusting me to give it all away for you.” Mahir said. “I expected to be leaving tomorrow.” Mahir was still debating his options, looking for Ali to say something that would make his decision to stay easier.

“You will get a great reward; now, here, back in your home, and in paradise. I have already confirmed to Sheik Kemal that you have done your job. I had a man go to the Internet café in the village and send an e-mail to him. He has acknowledged receipt. Now this you do for Allah. Not for personal vanity, but to stop starvation, not just for this one time but for the future. When we win the election, this huge fruit farm called Mindanao will belong to us. We will feed the people, and we will be rich ourselves, not the Chinese of Davao or the Tagalog of Manila, not the Jew or the American. The wealth of the land will belong to us. As the Emir of Mindanao, I will assign to you personally the rights to all of Europe for the export of the fruits of this land, the fruit of our victory. We will construct a new port in Cotobato City, and I will own that port personally.” Kumander Ali had not really thought out a national development plan to be implemented after their anticipated victory. He was creating it as he spoke; the ideas seemed to come to him directly from Allah.

As the leaders debated, more wet and exhausted troops straggled into Itig village to join the NPA. They needed rest and food after the long distances they had moved on foot during the last week. The NPA would have to establish a more permanent headquarters than they had in the triangle. Many more recruits would be moving in from Agusan and the Moro territories around Lake Lanao, and Kumander Ali would need to find a place for them.

From the position he had staked out for himself, Mahir watched at least seventy new men, with their wives, kids and pigs, who had set up shelters in the area around the radio station. About half had guns, the others carried a bolo of some sort. In his new role as exchequer for the NPA, he had the authority to pass out some of the pesos he had
obtained at the bank in Bual. He gave each man a hundred pesos and a few pesos to some of the soldiers' wives to buy rice. They would surely remember when it came time to vote.

Two men came in from the jungle, carrying between them and lashed upside down on a pole a medium-sized male monkey, the whites of his eyes twinkling brilliant in the dusk. They made a fire while the monkey watched, terrified, head turning quickly back and forth, still tied to the stick, now stuck upright in the ground. When the fire died down to a bed of coals, they disemboweled the monkey, but retained the head on the carcass because the brains would be a delicacy of good eating after all the hair burned off and the body was roasted, the meat tasting sweet, the skin crispy. Some Muslims were invited to join the group but all refused tactfully, citing their religious taboos. Since more than enough goats were available to feed everybody well, nobody went hungry.

The armed camp grew quiet. Mist began to rise off the ground and the rich aroma of cooked meat hung amid the sounds of sleep. The New Peoples Army was ready.

L
ake Buluwan is a shallow inland lake, a depression on a plateau filled by muddy streams running out of the surrounding mountains and rimmed by swampland on the three lower sides sloping away from mountains lesser than Mount Apo. Apo, literally “Honored One” in the Visayan dialect, dominates the topography of southwestern Mindanao as Fujiyama does central Japan. Apo rules his land.

Colonel Reginald Liu's Task Force Davao would again engage the NPA, now settling in a few miles to the north, but this time a reinforced and reorganized force would exploit the expected victory. Liu had been inspecting his troops at dawn when he was called to the telephone line he had hard-wired into the command post. It was Martin Galan, calling from Manila. Liu was able to report his limited success in the field. Galan listened to the entire report, then said, “Reggie, you have to do more, opposition to our president is growing in the senate, and the United States is pulling back from giving unconditional support. They
say they are our allies, but their president has his own problems with global terrorism, and the American voters are tired of the casualty reports coming in from Iraq. Their ambassador has informed me the U.S. can only guarantee new military aid if we demonstrate that we can win the conflict that is now going on in the field, and win big, soon. They won't trickle in more aid if we get into a stalemate.”

“Yes, sir, I hear you. But the insurgency of the Bangsomoro communists has gone on for a long time, and the Americans know all about it.” Liu questioned his boss, “How can they expect us to change history overnight? What's new?”

“What's new, Reggie, is that we have all run out of time. The electorates of both countries don't understand what you're up against out there in the field. Now listen to me, you get this revolution ended immediately, and then report back to me so I can take positive news to the president and congress. And don't take this the wrong way. I'm not angry with you, but don't call me back with bad news. The rebels are in your area. Get to them and take them out!”

“As I told you before, I will need more troops and artillery, you know. I am already chasing a huge force that far outnumbers my one battalion of troops. You want miracles tomorrow, try sending reinforcements today!”

“I did.” Galan replied. “They're on the way now. More than a colonel normally commands, but you will still be the overall commander of the task force.” It was a significant commitment from the National Security Advisor to put Liu in command of a much larger force.

“I fully understand, Martin. And thanks.” Liu did not often use Galan's first name in formal communication.

“Good luck, Reggie.” Galan recognized in his comrade's tone their sharing of mutual trust, and closed quietly with, “Until we meet again.” Colonel Liu had his marching orders.

Leaving his command post a few hours later, he saw white thunder-heads billowing high above the horizon, a sign of the rainstorm certain to drench them in the afternoon when the bright day dulled. A jeep approached the command post, driving up the highway. Behind it, canvas-covered trucks towing artillery pieces came into view. The lead jeep stopped.

The officer riding shotgun addressed Liu, “Lieutenant Colonel De la Rosa reporting, sir.” Salutes were exchanged. “Where should we deploy?” The reinforcements promised by Galan were moving in.

“North of Lake Buluwan and east of this highway—where you can cover the area from Mount Apo to Itig,” Liu instructed the commander of the 3
^rd
Battalion, 21
^st
Field Artillery of the AFP. He stood tall by the highway with his hands on his hips as three batteries of 105mm Howitzers, eighteen pieces of light artillery, were pulled north.

While Liu was admiring the last of the artillery units, another jeep bounced forward over the ruts, and Liu was soon instructing a full colonel of infantry to follow De la Rosa's into positions adjacent to the artillery. Although they were both full colonels, the infantry commander had saluted Liu first and called him sir. They both knew who was in charge of whatever was going to happen next; Galan obviously had sent the message through channels that this was Liu's show. Sweat began to soak through the underarms of his uniform, and it was more than the heat of the day that caused his perspiration.