Chapter 50: Acclimating
Pedro Madrigal was a wealthy coconut baron and landowner, and the cabeza de barangay of barrio Buliasnin. This was why my father quickly gave my sister’s hand in marriage when he asked for it.
Naturally, as my brother-in-law, he also became one of my greatest supporters and was among the happiest when I received my post as governor—and more recently, as general.
The idea for the march was only a day old. It had been discussed between me, Pedro, and the Colonel in a quiet corner of the cathedral’s walled premises after Mass. When I suggested using his house as the midway stop for the march, he eagerly accepted.
The soldiers, pleasantly surprised and a little bit confused, streamed into his beachfront property. They were made to rest, still grouped in their respective platoons, under the shade of the Talisay trees near the shore. The waves lapping at the sands made for a soothing, rhythmic sound.
"Remember to only take sips from your bumbongs. We’re only halfway," I reminded them, still on my horse. "We rest for fifteen minutes—no more! After that, we march back to Boac!"
The realization set in quickly. I immediately saw some recruits smile and scratch their heads in relief. They would not be marching to Mogpog for four kilometers and back for another four. It would only be a 4-kilometer march in total.
The point of the march was not to break them. They were expected to endure and suffer—but not yet on day one, without the mental and physical conditioning to help them through.
The real purpose was to test attitude: the willingness to follow orders and finish something hard. Obedience, after all, is the first step toward discipline. Not to mention, the march also taught footwork, formation, and chain-of-command dynamics.
Isabela was already there, helping her cousins as they distributed rice cakes to the resting recruits. She seemed pleased to have something to do to help out. I gave her a wink, which she received with mock disgust.