Chapter 108: Nothing More, Nothing Less
Señor Alcantara, the alférez, the tenientes, and the cadets streamed into the small room quietly. Their shadows stretched along the walls, dancing in the flickering light cast by the sole lantern at the center of the table. One panel of the Capiz shell window was slightly opened, letting in the scent of damp soil and the croaking of frogs and chirping of crickets from outside.
The conference room in Gasan’s presidencia municipal was only half the size of the one in the Casa Real, but it was just enough to accommodate eight people comfortably. The wooden chairs scraped against the stone floor, loud in the otherwise silent night, as the officers took their seats.
Newly roused from sleep, some were still scratching their eyes, others stifled yawns. Boots shifted, belts creaked, and the faint smell of sweat and oil from their rifles filled the cramped space. After they settled down, they looked to me, their faces dull from drowsiness, waiting for orders. Some stared blankly, letting their eyes adjust to the light and their minds to the weight of what was coming.
The former Martín had been to Buenavista once or twice—hardly enough to give me a reliable grasp of the town’s layout. But the scouts had done their job well, providing enough information to build a rough picture of the key positions.
"The Tipo River... our landing spot, is about a mile away from the town," I began. My voice came out hoarse, a jarring sound after the long silence. "That’s just near enough for us to reach the town center in under thirty minutes, and just far enough to keep our approach hidden."
They began to pay attention. Chairs stopped creaking. Even the yawning stopped.
"With our primary objective being the Parroquial del Santo Niño Jesús—the church at the center of town. It is likely that the Pulajanes have camped in the convent. If we’re lucky, this might be where we find Papa Hilario—our main target."
The parish church, especially in a remote town like Buenavista, would likely be the most solid structure around—stone walls, limited windows, a defensible position. The Pulajanes, being religious extremists, would have seized it for both spiritual and strategic reasons.
If we were to ensure a faster and less bloody takeover, we needed to strike hard and fast—go straight for the jugular.
"Once the gunshots start ringing out, the town will be roused. Pulajanes reinforcements will come from two directions," I said, raising my hand to gesture in the air as I outlined the plan.
"About a hundred meters east of the church is the presidencia municipal," I continued. "According to our scouts, it also houses a sizeable number of Pulajanes combatants. Cristobal’s platoon under Teniente Trivino will provide suppressing fire from entrenched positions—draw their attention and thin their ranks."