Chapter 133: Heroes
My brutal actions could have backfired. The pulajanes could have seen through my bluff and waged a costly guerrilla war, striking and then melting into the many remote barrios nestled in the mountainous and rugged interior of the island.
Not only would that have caused many more unwarranted deaths among my meager force and drained what little resources we had, but it could have also successfully kept me pinned in Marinduque—far from any plans of joining the greater war effort in Luzon. I might have shot myself in the foot, replaying a miniature version of the Vietnam War, long before the Americans would ever suffer it.
Fortunately, it did not come to that.
The pulajanes pissed their pants.
Despite me having executed the first pulajan who had come to negotiate, more came after—this time with far more reasonable requests. Cult members began offering the names or even the heads of their leaders in exchange for clemency. Some even gave up family members to spare their own lives. Cabezas de barangay would mobilize their own men to hunt down pulajanes fighters, hoping their loyalty to the Republic would spare their villages from my wrath.
By the end of the week, most of the cult leaders had either been delivered in sacks or surrendered alive. The latter were quickly marched off to Boac, where they joined the growing number of prisoners awaiting judgment and eventual execution.
Pulajan fighters who surrendered and laid down their arms—particularly those who turned over their rifles—were mostly spared and let go. Exceptions were made for those identified by local witnesses or survivors to have taken part in the worst atrocities. These, too, were sent to Boac. None of them begged for mercy when handed over, but I could see the fear in their eyes. They knew their fates were sealed.
After nearly a week of skirmishes, arrests, and negotiations, we finally returned to Boac. Capitan Roque was left in command of Buenavista, tasked with maintaining order and rebuilding civil authority. Capitan Mendez and his two hundred recruits remained in Torrijos until the area was deemed fully pacified.
Returning with me were the bloodied, worn-out recruits of the first batch. They marched behind me with their uniforms torn, some with new scars, but all of them hardened by fire. They no longer looked like raw conscripts. Their backs were straighter, their faces sterner. I was confident that they were among the most battle-worthy units in the Republic.
Boac would have only learned of the revolts days earlier, and yet the reception awaiting us at the port was nothing short of festive. Colonel Abad, Pedro, and the civilian staff met us with handshakes and loud cheers. Even Señor Grimaldo and Don Contreras, smiled broadly and shook my hand, congratulating my success.
Even before we reached the town proper, villagers had begun lining the dirt road to welcome us. They clapped and chanted as we passed. By the time we arrived in the población, the entire town had come alive. Colorful banderitas fluttered above us. A rondalla played vibrant music. Women tossed flowers. Children ran beside us, shouting my name.