By then a four-man patrol was at the second light, directly in the middle of the engagement area. Ramsey could see a man feeling his way with one hand in the darkness, ensuring no branches or twigs caught his eye. He looked like a blind man, groping his way through an unfamiliar room. Soon, he would be blind, Ramsey thought to himself.
Nearly thirty Abu Sayyaf were stacked single file behind the lead team, wandering aimlessly into their sights.
As a precaution, he had sent Abe nearly fifty meters to his north to serve as a listening post on the left flank. He had tied their remaining rope around Abe’s waist so that he did not get lost and to serve as a communications device. Two tugs meant enemy soldiers were coming from that direction. Abe had readily accepted the mission, glad he could help. Ramsey, desperately short of personnel, placed complete confidence and faith in him.
Talbosa struggled up the mountain, still reeling from his conversation with Takishi and the fact that the Luzon faction had Garrett. He had unsuccessfully tried to contact the Fort Magsaysay team and vowed to try again in the morning.
Rocks slipped beneath his feet. Branches whipped into his face, unintentionally launched by the man to his front. They had found a trail, which made movement easier and faster. With Takishi’s report that Matt Garrett was detained in Luzon, Talbosa’s frustration mounted. He found himself thinking less of the enemy and more of a way simply to get to Cateel so he could fly to Manila.
His men had slowed, reaching what seemed like a clearing. The lead company, whittled to only forty rebels, noisily passed back the word to the other two companies of equal size that they would slowly move across the clearing. Talbosa was impatient, frustrated at the elusiveness of the soldiers. Before, he had caught them easily. He knew all of their tactics. They were particularly careless at night, bunching into tight clusters with little to no security. He wanted a quick victory. His brothers in arms had seized control of the government, and he could not even catch a ten-man patrol.
As his first men crossed the clearing, he sensed the second element move along the trail. He had positioned himself at the lead of the second unit and felt the commander brush past him quietly as he watched dark figures drift silently through the night. His frustration was replaced by the exhilaration of watching his men perform. He had read all of the American manuals on patrolling and conventional combat and watched his men execute what he believed to be a perfect danger-area clearing. He thought it was good, too, that his other two battalions had remained north of Davao City. Too many people in the jungle would be difficult to control. His men slid past him in silence as they followed the trail. He was close. He could feel it. Victory would soon be his.
Ramsey had watched the four-man team barely clear the danger area. They had not checked the far side. Looking through his goggles, he saw the lead man of the patrol walk past the third infrared chemical light.
He squeezed the electrical blasting machine, a small, handheld device that generated an electrical pulse via the rapid pumping of a handle that turned a small motor, sending an electrical signal along the wire to ignite the claymore mines.
Nothing happened. He squeezed again. No response. Groping in the dark, he felt for the firing wires. He found them. Somehow one of the wires had come loose from the post. He awkwardly reinserted the wire, pressing down on the post as if he were inserting a stereo wire into a speaker. The blasting machine tumbled clumsily out of his hands as he watched five men move past the last infrared light. His hand dug into the dirt, snatching the small device. He pumped the blasting machine with two hands cupped around it, forcing it into his chest.
A bright light flashed into the darkness like a single strobe. He had forgotten to look away from the blast, allowing the sudden whiteness to burn out the batteries in his goggles. He was as blind as the rebels, and with the deafening blast he could barely hear.
Nonetheless, his team began firing. All of them had PAQ-4C infrared strobes mounted on their weapons to augment their goggles. Their fire control was rough at first. The men on the right flank started by shooting the lead five men, then turning their rifles on the predetermined sectors. Tracers rocketed downhill and sidehill, most finding their way into the warm bodies of Filipino rebels. Screams of pain sang out in the night, interrupted by the now-cadenced fire of M4s, M203 grenade launchers, shotguns, and sniper rifles.
Because he had lost his night vision, Ramsey could only direct his fire toward the tracers, a default fire-control technique. He hoped that whoever was firing the tracers could see what he was shooting. But he felt stupid, pulling the trigger with no target. Being so low on ammunition, he stopped, deciding wisely to conserve. The withering fire stymied the Filipinos, nonetheless. He could hear men drop, and had yet to see a single shot returned.
Talbosa registered shock as he watched his first company get raked by a screaming hail of bullets. Half of the second company was trapped as well. He had jumped back into the first cut of trees at the sound of the explosion. Popping his head above a rock, he could see the fire outlining the enemy’s positions. The tracers were coming from directly up the hill and immediately to their right about 150 meters away.
We can flank them. He tightened down his hat and grabbed a shaking soldier, telling him to get the rest of his company and to follow him.
“Sir, there are only five men left in my company,” the soldier said, smelling of urine.
“Then get them!” Talbosa yelled beneath the sound of the raging American rifles.
He had the trail company lay down a base of fire, to imply that they were not moving. Swiftly, he took his five-man team to the north, moving through the rain forest with unexpected ease. This is brilliant, he told himself. As they moved, they were clearly out of any danger from the ambush. The firing grew more distant as he led his team behind the enemy’s north flank. It seemed surreal, the tracers diving into the ground, sometimes arching eastward toward the ocean. The soft pop of the weapons belied their destructive nature. They made the turn and were moving parallel to the ridge. Talbosa could not believe his good fortune. He was behind the enemy, unimpeded. They moved to set up a position from which to kill them. He decided they would attack silently, using knives to kill each man individually.
Eddie was firing his weapon, looking for more rebels to shoot. As the pivot man in the ambush, his pickings had been particularly good. He fired at will, striking targets easily with the use of his new night-vision sight. He would flip the goggles over his eyes, locate a group of rebels, and train the aiming device on whoever he wanted to shoot. He was removed from the killing almost one hundred meters, not comprehending that he was killing other Filipinos.
But as he felt the knife coming around his neck, he turned and saw a young rebel looking him in the eyes. The darkness accentuated the ferocity of his attacker’s piercing gaze. The knife cut deep into Eddie’s throat, as he had cut the pig’s throat only days ago. The attacker felt resistance at reaching Eddie’s windpipe, but pulled the knife through cleanly to the other side.
Eddie looked at his fellow countryman and mouthed, “My brother,” then fell forward, his blood gushing onto the rebel’s hands. Lying in the tall grass, dying, Eddie watched as the attacker, a boy younger than himself, ran whence he came, disappearing into the woods. I just wanted a better life for my country, Eddie thought, his mind spiraling with rapidity. He saw rice paddies outside of Cabanatuan, a small town on Luzon. He saw his mother and father spreading rice to dry on the dirt road. His younger sister played in the dirt beside the thatch hut.