Rebels of Mindanao (21 page)

Liu gritted his teeth almost hard enough to be heard, said nothing, gave a casual but respectful salute and left Lieutenant General Villarreal to drink coffee with the nervous man who would soon be appointed mayor of the third largest city in the Philippines. Liu commandeered the car of the mayor-to-be and left to take over his new command, the Task Force Davao.

T
he Abu Sayaf had lightened their load. There was no more stupid Christian to haul along with them, and they also dumped tools and equipment they had needed only for the Kadayawan bomb, which, praise Allah, had been a great success. Still, forward movement by the patrol through the undergrowth was slow. The experienced tribal warriors under Lateef's leadership, who was alternating with Ugly Maria as the point man, knew how to move through the thick brush, looking overhead from time to time to see where the higher, broad-leafed trees did not cover over to intermesh and obscure the sky from view under the canopy. Seeing the sky above, the warriors could move directly ahead without bumping into tree stumps. Using the techniques of the practiced land navigator, they followed a straight-line azimuth, taking a jag a bit to the right, then moving parallel along the line of their intended course, than a jag to the left, checking the azimuth on their compass and moving forward once again parallel to the path laid out on their map.

The warriors wore tight-knit, smooth-textured and lightweight black denim trousers, made by Levi's in China, and long-sleeved shirts of various colors. One of the troopers had a light blue shirt imprinted “Lee USA” in large black letters, not the best or the most correct uniform, but complete body coverage was more important for protection from mosquitoes and other hazards. Long vines with wait-a-minute hooks grabbed any fabric or flesh they caught. Plants that seemed to have nerves reacted by closing around feet like an octopus on land. Lateef had assigned an M-79 grenade launcher to one of the men, who wore a skullcap with a lazy “W” stitched on it in yellow; he looked tough enough to use the weapon. To give them all some kind of military identity, Lateef ordered them to wear yellow armbands. They were an army in uniform and on the move.

After they emerged higher up out of the grassland, Mahir made his way nearer to Lateef. They had moved a long distance, making much better time after they reached firmer and higher ground, and he wanted to know their position. Mahir asked him, “Have we reached Isulan yet?”

“No. We have a long way to travel, another night's march,” answered the patrol leader. “We are still in the highlands and need to cross the Banga, then we will turn north and continue to the other side of Koronadal City to the point where the Banga and Alah rivers meet. There will be our rendezvous with Kumander Ali.”

As they moved on, giant bats flew over them making eerie, flapping sounds in the absolute black of night. They heard OV1O ground attack planes and MG520 helicopters of the Philippine Air Force flying unlit in the night sky, searching for them, but Lateef knew they could not be seen under the tree canopy. The next day the newspapers would report around-the-clock searches for the insurgent paramilitary forces that perpetrated the Kadayawan massacre and would discredit persistent reports that the Philippine Army was in revolt. Armored personnel carriers continued to drive back and forth on the highways as a show of force, burning precious diesel fuel, tying up traffic and accomplishing nothing more. The insurgents were not on the highways. The central government of the Philippines would continue to demonstrate its confusion, a confusion that might permit the rebels to take over all of Mindanao.

“You hear the aircraft. Are you worried about them? They must be
Americans,” Mahir asked Lateef as they made progress and it was easier to converse.

“I'm not worried. Not unless they pinpoint our location. They fly all night. It's just a demonstration,” Lateef told him. “We take them out sometimes.”

Mahir was surprised. “How can you shoot one of them down with just your rifles?”

“It's not easy, and we often miss; but they only have a few aircraft, so the loss of one is a major event. We can't fire where they can see the rifle blast, especially at night. But when helicopters fly over us, they are looking ahead. We position ourselves high on a hill or mountain but below the tree line, and immediately after they fly past us, the entire squad will run back up the hill and fire directly at the rear of the departing aircraft, aiming two meters above it to allow for the bullets' fall along their trajectories. We fire all we can and then run quickly back below the tree line. It only takes one bullet in the right place to cause a helicopter to go down. We have three kills.” Lafeef was proud to explain their tactics.

“How did you figure this out?”

“We saw it in the field manuals we have. We can't read the Russian words, but we understand the pictures. I train our teams myself,” Lateef explained to Mahir.

“But on the ground it's important that we evade them; we can't make deals with the Americans. Their soldiers are here for short tours they call training exercises. While they're here they make a lot of noise, attend the tuna festival in the city, and run off with bargirls at night when they're off duty. Soon they'll be gone, and we'll go back to business as usual with the local Police and Army leaders who live near our villages. They will not wake up until the war is over and it's too late.” Lateef had worked informally with the enemy a long time and did not think their cozy relationships would change. “They're not the real enemy. America's our real enemy.”

Mahir considered Lateef's statement for several dozen footsteps, then asked, “Who do you see as your real enemy?”

Lateef continued to advance a few minutes before he answered, “Weak leaders.” He paused, and then continued. “In the past I pinned
my hopes on the Moro National Liberation Front. But the Manila government sent weak people to negotiate with us, and we also appointed weak leaders to make
our
case for autonomy. There was no progress, and when war came it divided the Muslims in Mindanao; it did not unite us. The MNLF didn't know what it was fighting for.”

“What are you fighting for now?” Mahir asked.

“For self-determination, for our own identity and for our own country. When you meet Kumander Ali, he can explain better than I can. He is a strong leader. He split from the MNLF to create a true Islamic movement.”

Exiting the rainforest but still without the benefit of moonlight, Lateef's patrol paused. The cargo carriers pulled up into the middle of the force and set down a sack of rice and a smaller one of sugar, a small power-generating set, a plastic bag of documents and training manuals in Russian, radio equipment, medical supplies, and boxes of various kinds of ammunition. They considered themselves well equipped for guerrilla actions or a lengthy bivouac.

It was late night now, and Lateef collected his Abu Sayaf team under an island of several coconut palm trees within the greater expanse of the rainforest itself, where they would wait for a messenger from the MNLF. The messenger would take them to Kumander Ali's headquarters at the secret location in the triangle where the rivers met. Joining them at the juncture would be other tentative allies like the NPA, the long-fighting communists, and other Abu Sayaf units. The Moro fronts needed the money Mahir carried; they already had the muscle.

One of Lateef's men climbed a palm tree in the dark and cut bunches of coconuts out of the cluster near its top. After the men chopped them open with their bolos, they drank the coconut water from the husks; the nourishing nectar seemed to flow directly into their blood streams and quenched their thirsts. Next they scooped out the rich coconut meat for a meal. When finished, they politely placed the coconut husks neatly upside down by the trees, to show the farmer who owned them that they had not stolen the coconuts, only taken what they did because of necessity, as was permitted.

Settling into position in his camp, Lateef was unaware of Thornton's presence a scant hundred meters behind him. He took the time to
indoctrinate Mahir on the goals of the Abu Sayaf for the Philippines. “Brother Mahir, we will declare war on the United States and their Zionist masters, and you will be with the first to fire a shot in the new war of freedom for Mindanao!”

Mahir knew that Lateef had learned to play combat games on the Internet and that he had fired an M-16 while he was in an Al Qaeda training camp in Afghanistan. Because of his training, Lateef considered himself a pedigreed techno-warrior. He had proudly signed up for the great cause, the jihad, knowing “We will win the global war,” as he often stated in orations to his men.

Mahir had traveled in Western countries and knew something of world geography. He wondered where Lateef thought the troops would come from to invade and occupy the expansive lands to the east like California, Alaska, Mexico and other territories of the unbelievers. He thought Lateef's goals might be overly optimistic, but said nothing to discourage him.

Lateef lectured, “God speaks directly to men. I hear his powerful words and rich language.” Mahir felt Lateef was speaking his mind, not just what he had learned from study. Lateef continued, “To my way of thinking, we and our Muslim brothers will win the great war by starting new cells in many countries simultaneously. There is no need for us to communicate with the others, no need to send troops to sit on their lands. The example here in western Mindanao will be the spark to start fires in the countries of the enemy.”

Lateef had seen personal deeds of the unbelievers that affronted his sensibilities, and he told about his experiences. “I saw in the resorts of Palawan white people drinking alcohol and their prostitute women walking in the street, exposing their naked, shaven legs and arms. The decadence must end.” He carried with him a copy of the Koran in Arabic, the only true language of the Koran. Even though he could not speak or read Arabic, except the words he memorized for prayers, Lateef knew what the Koran said about women walking around uncovered. When he came in from patrols and returned to his village, all the women were covered from head to toe whenever they left the house, even if they were going to work all day in the sun on a banana plantation.

Shortly before sunrise, Lateef and Mahir faced Mecca together and prepared to make the first of their five prayers of the new day. While on jihad, they were required to pray only three times each day, but they tried to keep the strict law of five times unless they were actually in combat. They had safely reached their objective for the day, the Liguasan Marsh, a delta of small streams and low land, looking on the map like the veins of a stripped tree leaf, an inhospitable swamp overlapping the uncertain borders of Maguindanao and Sultan Kudarat. They were thankful for the blessings of Allah.

T
he STAGCOM team, minus Thornton and Elaiza—who were on an arduous trek pushing inland through the bush on foot in pursuit of the Muslim revolutionaries—were waiting. Pedro had driven Thornton's Pajero up the main road out of Davao City and crossed over a saddle in the foothills south of Mount Apo. Preparing to stay overnight and perhaps for several days, the team took up a position along the main road, located near a unit of Task Force Davao that was sealing off egress out of Davao to the southwest. STAGCOM consisted now of Hank Starke, who had assumed tactical command in Thornton's absence, and the five Otaza brothers.

Pedro and Starke were in the front seat with their elbows propped out the open windows of the parked vehicle. “When do you think we can get into action?” Pedro asked Starke.

“Don't get nervous. I know you want to get the job done. We just have to wait in position right here for now. When the time is right, Thornton will tell us what to do,” Starke told him.

Pedro looked out at his brothers asleep in hammocks strung up between trees outside the vehicle. “When will that be?” Pedro asked. “As soon as we know where they are, we'll surprise them, right?”

Starke liked Pedro's enthusiasm, but needed to channel it. “Surprise is a great advantage, I agree with you, but let's get ourselves and our equipment prepared, and be fresh to intercept those murdering bastards when the time comes.” Starke wanted to keep Pedro and his brothers motivated, but also to make sure they didn't act recklessly.

“Maybe we'll hear something before morning. Major Hayes will call us when he gets an attack order for us from Thornton, then our mission is a ‘go' and we move out immediately. But I have no idea when that could be. When you don't know what else to do in the field, sleep is always a good idea. You'll be rested whenever you need to hit the ground. Then you can move fast.” Starke was an old soldier, and Pedro knew he was right. Dusk dissolved into a quiet night, and they dozed off.

Back in Davao City, Wolfgang Moser was on the air, hosting his regular evening program and sending out greetings and special requests to listeners throughout Mindanao. Major Hayes sat beside him, waiting to hear from the embassy operations center with something to forward to Thornton, wherever he was. A simple phrase sent over the open air waves by Moser during his show would at least let Thornton and Elaiza know that the signal from her iPod had bounced up to the satellite and been received and understood by the intelligence officers at the American Embassy in Manila. As soon as he heard from them, he would create a message for Moser to integrate into his broadcast.

Hayes and Moser talked between selections. “How do you interpret that last news report you just read, Wolfgang? Do you really think we will have civil war?” Hayes asked.

“It's not a rosy picture.” Moser looked for the precise words in English. “The politicos, both in Manila and Washington, know they've got to stop the terrorists before any more tragedies like the Davao City bombings occur. And they haven't heard yet about the messy death of that hostage, the Christian security guard. You told me about it, but I can't report it, not until I receive it officially and his death is confirmed. But the story will eventually get out.”