Heneral Luna's face lightened, and he broke eye contact. He reached for the pitcher and slowly poured the last of the lime juice into his container. The soft babbling of the liquid filled the odd silence that followed.
"Aren't you a rarity, Gobernador? At last, someone who knows what he's talking about," said Luna as he placed the emptied pitcher back on the table.
I believed he owed me an apology. And if I were younger and more mindful of my pride, I would have pushed him for it. But I was just glad that the temperature in the room had cooled. I could see the relief in the faces of Heneral Torres and Colonel Roman.
"That is exactly how we should fight. This country is as foreign to the Americans as they are to it. They are not used to our climate, to the mosquitoes and bugs, to the diseases, and most importantly, they will not have the support of the populace," Heneral Luna continued, his voice much calmer and more suited for a civilized conversation now. "They won't last long… all we need to do is ensure we are not quickly swept away."
He was exactly right.
If I had not inherited the body of the native Martín Lardizabal, with all its developed immunities, I would not have enjoyed my transportation to this place and time as much as I did.
In Vietnam, almost 10% of deaths among U.S. servicemen were due to tropical diseases. For every ten soldiers killed in action, five were hospitalized.
And even if malaria, dysentery, or any other godforsaken disease didn't kill you, the suffering it caused was an effective morale breaker. A quick death by a Viet Cong bayonet would have seemed like salvation compared to weeks of bloody and explosive diarrhea.
I never doubted that the general knew the answer himself.
"Anyway, granting your request is not within my power," Heneral Luna said, getting more comfortable in his seat. "Was that the sole purpose of your visit? Is there any other matter we can help you with?"
I did not know when my face had untwisted itself, but before I knew it, I was smiling. I had almost forgotten that there was indeed another reason for my visit to Malolos. Even if I failed to secure autonomy, I at least wanted to do something to equip the Marinduqueño soldiers.
And seeing that I had earned the general's respect, I quickly seized the opportunity.
"Yes, Heneral. The recruits in my province are woefully ill-equipped. I want to know where I can acquire rifles better than single-shot Remingtons, as well as rayadillo uniforms," I said. "If necessary, I can purchase the firearms and the uniforms with my own money."
Martín Lardizabal still had significant wealth in his coffers, earned through years of profitable abacá trading. Even the expenses of the revolution against the Spaniards had not significantly affected it. Now entirely at my disposal, I was willing to pour it all into the war.
A bad gamble, of course. A terrible financial decision. But I was not the businessman that Martín was. In fact, I could part with most of my wealth and still live simply. Life in the province was cheap, and even with little, I could still enjoy relative comfort.
My heart sank when Heneral Luna shook his head.
"I cannot help you in any way with the rifles. We are in serious shortage ourselves. I would even take rolling-blocks. The Mausers you see are in short supply, and we only equip our elite units with them."
I had hoped that what they meant by 'ill-equipped' referred only to the lack of machine guns and artillery. But perhaps it was too optimistic of me to expect there was a stockpile of modern rifles somewhere in Luzon, just waiting to be distributed.
"But I think I can help you with the uniforms," Luna said, twisting one side of his mustache.
"Sorry?" I asked, unsure if I had heard him correctly.
"There are crates of new uniforms meant for the Kawit Battalion, but they are not showing interest in standardizing with the rest of the army. And the president doesn't seem too keen on helping with the matter. It would seem I have no authority over his favorites," Luna said bitterly.
"I will write you a letter for the intendente."
---
The ginataang turingan—tuna cooked in coconut milk—paired with rice was our lunch. Once again, Agapita Tiongson had outdone herself. She had added sili to the tuna dish, giving it a subtle yet satisfying kick of spiciness. I immediately thought of getting the recipe for my dear Isabela.
I was not the only one impressed. For the first few minutes of the meal, the only sounds that could be heard were the clinking of silver spoons and forks against porcelain plates.
"So, you've met Heneral Luna?" Don Tiongson asked, and I had seen the question coming from a mile away. "How was he?"
"Was Papa right, or are we?" Agapita Tiongson asked teasingly.
I dropped my silverware and wiped my lips with a napkin as I contemplated the question. I had mixed feelings about what had happened that morning. I had not secured rifles, but I had been given crates of uniforms for free.
I also had a mixed opinion about Heneral Luna.
"You are both right," I eventually answered.
"Quite the diplomat, you are, Don Lardizabal," said Don Tiongson, while Vicente, who was seated right next to him, chuckled.
"What do you mean, exactly, Gobernador?" Agapita asked. There was a knowing glint in her eyes, suggesting she knew I was getting at something.
"Heneral Luna has both a sharp tongue and a sharp sword… and both can kill," I said. "His fiery, irreverent mouth doesn't do him any favors. But, then again, he's the only one who seems to be taking things as seriously as they need to be."
I did not get an immediate response. And I didn't know what to make of the looks on their faces.
Then Vicente chuckled in his usual, annoying way.
"Well, now you're being a poet."