Continuing to fire at the advancing troops for as long as he deemed it to be safe, eventually, he turned to Minda and signalled with a raised eyebrow it was time to get the hell out of there. His decision, only reinforced by the whistle of a cannonball as it sailed just over their heads to crash into one of the factories on Main Street. “We need to reform the soldiers in the main square and prepare to face them when they come through the gate,” he shouted at Minda.
“Honey, it’s suicide. They’ll cut us down like toy soldiers,” she screamed back.
“Isn’t it though?” he grinned, through gritted teeth, before turning and screaming at his men. “Everyone, down now to the parade ground and form a three-quarter square; riflemen in front kneeling and archers standing behind them. Just like we trained, eh?”
Without waiting for a response from the men, Hernando, Minda, and Arturo dashed down the stairs and quickly began organising the men into the required formation. They could already hear the rhythmical crashing of something against the large gates of the fort. The Spanish clearly had some sort of battering ram employed and it would only be a matter of time before they burst through the gates and were on top of the assembled rebel troops.
Hernando took the opportunity to rush to the front of his columns and address the troops. “Nobody expects you all to die here today, men,” he began. “The fort is lost, have no doubt of that. When the Spanish come through, do your best, but also look for the opportunity to escape through the rear exit of the fort. Get out into the jungle and lose yourselves. Head back home to your farms or your shops. The General will find a way to get back in touch with everyone, once the dust settles.”
Taking one last look at his proud and resolute soldiers, he added, “This is but one battle. We may have lost it, but we have given the Spanish a bloody nose and we WILL win the war.” His words were greeted with a rousing cheer by the men before they settled down to face the Spanish incursion.
Hernando took his place beside Arturo and Minda in the middle of the three-quarter-square. Turning to Minda, he put on his most dazzling smile. “I love you babes,” was all he said. Quickly she reached up, pulled his shoulders down and kissed him full on the lips.
“I love you too darling. Now, let’s fight!”
The massive gates began to give way under the constant bombardment of the battering ram. Hernando steeled himself for what was to come. Finally, as the sound of splintering timber rang through the courtyard, the gates buckled inward and fell. Scrambling over the wreckage came wave after wave of Spanish soldiers. The front lines of the rebel army were quickly overrun and the trio became engaged in fierce hand-to-hand combat. Hernando was in his element, his large sabre flashing back and forth, slicing off anything within his perimeter. There was no time to consider the carnage or fear, as soldier after soldier came pouring through, their swords also swinging furiously.
He felt a sharp sting as a Sergeant’s sword sliced through his trousers and gouged a small section of thigh. Momentarily sinking to his knees, he reflexively thrust up his sword to protect his head from the second blow he knew was sure to follow. The blow never came as the soldier’s head, eyes wide open and mouth shaped like an O, gently rolled off his neck and bounced on the ground in front of Hernando. As the headless corpse, in slow motion, dropped first to its knees and then fell onto its front on the ground, he spotted the smiling face of Arturo, his sword dripping blood and swinging away, looking for another target.
Despite the rebel’s tenacity and bravery, ten minutes of close quarters combat saw them begin to be overrun. The tide was turning in the Spanish favour and Hernando knew it was time to try to escape if they could. He cast around quickly for Minda and breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted her pulling her small sword from the unmoving body of a Spaniard. Catching her eye he nodded once in the agreed signal and she quickly rushed to his side. “Where’s Arturo,” Hernando wheezed breathlessly.
“I haven’t seen him since the battle started,” she responded.
They stared around the battlefield littered with dead and dying men from both sides. He noted with some satisfaction that his men were beginning to disengage from their fighting and run toward the shelter of the administration offices and then to the rear entrance and the safety of the jungle. “There he is, over there,” Minda screamed. “Shit, Hernando he needs our help. Come on!” Following her gaze, he could see Arturo, on one knee, his one arm held above his head trying desperately to fend off the swinging blades of two Spanish soldiers. He sprinted after Minda, in Arturo’s direction.
Without conscious thought, both Minda and Hernando, in unison, drew their pistols from the back of their trousers and quickly aimed at the Spanish soldiers. Just as one was about to complete the downward arc that would remove Arturo’s other arm, his hand flew to his chest as the bullet rocked into his body. The sword dropped from his fingers merely striking Arturo’s shoulder with the hilt. The second soldier didn’t even have time to react before his head exploded in a mass of liquid and grey matter, as Minda’s carefully aimed shot found its target.
Arturo jumped to his feet, gingerly as they reached him. “Cut that one a bit fine, didn’t you?” he chuckled.
Minda shook her head disbelievingly at his cavalier attitude. “Come on Art, time we weren’t here. Time to beat a retreat,” she shouted, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the Admin buildings. The trio ran full speed for the safety of the administration block, each tensing as they waited for the inevitable bullet to catch up with them; a bullet that thankfully never arrived.
Reaching the corner of the building first, Hernando flung himself around the corner and ran headlong into a full-length mirror.
***
DISBELIEF:
He pulled himself up short and stood there, open-mouthed, staring at the apparition that confronted him. His mind raced as he tried desperately to rationalise the vision in front of him. He was staring at himself; Captain Hernando de Abreu, of the Spanish, Philippine Occupation Force. As reality dawned on him, his mouth closed and he shook his head in disbelief.
“Hello Brother,” Captain Juan Carlos de Abreu greeted him, his lips twisting into a sneer of utter contempt. “What a small world it is, dear Brother. I did so hope we would have a chance to meet and chat…” He laughed loudly, “that is, of course, before I dispatch you to meet your maker. Good luck with explaining your actions to him.”
“Juan…” Hernando spluttered. “What in the hell are you doing here? You should be back in Spain looking after Father and the estates, surely?”
Juan’s laugh turned bitter. “Father’s dead, you fool!” He spat at Hernando’s feet. “Couldn’t stand the shame of bearing a treasonous son like you, I guess. Took his own life, the silly old bugger… as if he was responsible for your stupid, brainless actions.” His face softened marginally, “God Hernando, what in the hell did you think you were doing? Giving up everything to marry a little, brown whore is one thing, but joining their pathetic, little revolution… now that really is something that defies belief.”
Bristling, Hernando drew his sword. “You take that back, you scurrilous creature. Minda is my wife and she’s no whore. Don’t you ever call her that name again!” He could feel Minda’s hand on his arm, pulling him back, but he twisted his head quickly to tell her, “no sweetheart. This is between my beloved twin and me. He cannot speak about you in that way. I will kill him for that.”
Juan took a step back and also withdrew his sword. Laughing softly he repeated his aspersions. “Little, brown whore… little, brown whore… my brother has married a little, brown whore.”
Furious, Hernando swung at Juan, but his brother slipped backward and the blade sliced through thin air. “Aha!” he taunted him. “There’s some fight left in the old married man yet, is there? On Guard, brother!” Both men assumed the classical fencing position, foot thrust forward, one arm out, flicking the tips of their sabres in small circles around the other’s sword.
“Juan, it doesn’t hav
e to be like this,” Hernando tried.
“Doesn’t it, brother? So, you tell me how it has to be, eh?”
“Just let the three of us out of here and you’ll never see us again. I promise you that.”
Juan let back his head and roared with laughter. “Let you go, Hernando… let you go! I travelled across the world to make you pay for what you’ve done to me… what you’ve done to this family. Now, I have you in my sights, why on earth would I let you go?”
Hernando pulled up from his stance. “Done to you? What have I done to you, Juan? You’ve always had the first of everything. Being first born you inherited the works and, now… with Father sadly gone, it’s all yours. Why do you need to seek revenge against me? I am just following my principles and beliefs. We Spanish have lorded over these beautiful people for far too long. It is time to give them their freedom and that’s what I intend to help them achieve.”
Still standing in the prepared position, Juan scoffed. “What did you do to me? Let me tell you, dear brother, your actions have seen our beloved Queen Maria Christina strip the de Abreu line of all its titles, lands and estates. Hernando, I am now penniless. I had to join the Army, just to survive and to get away from being the laughing stock and whipping boy of my ‘friends’ and colleagues in Madrid. You have ruined me, brother, so yes that is what you did to me.” Juan paused, before adding, “mind you, I also joined the Army so I could find you and kill you. You have to pay for what you’ve done Hernando. You have to pay…” his voice was cracking and tailing off at his last words. “Now put up your bloody sword and let’s get this over with.”
Hernando stood, his head bowed. When he spoke, his voice was little above a whisper. “Juan, I truly am sorry for what my actions have caused. I had no idea the Queen would react so viciously against you and Father.” He wiped his brow. “God, it was my decision and nothing to do with you two. I’m sorry for your situation, Juan.”
He screwed his face up contemptuously, “that’s all well and good Hernando, but it’s too late for sorry. The time for talking is over, now are you going to defend yourself or am I just going to lop off that treasonous head of yours?”
Deflated, Hernando dropped his sword arm and shook his head slowly. “If you must kill me, brother, I’m not going to fight back.”
A gasp escaped from Minda’s mouth. She had been watching the brothers argue back and forth, with a growing sense of dread. “No!” she screamed, pushing herself beside Hernando. “No! You will kill my husband, over my dead body.”
“And over mine,” Arturo quickly added, joining her on the other side of Hernando.
“Wow!” Juan chuckled, “the little, brown whore and the one-armed wannabe soldier are quite the brave little ones aren’t they Hernando? What a shame you’re not made of the same stuff.”
“He’s all mine!” Hernando hissed at Minda and Arturo. “I’m going to kill the bastard for that!” He snapped back into his fencing pose, pushing the pair behind him with his free arm. “Come on then Juan. Let’s end this now.”
Grinning, Juan thrust his sword arm at Hernando, a thrust he easily parried. “That’s more like the feisty brother I remember growing up,” Juan threw at him. The pair circled each other, making exploratory jabs, to try and determine their opponent’s weaknesses. Finally, Juan swung a full-blooded sabre swipe at Hernando’s legs, but in doing so slightly overbalanced and left his side exposed.
Jumping high to evade the swinging sword, Hernando rapidly thrust at Juan’s exposed midriff, catching him high on the hip and drawing a significant amount of blood, as well as a squeal of pain and surprise. “Bravo, Hernando. Good, shot,” he taunted him, “but not quite good enough”. Spinning full circle, Juan flung the sharpened edge of his blade towards Hernando’s neck. Off balance, after his leap, he just managed to throw his arms up in time to take the full force of Juan’s swing on the hilt of his sabre. The connection sent a jarring down his arm, all the way into his chest, the impetus of the arcing sword causing him to fall to one knee.
As he glanced up, he could see Juan, reversing his grip on his sword handle to a double-handed grip, to enable him to bring the sword down on top of Hernando’s head. Time appeared to slow down as he watched the wickedly shining blade arcing toward his skull. He had the time to register the disgust and hatred written all over his brother’s face as he prepared to deliver his very own coup de grâce. Instinctively Hernando dropped off his one knee and rolled sideways, Juan’s sword whistling as it passed his ear, slightly nicking it, before slamming into the rock hard ground.
The reverberations from the sword striking the ground rushed up Juan’s arm and momentarily caused a total loss of feeling in his fingers. As his unresponsive hands released the sword, it clattered to the ground, with Juan immediately scrabbling in the dirt to recover it. Seeing his opening, Hernando stood and quickly kicked his brother in the stomach, sending him sprawling across the ground and more importantly, now out of reach of the discarded sword.
Hernando towered over, the now cowering Juan lying on the dirt, his sword held high, ready to deliver the killing blow. Looking down at the face so similar to his own, he saw a mixture of fear and sorrow in Juan’s eyes. Gone, for a moment, was the angry, vengeful soldier and back was the tousle-headed, little boy Hernando had enviously, grown up in the shadow of. Breathing heavily, he leant down, offering his arm to Juan. “Enough, brother! No de Abreu’s need die today. We were born brothers and brothers we remain.”
Juan grasped the gauntlet around Hernando’s sleeve, with his right hand, his left hand surreptitiously delving into his boots, where he kept his razor-sharp, curved, dagger. As Hernando pulled him to his feet and he went to embrace his brother, Juan thrust the dagger in an upward motion, between two ribs, sinking it deep into Hernando’s chest and heart.
Hernando crumpled instantly, dead before he even hit the ground. Juan chortled. “Wrong brother! One de Abreu will definitely die here today.”
“NO!” Minda’s scream rent the air, as she rushed to her beloved’s side. Even as she knelt down, trying desperately to plug the ugly wound in his chest, she knew it was too late. She knew her man was already dead. She lay there, cradling Hernando’s head on her lap, covering it in kisses, tears streaming down her face. “No… no… no…” she kept repeating as she rocked his body back and forth.
“Two de Abreu’s will die here today!”
The words had come from Arturo as he rushed forward to engage Juan in another dance of death. Minda stared up at the pair, her eyes blinded by the torrent of tears pouring from her. She wanted to jump to her feet and join with Arturo against the man who had murdered her husband, but she couldn’t let go of his head, gently cradled on her lap. Her legs refused to stand.
Arturo, his face twisted in fury at the death of his now closest friend and brother-in-arms, charged at Juan, swinging his sword with his one arm, heedless to any defence from Juan’s flashing, sharp dagger, he had wrenched from Hernando’s heart. Arturo’s first thrust was met with an easy parry from Juan’s cape, as he wrapped the folds of the cloth effortlessly around the edge of the sword. With a rapid twist and flick of his wrist, Arturo was quickly disarmed. Heedless to his plight, Arturo continued his mad dash at Juan, lowering his head and slamming into the Spaniard’s stomach with such force he stumbled backwards and collapsed onto his rear end on the ground, his eyes round in surprise.
Without pausing Arturo swung his leg at Juan’s exposed head, his boot only catching him a glancing blow on the side of his left ear as he managed to sway out of the way. With Arturo slightly overbalanced and with only his one sword arm to cushion his fall, he knew he was fatally exposed. Seizing the opportunity Juan lifted his knee into Arturo’s midsection and flung him over his body, where Arturo landed behind him, flat on his back, the wind driven from his lungs. Knowing the difference between life and death was milliseconds, Arturo tried to roll out of the way, knowing Juan’s vicious dagger was coming from above, but he was too late.
Artur
o screamed in agony as the dagger sliced down one side of his face, eviscerating the skin from the bone, from his hairline down to his lips. His hand instinctively reached up to try to pull his skin back over his gutted face and in doing so, left his midriff totally exposed. With a strangled cry, Juan thrust the blade deep into Arturo’s belly and twisted it sideways, almost disembowelling him in the process. There was one final cry from Arturo’s tortured face before, total silence enveloped them.
Staggering to his knees, Juan looked over at Minda who was still sobbing and cradling her beloved Hernando’s head. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, she lifted her head to look his killer straight in the eyes. “You unspeakable bastard!” she screamed at him. “How could you do this to your own flesh and blood? Your own twin brother? You will rot in hell for this day, Juan de Abreu and God will have NO mercy on your soul.” Her face, twisted in pain and suffering, as she gently laid Hernando’s head on the dusty parade ground and with a deliberate calmness, rose to her feet, pulling her trusty crossbow from her back. Grabbing an arrow from the quiver, hands shaking, but determined to end this now, she nocked the arrow, pointing it directly at Juan’s heart.
Knowing there would be nothing that could be done to stop the deadly missile she was about to release, Juan stood up, dropped his hands to his side, his dagger released to fall harmlessly at his feet. His face crumpled as he gazed at the carnage he had created, his eyes lingering on the dead, broken body of his twin brother. “What have I done?” he muttered softly to himself. Looking up at the heaven’s he beseeched, “forgive me, Father, I have killed my own twin brother,” before he crumpled to his knees and waited for the deadly arrow to end his existence.
Minda took a deep breath, slowly releasing the pressure on the crossbow string. She wasn’t quite sure if Juan was appealing to the heavenly father, himself, or the brothers’ own dead father, back in Spain, but his words appeared to reach through the red veil of fury that enveloped her. Looking down at Hernando she could swear she heard his sweet, soft whisper in her ears; “enough killing today my love. You must go on, you must raise our child as a true patriot and most importantly you must continue our people’s battle for freedom. This is one battle we have lost today, my love, but the war will be ours… eventually.”
Love Beyond: Walang Hanggang Pagmamahal Page 24