by John Muir
CHAPTER 34
COMMUNICATIONS TO TOUR ORGANISER
MT. KANLAON, NEGROS
"The first calls will start shortly," Raul reminded Warvic.
Her little aide was always fussing over things of which she was already aware. Early in their time together, it used to be irksome. She would snap back at him. Now, he had been with Warvic so long, she just accepted this character trait without comment.
"Thanks, I'll be there in a minute," she responded. "Make sure you've got all the call lists with you." Warvic was referring to the various group call signs and their times for reporting.
Raul waved a stained flattened plastic bag at her. She could not see what it contained.
"All in here," he replied.
Raul always insisted she carry any valuable documents in a dirty used plastic bag as it did not attract attention. Warvic had long since changed her attitude toward Raul from almost intolerance, to acceptance, and then appreciation. Just as he understood her bi-sexuality, she understood his homo-sexuality. She had comforted him many times through tears of another broken romance that he seemed to suffer with monotonous regularity. She knew Raul would never let his sexual preferences compromise his loyalty to her, or his dedication to the cause. He enjoyed mothering her, and she had learned to bask in his concern.
Warvic and Suraido ambled over to the Radio Operators rattan-covered shelter.
"Are you sure you have all the frequencies and the times to change?" she asked the R.O.
"Yes, as per the lists. Each call comes in at five minute intervals, starting at 1:00P.M., then, rotates through five different frequencies, until all the groups are covered," he replied.
"Any group that fails to call in, circle the group call sign. Any group pulling out, just draw a single line through the call sign. Fill in the columns beside them for casualties for and against per the headings. Got it?" she asked.
"Yes Ma'am, just as you told me before." he replied.
She had been over the lists with him several times, but felt one more time would help reinforce the importance of the information. The group leaders knew the frequencies they had to call on. Changes of frequency for different reporting times would seem random as far as the individual groups were concerned, or to anyone else accidentally picking up their broadcasts.
The R.O. held up his hand to signal for silence, then, nodded.
"Tour Group B 1 to Tour Organiser," came out from the radio.
"That's Boracay," Warvic said excitedly to an already aware Suraido.
"Tour Group B 1 to Tour Organiser," the speaker repeated. "Tour has been successful and is now at an end. Two separate visits to hotel, employed one bell-boy on first visit and six more on second visit."
The listening group cheered briefly.
"Two minor scratches in forest, none known in hotel. 50-60 suitcases of baggage. Tour Group B 1 ready to depart. Will wait one minute for any instructions. Otherwise over and out."
The cheers went around the large group that had gathered at the R.O. hut. Those outside were cheering even though they did not know what the message meant.
"Any reply?" asked the R.O.
"No," replied Warvic, "I'd love to say something to them, but I won't. I'm not taking any risks that we might be found from our transmissions."
"O.K., I'll switch to the next frequency," answered the R.O.
"Raul, tell the others what that was all about."
Warvic watched Raul translate the meaning behind the message for those nearby, and looked at Suraido who had a big smile on his face.
The chatter outside got louder with the understanding of Raul's translated news. It was getting so loud Warvic worried it would affect their ability to hear the next incoming report.
"Tell them to be a little quieter Raul."
They seemed to instantly respond without any word from Raul.
"Not a bad first effort eh?" she grinned at Suraido.
"Not bad. Seven helicopters down, and 50-60 members of the Armed Forces killed for our 2 suffering minor wounds," replied Suraido.
"Even more importantly," Warvic went on, "no casualties among the guests."
"Another one coming in," said the R.O.
It went quiet in and around the R.O's little shelter when he raised his hand again.
"This is Tour Group D 1 calling Tour Organiser."
They all waited for the follow up.
"It's Dakak," muttered Warvic.
"Tour Group D 1 calling Tour Organiser. We have not had any outings or visitors yet. All hotels safe, except for one minor injury. Will call again at next scheduled time. Will wait for one minute for messages, otherwise Tour Group D 1 out."
"Nobody outside the resorts seems to know they're there yet. I hope the tourist is not badly hurt. Maybe we should have hoped for more balik-bayan with mobile phones," stated Warvic.
"You gave the Armed Forces a fair bit of a whacking with that first attack last night Warvic, they're not going to charge out anywhere at the first sign of trouble," replied Suraido.
The radio operator held up his hand again. Warvic checked her watch again. It was right on 1:10P.M. So far all were perfectly on time.
"Tour Group P.G. 1 calling Tour Organiser."
"That's Puerto Galera," said Warvic.
"Tour Group P.G. 1 calling Tour Organiser. No proper interest here. Six unofficial visitors arrived on the ferry and five are now with the other guests. One lost his baggage. No other outings yet or visitors. More info when we call next scheduled time. I will wait one minute for any further instructions. Otherwise it's over and out."
"Lucky they nabbed those soldiers as they got off the ferry. But something must have happened if they had to kill one. They didn't mention casualties among the hostages or our comrades. Dammit, my instructions were clear about that," said Warvic.
"I guess there weren't any. If there had, they would've said. Maybe they forgot in the excitement," offered Suraido. "It's too early to hope for big results yet."
"Maybe, maybe." Warvic sat down on the flattened grass next to the R.O. It was going to be a long wait for all the calls to come in at one every five minutes. Three gone, sixty-three to go. Five and a half hours to get all the reports.
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APUAO GRANDE, SAN MIGUEL BAY
"Jesus, that sun is making the court hot," said Gunther.
"Some holiday eh?" replied T.A.
"Thought of anything, I mean about how to get out?" asked Gunther.
"Some thoughts, yeah. Have you noticed what everyone's doing to try and keep themselves cool?" asked T.A.
"Just sheltering under sheets," replied Gunther.
"Yeah. They're even using the sheets over their heads when they walk around. Some have even tied them to their heads. It looks like a group of Arab sheikhs."
"How's that going to help us?" asked Gunther.
"At some stage, they're going to take some people out to get mattresses from the huts, right?"
"Yes, but they'll count how many they take out."
"Exactly. As long as the same number comes back in they won’t know that anyone has escaped," replied T.A.
"I still say, how's that gonna to help?"
"Well, I've been looking at that tall skinny 11-year-old kid from Australia. He's here with his father."
T.A. noticed Gunther looking around, so he pointed toward the youth.
"Yeah, I see him. So what?" asked Gunther.
"Well, we'd have to see if his father agreed first, and then be ready when the guards came to get some people to collect the mattresses."
"Ready for what?" Gunther was getting quite agitated. Probably, thought T.A., by the lack of alcohol, or cigarettes.
"If all those who left were wearing a sheet over them, that kid is small enough to piggy back a ride out of here under the sheet."
"What, and have the person carrying him looking like the hunchback of Notre Dame?"
"No. Think about it. What else are some of the other people carrying?"
"
Umbrellas."
"Yes. So if he was under the sheet and the person was also carrying an umbrella low down on his back, it would be difficult to see anyone being piggy-backed."
"Yeah, but what good will that do us to have a kid running around in the bush?" asked Gunther.
"I wasn't thinking of him running into the bush. But me. They won't be looking at who is leaving or coming back, only numbers. When I make a break for the bush, the kid can ease down from the person carrying him, and make up the numbers. The Trojan Horse in reverse."
"What about me? How do I get out?" asked Gunther.
"The same way; but later. Let's just try it one at a time. If it works, then keep doing it until they notice something."
T.A. stood up slowly, feeling both his bruised stomach and his bruised back. Gunther joined him as they made their way slowly over to the seated boy and his father. He outlined his plan to the father who sat quietly listening without comment. The boy showed enthusiasm without consideration of the possible risks.
"Your plan might work, but only if you don't have to piggy-back him for a long distance," answered the seemingly unconcerned father.
"I plan to get away at the first opportunity, once we're outside. Someone will have to distract the guards while your son gets off my back and I slip away."
"You don't know how heavy my boy is. And there are a few risks if he is caught."
"I won't do it if you think the risk is too great," offered T.A.
"You're damn right you won't." The father turned to his wide-eyed son.
"What do you think son?"
"Yes Dad, please let me do it," the young man almost whined back.
The father looked back at T.A. with a concerned look on his face. T.A. could see the father's doubts as to the safety of the plan.
"Well," he replied slowly, "with one condition."
"Tell me," said T.A.
"I'll carry him, then if we're caught, I'll say I was trying to smuggle my own son out to safety."
T.A. looked at the father. He was certainly more solidly built than his son, although still wiry in appearance. But he was tall, and that would help.
"That's fine by me," said T.A. "All we need to do now is be ready and hope we can make them pick who we want. If we move closer to the entrance it'll increase our chances. I'll tell a few of the others. They might be able to help."
As they all moved toward the gate, T.A. and Gunther began the rounds of explaining their plan to some select people. All offered to help. Immediately umbrellas and sunglasses were given up to T.A. and Gunther to assist in the disguises. Some moved slightly further away from the gate to make others the first choice for anyone coming in, yet remained close enough to assist in disguising the piggy-back set up.
They sat and waited for the hoped-for call.
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BORACAY ISLAND
The balik-bayan that called the Base Commander at Kalibo continued to lie face down. He was nervous about being only twenty-five metres from where the men were located. He had not realised he was so close to the group of guerillas when he made the earlier telephone call. It was only when the second group came along the trail and stopped near him that he saw the others emerge from hiding. He realised that had he spoken any louder on the phone, the hidden group would have heard him. He was thankful for the noisy cicadas.
After the arrival of the second group, he had kept well out of sight, but that had also prevented him from seeing what was happening. When the heavy outburst of fire happened earlier, he first thought they were shooting at him. The firing had only lasted about 45 seconds. When he heard the cheering he realised they must have succeeded in hitting something. The previously loud voices returned to a level from which he could only hear the occasional laugh.
When he thought about it, it had been quite a while since he had heard anything. Maybe they were still there, but just being quiet. He would wait and listen for a few more minutes, then investigate. The cicadas were still the most dominant sound, drowning most other sounds. He knew he had to get closer to over-hear what they were planning.
He lifted his face off the soft rotting and smelly undergrowth. Something sharp was cutting into his neck. He put his face down into the damp again, then, looked carefully to each side. Somehow in his dive for cover he had put his head under some prickly vine. Reaching up, he pushed the vine forward so he could crawl backwards. On the last push of the vine he felt pains shoot through his palm. He knew he had grabbed the barbs. The shock of the pain made him jerk his head upward too soon and other barbs scratched the top of his scalp.
When he sat up he looked at the thin vine with its vicious little barbs. He was thankful he had missed his face when he dived into the bush.
He listened again for voices while he rubbed his hand and neck. The amount of blood was quite considerable. Mosquitos and other jungle nasties were already trying to get their share of the feast.
Even from his knees he could not see or hear any human sound. Slowly, and quietly as his pained hand would allow, he crawled back onto the path. When he had got to about five metres from where he thought they were hidden he realised that he was on the peak alone. He had not heard them leave.
He examined the area closely. The leaves and bush were flattened where they had been sitting or standing. He moved to the flattened area and nearly fell into a shallow fire-pit covered with cross matted grass. It seemed they had left nothing behind. He ignored what looked like fencing wire protruding above the bush, then realised it was an aerial. He froze for a minute and considered running back to his previous hideaway. Maybe they were still here, but hidden.
He listened further, then, looked around to confirm he was alone, at least for the moment. He pushed aside the branches near the aerial and saw a camouflaged radio transmitter. Looking at the controls he wondered how it worked. Perhaps the Base Commander at Kalibo might be interested.
If he left the dials untouched, it might give information on the frequency that any messages were being sent. He thought about how the headlines would read in the newspapers back in the USA.
"AMERICAN FILIPINO THWARTS COMMUNIST TAKEOVER"
That would do wonders for his image among the single girls when he got back to America. The I-Phone he carried with him here was already working wonders with the local Filipina girls.
In case they returned, he decided to shift the transmitter to another hiding place. That way he would be preventing them from contacting their Headquarters. Maybe it would cause their whole operation to collapse. If he could learn how to operate it from the new site with the help of the Base Commander at Kalibo, he could call in air strikes or maybe even navy bombardments. He looked at his watch; it was almost 1:45 p.m.
He picked up the transmitter gently with two hands and was surprised at its light weight. Pushing one hand further underneath to get a better grip he felt a cold, almost rubbery substance. Perhaps he had squashed some horrible little bug. Pulling his hand out, he smelt his fingers. It was a sweet, almost chocolate smell. He could not identify it exactly. He would clean it off when he found a new hiding place.
Moving carefully to avoid tripping on any more barbed vines, he made his way back to the track. He would phone the Base Commander at Kalibo from a new position.
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The Group Leader had completed the walk from his hilltop view. He was back on to the white sand of the main Boracay Beach. The crashed helicopter on the beach was still smoking. The one that had crashed on the southern hills trailed wisps of smoke directly skyward. The direct vertical plume of the smoke showed there was no wind.
He began to give instructions to his group about the escape routine when he heard the explosion high in the hills from where he had come. He stopped his instructions and looked at his watch. It was 1:45P.M. He was pleased that even the detonators were accurate. Rather than try and dispose of the unused explosive he decided to use it all under the transmitter. He hoped that jungle creatures were not around. The amount of marzip
an smelling semtex explosive would certainly kill everything within 20-30 metres of the blast.