Amazing Grace!

Matanog, Maguindanao 

14 May 2000

It was our seventh day in the battle zone. We were right smack in the middle of the ongoing all-out war declared by then President Joseph Ejercito Estrada against the MILF – a secessionist group that has been fighting for self-determination in some areas in Mindanao. The war was steadily grinding into a bloody and destructive one as casualties rose and villages were abandoned. In a war like this, nobody wins. The entire country practically loses as communities are plunged deeper into poverty and violence.

We started our movement very early that morning. We did not even have time for a meal. In Scout Ranger-type operations, one must always make do with whatever amount of time he has because when it’s time to move, everybody moves. Nobody can opt out on the basis of a simple necessity because everything is labeled as “simple” in the field.

The order of movement had 15SRC in the lead. Then, it would be:

• 17SRC led by 1Lt Montano Almodovar, a member of PMA “Bantay-Laya” Class of 1994 and SR 121-95, and his Executive Officer, 2Lt Napoleon Agoncillo, a member of PMA “Kalasag-Lahi” of 1997 and SR Class 135-99;
• 8SRC under 1Lt Michael Banua – a classmate of 1Lt Daanton in PMA and in SR training;
• 2SRB Command Group of Lt Col Coballes and Cpt Freddie Dela Cruz, the Executive Officer / Operations Officer of 2SRB, who is a member of PMA “Tanglaw-Diwa” Class of 1992 and SR Class 107-92;
• 2SRC led by the late 1Lt Ted Tuibuen, an exemplary graduate of the Philippine Army’s Officer Preparatory Course (OPC) and SR Class 110-93; and his Executive Officer, 1Lt Marianito De Joya – a classmate of the late 1Lt Jake Paler in OCS and a member of SR Class 125-96; and
• 18SRC, led by my PMA classmate 1Lt Laurence Somera and who is a member of SR Class 125-96 and his Executive Officer, 1Lt Jeffrey Cauguiran, a member of PMA “Mabikas” Class of 1996 and SR Class 131-97. 

We moved cautiously the whole morning as we crossed creeks and passed through many concrete bunkers. Tactically clearing those fortresses was tedious. We had to be careful, in case the enemy planted landmines and improvised explosive devices (IEDs) along our line of advance (LOA).

There is no room for mistakes on the battlefield. Carelessness or stupidity can easily send one to kingdom come in an instant.

We utilized a movement called “bounding over-watch” whenever the terrain allowed it. It is a military movement technique of alternating movement between units or teams with precise coordination. As one team moves, the other teams take an over- watch posture to secure the one on the move. The teams switch roles as they move forward particularly in areas considered dangerous, or risky for the troops. It was already 11:30 A.M. when we got to the top of a steep hill. That was when I saw the leading team, under Ranger Venancio Tagsip Jr. – a member of SR Class 106-92 -- in fighting stance and doing hand signals. Enemy fighters had been sighted!

Seeing my lead team, I quickly moved up front to the position of the team leader. It is standard operating procedure (SOP) for us Scout Ranger commanders to, “Always lead from the front and be in the thick of the action when shit hits the fan!”

What I saw was a sizable number of enemy fighters in a huddle. But in an instant, they took a fighting formation. One of them noticed us!

The atmosphere suddenly became tense. “This is it! This is a huge and messy fight,” I said to myself.

Wasting no time, I gave commands through hand signals and everybody moved to take their combat positions. Scout Rangers are trained to do combat maneuvers stealthily and silently. Every troop readied for the impending brawl, taking their own stand. Everyone was on edge – and the moment seemed to last for eternity.

My radioman gave me the handset to relay the situation to my Company Commander, who was tactically positioned in the middle of our formation at that time, as we were the leading company of 2SRB. Being in the middle of the pack up-front is the most tactically-sound position of a battlefield commander as he can easily see the front and control his troops right from the center of it all.

Four more Scout Ranger companies were behind us, completing the entire 2SRB. Moving alongside us was a Marine Battalion Landing Team (MBLT) of the Philippine Marines spearheaded by their elite unit, the Marine Corps Force Recon (MCFR). 

Then, just 200 meters in front of us were more or less 80 BIAF fighters, who were apparently expecting us, all ready to pound us to pieces! I knew there were even more of them waiting to tear us apart.

Using the sparse vegetation as concealment and coconut trees as cover, we took our fighting positions. The enemy fighters were doing the same thing. They maneuvered forward by moving from one coconut tree to the other towards our positions. They knew we were there, and they were raring to meet us head on! My heart was pounding so hard and fast. I could almost hear its rapid beats. I knew death and destruction was certain in a few moments. We held our breaths as we fixed the front sights of our rifles for the dreaded bloody gun battle that would soon ensue.

My Scout Rangers were already in their skirmisher positions and were ready to pull their triggers once I gave the order. They were raring to mix it up with the enemy. The troops knew it was best to be on the offensive and never on the defensive.

The enemy kept moving forward and they seemed fearless to us. We took our fighting positions. There was no turning back now. My troops knew fully well that we would not give an inch to the enemy. We would fight to the end, and we would honorably fall where we stand – if need be.

The die was cast. We had crossed the Rubicon. There was no turning back the clock, and no time to hesitate. To do otherwise would likely spell the worst tragedy for us.

When the enemy was less than 50 meters away from us, I finally gave the order, “Fire!” while pulling the trigger of my rifle in that split second. 

Boom! Brrrttt! Kablamm! Boom! Brrrrttttt!

All hell broke loose!

It was like Chinese New Year celebrations when all firecrackers were set off to drive bad spirits away and spare everyone from misfortune. It was the worst kind of symphony with an uncoordinated orchestra playing every musician’s piece with its own beat and tempo. There was nothing but eerie noise produced by deadly weapons of lethal rounds, mortars, grenades, and what-not.

One can easily be disoriented by the deafening exchange of gunfire, grenade explosions, shouting, and battle cries from both camps. We heard enemy fighters shouting “Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!” [“God is great! God is great!”] as they continued to fire at us.

Everyone was in for the brutal fight. I knew it was all or nothing for my troops. To be unforgiving and ruthless in every firefight is one of my standing orders – no compromises. After all, there is no second place in combat. All second placers in combat end up either seriously wounded or dead.

Each man was raring to get his hands first on the enemy’s throat. Somebody has to pay the price, and it should be the enemy. For us Scout Rangers, winning in combat – where life is at stake – is non-negotiable. We were trained to win battles at all cost.

After about ten minutes of intense gun battle, I heard my radioman, Ranger Rodolfo Papillera Jr., a member of SR Class 135-99, moaning as tears rolled down from his eyes. He was badly hit and was cringing in serious pain! I could see the soil splattering and debris hitting me as enemy snipers’ and machine gun fires reached our position. In a hushed tone, I told him, “Lipat ka sa kanan! [Move to the right!]” I encouraged him to move as I saw the barrage of bullets hitting the left side of his position. Patches of soil flew as enemy bullets rained a few inches from his position. He did his best to move but he couldn’t. He was grimacing in pain. He yelled, “Hindi ako makagalaw, sir! Tinamaan ako sa likod, sir! [I can’t move, sir! I got hit it in my back, sir!]”

I knew it was really bad. There was no denying it, but I could not simply tell him lest he lose faith in his chance of surviving the horror.

Then all of a sudden, I felt something hit my left shoulder. I shrugged it off, but a biting pain followed after a few seconds. Still, I tried to disregard it. My focus was on the raging firefight we were in. I need to ably lead my troops. There was nothing that could needlessly occupy my mind, nothing more important than to excellently lead my men in battle.

Several minutes passed, after which I felt a stinging and excruciating pain as my blood oozed and soaked my battle uniform. I felt my warm blood flowing on the skin of my torso.

Damn!

Reality set in. “This is it. I was hit and it was bad!” I was bleeding profusely. It was time to face the horrors of another brutal exercise.

But as quickly as the blood flowed out of my body, I kept giving orders to my troops and firing back at the rushing enemy fighters. It was like a nightmare fighting those fierce mujahideens, as they labeled themselves. I was horrified to see them stand up after being shot. It could be the unexplained rush of adrenaline of a man with a death wish that kept them going. So, we kept on hitting them as much as we could to totally neutralize them. We learned later that they were using methamphetamine hydrochloride (an illicit drug that is commonly known by its street name “shabu”), as evidenced by the drug paraphernalia the troops recovered after the encounter. 

Simultaneously, I was giving updates to Lt Col Coballes, my battalion commander, and to 1Lt Daanton, my company commander, as I struggled with my wound, and led my men in battle. My commanders who were in different positions needed updates from me so they could assess and make accurate decisions for the entire 2SRB contingent under the circumstances. They had limited visual as to the size of the enemy unit my troops and I were viciously engaging with up close. Further worsening the situation, we were having problems with communication as our decades-old radios got hit by enemy rounds and began to falter in the heat of battle. As the gun battle became intense and seriously disorienting, reliable radio communication was a serious necessity.

As I was trying to grab the radio handset from my wounded radioman, Zing! An enemy bullet hit the left temporal part of his head. His brains splattered on my face!

Oh God!

I was horrified as I looked at his deformed skull soaked in warm blood! Looking at his eyes, I knew he was gone the moment he was hit.

Damn!

My dependable radioman was dead. I was so mad at the sight of him in a pool of his own blood. I could not simply see him that way. He was a good soldier whom I never had any problems with when it came to military discipline and conduct. In fact, he was always ready to lend a helping hand to anyone who needed assistance. That day – May 14 – was his birthday. He was only 24 years old, and he was my good buddy!

Thoughts raced through my mind. I needed to be extremely focused. I had to steel myself in order to survive and get my troops out of the rut. 

Amid the raging firefight, several of my men attempted to pull me out from the enemy’s firing line. Unfortunately, every time my troops tried to get closer to me, the enemy would deliver a barrage of deadly fire resulting in more casualties on our side. The enemy was cunning. They knew they had a wounded officer in their iron sights and that my troops would certainly rescue me – or recover my dead body, if it had come to that point. The enemy was banking on the fact that whoever attempted to get me out of trouble would get hit 99.99%.

Son of a gun!

Lethal rounds, after all, are never personal. They are indiscriminate, and were generally labeled, “To Whom This May Concern!” Hence, when they head your way, better get the hell out fast because they certainly won’t give a damn who you are.

End of the Road?

Lying prostrate on that forsaken spot on that battlefield, I realized I was at my most helpless point. The enemy wasn’t giving me any quarter. No mercy – they very well understood that word. They would let me die slowly in pain on that patch of land where I lay bleeding.

It seemed like nobody could pull me out of my position anymore. “My comrades have given up,” I thought. I could understand as I didn’t want more casualties on our side. I accepted my fate, waiting for the final bullet to take me to eternity. I readied myself. I knew it had been a good fight, and I did all that I could. I would die with my boots on, and with honor.

I started to recall God’s goodness, grace, and mercy in my life. I started praying for God not to save my life but to forgive me for not living my life for His honor and glory. After all that was the main purpose why I was created. Though I thought of Him as my Savior, I did not live at that time as if He was my Lord. Yes, I had serious spiritual issues with trusting and obeying. 

I accepted my lot. I thought, “Perhaps my life and purpose just end here. Let me die in battle then.”

But suddenly, memories of my lovely wife and daughter flashed through my mind. My daughter Bea was barely two years old at that time. I imagined her calling me, “Papa! Papa!” while I chased her around our small house in Iloilo. I also missed my lovely wife Ena. I remembered our time together, albeit limited – the loud laughs, the funny and restrained public displays of affection whenever we were together. Oh, I seldom see my Ena and Bea! I have missed a lot of important family time with them, all in the name of duty, honor, and service to country. The nature of my profession brought me to many war-torn places and I have been away from my wife and daughter for most of our family life. Have I been fair to my family all this time? Have I been a good husband and father? Above all, have I been a good steward of what God has given me? Have I been a good witness for Jesus?

Tears started rolling down my cheeks. Despite my hesitation, I blurted out, “Lord, please give me a chance – a chance to make up for my shortcomings to my family and a chance to make it right with you, and serve you.” That was all I could mutter, and then I slowly closed my eyes readying myself for that one final bullet to my head at any moment. My last wish was for my death to be quick and painless, if and when the final bullet hit me.

God’s Hands

Out of nowhere, I felt a hand pulling the back of my uniform, dragging me towards the safe zone. Was I hallucinating already? I thought it must be part of the natural thought processes of a dying person. At any rate, I didn’t care as long as I physically got out of that sure-death sorry-position I was in!

In my half-conscious state, I saw my comrades, Rangers Ronnie Catague – a member of SR Class 143-01 and Elmo Colorado – a member of SR Class 121-95, fearlessly and roughly pulling me out of the kill zone. They were able to close in to my position amid a hail of deadly enemy gun fires. They were dragging me and at times, were pushing me. Audacity at its finest. They were relentless, they would stop at nothing to rescue me from certain death. They were crazy-brave! But by their unbelievable tenacity, we were able to finally crawl out of the immediate enemy kill zone and they were able to carry me towards our safe zone. I knew in my heart that it was God’s hand at work. He uses people for good. That time, He tapped my fellow Rangers to save me from serious physical harm or death.

The gun battle continued. It was unrelenting and unforgiving in its intensity. I was very dizzy due to blood loss. My world was spinning and the pain was excruciating despite the adrenaline rush of the moment. They tried to tie a bandanna around my shoulder to stop the bleeding. My wounded left arm was dangling since I already lost control of it. Worse, we had no medic team present! I had to endure the pain until I could be medically evacuated. But all the time I was thinking, “I will survive my wounds but I might not be able to play competitive basketball again. Well, at least I can still shoot the ball with my good arm. Thank God!”

After more or less three hours, which seemed like an eternity, the firefight and gun fire became sporadic and rescue helicopters were eventually on their way to pick us up. Three of my gallant troops – Ranger Rudy Bacyadan (SR Class 135-99), Ranger Danilo Cabical, Ranger Rodolfo Papillera Jr. – and one from the Philippine Marines made the ultimate sacrifice while several of us were wounded.

•••

After almost six hours of pain and blood loss, I was finally ushered to a UH-1H Helicopter. As I listened to the loud choppy sound of the helicopter blades, I gazed at the lifeless bodies covered with Army ponchos at my feet. It was a humbling moment for me. I realized that I was not Superman and that I was expendable – we all were. 

I felt my heart being torn apart slowly as I stared blankly at my troops’ dead bodies on the floor of the helicopter. They were my brave brothers-in-arms – they were heroes! I closed my eyes and tears quickly rolled down. My heart was heavy. It was wailing loudly for all my buddies, both the killed and the wounded.

Though I was in serious pain, I was able to mumble, “Thank you, Lord.” The near-death experience truly humbled me. Thoughts flashed through my mind. God was calling my attention to some things. I needed to be grateful, and examine my purpose and significance in life. Did I have a purpose? Definitely I did! I just needed to listen to His voice! I had to be humble.

“What is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him? You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor.” Psalms 8:4 to 5 (ESV)

In his English Standard Version (ESV) Study Bible commentary about the foregoing verse, Dr. John MacArthur stated, “If the whole universe is diminutive in the sight of the Divine Creator, how much less is the significance of mankind. Yet, God made man significant. He was created in the image and likeness of God to exercise dominion over the rest of the creation” (cf. Genesis 1:26-28). 

Live to Fight Another Day

I was so worn out from too much blood loss, combat fatigue, and mixed emotions. I closed my eyes as we headed to the nearest military hospital in Camp Siongco, home of the 6th Infantry (Kampilan) Division of the Philippine Army in Awang, Maguindanao.

Amid the chaos and my roller coaster ride between life and death, I didn’t inform my family of what had happened until after the surgery was successful. The military doctor on duty gave me three pieces of metal he had taken from my shoulder. 

He explained that the bullet must have hit a hard object like a rock or stone and ricocheted to my shoulder. As a result of debridement, the majority of my deltoid muscle was removed, thus creating a concave-like area on my shoulder.

It was tough to be confined at the hospital. However, I was still thankful that I was so blessed.

Aside from my family, there were other meaningful endeavors that gave me some comfort. Before we were deployed in Matanog, Maguindanao, I was in Iloilo. I had been training and coaching a basketball team made up of kids aged 13 and younger. I remembered they were playing their championship game when I was on my second day at the hospital. In fact, I was able to coach my team via cellphone and we won the championship. Imagine that! That simple achievement reinforced my thinking that “I’m the man!” – when in fact it’s all God’s grace. How shameful it was for me to claim glory that was beyond me!

After a few days, one of my soldiers handed me my newly washed uniform. The left shoulder sleeve of my upper battle dress was torn and ripped. My wornout lousy cap had three bullet holes on its sides. It gave me goose bumps to realize how close those bullets were to my skull. “Close hits,” I whispered while I shook my head in disbelief. I felt intense emotions – pride, shame, horror, and gratitude all rolled into one. I was overwhelmed by emotion so I just closed my teary eyes. Truly, God had great plans for me for extending His grace on this side of eternity. Amazing grace! 

--THE RESCUE (2019)