The training ground was nothing more than a wide, dusty field surrounded by trees, bordered on one side by a shallow creek and on the other by rows of hastily built huts. Makeshift targets had been nailed to tree trunks, and a few logs were arranged to serve as cover. Most of the revolutionaries had no formal training—just bolos, stolen rifles, and a burning desire to fight.
Elijah stood before them, clutching a stick in place of a pointer, facing nearly a hundred men and a handful of officers.
General Luna stood to the side with arms crossed, his ever-present scowl carved into his face like stone. Behind him, Isa watched silently, curiosity and concern warring in her expression.
"Elías," Luna barked, "I don't want these men wasting time. Show me that you're not just another bookworm with a fancy idea."
Elijah nodded. "Yes, sir. But I'll need time—and full authority over this training session."
Luna stared at him a long moment, then gave a stiff nod. "You have two days. If I don't see improvement, you go back to latrine duty."
Elijah turned to the assembled men, many of whom looked at him with suspicion. He raised his voice.
"You want to win this war? Then forget what you think you know about war."
The crowd murmured.
Elijah picked up a crude map and planted it on the ground, weighing it down with rocks. "The Americans aren't the Spaniards. They're faster, better armed, and they're not afraid to burn villages to smoke you out. If you fight them head-on in open fields like this…"
He raised the stick and pointed it directly at a soldier.
"…you'll die. Fast."
There were a few laughs, but they were nervous ones.
"So what do we do?" someone shouted.
"We learn how to fight like they don't expect," Elijah said. "We fight from the shadows. From the trees. We ambush supply lines, destroy rail tracks, attack at night, vanish by dawn."
He stepped toward a group of young fighters. "You've got bravery. I'm going to give you tactics."
Day One: Resistance
It started rough. Elijah's drills were completely foreign to the men. He taught them how to crawl through brush unseen, how to build foxholes, how to coordinate hit-and-run attacks. He made them march in tight columns for stamina, then split into small squads to simulate urban ambushes, even though most had never seen a proper city street.
Some grumbled. A few officers scoffed.
"This is coward's fighting," muttered Captain Amado, a grizzled veteran of skirmishes against the Guardia Civil. "Where is the honor in hiding like rats?"
Elijah rounded on him. "There's no honor in dying with a bullet in your skull before you can swing your bolo. This isn't a duel—it's a war."
"You think you know better than us?" Amado growled. "You've been here two days."
"I know better than the Spanish, and better than the Americans," Elijah snapped. "Because I've seen how this war ends if we keep doing things the old way."
Amado bristled but said nothing more.
General Luna, to Elijah's surprise, didn't interfere. He watched everything, stone-faced.
Day Two: The Turning Point
The second day brought improvement.
Elijah set up a war game—two squads with wooden rifles, competing to capture a mock artillery outpost. The "defenders" were entrenched behind stacked barrels, while the "attackers" had to flank them without being seen.
The attacking squad used Elijah's instructions. They crept through the trees, circling behind the barrels silently. One gave a birdcall signal. Within seconds, they stormed the trench and "captured" the position.
The defending side didn't even have time to react.
The entire camp erupted in shouts and applause.
Luna stepped forward, lifting an eyebrow. "You taught them that?"
Elijah nodded. "That's only the beginning. I can show them how to sabotage American trains, how to plant traps in jungle paths, how to defend trenches with minimal losses."
Luna was silent for a moment, then gave a brief nod. "Continue. You have my support."
It wasn't warm praise—but coming from Luna, it might as well have been a medal.
Later that Evening
Elijah sat near the edge of camp, arms sore and clothes soaked in sweat. He was half-finished eating a bowl of rice and dried fish when Isa appeared beside him.
"You look like a man who's just changed history," she said, sitting beside him with her own bowl.
"Maybe I just changed one battle," he replied. "That's a start."
She studied him. "You speak like someone who's seen too many endings."
Elijah didn't answer immediately.
"You know," she continued softly, "the others are starting to listen. Even Captain Amado. That's not easy."
"Respect has to be earned," Elijah said. "And I have very little time to earn it."
Isa reached over and gently touched his hand. "Whatever your past is… you're doing something good here. That matters."
He met her gaze, heart suddenly unsteady. He opened his mouth to respond—but the camp bell rang out, loud and sharp.
A messenger sprinted into the clearing.
"General Luna! Word from the south—Spanish forces are regrouping in Calumpit. And American scouts were spotted outside San Fernando!"
The firelight flickered in Elijah's eyes.
The war is accelerating.
He stood, bowl forgotten.
"Then we have no more time to waste."