The air was heavy with the smell of smoke and sweat. Fires had already begun to rise from the outskirts of Calumpit by the time General Luna's forces reached the northern bank of the Pampanga River. It was late afternoon, and the sun burned crimson over the rice fields. The smoke from razed farmhouses painted the sky in shades of ash.
Elijah stood atop a hill with binoculars—foreign ones he had hidden inside his bag when he first arrived in 1898. He peered across the river, surveying the town now partially occupied by Spanish remnants who had regrouped and fortified positions near the church and municipal building. Worse, American scouts had been spotted further south—observers for now, but Elijah knew they wouldn't stay passive for long.
He turned to Luna. "We need to strike before the Americans set foot inside. If they enter that town, we lose the element of local control."
Luna's jaw clenched as he eyed the map pinned against a crate. "The bridge is the only crossing. And they'll have it covered."
"We don't need the bridge," Elijah said. He traced a curved line along the map with his finger. "We cross upstream, under the cover of darkness. We come in through the fields and hit them from the back while a smaller team creates a diversion at the bridge."
Luna studied the route, then nodded once. "Do it. You'll lead the flanking team."
Isa, who had arrived just in time to overhear, frowned. "You can't be serious. Elijah's not a soldier."
"He's more than a soldier," Luna said, locking eyes with Elijah. "He's a strategist. And I trust him."
That was the highest praise Luna had ever given.
Nightfall.
The flanking group moved silently through the thickets and bamboo groves on the northern approach. Elijah crouched low with twenty men—some new, others hardened veterans. Isa moved beside him, her rifle slung and a satchel of bandages at her side.
"You didn't have to come," Elijah whispered.
"I know," she replied, eyes forward. "But I wanted to."
His heart beat faster, not just from the impending attack.
As they reached the edge of the rice fields, Elijah signaled a halt. The town lay beyond, dimly lit, but the church's bell tower loomed like a watching eye.
Then—gunfire erupted by the bridge.
"That's our cue," Elijah hissed.
The team surged forward, bolos drawn, rifles aimed. They crossed the final stretch of field and reached the town's rear perimeter. Elijah gave swift hand signals—two squads to the right, one left, Isa with him through the center.
It worked like clockwork. The Spanish soldiers inside never saw the attack coming. Shots rang out in the alleys. Elijah led the charge through a side street and into the courtyard behind the church.
There, they met resistance—two machine gunners and a dozen rifles.
"Down!" Elijah shouted, diving behind a stone fence.
One of the Katipuneros was hit. Isa rushed forward despite the gunfire, dragging the bleeding man to cover.
"You're insane," Elijah hissed, firing over the wall.
She glanced back at him. "You haven't seen anything yet."
Minutes later, after lobbing two improvised grenades and storming the courtyard, they secured the position. The Spanish remnants either fled or surrendered. The municipal building was ablaze, but the town was theirs—for now.
But Elijah's stomach twisted. Where are the Americans?
As if summoned by his thoughts, a single shot rang out from the edge of the plaza—then two more.
A Katipunero collapsed.
Out of the smoke came silhouettes—tall, disciplined, moving in formation.
American marines.
Elijah grabbed Isa's arm. "We need to fall back and regroup with Luna. Now."
They ducked into an alley as chaos erupted in the plaza. Luna's forces were already exchanging fire with the Americans on the other side. The town had become a war zone.
Elijah fired as he ran, covering Isa as they retreated through a broken fence and into the shelter of an abandoned convent.
Inside, it was dark and quiet. The sounds of battle seemed distant behind the thick stone walls.
Elijah slumped against a column, breathing hard. Isa sank beside him, hands shaking.
"Why are they already here?" she whispered.
"They're trying to control Luzon piece by piece," Elijah said. "And we just made them bleed. They won't forget that."
She reached over and touched his shoulder. "You've changed things already. For the better."
He looked at her—and for a moment, the war faded.
"I don't know what happens next," he said. "The future's gone dark."
"Then we'll light a new path," she replied.
They sat in silence, surrounded by shadows and broken stone, knowing dawn would bring more blood—but also, perhaps, a chance at victory.