I am Philippine Army T Sgt. Baltazar Cena.
Address: Block 15 Lot 18 Xavier Heights Cagayan de Oro Philippines
contact numbers: 0928358128 c/o my sister
This is my story!
by: Franca
I had been in the battlefield for more than twenty years since I joined the army in the 80's; part of the special forces team of the 8IB of the 4ID Brigade in Mindanao. Our operations focused mainly with the insurgents calling themselves New People's Army, a division of the CPP-NPA, whose Headquarter is said to be somewhere in Europe.
The insurgents had maintained strong command in the mountains of Southern Mindanao. In the 80's and the 90's road ambushes and the term "SALVAGED" was coined referring to either civilian, or NPA member or government soldier being killed. Salvaging, gained a new definition and became quite popular, successfully creating a steer in the government and fear in the people of Mindanao.
Agusan Province, the most violent place in the Island for more than two decades became a mass grave of both innocent civillians, NPA and the Armies. It became the most dreaded destination for most newly graduated Army trainees.
In the early 1990s, I was assigned in the area. I must admit even a well trained soldier like me felt the greatest fear for my life.
I had formal training on air, water, and ground assault but I wasn't spared. Originally my team was for Iraq assignment when the great middle East Crisis occurred. Even then, the training did not spare me from imagining horrors of NPA's wild tortures.
My loved ones had sleepless nights for the first six months of that crucial assignment in my career. My mother, did not let an hour pass without offering any prayers for my team's safety.
I was born Roman Catholic but never led a prayerful life. However, my would be destination deviated all that. It seemed that the only weapon that was invincible at that time was prayer....a Latin prayer.
So I began looking at the possibility of getting a little lift of spirit from my Grandmother.
Before she died, she was known to have granted one man all her powerful prayers. The prayers according to rumors were in a tiny booklet and was written in Latin. This was handed from one generation to generation. Only the booklet chooses where it should be passed. Only the current possessor knows how to determine the next booklet keeper. Nobody knew where it was, and who could that person be.
The booklet remained a mystery until today. No one was able to prove it, but apparently no one was also able to disprove its existence .
A few said, it was handed to my mom or one of her siblings, but all of them just gave nods of denial giving everyone just a sarcastic smile.
Personally, I did not show any interest with Latin prayers known to be powerful in battlefields. Stories about St. James the warrior, or about a Latin chant giving off special powers is uttered the right way. All of these accordingly were on my Granny's possession.
Everyone in this remote locality talked about it. They even shared seeing my Grandmother talked to a spirit of a dead man asking for her intercession. They also talked about an enchanted "Gabi" leaves ( a kind of root crop) that Grandma used amidst the storm. She reportedly showed upone night at my Aunt's doorstep dry and well after leaving her typhoon stricken Nipa Hut in the middle of the raging rain. She was also known of keeping the sun from setting while they were on their 8-kilometer walk from my Uncle's place back to their home.
My father, talked about a certain mystic creature that saved them one stormy night in the middle of the ocean as they sailed to the infamous Camiguin Island north of Cagayan de Oro City. Their boat was about to capsized when Granny ordered everyone to step out of it. With uncertain looks and reluctant emotion they obeyed her and stepped into the wide ocean. To their surprise, they were standing on a huge creature that doesn't seem to move.
Camiguin Province , a secluded island in Northern Mindanao honed my Grandmother's enchanted personality. Mysterious as she was, she gained our full respect. Even my grandfather, failed to have Lola admit her supernatural powers.
Shortly before granny's death, I had the chance to have a heart to heart talk with her. She laughed and just shrugged her shoulders, denying that she was a keeper of the booklet of POWER. In an hour of memorable conversation, I had nothing to say but complete admiration of a strong and spirited woman. Before we ended that day, she blessed me though by putting her two weak hands on my head; and prayerfully closed her eyes with obvious chant for blessings.
That was all. No booklet, no latin prayer. Nothing at all.
I just went back to my day after day hurdles, battle after battle, horrors of death after death hoping to cheat death every single second of the day.
There would be days when the encounters would closely take me; but it never brought me down. In fact, I had series of impossible missions. I surpassed them all without the booklet.
Until one day, I met a man.
Bearded with white hair from ears circling its chin with hairs extending up to the abdomen, he looked like a hermit as I imagined. He was covered with uncleaned clothes and looked tired and exhausted from days of traveling by foot. He had few centavo-coins wrapped in hankies hidden under those big body wraps that extended from head to toe. His feet calloused and unwashed turned brown and resembled more of a ginger than a human feet.
He excitedly turned around when he heard my voice. I told him to beware, the next mountain would be risky for him. He waited for me to finally reach a foot away from him and laid his hands motioning towards that one flat bottle of wine called Anejo Rhum. He was feeling cold by the looks of it, so I summoned the lady in that store to open the bottle for him.
I sat next to him and examined his stressed eyes. What was he doing in the middle of this killing field? I could sense something beyond. Creepy and unexplained, I then remembered the Latin booklet. Could he be sent by Granny? No way, I said disagreeing my thoughts. It had been five years since Granny's death.
Just as I was enveloped with wonder, the man finished his wine and took his wrapped coins. I told him to keep it.
He thankfully handed me a note and instructed me to open only when I would be in my fiercest battle. He even suggested to perform a ritual to be done only on the eve of Good Friday in the nearest local cemetery.
I immediately obeyed his advice. I completed all the rituals, lit candles in an open skull which situated in the middle of a mass grave. Though I was curious, I never dared to disobey his instruction.
It had been two years that I kept the piece of paper, when the "BATTLE" took place.
It was in the late 90's my fiercest fight happened. Stray bullets that came from nowhere rained from every direction. We were forcibly held against firing at an unseen opponent amidst the misty and foggy dawn of April 5. It was my grandmother's birthday.
I was taken aback with the train of coincidence. It was Good Friday too and the government declared a national ceasefire to honor the Holy Week.
As Roman Catholics, we were taken by surprise by the sheer disrespect of the holy week and the clear violation of the governments declaration of ceasefire. Even with the confused thoughts, I have to focus on the opponents advances.
It was then in this battle that I decided to finally open the man's note wrapped in small foil that was kept in my wallet for two years. I slowly opened it, closed my eyes and expected to read Latin words that would spare me from that great distress. It was partially blurry. It was hard to read in the dark.
It was dawn and I had only one piece of 10-inch slab hiding me from the enemies. I wiped the cold sweat off my lids and without batting an eyelash carefully read the note. It read "God is good no matter where". It was not in latin at all, it was purely in vernacular. If I was not in the middle of danger, I would surely laugh to death....but it was impossible to even sculpt a weak smile. I t was not what I expected but I took it seriously, It could mean something I thought...and it did really mean more. It rouses my spirit that indeed God is good no matter where. I was in the middle of the enemy line but God is still good, I muttered.
I immediately ordered my man to save their ammunition, fire only when enemies cross the line and when we could see them.
Minutes after we did not return their fires, the enemies left.
We waited and waited until finally, sun peeped on us and it felt like we've cheated death easily. How and how? I wasn't too sure and I did not bother to ask. I just took the message simply.
What's the realization?
For most of the time we longed for supernatural things to take over our fate; and for para-normal answers to stop our manly inquisitions. We couldn't just accept that life has its own way of answering questions that we can't fully comprehend. Things just happen and for whatever reason, we need not know and we need not complain. The note was as simple as how we were delivered from the enemies that day.
For me the search for the latin booklet ended right there and then.
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