Two soldiers, two heroes

MANILA, Philippines - Romeo Reyes (not his real name), a young Marine officer brimming with energy and optimism, was commanding officer of a company of men in the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) on a mission against renegade members of the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF).

Since midnight, Reyes and his men were strategically positioned on a slope overlooking a valley. In the valley below was a row of seemingly empty houses, which, according to intelligence reports, were occupied by rebels.

When daylight came, a few men started walking out of the houses, holding coffee mugs and cigarettes. They were also holding guns. It was barely seven in the morning. Reyes and his men chose to wait.

Soon, a man started making his way up the slope toward where Reyes and his men were hiding. It occurred to the Marines that they were hiding in the enemy’s lookout point. As the man inched closer, he sensed the soldiers’ presence, and quickly ran back down, shouting: “Marines! Marines!”

The rebels opened fire. The first few minutes of the skirmish went by fast. The Marines immediately took down six men. The rebels in turn started firing high-powered weapons. More men started running out of the houses. The Marines were outnumbered, almost two to one. Within 30 minutes, two Marines were wounded.

By 10.30, the Marines noticed gunshots coming from a different direction. Reyes started calling for support. As more shots were exchanged, he felt his left shoulder and arm stiffen. Something wet that wasn’t sweat made his uniform stick to his chest. He had been shot.

While being given first aid, Reyes thought of his daughter, just four months old – how young, how lovely she was! He also thought of the years he had spent training at the prestigious Philippine Military Academy, and how he had committed himself to the all-important mission of ensuring the freedom and safety of his country, even if it cost him his life. Was he at that point where his country was asking him to sacrifice his life? To keep himself from crying, he repeated his request, more frantic this time, for backup.

The fighting continued until 12.30, before higher officials ordered the wounded to be evacuated. “At last,” Reyes must have thought, “we’re being rescued.” Little did he know that it only signaled the start of a greater and more personal battle. 

A bullet through the nerve

 At 27, Ernest Gonzalo (not his real name) had already experienced the horrors of armed combat. A quiet, humble man just a few years out of military training, Gonzalo had joined the elite Scout Ranger Regiment, whose daring operations were admired within the Armed Forces. But as much as stories of heroism had become almost “normal” for Scout Rangers, taking part in a dangerous mission against the Abu Sayyaf didn’t prepare Gonzalo for the horrors that awaited him. 

Prior to the mission, the Philippine Army, to which the Scout Rangers belonged, already had a number of encounters with the Abu Sayyaf. These encounters killed as many as six Army men, and left many more wounded. Intelligence reports showed that the Abu Sayyaf were holed up in a camp, deep in a forest. Something definitive had to be done. 

Under the cover of night, Gonzalo and his men made their way to the Abu Sayyaf camp. So stealthy was the Scout Rangers’ approach that they completely took the Abu Sayyaf by surprise. The Scout Rangers lobbed hand grenades at the camp and shot at the stunned bandits, who tried to flee.

The pursuit continued for several days until the smell of success was almost in the air: the targets had been cornered and were ready to be conquered. It was during this desperate moment when an Abu Sayyaf sniper hit Gonzalo. There was no pain, he recalled. “Para lang akong tinapik (as if I was patted).” A few moments later he could barely move his right leg. A feeling of numbness spread across his thighs. Blood gushed out from a hole in his leg. 

When he was finally brought to the hospital, the doctors discovered that a bullet had struck and lodged itself near his sciatic nerve. From that point on, Gonzalo learned that the fight for recovery could be as difficult – if not more – as any suicide mission.

The horror of survival

 Becoming a soldier is not the kind of sacrifice made only by one person; there is an entire family, sometimes even a community, that is forced into making a similar sacrifice. There is always an invisible army of parents, wives or husbands, children, and friends suffering their own war against terror: the terror of nursing a soldier’s maimed body, abandoned by the very people he served; of seeing a home permanently destroyed; of losing a loved one.

While awaiting treatment, Gonzalo, the quiet soldier from Mindanao, soon discovered that the almost fatal gunshot wound that he had received from an Abu Sayyaf sniper was going to bring one of his most horrifying experiences. He had to brave excruciating pain for several days; worse, he was constantly haunted by questions of his survival, or if he were to survive, whether he’d be the strong soldier ever again.

The bullet that had hit him ripped right through the flesh of his right thigh, and practically shredded his sciatic nerve. This meant that his chances of ever walking again were very low.

He needed a nerve graft. Unfortunately, no neurosurgeon was available at the V. Luna Medical Center at the time. And so he spent another month in silence and in pain in his hospital bed, stoically teaching himself to face the possibility that he would never walk again.

And then, one day, a generous benefactor offered to fly him to a well-known hospital in the United States, where he could undergo nerve grafting. It was a bright spot after months spent in uncertainty. But even after the nerve graft was successfully put in place, the doctors didn’t sugarcoat his prospects for recovery: even if he could start walking again, it could be done only with less efficiency, much effort, and much pain. The year was 1999.

The passionate Reyes, meanwhile, also had his share of frustrations that afternoon in 2005 when he’d been hit by a bullet. At first he was hoping that his wounded men would be airlifted out of the battlefield, but it was too dangerous; they had to go by land. As they navigated the long roads, Reyes and his men counted the hours they had to spend before they reached the nearest hospital, only to find out that no doctors were available. When they reached the next hospital, Reyes and his men were made to wait outside. They were puzzled; they couldn’t understand why the hospital wouldn’t admit them. When a staff sergeant said they were being prepared to transfer again, the fiery soldier in Reyes exploded.

“Ipasok nyo na kami (Admit us)!” he shouted. “Buhay ko na ‘to (This is my life)!” The hospital then decided to admit them.

Unknown to them, several civilians whom Reyes and his men had befriended followed the convoy of military vehicles carrying the wounded soldiers. These civilians were the ones the soldiers held medical missions for, the ones they played basketball with and established solid bonds with. Together, the locals pooled their resources – in fact, some of them had to borrow money from their own friends – and came up with P10,000 as an expression of their support.

It was a magnificent act of generosity, something that Reyes and his men would never forget. But these bright hopeful moments also allowed Reyes to come face to face with the ordeal his fellow soldiers were going through.

After the successful removal of the bullet lodged in his left shoulder, Reyes was airlifted to the AFP General Hospital. He was brought to recover at the Heroes’ Ward, where Gonzalo himself had been bedridden way back in 1999.

It was at the Heroes’ Ward where Reyes realized that the ordeal he had gone through was a small matter compared with what other soldiers were going through. Many of them had been severely injured: some had wounds so grotesque you wouldn’t wish them on your enemy; others had to give up severely damaged, practically useless limbs; others were shell-shocked, bearing unspeakable emotional trauma; others were writhing, crying, howling in pain. 

And as he spent each day thinking of the more unfortunate soldiers, those who had never even made it to the Heroes’ Ward, it was inevitable that he also thought of the families they had left behind. Who was looking after them?

Heroes in our midst

 Despite the suffering they went through and the difficulties they are still struggling with, Gonzalo and Reyes had luck on their side: Reyes recovered completely, while Gonzalo, almost miraculously, can now walk, albeit with some effort. They are still in active service, and are now both ranked Captain; they have both received awards for their exceptional heroism. Reyes has completely recovered and is back in the field; Gonzalo, currently working at headquarters, is hoping to relive his glory days with the Scout Rangers.

But how about the other nameless, faceless soldiers we call “heroes,” those who suffer away from our sight? How about the soldiers who need immediate, critical medical attention, but have limited or no access to quality care? How about the soldiers who have died and have left their families bereft, suffering far from the eye of the public, with limited prospects for education or livelihood?

These are the men and women to whom we at the Help Educate and Rear Orphans (HERO) Foundation would like to pay tribute. Upon the request of the late President Cory Aquino and with the support of civilian volunteers, General Renato de Villa and I, together with a group of like-minded businessmen, founded HERO Foundation in 1988 to provide educational assistance to the children of soldiers killed-in-action. The foundation offers college scholarships, and gives stipends to grade school, high school, and college students. 

At present, the HERO Foundation has over a thousand scholars. It is a significant number, but we know we can do more. After all, if we think about it, ensuring the education of our soldiers’ orphans is a small sacrifice compared with the selfless heroism that comes with offering one’s life for the country.

We may not be aware of it, but we constantly require our soldiers and their families to relinquish all claims to a normal, happy life, so that we civilians can live in peace, enjoying the comforts offered by having a family and a career.

Now, let us ask ourselves: what can our heroes ask from us?

 For those who want to help the HERO Foundation, you may  contact the following:  Gen. Renato M. Garcia, Executive Director, HERO Foundation, Inc. Room 203, 2nd Floor, AFPGIC Bldg., EDSA cor. B. Serrano St., Q.C.; tel no. 912-0361; or email: [email protected].