I had lost, but then quickly gained, an ally.
I had ntioned to Colonel Abad that I would be needing more senior officers. The very next day, he introduced to Faustino Roque—the father of Teofilo Roque, one of the four officer cadets.
Señor Roque had been present during the eting I convened last year, though he hadn’t had the chance to speak. I didn’t know him well—just a casual acquaintance—and I wasn’t aware of his opinions regarding the Revolution or the Republic.
The tall, lean man, another coconut baron like Pedro, turned out to be an undiscovered supporter. He told how honored he was to learn that his son had been selected as a cadet. And when Maximo approached him with the offer, he accepted it without hesitation.
He was a no-nonsense, straightforward kind of man—just my type.
"I’m tired of giving a portion of my money to the coffers of foreigners," he said with a chuckle during our talk in the sala. "They don’t look like us, and they don’t even bother to learn our language. The Aricanos will be no different. In the future, if anyone wants to tax , they better be speaking Tagalog."
Needless to say, I promptly wrote him a commission with the rank of Captain and issued him a rayadillo uniform. I promised his shoulder straps would follow soon.
After the officer cadets’ physical training in the morning, I conducted my first lecture that afternoon. Along with the cadets and the two lieutenants, I included the three senior officers—now with Captain Roque—in the class. Of course, this would be irregular in the modern military, but our senior officers, including Colonel Abad, knew little to nothing about commanding troops.
The conference room beca our classroom. I had one of the chalkboards from the escuelahan brought in and installed in the far corner. On the adjacent wall, I pinned a few maps I’d fished out of dusty, web-covered cabinets. In the end, the room looked decent enough.
The officers took their seats at the long table, with the senior officers seated nearest the front, and the cadets furthest.
Naturally, the first class was mostly orientation. I had to make clear what was expected of them—and what they could expect from .
"The recruits outside are being trained how to fight," I began. "But you—the officers—will be trained how to lead those who fight. That is why you will be held to a higher standard than those under your command."
I proceeded to lay down the ground rules. "There will be no insubordination. You will follow my orders first and ask questions later. Absolute punctuality is required—not a second late to my class, or it will be counted as an absence."
This was common military language, but I wondered how Señor Roque—who had only just beco an officer—would take it. If nodding and smiling were any sign of approval, then I had nothing to worry about.
Earlier that morning, I had scribbled sothing I had forgotten to do the night before, and had one of the clerks at the Casa Real hastily make copies. I handed them out to the officers.
"Now... what is expected of an officer?" I picked up a chalk stick for the first ti and began writing on the board. I wrote four bullet points before turning back to speak.
"Lead by example..." I tapped my finger against the first point, instantly realizing I should have brought a stick like the one Major Bugallon used back in Malolos. "An officer’s discipline sets the tone for the whole unit. Never ask your n to do what you yourself would not endure. And avoid doing things you wouldn’t want them to imitate."
"Initiative must be matched with accountability," I continued to the next point. "You give the orders, and your soldiers must follow without question. Be bold when needed—even rciless if the situation calls for it—but own your failures. A good commander takes the bla and learns from his mistakes."
"Master both theory and practice," I said as I moved on to the third point. "Knowing how to lead is not enough. You must know where to lead them—when to dig in and fight, or when to fall back and reorganize—and understand the why behind every move. Study terrain, logistics, and the psychology of both your n and the enemy."
I paused briefly to gauge their reactions. It had been a long ti since I was in boot camp. Most of what I said wasn’t drawn from textbooks or lectures I’d since forgotten, but from lessons learned the hard way, in the field. And from the look of it, they were hanging on to every word.
I cleared my throat. The fourth and final point might be the most controversial.
"The n eat first," I said, underlining the phrase. "With rank cos privilege—but also duty. A good officer ensures his soldiers are fed, cared for, and rested before himself. Leadership is service, not comfort."
There was no change of expression among them, but the forr Martín had lived among these n for more than fifty years. I knew this would be sothing new to them—outrageous, even, to so.
"I know that’s not what so of you were expecting," I continued, "but this is the secret to effective leadership. If you lead from your high horse, it breeds resentnt, disobedience, and collapse. But when you earn their trust and respect through your actions... they’ll follow you to the gates of hell."
I looked around again. There were smiles now. But I had to make sure they truly understood—and accepted it.
"Any questions?" I asked. "Any reactions?"
"Don Lardi—Heneral Lardizábal," it was Captain Faustino Roque who spoke first, "I had my doubts when I ca here. This is far from what I expected... maybe because I didn’t really know you."
"What do you an by that, Capitán?" I asked, a bit puzzled. His words sounded critical, but his expression was anything but disappointed.
"I don’t know the first thing about the military," he said with a laugh that quickly spread across the room, "but I think you do. I honestly thought we’d just be winging it. I never imagined it would be this professional. I think we might actually win this war against the Aricans!"
I laughed along, treating the comnt like the jest it was... or at least, I hoped it was. Everyone in the room joined in.
"This is just the beginning, Capitán," I said. "And this is a good ti to let you know that the senior officers—aning Colonel Abad, Capitán Pedro, and yourself—will have additional, more advanced sessions with in the evenings."
All three agreed without issue. Though the lectures would be shared between cadets and senior officers for efficiency—I was, after all, just one man—there was still a need for advanced instruction for those taking higher command roles. I hoped to address this with an extra hour or two in the early evenings.
I had nearly forgotten about the copies I had distributed, but rembered just before dismissing the class.
"The handout I gave you contains the officer’s code. I want it morized by next eting," I said. Then I glanced toward the far end of the table, where the cadets and lieutenants had been silently absorbing the entire lecture. "Teniente Dimalanta, Teniente Triviño... why don’t you and the cadets recite a line each from the code?"
At Dimalanta’s lead, they snapped to attention and recited:
"An officer leads from the front."
"An officer’s word is his bond."
"An officer eats last and sleeps least."
"An officer is calm when others panic."
"An officer never abandons his n—dead or alive."
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