back. The jokester, for his part, seems to realize he’s riled. He stares at Efrem intensely, as though trying to read foreign words tattooed across his face.
“Well, let’s go ahead and get this over with,” Charlie says, turning to the idling caravan of jeeps.
Brig Yapha, still gripping Efrem’s elbow, leads the way. They cross the stretch of empty grass and pass the officers without a word. A murmur goes up as the Boxer Boys notice Efrem among the important men, and it makes his bones tickle. “You’re doing fine,” Yapha whispers. “This won’t take long.” When they reach the caravan he sets Efrem loose, rummages through the lead jeep and produces an electric bullhorn. He throws his arm around Charlie’s shoulders and turns to face the division. The few reporters jostle for space, framing their shots so as to include both speakers and crowd.
Yapha greets the assembled soldiers several times before realizing that he has to hold the switch down, but once he does, his “Good morning Boxer Boys!” echoes across the green. “I’ll keep this short, especially because I know it’s not me you’re excited to hear from.” He pauses to wink, though Efrem can’t tell if it’s at the cameras or at Charlie. “As you know, I spent the last week in Manila, educating the high-ups at Malacañang as to the excellent work you boys are doing. And the president herself wants you to know how very thankful she is for your bravery against the Moro insurgency. Fighting double fronts with the Abu Sayyaf and renegades from the MILF is no easy task, but your good work is essential to the health of our nation. In this light, her office deeply regrets to continue extended deployments for all—” here Brig Yapha is drowned out by boos and hissing from the crowd, and he makes no attempt to speak over them. The reporters turn their cameras and microphones on the Boxer Boys. The soldiers seem to notice this and, in a moment of spontaneous savvy, they play up their own displeasure. When the brigadier general continues, it’s with a smile and a touch of mechanical levity. “But on to better news. You see, of course, that we have a very special guest with us here today. I’m honored to introduce Charlie Fuentes, though I suppose you all know him better for his role as the one and only
Reynato Ocampo
!”
Cheers shake the assembled division.
“Save it. Save it.” He waves them down, good-naturedly. “Hey, now. Hey. Come on.” Finally he just quits and hands the bullhorn off toCharlie, who steps forward to redoubled cheering. Charlie shakes his head, grinning, like: What? All this? For me? Then, as the ruckus fades he does a sad double take, like: That’s it? Done already? And the crowd goes wild again; laughing at themselves and at Charlie, delighted to participate so intimately in his joke.
Then, by degrees, they quiet down.
“Well, well, well, well, well,” Charlie says, chuckling and easy. “I tell you … if our dear president could see how mean you boys look then there’d be none of this stupidity about extra months in the jungle.”
He pauses briefly for some appreciative hollers. The short man, standing beside Efrem, gives a disgusted little snort. “That’s a tough one,” he whispers to Brig Yapha, who smiles and shrugs, just slightly.
“But for real,” Charlie goes on, “no joke. One man to many. I want to say thanks. You know … one of the best things about deciding to run for the Senate, I mean, maybe
the only
good thing, has been that I get to travel all through these islands, meeting real men like you. Men who put everything on the line for the good of the country. And I tell you what, not everybody up in Manila takes you for granted. And I’m hoping that, come May 10, even fewer of them will.”
Charlie goes on to say that he’s come on the advice of his good friend, the brigadier general, to see the best that the AFP has to offer. He understands that the Boxer Boys are second to none in
“Well, let’s go ahead and get this over with,” Charlie says, turning to the idling caravan of jeeps.
Brig Yapha, still gripping Efrem’s elbow, leads the way. They cross the stretch of empty grass and pass the officers without a word. A murmur goes up as the Boxer Boys notice Efrem among the important men, and it makes his bones tickle. “You’re doing fine,” Yapha whispers. “This won’t take long.” When they reach the caravan he sets Efrem loose, rummages through the lead jeep and produces an electric bullhorn. He throws his arm around Charlie’s shoulders and turns to face the division. The few reporters jostle for space, framing their shots so as to include both speakers and crowd.
Yapha greets the assembled soldiers several times before realizing that he has to hold the switch down, but once he does, his “Good morning Boxer Boys!” echoes across the green. “I’ll keep this short, especially because I know it’s not me you’re excited to hear from.” He pauses to wink, though Efrem can’t tell if it’s at the cameras or at Charlie. “As you know, I spent the last week in Manila, educating the high-ups at Malacañang as to the excellent work you boys are doing. And the president herself wants you to know how very thankful she is for your bravery against the Moro insurgency. Fighting double fronts with the Abu Sayyaf and renegades from the MILF is no easy task, but your good work is essential to the health of our nation. In this light, her office deeply regrets to continue extended deployments for all—” here Brig Yapha is drowned out by boos and hissing from the crowd, and he makes no attempt to speak over them. The reporters turn their cameras and microphones on the Boxer Boys. The soldiers seem to notice this and, in a moment of spontaneous savvy, they play up their own displeasure. When the brigadier general continues, it’s with a smile and a touch of mechanical levity. “But on to better news. You see, of course, that we have a very special guest with us here today. I’m honored to introduce Charlie Fuentes, though I suppose you all know him better for his role as the one and only
Reynato Ocampo
!”
Cheers shake the assembled division.
“Save it. Save it.” He waves them down, good-naturedly. “Hey, now. Hey. Come on.” Finally he just quits and hands the bullhorn off toCharlie, who steps forward to redoubled cheering. Charlie shakes his head, grinning, like: What? All this? For me? Then, as the ruckus fades he does a sad double take, like: That’s it? Done already? And the crowd goes wild again; laughing at themselves and at Charlie, delighted to participate so intimately in his joke.
Then, by degrees, they quiet down.
“Well, well, well, well, well,” Charlie says, chuckling and easy. “I tell you … if our dear president could see how mean you boys look then there’d be none of this stupidity about extra months in the jungle.”
He pauses briefly for some appreciative hollers. The short man, standing beside Efrem, gives a disgusted little snort. “That’s a tough one,” he whispers to Brig Yapha, who smiles and shrugs, just slightly.
“But for real,” Charlie goes on, “no joke. One man to many. I want to say thanks. You know … one of the best things about deciding to run for the Senate, I mean, maybe
the only
good thing, has been that I get to travel all through these islands, meeting real men like you. Men who put everything on the line for the good of the country. And I tell you what, not everybody up in Manila takes you for granted. And I’m hoping that, come May 10, even fewer of them will.”
Charlie goes on to say that he’s come on the advice of his good friend, the brigadier general, to see the best that the AFP has to offer. He understands that the Boxer Boys are second to none in
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