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A group of US Marines heard a baby’s cry in the jungles of the Philippines. They should have ignored it.
The following are extracts from the diary of my great great granduncle, who served in the United States Marine Corps during the Philippine-American war. Doing research on him, his records say that he was dishonorably discharged from the Marine Corps due to drunkeness. Reading through these entries, I think I understand why he turned to the bottle during his last year in service.
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I can still remember the baby’s cries. I can still remember the sight of the mother going around the village, carrying her injured child, begging for help. The baby was a goner, we all knew that. With one arm ripped off by a bullet and blood spilling everywhere, it was a miracle that the baby still had enough energy to cry. The baby was strong, I got to hand him that, but no strength was enough to save him.
The bullet that struck him was a stray one, fired from an insurrecto from the jungle during the first attack they made since our arrival the day prior. It occurred early today, at dawn, while most of us and the villagers were still asleep. Firing wildly at the village, the insurgent’s volleys managed to miss our pickets, as well as us marines sleeping in the flimsy huts that passed off as our barracks. We were lucky. But the kid was not. Moments after his mother searched the village for help, the baby’s crying stopped.
I feel sorry for the poor kid and mother. But there was nothing that could be done. They were simply unlucky.
A funeral is to be held tomorrow and the Captain wanted some of us marines to help in the ceremony. He hoped to show the villagers that we were on their side and win their respect by assisting in their traditions. However, the village suggested that it would be best for us to stay away from the funeral. He told the Captain that the mother, and some of her relatives, were angry at us, blaming us for her child’s death. She thinks that if we weren't here in their village, then the insurrectos would never have attacked and fired that bullet that killed her child. The village leader feared that our presence in the funeral would have caused some sort of fight between us and the family.
Hearing this frustrated the Captain, but he relented. Although not before muttering how ungrateful the locals were for the protection we were giving them against wandering ladrones.
So far it seems that our stay here has started out badly.
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I was out at the picket line last night when I heard movement in front of me. Just behind some bushes, there was someone there. Immediately I pointed the rifle towards the direction of the noise and fired. No one was supposed to be outside the village at this time, so it meant any native out at that time was most likely an insurrecto.
Almost immediately my shot alerted the other pickets and the marines back at the village. From behind me I could hear officers and NCOs waking sleeping marines and ordering them to their respective outposts. Soon enough I heard the sergeants calling out to us on the picket line, ordering us to get back and rejoin our respective sections.
I wasted no time at running back towards the village to take up my position at my assigned outpost. However, as I made my way back, I noticed a lack of fire coming from the jungle. This quickly told me that no attack was coming.
For a moment I feared that I may have caused a false alarm. But I knew what I heard. There had been movement right in front of me. This insistence, however, did little to stop the annoyed remarks from the others, who complained that I woke them up for nothing. We spent the rest of the night restlessly waiting for an attack that never came.
Despite the lack of an insurgent attack, I was ultimately proven right that I indeed heard movement. The first patrol of the day inspected the area I said I fired my shot towards and found that there was a body there. However, I’m not proud that my bullet found its mark, because the one I stuck down was a woman. To be specific, it was the woman who lost her baby during the insurgent attack.
We were all confused on why she was outside the village that night. To make things even more confusing, it was later found out that she had dug out her child’s grave, leaving it empty. The officers speculated that the woman was planning to join her husband, who was an insurrecto, and that she brought her dead child with her so that they could bury him in the mountains.
I’m not fully convinced by this. One of my friends, who was on the patrol that saw her body, told me that she fell in a way that looked like she was going back to the village, not away from it. He also said that her clothes and feet were muddy, as if she had just came back from the mountains. This, combined with the fact that they couldn’t find the corpse of her child with her when she fell, tells me that she went to the mountains with the body of her dead child and came back without it.
I don’t know what this all means, but it makes me feel uneasy thinking about it.
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Garrison life in this village has been peaceful these past couple of days. Compared to the last fishing village we were assigned to protect, where we were attacked almost nightly, our stay here has been calm, with no insurgent attacks occurring after the first encounter we had with them. Most of the boys are happy about this, but I personally find it strange. These islands are filled with wild angry natives who want nothing more than for us to leave. So to find a little corner of these islands that just so happens to have passive insurrectos just feels wrong.
I’m not the only one to think that this is strange, as the Captain has been restless these past couple of days, wondering why the insurrectos have been so quiet. At first he thought that the enemy was taking their time, choosing to observe us from a distance so that they could gather their strength and make a plan before springing their attack. He says that an Army garrison on another island had stayed in a village that they thought was peaceful, but once their guard was down the insurrectos and the villagers rose up and massacred each one of them.
He doesn't want us marines to meet the same fate, so he increased security at our little outpost, doubling patrols around the village and making sure that there were always two marines guarding our barracks at night.
However, our patrols of the surrounding jungle confused us more, as they seemed to show that there had been no recent insurgent activity near the village. Normally, footprints of insurrecto scouts would be found at the village outskirts. But here, there were none. So this either means the insurrectos here were better at covering their tracks or that they’re just not trying at all. If it was the latter, then why? It didn’t seem like them to leave one of our garrisons unmolested or unobserved.
Lieutenant Miller, one of the glory hunting officers of the company, believes the lack of insurgent activity reveals that the enemy is weak in this area. He thinks that the insurrectos in charge of these parts are either few in number, few in weapons, sick with dysentery, or all of the three. Because of this, he believes that it's the perfect time to strike before the insurgents could resolve their issues. Rumor is that he suggested to the Captain that a strong expedition should be sent out to hunt for the insurgent camo and eliminate them.
I can’t say I approve of this idea. But that’s just because there’s a high chance that the Captain will task Lieutenant Miller with such an operation. With me being a part of his platoon, then that means I would end up marching through the hot and muddy jungle, deep within insurrecto country, praying that none of these feral natives was hiding behind the thickets with a rifle pointed at me. Patrolling the nearby jungle outskirts of the village was already bad enough, but heading straight to enemy territory definitely brings higher risk. I would rather be stuck here doing menial tasks such as watching the villagers plant rice or inspecting their fishing boats for contraband, than go out there actively hunting for the insurrectos.
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Our platoon started the march early in the day, just before the sun rose. Lieutenant Miller, flanked by our trusted native scout, and a local villager we coerced to guide us through the jungle paths, led the way. The villager, who is said to be the brother of one of the insurrectos here, marched in front of the Lieutenant, to make sure that the enemy would be hesitant at firing a volley at our officer.
Our goal was to reach a stream located a few miles away from the village. Our native scout had extracted information from one of the villagers that such a stream existed and may be used by the insurrectos as their water source out there in the jungle. Lieutenant Miller hoped to search the area around the stream and locate the insurgent camp.
As expected, the march was difficult, with narrow slippery paths all along the way. Things only got worse once the sun rose up, as it added uncomfortable heat to our already laborious tasks. A few hours into our march every single marine had their uniform soaking in sweat. The only good thing about the march was that we weren’t harassed by the insurrectos.
We took a couple of quick breaks along the way, but eventually, at around midday, we reached the stream. Making sure that the area was clear, we took another quick break to regain our energy and refill our canteens, before beginning the search for the insurgent camp.
Splitting up into three sections, I ended up being in the one led by the Lieutenant himself. Deciding to go upstream, he led us along rocky terrain flanked by thick jungle. With every step, I feared that the insurrectos would ambush us.
We kept quiet as we made our way, trying to listen to our surroundings, while looking for any sign of the enemy. I don't remember how long it took, but we eventually found something.
It was not what any of us were expecting.
Laying by the stream was a native, unmoving and lifeless. From what I initially saw, I noticed that his clothes were stained in blood. Cautiously we approached, wondering if this was an ambush. However, after a few minutes of silence, Lieutenant Miller decided to move up towards the laying native. We followed close behind him. Once the Lieutenant stood by the body, a sergeant divided us, with one group, led by the sergeant, spreading out to form a picket around the area, while the other group stayed by the Lieutenant.
The fallen native was an insurrecto, there was no doubt about that. With him being deep in a jungle and with a revolver nearby him, we knew that he was our enemy. But the way he died is what attracted our curiosity.
Being there next to Lieutenant Miller, I saw the native’s clothes and skin had tear and scratch marks, while his stomach was gutted open, entrails chewed on and spread all over. To me it seemed like some wild animal with sharp claws and teeth attacked him and began opening his stomach and eating his internal organs. It was a gruesome sight and I had to do my best to keep my composure as I stood there.
We all thought that the insurrecto was attacked by a jungle animal. What animal it was, we weren’t sure, but I feared that we could be its next victim. For a moment I gave a short prayer, hoping that whatever animal that attacked him was no longer hungry.
We stayed there for a while, debating amongst ourselves what type of animal could have done that to the insurrecto, when the sergeant who formed the picket line called out to the Lieutenant.
“Sir, one of my men found the enemy camp!” He called out. “It’s just behind the bushes over here!”
With that everyone quickly drew out our rifles and double-timed towards the sergeant. Positioning ourselves behind a thick wall of bushes, we peered through the leaves and saw a cleaning.on that clearing was a small camp, with huts, some scattered crates and sacks, and, to our surprise, deceased insurrectos.
Cautiously moving forward and out of the bushes, we entered the enemy camp and searched the place. There was no one there, only us and the dead.
Counting the bodies, we saw at least thirty insurrectos, all dead. Inspecting their corpses, we noted that they suffered the same fate of the insurrecto by the stream. Like him their clothing and skin had tear marks and scratches, while their stomachs ripped open and guts chewed on.
This scared us all and I even saw the normally unphased Lieutenant Miller give worried glances towards the number of dead and gutted insurrectos on the jungle floor.
Nothing there made sense and we began to question if it was possible for an animal, or even a group of animals, to do such a thing. Clearly these men were armed, and clearly they had tried fighting off whatever attached them, as empty casings littered the ground. Yet, despite all their efforts, they were still massacred.
Not feeling secure with the few men he had there, Lieutenant Miller ordered one marine to contact the other two sections and have them regroup with us. Meanwhile, the rest of us marines remained at the camp and took up defensive positions in case a different group of insurrectos came by to retake the camp.
As I stood watch at one section of the camp, I could hear Lieutenant Miller and the sergeant talk behind me.
“Do you really think animals did this?” The Lieutenant asked.
“Well, sir, it’s the only possible answer.” I heard the sergeant respond. “It reminds me of a bear attack back home. Now, I’m not saying it was a bear that did this. Hell, I’m not sure if they have bears here on this God forsaken island, but it’s what it reminds me of.”
Whatever the Lieutenant was going to say in response was suddenly drowned out by the chilling cry of a baby. Turning my attention towards the cry, I quickly realized that it was coming from the piece of jungle ahead of me. Acting on instinct, I quickly raised my rifle towards the direction but withheld my fire.
Soon the Lieutenant and Sergeant moved closer towards me until the two were flanking me as they gazed towards the jungle. For a moment we all remained silent, as we listened to the cry of the baby. It sounded nearby, probably only a few yards away, however, due to the thickness of the jungle, it was impossible to see where the source was.
Many questions plagued my mind at that moment. Why was there a baby deep within the jungle? Was it alone? Was this a trap being set up by the insurgents?
I’m sure the Lieutenant was wondering the same thing, as he took his time thinking how he should respond to the situation. I’m not exactly sure what went inside his head, but him being a glory seeking character, he probably thought that it would look good for him to investigate the source of the cry and, if the baby was found, save it. The image of us marines saving a native baby from the clutches of the insurrectos would work well for our relations with the villagers and the Lieutenant probably thought that the Captain would praise him for such a success. I believe that was what the Lieutenant was thinking when he ordered us to follow him, leaving behind only three three marines to remain at the clearing to secure it and await the others.
The Lieutenant led the way, pushing his way through the jungle. I followed close behind him, while the rest of the boys behind me, and the sergeant at the rear of our column. There seemed to be no path towards the source of the crying, so the Lieutenant was forced to improvise and cut through the foliage with a native bolo knife he always brought with him.
Eventually the sound of crying grew louder and louder, further encouraging the Lieutenant as he worked harder to get through the jungle. Staying close behind him, scanning ahead to make sure that the ground ahead of the Lieutenant was safe, I couldn’t help but notice something as the crying echoed in my ears.
The cry sounded familiar. I know that the cries of babies often sound the same, but this one sounded so familiar. It reminded me of the cry of the baby that was struck by an insurrecto’s bullet, the one who died earlier this week. The thought of that brought a chill through my bones.
As the sound of crying drew closer, the Lieutenant eventually reached a piece of flag ground. Shoving aside some large leaves, he soon gave out a victorious shout, as he pointed ahead of him. Looking past him, I soon saw a baby on the ground, laying on a dirty, crying as it lay there.
However, as I got a good glimpse of the child, I felt my body stiffen in fear. The baby was missing most of its arm. It looked as if the rest of its arm was torn off or shot off.
A mixture of panic and fear filled me during that moment. As ridiculous as it seemed, I thought that it was the baby that had been killed at the village. But it was impossible. That baby was dead. So who was this right in front of us? Who was this baby that looked exactly like it?
After scanning the area to make sure it was safe, the Lieutenant slowly kneeled and prepared to pick up the baby. Standing just behind him, I clutched my rifle firmly in my hands, as I felt a sense of unease.
Watching the Lieutenant turn towards me, I saw the baby cradled in his hands, as he ordered us back to the clearing. However, as he was about to step forward and lead the way once more, the baby began to peel its skin.
Right before my eyes the skin off the baby began to peel off like a snake. Eyes wide in fear, I had my eyes fixated on it as the skin separated to reveal a second layer underneath, one covered in wrinkles.
At that moment the Lieutenant noticed my reaction and looked down at the baby to be surprised at what he saw. In reaction he nearly dropped it, but the baby moved quickly, as its one complete arm suddenly grabbed him by neck. The grasp must have been strong, because I could hear the Lieutenant begin the choke. Losing air he fell on the ground, as he desperately tried to pull the baby off of him.
Shaking out my initial shock, I moved toward the Lieutenant and, after dropping my rifle, tried to pull on the baby who was grasping tightly on his neck. However, my hands only managed to hold onto its peeling skin. When I pulled, I ended up pulling his outer skin, completely removing it and revealing fully what was under.
It was no baby. It was a monster.
Hiding behind an innocent toddler’s skin was a creature that I could only describe as a wrinkly beast, with dry skin, pointy ears, bloodshot eyes, and disproportionate legs. It was ugly and small. Yet, although its size was that of a baby, its hands had long claws, while its mouth had teeth as sharp as a bayonet. It looked deadly and it quickly proved that when it tore into the Lieutenant’s neck with its teeth.
Going wild, it used its teeth and claws to ravage the Lieutenant, as he was helpless to fight it off. Soon enough he stopped struggling, but this creature continued to tear through his body, moving its attention away from its neck and switching its focus to his stomach, which it tore open with ease.
Backing away quickly, I soon realized that the rest of the boys had their rifles trained on the creature. But none of them fired. Even the sergeant just stood there, unable to give orders. I’m not sure if it was because of the shock of what they saw or because of the fear of hitting the Lieutenant earlier as he struggled, but whichever it was none of them fired and now the Lieutenant was dead, body being consumed by a creature of nightmares.
We remained there unsure what to do, as the sound of the creature snarling and tearing through flesh echoed in the jungle.
For a moment it remained like that. Then the sound of babies crying erupted from above us. Looking up at the trees over our heads I saw a dozen of those terrible creatures hanging on the branches, staring at us with hungry bloodshot eyes.
What occured next happened so fast and I remember myself screaming as creatures jumped on us and fell on top of many of the boys. I don’t know how I got lucky, but I managed to avoid one from dropping directly on top of me. Instead he fell hard on the ground. Before it could recover I gave it a hard kick, sending it flying towards a nearby tree.
Looking around I saw men fight for their lives, struggling to fend off the creatures that were clawing and gnawing on them. Remembering what happened to the Lieutenant and realizing that there was no way to get that creature off once it was on you, I decided not to stay any longer.
Dashing away, I did my best to follow the path we made, as I moved as fast as I could back towards the clearing. Behind me I could hear the tortured l screams of men, as they mixed with the hellish growls of those demonic creatures.
I don’t remember how long I ran and tumbled through the jungle, but eventually I reached the clearing. To my relief the rest of the platoon was now there. Familiar faces greeted me and asked me where the Lieutenant and the rest of my section was, but I couldn't reply. Instead exhaustion overtook me and I collapsed. Next thing I remember I was back in the village, inside one of the huts we used as a field hospital. I was safe now.
I later learned that out of all the men in my section, I was the only one that survived. The Captain asked me what had happened and I told him what I remembered, but he gave me a strange look and I knew that he didn’t believe me. I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t have believed my story either if I didn’t see it with my own eyes.
I have few friends left here. Most think I have lost my mind due to the encounter. Talk among the company says that many think that the Lieutenant and the rest of my sectiom were ambused by insurrectos and badly butchered by them in an attempt to send us a horrific message. From what I hear they’ll soon be shipping me out of here. I Johnny, one of the few friends I have left in the company, says the Captain has written me off as unfit for combat. They’ll probably end up sending me to the garrison at Cavite, where it’s much quieter.
As much as I hate leaving behind my unit, I’m happy to get away from this place and the horrors it contains within its jungles.
The following are extracts from the diary of my great great granduncle, who served in the United States Marine Corps during the Philippine-American war. Doing research on him, his records say that he was dishonorably discharged from the Marine Corps due to drunkeness. Reading through these entries, I think I understand why he turned to the bottle during his last year in service.
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I can still remember the baby’s cries. I can still remember the sight of the mother going around the village, carrying her injured child, begging for help. The baby was a goner, we all knew that. With one arm ripped off by a bullet and blood spilling everywhere, it was a miracle that the baby still had enough energy to cry. The baby was strong, I got to hand him that, but no strength was enough to save him.
The bullet that struck him was a stray one, fired from an insurrecto from the jungle during the first attack they made since our arrival the day prior. It occurred early today, at dawn, while most of us and the villagers were still asleep. Firing wildly at the village, the insurgent’s volleys managed to miss our pickets, as well as us marines sleeping in the flimsy huts that passed off as our barracks. We were lucky. But the kid was not. Moments after his mother searched the village for help, the baby’s crying stopped.
I feel sorry for the poor kid and mother. But there was nothing that could be done. They were simply unlucky.
A funeral is to be held tomorrow and the Captain wanted some of us marines to help in the ceremony. He hoped to show the villagers that we were on their side and win their respect by assisting in their traditions. However, the village suggested that it would be best for us to stay away from the funeral. He told the Captain that the mother, and some of her relatives, were angry at us, blaming us for her child’s death. She thinks that if we weren't here in their village, then the insurrectos would never have attacked and fired that bullet that killed her child. The village leader feared that our presence in the funeral would have caused some sort of fight between us and the family.
Hearing this frustrated the Captain, but he relented. Although not before muttering how ungrateful the locals were for the protection we were giving them against wandering ladrones.
So far it seems that our stay here has started out badly.
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I was out at the picket line last night when I heard movement in front of me. Just behind some bushes, there was someone there. Immediately I pointed the rifle towards the direction of the noise and fired. No one was supposed to be outside the village at this time, so it meant any native out at that time was most likely an insurrecto.
Almost immediately my shot alerted the other pickets and the marines back at the village. From behind me I could hear officers and NCOs waking sleeping marines and ordering them to their respective outposts. Soon enough I heard the sergeants calling out to us on the picket line, ordering us to get back and rejoin our respective sections.
I wasted no time at running back towards the village to take up my position at my assigned outpost. However, as I made my way back, I noticed a lack of fire coming from the jungle. This quickly told me that no attack was coming.
For a moment I feared that I may have caused a false alarm. But I knew what I heard. There had been movement right in front of me. This insistence, however, did little to stop the annoyed remarks from the others, who complained that I woke them up for nothing. We spent the rest of the night restlessly waiting for an attack that never came.
Despite the lack of an insurgent attack, I was ultimately proven right that I indeed heard movement. The first patrol of the day inspected the area I said I fired my shot towards and found that there was a body there. However, I’m not proud that my bullet found its mark, because the one I stuck down was a woman. To be specific, it was the woman who lost her baby during the insurgent attack.
We were all confused on why she was outside the village that night. To make things even more confusing, it was later found out that she had dug out her child’s grave, leaving it empty. The officers speculated that the woman was planning to join her husband, who was an insurrecto, and that she brought her dead child with her so that they could bury him in the mountains.
I’m not fully convinced by this. One of my friends, who was on the patrol that saw her body, told me that she fell in a way that looked like she was going back to the village, not away from it. He also said that her clothes and feet were muddy, as if she had just came back from the mountains. This, combined with the fact that they couldn’t find the corpse of her child with her when she fell, tells me that she went to the mountains with the body of her dead child and came back without it.
I don’t know what this all means, but it makes me feel uneasy thinking about it.
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Garrison life in this village has been peaceful these past couple of days. Compared to the last fishing village we were assigned to protect, where we were attacked almost nightly, our stay here has been calm, with no insurgent attacks occurring after the first encounter we had with them. Most of the boys are happy about this, but I personally find it strange. These islands are filled with wild angry natives who want nothing more than for us to leave. So to find a little corner of these islands that just so happens to have passive insurrectos just feels wrong.
I’m not the only one to think that this is strange, as the Captain has been restless these past couple of days, wondering why the insurrectos have been so quiet. At first he thought that the enemy was taking their time, choosing to observe us from a distance so that they could gather their strength and make a plan before springing their attack. He says that an Army garrison on another island had stayed in a village that they thought was peaceful, but once their guard was down the insurrectos and the villagers rose up and massacred each one of them.
He doesn't want us marines to meet the same fate, so he increased security at our little outpost, doubling patrols around the village and making sure that there were always two marines guarding our barracks at night.
However, our patrols of the surrounding jungle confused us more, as they seemed to show that there had been no recent insurgent activity near the village. Normally, footprints of insurrecto scouts would be found at the village outskirts. But here, there were none. So this either means the insurrectos here were better at covering their tracks or that they’re just not trying at all. If it was the latter, then why? It didn’t seem like them to leave one of our garrisons unmolested or unobserved.
Lieutenant Miller, one of the glory hunting officers of the company, believes the lack of insurgent activity reveals that the enemy is weak in this area. He thinks that the insurrectos in charge of these parts are either few in number, few in weapons, sick with dysentery, or all of the three. Because of this, he believes that it's the perfect time to strike before the insurgents could resolve their issues. Rumor is that he suggested to the Captain that a strong expedition should be sent out to hunt for the insurgent camo and eliminate them.
I can’t say I approve of this idea. But that’s just because there’s a high chance that the Captain will task Lieutenant Miller with such an operation. With me being a part of his platoon, then that means I would end up marching through the hot and muddy jungle, deep within insurrecto country, praying that none of these feral natives was hiding behind the thickets with a rifle pointed at me. Patrolling the nearby jungle outskirts of the village was already bad enough, but heading straight to enemy territory definitely brings higher risk. I would rather be stuck here doing menial tasks such as watching the villagers plant rice or inspecting their fishing boats for contraband, than go out there actively hunting for the insurrectos.
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Our platoon started the march early in the day, just before the sun rose. Lieutenant Miller, flanked by our trusted native scout, and a local villager we coerced to guide us through the jungle paths, led the way. The villager, who is said to be the brother of one of the insurrectos here, marched in front of the Lieutenant, to make sure that the enemy would be hesitant at firing a volley at our officer.
Our goal was to reach a stream located a few miles away from the village. Our native scout had extracted information from one of the villagers that such a stream existed and may be used by the insurrectos as their water source out there in the jungle. Lieutenant Miller hoped to search the area around the stream and locate the insurgent camp.
As expected, the march was difficult, with narrow slippery paths all along the way. Things only got worse once the sun rose up, as it added uncomfortable heat to our already laborious tasks. A few hours into our march every single marine had their uniform soaking in sweat. The only good thing about the march was that we weren’t harassed by the insurrectos.
We took a couple of quick breaks along the way, but eventually, at around midday, we reached the stream. Making sure that the area was clear, we took another quick break to regain our energy and refill our canteens, before beginning the search for the insurgent camp.
Splitting up into three sections, I ended up being in the one led by the Lieutenant himself. Deciding to go upstream, he led us along rocky terrain flanked by thick jungle. With every step, I feared that the insurrectos would ambush us.
We kept quiet as we made our way, trying to listen to our surroundings, while looking for any sign of the enemy. I don't remember how long it took, but we eventually found something.
It was not what any of us were expecting.
Laying by the stream was a native, unmoving and lifeless. From what I initially saw, I noticed that his clothes were stained in blood. Cautiously we approached, wondering if this was an ambush. However, after a few minutes of silence, Lieutenant Miller decided to move up towards the laying native. We followed close behind him. Once the Lieutenant stood by the body, a sergeant divided us, with one group, led by the sergeant, spreading out to form a picket around the area, while the other group stayed by the Lieutenant.
The fallen native was an insurrecto, there was no doubt about that. With him being deep in a jungle and with a revolver nearby him, we knew that he was our enemy. But the way he died is what attracted our curiosity.
Being there next to Lieutenant Miller, I saw the native’s clothes and skin had tear and scratch marks, while his stomach was gutted open, entrails chewed on and spread all over. To me it seemed like some wild animal with sharp claws and teeth attacked him and began opening his stomach and eating his internal organs. It was a gruesome sight and I had to do my best to keep my composure as I stood there.
We all thought that the insurrecto was attacked by a jungle animal. What animal it was, we weren’t sure, but I feared that we could be its next victim. For a moment I gave a short prayer, hoping that whatever animal that attacked him was no longer hungry.
We stayed there for a while, debating amongst ourselves what type of animal could have done that to the insurrecto, when the sergeant who formed the picket line called out to the Lieutenant.
“Sir, one of my men found the enemy camp!” He called out. “It’s just behind the bushes over here!”
With that everyone quickly drew out our rifles and double-timed towards the sergeant. Positioning ourselves behind a thick wall of bushes, we peered through the leaves and saw a cleaning.on that clearing was a small camp, with huts, some scattered crates and sacks, and, to our surprise, deceased insurrectos.
Cautiously moving forward and out of the bushes, we entered the enemy camp and searched the place. There was no one there, only us and the dead.
Counting the bodies, we saw at least thirty insurrectos, all dead. Inspecting their corpses, we noted that they suffered the same fate of the insurrecto by the stream. Like him their clothing and skin had tear marks and scratches, while their stomachs ripped open and guts chewed on.
This scared us all and I even saw the normally unphased Lieutenant Miller give worried glances towards the number of dead and gutted insurrectos on the jungle floor.
Nothing there made sense and we began to question if it was possible for an animal, or even a group of animals, to do such a thing. Clearly these men were armed, and clearly they had tried fighting off whatever attached them, as empty casings littered the ground. Yet, despite all their efforts, they were still massacred.
Not feeling secure with the few men he had there, Lieutenant Miller ordered one marine to contact the other two sections and have them regroup with us. Meanwhile, the rest of us marines remained at the camp and took up defensive positions in case a different group of insurrectos came by to retake the camp.
As I stood watch at one section of the camp, I could hear Lieutenant Miller and the sergeant talk behind me.
“Do you really think animals did this?” The Lieutenant asked.
“Well, sir, it’s the only possible answer.” I heard the sergeant respond. “It reminds me of a bear attack back home. Now, I’m not saying it was a bear that did this. Hell, I’m not sure if they have bears here on this God forsaken island, but it’s what it reminds me of.”
Whatever the Lieutenant was going to say in response was suddenly drowned out by the chilling cry of a baby. Turning my attention towards the cry, I quickly realized that it was coming from the piece of jungle ahead of me. Acting on instinct, I quickly raised my rifle towards the direction but withheld my fire.
Soon the Lieutenant and Sergeant moved closer towards me until the two were flanking me as they gazed towards the jungle. For a moment we all remained silent, as we listened to the cry of the baby. It sounded nearby, probably only a few yards away, however, due to the thickness of the jungle, it was impossible to see where the source was.
Many questions plagued my mind at that moment. Why was there a baby deep within the jungle? Was it alone? Was this a trap being set up by the insurgents?
I’m sure the Lieutenant was wondering the same thing, as he took his time thinking how he should respond to the situation. I’m not exactly sure what went inside his head, but him being a glory seeking character, he probably thought that it would look good for him to investigate the source of the cry and, if the baby was found, save it. The image of us marines saving a native baby from the clutches of the insurrectos would work well for our relations with the villagers and the Lieutenant probably thought that the Captain would praise him for such a success. I believe that was what the Lieutenant was thinking when he ordered us to follow him, leaving behind only three three marines to remain at the clearing to secure it and await the others.
The Lieutenant led the way, pushing his way through the jungle. I followed close behind him, while the rest of the boys behind me, and the sergeant at the rear of our column. There seemed to be no path towards the source of the crying, so the Lieutenant was forced to improvise and cut through the foliage with a native bolo knife he always brought with him.
Eventually the sound of crying grew louder and louder, further encouraging the Lieutenant as he worked harder to get through the jungle. Staying close behind him, scanning ahead to make sure that the ground ahead of the Lieutenant was safe, I couldn’t help but notice something as the crying echoed in my ears.
The cry sounded familiar. I know that the cries of babies often sound the same, but this one sounded so familiar. It reminded me of the cry of the baby that was struck by an insurrecto’s bullet, the one who died earlier this week. The thought of that brought a chill through my bones.
As the sound of crying drew closer, the Lieutenant eventually reached a piece of flag ground. Shoving aside some large leaves, he soon gave out a victorious shout, as he pointed ahead of him. Looking past him, I soon saw a baby on the ground, laying on a dirty, crying as it lay there.
However, as I got a good glimpse of the child, I felt my body stiffen in fear. The baby was missing most of its arm. It looked as if the rest of its arm was torn off or shot off.
A mixture of panic and fear filled me during that moment. As ridiculous as it seemed, I thought that it was the baby that had been killed at the village. But it was impossible. That baby was dead. So who was this right in front of us? Who was this baby that looked exactly like it?
After scanning the area to make sure it was safe, the Lieutenant slowly kneeled and prepared to pick up the baby. Standing just behind him, I clutched my rifle firmly in my hands, as I felt a sense of unease.
Watching the Lieutenant turn towards me, I saw the baby cradled in his hands, as he ordered us back to the clearing. However, as he was about to step forward and lead the way once more, the baby began to peel its skin.
Right before my eyes the skin off the baby began to peel off like a snake. Eyes wide in fear, I had my eyes fixated on it as the skin separated to reveal a second layer underneath, one covered in wrinkles.
At that moment the Lieutenant noticed my reaction and looked down at the baby to be surprised at what he saw. In reaction he nearly dropped it, but the baby moved quickly, as its one complete arm suddenly grabbed him by neck. The grasp must have been strong, because I could hear the Lieutenant begin the choke. Losing air he fell on the ground, as he desperately tried to pull the baby off of him.
Shaking out my initial shock, I moved toward the Lieutenant and, after dropping my rifle, tried to pull on the baby who was grasping tightly on his neck. However, my hands only managed to hold onto its peeling skin. When I pulled, I ended up pulling his outer skin, completely removing it and revealing fully what was under.
It was no baby. It was a monster.
Hiding behind an innocent toddler’s skin was a creature that I could only describe as a wrinkly beast, with dry skin, pointy ears, bloodshot eyes, and disproportionate legs. It was ugly and small. Yet, although its size was that of a baby, its hands had long claws, while its mouth had teeth as sharp as a bayonet. It looked deadly and it quickly proved that when it tore into the Lieutenant’s neck with its teeth.
Going wild, it used its teeth and claws to ravage the Lieutenant, as he was helpless to fight it off. Soon enough he stopped struggling, but this creature continued to tear through his body, moving its attention away from its neck and switching its focus to his stomach, which it tore open with ease.
Backing away quickly, I soon realized that the rest of the boys had their rifles trained on the creature. But none of them fired. Even the sergeant just stood there, unable to give orders. I’m not sure if it was because of the shock of what they saw or because of the fear of hitting the Lieutenant earlier as he struggled, but whichever it was none of them fired and now the Lieutenant was dead, body being consumed by a creature of nightmares.
We remained there unsure what to do, as the sound of the creature snarling and tearing through flesh echoed in the jungle.
For a moment it remained like that. Then the sound of babies crying erupted from above us. Looking up at the trees over our heads I saw a dozen of those terrible creatures hanging on the branches, staring at us with hungry bloodshot eyes.
What occured next happened so fast and I remember myself screaming as creatures jumped on us and fell on top of many of the boys. I don’t know how I got lucky, but I managed to avoid one from dropping directly on top of me. Instead he fell hard on the ground. Before it could recover I gave it a hard kick, sending it flying towards a nearby tree.
Looking around I saw men fight for their lives, struggling to fend off the creatures that were clawing and gnawing on them. Remembering what happened to the Lieutenant and realizing that there was no way to get that creature off once it was on you, I decided not to stay any longer.
Dashing away, I did my best to follow the path we made, as I moved as fast as I could back towards the clearing. Behind me I could hear the tortured l screams of men, as they mixed with the hellish growls of those demonic creatures.
I don’t remember how long I ran and tumbled through the jungle, but eventually I reached the clearing. To my relief the rest of the platoon was now there. Familiar faces greeted me and asked me where the Lieutenant and the rest of my section was, but I couldn't reply. Instead exhaustion overtook me and I collapsed. Next thing I remember I was back in the village, inside one of the huts we used as a field hospital. I was safe now.
I later learned that out of all the men in my section, I was the only one that survived. The Captain asked me what had happened and I told him what I remembered, but he gave me a strange look and I knew that he didn’t believe me. I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t have believed my story either if I didn’t see it with my own eyes.
I have few friends left here. Most think I have lost my mind due to the encounter. Talk among the company says that many think that the Lieutenant and the rest of my sectiom were ambused by insurrectos and badly butchered by them in an attempt to send us a horrific message. From what I hear they’ll soon be shipping me out of here. I Johnny, one of the few friends I have left in the company, says the Captain has written me off as unfit for combat. They’ll probably end up sending me to the garrison at Cavite, where it’s much quieter.
As much as I hate leaving behind my unit, I’m happy to get away from this place and the horrors it contains within its jungles.
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