15th of ‘My Life’ Series
In the years immediately after graduation, I learned that the distance between one’s youth and one’s mortality is far shorter than I had imagined before.
The PMA Class of ’78 left the Academy filled with confidence, pride, and a sense of invincibility that only young men – albeit officers now – possess. We had survived the hardships of cadet life together. We had marched under the same rain, endured the same punishments, celebrated the same triumphs, and dreamed the same dreams. Graduation felt less like an ending and more like a new chapter just about to begin. And we were eager to get on with it. It felt like a gateway to a life of noble service, of heroic leadership, and of a great adventure.
But barely five weeks after graduation, reality struck. With brutal force. One of our classmates, Constabulary 2LT Lito Herrero, was killed in a prolonged encounter in Tawi-Tawi. What made it even more heartbreaking was knowing he could have survived. Wounded late in the afternoon, he bled through the night because Air Force helicopters were strictly not allowed to fly in the darkness. The medevac chopper arrived at first light the next day; but sadly, Lito expired just minutes before it could reach him.
I still remember the disbelief and the shock. Just weeks earlier, he had stood with us on Graduation Day, smiling, laughing, full of life and promise. We had all spoken excitedly about our future, our new assignments, the lives we were about to build. Lito had dreams too. Then suddenly, he was gone.
Lito became our class’ first war casualty – our very first Killed In Action (KIA) – barely days after we reported to our respective units. And with that, a part of our innocence died as well.
Back in the Academy, we often bowed our heads in silence for fallen alumni whose names were announced in the Mess Hall. But this was different. This was no longer a distant story from some faraway battlefield. War had become personal. It now wore the face of a friend.
A month later, I had my first birthday after graduation. There were no celebrations, no cake, no family gathering, not even a single birthday greeting. I spent that night sleeping on damp ground deep inside the jungles of Bicol, on a combat mission with my new unit, the elite Scout Rangers.
The jungle was silent except for the endless chorus of insects and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. And as I lay beneath a canopy of darkness, using my pack as a pillow and my rifle by my side, I found myself feeling miserable, thinking about the comforts of home. I wondered then, if my family was thinking of me that night – or if there was anyone out there who still remembered me on my birthday. And as I looked at the stars, I realized that I was just a tiny speck in the huge universe out there,
It was then that I learned to accept some simple, hard truths. That this was what the service was all about. That this was part of the realities of life now that I had left the ideal world of the Academy. And that this was what duty required me to do. There was a strange loneliness in that realization, but also a quiet pride. It was the life I had chosen. And I must now learn to accept that service often meant sacrifice – it may not always be dramatic – but along with the service would come the countless small discomfort, the celebrations missed, the precious time with loved ones lost, and the innumerable sacrifices we all had to take.
But then, some sacrifices were also far greater.
2LT Toti Abat was a close PMA classmate and kumpare. He had just returned to duty after a knee operation. His wife had recently given birth to a son. Toti wanted to join the Scout Ranger Class 28 test mission, having missed our original class – SR Class 27 – due to his bum knee. He borrowed my baby armalite, since his issued rifle was a regular M16. I agreed to lend him my baby, on the condition that he would not go out on combat operation since his knee was not fully healed yet. He agreed.
Toti never made it back. He had insisted to go out with the rest of the students – even for just a few days, he pleaded – since he wanted to fly back early for his new-born son’s scheduled baptism. Sadly, his team figured in a short skirmish early one evening. He was the lone casualty.
When he was killed, my thoughts went back to TJ, his newborn son. A son who would grow up hearing stories about his father, but never feel the warmth of his embrace. Never ride on his shoulders. Never hear his voice offering guidance or comfort. War steals so many things. Sometimes it steals the future from even the young and the innocent. A year out of the Academy, and we already had 3 casualties in the class: PC 2LT Lito Herrera in Tawi-Tawi, Army 2Lt Dante Grafil alson in Tawi-Tawi, and now 2LT Tito Abat in Samar.
Then there was the loss of a PMA upperclassman, 2Lt Vic Riblora, in Tagkawayan, Quezon Province. It is a memory that also remains difficult to revisit.
On that particular day, circumstances could have easily placed me in his position. Our Company Commander, then 1Lt Lito Aromin, needed to be fetched after he jumped off for a short intel operation. As the most junior officer present in our command post, I automatically started to prepare my gear. But Lt Riblora stopped me and declared that he would do it himself, since he was already dressed and could immediately go.
It was just another ordinary decision, made in the selfless spirit that defines military camaraderie. He didn’t realize it then, but it was a decision that would cost him his life. About 30 minutes later, a speeding logging truck stopped at our command post to report an ongoing firefight south of the camp. We then hastily prepared a reinforcing unit, and proceeded to the area as fast as we could. But it was too late. The ambush that ensued claimed Lt Riblora’s life, along with 9 other Rangers who were with him. Another promising life taken away so soon. He too left behind a wife and a new-born baby girl.
Years later, I still find myself replaying the event in my mind. What if Sir Vic had not decided to go himself? What if I had been on the mission instead? What if certain other circumstances had changed?
There can be no answers to such questions now. Only memories. Only gratitude. Only prayers. Only the heavy realization that many of us continue living because of certain unforeseen circumstances, and because others had made seemingly random decisions on our behalf.
These experiences taught me that war is not composed solely of heroic battles, dramatic victories, and thrilling near-death escapes. It is also made up of empty seats at family tables. Of birthdays spent far from home. Of children who know their fathers only through photographs. Of friendships ended abruptly by a burst of gunfire. Of brave men making decisions that unknowingly become their last. Beyond the terrifying noise of battle and the silent language of heroism lies a deeper truth: war extracts its highest price not only from those who die, but also from those among us who are left behind to remember.
And so we honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice not merely by remembering how they died, but by remembering how they lived – their courage, their loyalty, their laughter, and their unwavering commitment to something they believed in. They stood watch in distant and dangerous places, so others may sleep in peace. They walked willingly on the road to uncertainty so their fellowmen could live in safety and freedom. Their sacrifice is woven quietly into the ordinary blessings we often take for granted.
And as long as we speak their names, tell their stories, and strive to live lives worthy of their example, they are never truly forgotten. They remain with us still, silent sentinels in our memory and conscience, reminding us of the noble purpose we fought for. It is earned, protected, and sometimes paid for by the courage of young men who gave up their tomorrows so others may enjoy a better today.
Cover photo: The Scout Rangers with their bemedalled commander, then Major Julius Javier (extreme right). From left to right: then 1LT Sammy Bulagay, then 2Lt Dan Derayunan, then 2Lt Phil Plaza, the late Msgt Joey Bamba (top of Phil P), the late 2Lt Vic Riblora, the late then-Capt Lito Aromin, Maj Toti Tan, the late then-Capt Charlie Fayloga, and finally, then Maj Julius ‘Charles Bronson’ Javier.
Color My World 