Battleground Paradise

By David Konnor

BATTLEGROUND PARADISE is the story of a group of American expatriates who are enjoying an idyllic retirement in the Philippines, when two of them are attacked by Filipino Muslim terrorists in an
attempt to abduct them and hold them for ransom.
    The hero, DEREK MANSON, uses a pocket knife and some rusty special operations skills to foil the attempt, wounding two of the attackers and killing
one. Over the next seven weeks, Derek and his friends are entangled in an escalating cascade of violent encounters,
set against a backdrop of political and police corrupttion and betrayal.               Outnumbered, they use technology,
ingenuity, and some tools out of history to prevail in their quest to return to their peaceful lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Knapp
• Release date: Aug 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393718765

David Konnor

David Konnor’s career as a U.S. Naval Officer took him to ten countries in twenty years. An eternal learner, he completed an undergraduate degree in Nuclear Engineering, and advanced degrees in Management and Education before he retired. He studies the craft of writing fiction under NY Times best-selling author William Bernhardt.  His diverse life experience includes developing and managing affordable housing for low income families, serving as the CEO of a non-profit organization, counseling the unemployed in the Workforce Investment Act Program, and seven years on a school board. He lives in the Philippines.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Muhammad stood over Sandamin’s body watching the blood flow from the large hole in the back of the man’s head. The crimson fluid disappeared, soaking into the black volcanic sand of the Negros Island beach. The smaller hole in the forehead was where the nine-millimeter bullet entered. Sandamin always had to have the last word. This morning, Sandamin had the last word. It was the last word of that conversation, and the last word of his life. No one called Muhammad Agular a punk and lived to talk about it.

The sun would soon rise, and they needed to be in Dumaguete City by seven. Let’s go. Get up. Grab that shit, and head for the highway, he shouted. Sandamin had accused him of getting a family member killed in Marawi City. He got a lot of men killed in Marawi City. Eight hundred of their brothers died there. Sandamin’s loss was no different than the others, just another dead Maute soldier. Unless anyone wishes to join Sandamin in opposition to my authority, you need to be moving now. You two grab something to dig with and bury that piece of shit over there. And make sure it’s at least one-half meter deep. He started walking west toward the highway. Somebody grab Sandamin’s shit and let’s get moving. The grave diggers caught up with them before they reached the highway.

CHAPTER 1

Derek smiled at the waitress as she approached the table.

Will there be anything else Mr. Manson? the young woman asked.

No, just the bill, he replied. He pushed back from the table. My God, that was a great meal. I’m absolutely stuffed. You know, Fred, that’s probably the best lasagna in all the Philippines.

My sentiments, exactly, echoed Fred.

They had been best friends for a year and a half. Derek and his girlfriend Geena had shared dinner with Fred and Mary at the Pasta House every Saturday since they first met. The two men had so much in common. Both Viet Nam vets. Both engineers. Both comfortably retired.

My turn to pay, Derek announced, tossing two-thousand pesos in the basket with the bill. You can keep the change.

The waitress beamed a smile as she backed away from the table. The tip would double her pay for the night.

You’re pretty generous, dude, Fred said. Nobody tips that much. Now I’ll have to tip twenty percent next week.

Good. They deserve it. They work hard for shit wages, and they take good care of us. It’s not like you can’t afford an extra couple of bucks. Time to go, bro?

Yeah, replied Fred, before the cheesecake finds me and forces my surrender.

So, the bad news is the car is six blocks away, Derek declared stepping into the street. The good news is we all need the exercise.

Speak for yourself, Gordito, said Geena. I weigh the same today as I weighed when I graduated high school.

So do I, he retorted. It’s just not in the same places."

No shit, dude, Fred added. There’s a lot of that going around.

The night air was warm and thick with the fragrance of bougainvillea flowers that hung from the walls along the narrow street.  Derek led the way toward the car, down a couple of unlit side streets. Streetlights were rare in Dumaguete City. The only light came from the windows along the way and an occasional business sign. At a quarter to ten, there was no traffic, and the shops along the street were closed. They talked and bantered back and forth as they made their way to the car. Turning the last corner, he heard something ahead off to the right. Sensing a presence, he nudged Fred’s arm. There’s a couple of guys up there in the shadows. What do you think?

Probably just drinking or doing drugs. I can see the car. Let’s just be cool and head straight for it

Geena clamped onto to his arm, seemingly aware of the growing tension. He reassured her, It’s okay, baby. Just a couple of dudes hanging out.

They were less than seventy meters from the car, and the guys in the shadows didn’t seem to be interested in them. As they continued toward the car, he whispered, False alarm, bro, but better safe than sorry. The words barely left his mouth when two men dressed in black stepped out of a doorway on the left. The first one shoved a handgun in his face. Geena screamed as the other one grabbed her by her long black hair and pushed her to the pavement, his gun against her forehead. She squirmed but his grip on her hair was too strong and it hurt too much.  Fred turned to his right as two more men stepped up to them. They had handguns as well, pointed at Fred and Mary’s heads.

Geena looked up at her man, pleading. Derek. Do something.  

Moving slowly and deliberately, he put his hands in the air and calmly spoke. Okay. Okay. Just take it easy. We’ll give you all the money we have. And the jewelry too. You can even have the credit cards. No reason for anybody to get hurt. The nine-millimeter semi-automatic was an inch from his temple.

We don’t want your pocket change or your jewels, the first one growled in Chavacana.

What do you want? Geena asked in his native tongue.

You speak Chavacana. Are you a sister?

She looked up at him, hesitating. No. I went to school in Zamboanga. Derek thought it was the truth. Who are you? What do you want?

If you do not know who we are now, rest assured that you will know soon. We want the Americans–your men. They will bring a big ransom–many US dollars. They will pay for our fight, the continuation of the war we have waged in Marawi for six months. Hundreds of our brothers are dead. The army went on TV and told you they killed all of us, but you can see that was a lie. Everything they have said is a lie. We will take these men tonight, and you can buy their freedom for big money. Gazem, empty their pockets. Check them for weapons, he ordered.

Yes, Muhammad, replied Gazem, trying to stick his handgun in the waist of his pants.

Geena’s eyes lit up at the sound of Muhammad’s name. Then she looked up at Derek. His brain raced–trying to think of a way out of this mess. He was well trained, but it had been decades. Without warning, Fred’s face blanched to a stark white and he started to shake. His knees buckled, and he struggled to stay upright. An inhuman sound rumbled inside him, and like a volcano erupting, Fred vomited up the lasagna, almost hitting his captor. Gazem jumped to the side as the second wave of vomit hit his feet.

It was just the diversion Derek needed. With his right hand, he slipped his Gentleman’s Knife off of his belt, and popped open the blade with his index finger. He ducked down and turned to his left, grabbing the handgun with his left hand and pushing it up away from his head. Thrusting with his right hand, his knife found its mark. Muhammad screamed as the four inch blade slashed the flesh beneath the assailant’s rib cage. As the man fell to his knees, Derek dropped the knife, twisted the pistol out of his assailant’s hand and turned it on Muhammad, leveling the weapon at his head.

Let them go or I’ll kill this man.

The man holding Geena glared at him with icy eyes. Two seconds passed. He started to ask again, when Muhammad shouted in Chavacana. Let them go. Put down your weapons and let them go. Move back down the street.

The other men let go of the girls, placed their handguns on the pavement, and stepped back a few meters. Gazem backed away with the others.

Derek motioned for everyone to get behind him before slowly lifting Muhammad from the ground. Fred and the girls moved back behind him, as Muhammad rose to his feet. Fred’s eyes were glued to the pavement in front of them. Derek glanced down to see what had seized Fred’s attention and saw only two guns on the ground.  

One has a gun! Fred shouted.

Derek looked up and saw Gazem turn and point a handgun toward Mary. With instinctive speed, he turned his weapon away from Muhammad, and fired at Gazem. Gazem fell backwards to the ground, blood seeping through his left sleeve. Before he could turn back, Muhammad swung at him. He saw the punch coming, and stepped to the side. He didn’t see the knife. The Gentleman’s Knife sliced cleanly through the fat roll under his shirt sending a tsunami of pain up his right side. Dazed, he dropped to one knee. Muhammad turned and ran, the other men following his lead. He was bleeding badly, but raised the nine-millimeter and fired at Muhammad, hitting his assailant in the leg, knocking him to the ground.

Get behind the car, Derek shouted.

Fred pushed the girls back in behind the Toyota. Kill the bastards.

The two other men ran toward their fallen comrades. Pushing the pain out of his mind, he took an extra second to aim. As the man bent over to help Gazem to his feet, Derek’s shot hit its mark. Gazem looked up at a man with no face and rolled out of the way.

Shoot them! ordered Muhammad. Gazem scrambled to his feet and pointed the handgun in the direction of the Toyota. He wildly fired the last five rounds, hitting nothing. Muhammad grabbed the empty weapon and threw it at the car in a fit of rage.

Derek carefully aimed at Muhammad’s head and squeezed the trigger. Nothing. The cheap weapon had jammed. He struggled to grab another of the discarded handguns, but by the time he reached one, his targets had disappeared into the darkness. On his knees, he turned toward the car. Is everybody okay?

Geena ran up and threw her arms around him. Baby, you’re hurt. He stabbed you.

It’s not as bad as it looks, but I need a doctor.

Geena took off her scarf and wadded it up, pressing it against the wound. Hold it right there, honey. I’ll try to find something else to stop the bleeding. Fred, we need to get him to the hospital now.

Okay, come on. Let’s get you in the car, Fred said, reaching over and helping his friend to his feet. Fred pushed the button on the driver’s door, and the locks opened. Mary and Geena helped him into the back seat. Mary went around to the front, and Geena got in the back next to him.

He settled back against the door. Geena held the wadded up scarf on his hemorrhaging side. "Mary, I keep some paper towels in the glove box. Can you hand them back here?’ She pressed the towels against his side, trying to stop the bleeding.

Owww. Easy, please. Jesus, he complained.

Derek writhed in pain as the Toyota careened through the nearly deserted streets. How're we doing, amigo?

Almost there, dude. Just hang on a couple more minutes, Fred said. The ER is just around the corner.

Fred brought the car to a stop in front of the emergency room entrance. Leaping out of the driver’s door, he grabbed a wheel chair. They loaded him into the chair and pushed him at a trot to the double doors. Fred banged on the doors with his fist. Hey, we need help here.

A security guard opened the doors and helped them wheel him in.

He’s been stabbed, Fred told the guard. The guard spoke into his radio. Two nurses appeared and wheeled him away. Fred, Geena and Mary followed them into a small treatment room, where the nurses helped him onto an exam table. One nurse removed Geena’s makeshift dressing, and held a wad of large gauze pads over the four-inch wound. I’ll get the Doctor, the other nurse said. In two minutes, she returned with a young doctor who gently removed the gauze and looked at the wound.

Knife? he asked

Yes sir. My knife, to be exact.

You stabbed yourself?

No, I had some help. Four men with guns.

Okay, sir. I’m sorry, but I have to report this. Nurse, call the police. The MD turned back to Derek. No offense.

None taken. We would have called them but we were coming here.

They should be here pretty soon. I’ll have the nurse inject a local around the wound. That will take care of the pain. As soon as it kicks in, I’ll stitch you up. You’re going to have a scar, though.

I figured as much. It won’t be the first.

You’re not Italian, are you?

No. Why?

Didn’t you bring a knife to a gun fight?

The lidocaine kicked in quickly. He was watching the doctor stitch up his side when the police chief entered the treatment room. I’m Chief Aquino. Can you tell me what happened to you?

We had just finished dinner at the Pasta House and we were walking to the car when we were jumped by four men with guns.

Foreigners?

No. Filipinos, but I don’t think they were from here.

What makes you think that?

They spoke Chavacana, not Bisaya. My girlfriend here recognized it.

Okay, so you were mugged by four Filipinos that maybe were from Mindanao, and they knifed you. Is that about it?

No, they tried to kidnap us, not mug us. They all had handguns. It wasn’t a mugging.

They had guns but they stabbed you?

There was a struggle. I used my knife. One of them got it and stabbed me. They were shooting at us. I got one of their guns and I–

Fred stepped up between the chief and his friend. He’s in a lot of pain, and he’s lost quite a bit of blood. Can this wait until tomorrow? Not much is going to change tonight.

The chief looked at Fred, sizing him up, and opted not to pursue it further. I suppose it can. Will he be able to come to the station tomorrow? Maybe around ten?

We’ll be there, sir, Fred replied. The chief continued to look straight through Fred, then just turned and walked out.

Turning to his friend, Fred placed his finger to his lips. Loose lips sink ships.

Gotcha, amigo. I sensed something too. Do you think he knows about this?

Yeah, I think he knows, but I don’t know what. He sure pushed that mugging story pretty hard.

Kidnappings are bad for business. Maybe it’s a PR thing?

I don’t think so. It must be more than that. I can’t believe he didn’t take you to the station while they checked out the scene. And why is it the Chief showing up at ten-thirty on a Saturday night? This is strange.

The doctor looked up. I’m a better doctor then I am a seamstress, but these will hold the wound shut as long as you take it easy for a week or so. Get some Percocet and amoxicillin at the drug store. Here’s the prescription. Take one of each every four hours for four days. If you start to run a fever, get back here ASAP. The nurse will inject you for tetanus and typhoid just to be safe. And, for the record, you’re not the first foreigner in here with that story. The last guy was shot in the leg two nights ago. Tread lightly around the cops. They’re not to be trusted.

Thanks, doc. He eased off the table, and shook the young man’s hand. Geena and Mary were waiting in the hall. Bill’s all paid, Geena said. Let’s go home.

Not so fast, sir, said the nurse. She had two needles in her hand. Which arm?

It doesn’t matter. It will hurt either way. I hate needles.

But knives are okay? She smiled, and then stuck him with the first one.

Damn that stings. Fred, can you round up the guys for tomorrow at nine?

Not a problem. Your place?

Yeah. Ouch! Damn, that was worse. She stuck him with the second one when he wasn’t looking.

****

Derek eased into the back seat with the help of the girls. Fred slid behind the wheel, with Mary beside him and Geena in the back.

Did you hear what the doc said about another foreigner? Derek asked.

Yeah, replied Fred. Some foreigner got shot. It happens.

No. The doc said there was a foreigner in there two nights ago with the same story. That has to mean that there was another attack like ours.

You think? The police chief didn’t bat an eye. If there were two attacks like this in the span of three days, wouldn’t his questions be a lot different?

"That’s what I’m saying. This cop knows something. He knows there’s something going on in his town, and he’s down-playing it. Big time. That smells pretty bad to me."

Geena’s stare was distant, trance-like. She turned to him. These guys tonight were Maute. They’re from Marawi, in Central Mindanao. They spoke Chavacana. They killed a lot of people in Marawi. The president sent in six-thousand troops and kicked their asses really bad. Now they’re here in Dumaguete. Not good.

Fred sounded incredulous. You mean these are the guys that the government fought for six months over there with fighter jets, bombers and tanks. And they’re still around to talk about it?

Unfortunately, Geena replied.

Honey, Derek said, Do you know this for sure?

I know. Believe me, I know.  

If the police chief is trying to sell this as a mugging, and he knows these assholes are Muslim terrorists from Mindanao, my guess is we’re on our own. Let’s hope we never see them again.

Maybe we should find another restaurant? Fred lamented. But I’m gonna miss that lasagna.

My heart bleeds for you, bro. Not to mention my fat roll. We need to talk to the rest of the guys first thing tomorrow. They need to know about this.

You get some rest tonight. I’ll set it up for nine tomorrow at your place.

Sure. Nine is good. Thanks, bro.

CHAPTER 2

Derek was up before five.  He hadn’t really slept at all. He went down to the kitchen, threw down two pills, and made the coffee. Fred called at seven and told him that he had contacted everyone. Larry, Richie, Norm, Mike and he would be there by nine. Between them, these guys had a cumulative thirty years experience in the Philippines. Their input and perspective was critical to understanding what was really happening. No one was told about what had transpired the previous night. Their gut reactions would be vital to the decision-making process. Sometimes you can over think these things. The raw, off-the-top-of-the-head analysis was what they were looking for.

Fred arrived early, and they went over what they had seen and heard the night before– what had happened, and how it went down, including at the hospital. They did this not in the sense that they were getting their stories straight but to make sure they didn’t forget some detail. As unsettling as last night was, Derek was truly relieved that it ended as well as it did. He always used to kid the guys that he would make a terrible hostage–that