Time Bombs

chapter one

0900 Hours
Alonso's Study

"CHECKMATE!" Sebastian declared, leaning back into the rattan armchair as his brother exhaled a puff of smoke for what must've been the nth time. "You should've seen it coming."

"Mano Bas," his brother says. "You do realize I didn't exactly have chess in mind when I invited you here." The statement couldn't be considered a way of accepting defeat, but it was the closest Alonso would ever get to it.

"I know, Alonso, I know. But I miss my brother. He's been gone since the politician started taking over."
"Oh, is that how you wanna be? We don't have time for any of this, Sebastian! The longer we speak, the more we put the entirety of this city in danger. Get ahold of yourself!" Alonso retorts.
"Well, what do you want me to do? Back out? C'mon, you can't possibly be serious! I've been preparing for this since we were children–"
"So have I–"
"Father has been preparing me for this since we were children." Sebastian replies, only to be met with a more disappointed Alonso.

Alonso was born to be mayor, but Sebastian was bred for it. Sebastian had to learn everything Alonso knew by nature. While Sebastian eagerly anticipated the end of his father's lessons, Alonso sat by the windowsill, trying to learn as much as he could without causing a disturbance. Still, Bas remained their father's favorite.

"Look," Alonso starts. "You want to be mayor. Fine, I respect that. But with both you and I running, votes in support of our family won't have a choice but to be split in two, giving the opposition a higher chance of winning. Just because you were personally handpicked by our father doesn't mean you're any better than I am."
"Then run for vice mayor. That way we'll both be in office."

Alonso runs his hands through his hair in frustration. He and his brother have been avoiding this topic for the past four months, and they've managed to do it considerably well for two people living under the same roof. But after weeks of the youngest Valente begging them to talk things through, the brothers finally gave in and decided to give it a shot.

"Sebastian, I've explained this to you so many times. Repeating myself only proves that nothing I say matters to you."
"Hey, don't put it that way–"
"Would you just stop interrupting me for a second? We can't be in office together because you think my views are dangerous, and I think yours are, well, stupid."
Sebastian straightens up at this. "Stupid? You think letting the Japanese enter our city would guarantee the safety of it? If we're going down, we might as well go down with a fight!"
"Tell me, Bas, would you rather have the Japanese march into this city with their bayonets bursting through our women, or would you rather invite them and personally be in their good graces? We can't afford to wait for them. It's either they come here or we bring them here."

Everybody knew of Alonso's plan. Treacherous as it was, one had to admit that he did have a point. Sebastian, on the contrary, wanted to stay complacent. Keep it on the low, look as neutral as possible. Simple as that.

As if on cue, the door swings open. It was Jacqueline, and immediately, the atmosphere brightens. Both brothers loosen up at the sight of their youngest sibling and waste no time ushering her over.

"Let me guess," she says. Red lips moving with every syllable. "You're still trying to rip each other's throats out, aren't you?"
"We're behaving far more civilized than that, I believe," responds Sebastian.
"Bold of you to assume both of you were civilized in the first place. Alonso! Didn't I tell you to quit smoking?"
Alonso puts his light out dangerously close to Sebastian. "Who said I was smoking?"
Jacqueline rolls her eyes. "I'm having Adela over," she informs the two. "And, no, I'm not asking for permission, I'm just letting you know. Now go easy on each other."
"And I'm getting out of here. Good game, Lonnie," Sebastian says, clapping his hand on Alonso's shoulder, leaving Alonso alone and unsatisfied.

Guess he'll just have to find another way to get Sebastian to back out.

1300 Hours
Tortuga Hill

NO ONE truly knows why Sebastian insisted on going on a hunt this afternoon. In true Filipino fashion, he wanted to bask in the sun despite the blistering heat. This was the type of weather Jacqueline usually dubbed nightmarish, but Sebastian was not a prissy seventeen year old girl. He was a man who wanted to shoot at birds to blow off some steam, and he knew he was going to do just that.

Or so he thought.

He pauses every once in a while, admiring the views and wondering how the world could be so utterly unperturbed by the existence of man. He starts to contemplate on whether taking the life of an innocent Maya was worth it, but then he spots one taking flight from the highest of branches. Bang. And down it goes. Just like that, the bird shall never again breathe another symphony to life. He spots another, but this time, the creature was perched on a branch far lower, the tree much closer. Bang. And down it goes, too. Away from the trees, the leaves of a nearby thorn bush rustle before him, and Sebastian, at that moment, knew that he had struck a gold mine, for it only meant that a fairly large animal on the forest floor was within his radius.

A wild boar, probably. Whatever it was, it was no match for Sebastian's final three rounds.

He carefully makes calculated steps towards the thorn bush, unknowingly holding his breath as he does so. The rustling slowly dies down as the prey becomes in sync with the predator. Whatever was behind that bush knew Sebastian was coming. The hunter and the hunted finally coming face to face.

Sebastian Valente positions his gun. His eyes barely squinting, his finger getting ready to pull the trigger.

The rustling stops.

"Wait, don't shoot!"

Sebastian should've seen that one coming.

◯ ◯ ◯

Chapter One is dedicated to Pvt. Allan S. Taltavall of San Bernardino County, California. He was part of the US Army Air Force, 7th Material Squadron, 5th Air Base Group. Bataan Death March survivor. He died of dysentery at Camp O'Donnell in Capas, Tarlac on the 16th of May, 1942. He was 22. You may pay your respects at the Manila American Cemetery where he and 16,000 other soldiers permanently reside.