WesWorld

The Malacañan Palace, Manila – Thursday, 30 October 1941

Three men sat in the office of President Felipe Macadandang – Vice President Elpidio Quirino, Foreign Minister Alfonso Enrile and El Presidente himself, who fumed as he re-read the diplomatic dispatch for the third time.

“Who do these French think they are?” he asked in a booming voice. “They say, ‘We urge you to reconsider the course of action you have taken’ – have they not interfered enough with our nation? They brokered the treaty with the Chinese in the lame-duck days of De la Vega – and snatched the islands away from us when they were in our hands.”

Enrile ventured a comment, “We continue to hold title to them.”

“Yes,” Macadandang replied, “but we cannot station our forces there, and all the money the nation has poured into them is useless. How can we control them if we cannot station sufficient forces there?”

Quirino wisely kept his mouth shut; there was little reasoning with El Presidente when he was in such a mood.

The President continued. “Look at this – ‘The Republic of France does not condone or condemn, explicitly or implicitly, any body, movement, or party currently within your nation’ – ha!” He dropped the dispatch to his desk. “They probably have Arellano on their payroll. Since the day that Louis Napoleon first grasped Cochin China the French have itched to expand their power in Asia. I will not let them treat this nation as a child.”

Enrile and Quirino looked at each other and wondered what the President had in mind. As they did so, Macadandang pressed the signal button for his secretary.

“Yes Mister President,” came the voice from the box on the President’s desk.

“Are those documents ready for my signature?” he asked.

“Yes Mister President. I will bring them in directly.”

A moment later the door opened to admit the President’s private secretary bearing a leather-bound portfolio, which he presented to Macadandang.

“Gentlemen,” he said with a flourish. “I am the President of the Philippines, and not the French, nor the British, nor the Americans or the Germans for that matter. I decide the course of action for this country.” He thereupon opened the portfolio, took a pen and hastily signed the first, and then the second document therein. He then proffered them to Quirino to countersign.

The latter quickly read them, and his face turned pale.

“You are declaring Martial Law! You are suspending the Constitution?” was all the Vice President could say.

“Yes,” replied Macadandang with a smile. “This is my answer to the French, and to all those in Congress that think they can scare me from the Palace.”

The President's Office, Paris

"It continually amazes me just how accurately Dieuxeme Bureau predicted the response from President Macada..." Theisman glanced at the sheet again. "Macadam... However it's pronounced!"

One of the President's aide tried it. "Macadumbdung, sir?"

"That's not right, either," Theisman said. "Why do all these Asian countries have to elect people with such vexatiously hard to pronounce names? You'd think they're just trying to make it difficult for us. Regardless, it seems Dieuxeme Bureau was right about the letter's probable effect. You ought to be commended, Gaston. A brilliant idea."

Monnerville leaned forward. "It was just a well-timed spark to help along fire; and we shouldn't be too overly optimistic, particularly if Macadandang is able to successfully hold martial law."

"How can you pronounce that name so effortlessly?" Theisman growled. "No, Macadangthing is already too unpopular. He's either going to ignite another Civil War, or somebody's going to shoot him or arrest him for something or other."

"Are you so certain of that, Monsieur President?"

"Of course. That's why I had you send that letter. If he took our advice, it's a win for democracy. If he didn't take our advice, it was a sure bet he'd cut off his nose to spite his face, as one of our charming English friends once said to me."

"You can't pronounce his name, but you can manipulate him?" Monnerville said.

"Trust me, Gaston. One week."

"Three. And you know all too well that when a politician says 'Trust me', then you oughtn't."

"One week," Theisman persisted. "A hundred francs."

"Very well," Monnerville said.

The Oval Office, Washington D.C.

"Latest from the Philippines Mister President," the courier came in bringing the latest wire from Manila.

"Intriguing, lets have the State Department deal with this, send it down to Vandenburg's Office, he can write to this President Macadangdingdong."

President Macadandang,

The United States is dismayed at the current state of unrest in the Phillipines, but it is an internal Filipino matter and we have no further comment at this time

Secretary of State Arthur Vandenburg

Quoted

Macadangdingdong

Sounds like a Filipino doorbell.

Heh, yes but unlike President Thesemen (or is it Thosemen?), (1) President Wilkie knows better and sends the American note off to a flunky to write. The US would rather not offend the Filipino's, they may prove......useful.



(1) Brock I know they guy's from Cayenne, but everytime I see that name I ask if its Thesemen or Thosemen, and then I get this weird picture of Thompson and Thomson from Tintin. I wonder about me sometimes.

The Congress Building, Manila – Thursday, 30 October 1941

Don Andres Soriano was working late in his office when the call came in. An informant working in the Malacañan Palace advised him that the President had issued decrees imposing martial law and suspending the Constitution. The senator took the news calmly, almost expectedly. As he hung up the telephone he spoke aloud, “It is time.”

He quickly began to a series of telephone calls to supporters around the city. To each he said simply, “This is Soriano – it has begun, proceed as planned.”

Across the city of Manila, and as the word was spread to the provinces, the forces opposed to President Macadandang mobilized for the final showdown. Thanks to careful preparation, Don Andreas’ fellow conspirators would be better aware of what was happening than the forces ranged against them, whose ranks – unknown to the President – were already riddled by the conspiracy.


The Malacañan Palace, Manila – Friday, 31 October 1941

It was after midnight that Quirino and Enrile were able to leave the President’s office – once he had signed the decrees the number of secretaries and officials coming and going had made their departure problematic. They walked through the corridors back to Quirino’s office in silence, and carefully closed the door behind them after entering.

“He is mad,” said the Foreign Minister.

Quirino motioned Enrile to take a seat, while he walked to the cabinet bar and poured each of them a stiff whiskey.

“Yes, he is. It is as if the French contrived it” replied Quirino. “But I do not see them as so devious.”

“It is no matter,” Enrile said. “What are you going to do?”

“For the moment, nothing.” The Vice President downed his drink. “The curfew is going into effect now and it will not be safe to travel until morning.”

“Surely the Police would not interfere with the Vice President?” Enrile was loyal, but without vision.

“Do you think I wish to take an official car and escort? I am already a marked man – why would I make it worse?”

“You plan to make your peace with Arellano?” The Foreign Minister’s jaw dropped.

“No you fool. I plan to leave Manila as soon as possible – and if you are wise you would do so too. The nation is a powder keg and Macadandang has just lit the fuse.”

Quirino opened a drawer of his desk and took out a small black satchel; he opened it and began to place in it envelopes and small boxes from other drawers of the desk.

“You may be right…” said Enrile. “Hong Kong perhaps…”

Manila, Friday, 31 October 1941 – Early Morning

Slowly, in fits and starts, instructions flow from the Malacañan Palace to the offices of governors in the provinces; to commanders of garrisons and of fleets; to police and constabulary stations by the score; to the offices and homes of party loyalists, upon whom President Macadandang places much reliance. The results are varied. At the same time word of the decision to impose martial law and suspend the constitution spreads ahead of its implementation, particularly as distance from the capital increases. Dawn finds the situation not to the President’s expectations.

-----

It took several hours for messengers to find General Jose Quimbo, chief of staff of the army, and rush him from his assignation to his headquarters at Fort Andres Bonifacio. A loyal servitor of the regime, he hurried to his office to set in motion the instructions issued from the presidential palace. He was pleased to find that his deputy, Colonel Ruperto Kangleon had already arrived and awaited his instructions.

“You have seen the President’s orders?” Quimbo asked as he sat down behind his desk.

“Yes General,” replied Kangleon. “What are your orders?” he continued in a quiet and semi-detached voice.

Quimbo opened a desk drawer and brought out an OpPlan folder. “To secure the capital against insurrection and maintain law and order. You wrote the plan yourself.”

“Yes, I did – as you ordered several weeks ago,” Kangleon replied. “I had hoped that it would not be necessary. Apparently those hopes are ruined.”

The general seemed not to pay attention to his deputy’s reply. He opened the file. “Summon the commander of the First Division and his principal subordinates. I will give them their orders personally.”

“General, I cannot comply with that order,” Kangleon replied.

“You’ll do so or I’ll have you shot as a mutineer!” Quimbo exploded.

“Unlike you sir,” Kangleon continued, “I swore to defend the Constitution against its enemies, not become one. Jose Quimbo, in the name of the people I place you under arrest.”

“How dare you! I’ll…”

Confident in his role, Quimbo had failed to carry a sidearm; but like every wise man in the President’s circle, had one in his desk – and he reached into the desk to retrieve it. Colonel Kangleon, on the other hand, had prepared for the eventuality and the slick-click of the action of his Colt was quite audible.

“General, do not force me to shoot,” he said. “I look forward to testifying at your trial.”

-----

Admiral Sebastian Vasca, commander of the Cavite Naval Station, received word of President Macadandang’s actions stoically. He re-read the text of the order to land sailors and marines to occupy the city, to turn the guns of his ships upon strongpoints of opposition. He shook his head in disbelief.

“What are your orders Admiral,” his flag captain asked.

“Close the gates of the Naval Station, allow no one to enter or leave without my authorization. Cut the telephone and telegraph line with Manila. Confine all ships crews to their vessels to await my orders,” he replied, and sat at his desk.

-----

Squads of “Special Police Auxiliaries” fanned out across the city, primed with lists of suspects and enemies of the President; in some places they were accompanied and assisted by the Manila Police or Constabulary, while in others the regular guardians of law and order were conspicuously absent.

Things quickly went wrong for the auxiliaries. For one thing, many of their suspects were not where they were supposed to be found; for another, where they set about to plaster the walls of buildings posters announcing martial law they were met with crowds of common citizens throwing bottles and rocks, leading to small scale clashes.

The seizure of the Manila Broadcasting Building was the assignment of one particular squad of auxiliaries, loyalist thugs of the Populist League. Arriving as dawn was breaking over the city they found their progress blocked by hundreds of club-wielding men. Confident, the leader of the auxiliaries ordered the crowd to disperse, and when they did not – ordered his men to open fire.

This proved to be a mistake – for instead of fleeing in panic the crowd surged forward, taking casualties but overwhelming the auxiliaries by sheer numbers. To the cries of “Liberty” and “Freedom” the thugs were submerged and beaten down.

The Battle of Manila had begun.

OOC: Nicely written, Bruce. Looking forward to more.

IC: France has no comment at the present time.

Quoted

Originally posted by TheCanadian
(1) Brock I know they guy's from Cayenne, but everytime I see that name I ask if its Thesemen or Thosemen, and then I get this weird picture of Thompson and Thomson from Tintin. I wonder about me sometimes.

Actually, it's Prime Minister Monnerville that's from Cayenne; President Thiesman is from Metz, in Alsace, hence the more German-sounding name.

Manila Radio, Friday, 31 October 1941 – approximately 7AM local time

Lines ran from the Senate chamber down the corridors and stairs to a service van of the Manila Broadcasting Company parked in the courtyard of the Congress Building. The remote broadcast system had been hurriedly assembled by technicians working under the direct supervision of their employer, Don Manolo Elizalde, who now sat across the room from the battery of microphones set before the desk of Senator Don Andres Soriano. The senator himself sat quietly, composing his thoughts and jotting down points on a sheet of paper. The senior technician signaled that all was ready. Soriano nodded, took a quick sip of water, and began to speak.

“People of the Philippines, this is Senator Andres Soriano, speaking to you from the Senate Chamber in the Congress Building. This morning orders were issued from the Malacañan Palace declaring martial law and ordering the suspension of the Constitution, so that Felipe Macadandang might hold on to power despite the prospect of impeachment for high crimes and misdemeanors. For months the Philippine people have been terrorized by the henchmen of a tyrant who has muzzled the press, imprisoned opponents, and sought the death of those who would speak against him. That he has gone so far as to slough off the outer garments of respectability to rule by naked power should come as no surprise to anyone who has observed the public scene; and in doing so, he has confirmed his guilt in the crimes of which he has been accused.”

“His power over the Armed Forces, the Constabulary, the Police and the other organs of government stem from the very Constitution he has suspended. I call upon the members of the armed forces, members of the police and all government officials to resist the orders of the tyrant and join with the people to bring about his removal. I call upon the people of the Philippines in all quarters to bring an end to the injustices foisted upon them by Felipe Macadandang and his henchmen, servitors and his hangers-on. Rise and Strike!”

The technician signaled cut off. The battle in the streets having begun, war was now declared.

Rut roh!

The Foreign Office makes no offical statment other than a brief factual statement stating the facts as they know them. All Britons in the Philippines are urged to seek shelter and stay safe while the Consulate tries to arrange evacuation or safe accomodation.

Meanwhile in Hong Kong MI5 officers are on the look out for fleeing Government officals...

Manila, Friday, 31 October 1941 – The Malacañan Palace

President Macadandang shut the radio set off, nearly breaking off the switch.

“How dare a mere senator – even Soriano – speak of me in such a manner?” he asked of Quirino, who had returned from a sleepless night spent in his office. “I am the President, the Minister of War, and the Minister of the Interior! He is but a mere senator, I don’t care how rich!”

“But he is respected by the people,” Quirino ventured, “and he is in control of the radio station.”

“Damn that fool Marcos! I specifically ordered him to take the broadcast building as his first task.”

The young Ferdinand Marcos was one of the President’s most ardent supporters. It was regrettable that the impulsive young man died in one of the first clashes of the day.

“And where is Quimbo? The Army should have swept away this rabble by now!” The President stalked across to the door of his office, opened it and shouted to his assembled aides. “Where is Chief of Staff Quimbo?”

“Senor Presidente,” ventured one of the braver aides. “We have not heard from General Quimbo since last evening.”

“Get someone at Fort Bonafacio on the line immediately. I want to know why the Army has not crushed this rabble. Then get me Admiral Vasca at Cavite.”

“Senor Presidente,” the aide responded, “the telephone lines to Cavite are cut.”

Quirino saw his opportunity.

“I shall go to Cavite personally – I shall have the Marines clearing the streets within an hour.”

Macadandang smiled with relief. “Elpidio, I knew I could rely on you. Yes, go to Cavite – tell the Marines to clear the streets at bayonet point.”


Manila, Friday, 31 October 1941 – Intramuros

The walls of the Old City of Manila had long ago been breached by urban reconstruction, but Intramuros still retained the character of a fortress. There were relatively few entrances, and it was a warren of narrow streets. The first squads of police auxiliaries that tried to find opponents off the President found that the citizenry had raised barricades along the principal streets, and they attacked the Populist League thugs with rocks, bottles, clubs and – as they were pried from the hands of the dead or wounded – with small arms.

Alfonso Enrile had managed to leave the Malacañan Palace shortly before dawn. He was of a like mind with Quirino that the President’s action was madness, and that this throw of the dice would prove bootless. The Vice President had made it clear that his intention was to flee the country – quite probably for his life. Enrile feared that the maddened crowd might do likewise with him, but he chose another course. He might be able to strike a deal with Soriano, and he knew the one person who might be able to arrange it. So he too tried to make his way – as quietly as possible – into Intramuros, to find in sanctuary the one man who could save him.

The façade of the Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception loomed ahead of him – the square before it appeared empty, for the fighting was far distant. Darting from shadow to shadow he made his way as quickly towards Manila’s cathedral, seat of Archbishop Reyes, into whose hands Enrile was ready to entrust himself.

Some moments later the door to the Archbishop’s office was opened by one of the canons of the cathedral. “Your Eminence,” he said, “a visitor.”

The archbishop looked up at Enrile who stood shaking at his doorstep. “Come in my son,” he said. “We have much to speak of.”


The Provinces, Friday, 31 October 1941 – Morning

Thanks to the preparations of the conspirators their supporters in the provinces were primed for the news coming from the capital, and reacted accordingly. For the most part the military garrisons stood aside, not wanting to take action on behalf of a regime they despised and detested; in some places, where officers loyal to Macadandang had ordered their troops into action, the soldiers had refused to obey. The Philippine Constabulary enforced law and order but refused to arrest the opponents of the president, and indeed, took into custody the “Special Police Auxiliaries” who tried to do so. On the whole the nation looked on, awaiting the outcome of the fighting in the capital; Macadandang’s partisans, whose numbers had shrunk over the last few months, began to look to save themselves rather than lord it over their neighbors.

Manila, Friday, 31 October 1941 – Fort Andres Bonifacio

The stockade of the post now played host to an increasing number of senior officers, generals and colonels, who were outside of the Reform of the Armed Forces Movement and were suspected as Macadandang loyalist by the ‘Young Turks’ who had now allied themselves openly with the reformist conspirators around Senator Soriano. Deputy Chief of Staff Ruperto Kangleon was now in effective control of the Army, and exercised his power with a light touch; it was not yet time to burn all the bridges that remained. He had told the incarcerated officers plainly, “You are presently in protective custody, and your fate will be decided by a formal court martial, not by a drum head; on that you have my word.”

By mid morning Kangleon felt sufficiently in control to send detachments of the First Division into the city to assist the citizens in dealing with roving bands of ‘Special Police Auxiliaries’ and other Macadandang loyalists. The soldiers were accompanied by trucks carrying loudspeakers, and officers were ordering the police and their auxiliaries to lay down their arms. Some of the auxiliaries refused, and it was necessary to resort to force. But then, as one young lieutenant opined, the president had decreed martial law to be in effect.


Manila, Friday, 31 October 1941 – The Congress Building - Noon

The halls of the Philippine Senate would seem to be the unlikely headquarters of the conspirators against Macadandang but so fate had decreed. Don Andres Soriano and many of his supporters had gathered there, while outside hundreds of citizens raised improvised barricades and waited with clubs and piles of rocks, prepared to fight off attacks from the president’s forces. The link with Manila Broadcasting remained active, and the conspirators used it to maintain contact with the provinces and to broadcast progress reports interspersed with appeals to the people to resist the martial law regime.

Don Andres was closeted with several of his fellows when an excited aide opened the door.

“Don Andres, it is the Army! Soldiers are advancing down the avenue towards us!”

Soriano looked up nonplussed. “Then I shall go to greet them,” he replied, seemingly full of confidence.

A few moments later he appeared at the head of the steps that led to the entrance to the building. Troops were disgorging from several dozen trucks and forming up by companies. He walked down the steps towards the barricades manned by dozens of ordinary citizens; as he did so, an officer approached the barricades.

It had taken some time for Alfredo Santos to get him men from Santolan Barracks through the streets of Manila, and he was relieved that he had done so without even more delay. He was conscious of the importance of the next few minutes, and knew that whatever would happen, he was doing what was right.

Soriano confronted the advancing officer and asked. “What brings you here? Have you come to arrest us?”

Santos replied, “I am here with my battalion at the service of the Senate and People of the Philippines. What are your orders?”


Manila, Friday, 31 October 1941 – Nielson Airport

Having made his way out of the presidential palace with his satchel Elpidio Quirino did not head for Cavite but for Manila’s municipal airport. The evidence of popular revulsion at the regime was clear and several times he had been forced to negotiate checkpoints – leaving him several thousand pesos poorer but closer to escape. The confusion of orders coming from the palace and those coming from the Malacañan Palace versus those coming from the Congress Building left the airlines and airport authorities at a loss of what to do, while all the while foreigners wanted nothing else but to get out of Manila. Quirino did his best to make his way through the terminal to find a clerk who would at least speak to him.

“When is the next flight out?” he asked.

“To where?” was the clerk’s hasty reply.

“To anywhere,” Quirino responded.

“There is a flight to Hong Kong due to leave in fifteen minutes… I’m not sure if there are any seats left….”

Quirino slapped a small wad of currency into the man’s hand. “Get me on it,” he said simply.

A half-hour later Elpidio Quirino, Vice President of the Philippines, was sitting a British airliner as it banked across Manila Bay, heading west towards Hong Kong. He was leaving his family behind, but they would follow, eventually – or await his return, if circumstances allowed. The important thing was that he should escape the arm of the law, or the retribution of the revolutionaries, depending on one’s point of view. He clasped the satchel beside him – its contents would do until he could reach a bank in Hong Kong.

Manila, Friday, 31 October 1941 - The Malacañan Palace, Afternoon

“They have done what?” screamed Felipe Macadandang to his secretary, who had brought in the latest situation report.

“The Army appears to have declared for the Senate,” he quailed. “Troops from Fort Bonifacio have begun taking police auxiliaries into custody; a battalion sent to occupy the Congress Building has gone over to the Senate.”

Felipe Macadandang slumped into his chair, ashen-faced. “The Constabulary… surely they are loyal.”

The secretary scanned the report again. “Of those here in the capital, some are, and they have joined with the presidential guards to defend the palace. The rest appear to be awaiting the outcome on the sidelines. We have no reports from the provinces, though Radio Manila has announced that most have declared for the Senate.”

The president mumbled a curse under his breath. “Quirino went to Cavite to rally the Fleet and the Marines; they will be he shortly,” Macadandang said, thumping his desk with his fist.

“Senor Presidente, the Vice President has not been seen or heard from for several hours,” announced the secretary, dashing Macadandang’s hopes. “We have not been able to establish contact with the naval station.”

“Has no one had the sense to go there themselves?” Macadandang shouted. “You, go there now – I want three thousand Marines and sailors to deal with these rebels immediately!”

“Yes Senor Presidente,” said the secretary, backing out of the office. He thought perhaps that he should leave the palace as directed; not to go to Cavite perhaps, but to somewhere safer…


Manila, Friday, 31 October 1941, The Congress Building

The senators and other conspirators gathered around Don Andres Soriano were now in a confident mood. Contact had been made with elements of the Army across the city, and under the direction of Colonel Kangleon it was firmly on the side of the Senate. In some of the working-class neighborhoods pockets of Macadandang supporters held out, taking refuge in police stations and turning them into local fortresses. Nevertheless the rising had not yet toppled Macadandang.

Don Rafael Ayala spoke directly to the question. “The Navy… Manila lies under its guns. It’s done nothing.”

Soriano nodded in response. “True, it has not joined us – yet; neither has it supported Macadandang, and I think it will not. I have asked an ambassador to go there to find out.”

“The gates are closed, and the guards have turned away all messengers,” Don Rafael continued.

“He is an ambassador extraordinaire,” Soriano replied with a smile.


Cavite Naval Station, Friday, 31 October 1941 – Afternoon

The reports coming into flagship Mindanao suggested that the fortunes of President Macadandang hung by a delicate thread. Guards posted at the perimeter of the naval station reported that bands of pro-Senate partisans had approached the gates with manifestos calling on the fleet to intervene; they had been turned away as ordered.

Admiral Vasca knew that he could not stand by while Manila burned – and there were clouds of smoke above the city in places. Macadandang had betrayed the Navy by accepting peace with China after all his warmongering talk during the elections; Macadandang had tried to use him as a scapegoat, together with other officers, to deflect the blame regarding the failure of the nation to secure its wartime goals; Macadandang had sold so many of the Navy’s best warships abroad, or sent them to the breakers, and pocketed the profits rather than funding the Fleet Program. To abdicate action in the present crisis would only lead to further reductions in the Navy.

There was a knock at the door, and his flag captain announced, “Admiral, you have a visitor.”

“I was not to be disturbed,” Vasca began to say, until he saw behind the flag captain his old mentor, Admiral Cain. “How did you…”

“We need to speak Sebastian,” Cain replied, “and we need to act.”

Manila, Friday, 31 October 1941 – The Malacañan Palace, Late Afternoon

The sun had begun to set in the west when the guards posted at the landing stage along the Pasig River were heartened to see a column of naval launches and landing boats heading up river in their direction. They could see that they were packed with men – Marines – and the light guns on the launches were manned and ready. At last it seemed that the tide would turn in favor of the President.

The first boats came alongside the landing stage and began to disgorge their cargo of Marines – who quickly and efficiently took control of the situation and to the shock of the presidential guards began knocking the rifles out of their hands and placing them under arrest, shuffled into the first available boat and placed under guard. The first platoons shore set up a perimeter as boat after boat deposited more troops on the river bank.

Major Don Jerome Zobel watched as his men formed up. He had two reinforced companies at hand, and more were following. Time however would not brook delay and surprise would have to substitute for numbers.

“Fix bayonets!” he ordered, and two hundred sharp bayonets were affixed to two hundred Mauser rifles in unison.

“Form up in column of fours! Flankers forward! At the double! Forward!” he shouted in quick succession, and the column of marines began to surge through the gardens of the presidential palace, Zobel at their head.

The sound of hundreds of boots crashing onto the paved walkways carried quickly towards the palace itself, and many of the president’s supporters were visibly relieved by what they thought were their saviors. “Quirino has finally brought the Marines,” some murmured. “It took him long enough!”

Zobel brought his men towards the rear of the palace, the patio, on which formal parties were staged in happier times. At the point where the garden pathways widened out he ordered, “Alternate left-right wheel, at the double! Form a skirmish line!”

The column of Marines broke to the left and to the right, forming an extended line across the entire patio. The assembled guards, presidential staff and hangers on looked on confused, wonder was happening.

When the last of his men passed his position and filed into line Zobel took a deep breath, drawing his sidearm as he did so. “Hostiles to the left!” he cried, and two hundred rifles snapped into position. “Volley fire, Fire!” he ordered, and two hundred rifles crashed in unison, scything down the shocked supporters of the President. “Fire!” Zobel ordered again, bullets downing anyone who remained standing.

“At the bayonet!” he concluded, “Charge!” and led his men forward, a growling mass that surged over the mixed opposition in front of them and into the palace itself, shooting and bayoneting anyone offering armed resistance and beating into submission the rest.”

The police auxiliaries, renegade Philippine Constabulary members and thugs of the Populist League who had been guarding the other approaches to the palace tried to beat back the Marines, but their efforts were doomed. Those not killed or wounded quickly realized that their survival depended on flight.

Zobel led his men room by room to secure the palace. He and his men had one order – to take Felipe Macadandang alive.

-----

When news of the Marines arrived had first been brought to him President Macadandang crossed himself and gave thanks, thinking that his regime was now saved. The sound of bullets crashing through the windows and the screams of the dead and dying quickly changed his mind, and now his only chance was to flee in the confusion. Perhaps if he could reach the provinces, where he was certain he had support, he might turn the tables on the rabble senators and their mob. In his office he spun the dial of the lock to his private safe…

At that moment the door was broken down by a swift kick from a burly Marine sergeant and an officer darted into the room, his gun drawn.

“I am Don Jerome Zobel of the Philippine Marines,” he said in a voice chocked with adrenalin, “and in the name of the Senate and the People of the Philippines, you are my prisoner.”

Macadandang stood transfixed and speechless.

November 1st, Ambon.

Dr. Agustadi Sasongko, Governor of the province of the Moluccas*, issues a press release regarding the situation in the Philippines :

"At this time, there is a strong possibility that the Filipinos are about to, or are engaged in, another Civil War. As such, all travelers should exercise discretion. Shipments of goods categorized as military in nature shall be suspended until the legitimacy of the receiving party is established. "


The following day a similar statement is released in Den Hague.

*and which extends to within 44miles of the Philippines

ooc: The time lag is intentional, Bruce may have this wrapped up by the 1st, and there is a KLM route Batavia-Manilla, but time for news to get out, get reported, verified, acted on...etc.

Manila, Friday, 31 October 1941 – New Bilibid Prison, Evening

The cell door closed behind Felipe Macadandang with the voice of doom. Twenty four hours previously he had been the most powerful man in the nation – president, minister of war and other offices too numerous to mention; now he was a broken man. He had almost hoped that he would have been killed outright by the Marines who seized the Malacañan Palace – he would have been spared the humiliation of a trial.

“Welcome Senor Presidente,” said a voice from across the corridor. “Good of you to join us.”

Macadandang peered into the adjoining cell in the dim light. “Quimbo? Is that you?” he asked.

“Yes Senor Presidente,” replied the former Chief of Staff. “Your arrival tells us that the Senate has won the day.”

“Here I’ve been cursing you all day long for failing to stand by me,” said Macadandang. “Forgive me.”

“Your gambit failed, and we all shall suffer,” the general acknowledged. “At least I shall go before my peers in a court martial.”

A spark arose in the defeated politician. “You think that they will try you? Likely as not you will be shot while trying to escape.”

“No Senor Presidente,” Quimbo answered. “I believe the word of my captors – which is more than I could say for yours. And I am certain that after a scrupulously fair trial that you will be found guilty of the crimes you are charged with and shortly there after sentenced. It is more than most men in the last year could expect at your hands.”


Manila, Friday, 31 October 1941 – The Streets of Manila

The formal overthrow of the dictator Macadandang was greeted by widespread joy across the capital, but forces loyal to the Senate were quick to prevent matters from getting out of hand. There was too much to be done – pockets of the dictator’s loyalists to be wrinkled out of their hiding places, officials of the former regime to be taken into custody before they could flee, and as important, to prevent private revenge from taking the place of the processes of law.


Manila, Friday, 31 October 1941 – The Congress Building

The men who had brought about the revolution gathered around their leader, Don Andres Soriano, filled with the joy of victory. He was quick to caution them:

“We have overthrown the dictator Macadandang, but our efforts are not yet finished. We might still loose control of events and plunge the nation into civil war if we act hastily or without forethought. We must begin the process of healing while eliminating the remaining influences of the old regime. The dictator’s partisans are still at large in the city, and we must remain here, secure, until morning. Then we will see what the new day brings.”

Manila, Saturday, 1 November 1941 – All Saints Day

Dawn broke over a city that lay still and quiet, exhausted from the upheaval of the day before. Everywhere forces loyal to the Senate had taken charge and rounded up the last of the dictator Macadandang’s supporters; the jails of the city might be filled to capacity but a general bloodbath of revenge had been avoided.

Don Andres Soriano and his supporters gathered at the Congress Building to take stock of the situation, and finding it well in hand Soriano at last allowed himself to feel success.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “we have achieved the overthrow of the dictator; we have saved the nation from civil war; and thus it is right that we give thanks.”

A procession, headed by Soriano, soon left the Congress Building on foot, walking through streets now being cleared of their barricades and the detritus of the fighting the day before. Following him were many of the men who had worked with him to bring this day of triumph about, but most were simple citizens of Manila who were thankful to be free of the random violence that been part of the Manila scene for nearly a year. They walked slowly, and the procession grew as it progressed towards the old city.

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A secretary brought a message to Archbishop Reyes, advising that the procession was on its way to the Cathedral, and asking that it might be received. The prelate answered affirmatively, and ordered that arrangements be made quickly to greet it upon its arrival.

The archbishop, having made his personal preparations, stopped at the room where his notable ‘guest’ was confined, and told him what was about to happen.

“You promised to protect me,” Alfonso Enrile wailed. “And they are coming for me?”

“No my son,” Reyes replied. “They are coming for my blessing. As I told you, you will have to be tried for the crimes you have committed, and you will need to accept your punishment. Your life will be spared.”

Enrile had spent the night envisioning his body being torn limb-from-limb by a mob, and he found the archbishop’s words reassuring.

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The crowds that accompanied Don Andres Soriano were now filling the square before the Cathedral, on whose steps were arrayed in bright splendor Archbishop Reyes and all the deans, canons and servants of the Cathedral, numbering nearly one hundred. With a small number of companions, Don Andres mounted the steps slowly and knelt before the archbishop to kiss his ring in submission. His Eminence pronounced a blessing on those before him and on the crowd generally – who erupted in wild cheers that echoed across the city.

With Macadangdingdong out of the way, the next Filipino leader will be...

I think not.