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THE WHOLE VILLAGE GOSSIPED ABOUT THE SOLDIER WHO
Berting had been gone from their village for five years. He was a soldier. Everyone expected that when he came home, he would have many stories of heroism, plenty of money, and a chest full of medals.
But when Berting stepped down from the tricycle, he looked different.
Thin. Hollow-eyed. And most noticeable of all — his arms and neck were covered in scars. There was a large gash on his face that looked like it had been slashed by a blade.
No medals. No new uniform. Just an old duffel bag in his hand.
He immediately became the topic of conversation at the drinking spot in front of Aling Bebang’s store.
“Look at Berting,” laughed Mang Kanor, the village drunk. “Wasn’t he supposed to be Special Forces? Why does he look like Special Garbage?”
His drinking buddies burst into laughter.
“He didn’t even bring a single medal!” another chimed in. “The Captain’s son came home with a Gold Cross! And Berting? He came back with scars! Maybe he was a coward in war! Maybe at the first gunshot he ran and got wounded in the back!”
Berting passed by the drinking area to buy cigarettes. He heard every insult clearly.
“Hey, Berting!” Mang Kanor shouted. “What happened to your face? Did you trip from fear? Where were you assigned? The camp kitchen? Hahaha!”
Berting said nothing. He simply lowered his head, took what he bought, and walked home. He was used to pain. He had endured far worse than the words of drunken men.
Days passed, and the gossip only worsened. Some said he had been dishonorably discharged. Others claimed he had gone crazy in the mountains. No one wanted to talk to Berting.
One afternoon, while Mang Kanor was once again causing a commotion at the drinking spot and bragging loudly—
BRRMMM—BRRMMM—BRRMMM!
A loud engine roared through the village. Everyone turned to look.
“What’s happening? Who’s that?” people shouted.
In the middle of the village basketball court, a black Army Jeep came to a stop.
The villagers’ eyes widened. “Oh no! Why is there a military jeep? Is there a war?!”
Soldiers in full battle gear stepped out and secured the area.
Then another man stepped out — older, but with a firm military bearing. His chest was covered with medals, and four stars shone on his shoulders.
A 4-Star General.
Silence fell over the entire village. Even Mang Kanor, who had been loud moments ago, stepped back with trembling knees.
“Who are they looking for?” the villagers whispered.
The General walked straight toward Berting’s small house.
Just then, Berting stepped outside, wearing only a sleeveless shirt, sweeping his yard.
When the General saw Berting, he stopped walking.
The villagers expected Berting to be arrested.
But the whole village was shocked when—
THE GENERAL STOOD TALL AND SALUTED BERTING.
“Sir!” the General shouted.
Berting quickly returned the salute, even though his hand was trembling. “General Valdes!”
The General lowered his hand and embraced Berting tightly. The General was crying.
“Y-You’re alive, Sgt. Berting… You’re alive…” the General said hoarsely.
The gossipers, including Mang Kanor, moved closer to watch.
“General,” asked the Barangay Captain who had just arrived, “why are you saluting that soldier? He’s a failure! He came home empty-handed! He doesn’t even have a medal!”
General Valdes turned to the crowd. His face darkened.
“No medal?” the General asked angrily. “Do you know why this man has no medal?”
He pointed at Berting.
“Because his mission was CLASSIFIED. Top Secret. It cannot be written in newspapers. It cannot be given a public ceremony.”
The General held Berting’s scarred arm.
“The scars you laugh at? He got them because he threw himself over a grenade so we wouldn’t die! He got that cut on his face because he allowed himself to be captured and tortured by the enemy so our entire platoon could escape!”
Mang Kanor turned pale. The gossiping women’s jaws dropped.
“If it weren’t for this man,” the General shouted, “WE WOULD ALL BE DEAD. I would be dead! I, your General today, am alive because of him! He is the bravest soldier I have ever known. His body became our shield!”
The General turned to Berting and handed him a black box.
“Berting, this cannot be worn in public. But this comes from the President. The highest honor of the nation.”
Berting opened the box. Inside was a shining gold medal.
“Thank you, Sir,” Berting said softly. “I only did my job.”
“Come,” the General urged. “We’re taking you to the Veterans Hospital. The government will cover the treatment of your wounds. And you now have a lifetime pension.”
Berting boarded the Army Jeep with the General.
As the jeep drove away, the villagers who had judged him were left behind. Mang Kanor, who had been boasting earlier, now stood like a drenched chick, head bowed in shame. They finally realized that true heroes do not always wear shining uniforms — sometimes they are quiet, covered in scars, and endure suffering for the safety of others.
