Eyewitness account: Seven hours of hell in Tipo-Tipo, Basilan

We endured seven hours of hell in Tipo-Tipo, Basilan. Embedded with government forces searching for kidnapped Italian priest Giancarlo Bossi, my team and I were caught in the middle of a very intense firefight between the Marines and armed groups in the area. For seven long hours, we stared death in the eye. The trip to Basilan was an offshoot of reports from military sources that Bossi had been transferred to the island by his captors. July 9, 2007. We arrived in the island province after an uneventful two-week coverage of government troops in search of Fr. Bossi in the Lanao provinces and Zamboanga del Sur. At first, we didn't expect significant coverage in our Basilan coverage... until we learned of a plan by Col. Ramiro Alivio, commanding officer of the 1st Marine Brigade, to launch an operation just hours after we had called on him. We asked permission to join operating units... Colonel Alivio acceded. Late in the evening, we witnessed a short pre-operation briefing. All the Marines huddled to pray. I saw familiar faces… some of them I had interviewed in the province of Sulu. They were the same group who fought it out with the Abu Sayyaf bandits September last year. It was during that same operation that Abu Sayyaf leader Khadaffy Janjalani was killed. Cpl. Russel Panaga, a member of the force reconnaissance team, approached me and said, “Sir, nagkasama na tayo sa Sulu. Kami’yung wounded dun. Eto na naman, sasabak sa operasyon." I responded, “Oo, kaya pala pamilyar ang mukha nyo sa akin. Ingat kayo, sir." After a brief talk, I was surprised to find out that Panaga, the mean-looking and muscle-bound Marine, was, in fact, a gentle giant. To lighten up the mood, I told Panaga in jest, “Sir, hinahamon ka ni Donnie ng suntukan." He reacted with a smile. I never had an inkling that the short conversation would be our last. Jump-off time was 4:30am, July 10. A team from force reconnaissance and special operations platoon of the Marines scoured two target areas deep in the jungles of Tipo-Tipo. They were the lead units. A bigger group of soldiers in armored personnel carrier and 6x6 trucks was following them from behind. They would serve as reinforcement if “problems" should arise. Hours of searching for Bossi didn't produce positive results. It was the Marines’ second fruitless try in the area since the abduction of Bossi on June 10. The ground commander, Maj. Nestor Marcelino, ordered his men to board their respective vehicles. The seven-vehicle convoy rolled on, en route to their barracks. I and my crewmembers, Cameraman Jjulius Catibog and Assistant Cameraman Donnie Roxas, were in a 6x6 truck in the middle of the convoy. It passed through several communities... villagers and school children were looking... at times even waving at the Marines. When the convoy reached Sitio Puhpuh, Barangay Guinanta, travel became arduously slow. The road was unpaved and narrow. I noticed that the houses were empty. The sight triggered an eerie feeling, recalling conversations I had with soldiers and even civilians during previous Mindanao coverage sorties that empty communities are an indicator that something bad is waiting around the corner. Minutes later, we heard the Marines telling one another to be on alert. The convoy halted after Major Marcelino noticed that three vehicles were no longer in our tail. Radio communication didn't elicit a response from them. We turned back to check and found out that one of the vehicles got stuck in mud, causing the delay. Efforts to pull the truck from the sticky situation proved futile. But that was not the only problem. Armed men were sighted on high grounds. The Marines quickly scampered for battle positions. All at once, gunfire rang out. It was 10:30 am. Cameraman Julius, Assistant Cameraman Donnie and I quickly hit the ground and sought cover. Shots were being fired from almost all directions... bullets grazing above us. Tree branches and leaves fell from above as a result of heavy enemy fire. A staccato of varying gunshots and explosions became a familiar refrain. At first, we thought it was going to be a short gunbattle. But we were wrong. As minutes passed by, the firefight turned for the worse. My team was pinned to the ground amidst an endless volley of fire. Then we heard messages from radio that some marines have been hit. At that point, fear started to roll down my spine. While lying down on my stomach, my head almost buried to the ground, I began to pray for the fighting to stop. I prayed like I never did before. But my prayers were not instantly answered. The fighting still went on and on. Donnie said his prayers too. At one point, he said he was losing hope we would make it alive. The thought of not seeing his first newborn grandchild kept running through his mind. My cameraman Julius was still taking footage from his limited vantage area... aiming his camera at the Marines firing mortar rounds at enemy positions, although most did not go off. The situation brought back memories we had in 2004. Julius was also my cameraman in another hair-raising coverage in the town of Lamitan, also in Basilan. Then, we were also caught in a crossfire when suspected drug dealers fought it out with the police. Julius was shot at by one of the drug dealers while eluding arrest. When the shooting stopped... we emerged unscathed. But Tipo-Tipo was far more fierce than our Lamitan experience. As military mortar continued to falter, mortar rounds unleashed by the attackers -- from the Moro Islamic Liberation Front and the Abu Sayyaf -- were slowly finding their mark. A round of enemy mortar landed very near our position, causing a very loud blast. I felt the pounding effect on my chest. The chilling effect of mortar ammos being launched by the attackers was too frightening to bear... it was like waiting for death to come. A radioman called for air support and heavy artillery fire. But precious minutes had passed, and still no air support came. I heard him say over the radio, "Wala pa bang air support? Napapalibutan na kami dito." A group of Marines just few meters in front of us radioed, “Sir, nasa 200 meters na mga kalaban... papalapit na sila sa amin." Soon after, choppers and a Bronco bomber were seen flying over us. But they had little effect on the attackers. They eventually flew back to base leaving their comrades on the ground, to fight on their own. The attackers were emboldened. We heard them hollering “Allahu Akbar"(Praise Allah) as they were inching closer. The Marines could no longer hold the line. I said to myself, this is going to be our end. Again, I prayed and asked for forgiveness from the Almighty. At that instant, I said to myself, “I’m ready to die." Not far from where I was, I saw Julius and Donnie still on the ground. We were so helpless. There were moments that we would just stare at each other as if to say good-bye. Outnumbered and outgunned, the Marines still tried to fight back... The numbers were stacked in the attackers’ favor- less than a hundred government troops, against 500 of them. Before noon, the guns fell silent, if briefly. Then it drizzled and eventually a heavy downpour followed suit. I began to chill while lying on the ground. To compound my worries, bullets rained on us anew. The Marine perimeter defense had been breached. Sensing imminent danger, Major Marcelino, the ground commander, old us to move to another area. Drenched to the bones and virtually covered with mud, we ran, one after the other. We slipped and tripped on occasion, as the barrage of enemy fire reverberated. I heard Donnie say, “I got hit!" When we reached higher ground, I saw blood streaming down from Donnie's head. A shrapnel from an M-203 grenade caused the minor wound. From our area, we could see a dead Marine sprawling on the ground. But no one dared retrieve the body as enemy snipers remained on the lookout for new targets. I looked at my watch. .It read 4:30 pm. Six hours had passed, but there seemed to be no end to the furious enemy attack. Wounded Marines started moving to our position... some looking very pale and weak. Words of encouragement were uttered to liven up the spirits of the casualties. I heard them telling their fallen comrades..."’Wag kang pipilkit... kaya mo yan." But 10 Marines were reported missing. Their companions initially believed they were killed in the frontlines. Still under siege, the Marines tried to search for their 10 missing comrades. An officer shouted, “Walang iiwanang katawan." To the Marines, it’s a must that no one gets left behind. But they were left with no other option... one soldier said, “Masakit man sa atin, kailangang iwanan natin ang mga patay kundi mauubos tayo dito." “Kailangan na nating makaalis dito... pag inabot tayo ng dilim, siguro patay tayo lahat," another Marine added. A piece of good news was heard on the radio before 5 pm. A local group had mediated a ceasefire. That was the only time we were able to sit on the ground after hours of being pinned down. We were told by a Marine later, "Okay na, Sir... tapos na." He was wrong. Not long after, another wave of deafening gunfire erupted. Seeking cover, we moved from one coconut tree to another... crawled on itchy grass valley. Ants were likewise crawling all over us… bite marks surfaced sooner than later. But no one would dare move lest be spotted by enemy snipers. Wounded and all, Cpl. Richard dela Cruz became our close-in guide as we started to extricate ourselves to safer ground. He advised us quite often, “Dito kayo sa likod namin," until we reached a road leading to Marine reinforcements. Behind armored personnel carrier, we walked and dashed through sticky mud. After 30 minutes, we reached a school where police and military reinforcements were stationed. Donnie and I looked at each other and said, “Ligtas na tayo, pare." We held our hands so tightly as we walked to safety. It was the end of a seven-hour ordeal. It was a miracle to say the least that we survived. In the end, God answered all our prayers. We were hugging and shaking hands with almost everyone in sight. I barely lost control of my emotions when I told a Marine, my voice breaking, “Grabe ang mga gamit nyo," referring to the mortar duds. Teary-eyed, he responded, “Ganyan kahirap ang buhay naming mga sundalo, Sir!" At day’s end, 14 Marines died, 10 of them badly mutilated. The dead included Corporal Panaga, the gentle giant I had a brief conversation with the night before the fateful day in Tipo-Ttipo. Nine other Marines were wounded. But our travel was far from over. It was still a two-hour ride from Tipo-Tipo to the Marine headquarters in Isabela, Basilan. I asked Lt. Weng Mueyela, the lady officer in command of armored assets during the mayhem, to allow the three of us to ride with her in the tank. Readily she said yes. But all at once, too, added, “May dalawa akong sakay na patay." We didn’t mind. We told ourselves, “Kahit siksikan at kahit may kasama pang patay... makikisakay kami sa tangke." Our primary concern was to return safely to Isabela. My first phone call was to my immediate boss, Tex Jimenez, head of the GMA News Desk. She was so shocked to hear about our harrowing experience. Instantly, she directed us to leave Basilan the following morning. Next I called our operations boss Grace dela Peña to appraise her of our situation. I passed the phone to Donnie, then Donnie to Julius. When Julius returned the phone to me, he said, “Umiiyak si Ma’m Grace" She was crying indeed as I kept assuring her we're okay... and that Donnie was up and about despite a minor wound on his head. When the tension simmered down, I told Julius, “Good work, pare. Nakalampas na naman tayo." The following day, July 11, we were able to air the story... the story of gallantry in battle of the men and women of the Marines… the sad story of Filipinos fighting fellow Filipinos... the story that exacted a heavy toll of lives killed, injured, and scarred inside and out. - GMANews.TV