Victor Hurley’s Jungle Patrol is full of evocative stories from the American occupation of the Philippines a century ago:
Another tale concerned an early army experience in the Mohammedan country to the south. There the army had been building a road through the jungle, and a young Sergeant had taken his duties too seriously as a foreman of the road gang. One day he indicated a shovel to a proud Datu of the Mohammedans who was standing there, erect and aloof. The Mohammedan chief ignored the suggestion that he soil his hands with manual labor. The Sergeant lashed out with his boot.A flicker appeared in that impassive Mohammedan’s face. His hand tightened on his kris, and for an instant fire lighted the fierce eyes. An ancient American packer, junglewise and illiterate sauntered by to witness the scene. His great beard was stained with ill-directed tobacco juice and he was an object for laughter to the spick-and-span regulars. But he offered a note of excellent advice to the too earnest Sergeant. ‘Kill ‘em after you kick ‘em,’ he advised casually, ‘or they’ll git you, Son, sure as Ol’ Billy Hell.’
The Sergeant grinned as the old-timer spat against the wind and sauntered on. The next morning, the Sergeant was still grinning as he lay beside the road. His head had been carelessly kicked away from his torso.