Illegal Alien

Used to be Brad's Task Force and I'd been under Brad's command, but Brad was gone now and I was in command and now it was Clearance Task Force Wong. Gone? Brad was dead and buried a couple of hundred miles north and six feet down and I tried not to remember, but it was hard, because my heart was buried back there with Brad and what was left was mostly ice, and the rest was sadness and pain.

"Good work, Fujimoto," I said, as the last shots rang out, but even I knew my voice came out in a flat monotone.

It always did now. There wasn't any emotion left. This was just a job that I had to do, and I did it because I knew Brad would want me to carry on, and the Task Force looked up to me. Followed my orders to the letter, and I knew why.

The Pass.

It always came back to The Pass, and the memory of that woke me up screaming in the night now, and not even the drugs the medic gave me kept the dreams and the nightmares from coming back. It was always Brad, lying there on the ground with that hole right through his chest and those sightless eyes staring up at me, and then the machinegun and the falling bodies and the faces and the screams and the gouting blood as I mowed them down, on and on and on, endlessly, night after night, and I always woke up soaked in sweat and exhausted.

"You okay, Ma'am?" Montoya asked. Sergeant Montoya. Ramon. He was my bodyguard now. Sergeant-Major Maddock had insisted, and I'd been too tired to say no.

"Yeah," I said, giving my head a shake as the last pleas for mercy stopped with the finality that death gave, and the newbie doubled over, puking into the long trench, and it wasn't the first we'd dug. Wouldn't be the last either. We'd worked our way halfway down the playing field and the backhoe was busy backfilling yesterday's ditch. Nobody said a word about the newbie, the rest of the squad left him to it. Happened to everyone. He'd get over it.

Or he wouldn't, and I'd send him back for reassignment.

Like I'd be sent back when I cracked.

"Thanks, Ma'am," Fujimoto said, and he looked tired. Tired and exhausted and his eyes had that haunted look that all our eyes had these days.

Working clearance operations in San Martinez was the hardest work we'd done so far. Between the ratdogs and the illegals and the other criminals, there was a lot of clearing to do. So many of them that we couldn't ship all the ones I thought could be recovered back to the reeducation camps up north and inland. Supreme Command had told us to deal with it and, well, we had so far, put them on hard labour mostly and you could tell the ones that were looking for redemption coz they worked their frigging asses off.

If they worked hard enough, we gave them a pass and sent them off, men of to the military for training, women and kids home or of to work assignments, even if it was a bit questionable. They didn't work their asses off, they complained, they protested, well, they joined the ratdogs and the illegals in the ditch along with the rest of the ones I didn't give a pass too.

We didn't have time to waste.

We'd keep going until the job was done, however long it took, and there were other clearance units. We weren't the only ones working San Martinez. All we had was one sector, down along the Bay from North Beach down through to South Beach. Lot of inner city high rises and weren't they fun when when you had to go through them one by one. Crap job, but someone had to do it and I'd have to do it, because Brad had gone and I'd told the men that if I bought it, I wanted to be buried with him.

"Knock it on the head, ma'am," Sergeant-Major Maddock had said. "You're gonna make it through." Her hand rested on my belly and she knew. "You're going to have the Captain's baby ma'am, and that baby's going to have four hundred godfathers and godmothers."

"Si, you're right about that, Sergeant-Major." Sergeant Montoya had agreed, and he was always with me now. Maddock had assigned him to me. Bodyguard, and yeah, he was that good and he never left my frigging side. Even stood outside the door when I was taking a shower and his AR never left his hand, and he was fast. Fast and accurate, and he'd proved that.

I swear he slept with that AR and yeah, he slept close, and he never said a thing about the screaming, but sometimes I kinda vaguely remembered him holding me in the night as I screamed and shook and cried, but I never remembered what it was about or what I said, and Ramon, he never said a word, and neither did anyone else.

"Next batch coming up, Fujimoto," I said. "I'll send Riley's platoon to replace you in half an hour, you should be done this lot by then."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, not quite saluting and I was glad of that, coz there were still a few Ratdog snipers holding out here and there. I woulda too, if I was them, coz we caught them, they went down and we're talking face down into a ditch here, not doing time. They knew what was gonna happen to them, and they mostly fought to the end. If they surrendered, just sped the end up, that was all. Fine by me.

"What're these ones?" Fujimoto asked, not really interested.

"Mix," I said. "Some hardcore ratdogs, a few party members, lot of illegals, all the staff from a couple of Planned Parenthood murder clinics 'n their families, tried to get out together on a boat and Reilly caught them cold, bunch of crims came over the bridge from Elmland, local cops that came over to us caught 'em looting and we took 'em over from them. You know where we are, right. San Martinez? Turd city. Lot of cleanup to do here, Fujimoto."

There fucking was, the place was a cesspool and the cleanup, well, I wished they'd had the sense to run, I really did, coz I was sick to death of sending them down here to the ditches but there wasn't any choice. Not if we were gonna succeed and we knew we needed to. We'd all seen what they'd done to the old Republic and to our people after the fighting started, and I guess you could say we were the chlorine in the gene pool.

Our job was to kill the bacteria and yeah, by the time we moved on, there weren't any bacteria left. Might make a few mistakes here and there, but where we weren't sure, we sent 'em off to the camps and let them sort 'em out. I didn't need to re-educate any of them, I just picked the ones that would die and the ones that would live and the ones that we'd pass back. The ones that died, they pretty much picked themselves anyhow.

"My family's from here, ma'am," he said, drily, and fuck him, he still had a family. They'd survived, and my hand was on the grip of my M4 and my finger was on the trigger guard and... Montoya was right next to me, his hand on my arm.

"It's Fujimoto, ma'am," he said, real gently, and it kind of sank in and I was cold and sweating and shivering and the next batch was here and my teeth were chattering like castanets coz I just wanted to fucking kill something. Anything.

"Jesus, I'm sorry, ma'am," Fujimoto said.

Fuck it, he sounded sorry, and I couldn't hate him for it. He'd been lucky, I'd been unlucky and the next batch was stumbling past me, faces pale and some of them were blank faced, some were terrified, some crying and more than a few were puking and some struggled and cursed as the guard squad pushed them on, and they all knew what was coming.

These days, everyone knew what was coming.

My M4 was up, pressed into my shoulder, and I walked the rounds down the first dozen of the next batch as they stumbled along the edge and most of them didn't look down. Didn't want to see and the ones that did were pale. I walked my rounds down, fast as I could pull. Head shots, double taps, every shot on target and it came without thought now, a reflex and it didn't matter that as awareness dawned, they tried to duck or run or escape.

There wasn't any escape.

My shots came so fast they could have almost been on full automatic and for ten seconds and one full mag I lost myself and it was good not to think. So good and as long as I was shooting, my head was clear and the pain and grief were gone, and they were nothing but targets. There was me and my rifle and it was good.

It was all good.

For a few seconds.

"It's okay, ma'am," Montoya said from beside me. "You can stop now, ma'am. Fujimoto'll take it from here."

I looked at him blankly, ignoring the screams and the wails and the pleas. Background noise, that's all it was, and something about Montoya's expression pulled me back a little from the abyss, and in that moment, I knew I'd gazed too long into the abyss and now the abyss was gazing into me, and for a moment, for a fleeting moment, the ice began to crack.

I turned my back and walked away. Away from the abyss, away from the screams and the pleas and the wails of terror, 'n they shoulda thought of that before they started murdering babies, and the ice froze as fast as it'd begun to crack, 'n I knew I could cut it for a while longer.

"Back to the headshed, Montoya," I said, and I could hear the screams and the shots cracking out behind me as we headed back and Jesus, it was mid-afternoon already. Time to process the next batch, process another couple of hundred through before I had to call it quits for the day.

"Think maybe we got ourselves a problem here, ma'am," Maddock said, back at the head-shed, and she was looking out into the Bay. Used to be you could stand here and look out over the bay and see a lot of yachts and powerboats and cruise ships and freighters and stuff like that. Not anymore. Now it was just the sea and...

"What're those?" I asked, coz there was this lean grey shape out there and a couple of what looked like big cruise ships or something, but they were grey too.

"Warship," Maddock said, and she should know. I wished Brad was here coz he'd been in the Marines. He'd have known. "No idea whose, but it's not ours and neither are those two big ones. Repurposed cruise ships I think." She handed me her binoculars. "Look at the flag at the back of the small one."

"Stern," I said, coz Brad, he'd taught me a few things. But I took the binoculars anyhow and looked. Blinked, focused and looked again.

"Is that a fucking United Nations flag?" I said, totally in disbelief. "Who the fuck are they? Are they fucking crazy? Don't they know there's a war going on?"

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Maddock said.

"I better get through to Headquarters," I said.

We had a landline that worked. Things were starting to get put back together. The labor gangs were hard at work cleaning up the devastation from the fighting and the ordinary folks, our folks, they were hard at work rebuilding and yeah, we weren't too far from Chinatown so maybe I could order in Chinese for everyone and give the cooks a night off. Army vouchers, they'd be paid and I hadn't eaten chinese in a while, and then Headquarters answered.

They were was as disbelieving as Maddock and I were.

"Captain Wong, are you frigging sure? United Nations? That for real?"

"For real, Sir. Got eyes on. Watching them now. Dunno what they're doing out there but it looks like they're dropping anchor or something."

"Well, not much we can do about them right now. No hostile action unless they attack or try to land or something. Just keep at it and I'll let Group Headquarters know."

He called me back fifteen minutes later. "HQ says you're not the only ones spotted them. They were spotted going under the Marin Gate bridge. If they contact you, be blunt. Tell them they're within the territorial waters of the Second Republic and they're denied entry. You can tell them to fuck off any way you want, Wong. Use your initiative, you're good at that, and you're free to shoot if you can come up with anything to take 'em out but otherwise keep your head down. We're short up here. HQ says they're gonna see if they can rustle up something to help deal with them. Gonna be tough. There's a big push going on right now to reach the Gulf Coast."

"Roger that, Sir," I said, and I was almost smiling.

"Got another problem, Ma'am." Wylie looked up from old radio he'd just thumped.

"What is it?" I swallowed convulsively, trying not to puke and almost succeeding, but then it came up anyhow and I bent over the wastepaper basket beside the old table I was using and that was one of the good things about setting up my head shed in an empty café. The table.

Nobody took any notice. Only Montoya, and he'd learnt. He watched, coz the one time he'd tried to help me, I'd bitten his frigging head off.

Morning sickness, except this was afternoon sickness and it sucked, but it was early days and I didn't show. When I did, they were going send me on Mat Leave and that was gonna totally suck coz where would I go? Wasn't like I had anyone left except my task force now. All the friends I had in the world were here.

The rest were six feet under. Like Brad, 'n I puked again coz yeah, baby, but my baby's Dad was dead, killed by the ratdogs and this time I dry-retched 'n I wanted to cry coz I missed Brad so much, every day, every hour, every minute.

"You okay now, Ma'am?" Montoya asked, passing me a canteen of water.

"Yeah," I said, rinsing my mouth out and they all knew I was knocked up and they all knew who the baby's father was.

My husband. Brad. The Captain. The captain before they promoted me to replace him. Was my husband. Ex-husband now. Deceased. Some ratdog had shot him down a couple of hundred miles north of here. Hadn't lived to tell the tale, and neither had three thousand other ratdogs that were in the holding pens with him, but that wouldn't bring Brad back. The baby and this task force, that was all I had left of Brad and sometimes, when I thought I didn't want to live, I thought of Brad's baby, and I knew I had too.

I didn't really want to though.

I just wanted to be with Brad forever, the way we'd promised each other we would be, 'til death do us part, and seriously, I didn't really think death was a good enough reason to part. I'd rather be there with him, holding his hand and he'd keep me warm, even six feet under and Jesus, I had to stop thinking like that coz I had the baby to think of. Our baby, and I knew Brad would want me to be strong for the baby, but it was hard. It was so hard.

"What's the problem, Wylie?" I asked, taking another mouthful of water and this time I swallowed it, and it stayed down. I was gonna have to eat soon too, and I hoped I didn't puke that up.

"Gotta whole lotta Ratdog's holding out in one of them old warehouse office buildings down on the waterfront, ma'am. Some sort of libtard techie company building, Sergeant Covington thinks. Seems like a coupla hundred of them, maybe more. Kept their heads down until now, probably hoping we missed 'em when we went through 'n then they could filter back out and blend in or something. They're communicating with that warship out there, we picked up the transmissions, got a triangulation on 'em. They're talking in the clear and they're asking for help. That warship, they told 'em they'd get people in to them tomorrow and to hold on. One of the search squads closing on them took a coupla hits. They're shooting at anyone that comes close."

He grinned. "Guess they figured there's no amnesty for holdouts and that UN ship'll get 'em outa here. We wanna make 'em an offer, ma'am?"

"No fucking way," I said. "Maybe if they hadn't started shooting I'd a thought about it long enough to get them out of there, but we took hits, they're all going down. No exceptions to that one. Maddock, send Riley's platoon up to relieve Fujimoto's. Bring the Ready Reaction Platoon, whose on this week? Richards?"

"Yeah, his platoon's on," Maddock said. "I'll call out Bravo as well, they're down today but you know Reilly. Alpha and Charlie are out clearing and Delta's on guard duty at the pens. Echo's on tonight."

"Move Bravo down now. Call in Alpha, tell Kratman I want 'em real quick. Get Echo up and moving as well," I said. "Sounds like this one's a few more ratdog holdouts than normal. Alpha and Bravo surround the building, get Echo and Charlie down on the waterfront between those UN turkeys and the ratdogs. Delta can stay on and guard the pens. They cause any trouble, fuck 'em. Delta can just terminate them all on the spot. Me, I want eyes on, I'm heading down there now with the Command Team 'n the Ready Reaction Platoon. You back me up from here, Maddock. Check in with HQ and see what's on call if we need support."

"Right, ma'am." Maddock was onto it, snapping out the orders.

"Command Team 'n Ready Reaction with me," I said, and I was out the door and Montoya was right with me, the way he always was now, as we piled into the half dozen Ford F150's we'd lifted after the drivers didn't need 'em anymore. Straight down Folsom onto the Embarcadero, hang a left and there wasn't much traffic these days, and what there was saw us coming and got the fuck out of our way, coz believe me, you didn't want to be in our way.

"Pull in here," Montoya called and Patterson did. Fast, and yeah, I could see a four man fireteam on the corner ahead of us, 'n I piled out and jogged on over, Montoya right beside me, and Jacobs was right up my ass with one of the new portable radios, except they weren't really new. 'Nam era from the look of it. We were getting it together again, slowly.

"Where are they?" I said, tucking in behind the fireteam.

"Building down there, ma'am. You can take a look, they're fucking useless shots."

I laughed, 'n that was good coz I didn't laugh much these days. Wasn't anything much to laugh about. "Yeah, well, no surprises there."

Coz this was San Martinez, libtard hellhole, used to be one of those ratdog gun free zones, 'n all that meant was that only the hoodz had the guns. We took the hoodz down first 'n that hadn't taken long. They were used to the old cops and their rules. Us? We didn't give a fuck about collateral damage, we just took down everything and everyone in sight and fuck 'em.

Hearts and minds? Point four five hollowpoint if it was closeup, or seven point six two or hey, even five point five six, and of them straight through either the hearts or the minds, that took care of that little problem and the hoodz lasted 'bout two weeks. Lot of brownfields redevelopment zones scattered around now, 'n I guess if you were interested you could maybe make a real killing after the war was over.

Didn't matter to me. I was making a real killing now and that was all I was interested in.

Killing, and cleaning up, and your average ratdog was a frigging useless shot. No frigging training. Never grew up with guns. I hadn't either, but after I met Brad, well, things had changed and look where I was now.

Look where Brad was now, and really, I didn't give a fuck if I got shot. I'd join Brad then, wouldn't I? That wouldn't be so bad, really, to be with Brad again.

So I looked, and yeah, the stupid turkey's were leaning out the frigging windows to shoot at us, 'n I just looked and pulled my head back and yeah, I sat back and laughed.

"I see what 'ya mean, Covington." Knew all my men. And women. And kids. Learnt that one from Brad. First thing you do. Make sure you know the names of every single person in your unit. I did. Mostly. All five hundred fifty of 'em.

"Ma'am... ma'am. Sergeant-Major wants you." Jacobs was holding out the headset.

"Wong here," I said, adjusting the mike. "Over."

"Maddock, ma'am. Got that frigging UN warship on the channel, they wanna talk to the officer in charge. Putting 'em through, ma'am. UN Warship, you're on. Maddock out."

"Yeah, Local Commander here, whaddaya want? Over."

"This is Captain Panganidan, commanding United Nations warship, HMBS Ottawa. Over."

"Yeah, and I'm Captain Minnie fucking Mouse. You're in the territorial waters of the Second Republic, Captain Panganidan, whoever the fuck you are," I said. "As senior ranking officer of the National Liberation Army of the Second Republic in the Bay area, I'm ordering you to fuck off outa here. So pull up those anchors you just dropped and fuck off out of our territorial waters. You've been issued an official warning. That's the only one you're getting. Over."