Las Navidad de Los Desvalidos

"Alpha Two One. We got their OC up here. He's steaming."

"Keep him covered, Watson," Kratman said.

"On my way up," I said, myself, dismounting, Montoya and Frazer with me, and we all started to jog, the Cougar rumbling along behind us. "I'm coming."

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" I said, joining Kratman, both of us eyeing the Colonel standing there, hands behind his head, and behind him a dozen men were on the ground, all of them covered, and one of the new guys was zip-locking them. Way he was doing it, he'd done it before a few times.

Wrists zip-tied back to back, thumbs zip-cuffed together to allow no movement, ankles and knees fastened with the big zip-ties we kept for just that. Efficient, fast, and fucking effective.

They weren't going anywhere.

"Says they're San Juan Militia," Kratman said, neutrally.

"Didn't think there was any San Juan Militia left," I said. "Last reports were, everyone was pinned down and screaming for help. You on your way to help someone, Colonel?"

"Release me at once, Captain," the Colonel snapped. "This is outrageous."

"And you are?" I asked, neutrally.

"Colonel Ortega, officer commanding, San Juan Militia Battalion. Just what do you think you're doing, Captain?"

"There was a report that some weapons had gone missing from the militia depots here, Colonel. I've been tasked with investigating the discrepancies." Among other things.

"You're Quartermaster Corps, not Inspector General."

"National Liberation Army of the Second Republic, Colonel. Our motto's 'make it up as we go', didn't you know." I smiled. "Now why don't I..."

"Release my people and let us get on with our job," the Colonel snapped.

"Now you just stay right where you are, Sir, while the Captain sorts this misunderstanding out," Frazer said, far too politely for Frazer, and he grinned from behind the Colonel's back, 'n he was pretty confident about which way this was going down, I could see that.

"Ma'am, you might want to look up here." One of my men was up in the back of one of the trucks.

"My goodness," I said, once I was up there myself, and yeah, Montoya was up there before me, and Frazer was down on the ground, covering my ass. Couple of the others were covering the Colonel, 'n I didn't need to tell my men had to do their job. Most of them were old-timers. Been in the Sandbox or the 'Stans. They had their shit together, and they'd taught the rest whatever they knew.

Just like Kratman was teaching me, I guess.

"This is fascinating." Yeah, well. It was.

A lotta old M16's and ammo here. Cases and cases of 5.56, and I looked up and down the long column of trucks, did a quick count in my head. Maybe not enough for twelve thousand, but a fuckload, anyhow. They'd probably counted on getting more if they took us by surprise, because we didn't do too much in the way of rear area security. Not once we had militia units set up, except, well, local militia here seemed to be compromised, just a little.

Compromised?

It was full of fucking maggots.

And yeah, I knew how to deal with maggots.

"Message for you, ma'am," Wiley's voice came in over my headset, 'n she was in my command Cougar. "Better come."

"Right," I said. "On my way."

Five minutes later, I was back, smiling, and the Colonel didn't like that smile. He woulda stepped back, except my guys were behind him, and there wasn't anywhere to step back to for the Colonel. Well, looking at it holistically, after the update I'd just got, there was no way back for the Colonel, full stop.

"Your headquarters has no record of any such movement orders, Colonel," I said, 'n I smiled. "It seems the weapons and ammo in these trucks were removed without authorization, they've been reported missing, and here they are, without orders. In fact," and my smile grew, "It seems they were to be picked up in three days' time for allocation to a number of training battalions being formed, and the orders for that had already been cut. In fact, Colonel, you were to have commanded one of those Battalions."

I smiled. "Secure him."

My men knew me, 'n the Colonel was on his face on the road about a second later, and they weren't too careful about how they took him down. Hands being zip-locked behind his back, and he'd already been patted down, but they both went over him again.

Thoroughly.

"Can't see that he'd have brought anyone along on this one that wasn't in with him," I said to Kratman, who was up there with me now. Alpha Company, they were my best, and that was Kratman. Old dude was fast and hard. Might've been old, but he had it together. Every time. After Brad left me, it was Kratman I asked. Used to wonder why the Colonel didn't put him in charge.

He'd told me, one night, when he was going over an Op Plan with me. "Nah, turned him down and recommended you. Brad said the same thing to me, Jenny. Told him what I'm telling you. Best thing in any officer's life is commanding his own Company, and fuck it, this is my last chance to do it. Give me anything else and it'd be horrible for whoever my CO was, I mean, I never listen unless I want to. I do what I want to do, and everyone else can go to hell."

"You listen to me," I'd said. "And you do what I tell you."

"Yeah, Jenny, but you're a smart kid. You ask first, if you're not sure, 'n you listen, 'n you leave me and the others to do our fucking jobs the way we need to do them, and if I tell you you're fucking up, you stop and listen." He'd grinned. "I'm clever, if I was fucking you round, half the time you wouldn't even suspect what I was up to until you were well and truly screwed by it. Ma'am, that 'insubordination' word in the dictionary? It has a two by three color glossy of me next to it."

He'd laughed. "You have no idea just how difficult I could be. . ."

I hadn't smiled, because these days I didn't smile, but I'd listened, and I'd sorta observed, and fuck, he was right. Old bastard, he'd been coaching me along, and he was so good, I hadn't even realized it. 'Course, after that, he knew that I knew, and I knew that he knew that I knew, so I just outright asked, and he outright told me not be lazy, and use my fucking brain. But he coached me along, all the same, and we hadn't fucked up yet.

Wasn't getting cocky though. There was always a first time, 'n I knew what happened when you fucked up. You ended up six feet under. Like Brad, 'n that once, he hadn't worn his body armor. Just that once, 'n for a moment, I missed him so bad.

I looked at the guns, and that long column of trucks, nose to tail, and yeah, well, this wasn't a mistake, and the San Juan Militia headshed, they'd been pretty fucking clear, and they were deep in their own shit, I could hear the fighting in the background when I was on with them.

"Ortega? I should've guess, the fucking maggot," the Militia Major'd said, 'n he'd sounded pretty bitter about it. "Bastard was my CO. Thought the ratdogs had got him. So he was one of them, huh?"

"Looks like it," I'd said. "You want him back?"

"Put the fucking maggot down for me," the Militia Major had said. "We're not gonna make it outta here. The bastards are in the building now. But I'll die happier knowing that McCain's been taken down."

"I'll do that for you, 'n God Bless," I'd said, 'n the shooting had been louder in the background.

"Gotta go," he'd said. "Kill the maggot for me, Wong."

"Will do," I'd said, 'n then he was gone, the line dead. Hoped he wasn't.

So yeah, there wasn't any way back for Colonel Ortega. Or the men here with him.

"Figure we put 'em down," I said. "Can't spare the men to guard them, and we'd shoot them anyway, afterwards."

"I'd say you're right," Kratman said, and I knew what he wanted to do. It was his company who'd taken the column.

"Go ahead then," I said, and he smiled. "Everyone except the Colonel here. I'd like to save him for a while."

Kratman grinned, flicked across to his Company channel. "Terminate the motherfuckers," was all he said, and his men knew him. A sudden staccato chatter. Wasn't even thirty seconds later, it was that quick, and it was quiet again. That row of men and women face down on the road were limply lying in a spreading pool of red that was already bringing the flies, 'n I don't think more than a couple of them managed to scream.

"Secure the trucks, Kratman," I said. "'N get the rest of your men up to the stadium. Hate to see you miss the fun."

"You're one sick puppy, Wong," Kratman said.

"Yeah, you're right, and you know why. What's your excuse?" I said. Not quite snapping, but I was, okay, a little twitchy. Twelve thousand. Fuck! Guess it wasn't just the ratdogs going full jihadi, coz six hundred against twelve thousand. That was a fucking suicide mission if ever I'd heard one, and we were the suicide part of this one, and it wasn't me dieing I was worried about. Lot of the time, I'd rather have been dead.

"Yeah, sorry, Jenny," he said, 'n he slapped me on the shoulder. Hard enough that Montoya and Frazer looked daggers at him, but neither of them said a word. Kratman'd cut them down to size once, 'n that'd been all it took. Both of them were tough 'n mean, but Kratman was tougher 'n meaner, and he was an officer. That, 'n we were an Army, not a fucking rabble.

"Now put your bitch face on and get your shit together, ma'am. We got ratdogs to kill." 'N the fucker looked positively happy.

He was right though. Asshole was always right.

"Mouse Actual. Go Go Go," and we were moving. Planned it out while we sorted out those militia trucks. Caiman's 'n the FNG's were gonna seal the Stadium. Ready Reaction was gonna seal the open end of the U with the Nyala's and the Cougars, and Alpha through Delta were jog-trotting into position, putting down anyone they bumped into on the way, and me, I was with Alpha.

Me, the command team, 'n our dear friend, Colonel Ortega.

"Got someone here for you, ma'am." An Alpha troopie, 'n he had a tall, stockie older dude, not quite at gunpoint, which said he wasn't a ratdog, but close, which said they weren't quite sure.

"What's this?" I asked, coz I'd been pretty clear. "Shoot the fuckers," that's what I'd said, 'n this one wasn't shot.

"Reporter," Kratman said, 'n before he got to the last syllable, my 1911 was out and half way to his forehead, which was about when Kratman's hand clamped down on my wrist, 'n fuck, he was fast.

"Wait one, ma'am," he said, 'n he waited until my arm relaxed, and my eyes were on him.

"Yeah? What?" I said.

"I know this one. Stefan Schwarzkopf. I've read some of his articles, Captain Wong," Kratman said. "Fairly well balanced, and he's German. Neutral."

"We shoot them, too," I said. We did. Soon as we got our hands on them, usually, and I looked at the reporter now. He looked back, and yeah, he was a bit pale, but nothing new about that. Most them kind of paled when they met me, and they found out how it was gonna be.

"Don't think you should shoot this one," Kratman said. "Bring him along." He looked at me. "Make up your mind later."

I shrugged, 'n I looked at the turkey again. If Kratman was suggesting it... "You wanna come along, Stefan?" I asked, and now I smiled. Friendly smile too. "You might not like it. You might die."

"What happens if I say no?" I asked.

I grinned, and he took a step back. "Guess?" I said, 'n I laughed, because I knew what he was thinking, and anyone else, I'd probably have dropped them about then, after I'd had my little joke, but no, not this one. Ha ha.

"We'll zip you up and stuff you in the back of one of the trucks 'n you can wait there until we're ready to go."

"I'll come," he said, swallowing.

"Well, today's just full of surprises," I said, and I did wonder if I was doing the right thing here. Reporter. Foreign media. I spat, just missing his boots. "Well, you're reporter, and you're not one of ours, so if you want to record anything, ask first." Now I didn't smile. "Or I will shoot you."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and he sounded like he meant it.

"Let's catch up," I said to Montoya, coz Kratman, he'd already fucked off to join his Company, and they were moving in through the exits doors that had opened up under a bit of brute force persuasion. "Bring Ortega, and Stefan, you stay real close to me. Hate for anyone to shoot you now that you've survived first contact with us."

Yeah, well, the most of my team was ahead of me, and Montoya was in front. Frazer behind, and I could hear the steady tramp of the long file of my soldiers climbing the stairs ahead of me. That, and Colonel Ortega wheezing as we finally reached that top level.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his face pale and white, and he was panting and sweating after two of my guys had run him up the stairs behind us, flight after flight, all the way to the top level, but we were used to this. He wasn't. By the time we reached the top, the stairwell was filled with a long column of men, and I knew the other stairwells were filling as well, because the terse reports were coming in on my headset.

"What are you doing?" he asked again, and this time? This time I answered him.

"Hell's coming to breakfast this morning, Colonel Ortega," I said, and now I smiled. "And you're going to have a ringside seat."

"Charlie in place." That was the last of them, and I raised my hand.

"Move out."

The doors opened, and my men began to file out, not rushing. A steady flow, and standing to one side of the doorway, I could see the same thing happening, all around the top of the stadium. Men and women in the mottled camouflage uniforms of the National Liberation Army of the Second Republic, moving quickly across the top of the stadium, looking down on the mob below, and yes, there by the stage were a dozen trucks, loaded with boxes, and beside them, men in uniforms.

Not our uniforms.

Ratdog uniforms, and wasn't that interesting. Must be a Ratdog special forces unit, this far behind our lines. Dropped in, or stay behind. Well, I'd know soon enough.

"We going to try and arrest them, ma'am?" Riley called in, and that'd sorta maybe mighta been the plan if we'd wanted prisoners, but no, there were a shitload more of them than I'd been told. More than twelve thousand, 'n I knew how big this stadium was. How many people it could hold, 'n it was pretty full, and the field was packed. More like twenty thousand to me, and fuck, I hoped we were carrying enough ammo for this, coz it was gonna suck if it got to bayonets.

"They've got weapons down there," I said. "See the trucks by the stage. Ratdog special forces. No, we're not taking any risks here, not for ratdogs, and anyone down there knows what they're here for. On my command, we're gonna light them up, Riley, and we're not stopping until they're all down."

I toggled to the Task Force Frequency. "Task Force, Mouse Actual. On my command, we will open fire. We will not be taking prisoners. I repeat, no prisoners. External units, you will fire without warning on anyone leaving the stadium. No exceptions. No prisoners. Take your positions, select targets, aimed fire. Anyone goes full jihadi on me, I'll have their ass. Mouse Actual Out."

I looked again, through my binoculars. Yeah, couple of those ratdog soldiers were beginning to open containers, and they were rifles. They were starting to hand them out. No ammo yet, though.

"Task Force. Mouse Actual. Snipers, take care of the trucks and the ratdog soldiers. On my count, Task Force will open fire. Ready? Three... Two... One... Fire..."

Five hundred rifles crashed out as one, and I'd never heard that before. A single crashing volley, deafening, echoing around the stadium, and then the individual shots began without a pause, a steady crackle, and a couple of dozen machineguns opened up with them. On that field, in the bottom tiers of the stands, ratdogs began to die. Men and women screamed, bodies fell, the crowd swirled and eddied, filling the holes, and the rifles crackled on, a continuous wall of sound filling the stadium.

"Charge them, attack them." Someone on the stand down there must've found a microphone. Or maybe they'd been about to speak. "There's only a few hundred of them up there. There's twenty thousand of us, get the fascist scum. Charge them."

Dunno where that fuckwit went to school, sounded like one of those dudes that used to mob the police back when I was a rugrat. I'd sorta read about that stuff, 'n how they handicapped the police. Well, mighta worked against the old police, but this was the Second Republic, and we didn't have police, did we?

They charged. Groups of them charged, the way they might've charged the police back then, and it worked about as well as you might expect. Running uphill, 'n most of them didn't have guns, 'n thank god we'd hit that convoy of trucks, because if they'd had those M16's and the ammo, we've been fucked. As it was, well, you ever read about the some of those one-sided old colonial battles? Spears against rifles.

These maggots didn't even have rifles, and wherever a group charged, the machineguns cut them down, and the rifles crackled away continuously.

"Mouse Actual. Snipers and experts, fall out and take station. Concentrate on leaders. Task Force will advance, firing at will. Move forward. Fire at will."

Men in each platoon fell out, took positions, continued firing. Single shots, reloading, continuing to fire. The remainder of the task force, four fifty effectives, began to move forward, down the tiers, their fire chewing into the mass of maggots below us. Moving closer, and closer still.

Twenty thousand of them?

Fuck, there were, and Security had really screwed the dog on this one. Well, fuck, it was only forty to one, and by the time I'd thought that, it was maybe down to thirty five to one, because firing downhill, it was just about impossible to miss someone. I could see the bullets striking home, the staggering impacts, the sudden spreading red, the bodies crumpling under that onslaught of lead.

Closer to the exits, men and women, because there were women down there as well, they stampeded for those exists, frantically trying to escape the bullets that chopped them down, trampling over the fallen, tearing each other out of the way, screaming in terror as they tried to escape. But here, escape was an illusion, and those who made it into the exit tunnels recoiled as the machineguns and the cannon outside opened up.

"Mouse Actual. Use grenades," I said, and we didn't have that many grenade launchers, but we had a lot of the old hand grenades, and a hundred of them arched through the air, falling into the milling crowd below, the explosions muffled by the bodies surrounding them. Death advanced inexorably, tier by tier, and the screams rose higher now. Screams, not of rage and hate, but of terror and fear and agony.

"Well, Colonel Ortega, Feliz Navidad," I said, watching my men advancing down the sides of the stadium. "My thanks for pulling all these ratdogs together in one place for me. Couldn't have done it better, and I do believe that by the time we're finished here, almost all local dissident elements will be eliminated, and the local militia should have no further problems in maintaining law and order."

"You murdering fascist bitch," he spat.

I smiled, but that smile didn't touch my eyes, and it didn't touch the ice inside.

"It's what you ratdogs wanted for us," I said, and now I smiled. "Where's your family, Colonel?"

"Safe from you, you ... you..." Words failed him. "We should've taken all your guns earlier, you bunch of murderous Nazis psychopaths."

"Safe from us? Maybe for now, but they won't be safe from your side, Colonel," I said, and now I really was smiling. "Because I promise you, the first news release that goes out..." and I looked around for that German. What was his name? Stefan? "Stefan, do you have your camera?"