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GWOT V - The Border Is A Whore
Dec. 13th, 2019 04:52 pmGWOT V - The Border Is A Whore
Campos sector. All mine.
The thought did not fill me with joy.
From the attempted security control point on California 08, ("Oh Eight"), formerly an interstate highway until we stopped being a state, all the way to the outskirts of El Centro, it was the task of my ragged band of California Republic troops to maintain our national sovereignty.
The 'Muricans hadn't been able to do it with four times the personnel, eighty times the budget and an awful lot of firepower.
What I could do, and in fact insisted on, was interdict the major smuggling routes and force them to operate in small numbers at night.
Meanwhile, I had no choice but to allow my troopers leave. Seventy-two hour passes to the three nominally safe destinations. The nearby but prickly Campos Nation, the also nearby but free-for-all El Centro, or the far away and slightly more civilized El Cajon, the one relatively safe part of San Diego where soldiers could visit bars and whores and reasonably expect to get back alive.
There was no such thing as going to Mexico. California Republic officers and employees were not only explicitly not welcome, but risked disappearing and never being found. Particularly brave and stupid Californians could go party in TJ, at some risk and with no prospect of help from the C.R., but our State life insurance refused to pay out in such a case.
"A soldier who won't f___ won't fight."
Unlike my picked crew of anti-genocide prison guards at Alviso, I now commanded a much more mixed bag. Some of them were in fact former _inmates_ of Alviso, serving their mandatory eight years of military service in the hopes of being able to regain California residency. Others weren't qualified for combat arms, or had been volunteered to transfer to my command by officers who saw a way to get rid of a problem at my expense.
I also was unable to tolerate fraternization, again unlike at Alviso. This wasn't a static facility, this was a roving operation covering literally thousands of square miles. Any one of us might have to come to the rescue of any other, and the last thing we needed was domestic conflict in the middle of a multi party gunfight.
One of my gunners had actually mounted the turret of an M-60 main battle tank - two generations obsolete - straddled same, and with the barrel between his legs roared, "I need a woman!"
I had seen the same movie. It still wasn't funny, and I'd supervised as his tank commander made him break out the platoon swab and clean all four tank barrels for the rest of the day in the broiling sun. Over and over again.
So, in the name of recon, I made some discreet inquiries.
Campos Nation ran a cathouse. They were notably picky, requiring a medical survey followed by a short-arm inspection by a non sex worker. They took regular business at high rates, being the only safe place to pay to get laid in a hundred mile stretch of roadway.
El Cajon had the flavor of a pre-War military town. Bars, motels, street workers, a notable shortage of condoms, and lots of chances to pick up anything from the drip to one's death. Also a two hour drive each way.
El Centro was not interested in sex traffic at all. The UN delegation, whom I will name here to not protect the guilty, i.e. Thailand, had traded food for sex and paid no attention to details such as age of consent or consent generally for that matter. City ordinance forbade off duty troops from any organization to remain within city limits after sunset, on pain of arrest and release (to organization leadership) in the morning. Ride to jail and overnight stay and meals at market rates; bruises for free.
Vegas would not issue a three day entry permit. Thirty days for three hundred dollars, or no visa at all. Not interested in California weekenders.
I even kicked around the idea of hiring professionals to come visit us at Camp McNasty. The battalion legal officer reminded me that California state laws remained in full force and effect; I reminded him of the important distinction between escorts and prostitutes; and the point became moot when I learned from our intelligence officer that any sex worker who visited us at Camp McNasty could expect to lose her life and also her family, courtesy of the Cartels.
So I had the doctor give a mandatory course on VD education and condom use, as a prerequisite for a ninety-six hour pass. I then permitted teams of four or more to apply for passes, traveling together to their choice of Campos Nation or El Cajon.
Two days later, I found myself meeting with a bemused sergeant with El Cajon PD bailing out troopers accused of mopery, dopery, soliciting, DUI, strong arm robbery (of liquor) and last but not least, public urination. The point was made that it was not indecent exposure because the guilty trooper (female) had nothing worth showing.
This forced me to accompany the next pass group, who had chosen Campos Nation.
One day later, I was chivying them back aboard the bus and driving them - personally - to El Cajon.
###
I told myself that I needed to evaluate the quality and the safety of the services at the cathouse.
I also hadn't been laid since that one time at Alviso. And that one time at Carson Base. And ... never mind.
The sex worker was clinical about the whole process.
Twenty minutes later, I stopped thrusting. She was sufficiently a professional that she did not lie there in bliss, but got up and offered to finish what I paid to start, another way, at no additional charge.
I declined, showered and dressed.
It simply wasn't working for me. No flashbacks, no particular disgust. Just meh.
This meant I was dressed and able to respond to the bar brawl.
Understand, if you can.
Campos. Nation. Not California. Not Mexico.
We were strangers, on sufferance so long as our behavior was civil and our money flowed.
So the bar fight, started by locals and continued by locals, was our fault.
I was proud of my troopers. They had responded with notable restraint, right up until someone had tried to put the boot in after one of them was down.
Twenty seconds later the bar was full of groaning combatants who had thought they were in a social brawl and found themselves in close quarters battle instead. Fortunately for the California Republic and for my troops, none were dead.
I was in time to march them to the bus before the Campos police arrived.
I remained to give a statement.
The duty sergeant declined to take it, thanked me for our visit, and encouraged us to come back 'in a few weeks.'
I could take a hint.
###
El Cajon's library was still closed. So I had a boring visit in between visits to bars, off-premise bars, liquor stores, a salsa dance club and of course, the town jail.
I made my apologies for the prior visit. The desk sergeant absentmindedly heard me out, then excused herself to process several California Republic sailors. I realized that my presence as an officer was merely getting in the way, and extracted myself without officially noticing any names.
I was solicited by a street hooker.
I paid her hour's rate and took her to a restaurant, bought her dinner. And talked.
Best money I'd ever spent.
###
"Attention to orders. Future passes for enlisted personnel will only be to El Cajon. Commissioned officers and senior NCOs may request a visit to Campos Nation with prior approval from me.
"The following bars, lounges and hotels in El Cajon are on limits: Pinnacle, Misty Mark, Cardinal, Motel 6, the Holiday Inn on El Cajon Boulevard ONLY, Doubletree, Hilton House.
"All other bars, lounges and hotels are off limits. Note particularly two California sailors were murdered in the El Corazon. In general, if the name of the establishment is in Spanish, you are to consider it hard off limits, on peril of Article 15 if not your life.
"Sex workers will be hired exclusively through the El Cajon Hookers Co-Op. I am not kidding. Violators will be handled NOT as an Article 15 but as a Uniform Code of Military Justice violation and summary court-martial. That means I wipe my ass with one of your stripes.
"If you are injured in El Cajon, call the camp. If you are arrested in El Cajon, call the camp. If you are invited home by a local, call the camp and advise of the address.
"The doctor will present a new training on alcohol and drug safety. Do not leave your drinks unattended in El Cajon, you will be rolled and raped. Even in the on limits drinking establishments. Do not buy any alcohol that is not manufacturer sealed, with the seal broken in front of you.
"Don't drink and drive."
Campos sector. All mine.
The thought did not fill me with joy.
From the attempted security control point on California 08, ("Oh Eight"), formerly an interstate highway until we stopped being a state, all the way to the outskirts of El Centro, it was the task of my ragged band of California Republic troops to maintain our national sovereignty.
The 'Muricans hadn't been able to do it with four times the personnel, eighty times the budget and an awful lot of firepower.
What I could do, and in fact insisted on, was interdict the major smuggling routes and force them to operate in small numbers at night.
Meanwhile, I had no choice but to allow my troopers leave. Seventy-two hour passes to the three nominally safe destinations. The nearby but prickly Campos Nation, the also nearby but free-for-all El Centro, or the far away and slightly more civilized El Cajon, the one relatively safe part of San Diego where soldiers could visit bars and whores and reasonably expect to get back alive.
There was no such thing as going to Mexico. California Republic officers and employees were not only explicitly not welcome, but risked disappearing and never being found. Particularly brave and stupid Californians could go party in TJ, at some risk and with no prospect of help from the C.R., but our State life insurance refused to pay out in such a case.
"A soldier who won't f___ won't fight."
Unlike my picked crew of anti-genocide prison guards at Alviso, I now commanded a much more mixed bag. Some of them were in fact former _inmates_ of Alviso, serving their mandatory eight years of military service in the hopes of being able to regain California residency. Others weren't qualified for combat arms, or had been volunteered to transfer to my command by officers who saw a way to get rid of a problem at my expense.
I also was unable to tolerate fraternization, again unlike at Alviso. This wasn't a static facility, this was a roving operation covering literally thousands of square miles. Any one of us might have to come to the rescue of any other, and the last thing we needed was domestic conflict in the middle of a multi party gunfight.
One of my gunners had actually mounted the turret of an M-60 main battle tank - two generations obsolete - straddled same, and with the barrel between his legs roared, "I need a woman!"
I had seen the same movie. It still wasn't funny, and I'd supervised as his tank commander made him break out the platoon swab and clean all four tank barrels for the rest of the day in the broiling sun. Over and over again.
So, in the name of recon, I made some discreet inquiries.
Campos Nation ran a cathouse. They were notably picky, requiring a medical survey followed by a short-arm inspection by a non sex worker. They took regular business at high rates, being the only safe place to pay to get laid in a hundred mile stretch of roadway.
El Cajon had the flavor of a pre-War military town. Bars, motels, street workers, a notable shortage of condoms, and lots of chances to pick up anything from the drip to one's death. Also a two hour drive each way.
El Centro was not interested in sex traffic at all. The UN delegation, whom I will name here to not protect the guilty, i.e. Thailand, had traded food for sex and paid no attention to details such as age of consent or consent generally for that matter. City ordinance forbade off duty troops from any organization to remain within city limits after sunset, on pain of arrest and release (to organization leadership) in the morning. Ride to jail and overnight stay and meals at market rates; bruises for free.
Vegas would not issue a three day entry permit. Thirty days for three hundred dollars, or no visa at all. Not interested in California weekenders.
I even kicked around the idea of hiring professionals to come visit us at Camp McNasty. The battalion legal officer reminded me that California state laws remained in full force and effect; I reminded him of the important distinction between escorts and prostitutes; and the point became moot when I learned from our intelligence officer that any sex worker who visited us at Camp McNasty could expect to lose her life and also her family, courtesy of the Cartels.
So I had the doctor give a mandatory course on VD education and condom use, as a prerequisite for a ninety-six hour pass. I then permitted teams of four or more to apply for passes, traveling together to their choice of Campos Nation or El Cajon.
Two days later, I found myself meeting with a bemused sergeant with El Cajon PD bailing out troopers accused of mopery, dopery, soliciting, DUI, strong arm robbery (of liquor) and last but not least, public urination. The point was made that it was not indecent exposure because the guilty trooper (female) had nothing worth showing.
This forced me to accompany the next pass group, who had chosen Campos Nation.
One day later, I was chivying them back aboard the bus and driving them - personally - to El Cajon.
###
I told myself that I needed to evaluate the quality and the safety of the services at the cathouse.
I also hadn't been laid since that one time at Alviso. And that one time at Carson Base. And ... never mind.
The sex worker was clinical about the whole process.
Twenty minutes later, I stopped thrusting. She was sufficiently a professional that she did not lie there in bliss, but got up and offered to finish what I paid to start, another way, at no additional charge.
I declined, showered and dressed.
It simply wasn't working for me. No flashbacks, no particular disgust. Just meh.
This meant I was dressed and able to respond to the bar brawl.
Understand, if you can.
Campos. Nation. Not California. Not Mexico.
We were strangers, on sufferance so long as our behavior was civil and our money flowed.
So the bar fight, started by locals and continued by locals, was our fault.
I was proud of my troopers. They had responded with notable restraint, right up until someone had tried to put the boot in after one of them was down.
Twenty seconds later the bar was full of groaning combatants who had thought they were in a social brawl and found themselves in close quarters battle instead. Fortunately for the California Republic and for my troops, none were dead.
I was in time to march them to the bus before the Campos police arrived.
I remained to give a statement.
The duty sergeant declined to take it, thanked me for our visit, and encouraged us to come back 'in a few weeks.'
I could take a hint.
###
El Cajon's library was still closed. So I had a boring visit in between visits to bars, off-premise bars, liquor stores, a salsa dance club and of course, the town jail.
I made my apologies for the prior visit. The desk sergeant absentmindedly heard me out, then excused herself to process several California Republic sailors. I realized that my presence as an officer was merely getting in the way, and extracted myself without officially noticing any names.
I was solicited by a street hooker.
I paid her hour's rate and took her to a restaurant, bought her dinner. And talked.
Best money I'd ever spent.
###
"Attention to orders. Future passes for enlisted personnel will only be to El Cajon. Commissioned officers and senior NCOs may request a visit to Campos Nation with prior approval from me.
"The following bars, lounges and hotels in El Cajon are on limits: Pinnacle, Misty Mark, Cardinal, Motel 6, the Holiday Inn on El Cajon Boulevard ONLY, Doubletree, Hilton House.
"All other bars, lounges and hotels are off limits. Note particularly two California sailors were murdered in the El Corazon. In general, if the name of the establishment is in Spanish, you are to consider it hard off limits, on peril of Article 15 if not your life.
"Sex workers will be hired exclusively through the El Cajon Hookers Co-Op. I am not kidding. Violators will be handled NOT as an Article 15 but as a Uniform Code of Military Justice violation and summary court-martial. That means I wipe my ass with one of your stripes.
"If you are injured in El Cajon, call the camp. If you are arrested in El Cajon, call the camp. If you are invited home by a local, call the camp and advise of the address.
"The doctor will present a new training on alcohol and drug safety. Do not leave your drinks unattended in El Cajon, you will be rolled and raped. Even in the on limits drinking establishments. Do not buy any alcohol that is not manufacturer sealed, with the seal broken in front of you.
"Don't drink and drive."
