GWOT VI - Midwest Music
Aug. 8th, 2019 08:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drewkitty[Captain '18' has returned from holding the Border. His reward for hard work is more work. There are debts to pay, and those of honor must be paid with cash on the barrel, in the only currency worth anything in the affairs of nations.]
I'm putting on a dress uniform for the first time ever.
I mean, EVER. I was never a cop. Security guards don't have dress uniforms. The kind of soldiering I've been doing started in nightmare and has continued at full throttle pace since. Even at Alviso Prison, where wearing dress uniform would have lent a certain gravitas to lawfully killing hundreds of genuine war criminals, I did my work in BDUs because the better uniforms were needed at the front.
So I need an orderly's help for reasons other than my still misbehaving left hand.
It will never heal. The missing nails are the tell, but the repeatedly rebroken fingers hurt every day and wake me up every morning. No, the surgeon won't let me amputate.
After flirting with other animals, California has finally settled on the Golden Bear.
I don my captain's bars, little realizing that I would be doing so for the last time.
There is just enough time for my orderly to hand me off to my escort, and for us to walk from the temporary officer's quarters to the auditorium.
###
It's a stage, with a podium. There are about eighty officers here. Two California Republic generals are running the event.
"Attention to orders!"
We stand to attention.
"The 2nd California Guard Division announces the following personnel actions. When your name is called, come to the stage."
Several names are called. Lieutenants are becoming Captains.
"[Echo 18]"
I walk up to the stage, salute the presenter.
"... promoted out of zone to Major, effective date of rank set back to first day of enlistment, by direct order of the Provisional Governor..."
Not only am I promoted, which I had never expected, but I am promoted above many current majors. That's out of zone twice, in two different ways.
I accept my stars, return to my seat and start putting them on.
"Awards," booms the general on stage.
The California Republic has necessarily built her awards system on that of the Untied Snakes, our all too recent foe. But the award system is high protein, low fat. Very few administrative awards. There is a Purple Heart, a Bronze Star, a Silver Star ... and these are awarded in turn.
"For gallant conduct above and beyond that expected of a commissioned officer of the California Republic, at great personal risk..."
"For the saving of life in close combat..."
"For resisting assault by superior forces for over eight days, allowing relief forces to ..."
"For ..."
"[Echo 18]"
I find myself standing up on stage.
"For commissioning and honorably operating Alviso Prison, for the scrupulously fair adjudication of suspected war criminals, for the capture of notorious American war criminal General Batesman in foreign territory, and for the rescue of over five hundred persons from human trafficking on the California-Mexico Border, the Bear Cross. With two fish.
"The Bear Cross is awarded as equivalent to the American Distinguished Service Cross with the exception that it may only be awarded for extraordinary military or civil service directly engaged with the protection of innocent human life."
I salute. I wait while it is pinned on. I accept the certificate and tuck it under my arm. I return to my seat.
"To all who hear this message, greetings. By authority of the Provisional Governor of the State of California, the following persons are posthumously awarded the Golden Wreath. There is no higher award. 'Greater love hath no one but that they give their life for a friend.'
"The heroic actions of these persons are so many that we cannot recite them all here. Without them, NONE of us would be here today, the California Republic would not exist, and many thousands if not millions of Californians would be dead or dying at the hands of felonious foes, enemies general of human kind.
"Ahmed, Samir; Albert, Doug; Anderson, Alan; Amador, Doris; ..."
The list goes on. And on. And on.
"... Brooke, Deborah ..."
I try my best to remember her, typing at our shared desk. Running forward with her rifle, even before I knew her name. In the Oregon desert. Training. Convoys. Operations.
She single handedly broke a Homeland armored column at the knowing cost of her life. If she had not, I wouldn't be here. Janine wouldn't have survived. And the San Jose Resistance's first essential revolt would have dissolved in chaos.
The list goes on. These lives do not submit to mathematics. Each one is a Brooke to someone, often to several someones.
"They gave all that they had that others might live. There is no greater gift. May their sacrifice not be in vain. By my order, Governor Pat McGregor, this day of ..."
"SALUTE!"
Three volleys of rifle fire sound INSIDE the auditorium.
Even expecting it, and with blanks that are barely larger than a squib, I am still slightly shocked.
All of us have much experience of indoor gunfire.
So did they.
That's why we are here now.
With what they paid, how can we let them down now?
###
I am numb, half drinking a drink I do not even taste, at the reception. The congratulations are pro forma. I am not liked in the California Republic's officer corps. And like the Millwall Fight Club, I don't care.
"Major," a general says, as if casually.
"Sir," I say, but do not salute.
"We have a tasking from UNNAPD. California has been asked to contribute a reinforced military police battalion to the situation in Iowa. Interested?"
"I go where the Republic sends me," I replied mildly.
This is true. One of the two 'fish' on my Bear Cross is for invading Nevada.
UNNAPD is the United Nations North American Peacekeeping Detachment. It is either our last best hope of peace, or a horrible sick joke. Maybe both at once.
"'I say to one 'Go' and he goeth," the general quoted from the Bible. The parable of the Centurion.
I salute again and after a short time leave the reception.
My orders are already waiting for me at my quarters.
Going to Iowa. Paramilitary fundamentalists are rounding up non Christians.
It is the first stages of genocide.
Again.
But this time, the world is watching.
California has an opinion.
Sending me is like spitting in America's face.
I've been and done worse.
I start with an Internet search and online maps of the troubled state.
Not. Again.
I feel certain that Brooke would approve.
Her wife was from Iowa.
I'm putting on a dress uniform for the first time ever.
I mean, EVER. I was never a cop. Security guards don't have dress uniforms. The kind of soldiering I've been doing started in nightmare and has continued at full throttle pace since. Even at Alviso Prison, where wearing dress uniform would have lent a certain gravitas to lawfully killing hundreds of genuine war criminals, I did my work in BDUs because the better uniforms were needed at the front.
So I need an orderly's help for reasons other than my still misbehaving left hand.
It will never heal. The missing nails are the tell, but the repeatedly rebroken fingers hurt every day and wake me up every morning. No, the surgeon won't let me amputate.
After flirting with other animals, California has finally settled on the Golden Bear.
I don my captain's bars, little realizing that I would be doing so for the last time.
There is just enough time for my orderly to hand me off to my escort, and for us to walk from the temporary officer's quarters to the auditorium.
###
It's a stage, with a podium. There are about eighty officers here. Two California Republic generals are running the event.
"Attention to orders!"
We stand to attention.
"The 2nd California Guard Division announces the following personnel actions. When your name is called, come to the stage."
Several names are called. Lieutenants are becoming Captains.
"[Echo 18]"
I walk up to the stage, salute the presenter.
"... promoted out of zone to Major, effective date of rank set back to first day of enlistment, by direct order of the Provisional Governor..."
Not only am I promoted, which I had never expected, but I am promoted above many current majors. That's out of zone twice, in two different ways.
I accept my stars, return to my seat and start putting them on.
"Awards," booms the general on stage.
The California Republic has necessarily built her awards system on that of the Untied Snakes, our all too recent foe. But the award system is high protein, low fat. Very few administrative awards. There is a Purple Heart, a Bronze Star, a Silver Star ... and these are awarded in turn.
"For gallant conduct above and beyond that expected of a commissioned officer of the California Republic, at great personal risk..."
"For the saving of life in close combat..."
"For resisting assault by superior forces for over eight days, allowing relief forces to ..."
"For ..."
"[Echo 18]"
I find myself standing up on stage.
"For commissioning and honorably operating Alviso Prison, for the scrupulously fair adjudication of suspected war criminals, for the capture of notorious American war criminal General Batesman in foreign territory, and for the rescue of over five hundred persons from human trafficking on the California-Mexico Border, the Bear Cross. With two fish.
"The Bear Cross is awarded as equivalent to the American Distinguished Service Cross with the exception that it may only be awarded for extraordinary military or civil service directly engaged with the protection of innocent human life."
I salute. I wait while it is pinned on. I accept the certificate and tuck it under my arm. I return to my seat.
"To all who hear this message, greetings. By authority of the Provisional Governor of the State of California, the following persons are posthumously awarded the Golden Wreath. There is no higher award. 'Greater love hath no one but that they give their life for a friend.'
"The heroic actions of these persons are so many that we cannot recite them all here. Without them, NONE of us would be here today, the California Republic would not exist, and many thousands if not millions of Californians would be dead or dying at the hands of felonious foes, enemies general of human kind.
"Ahmed, Samir; Albert, Doug; Anderson, Alan; Amador, Doris; ..."
The list goes on. And on. And on.
"... Brooke, Deborah ..."
I try my best to remember her, typing at our shared desk. Running forward with her rifle, even before I knew her name. In the Oregon desert. Training. Convoys. Operations.
She single handedly broke a Homeland armored column at the knowing cost of her life. If she had not, I wouldn't be here. Janine wouldn't have survived. And the San Jose Resistance's first essential revolt would have dissolved in chaos.
The list goes on. These lives do not submit to mathematics. Each one is a Brooke to someone, often to several someones.
"They gave all that they had that others might live. There is no greater gift. May their sacrifice not be in vain. By my order, Governor Pat McGregor, this day of ..."
"SALUTE!"
Three volleys of rifle fire sound INSIDE the auditorium.
Even expecting it, and with blanks that are barely larger than a squib, I am still slightly shocked.
All of us have much experience of indoor gunfire.
So did they.
That's why we are here now.
With what they paid, how can we let them down now?
###
I am numb, half drinking a drink I do not even taste, at the reception. The congratulations are pro forma. I am not liked in the California Republic's officer corps. And like the Millwall Fight Club, I don't care.
"Major," a general says, as if casually.
"Sir," I say, but do not salute.
"We have a tasking from UNNAPD. California has been asked to contribute a reinforced military police battalion to the situation in Iowa. Interested?"
"I go where the Republic sends me," I replied mildly.
This is true. One of the two 'fish' on my Bear Cross is for invading Nevada.
UNNAPD is the United Nations North American Peacekeeping Detachment. It is either our last best hope of peace, or a horrible sick joke. Maybe both at once.
"'I say to one 'Go' and he goeth," the general quoted from the Bible. The parable of the Centurion.
I salute again and after a short time leave the reception.
My orders are already waiting for me at my quarters.
Going to Iowa. Paramilitary fundamentalists are rounding up non Christians.
It is the first stages of genocide.
Again.
But this time, the world is watching.
California has an opinion.
Sending me is like spitting in America's face.
I've been and done worse.
I start with an Internet search and online maps of the troubled state.
Not. Again.
I feel certain that Brooke would approve.
Her wife was from Iowa.
