GWOT IV - Grief
Nov. 28th, 2019 05:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drewkittyGWOT IV - Grief
"For the grief we have harvested
from the evil you have sown
jackals will forever call you coward
and vultures refuse your bones"
-- family curse, per Andrew Vachss
One of the most important parts of the Alviso trials was simply to bring closure.
So many people were missing after the Firecracker, the nuclear destruction of San Francisco in the opening moments of the War.
Then came Homeland, and refugees, and detainees, and suffering many times what was caused by the atomics. Detention camps, extermination camps. Above it all, the sweeping mass murder mis-called Homeward Bound.
The American Red Cross, true to her salt, had maintained a detailed Web site attempting to document casualties and reunite survivors. About two months into the Firecracker, the site went down and never came back up. The people maintaining it were interned. Homeland demanded a copy, to integrate with their own databases. Homeland demanded cooperation from the Red Cross staff. Their principles were clear, neutrality forbade.
I'm going to say this out loud and in the clear.
Homeland tortured _American Red Cross_ staff.
When the Resistance campaign became the momentary Revolution, a lot of Homeland records were captured, both paper and electronic.
Homeland had a strong, strong interest in documenting for sure who was alive (and therefore a threat to them) and who was safely dead.
Sorting through those records is a task for a major research university, a task that would take decades.
We didn't have decades. We had weeks.
But we weren't looking for Chinese sympathizers or anti-American partisans. We were just counting noses. Alive and dead.
Just across town, at San Jose State (convenient to the ruins of the Homeland building, close enough to Alviso and to the airport), the records were being preserved. We had a dedicated datalink to Alviso Prison, and we all spent a lot of time making the databases spit out the answers we were seeking.
The data flow was two way. The Alviso Trials were generating a _lot_ of information. Just the list of persons in custody was useful, in cross referencing.
The court recorders were unsung heroes. They slapped their keyboards and used their software to keep up with our courtrooms, testimonies, statements. Despite their personal griefs, they wallowed through the same bloody swamp we did, with the task of just writing it all down.
The court transcripts were searchable. That in itself helped stitch together what had happened.
I must also acknowledge the support of several national governments. South Africa, Rwanda, Chile and Poland sent field investigative teams. Their teams, immune to harassment by any side and backed by the full authority of their governments, ignored the war swirling around them to document crimes. Most of the work in San Jose was done by the Polish teams.
The California Republic opted not to avail itself of the services of the International Red Cross and Red Crescent societies.
They came anyway. We grudgingly recognized them as protected persons under Geneva and left them alone to do their work.
Instead, the California Republic opted to form our own national aid society, protect our own combatant medical personnel with the Red Cross and our noncombatant medical personnel with the Red Diamond.
Every hospital in California suddenly sprouted aI Red Diamond on the roof.
In one of those little historical ironies, the California Republic's medical relief society chose to name itself the Red Lion. This took advantage of a loophole in one of the Geneva treaties and allowed them to use a red symbol of a lion as their protected battlefield symbol.
They needed one. Red Lion took the seven Fundamental Principles of the ICRC and ran with them. A lot of Californians who didn't feel comfortable with opposing America, but did want to Do Something, joined Red Lion.
Red Lion very much did its own thing. They would tell Homeland, ICRC, the Untied Snakes and the Californicators to fuck off in the same breath, and then go do the thing - whatever it was - with utter disregard for trivia such as their own safety.
They literally showed up at the gates of Homeland killing sites, demanding access. Once in a while they got it, too. They, not the California Republic, discovered the massacre site at Childrens Hospital Oakland. They ran rampant at the huge orphanage in Sacramento at CalExpo, and when American troops started to fortify the facility to defend against advancing California forces, frostily informed them that they were not welcome, they could not make this a military site, and that if they so much as touched one bowl of soup, they would enjoy their moment of fame on YouTube.
Red Lion had exactly the same message for the arriving California Republic forces. Go away, you are not welcome here, no soup for you, YouTube.
Red Lion by charter was to operate only within California Republic territory, as our national aid society. They disregarded that too from time to time.
I only issued one order with respect to Red Lion during my entire time presiding at Alviso.
I made the impersonation of a Red Lion member by a California Republic operative a death penalty offense, as an open and shut violation of the laws of war. They _had_ to be free to do their thing, their way.
The emasculated remnants of American Red Cross, as is its duty, opened contact with Alviso Prison and the other POW sites in order to support American prisoners of war in California Republic custody.
The Red Cross therefore, by international convention, had full access to POWs. They were, on my order, denied access to unlawful combatants and genocidaires. They could inspect, but were not permitted communication.
Their three representatives had to wear armbands with the Red Cross inside the facility and be continuously escorted, except when speaking confidentially with prisoners. I'd briefly explained what would happen to them if they were caught assisting in espionage, and shown them the crane and noose as a visual aid. I think they believed me.
They made no effort to try to help those who asked about the fate of their loved ones, in California or in the Midwest.
California Republic operatives probably did impersonate the 'Murican Red Cross, if not here then certainly elsewhere. I didn't ask and they didn't tell me.
Another group stepped up to fill the void, trying to answer all the people asking the same question, in an infinity of forms.
"Where is my loved one?"
The Church of Latter Day Saints, the Mormons. They had their people helping all over the place at San Jose State, gathering records patiently, running queries and telling individuals the results.
We had one, just one, at Alviso Prison at a desk in the public waiting area. I wouldn't allow them any further in as they politely declined the opportunity to minister to genocidaires.
The Finders, as they called themselves, were zealous in their efforts to answer that question.
The answer all too often was the painful "We were unable ..." Arguably still better than the hopeless, "Confirmed to have died at [place] at about [date]."
What none of us had was grief counseling.
We all had so many dead.
I knew of one clinical psychologist, but until she walked in the front lobby one day, I'd thought she'd been killed.
Doctor Betty Rize, is how I'd known her.
She now wore California Republic fatigues and the rank tabs of a Lieutenant. She'd asked the front desk for a moment to speak to me.
I came out front. She saw me, I saw her.
Betty was _built_. A sedentary office worker had reached that peak of physical fitness typically found among firefighters and close-combat troops. She had new scars, and a bad one that snuck along the crease of her hairline, where the hair roots turned white.
She saluted. Crisply.
By design, the California Republic uniform doesn't have branch or unit designators. All the world needs to know is "CA Republic" and your last name, "RIZE."
I would have laid long odds against seeing her again, and longer odds that she would ever salute anything except as a mockery.
I returned it.
"Captain [18], I have sensitive information to report to you."
It never occurred to me to contact North Ops to verify her identity. She wore the uniform that well, as a second skin.
"Follow me, Lieutenant."
She closed the office door, then sat crisply on the edge of her guest chair as I seated myself behind my desk.
"Go."
She did not hesitate.
"Brooke is dead."
I nodded.
"I saw the report. Same report indicated that Sarah and yourself had also been killed."
"Sarah is also dead. That's where I got this," she pointed at her scalp. "I reported in three weeks later, and was assigned to Collections immediately."
Collections. Republic Intelligence.
"And now?"
Collections is a ghost. What Homeland wanted to be, if it had ever grown up and stopped hurting people for fun.
"I've turned over all my sources. I report to Bear Force next week. This is my leave time."
"So you reported here?"
"Wanted to see you. Wanted ... some closure."
"Mo is here. Janine is at Division. Sharon is running the site. Patty and Arturo are dead."
"And you're here."
"I'm here," I said wearily. A pause. "Check in with transient quarters. I'll put you up for the night. Dinner?"
"Yes please."
"Dismissed, Lieutenant."
She stood, saluted again, went to the door.
"Do I have any duties, sir?"
"Wander around. Ask questions. You're on leave time, after all."
She saluted again and left.
I vaguely wondered if she was looking for something else, other than courtesy to an old comrade.
But I wasn't interested in leaving any hostages to fortune lying around.
Bear Force.
She wouldn't be around for long, in any sense.
"For the grief we have harvested
from the evil you have sown
jackals will forever call you coward
and vultures refuse your bones"
-- family curse, per Andrew Vachss
One of the most important parts of the Alviso trials was simply to bring closure.
So many people were missing after the Firecracker, the nuclear destruction of San Francisco in the opening moments of the War.
Then came Homeland, and refugees, and detainees, and suffering many times what was caused by the atomics. Detention camps, extermination camps. Above it all, the sweeping mass murder mis-called Homeward Bound.
The American Red Cross, true to her salt, had maintained a detailed Web site attempting to document casualties and reunite survivors. About two months into the Firecracker, the site went down and never came back up. The people maintaining it were interned. Homeland demanded a copy, to integrate with their own databases. Homeland demanded cooperation from the Red Cross staff. Their principles were clear, neutrality forbade.
I'm going to say this out loud and in the clear.
Homeland tortured _American Red Cross_ staff.
When the Resistance campaign became the momentary Revolution, a lot of Homeland records were captured, both paper and electronic.
Homeland had a strong, strong interest in documenting for sure who was alive (and therefore a threat to them) and who was safely dead.
Sorting through those records is a task for a major research university, a task that would take decades.
We didn't have decades. We had weeks.
But we weren't looking for Chinese sympathizers or anti-American partisans. We were just counting noses. Alive and dead.
Just across town, at San Jose State (convenient to the ruins of the Homeland building, close enough to Alviso and to the airport), the records were being preserved. We had a dedicated datalink to Alviso Prison, and we all spent a lot of time making the databases spit out the answers we were seeking.
The data flow was two way. The Alviso Trials were generating a _lot_ of information. Just the list of persons in custody was useful, in cross referencing.
The court recorders were unsung heroes. They slapped their keyboards and used their software to keep up with our courtrooms, testimonies, statements. Despite their personal griefs, they wallowed through the same bloody swamp we did, with the task of just writing it all down.
The court transcripts were searchable. That in itself helped stitch together what had happened.
I must also acknowledge the support of several national governments. South Africa, Rwanda, Chile and Poland sent field investigative teams. Their teams, immune to harassment by any side and backed by the full authority of their governments, ignored the war swirling around them to document crimes. Most of the work in San Jose was done by the Polish teams.
The California Republic opted not to avail itself of the services of the International Red Cross and Red Crescent societies.
They came anyway. We grudgingly recognized them as protected persons under Geneva and left them alone to do their work.
Instead, the California Republic opted to form our own national aid society, protect our own combatant medical personnel with the Red Cross and our noncombatant medical personnel with the Red Diamond.
Every hospital in California suddenly sprouted aI Red Diamond on the roof.
In one of those little historical ironies, the California Republic's medical relief society chose to name itself the Red Lion. This took advantage of a loophole in one of the Geneva treaties and allowed them to use a red symbol of a lion as their protected battlefield symbol.
They needed one. Red Lion took the seven Fundamental Principles of the ICRC and ran with them. A lot of Californians who didn't feel comfortable with opposing America, but did want to Do Something, joined Red Lion.
Red Lion very much did its own thing. They would tell Homeland, ICRC, the Untied Snakes and the Californicators to fuck off in the same breath, and then go do the thing - whatever it was - with utter disregard for trivia such as their own safety.
They literally showed up at the gates of Homeland killing sites, demanding access. Once in a while they got it, too. They, not the California Republic, discovered the massacre site at Childrens Hospital Oakland. They ran rampant at the huge orphanage in Sacramento at CalExpo, and when American troops started to fortify the facility to defend against advancing California forces, frostily informed them that they were not welcome, they could not make this a military site, and that if they so much as touched one bowl of soup, they would enjoy their moment of fame on YouTube.
Red Lion had exactly the same message for the arriving California Republic forces. Go away, you are not welcome here, no soup for you, YouTube.
Red Lion by charter was to operate only within California Republic territory, as our national aid society. They disregarded that too from time to time.
I only issued one order with respect to Red Lion during my entire time presiding at Alviso.
I made the impersonation of a Red Lion member by a California Republic operative a death penalty offense, as an open and shut violation of the laws of war. They _had_ to be free to do their thing, their way.
The emasculated remnants of American Red Cross, as is its duty, opened contact with Alviso Prison and the other POW sites in order to support American prisoners of war in California Republic custody.
The Red Cross therefore, by international convention, had full access to POWs. They were, on my order, denied access to unlawful combatants and genocidaires. They could inspect, but were not permitted communication.
Their three representatives had to wear armbands with the Red Cross inside the facility and be continuously escorted, except when speaking confidentially with prisoners. I'd briefly explained what would happen to them if they were caught assisting in espionage, and shown them the crane and noose as a visual aid. I think they believed me.
They made no effort to try to help those who asked about the fate of their loved ones, in California or in the Midwest.
California Republic operatives probably did impersonate the 'Murican Red Cross, if not here then certainly elsewhere. I didn't ask and they didn't tell me.
Another group stepped up to fill the void, trying to answer all the people asking the same question, in an infinity of forms.
"Where is my loved one?"
The Church of Latter Day Saints, the Mormons. They had their people helping all over the place at San Jose State, gathering records patiently, running queries and telling individuals the results.
We had one, just one, at Alviso Prison at a desk in the public waiting area. I wouldn't allow them any further in as they politely declined the opportunity to minister to genocidaires.
The Finders, as they called themselves, were zealous in their efforts to answer that question.
The answer all too often was the painful "We were unable ..." Arguably still better than the hopeless, "Confirmed to have died at [place] at about [date]."
What none of us had was grief counseling.
We all had so many dead.
I knew of one clinical psychologist, but until she walked in the front lobby one day, I'd thought she'd been killed.
Doctor Betty Rize, is how I'd known her.
She now wore California Republic fatigues and the rank tabs of a Lieutenant. She'd asked the front desk for a moment to speak to me.
I came out front. She saw me, I saw her.
Betty was _built_. A sedentary office worker had reached that peak of physical fitness typically found among firefighters and close-combat troops. She had new scars, and a bad one that snuck along the crease of her hairline, where the hair roots turned white.
She saluted. Crisply.
By design, the California Republic uniform doesn't have branch or unit designators. All the world needs to know is "CA Republic" and your last name, "RIZE."
I would have laid long odds against seeing her again, and longer odds that she would ever salute anything except as a mockery.
I returned it.
"Captain [18], I have sensitive information to report to you."
It never occurred to me to contact North Ops to verify her identity. She wore the uniform that well, as a second skin.
"Follow me, Lieutenant."
She closed the office door, then sat crisply on the edge of her guest chair as I seated myself behind my desk.
"Go."
She did not hesitate.
"Brooke is dead."
I nodded.
"I saw the report. Same report indicated that Sarah and yourself had also been killed."
"Sarah is also dead. That's where I got this," she pointed at her scalp. "I reported in three weeks later, and was assigned to Collections immediately."
Collections. Republic Intelligence.
"And now?"
Collections is a ghost. What Homeland wanted to be, if it had ever grown up and stopped hurting people for fun.
"I've turned over all my sources. I report to Bear Force next week. This is my leave time."
"So you reported here?"
"Wanted to see you. Wanted ... some closure."
"Mo is here. Janine is at Division. Sharon is running the site. Patty and Arturo are dead."
"And you're here."
"I'm here," I said wearily. A pause. "Check in with transient quarters. I'll put you up for the night. Dinner?"
"Yes please."
"Dismissed, Lieutenant."
She stood, saluted again, went to the door.
"Do I have any duties, sir?"
"Wander around. Ask questions. You're on leave time, after all."
She saluted again and left.
I vaguely wondered if she was looking for something else, other than courtesy to an old comrade.
But I wasn't interested in leaving any hostages to fortune lying around.
Bear Force.
She wouldn't be around for long, in any sense.
