GWOT IV - Time Of Death
Dec. 11th, 2019 12:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drewkittyGWOT IV - Time Of Death
We were wrapping up the war crimes phase.
The POW section was now empty. POWs accused of war crimes had gone first. Only if convicted by overwhelming evidence had they gone to the firing stand. When the evidence was anything less, I remanded to a full court-martial, which would be held at some unspecified future time when the California Republic didn't have so many officers fighting - and winning - a war.
This simplified our security issues, which allowed me to send more soldiers to the front.
We were left with about three hundred unlawful combatants. Of them, about two hundred were in a category that strictly speaking, does not legally exist.
Unlawful combatants who did not personally engage in atrocities.
By definition, an unlawful combatant is a war criminal. But so is a spy, and until very recently (post World War II) so were partisans.
As best we could determine, these two hundred odd UCs had personally fought according to the laws of war. Wearing uniforms, fighting openly, serving in a chain of command leading to a commissioned officer of a government, avoiding unnecessary civilian casualties, refusing to loot or rape, taking prisoners when circumstances allowed, even providing first aid.
The problem is that they had done this for Homeland. And some of them for pay substantially in excess of what Homeland was paying its own people, which technically made them mercenaries. As this was a civil war at the time most of them were fighting, they escaped the Mercenary Act through a loophole.
Executing them, even by gunfire, was a bit much. Letting them free into American lines was returning their services to the enemy. I couldn't do this before due to their detailed knowledge of Alviso Prison.
I could do this now. But that was the other side of the coin. These were UCs who were not particularly wanted by America. They hadn't been traded for at Vegas. No value. In fact, negative value, as some of them were owed quite the sum of pay by the Americans.
That gave me an idea.
My orderly came in.
"You're wanted in the staff infirmary."
Idea forgotten, I got up from my desk and stopped doodling.
###
The skeletally thin, frail woman in the bed was hooked up to two IV lines, both of which dripped pain medication.
She'd asked them to turn it down, and to call me.
Agent Knight was going to meet that final judge from whom there is no appeal and no succor.
For some reason she wanted to talk to me first.
"[Echo]," she murmured as I took her hand. It was icy cold despite the blankets and the warm room.
"Agent Knight," I replied.
"Call me Amy."
It was not the name that appeared on her documentation. Her cover identity, like a shell, was no longer needed.
"Is there anyone we can call?"
She very gently shook her head. Her hair had finished falling out, except a few wisps of white here and there.
"I'll see them in a moment. I need you to do a few things for me."
"Go."
"There's a box in my effects. It has your name on it. It's yours."
"Copy."
"Sell the rest. Give the money to Red Lion."
"Understood." And I did.
"Tell them to turn my meds back up."
Half concealed under the sheet, I could see that she had something in her left hand.
An opiate patch, half peeled.
A horrible death is when several factors race, slowly, to kill the victim.
We had hung those who deserved it. We had shot those who simply no longer deserved to live.
Why should Agent Knight - Amy - be doomed to suffer a worse death, when the means to pass peacefully were at hand?
"Will do." I paused. "Goodbye, Amy."
She squeezed my hand once, weakly, and forgot that I existed.
Her ghosts gathered in the corners of the room, waiting for her to come join them. To be together at last.
I left the room.
I saw the infirmary doctor and said what was necessary.
She thought about her oath. And her soul. Then she nodded, once.
As I left she was writing in Agent Knight's chart, in big block letters.
NO CODE. NO CODE. NO CODE.
###
I went to Agent Knight's room in the officer's quarters. Except for the half box of various medications, it was neat and sparse.
In the smaller box under her pillow, I found three things:
- the backup key to her room's safe
- her Republic agent credentials
- a handwritten diary
I opened the safe. In it was a powerful handgun. Like the credentials, it was Republic property, so I unloaded it and bundled it to take to the armory.
Also in the safe were several thousand dollars in bluebacks and Calibucks. I inventoried them and bundled them to give directly to Red Lion.
On the floor of the safe was an envelope addressed to me. I opened it.
"Captain [Echo 18], if you are reading this, I am dead or expectant. I have been looking forward to this for a long time, since before the Firecracker. A wise author once wrote, 'Going to the showers is the best part of the game.' You should know that the California Republic owes you an enormous debt of honor. In the affairs of nations, this will probably never be acknowledged, let alone paid. I owe you too. When we first met, I was prepared to shoot you. That would have been a mistake. I hope that what we have done here, at Alviso, will do something to prevent the next genocide, the next massacre. 'Never again' was the cry after the Holocaust. You and I know better. Yet the lie is essential. Every time there is a new genocide, we must cry loudly, 'Never again! Never to forgive! Never to forget!' until the sheer moral weight of the sins of our past buries those who would add to it, even an ounce. I fear for you after the work here is done. The work here may be done, but the work itself will never be done. Retire if you will, keep fighting if you can. But don't give up the ship. Philos, 1LT Amy Hutchinson, USA Rsv (West Point, '89)."
I read it again, and folded it. Her identity would allow me to research her past. And made her just another traitor. Just like me.
###
If you visit Alviso Prison, which you can now that there are no prisoners, you will find instead the Alviso Firecracker Memorial. It is an extension campus of the San Jose State University. Three of our four courtrooms are classrooms now, used for lectures in peace and genocide and also war.
All college students seeking a four year degree must now take a year of Reserve Officer Training. To earn peace we must study war.
The fourth courtroom is preserved. The audience gallery is accessible to visitors, but everything looks as if ready for the next morning's docket.
To my knowledge, it has only been used once since I banged the gavel that last time. For the trial and sentencing of General Batesman. But the California Republic reserves the right to pick up that gavel again, should the future require it.
In the front lobby of that museum, under polycarbonate and protected by three cameras - as well as the armed guards - Agent Knight's credentials are displayed, with a quotation.
"I hope that what we have done here, at Alviso, will do something to prevent the next genocide, the next massacre. 'Never again' was the cry after the Holocaust. You and I know better. Yet the lie is essential. Every time there is a new genocide, we must cry loudly, 'Never again! Never to forgive! Never to forget!' until the sheer moral weight of the sins of our past buries those who would add to it, even an ounce."
There are exhibits further inside. Memorials for dead San Francisco, for the submarine crew that unwittingly murdered her. For the China War, strike and counter-strike, murdered cities of the Far East and of the Mid West. For Homeland's atrocities, the detainees and the killing sites and Homeward Bound. Sidewalking and genocide. One exhibit is nothing more than names and numbers, which can be added by interactive computer display.
The Mormons finally made it inside, too, as the work of naming the dead continues and will probably never end. This is another task of San Jose State.
The incinerator is on display, although carefully cleaned.
The flower garden ... remains.
###
I have taken extraordinary precautions for this meeting which should not have ever happened.
All three reaction teams in full armor. A lethally armed squad of troops in the no-guns area, protecting a tripod mounted medium machine gun. The corner and tower guards, heavily augmented, all with rifles.
The center of the exercise area set with the benches from the mess hall, each too heavy for a single person to pick up. A podium and PA system. Reaction team staged in a line behind, ready to move forward and protect the speaker, stand line and trade blows, or retreat and let the machine gun start harvesting, whatever may be appropriate.
On the benches, the last prisoners of Alviso. Two hundred and four unlawful combatants.
I took the podium.
"Attention," I began.
"As the warden of Alviso Prison and as the presiding officer of the Alviso Trials, in consultation with the California Military Commission, I am now adjudicating the status of all two hundred and four of you, simultaneously, so that there can be no confusion and no mistakes.
"You are sentenced to life. The last execution scheduled in these Trials has already taken place."
I could see the growing hope and confusion warring within them.
"Those of you fit for military service may apply for service with the California Republic, for a mandatory eight year term of enlistment, after which you will be treated as any other enlisted soldier, except that you are ineligible for commissioning and will receive pay but no pension credit for those first eight years."
The ratio of hope to confusion started to change.
"Those of you who are not fit for military service will have transportation arranged to one of three destinations, with the cooperation of the respective governments if they choose to accept you. Las Vegas of the Free State of Nevada for all at first. Then, selected applicants only, Tijuana, Baja California, Mexico or Seattle, Washington Trust Territory. The California Republic washes its hands of you. Do not return. Ever.
"If you are fit for military service, and choose not to enlist with the California Republic, you are hereby drafted involuntarily to the French Foreign Legion, China Expeditionary Force. Again, the California Republic washes its hands of you, and you are never to return. A charter flight leaves for China in seventy-two hours and anyone fit for military service who does not sign on with the California Republic, or whom we do not accept, will be on that flight.
"I'll spell this out in the clear. You fought for enemy forces and you aided and abetted genocide. The California Republic spares your life. I reluctantly, and with reservations, spare your life. You owe a debt you may never be able to pay.
"If you are drafted to the Legion or expelled as unfit to serve, you are formally persona non grata in the California Republic. Unlawful entry to the California Republic by an expelled person carries a sentence of ten years at hard labor, and you will spend that time breaking rocks or sifting gravel. So don't come back.
"The only way to return to California residency with honor is to complete that eight year term of military service. If we take you, and if you serve, and if you don't get killed, you pay your debt after eight years of undoing what you have done."
On cue, two flagpoles were erected behind me, and two national flags unfurled.
"There are two exits from the exercise yard behind me. If you choose to attempt service in the California Republic, pick the door with the California flag and you will be seen in the infirmary for your induction physical. If you reject California service, pick the door with the French flag and you will be seen in the other infirmary by Legion doctors for your French Foreign Legion physical. These are your two choices. We, not you, will determine if you are unfit to serve.
"I must add one more thing. If you enlist with the Untied Snakes and are ever captured by California Republic forces a second time ... don't. Just don't. We reserve the right to re-open your case, and you just might get to hang around by the neck after all.
"No questions."
I turned and left.
Once I was safely out the California door, the reaction squads moved to the far end of the yard, spaced themselves out, drew batons and became a rolling blockade.
Their officer called out, "STEP!" and they took one measured pace forward, batons at the ready.
Ten seconds later, "STEP!"
It would take them about half an hour to clear the exercise yard. By then everyone would walk through door California or be dragged through door France.
###
The last human remains to be incinerated at Alviso Prison were those of Agent Knight.
Her ashes were deliberately left among the cremains cleaned from the incinerator when it was steam cleaned and decommissioned.
Those cremains - hers and the fragments of those who had been executed here - were therefore inextricably mixed, and were the last added to the flower garden.
###
There was an end of it.
Only then, that evening, once the Legion draftees had been safely bedded down for the night in the former POW quarters; the bus carrying the handful of unfit-to-serve had left for Vegas; and the California Republic draftees had been returned to the UC quarters after being issued uniforms, did I dare do the next thing.
I opened Agent Knight's personal diary.
And began to read.
We were wrapping up the war crimes phase.
The POW section was now empty. POWs accused of war crimes had gone first. Only if convicted by overwhelming evidence had they gone to the firing stand. When the evidence was anything less, I remanded to a full court-martial, which would be held at some unspecified future time when the California Republic didn't have so many officers fighting - and winning - a war.
This simplified our security issues, which allowed me to send more soldiers to the front.
We were left with about three hundred unlawful combatants. Of them, about two hundred were in a category that strictly speaking, does not legally exist.
Unlawful combatants who did not personally engage in atrocities.
By definition, an unlawful combatant is a war criminal. But so is a spy, and until very recently (post World War II) so were partisans.
As best we could determine, these two hundred odd UCs had personally fought according to the laws of war. Wearing uniforms, fighting openly, serving in a chain of command leading to a commissioned officer of a government, avoiding unnecessary civilian casualties, refusing to loot or rape, taking prisoners when circumstances allowed, even providing first aid.
The problem is that they had done this for Homeland. And some of them for pay substantially in excess of what Homeland was paying its own people, which technically made them mercenaries. As this was a civil war at the time most of them were fighting, they escaped the Mercenary Act through a loophole.
Executing them, even by gunfire, was a bit much. Letting them free into American lines was returning their services to the enemy. I couldn't do this before due to their detailed knowledge of Alviso Prison.
I could do this now. But that was the other side of the coin. These were UCs who were not particularly wanted by America. They hadn't been traded for at Vegas. No value. In fact, negative value, as some of them were owed quite the sum of pay by the Americans.
That gave me an idea.
My orderly came in.
"You're wanted in the staff infirmary."
Idea forgotten, I got up from my desk and stopped doodling.
###
The skeletally thin, frail woman in the bed was hooked up to two IV lines, both of which dripped pain medication.
She'd asked them to turn it down, and to call me.
Agent Knight was going to meet that final judge from whom there is no appeal and no succor.
For some reason she wanted to talk to me first.
"[Echo]," she murmured as I took her hand. It was icy cold despite the blankets and the warm room.
"Agent Knight," I replied.
"Call me Amy."
It was not the name that appeared on her documentation. Her cover identity, like a shell, was no longer needed.
"Is there anyone we can call?"
She very gently shook her head. Her hair had finished falling out, except a few wisps of white here and there.
"I'll see them in a moment. I need you to do a few things for me."
"Go."
"There's a box in my effects. It has your name on it. It's yours."
"Copy."
"Sell the rest. Give the money to Red Lion."
"Understood." And I did.
"Tell them to turn my meds back up."
Half concealed under the sheet, I could see that she had something in her left hand.
An opiate patch, half peeled.
A horrible death is when several factors race, slowly, to kill the victim.
We had hung those who deserved it. We had shot those who simply no longer deserved to live.
Why should Agent Knight - Amy - be doomed to suffer a worse death, when the means to pass peacefully were at hand?
"Will do." I paused. "Goodbye, Amy."
She squeezed my hand once, weakly, and forgot that I existed.
Her ghosts gathered in the corners of the room, waiting for her to come join them. To be together at last.
I left the room.
I saw the infirmary doctor and said what was necessary.
She thought about her oath. And her soul. Then she nodded, once.
As I left she was writing in Agent Knight's chart, in big block letters.
NO CODE. NO CODE. NO CODE.
###
I went to Agent Knight's room in the officer's quarters. Except for the half box of various medications, it was neat and sparse.
In the smaller box under her pillow, I found three things:
- the backup key to her room's safe
- her Republic agent credentials
- a handwritten diary
I opened the safe. In it was a powerful handgun. Like the credentials, it was Republic property, so I unloaded it and bundled it to take to the armory.
Also in the safe were several thousand dollars in bluebacks and Calibucks. I inventoried them and bundled them to give directly to Red Lion.
On the floor of the safe was an envelope addressed to me. I opened it.
"Captain [Echo 18], if you are reading this, I am dead or expectant. I have been looking forward to this for a long time, since before the Firecracker. A wise author once wrote, 'Going to the showers is the best part of the game.' You should know that the California Republic owes you an enormous debt of honor. In the affairs of nations, this will probably never be acknowledged, let alone paid. I owe you too. When we first met, I was prepared to shoot you. That would have been a mistake. I hope that what we have done here, at Alviso, will do something to prevent the next genocide, the next massacre. 'Never again' was the cry after the Holocaust. You and I know better. Yet the lie is essential. Every time there is a new genocide, we must cry loudly, 'Never again! Never to forgive! Never to forget!' until the sheer moral weight of the sins of our past buries those who would add to it, even an ounce. I fear for you after the work here is done. The work here may be done, but the work itself will never be done. Retire if you will, keep fighting if you can. But don't give up the ship. Philos, 1LT Amy Hutchinson, USA Rsv (West Point, '89)."
I read it again, and folded it. Her identity would allow me to research her past. And made her just another traitor. Just like me.
###
If you visit Alviso Prison, which you can now that there are no prisoners, you will find instead the Alviso Firecracker Memorial. It is an extension campus of the San Jose State University. Three of our four courtrooms are classrooms now, used for lectures in peace and genocide and also war.
All college students seeking a four year degree must now take a year of Reserve Officer Training. To earn peace we must study war.
The fourth courtroom is preserved. The audience gallery is accessible to visitors, but everything looks as if ready for the next morning's docket.
To my knowledge, it has only been used once since I banged the gavel that last time. For the trial and sentencing of General Batesman. But the California Republic reserves the right to pick up that gavel again, should the future require it.
In the front lobby of that museum, under polycarbonate and protected by three cameras - as well as the armed guards - Agent Knight's credentials are displayed, with a quotation.
"I hope that what we have done here, at Alviso, will do something to prevent the next genocide, the next massacre. 'Never again' was the cry after the Holocaust. You and I know better. Yet the lie is essential. Every time there is a new genocide, we must cry loudly, 'Never again! Never to forgive! Never to forget!' until the sheer moral weight of the sins of our past buries those who would add to it, even an ounce."
There are exhibits further inside. Memorials for dead San Francisco, for the submarine crew that unwittingly murdered her. For the China War, strike and counter-strike, murdered cities of the Far East and of the Mid West. For Homeland's atrocities, the detainees and the killing sites and Homeward Bound. Sidewalking and genocide. One exhibit is nothing more than names and numbers, which can be added by interactive computer display.
The Mormons finally made it inside, too, as the work of naming the dead continues and will probably never end. This is another task of San Jose State.
The incinerator is on display, although carefully cleaned.
The flower garden ... remains.
###
I have taken extraordinary precautions for this meeting which should not have ever happened.
All three reaction teams in full armor. A lethally armed squad of troops in the no-guns area, protecting a tripod mounted medium machine gun. The corner and tower guards, heavily augmented, all with rifles.
The center of the exercise area set with the benches from the mess hall, each too heavy for a single person to pick up. A podium and PA system. Reaction team staged in a line behind, ready to move forward and protect the speaker, stand line and trade blows, or retreat and let the machine gun start harvesting, whatever may be appropriate.
On the benches, the last prisoners of Alviso. Two hundred and four unlawful combatants.
I took the podium.
"Attention," I began.
"As the warden of Alviso Prison and as the presiding officer of the Alviso Trials, in consultation with the California Military Commission, I am now adjudicating the status of all two hundred and four of you, simultaneously, so that there can be no confusion and no mistakes.
"You are sentenced to life. The last execution scheduled in these Trials has already taken place."
I could see the growing hope and confusion warring within them.
"Those of you fit for military service may apply for service with the California Republic, for a mandatory eight year term of enlistment, after which you will be treated as any other enlisted soldier, except that you are ineligible for commissioning and will receive pay but no pension credit for those first eight years."
The ratio of hope to confusion started to change.
"Those of you who are not fit for military service will have transportation arranged to one of three destinations, with the cooperation of the respective governments if they choose to accept you. Las Vegas of the Free State of Nevada for all at first. Then, selected applicants only, Tijuana, Baja California, Mexico or Seattle, Washington Trust Territory. The California Republic washes its hands of you. Do not return. Ever.
"If you are fit for military service, and choose not to enlist with the California Republic, you are hereby drafted involuntarily to the French Foreign Legion, China Expeditionary Force. Again, the California Republic washes its hands of you, and you are never to return. A charter flight leaves for China in seventy-two hours and anyone fit for military service who does not sign on with the California Republic, or whom we do not accept, will be on that flight.
"I'll spell this out in the clear. You fought for enemy forces and you aided and abetted genocide. The California Republic spares your life. I reluctantly, and with reservations, spare your life. You owe a debt you may never be able to pay.
"If you are drafted to the Legion or expelled as unfit to serve, you are formally persona non grata in the California Republic. Unlawful entry to the California Republic by an expelled person carries a sentence of ten years at hard labor, and you will spend that time breaking rocks or sifting gravel. So don't come back.
"The only way to return to California residency with honor is to complete that eight year term of military service. If we take you, and if you serve, and if you don't get killed, you pay your debt after eight years of undoing what you have done."
On cue, two flagpoles were erected behind me, and two national flags unfurled.
"There are two exits from the exercise yard behind me. If you choose to attempt service in the California Republic, pick the door with the California flag and you will be seen in the infirmary for your induction physical. If you reject California service, pick the door with the French flag and you will be seen in the other infirmary by Legion doctors for your French Foreign Legion physical. These are your two choices. We, not you, will determine if you are unfit to serve.
"I must add one more thing. If you enlist with the Untied Snakes and are ever captured by California Republic forces a second time ... don't. Just don't. We reserve the right to re-open your case, and you just might get to hang around by the neck after all.
"No questions."
I turned and left.
Once I was safely out the California door, the reaction squads moved to the far end of the yard, spaced themselves out, drew batons and became a rolling blockade.
Their officer called out, "STEP!" and they took one measured pace forward, batons at the ready.
Ten seconds later, "STEP!"
It would take them about half an hour to clear the exercise yard. By then everyone would walk through door California or be dragged through door France.
###
The last human remains to be incinerated at Alviso Prison were those of Agent Knight.
Her ashes were deliberately left among the cremains cleaned from the incinerator when it was steam cleaned and decommissioned.
Those cremains - hers and the fragments of those who had been executed here - were therefore inextricably mixed, and were the last added to the flower garden.
###
There was an end of it.
Only then, that evening, once the Legion draftees had been safely bedded down for the night in the former POW quarters; the bus carrying the handful of unfit-to-serve had left for Vegas; and the California Republic draftees had been returned to the UC quarters after being issued uniforms, did I dare do the next thing.
I opened Agent Knight's personal diary.
And began to read.
