State of Alliance

“The current war?” Dad says. “Or just war in general?”

He’s ten years younger in this memory, hair shaved down, grizzled stubble on his cheeks. He is sitting on the front porch steps, reading the newspaper.

“Just war in general.” I shrug. “You know. Like… what’s the point?”

“Because we’re human,” Dad replies. “Humans fight. It’s what we do best.”

I kick the ball between two shrubs. Goal.

“But why do we fight, Dad?” I press. “Who was the first person who thought of killing somebody else to get what they wanted? It’s so weird. It’s so… wrong.”

Dad frowns. The headline of the paper is something dramatic.

Someone was killed on their way to work. Someone was kidnapped on their way home from school. A bomb was dropped somewhere overseas. A woman was assaulted. A man was robbed.

“It seems like only bad things happen,” I sigh.

I kick the ball toward the porch. Dad catches it under his boot.

“No, honey,” Dad replies. “There are bad people who do bad things, but there will always be good people to stop them. And that is why we have wars.”

I stare at him.

“That’s why?”

“Most of the time. Not always, but mostly.” Dad kicks the ball back to me. “Remember, Cassie. When you’re fighting, make sure you know which side you’re on. Know what you’re fighting for.”

“I will,” I promise, with all the enthusiasm of a newly minted soldier. “I’ll know.”

I kick one more goal.

Yes. I will know.

The city is in chaos. Vera, Sophia and the rest of my team lie prone in tall grass, looking across the city limits. Omega troops are crawling into the city, overtaking the barricades and checkpoints. What little United States military forces remain to combat their advance is razed to the ground. Omega is an unstoppable wall, a solid influx of destruction.

“What do we do?” Vera whispers.

My hands clutch the ground, fingernails gathering dirt.

What should we do? Monterey’s steel ring has been broken. A secure city has been completely compromised.

“We go back, and we report to Chris,” I say. “And then… hang on.”

I peer through my optics, catching a glimpse of random movement on the far side of a parking lot littered with burning cars. It’s a dog. A German Shepherd.

“Bravo,” I say. “Elle Costas. Hold your position.”

Vera and Sophia follow my line of sight, straining to catch a glimpse. Sure enough, Elle Costas emerges from the side of the parking lot. She doesn’t look hurt. She’s sprinting full speed across the lot, behind the cars, then dives into the tall grass.

“She’ll run right into us,” Vera states.

“We’ll wait, then head back to Chris.”

This is an unexpected stroke of luck, ru

Vera grabs Elle and pulls her to the ground.

Elle struggles at first, then recognizes us. Bravo growls but Elle silences him.

“Oh, my God!” she pants. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re scouting,” I reply. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“What happened down here?”

“What’s it look like?” Elle shakes her head. “They sent a couple of mortar rounds into the school, then their ships just started getting closer. Next thing you know, they’re dumping troops all over the shoreline.” She looks scared. “Nobody knew this would happen, did they?”

I say nothing.

Then, “They know we won’t use our cruise missiles against our own city.”

“Which is why they had to bring the fight into the city limits,” Vera agrees. “This is stone-age, man-to-man combat.”

I nod. “Let’s get back to the team.”

We stealthily slip back into the woods, moving back over the sandy terrain, keeping a low profile. My mind races with the grim realization that yes, we are the only viable combative forces left in Monterey.

As always, the militias are the only thing that stands between Omega and victory. Why does it always come down to us? Why does the safety and security of the National Guard and the United States Military always fail?

Buck up, soldier, a little voice whispers in my ear. The fight’s not over yet.

That’s right. It’s not.

We move quickly, reaching the rendezvous point with Chris and the rest of the militia. I notice new faces: Anita Vega, Commander of the Coyotes, and Speaker Jen Amal, Commander of the Seahawks. Marshal Sullivan, the Canadian Commander of the Strikers. I also recognize units from the now-deceased Nathanial Mero’s Red Fox and Ken Thrawn’s Titans.

I do a quick headcount estimation.

We have a little over one thousand militiamen and women between the six of our militias. It’s not much… but it’s better than nothing. One thousand highly skilled, dangerous guerilla warfighters against a high profile invasion force is capable of wreaking more damage than Omega might think.

I don’t stop to greet the other Commanders. I simply nod, paying my respects, and tell Chris what we’ve witnessed. Although we are hidden in the hilly terrain, the black smoke is clearly visible from here. Monterey is roasting, and Omega wants everyone to know it.

“Ma

“Elle?” Ma

Elle sprints through the crowd of people and throws her arms around Ma

“My girl,” he whispers. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Ma

“I know. It’s okay.” Ma

Elle’s face freezes.

“What about Aunt? Where is she?” she asks.

Ma

“She’s alive,” he replies. He stands up. “Well, ladies and gentlemen. The Happy Reunion has come to a close. Please continue with your strategic pla

I smile at Ma

There is a sparkle in his eye.

“What’s our next move, Commander?” I ask Chris.

Anita, Ken, Marshall, Jen, Chris and myself stand in a circle, fellow militia commanders; brothers and sisters in arms.

“We end this,” Chris says. “Today.”

I feel a thrill of excitement and fear.

I have no doubt that we will.

Chapter Sixteen

Something happened to me after the EMP. Before the end of the world — before the invasion — I was an average, naïve, unemployed high school graduate. I was a hard worker, but times were tough. Few available jobs and expensive college tuition seemed to set me up for a lifetime of failure.

I had no self-confidence, no self-esteem.

My friends were few and far between. People took advantage of my naivety and left me hurt and bitter. I was afraid to stand up for the things I believed in. I feared being criticized and talked out of what I thought was right. I was a pushover. I would defend everyone but myself. I was, at heart, a fighter — but I was too scared to make the initial, scary step of asserting myself.

I am a different person, now.

No man or woman tells me how to think, or what to do. I am a creature of independence, a child of liberty. I am a soldier, a lethal weapon used to extinguish injustice and defend the weak from those who would seek to destroy them. I am a leader. I am a warrior. I am unashamed and I am unafraid to make the ultimate sacrifice to keep the people I love out of harm’s way.