The MP's cuffed Joe's wrists and a gave him a pat-down, taking his Swiss army knife. "Get movin', kid!" Two of the officers escorted him into the van and the others piled in after them. The Chief banged on the wall behind the driver's seat. The van started up and they drove off.
The soldiers ordered Sandy and Joe out of the van. In front of them was an enlistment facility. Camp Lee. "This all your fault, Sandy! You started this!" Joe wanted to strangle him.
"Oh, stop BSing me! You fought, too!"
A guard came over and stared them down. "Quiet, punks! If you don't keep yer mouths shut, I'll shut 'em for ya!" The man was holding a French-made MAS-38, and he waved it in front of them, making a machine gun noise with his mouth. He stopped and motioned for them to move. They entered the building. It's windows were bars. Just like the European armies, the CSA had mastered the art of impressing criminals into service. It kept the jails at far below maximum capacity, and the Southern army was known for instilling discipline in even the orneriest of men. They were forced up to a desk, where they produced their ID cards from their wallets. They were then uncuffed and put in a room for recruits. The first step was the haircut. Sandy already had burred hair, but Joe had thick, greased hair. Then they passed into the uniform room, where they were given gray bootcamp uniforms. After that came the boots. Then the kepi. Then came the rigorous training.
For the next six months, Sandy and Joe were whipped into shape. If they were going to have to be soldiers, they would do their best. By February 20th, 1951, they were ready for their first mission.
At Camp Lee...
"This is General Felix McConnell speaking to you over the base intercom. The following soldiers are to report to the armory immediately: Private Joseph W. Stevens, Private Joshua J. Reed, and Private Sandy S. Saunderson." He repeated the message.
The three men dashed through the halls toward the armory. They went down a long flight of stairs and through a security check. Then, they were in the armory. Soldiers dashed hither and thither, madly collecting maps and checking racks of ammunition and weapons.
"Soldiers!" Joe and the others saluted and sprang to attention. General McConnell saluted back quickly and held a clipboard in front of them. "We have a problem. A big problem. Rumor's been brewing that some Colorado agents are taking a shipment of weapons down to Spanish rebels in Mexique. Emperor Napoleon requests we come to his assistance."
"Why, sir?" Joe asked, puzzled.
"Because they're sneaking them through the South. This state, in fact. Arizona. We've got to crash their party before France becomes upset that we're not trying our hardest. Let's give 'em a show, eh?"
"Yes, sir!" All three saluted.
Before long, Joe, Sandy, Joshua, and five others were in a small plane, with all the gear they needed. They flew to Kayenta, Arizona, three hours from the Occupied Utah border by car ride. The plane sped over a clear spot, and the men parachuted to the ground.
Joe used his knife and cut the chute's wires, as did the others. "All right, men," said Captain Wilkerson. "We have a mission to halt the illegal smuggling of weapons across the border into Mexico. An anonymous tip said the smugglers would be going through Kayenta. That should happen in a few minutes, so let's get moving! Check your weapons."
Joe fingered his Colt .45 and loaded it. He then carefully examined his Thompson. The drum magazine was full and secure.
The men marched down the road toward the town. The Captain spoke again. "Remember, men, these fellows ain't gonna be prancing around in white Coloradan uniforms, heh. They'll either look respectable, aka mafioso, or they'll look like thugs, i.e. dirty clothes, messy hair, shifty eyes." After they sneaked through back alleys and sewers, they got across the town. The Captain used his binoculars out and looked at the horizon. "I see some cars coming. They match the descriptions of the tip. All right, guys, take your positions. Good luck." The soldiers hid themselves behind a small abandoned building and in some desert shrub.
Half a mile away...
Juan Esteban, a Mexican agent of Colorado, checked his Walther PP and put it back under his suit jacket. He was driving in an expensive Mississippi Motorworks, MMW, cruiser. He put a cigar in his mouth and nudged the man next to him for a light. He inhaled the smoke. "Gimme the walkie talkie, Carlos."
"Sure, boss!" A man in the front seat pulled the walkie talkie out of the glove box and handed it back. Juan checked its setting and held it up to his mouth.
"That you, Jose?"
"Si, this is Jose. Juan?"
"It's Juan. Tell the governor we're approaching Kayenta. All is well."
"Roger that, Juan! Adios."
Juan handed the walkie talkie back up to the man in front. He inhaled more of the smoke. "This job is so easy. Those incapable Confederate fools will never- Wha?!"
Back on the side of the road...
Captain Wilkerson raised his fist. One of the soldiers darted out into the middle of the road, holding a halt sign. The cars picked up speed. Wilkerson pulled the pin out of a grenade. 'This is them! Fire in the hole!" The grenade exploded a ways ahead of the cars, causing them to slam on the breaks, just as planned. "Stop now! In the name of the government of the Confederate States! We have authority to use lethal force!"
Mexicans in business suits dashed out of the lead car. One pulled a Walther PP out of his jacket. "Es la confederados! ¡Fuego!" Before he could get off a shot, Joe put a Tommy bullet in his skull. Blood splattered out and the man fell limply onto the road, missing a quarter of his skull.
"Fire! Kill 'em all!"
"Seguir disparando! Seguir disparando! Hay que escapar!"
More bullets. More bodies, all smugglers.
Joe and Sandy had slowly learned to work together, and they did so now. They advanced down the convoy of vehicles, slaughtering the Mexicans.
"Matar a los cerdos de América!" A Mexican raised up from behind a truck wearing a flour sack on his head and firing an old Western War-era Browning Mormon rifle. Within a millisecond, he was down on the ground, blood coming from his chest. At the back of the convoy, eight smugglers, wearing more thug clothes and masks, decided to go on the offensive. One, holding a Russian Imperial Kalashnikov rifle, started spraying bullets wildly at the Americans. One of the soldiers took one in the leg, and another in the chest. Joe advanced and took him and three others out by successive shots from his Tommy. The Mexicans started to run. When they turned their backs, the soldiers mowed them down. After checking on the squad, they realized Reed was the one who was shot in the chest. He sputtered out some last words and died. The man who was shot in the leg was doing all right, and was able to get by with limping. Captain Wilkerson shot the door off one of the vans. Inside, as in two other of the vehicles, were boxes of rifles and ammunition, headed to Mexique.
"You did a good job today, men, and you served our country well. And may the good Lord take Private Reed up to Heaven. And may He destroy the friends of these murderers!" He kicked the limp corpse of Juan Esteban.
In the Confederate capital in Richmond...
President Allan Shivers listened to Governor John Adams McEnroe of Colorado give an "important announcement" on the radio.
"...Furthermore! If His Majesty elects not to turn over the Colorado-supporting half of Montana to the glorious Republic of Colorado, I will have no choice other than to declare a state of war between Colorado and Britain, and to take Montana by force of arms. All of it."
"That's enough." Shivers turned the radio off. "First the smuggling, and now this?! General Summers, scramble the defenses. It seems we are about to go to war."
He sat and waited in his office in the capitol. Two hours passed. Just one left until the midnight deadline set by McEnroe. Suddenly, an official barged into his office. "Sir! Britain has agreed to sell a portion of Montana to Colorado for practically nothing! Crisis averted!"
Shivers fiddled nervously with his tie. "Good news... I guess."
LEGO Builder, Writer, Video-Gamer, Greaser, History Professor, Swordsman, and Military Collector. I am the Most Interesting Man in the World. :p
Last edited by Napoleon on Fri May 27, 2011 9:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.