Illegal Alien

© 2019 Unity Mitford. All rights reserved. The author asserts her right to be identified beyond the grave as the author of this story. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review. And, well, if you copy this one without my permission, the backhoe's ready and the 1911's loaded...

Well, I wrote this for the 2019 Literotica Geek Pride Day story event and it's not super long, only 26k words (8 Literotica pages) and there's only one sex scene half way through the story, and it's pretty dystopian, so that's the essentials covered. Not 100% sure that it's a perfect fit for Geek Pride Day, but I always figured Science Fiction is geeky enough on its own, and hey, this is SF more or less, and it's alternative future history, so that's geeky enough for me, and I'm proud of this story, so hey, close enough. While I'm at it, I'm gonna thank that outstanding Literotica authoress, the esteemed ChloeTzang (cough cough), for organizing this years Geek Pride Day story event, and of course Laurel for doing all the heavy lifting getting these stories up on the day! Thanks Laurel!

And now, if you enjoyed my first "Unity Mitford" story, "And the Snow Fell," well, this is another of those grimly dystopian little tales of sex, war and death in the Second Republic. As with "And the Snow Fell," it's more than a little downbeat and way grim, it does have some hot sex of course but it's not primarily sex, so if you're after a quick stroke story, this isn't it. Also, I'd like to thank S. M. Stirling for his Draka series, Jerry Pournelle for his "Future History", Tom Kratman for his Carrerraverse and Countdown series, and George Robert Elford for "Devil's Guard" - all of which were something of an inspiration for this dystopian setting. There's probably a few more but these will do.

Before you read, be warned. These aren't happy stories. Read this one, and, well, you'll understand. They are intended to provoke a little thinking and there's a lot of death and violence as well as sex so I can say with complete certainty that it won't be to everyone's taste. After all that, please do remember, it is fiction, because some people do read the author into the story and really, you shouldn't. It's fiction. Maybe fiction with a message but still, it's fiction... "Unity"

* * * * * *

"And where is that band who so vauntingly swore

That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion

A home and a country should leave us no more?

Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution!

No refuge could save the hireling and slave

From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave..."

* * *

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.... We will remember them."

The words rolled out in sonorous splendor as we stood there in our serried ranks, former and current soldiers mixed together, all in our uniforms, veterans of the National Liberation Army of the Second Republic every one of us, and around me were the soldiers of my Task Force, those who had survived the long years of war. As for the ones who had not...

...They lay before us, the white crosses in their own serried ranks, extending outwards, across the green lawns, and down the gentle slope towards the river. Beneath the manicured green, there lay our comrades who hadn't survived, and my Brad was there amongst them. My Brad, and so many others that I'd known. Friends from before the war, friends and soldiers from my Task Force, comrades all, and Brad lay in one of those graves.

One amongst many, but it'd been Brad that I loved. I loved him still, I'd love him always, even though I'd remarried since, and I loved Ramon. Ramon Montoya, my husband, he knew. He knew and he loved me and he cared for me, and this memorial service was almost done.

Almost...

"And now, comrades, fellow soldiers, citizens, probationary citizens and associate citizens of the Second Republic, and all others gathered here today, let us remember those who died that we might live in freedom. Let us remember those who died with this, our final tribute to our fallen comrades, the national anthem of the Second Republic..." and our voices rose as one into the clear blue sky, as they rose every Memorial Day.

"Be still my soul the Lord is on thy side

Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain

Leave to thy God to order and provide

In every change He faithful will remain

Be still my soul thy best, thy heavenly friend

Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end..."

"Be still my soul when dearest friends depart

And all is darkened in the vale of tears

Then shalt thou better know His love His heart

Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and thy fears

Be still my soul the waves and winds shall know

His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below..."

Be still my soul the hour is hastening on

When we shall be forever with the Lord

When disappointment grief and fear are gone

Sorrow forgot love's purest joys restored

Be still my soul when change and tears are past

All safe and blessed we shall meet at last"

Those words died away into silence and this service was at an end, and now we gathered in our old units, greeting old comrades unseen since the previous year. They were all here, around me, my comrades, my friends, those who had fought beside me through the long years of struggle, the way we gathered every year.

Gathered here where Brad and so many of the other fallen warriors of our Task Force had been gathered together after the war ended, and one day I would join him here, and we'd lie together again. Ramon had promised me, and I loved Ramon, but before Ramon I'd loved Brad.

Ramon and Brad, warriors both, and in death I would lie between them, as I'd lain with each of them in this life, one of them on either side of me. My warriors. My husbands. I knelt before the cross beneath which Brad lay, and I placed the flowers there as I placed them every year.

"Momma... Momma, why are you crying?" Little Brad was beside me, his hand on my shoulder and Ramon was there too now, his arm around me, holding me, bringing me back from that dark night of the soul, as he'd brought me back so many times before. As he'd always bring me back, and my hand reached up and clutched at his, seeking the warmth, seeking the solace of his touch as I prayed for Brad, and this time it was Little Brad's voice that brought me all the way back.

"Is this where Dad's buried, Mom?"

"Yes, dear," I said, wiping away the tears. "This is where your Dad's buried."

"Maddock's been looking for you, Jenny," Ramon said, softly, gently, and with me he was gentle always, and I needed that. "She's gotta go soon, wanted to say hi before she left."

"Guess we better do it then," I said, standing, and little Brad was between us, one hand in mine, one in Ramon's.

"Looking good, ma'am." Command Sergeant-Major Maddock was there, along with so many of the others who'd been with me in the war. Older now, and there were less of us than there had been but those who were left came. Every year we came, and we remembered the fallen, as we would always remember the fallen until we too joined them, and we in turn were remembered.

"Thanks, Maddock. Looking good yourself. Who're you with now? The Fifth?"

"Fifth Battle Group, yes, ma'am." She looked around, lowered her voice. "Training to retake the Sandwich Islands." She grinned. "Gonna settle accounts with those ratdog holdouts once and for all."

"You look after yourself, Maddock," I said, embracing her, my head resting on her shoulder as she held me and I missed her real bad. Two years we'd served together. Two long years, together every day and the things we'd been through, the things we'd done. I didn't want to remember, but I remembered her holding me like this through the nightmares after Brad had left me. Her, and then, later, Ramon.

"You too, ma'am," she said. "I'm glad it worked out for you, ma'am. You and Captain Montoya." Coz Ramon was a Captain now, officer in the Active Reserves.

"He's a good man, Maddock," I said, and then, looking up, because it was Maddock that'd brought Ramon and I together. "Thanks, Maddock. After Brad, I was..."

"I know, ma'am," she said, and her voice was soft and gentle, as soft and gentle as her arms were strong. "We all knew, ma'am, and we all wanted you to pull through, and Montoya, he cared, ma'am, he really cared, so I..."

"I know, Maddock, and thanks," I said, smiling now, because Ramon, he'd pulled me through, pulled me back from that abyss of the soul, that dark night that'd been drawing me down into the darkness and despair, and I was here now. Here and standing tall in the sunlight, smiling. Mostly.

"Good," Maddock said, and then, looking down. "And you, Cadet. You got your handgun on you?"

"Yes, Ma'am," little Brad said, proudly patting his hip, and he was wearing his Junior Cadets uniform, and his first handgun. A Ruger Mark IV, standard Junior Cadet issue for six year olds in their first year of Cadet training and he'd been so proud the day he'd been issued his Cadet uniform and that handgun and his rifle and his first issue of ammo.

"Loaded? Safety on?"

"Yes, Ma'am," little Brad said. "Full mag and I checked the safety 'n everything coz it's loaded. I loaded the mag myself and everything." He looked so serious, and I smiled.

"Good. Now you look after your Mom, young man. She relies on you to keep her safe when your Dad's not there.." Maddock grinned down at him.

"Yes, Ma'am, Sergeant-Major," little Brad said, grinning back, and his grin was just like his Dad's had been, and seeing that grin, I couldn't talk.

Maddock knew. She slapped my shoulder, she gave Ramon a hug. "See 'ya, Captain Montoya, congratulations on the promotion" she said. "Bye Jenny, catch up next year," and she was striding off across the manicured lawns, and I stood there, watching and holding little Brad's hand as she walked away and the memories came, as they always did.

They always did.

* * *

"Hi Mom, I'm home." Little Brad came bolting in the door, smiling, happy, the way he always was, hanging his handgun and rifle by the front door, and they must've had range shooting at school today coz I could smell that familiar smell. I knew he'd run all the way home from school.

He wasn't so little now. Ten years old and growing fast, almost as tall as me already, and he sure took after his dad that way, but he had my eyes and hair, and I knew Brad would've been proud of him. I loved it that he could walk home from school by himself. Not like when I was a kid and your parents had to drop you off and pick you up because it wasn't safe for kids to be out by themselves, not even to play in their own backyard.

It was safe now. Three and a half miles by himself coz we lived in the country, outside of town, and it was safe for kids anywhere, even in the larger cities. We didn't think anything of letting Brad go off on his bike, cycling fifteen miles further out into the country to visit one of his friends who lived on a farm for the day.

Safe anytime and if little Brad wanted to go camping with his friends, we made sure they had their rifles and we sent them off without a worry in the world. You didn't have to worry about them, no-one locked their doors, not even when they went away for a weekend. Kid was in trouble, anyone would stop and help.

The last burglary in town had been a year and a half ago, and he'd been passing through, stolen a car, beaten up old Mr. Howard before he could pull his gun. He'd taken the gun, and gone on and robbed the house. The militia caught the criminal two towns down the highway, local judged drove out there, tried him, found him guilty, executed him on the spot. The assault and burglary and stealing the car would've gotten him twenty years hard labor each, sentences to be served consecutively.

It'd been stealing someone else's gun that got him executed.

"Hi honey, how was your day?" I smiled, watching little Brad, enjoying him.

Our kids future, that was partly why we'd fought back then in the Liberation War, and maybe it was time for Ramon and I to think about another. Juan was four now, and the kindergarten bus would drop him off any time. Fernanda and Connor, the twins, they were asleep upstairs. Yeah, I'd like a second girl so maybe I'd talk to Ramon. He loved our kids, loved little Brad like he was his own and to Brad, he was Dad.

Good thing was, you could have as many kids as you wanted these days, and I wished it'd been like this back when Brad and I married, but that was the past and this was now. I smiled, coz little Brad was really enthusiastic about something, and I knew he wanted to tell me.

"It was great Mom." He was just about jumping up and down, he was so excited. "We started our new History class today. Mr. Dubois gave us our homework assignments. Did you know he was a Lieutenant-Colonel in the Liberation War, Mom?"

"Yes, I did, honey."

"I told him you and my Dad were officers in the Army too, Mom. He thought I meant Ramon, but I told him my real Dad was a Captain, and my Mom was a Major, and my real Dad died in the war, and Ramon's my Dad now but he was a Sergeant back then even though he's a Captain now. Not many kids in my class have Mom's who were officers in the Army in the War."

"No, they won't," I said. "Most Mom's stayed at home to look after the kids and keep things running while their Dad's and their sons went off to fight."

"Uh-huh," he said. "We gotta beat those Rebels completely, otherwise they'll try again. That's what Mr. Dubois said. Me, I'm going to go and fight those ratdogs when I'm old enough, Mom."

"Sure you will, tiger," I said, and my heart was heavy, coz he probably would.

We'd established the Second Republic and taken the western half of Borealia as well, all the way to the Arctic, but there was still that guerilla war going on in the Sandwich Islands. We'd taken them back a three years ago now, but there were still a few ratdog holdouts. Aztlan was gone, but that'd been the goddamn Chinese Intervention Force, and San Martinez, well, it wasn't ours and it wasn't San Martinez either now, it was New Shanghai, 'n I didn't wanna think 'bout that one. The northern third of the old Golden State, that was ours, along with the old State Capital but losing San Martinez, that sucked.

Didn't think the Second Republic would take on the Chinese though. They had two thirds of the old Golden State, the old Silver State and the Copper State. That was all they'd grabbed before we cut them off and the fighting in San Martinez, that'd been heavy while they pushed us back but I'd been on Mat Leave for that. Wanted to go back to my Task Force but they wouldn't let me. Said I was a Mom, I'd already done more than my share and looking after the kid was more important than me going back to my Task Force, and now, looking at little Brad, I knew they'd been right.

I knew we could get those states back if we wanted to, I was sure of that. We could do it and win, but the Chinese were fighting hard down in northern Azteca and heading south now, leaving the North and East to us and it was the East we needed to retake. Retake and clear the remaining rebels out and that wasn't going to be an easy job. Our new border was from well west of Mud City down the Old Blue to the Big Easy and yeah, well, we'd signed a peace agreement and everything, but anything signed with the ratdog traitors and rebels was bullshit.

They'd break a treaty as soon as look at it, they were doing it now, and those ratdog politicians were already making noises about wiping us out so screw them, we'd be liberating more of the East soon. Maybe all of it. Soon as we were ready, and Ramon said those goddamn Borealeans better keep their noses clean this time or we'd settle their hash once and for all at the same time, and his Reserve unit was training real hard.

Every second weekend now.

Civil war going on in Albion too, and we were sending arms and volunteers. That and stopping the Rebel forces from intervening, and it was a good thing most of the Old Navy that'd survived had come in to us. Anyhow, it'd be time to liberate Albion after we wiped out the rebels once and for all. That, and there was the fighting going on in Mzantsi and we were in there too. Yeah, there'd be something for little Brad to fight in when he was old enough and I wished there wouldn't be. I really did.

Didn't matter. You did what you had to do, and I'd learnt that the hard way. We all had.

"Say, Mom, we started studying 'bout the Liberation War at school," little Brad said. "I know what libtards and snowflakes are and why we got rid of them..."

He should, coz they were still there, the libtards and the snowflakes and the other ratdog scum, over in the East, the Rebel States, and all the kids played that Army of the Second Republic against the Ratdogs game. Worst thing you could call someone these days, a ratdog. That was a killing word, that was, if you used it the wrong way.

"... but what were illegal aliens?"

I looked at him now. Really looked, and the sweat beaded my forehead and my hand was going for my 1911, except I wasn't wearing it, and I needed it. Needed my hand on the grip and my finger against the trigger guard, round up the spout, loaded and where was it, and I spun around, searching. Desperate. Where was it?

"What's wrong, Mom?" He stood there watching me, his eyes wide and round, and he was scared. He looked so scared, and I needed to protect him. I needed a gun, and my hand was searching for my 1911 or my M4 but they weren't there, and I started to panic, and I was sweating, my breath coming in pants now, panting gasps that were coming faster and faster because I needed my guns. I needed my hand on the grip, my finger on the trigger, and where were my guns?

Where were they?

"Dad... Dad... something's wrong with Mommy?" Little Brad was old enough to know that, and he knew to call for his Dad right away, and he did.

Ten years old and he knew, and Ramon was coming, I could hear his footsteps, almost running and then he was there, in the kitchen, taking me in his arms, and I closed my eyes, shaking now as he held me the way he always did. The way he always held me when the memories came and sucked me away, drawing me towards that abyss that was always there, inside me, waiting...

"What's wrong with Mommy, Dad?" Little Brad was puzzled, concerned and he was standing beside me, holding my hand and my teeth were chattering and my hands were shaking and Ramon was holding me tight. Holding me so tight, and I couldn't stop shaking.

"All I did was ask Mom about..."

* * *

Illegal Aliens.

I'd processed a few hundred of them today, along with the usual suspects. Ratdog party members. Criminals. Known and suspected antifa members. Activists. Social Justice Warriors and they were the easiest, coz we had a lot of website backups now that we had San Martinez and Santa Clara Valley, and the Security Service was real good at tracing them down. Cut and dried, most of them. The ones where there was any doubt, they were on their way to join the labor gangs cleaning up the damage from the fighting.

The others? That was why I was here.

I watched, coz giving the orders and watching those orders being carried out was part of my job. You didn't order your men and women to do what you wouldn't watch or do yourself. I always made a point of going down and watching at least once a day. I usually shot a few myself as well when I was down with the squad on duty. Setting an example to the men, and women of course, because we had both in my task force.