Las Navidad De Los Desvalidos

Las Navidad de Los Desvalidos

(The Christmas of the Underdogs)

By Unity Mitford

© 2020 Unity Mitford. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right, from beyond the grave, to be identified 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. If you see this story on any website other than Literotica.com, it's been copied without the author's permission, and if that happens, well, the 1911's loaded, and the backhoe's ready....

And that obligatory (but short) little intro from you maybe know who:

Here it is. Another little alternate history "Unity Mitford" story, following on from "And the Snow Fell," "Blood of my Enemies," and "Illegal Alien." This one's written (of course) for the Literotica 2020 Winter Holidays competition, and it's maybe closer to reality than I ever imagined a year or two ago when I wrote "And the Snow Fell." A little like "Camp of the Saints," "1984," and Koestler's "A Darkness at Noon" for that matter, although I don't class myself anywhere near Koestler, Orwell or Raspail. And yep, sorry guys, no sex at all in this one either. Just a lot of blood, guts, and death, because Unity doesn't write much sex, but I hope you enjoy this little piece of rather dystopian science fiction / alternative history, and, well, Feliz Navidad ....

Unity

"Feliz Navidad

Feliz Navidad

Feliz Navidad

Próspero año y felicidad

I want to wish you a merry Christmas

I want to wish you a merry Christmas

I want to wish you a merry Christmas

From the bottom of my heart..."

Feliz Navidad, Jose Feliciano

* * * * * *

"You think we'll survive another year of this, Ramon?" I asked sleepily, my face buried in his shoulder, his arms around me. In the aftermath of our love-making, the distant thudding of the artillery was barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

His muscles tautened beneath me, a sudden spasm, but the knock on the door interrupted before he could answer, and I'd known he was gonna lie to me, because I didn't think so, but I wanted him to lie to me. I wanted to know there was a future. A month ago, well, I'd wanted to be with Brad, but now? Now I'd rather stay here, with Ramon. Most of the time, anyhow.

Coz there were still times I'd rather be with Brad.

"Yeah?" I called out, and I knew that knock. She used it, every time.

"Ma'am." Maddock's voice came through the door. "Colonel wants you on the line. Urgent."

"On it," I said, rolling of the mattress, and reaching for my clothes. "Be there in one."

Ramon was already dressed by the time I got my feet into my boots, and I knew Frazer would be waiting outside the door. He always was, when Ramon was with me. One of them was always there.

* * *

"Wong?" The Colonel was up tight about something. Maybe not up tight. On edge.

"Sir?" Didn't make any difference to me.

"Got a mission for you. Special one. How's your readiness situation? How quick can you move out? Combat force? Everyone you can put together, we got a real fuck up coming down the line."

"Jesus, its Christmas Eve, Sir. Stood everyone down this morning."

"I know that, Wong. Ratdogs don't give a flying fuck. Neither do I. What's your readiness status? How soon can your combat elements move out?"

"Nominal. Sir. We're over strength right now. We can be on the road in..." I glance at Maddock, 'n she held up one finger. "...one hour, Sir."

"How the fuck... never mind. Do it. I want you rolling back towards San Juan fast as you can haul ass. Everyone who can handle a weapon. Leave the kids 'n the cripples behind. How many combat effectives?"

"Wait one, Sir." I covered the mouthpiece. "Sergeant-Major, we're moving out, moment we can move. Emergency combat tasking from the sound of it. Everyone who can run, carry a weapon, and put down ratdogs. Full battle rattle. Any of the volunteers know which end the bullet comes out of, they're coming. Get it going. We can do the paperwork if they survive, 'n backdate it. And tell the cooks to cancel Christmas Dinner. We'll be living of off ratpacks for a few days."

Hated ratpacks. MRE. Meals, Ready to Eat? Only in the old Army's imagination. They were fucking awful.

"Ma'am." She was on her feet and out the door, voice raised, snapping orders out in the Orderly Room, 'n boots were hitting the ground, running. Maddock didn't fuck around.

Yah, well, we were using an old strip mall as our base this week. I was in back, Orderly Room was up front. Old store room at the back with the mattress on the floor was where I'd been sleeping.

"Back, Sir," I said, and even from in here, I could hear the bellowed commands for combat effectives to fall in, full load. "Four companies, and my Ready Reaction Group. Say five hundred effectives, I've had some civilians come out of the woodwork to sign up. I'll take all of them with any experience as well, spread them out. Round numbers. Six hundred. What's up?"

"Security are crapping all over themselves. Clearance Task Force that went through San Juan fucked up big time. Seems they missed a lotta ratdogs. Security have an ear or two on the ground, there's a crapload of ratdog symps left, and they're pouring into some frigging location, not sure where, yet, but the local militia's compromised, lost a lot of weapons, taken a major hit and they're down. Still mobilizing here and there, what's left of them, but it's a fuck-up. Security 're on that one, but we need someone to deal with the ratdogs once we know where they're rendezvousing. There's a lot of local militia not responding to the call-up. Security think quite a few ratdogs snuck through the clearance there. Goddamn maggots."

The Colonel laughed, sort of. "Bastards put out it was a Christmas Eve Concert apparently, 'n the local Security team bought it, hook, line and sinker. The ratdogs took local Security out this afternoon, all over San Juan, a few of them got calls out before they went down, sporadic firefights still going on all over. Still don't have a lock on the location. What we do know is there's ten, maybe twelve thousand of the fuckers. Intel says they're gonna be kicking it off tonight, after a few speeches and shit."

"They're what? Speeches? What the..."

"Yeah, you and me both, Wong. Guess they're finding it hard to get past that antifa social justice warrior fuckwit rabble rousing. Motivate the comrades, and all that shit. Besides, they're a frigging mob, not military. Dunno how the fuck so many of the maggots got cleared. Not my clearance zone. Someone gone way too soft from the sound of it."

"Yeah, well, that's one problem we don't have, Sir. Any other units going in?"

"Yeah, but you're the closest, Wong. You're only a couple of hours out, once you're rolling. Once we find out where they're rendezvousing, you'll be notified. That's your objective, nip this in the bud and terminate it, or worst comes to worst, pin them down until backup gets there. Got other units going in to secure the zone, back you up, we'll do another cleanup once things have settled down. A real frigging cleanup. Get your ass moving, Wong. Twelve thousand ratdogs loose in our rear with guns, that'll be a real problem. One of our main supply lines south runs through there."

"On it, Sir."

"I'll call you as soon as Security contact us with a lock on where they're assembling."

"Roger that, Sir. Anything else?"

"Yeah. Happy Christmas, Wong." The Colonel laughed.

"Yeah, and fuck you to, Sir," I said, but only after he'd disconnected.

* * *

"Alpha and Bravo have those Caiman's they handed over to us," I said. "Column formation. Alpha up front, Bravo in the rear. Command Group and Ready Reaction up Alpha's ass, Charlie and Delta in the center."

Got those Caiman's three weeks ago, fuck knows where they came from, but they made everyone's life easier. Mine-resistant armored trucks, the upgraded ones, carried ten men each, and we'd kluged twin fifty caliber Browning mounts in the turrets.

"Charlie and Delta are gonna have to load in the trucks."

Mostly the old M939's. Really old, because we were just about last on the list for equipment. Not front-line, not supply. Job we did was needed, essential even, but we were rear echelon. Not even rear echelon, really. We knew that. Cleanup, that was us. Cleaning up the trash, and what we did wasn't going to win the war. Necessary though, coz it was gonna win what came afterwards. Had to win the war first though, and we all knew the priorities, so we did what we had to do with what we had. And what we had were M939's.

Old M939's. Older than me, a lot of them.

Wasn't exactly gonna be comfortable, but what the fuck. We'd been far less comfortable a year ago. They were all we had, except for the Ready Reaction Group's old Nyala's, and we had twenty of them we'd picked up, back up north, from a National Guard repair depot that'd been overrun. Ratdog's hadn't known they'd had them, and we'd found them. We'd repaired them. Came in real useful, and the four battle-scarred old Cougar's my Headquarters Group used were sort of a bonus. God knows where Montoya had dug them up from, some Police department probably, but he had, and I liked my Cougar. Liked the old Browning fifty up in the turret too. Oldie, but a goodie.

Amazing what the old National Guard had stockpiled away. We'd even found some old Garand's. Militia units had gotten them.

"Roger that, Ma'am. Anything else?"

"Rest of 'em secure the base here," I said. "Riley got winged last week, he's in command back here."

"He won't like that," Maddock said.

"No, he won't, but he can barely walk, so tough shit," I said. "Send a couple of the kids for him. They can carry him across if he still can't walk by himself. Now, full combat load, max out on ammo. As much as everyone can carry, and load in as much extra as the vehicles can carry." I grinned now, and Maddock took a step back, so it couldn't have been good. "Intel says we got twelve thousand of the fuckers to take down."

"Fuck," she said, and I could see her doing the math. Six hundred of us. Twelve thousand of them.

"Yeah," I said. "And seems like they've infiltrated the militia units, may have some of their weapons."

"Double fuck," she said, 'n outside, voices were yelling, engines rumbling into life, 'n we weren't good at any sort of parade shit, but my guys could move like greased lightning when they had to, even though half them were old fuckers.

Old, but the old guys knew what they were doing, 'n you didn't need to tell anyone twice.

"Yeah," I said. "Double fuck, alright."

* * *

"Wong, it's the Shaker's Stadium, on Coleman Avenue, right beside the San Juan airport," the Colonel said, 'n the old Cougar was thundering up the 101 from Gilroy, not quite at the front of the column, but close, and anyone that didn't get out of our way, well, those old Caiman's up front scared the crap out of your average commuter. If they didn't, they bunted them off the frigging road even faster.

Not that there were as many commuters as there used to be. None right now, real late on Christmas Eve. Front was further south now, but there'd been some clearance down around here. Not enough, from the sound of it. Not if they could put twelve thou...

"Security says the plan is they're equipping them with weapons stolen from the militia armories, going to take the airport. Intel says the ratdogs are planning an air assault. They picked up a bunch of Chubby Girls from China."

"What the fuck?" I said. "胖妞?"

Yeah, I read the frigging Intelligence summaries they sent us. Frigging Chicoms were helping the ratdogs, but you couldn't expect anything else. Ratdogs, they'd been in bed with the chicoms for decades. Goddamn traitors, but then, that's what a ratdog was.

"Yeah," the Colonel said, and he wasn't laughing. "Those frigging Xian Y20's, that old assault transport aircraft of theirs, the big girl, so now we got the fucking Chicom's joining in and helping the ratdogs. No offense, Wong."

"None taken, round eye."

The Colonel snickered, 'n then he got serious again, real fast. "Intel says they took delivery of around twenty of them, old ones the Chinks were retiring, but that's two thousand men they can airlift in, or heavy weapons, and we got fuck all to stop them with if they get control of the airport, and they're lining up to try and break through the front, push us back north of the Bay."

"As if," I said.

"Yeah, as if," the Colonel said. "But these fuckers, if they cut the highway south, its right next to the frigging airport. Supply route cut, that could make the difference to us. That'd fuck us up the ass, and Intel says that's the ratdog's plan, best they can assess. So you get your ass to that Stadium, and take them out, fast as you can, Wong. Any way you can. You know how."

"Yeah, I do," I said, my voice flat, 'n I did.

I knew how.

* * *

"Go Tactical only," I said on the command frequency. "Keep the yapping for the girls after we get back."

"What about boys?" McKesson's voice came over real clear and sweet, like she was next to me.

"What part of Go Tactical don't you understand," I said. "Shut it down. I can hear the guns."

Sitting up in the Cougar's turret, we were rolling into San Juan, yeah, I was starting to hear the firefights as we rumbled up highway 87, heading north, 'n everyone was wired 'n ready. Seeing the fires, hearing the gunfire, that did it, and this wasn't a clearance op. Not with the scale of the shooting. Road was pretty fucked up, there'd been some fighting here as we pushed the ratdogs south. Passable, but rough, 'n we were doing thirty, bouncing and bumping, weaving around the worst holes.

"Fuck!" Mostly.

"Alpha One Five. Some sorta roadblock up ahead." Open channel.

"Not ours," I replied. Colonel had been real specific about that. "Hit them hard, light 'em up, push through, and fuck 'em. We're not stopping. Someone else can clean up behind us."

Beside me. Frazer checked the fifty caliber, 'n I knew he didn't want me up here, but we had all of Alpha ahead of us. Two files of Caiman's rumbling up the highway, Command Group Cougars up close, Ready Reaction Nyala's right behind us, 'n I could sense the tension on the coms. The quick reports.

Terse. Tighter than the usual tactical chatter when we were rolling. A constant rain of comments. Me, I was looking around myself, checking, and it was a moonlit night, we were moving fast, without lights, and up ahead?

"Alpha One Five. Roadblock confirmed. Right across the highway. Cars. Nothing big."

"Alpha One Zero Actual. Straight through," Kratman came over, cold and controlled, way he always was when the shooting started.

Alpha One Five lit them up, and in the other lane, Alpha One Three joined in, two pairs of twin Brownings lacing the block, and behind them Alpha One Zero Actual was firing of flares, turning night into day, and yeah, ratdogs. No uniforms, civvies with rifles and machineguns, and we hosed them down.

Fifty caliber, forty millimeter grenades, we blew them to pieces, and the two lead Caiman's crashed through the cars that'd been rolled together into an improvised block. Thank fucking Christ they hadn't had time to use concrete barriers, or roll a few trucks in, because the cars went flying, and there was movement off on the roadside, in the ditches.

"All Alpha elements. Bandits. Movement my eleven o'clock." Alpha One Zero Actual called the warning on the channel. Didn't need it. Everyone was calling in. More warnings, more movement, different locations, both sides of the highway. We'd walked into an ambush, 'n fuck, the M939's behind us were sitting ducks. No armor, loaded with men.

No command needed. Standard ambush drill. Twin Brownings in every Caiman up the front of the column poured fire out to either side, grenade launchers thumped, again and again, pumping grenades out into the darkness, men rose from the grass, and rising, fell, torn to fragments, bodies ripped and torn. Vehicles in the long grass out beyond the verge were taking fire, metal and glass disintegrating, flames beginning to flicker from inside.

A ratdog stumbled out from behind one, smoldering. Someone cut him down in passing, and up ahead one of the Caiman's was walking his fire down buildings out beyond the wall along the edge of the highway, flames suddenly flickering to life.

Ahead of me, our lead Cougar opened up, stitching bullets through what remained of the roadblock as we burst through. A machinegun barrel poked out of a car window off to one side. Before it could fire, Frazer opened up, the window and the car door disintegrating under the rain of fifty caliber bullets. They'd blocked us. They'd tried to ambush us, and I guess they'd been expecting something, but we'd hit them too unexpectedly, too fast, too brutally hard, and our lead elements were through, and there was nothing from the roadsides now.

No return fire.

Nothing but the silence and stillness of death, and the flickering flames, the willy pete grenades firing up everything that could burn, and that included metal. A ratdog ran out onto the highway, a flaming torch, screaming, twisting, his back on fire, his arms flailing. Nothing put white phosphorous out, not when it was on you. The only way it stopped was if it exhausted itself, or you cut it out.

Frazer cut him down, and he lay there, burning.

He was the last. Nothing living was left to move, and Task Force Wong rumbled on. Behind, a destroyed and burning ratdog roadblock. Ahead? Who knew what we faced, but at the end of the road, there were twelve thousand ratdogs waiting for us, and our only hope was surprise.

I smiled.

There was no relief, no lessening of tension. We were in bandit country now.

"All elements. Fast as you can, stay tight. Exit west on Alameda." We'd come in on the side roads, loop around and come down Coleman.

* * *

"Alpha One Actual. Looks like a convoy ahead. Our trucks. We expecting anyone?"

"Mouse Actual. No." I'd called in fifteen minutes ago, checked. "No friendly units in vicinity. Assume they're hostiles. Can you stop them?"

"Alpha One Actual. Yeah, we can stop them. Got eyeballs on them. Cargo trucks. They're loaded down."

Kratman cut across to his company frequency, 'n I was listening on that one too. Listened to all the company channels. You filtered out what wasn't relevant. You got used to it. "All Alpha elements. Drill Foxtrot Ultra Charlie Kilo Echo Mike."

Ahead of me, Alpha's Caiman's floored it, exhausts puffing diesel smoke, accelerating past the column of trucks rumbling down the road. Two minutes later, those trucks were braking, stopping, the Caimans lined up with their Browning fifties trains on them.

"Secure them," Kratman said, 'n his men were already on the move. All along the column of trucks, men, and more than a few women, were climbing out of the cabs at gunpoint, or being jerked out, but all of them ended up face down on the ground, zip-tied, 'n we did this day in, day out. No mistakes.

"Terminate them?" Kratman asked, 'n he did sound optimistic.

"Secure for now," I said. "Some of them might actually be ours. Might. Let's give 'em the benefit of the doubt. For now." My command group rumbled forward, slowly, up to the head of the column, the rest of them staying back. Some of the ratdogs were starting to go full jihadi now and then. We'd had a couple of suicide bombers last week. Bombs hadn't gone off, either time, but eventually...