I felt the ice-cold water as it poured against my skin, providing some relief from the Sahara Desert's hot air.
The battle was over, and my troop was relieved. The Air Force's Military Airlift Command had brought in more troops, equipment, and supplies, especially tanks of ice cold water in which we could cool off. They had also sent helicopters with red crosses to evacuate the wounded; I prayed to Jesus Christ to look out for the wounded warriors. VHT-1 Spartas, VF-8 Logan, and VF-11 Thunderbolt battloids all stood guard on watch for enemy reinforcements. The sun set to the west.
"Are you staring, sir?" asked Executive Sergeant Rebekah Avital.
She was eye-catching, considering that she was wearing a black tank top along with her MARPAT pants. "You do stand out, Sergeant," I said.
"I would strongly advise you refrain from touching, Lieutenant," she replied.
I understood her. Fraternization between officers and enlistees was not allowed.
And then some more ladies approached, all wearing nothing but tank tops and pants. I recognized Lieutenant Nina Washington and Lieutenant Shelby Porter among them.
"Nina," said Jack. "Great too see that you are all right."
"You too, Jack," replied Nina. "Of course, I did provide the air support you needed."
"We were fine ourselves."
I saw that Shelby was looking really red, like a ruby.
"You look like a boiled lobster, girl," I said.
"I forgot to pack sunscreen," she replied.
"Porter, you would forget your veritech if someone like me was not looking out for you," said Nina.
"I hope they have something good for dinner, like pot roast," said Lieutenant Michael Meyers.
We all laughed. Army food out in the field was not exactly gourmet.
In any event, they fed us rations, which was meat and boiled vegetables in some spicy sauce. Not as good as the food served in Burger King; it did sate our hunger.
Shelby sat across from me under the mess tent. I told her briefly about what it was like growing up in Jamaica, the weather, the fact that the primary industry was tourism from America and Europe.
"I like flying," she said. "I remember hearing about the stories of pilots who flew in the Robotech War. I'm glad I was able to become a pilot."
"Even though you could be hurt or killed in combat?"
She did not answer; she just stuck her fork into her aluminum ration container and ate a small bite-sized chunk of beef.
I started thinking about what I saw. Those machines were not robots, but vehicles driven by people. I started wondering what those people were like. What lives did they have at home? What were they told about us?
"You okay?" she asked.
"It was eventful," I said. I looked as the sky got darker and darker, the blue turning to lavender.
Soon afterward, the wind started blowing desert sand into the base camp. It was really inconvenient having all that sand blow in. Fortunately, we had shelter.
The alien ship that served as their forward operating base was now our shelter from the Sahara sandstorm. Cots were set up inside the cavernous space, which was probably used to storing the enemy war machines. It was convenient, as the interior was cooler, in addition to protecting us from the sand-bearing winds.
"That sandstorm is gonna do a number on our hovertanks," said Private First Class Glenn La Belle.
"Sergeant Avital can have you clean the sand out of the hovertanks," I replied.
"Sir?"
"Don't worry, La Belle," said Avital. "I would not have you do that if I didn't believe in you."
As I lay on the cot, I started thinking about what I saw. There were people operating those things on the inside. Every time I was destroying those war machines, I was killing people. Did they wake up in the morning, expecting this to be their last day in this physical Universe? I soon drifted off to sleep.
Ooooooooo
It was already getting warm by morning of the next day. Once again, we had breakfast rations, which was basically scrambled eggs and hash-browned potatoes. The soldiers, marines, and airmen who had the graveyard shift joined us, hoping to have a breakfast before going to sleep.
"That sandstorm sure did a number," said Mike. Some of our soldiers were already checking the hovertanks for sand.
"I wonder what the plan is," I said.
"Simple," said Lieutenant Colonel Lupon Kravshera. "We stay here until we are sent back to base."
"And that video feed, sir?" I asked.
"It was already forwarded to Southern Cross Army headquarters," said Kravshera.
It was a few hours later that Colonel Kravshera summoned me to the command Quonset hut, which was located near the alien ship. I could feel the air inside was cooler, and hear the hum of an air conditioner.
"We have a live video feed with HQ ArmySoCross," said a corporal.
An image of a black-haired man in his forties appeared; I recognized him from news reports as Lieutenant General Rolf Emerson, commander of the U.N. Army's Southern Cross Field Army.
"General," said a colonel who was the senior officer here.
"How is it going over there?" asked the general.
"Hot, sir. Very hot."
"I understand the 6th battalion sighted one of the enemy troops."
"Yes, sir," replied Colonel Kravshera.
"I was the one who captured the video feed of the enemy pilot, sir," I said.
"We also found bodies inside the alien craft," said the colonel in charge in the operation. "We won a victory, but we both know this war will not be won until the Spacy crushes the enemy fleet and then attacks whatever rock they came from."
"We'll have the bodies transported to Monument City for study," said General Emerson. "And we will send a scientific team to examine the alien spacecraft. Now back to your posts."
The video feed was then cut off.
It was the next day that our battalion was sent home. On the way, I kept thinking about the ramifications of what we were doing. Did the enemy have the same level of camaderie among themselves that we did?
We felt the air get cooler as we crossed to the other side of the Atlas Mountains, where breezes from the Mediterranean Sea moderated the weather.
I was relieved to see the base again, with the battalion headquarters, the guardhouses, the officers' mess, and the men's BOQ that was still under construction. I was even glad to see the Quonset hut that was serving as the temporary men's BOQ. I looked and saw the enlistees get out of the truck, the expression on their faces revealing their gladness of being back on base.
And then Master Sergeant Tomas Cabon had them unpack everything.
We settled into the usual routine of staying prepared and drilling. But the knowledge I recently got kept me thinking. I even had some trouble sleeping more than the others in the Quonset hut.
I spoke to Sergeant Avital about it.
"The best person who can help you is Master Sergeant Cabon," she said. "I have known him for eleven years, and he had served as a mentor to me."
"He must be very busy."
"I can arrange an appointment with him for you, sir," she said. "He'll make time for you if I ask for it."
And so he did.
I noticed he had a corner office, and it was larger than Lieutenant Jack Emerson's "office"; it revealed how important the master sergeant was to the battalion. It has a wooden desk as its centerpiece, a bookcase, and some pictures hanging on the wall, as well as a steel filing cabinet.
"Sergeant Avital asked me to meet you, sir," he said, sitting in the leather chair. The master sergeant was a tall, olive-skinned man with close-cropped black hair. He was dressed in a Class "C" uniform, the uniform worn on base during warm weather. He spoke with this accent indicating that he was from South America. "Please be quick, Lieutenant, I have important things to do."
"I just learned we were killing people, Master Sergeant," I said.
"And you had no idea that the enemy was people?" he asked.
"Until I saw them, I did not think about it when I was fighting the enemy. Now it is all I think about."
"Look at these ribbons, sir," he said.
I looked at the ribbons, which represented his medals. I recognized the Distinguished Service Medal and the Titanium Medal of Valor among them.
"You are well-decorated, Master Sergeant," I said.
"This medal here was for my participation in the campaign against renegade Zentraedi," he said. "I enlisted in the Army after the end of the First Robotech War. There were still many Zentraedi who wanted to continue fighting even after their Supreme Commander ordered them to stand down. I remember the first time I was in combat. I knew we were killing people, and after that first time I kept thinking about it. Unfortunately, it gets easier. If I may ask, sir, why did you join?"
"I wanted an exciting and fulfilling career," I said. "The only careers in Jamaica are waiting on tables with tourists from America or Europe, or farming and fishing."
"It can be exciting at times, sir," he said. "And it can be dull, like it was when we were in the desert a few days ago after the battle. And now you know the toll a military career can take. I can't say for sure that you made the wrong career choice, Lieutenant. Only you can observe whether this was right for you. As for having to kill people, it is a burden we chose to bear, and bear it we must. Let's be strong, sir, and hope this war will end. And never forget what we are fighting for. Now please excuse me."
"Thank you, Master Sergeant," I said, walking away from his office. Along the way, I saw Colonel Kravshera.
"As you were, Lieutenant," he said.
"Yes, sir," I replied.
Oooooo
A few days later, I had the graveyard shift in the battalion office. The battalion was active 24/7, which meant an officer had to be in charge at all times, and it was my turn. I drank a cup of coffee that had been imported from Ghana. While I would rather have been asleep, my surroundings were more comfortable than the men's temporary BOQ. All of us were clad in the more comfortable BDU's, as it was Army custom to reserve the service uniforms for day wear on base.
Staff Sergeant Wing called for me and Jack, who was the officer in charge of the battalion this evening.
"A couple of soldiers from the 18th troop were pulled over by the police in Tangier," said the staff sergeant. "Sergeant Bakovic was arrested, sirs."
"You check it out," Jack said to me.
And so I did.
I ordered Private La Belle to drive me to the police station in Tangier; I rode in this green Toyota Avalon that the Army used for a staff car.
"Well, sir, at least this breaks the monotony," said La Belle as he drove on the road leading to downtown Tangier. Looking through the windshield, I can see the streetlights as well as the headlights of cars traveling in the other direction.
It was a few minutes after we left the base that we arrived in downtown Tangier. La Belle was looking for a place to park the car near Tangier's police headquarters.
"I can park here, sir," said the private, pulling up to the curb. I could see the entrance to the Tangier Police Headquarters. It has a set of concrete steps leading up to a row of glass doors. The whole place was well-lit. I saw a uniformed man walk down the steps.
"Stand guard here," I said. "Wait for my return."
"Yes, sir," replied La Belle.
I walked up the steps into the lobby of the police headquarters. It looked like a typical lobby of a police headquarters, with a desk staffed by police officers, wooden benches, a clock mounted on the wall. Overhead, a ceiling fan was spinning slowly. Some of the police officers in their blue uniforms turned their attention to me, as I was dressed in MARPAT camouflage.
A short, dark haired lady in a police uniform approached me. "Sergeant Al Badri," she introduced herself. "I am a translator."
I introduced myself.
"A few of your soldiers already gave statements. Your Sergeant Bakovic is in a holding cell in the headquarters."
"You speak good English," I noted.
"Yes. I was in your United Nations Army's military police," she said. "I joined the Tangier police after my discharge."
Some young men entered the lobby.
"Sir," they said upon seeing me.
"What happened?" I asked.
"We were going back to base, with Sergeant Bakovic behind the wheel, sir," said one of the men. "He pulled over when we saw the blue and red lights, and they arrested him for drunk driving."
"I want official reports from you," I said. "This night."
And so I interviewed each soldier alone in a room the local police provided for me. Corporal Shays, Private Nguyen, Private Pacquaio, and Private Cassari all agreed that they had been drinking, and that Bakovic was arrested for drunk driving. They did not tell exactly the same story; their stories did not contradict.
Sergeant Al Badri approached me. "We'll keep Bakovic overnight," she said. "We will notify the local prosecutor of this."
"We will also need copies of your police report," I said.
"Sure."
I looked at the four soldiers who rode with Sergeant Bakovic. "You four with me," I said. "Tomorrow at 0900, you will report to the troop office. If you are late, you will be in trouble."
"Yes, sir," they all replied.
And so we returned to base.
Ooooooo
The next day, Sergeant Bakovic was in the troop office. Jack ordered everyone except me, Mike, Sergeant Avital, and Bakovic to leave the office. Jack sat behind a desk while Bakovic stood at attention.
"Were you driving drunk, Sergeant Bakovic?" asked Jack.
"I had a few drinks and I was driving; I did not feel drunk, sir," he said.
"The police report says your blood alcohol level was 0.18. That is above the legal limit, Sergeant. You do realize what trouble you are in, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are subject to prosecution under Moroccan law as well as the UEF Criminal Articles."
"Don't we have immunity, sir?"
"Not under our SOF with the Kingdom of Morocco. You can be demobilized and turned over to them for prosecution."
"Are you going to let that happen?"
"That depends, Sergeant. Our SOF requires extradition if they can make a reasonable case, and with this report, they can. In the meantime, I am signing an order convening a summary court-martial."
"A summary court-martial, sir?"
"Yes, for violation of Section 1634 of the UEF Act," said Jack. He looked through some notes. "You will not be entitled to counsel, though you may hire counsel at your own expense. You have the right to dismiss the summary court-martial. You are also notified that if you dismiss the summary court-martial, a special or general court-martial may be convened instead." Jack signed a piece of paper. "Follow me." He led the sergeant to one of the cubicles. "From 0900 to 1700, starting today, this will be your duty station. You will not leave unless authorized by any of us here, or if you are required to appear before your court-martial. I will not tolerate you leaving your post without authorization."
"Yes, sir."
"To your post, Sergeant Bakovic."
Sergeant Bakovic sat down.
"Come with me," Jack said to me.
I followed him out to the outer stairwell. "When you advance in rank," said the lieutenant, "You will have to deal with disciplinary issues. You will have to judge whether to do a 1550, convene a court-martial, or kick it up the chain of command. I figured it was best for Sergeant Bakovic to be court-martialed."
I looked out. There were a few clouds in a sky, and soldiers on the streets running errands. "I think I could do it, sir," I said.
Later that day, we saw a news report on a Sony plasma television in the officers' mess. A big bald man whom I recognized as United Earth Forces Supreme Commander Anatole Leonard stood behind a podium, flanked by generals and admirals of the UEF component services.
"Good morning," said the supreme commander. "Last evening, the Spacy's First Fleet, assisted by air combat wings from the Air Force and Space Marines, launched a major offensive against the enemy. We expect this major offensive to be a huge step towards crushing the enemy fleet around Earth. We did suffer some losses. I ask everyone on Earth to pray for the families of those killed in this action."
I put down my slice of pork chop. I had no idea that it happened; the battalion was not even put on alert.
"Maybe this war will be over soon," said Mike.
"Too bad we won't be part of the action," said Lieutenant Shirogane.
"We all know the battle for Earth will be decided by the Spacy and Air Force," said Jack. "Maybe our division will be placed under REFCOM and we will have to land on the enemy's home world."
Just then a reporter asked, "Have the Expeditionary Forces found the home world of the enemy yet?"
"They have not identified the enemy's home base at this time," said Leonard. "All we know is that the fall of the Zentraedi has led to splinter factions fighting over the power vacuum that has existed for the past eighteen years. Only by taking the fight to the enemy's home, cutting them off from their supplies, can we win this war."
"Sir," asked another reporter, "what about recalling the fleet for a massive attack against the enemy here, to secure Earth?"
"That is a policy under consideration," said Leonard. "I will consult with the service chiefs and Admiral Breetai at REFCOM on this issue. Ultimately, the decision rests with Secretary General Moran. Thank you. Please submit further questions to my office in writing."
"He doesn't seem to be a very warm person," I said.
"I've met the supreme commander," said Jack. "He's a sledgehammer in human form. A very good sledgehammer, I will admit."
"I hope we have other tools than a sledgehammer," said Mike. "If the enemy has a better sledgehammer…"
