What the Occupation is About

December was a month of particular unrest despite the normalcy I talked about in previous chapters, and it was all due to the events of November. In late November, the siege for the Montreal Underground City was ended by us in an all-out assault. Command was tired of waiting around for terms and surrender from the isolated populous and their stupid fucking influence by the insurgent partisan fucks. Give the Fuck up already! So, command authorized the attack to put a swift end to the situation that plagued us since the first days after the battle.

At first, a warning was given and was surprisingly responded to by the population; surprising until those poor boys running the blockade learned why. After the warning, hundreds of starving people started to head out from all entrances, making our troops lower their weapons. It wasn't until insurgents hiding in the mob of starving people got close enough that they started firing on our troops. Fucking cowards.

The guns on both sides went off killing many residents of the UGC. The situation was quelled after several hours of intense underground warfare at the expense of a lot of "Innocent". I say "Innocent" because even those starving fuckers probably let the insurgents use them as shields, given the amount of fanatics that even attacked our troops who offered aid in the immediate aftermath. Once that issue was ended in bodies, command ordered the assault, the infantry moved in, and cleared the place out over several days.

The civilian death toll was very high and the number of captives we got was at a record high as the US cleared every corner and insurgents intentionally made more shields of those who did/didn't want to fight. The clearing of the UGC also cleared all rumors of the Montréal governor being there. No real intel, no real anything, the Montréal UGC was nothing more than a giant refuge for much of the Montréal populous and way of maneuvering covertly for the insurgency. The governor of the Montreal territory was still nowhere to be found, but our troops did capture a prominent militia leader. He was hung in public, and the partisans certainly exploited the death of every civilian caught in the crossfire to increase resistance to the occupation. No amount of the truth about hostilities from everyone there would change those minds out there.

So the days went on, unrest grew, the people found new reasons to hate us, etc. Like I said in the previous chapter, even a changing environment becomes routine when change itself is the usual.

It was almost Christmas time and the instability was increasing since the events above. With the approach of the holiday, I got to thinking. So much had happened in only a few months that it felt like I'd been away for years. It was really hard to believe that I was only a civilian and holding my love in my arms less seven months prior.

Despite the increasing chaos and worsening situation in this hostile city, there was a lot of publicity in Canada that time of the year, and civilians from big news companies occasionally arrived at The Square. The higher ups told all soldiers in Montreal to show them that the army's goal is to stabilize the situation and provide resources for people on the home front.

That idea seemed crazy, considering what we had to do just to clear a street along a patrol route. Still, the arrival of the news people gave us soldiers on the Canadian Front a new liveliness. Cpt. Morales even told us to, "Smile for the cameras" if we were to be interviewed or followed during a routine duty. It was hard to smile for a camera when every soldier exposed to the Montréal air had to wear a gas mask, but the idea and spirit of being in the news created a new fun mood amongst us and our usual stress and misery.

So, with the increase of news people stopping by our firebase, and giddiness from the soldiers, orders came to us from our officers and everyone was given rules and guidelines about what to say if interviewed. Enforcement was strict; saying the wrong thing to a news outlet could even result in imprisonment. That all seemed understandable with everything we've done during the battle and following unrest. However, that didn't account for the cameras rolling, especially the ones that followed the patrols. I suppose "Show, don't talk" was the general idea when it came to showing civilian news outlets how the Sherman Doctrine was working out.

So, my experience with one of the news people came about in a way you might expect one would go in the annexation world I was gradually accepting.

We were on a routine patrol one gray afternoon on a prominent December day; the army had been expanding the routes of patrol slowly since the end of the fight for Montreal and that initial lockdown period. I remember looking up at the sky that was still blanketed by a dark gray cloud and thought again how I hadn't seen the direct sun since arriving in Canada.

Anyway, we reached a neighborhood that was sprawling with US troops. Our patrol route took us to the middle of an urban pacification operation in a hot zone or "Red Zone." Our orders for encountering situations like that on patrol were to find the officer in charge and offer assistance, since comms between different units from other firebases were still disorganized. If aid wasn't needed, then we were supposed to continue along the route and return to The Square. So, we marched on through as the operation continued, and soldiers detained or interrogated civilians, or stacked breaching teams for designated homes in a display all too familiar to us by that point. The scene would be frightening to civilians both American and Canadian alike as shots were fired on occasion, followed by the short screams of victims.

Upon entering the thick of the busy operation, I asked around as soldiers went about their business, and was pointed to the officer in charge. A 1st Lt. asked us to assist with a breaching operation and pointed towards a squad standing by a fountain in the middle of the intersection. What was really interesting about the squad was that the whole group seemed rather livelier than others going about their business. Getting closer and looking over a few shoulders, I saw they were surrounding a news team that was perched next to the fountain. Upon seeing that, the boys and I were eager to get some camera time, so we approached the gaggle of troops and news team whose person on the ground was interviewing a very large soldier in the standard dirty gear and mask.

As we joined the entourage, I took the moment to study the news team that had cameras focused all around the intersection, taking in every bit of the mechanical warzone around us. Studying the crew, my eyes focused on the reporter, who was busy talking to the large soldier whose nametag and rank said he was Sgt. Grant. All too familiar with the sight of US troops in ashy OD armor, I studied the reporter. His brown suit had Montréal ash around the pant legs, and overhearing a few words, I heard he had a nervous shake in his voice as he asked the sergeant questions. The elderly news man had a shiny grey mustache that appeared to match his thinning hair and "old-timer" look, and sweat dripping down his wrinkled face despite the 30 degree weather. I caught the cameras again, saw them labeled "New York 6" and glanced back at the nervous elderly reporter. The man's name credential badge said, "Ronald Dobson."

After studying the crew and surroundings, I focused in and really listened to the interview. Sgt. Grant was explaining to the camera and reporter why this neighborhood was being searched. I found myself distracted by the elderly man's shaky voice and background cameras constantly rotating to capture the whole scene, but listened in again and heard the simple and standard reason for this operation. This district was seen by scouts to be a hotbed of insurrectionist activity.

Despite the fact that every US soldier in this area looked the same under all that armor and chemical protection, me and my squad were still eager for some camera time. So, my squad and I shuffled closer in the background gaggle to where I found myself right behind the sergeant. Some of my idiot pals were even waving on occasion, knowing anything they'd shout would be too muffled in the environmental chaos.

After getting my fill of anonymous background posing, Sgt. Grant concluded his interview with Ronald Dobson of New York 6 and told the camera, "Alright, people of New York! You're about to witness how the army eliminates Canadian partisans to keep the streets secure!" In a voice that pierced through the background noise and mask.

The sergeant then spun around to me, saw the rank on my shoulder plates, and asked while pointing at my guys who joined his entourage, "You ain't part of my squad? You a backup team?"

I shouted in an overtly military manner, "Yes, Sergeant! Lt. said you might need an extra set of hands!"

He racked his rifle and shouted, "Damn right! We're about to conduct a little of the usual fun..."

Grant then pulled up a box labeled "New York 6" that was by his feet and said, "I need you and your squad to mount these Helmet-cams. Congrats on the front row seats!"

He gave each of us in my squad and a few in his a helmet camera from the small box, and we spent the next minute fixing them on. We then started to walk over to one of the designated houses and stacked up while Sergeant Grant said a few more words to the reporter. Ronald Dobson followed us, holding a voice recorder to his mouth, and explaining what was happening while one of his camera people followed along. Aside from my response to the Sgt's questions, I kept quiet in an effort to hide my voice even though it was hardly recognizable through the mask and new Montreal voice scratch I was getting.

We reached our position, waited, then stacked up against the door for a minute while Dobson's cameraman filmed us. I was third in the stack and tried to ignore the fact that I was both filming and being filmed when we did the breach. Sgt. Grant ran through a reminder of our basic roles when breaching, and took his place on the right side of the door in the second position. As I said before, this type of thing was routine as well, not only in Basic, but during a couple notable patrols. Anyway, his man placed the slim explosives on both sides of the front door, and ensured they were secure. Sergeant Grant then pulled the charge on the door and it blew open.

We stormed inside, entering the house through the smoke muddled entryway, and it was hard to see through my lenses in the dimly lit house. We cleared the living room entrance after the first breachers cleared the immediate corners, and I entered the front, scanning the ceiling while the rest filed in and positioned themselves on other entryways. The smoke was still so thick, and I considered flipping my thermal switch when the soldier to my right yelled, "Contact front!" He fired three shots, that sounded like howitzers in the quiet house. The smoke cleared in an instant for me to see a man tumble to the bottom of the staircase leaving a large stain on the wall where he was hit. Close to the stairs, I went up them with three other soldiers, not knowing where my squad was in the house. Reaching the top of the stairs, the first thing I saw was a door on the right down the hallway. So, I took my place on the side of the doorway while the rest of the breaching team searched the ground floor. The three soldiers tailing me came up the stairs and secured their spots for breaching or covering.

I was the third man in this team, so I'd be last to enter in that case. On a rushed count, I kicked open the door with one solid motion, and the others ran in. A single shot was fired, immediately followed by the screams of women?

I entered the room. A man was dead in the corner with a bullet hole just below his neck and center chest. My eyes turned from the man to five frantic women, and dozens of Canadian Army guns scattered throughout the room. Three more troops filed into the room, and they began to drag the women downstairs by their hair. I followed behind, watching in silent panic while trying to show that I was still alert.

Once outside the house, the street was even more chaotic. Ronald Dobson trained the cameras on the women being dragged out of the house. He wiped his neck with a handkerchief nervously as he spoke to the camera, but he was too far for me to hear the words he was saying. I stood by and guarded the women to make sure they didn't move while taking in the scene. Ronald focused on me as a nameless soldier cuffed each woman with their arms behind their backs. Sgt. Grant and a few others came out of the house leading four Canadian partisans.

Grant spoke to all of us, "I called it! There's an armory in the basement, Boys! These people are guilty by association with the Canadian insurgency!"

He stepped forward and stared deep into the main camera. His eyes appeared to glow red behind the debris and soot spattered lenses of his mask as he said, "THIS! This is what the occupation is about!"

He turned from the camera and chucked an incendiary grenade into the house while laughing like a madman. Sgt. Grant personally lined all the surviving men up against the wall while barking orders at the breaching team, but then looked over at me standing by the subdued and sobbing women.

He yelled at me, "Bring them over here, NOW!" My mind said "NO!" but my body acted for me.

I begrudgingly stood them up and marched them over to the wall. I looked around for my team, and saw that Grant lined me, Quinn, Savaren, and some of his guys up in the position of power. I glanced back to see Ronald Dobson petrified with terror.

Sgt. Grant turned around again and looked directly into the camera once more, then shouted almost sarcastically, "You all at home are going to LOVE this!"

He walked over to join our firing line himself. He didn't just want to give the order, he wanted to partake in it. On Grant's cue, we raised our weapons as he yelled, "3!..."

I aimed at the woman standing in front of me. She was in tears, and Grant's voice boomed, "2!..."

She mouthed the words, "Please don't!… Please!" behind a soot covered face and tear pouring eyes.

Grant yelled, "1!..."

The young woman cried out loud, "Please!-"

The Sergeant screamed, "FIRE!" and the guns to my left and right clattered.

Just as I pulled the trigger, I saw SAVANNAH fall to the ground dead!...

I stood there like a stone while the people collapsed, and the crackle of gunfire died. I shot the girl I loved in that moment. Even though she was far away and back home, the type of innocence I killed was hers.

I hadn't had a whole lot of time to think of Savannah, and I thought back to that fight in Junior year. When the world was in conflict, when I was angry, when I wasn't with her, Savannah was dead. Her misery was very real, and I knew it because pulling the trigger, I knew I was changed. Something so simple as an ordinary street patrol, pacification operation, and breaching made me realize that shouldn't have been normal in my world or anyone's. Savannah manifested herself in the woman I killed just to let me know that I was no longer myself, and would never be myself again.

After what felt like minutes of being lost in my head, I found myself completely stuck in a trance, locked with my rifle aimed slightly above where I shot my fallen target, and utterly stuck in mid-recoil. I saw the vision of Savannah fall to the ground lifeless 1 billion times, like a short video caught in an endless loop. What the fuck was happening to me?

My state ended when Savaren tapped me on the shoulder asking cautiously, "You okay, Man?"

I looked around to see only a few seconds had actually passed, and nodded to Savaren. The firing line dispersed to go about their way, and I walked away feeling different. It was the kind of different where nothing seems different, but something deep inside and barely visible knows that it is. Things would never be the same again.

An engineer scorched the bodies with a flamethrower, and Sgt Grant's team went about their business as the activity in the intersection slowly died. I regrouped with my squad and approached Ronald Dobson in person after he threw up and calmed down. The cameras turned off, and the news crew sat on the edge of the fountain in the center of the intersection, unsure what to make of their news coverage. The entire operation was still dying down as trucks pulled up to load captives from the other buildings. The corpses of the op were burning, the captives boarded trucks, and troops rallied to account for everything that happened. I took a seat next to the aging reporter, pulled off my helmet and gas mask, but still concealed my face with the green balaclava beneath it all. After several moments sitting beside the old man, I interrupted his own trauma by asking him;

"Sir? Is that footage going to be shown to the people of New York?… or the world?"

He broke his thousand-yard stare with a curious eyebrow and exclaimed, "Good Lord, I hope not! It's up to the station and several hundred federal regulations to decide that. The Government is very picky about what gets shown on TV nowadays. It's hard to show pictures of fights in Alaska, let alone videos showing the execution of captives!"

I didn't even know what to make of that in my own clouded mind. But I told him, "Sir… It's not always like that in the streets here. The people of Canada hate us, so we make examples of the ones who resist…"

I paused, wondering what I was getting at, looked up, and continued, "Believe me when I say we want peace. The whole world is on fire right now, and all of this seems… Inevitable."

I still wasn't even quite sure what I was trying to say. The old reporter just studied me for a long while, then finally said, "Good God, you're just a boy."

I turned towards the man and said sternly, "I'm 18, sir… and… I have done some things that nobody should ever have to do in the few months I've been here… Just know that the only reason we're doing what we do is to get back home safe… No matter how bad it looks… It's hard to bring peace and love to a people that hate everything about you and want you dead because of the uniform you wear... I didn't sign up for this, Ronald Dobson, but I just want to get home… I'll do anything to get back to h- home…"

Ronald Dobson said simply, "Thanks for that, kid. That definitely seemed like a much more honest chat than the other ones I heard. I know the world is on fire right now, and country is important, but all the footage we shoot, and all the interviews I conduct explain everything going on as 'Duty.' Good to know that there's at least someone who shows some humanity in this nightmare… Even if they partake in this mess mankind put itself in…"

He sat there reflecting on what we had both said, still shaking from the horror he witnessed. I began to get up to leave, but as I was putting my mask and helmet back on, I realized that I still had that helmet-cam attached, and the little light was blinking. I turned the thing off, removed it from my helmet, tossed it to the man and said, "Merry Christmas, sir."

That's what the "Prominent December date" was, Christmas Eve! The day before we commemorate the birth of the savior of the world. An incarnation of God, a man, who spent his entire life being nothing but good to people, helping people, and ultimately sacrificed himself for everyone. A picture of pure innocence, killed horrifically because he wanted to bring love to a world that had no desire for that. I suppose I already killed that kind of innocence, been there, done that. I think my spirit was a roman occupier in a past life. Makes sense. I would be one of the guys to kill the Son of God if Sgt. Grant was just carrying out the Sherman Doctrine.

*Merry Christmas Eve, and Hope whoever's reading this has a Merry Christmas or [Insert Preferred December Holiday]! Hope it's less traumatic than David's!*