My family and I stepped out of Christ the King Anglican Church after the Christmas service was over. It was a beautiful service, with a recorded holographic message from the Archbishop of Canterbury played inside the church. Outside, there were a lot of clouds in the sky, with holes revealing patches of blue. We were all dressed in our best clothes. We greeted our fellow flock a merry Christmas, including a few family friends.

"Let's go home," said Mom. "We got to prepare."

Oooooooo

I was in the kitchen, helping Mom prepare the Christmas dinner. Specifically, I was helping with the turkey.

The kitchen looked pretty much the same as it did when I left Jamaica, with counters, cupboards, a sink, an oven and stove, a refrigerator, and a microwave oven. I had used the microwave oven to defrost the turkey. I wore an apron over my clothes, as well as gloves on my hands.

Mom was making the jerk spice. She usually made the jerk spice by hand, using allspice, Scotch bonnet peppers, cloves, cinnamon, and other stuff.

"So how do you get along in the Army?" she asked.

"Fine," I said. "We rely on each other for our lives. They're great people."

"I had an uncle who lived in England. He served in the Global Civil War. That was before that robotech stuff came to Earth."

I remembered my history. It was a series of wars about thirty years ago, happening all over the world. The war sort of subsided after robotechnology arrived in a crash.

"Did he tell you about the war?"

"I read letters he wrote," answered Mom. "He was killed in action. We'd better take the turkey outside. Our oven can't jerk the turkey."

And so we did. We took the turkey and the jerk spice to what passed for a backyard- basically a small outdoor enclosure behind the house, next to the garage. The enclosure had doors leading to the house and the garage, and it had a gate leading to the alley in the back.

"Let's get cooking," said Dad, wearing a chef's hat and a white apron. The turkey was placed over the jerk pan, and a charcoal fire heated the pan, sending up wafts of smoke. Mom brushed the turkey with the jerk spice. I looked around and we were clearly not the only family on the block cooking some type of jerk meat.

"Dinner is going to be great," said Paul.

Trina was in the yard, carrying Larry.

"How are your parents, Trina?" asked Mom.

"They're great," she replied. "We had a great dinner."

I remembered that Trina's mom and stepdad lived in Port Antonio; she, Paul, and Larry had dinner there on Christmas Eve.

Larry was holding the toy I gave him just two days ago. "Uncle fight aliens," he said.

Trina smiled.

I was thinking. How could a young boy like Larry possibly understand what it means to fight a war? To understand what combat is like. To him, war was a game. I recalled my reunion with my friends, and even they did not understand.

I hoped that Larry would not have to go through with this.

The sun had set, leaving the sky a light purple that was turning dark, by the time we had dinner. Coco bread and curry goat was served, along with the jerk turkey for the main course. Leftover jerk spice was in a bowl if any of us wanted to add extra spice to our turkey. Dad carved slices from the turkey with this long knife. I eagerly took one of the slices of the meat.

After eating it, my mouth felt like a volcano. I certainly did not need some additional jerk spice. Dad brushed some extra jerk spice on his turkey.

"Is Morocco a great place?" asked Trina.

"It is when the enemy is not attacking," I said.

"And where else have you been?"

"I've visited Istanbul and Athens, for one day each," I said, remembering my trips with Melissa. "I even visited France." I did not mention I was there in combat.

"The Army is sure a great way to see the world," said Paul, reaching for some coco bread. "Maybe they will even send you to the other side of the galaxy."

"My friend Charlie is on a ship there right now."

"I remember the fellow," said Mom. "His mother mentioned that a few days ago, about Charlie not being able to be home for Christmas. I think he does flight deck operations."

Trina opened the refrigerator door. "We should get champagne for all of us except Larry."

"What do I get, Mommy?" asked Larry.

"Some orange juice."

"Yay," said the boy.

And so Larry got orange juice, while the rest of us drank sparkling champagne. It tasted good, that sweet sharp taste with the tingly feeling from the bubbles. We toasted for a merry Christmas.

I later went up to my room. My personal computer was still there; I was glad Mom and Dad did not sell it. I turned it on and opened an Internet browser.

A news article on the browser's home page; it was about Supreme Commander Anatole Leonard having Christmas supper with troops deployed on the moon Tirol. I accessed my e-mail.

I smiled when I read an e-mail from Melissa. It made me forget about all the stuff I had been through, at least for a while.

I later went down and watched this Christmas special with Larry and his parents. It was old, even before my time. And yet, I enjoyed it and I enjoyed how Larry enjoyed it. It was a great distraction from my full stomach.

But then it was finally time for Paul, Trina, and Larry to go. We all greeted each other merry Christmas one last time.

Ooooooo

"Another toast to you," said Hermes.

We downed another cocktail. I was with my friends at this seafood restaurant where my brother works. It looked pretty much the same as I remembered. The restaurant was fairly large, with wooden tables and carpeted floors. A wooden bar was at the corner, served by two bartenders, with shelves full of bottles in the back. It was a higher class place than the Cantina Loco. The lighting was dim. A man with dreadlocks and dressed in a suit played the piano. The television showed a limbo game.

We were celebrating my departure from Jamaica. I had to take a morning flight back to Morocco the next morning. I was dressed in casual clothes, including a new shirt that I got for Christmas. On my plate were a few scraps of rice and peas; I had finished the ackee and saltfish.

"Come home safe, man," said Randy.

"Too bad Charlie is missing this," said Fred, drinking a beer.

"You should plan a reunion when he gets back," I said.

I then wondered if he would get back. While he was not on Earth, his ship could be on a mission to find the home world or supply bases of the aliens with whom we were at war. And I knew that the galaxy became a more dangerous place since the First Robotech War ended.

"You might not be there to see Charlie," said Hermes.

"How is your medical school education going?" I asked.

"I'm glad for the break," said Fred. "I picked up a few extra shifts. Got to earn me some money to pay for the tuition."

I nodded. So many of my friends were in the restaurant industry, although some of them, like Fred, were doing this until they could pursue professional careers like medicine or law.

A while later, I went to the men's room. I saw Paul in there.

"Enjoying yourself, bro," he said.

"It's great food. A little expensive, but I earned a lot of bonus pay."

"I admire your decision," said my brother. "Going into the Army, becoming an officer. I mean, I like being a waiter, and I make a lot."

"More than I make."

"Yeah, but your work has to be fulfilling. You are defending our world from those aliens. I'd better get back to work. See you later."

"You too," I said.

Ooooooooo

"So much traffic," said Dad.

I could see the long line of cars and their red brake lights on the road leading from the A4 to Norman Manley International Airport. I took the time to look out to the Caribbean Sea. The sky was pink as the sun was rising. The view was always great.

"It is the 27th," I said. "People are leaving, and some of them are even coming here to celebrate New Years."

"I have to work," said Dad. "People always want to party for New Years' A lot warmer here than most places in England or America."

"Those English and American tourists are what pay for your car and house."

The sky grew brighter and brighter as we inched along the road. I once again checked my boarding pass. It specified my route, going to London and then to Tangier. After going through security, I would not have much time before I had to board the plane.

Dad made the turnoff from the road to the airport terminal. I could see the terminal buildings. The sidewalks were crowded with people in all sorts of dress, all carrying bags. Some of them had huge trains of luggage. My only luggage was my duffel bag with my Class "A" uniform, a change of clothes, and other things.

We finally reached the British Airways terminal.

"Take care," Dad said to me.

"And you too," I replied.

I waded through the sea of people to the British Airways terminal. I went straight for the gate after passing through security, which only took half as long as it took to get from the house to the airport. It was another short wait- about ten minutes, before the gate was opened and I boarded the plane.

I sat in the center seat, flanked by two strangers.

"Enjoy your Christmas, chap?" asked this brown-haired man in his forties whose accent revealed he was from England.

"Yeah, I have to go back to Tangier. I'm in the U.N. Army."

"I've friends who are veterans," said the English man.

Half an hour later the plane took off for London, the engines screaming. I soon fell asleep.