It was happening again.

I could hear gunfire, probably coming from the windows of nearby skyscrapers. I instinctively took cover, and instinct honed from a year serving in combat for the United Nations Army.

"They have us pinned down," said Major Nova Satori.

I briefly wondered who was firing at us. Could it be the Jamaican government?

I went out, fired at where I saw the muzzle flashes, and then retreated behind a car.

I wondered when backup would arrive. I could see and smell smoke from explosions. It was like the war all over again.

I could see an aircraft approach. Legs unfolded from it. It was a VF-11 Thunderbolt in guardian mode.

"I'll cover you!" yelled Satori.

The canopy of the Thunderbolt opened, and one of its arms reached out to me, the palm of its hand open. I got in and the Thunderbolt gently put me in the cockpit. I fastened my seat belt and then the veritech lifted up and took off. Soon we were over the waters of the Caribbean Sea.

"We're clear," said the pilot.

It took a few minutes for me to catch my breath.

Oooooooooo

The veritech guardian VF-11 Thunderbolt landed at the U.N. Spacy base where I had been sequestered. We disembarked, placing our shoed feet on the concrete surface.

The pilot removed her helmet, revealing herself to be Lieutenant Shelby Porter.

"Thanks," I said.

"I was on duty," answered Shelby. "Someone else on duty would have done the same."

"But would they have succeeded?"

I rested at my guest quarters. Major Satori had a plan in case something like this happened. I disguised myself as a Global Military Police agent, while one of them disguised himself as me. And Satori's concerns were proven right.

I turned on the television and watched the news. There were news reports about the attack in Kingston. I was reported dead.

"The trial of a suspected assassin came to an abrupt end…"

"..shocking the world…"

"..the Mossad was clearly behind this…"

"…our prayers go out to…"

Major Satori came to visit me.

"So now what?" I asked.

"We wait," she said. "Somebody didn't want the truth coming out. Damn it! I wish I had been wrong about this."

"Well, we were prepared in case you were right."

"And Sergeant Bennett died. Those..those murderers. This wasn't combat! He was a great aide."

I remembered Sergeant Bennett, an investigative aide assigned under Satori's command. He looked a little like me, so the major had him dress like me in transit from the base to the courthouse in Kingston.

And now he was dead, killed because someone wanted to kill me. I was not a specific target during the war- I was simply in the way of an enemy objective. But in Kingston, I was the objective.

"We need to get those bastards," I said. "Make them pay."

"But how?" asked Major Satori.

"Whoever wanted to kill me thinks I'm dead," I said. "We could start from there."

Figuring the next step was harder.

"We do have a witness protection program," said Satori. "I remember hearing a story about some lady who assigned to RDF Command, back when it was headquartered in the Macross. She was a witness to a corruption case involving organized crime or something. I am not sure of the details, but after that renegade Zentraedi attack, she was reported dead and we secretly transferred her to Glorie Colony."

"Interesting," I said. "So you were sending me off-world?"

"If necessary. Somebody wants to cover something up, something that would likely been revealed if the case went to trial."

Ooooooooo

At least the room was warm.

That was much more than I can say about the air outside. It was cold; I had worn a heavy, oversized coat when I first came in. Now that almost all of the world believed I was dead, the Global Military Police put me in a safehouse located at a joint forces test flight center in this place called Astrakhan, which was somewhere in Russia. And Russian winters, from what I remembered reading about, were very cold. It helped the people there win a few wars even. I had been here the past few days.

At least the heater had not broken down yet.

I wondered if I was be relocated here.

I lay on the bed. Memories of the war surfaced again. The noises, the smells, the sights. I wondered how long these kind of memories would surface.

One day, Major Satori came to see me for an appointment. I quickly closed the door behind here to keep the heat inside.

"We offer you a post in the witness protection program," said Satori.

"So I get to live the rest of my life with a new identity," I said.

She opened a manila envelope and placed it on the wooden coffee table near the front door to the studio apartment. "These are the necessary documents."

I looked at the documents. It was an American passport and a driver's license of a man named Adam V. Howerton, who was about twenty-two years old.

"Adam Howerton was an American who served in the Army," said the Global Military Police investigator. "He was killed in combat two years ago. He even looks a little like you."

I searched through the documents; there was a DD-528, which was a discharge paper. It was dated a few months ago, when the UEF laid off hundreds of thousands of servicemen.

"You will be relocated to somewhere in America. You should be able to adapt since your native language is English. Alternatively, we can get you a land grant in Glorie Colony; they are looking for new colonists."

"And what if I refuse?" I asked.

"If you refuse, you will be returned to Jamaica," replied the major. "Our protection of you is dependent on your cooperation. We can not guarantee that those who tried to kill you back in Kingston will not try again."

"If you relocate me under this Adam Howerton identity, who else would know?"

"Only me and the Office of Witness Relocation. The GMP commander usually does not demand the details of relocated witnesses, let alone the High Command."

I sat quietly for a few minutes. This was a big decision. I would be cutting off ties to Jamaica should I choose a new identity.

"Okay, I want Jack to be in on this," I said. "Major Jack Emerson. I trust him."

Ooooooo

Roswell, New Mexico was not as cold as Astrakhan.

But it was still much colder than Kingston. The heater in my apartment was running, making a sound like a small breeze. The apartment was a studio, with a kitchenette in an alcove. I had boxes of crackers stacked on top of the General Electric refrigerator, and a two liter plastic bottle of Pepsi on the counter. There was not much news of interest on the TV and Internet. Aside from local news, there were one or two blurbs about rebuilding the armed forces in the event of another alien invasion.

The doorbell rang. I walked across the varnished wooden floor to the door of my apartment, and peeked through the peephole. I recognize the face and opened the door.

Major Jack Emerson walked inside. Instead of wearing an Army uniform, he was clad in a coat, a knit cap, and thick trousers.

"Nice place you got here," he said.

"Yeah," I replied. "The GMP sure knows how to relocate witnesses. How are things going?"

"As well as could be expected. It would be a lot easier if those crooks didn't steal most of the world's money, but we have to play the hand we have."

I remember reading that the UEF High Command had been relocated to the Roswell Fleet Yards. Jack was assigned there.

"How do you like life in Roswell?"

"It's cold and there isn't much to do here," I said. "My only company is TV and the Internet."

"Roswell isn't as exciting as Casablanca, Monument City, or even Tangier," said Jack. "The only interesting thing is my work, really."

"It just occurred to me," I said. "Colonel Kravshera moved to Arizona. That's not far away."

"It is a long drive, probably a day's worth."

"Well, you have a choice here, and it's a choice that can affect the rest of your life."

"I've been making choices like that for three years, Jack."

"You can stay in Roswell, and live as Adam Howerton," he said. "Or you can help us expose what really happened."

"I don't know, Jack. I mean, this is how I got into this mess in the first place. And yet, my family and friends think I'm dead."

"I understand. We can do this without you, but it would be easier if you were involved. But we won't wait forever for an answer from you."

Oooooooo

It was a long drive in the Ford Focus. I had driven across Jamaica years ago, and this was even more than twice as long, even though I was driving much faster than I usually did in Jamaica. Aside from a few cities like Albuquerque, most of the scenery was dry land made of reddish stone, with mountains and mesas. It was a desert, yet different from the Sahara in Africa. Most of the drive was on this highway called the 40.

I had exited and headed north on this two lane road. The land was a little wetter, as it was ranch land where sheep and cattle are raised. I recalled reading that most of Jamaica's beef is imported from America, since America had lots of land that is useful for grazing and little else.

I looked at the number on the mailbox. It matched what Colonel Lupon Kravshera had told me. Patches of snow were islands in a sea of green grass. In the far distance was a ranch house. I pressed a numeric sequence on a numeric keypad and told the people there that I was in.

"Come on in," said Colonel Kravshera.

I drove the car inside the ranch, along this damp dirt road, with snow-covered pasture on both sides. It took about a minute to reach the ranch house, which was a large, single-level structure with stucco walls. I saw the colonel walk out the front door and step out into the verandah.

Instead of an Army uniform, he was dressed in blue jeans and a heavy jacket. A broad-brimmed Stetson hat covered his head. Aside from that he looked pretty much the same with his lavender skin.

"Howdy," he said. "Welcome to the ranch."

"I am honored, Colonel," I said.

"I'm only a colonel when I drill with the National Guard. Come on in."

I walked inside the house and the rest of the Kravshera family was inside. They all sat around a wooden dining table with this checkered tablecloth on top. I recognized Leslie Kravshera, clad in a sweater and jeans, with her black hair tied in braids. Their son and daughter sat on the table, both wearing sweaters. An older man wearing a sweater was with them, with streaks of gray in his black hair; I remembered that his name was Johnny, and that he was the colonel's father-in-law, whom I had first met in the colonel's quarters at Gibraltar Base.

"How are you doing?" asked Mrs. Kravshera.

"Great, ma'am," I said. "I'm now living in Roswell."

"Yeah, Lupon mentioned that. I also read about what happened in Jamaica."

"Yeah, it's like I'm caught in a middle of a storm."

Corn bread was served, along with this meat stew with sautéed carrots and peppers.

"What meat is this?" I asked.

"Venison," replied Johnny. "Lupon hunted deer at the Navajo Hunting Preserve."

"I've hunted all my life," said Kravshera. "It was just that I used to hunt Invid. It's different, being out there in the wilderness, with a heavy coat and a rifle and a canteen."

"And with the deer not shooting back," I said.

We all had a good chuckle over that. Still, underneath that chuckle were the memories of the horrors of war. Memories I still have.

About half an hour later, the venison stew, corn bread, a pitcher of lemonade and three bottles of Tecate were finished. I had stepped outside on the front porch, my coat keeping me warm. Johnny stepped outside.

"Figured out what to do?" he asked.

"There are so many things," I said. "It's like I can't see the whole picture."

"From what I heard, you could live your life as this Adam Howerton. Nobody's looking for you, and only a few people know whom you really are. And yet, to live as Adam Howerton, you have to abandon your old life. All those people you knew since you were a boy, you would have to leave them."

"And yet I would have to fight to reclaim my identity."

"For what are you fighting?"

"I…I don't know. During the war, I was fighting to defend the Earth, but this next battle is just a squabble over who gets to have the protoculture."

"When I joined the National Guard, it was simply to get a taxpayer-funded trip out of the reservation. And then I found myself in a foreign land, carrying an M-16. Initially I thought I was fighting for my country, like what the recruiter told me. Then I was fighting just to stay alive.

"It was different with Lupon. He emerged from the clone tank only to fight. Fighting had been his purpose, in itself. Then he came to Earth, found its culture, and had a family. That is what he fought for in the war, and that is what he would fight for again."

I thought back. My old life in Jamaica, my friends.

For what will I fight?