all god's orphans

Wes made his way through the camp, his spirits high. He had been given a uniform and a cot. There was plenty of food. He was a respected member of the team now. He even had a rank. Corporal. Everyone wanted him to upgrade their radios and he was only too happy to oblige. Wherever he went, people waved at him. He was the guy who could fix it.

“Hey Wes,” A fellow soldier called to him. “Could you give me a hand with my walkie?” Wes had no idea what this guy’s name was, but he didn’t have to. He was a minor celebrity.

“Sure thing.” He smiled. “I’ve got some things to take care of and then I’ll come find you.” He had begun to understand certain aspects of this new military life. The first thing he realized was that this was not the ALL CAPS US ARMY, but rather something more like national guard trainees. They were technically “in the army”, but they didn’t get the cool stuff you might expect like helicopters or equipment that worked. He assumed all of the regular army units had that because he hadn’t seen a single rocket or grenade since he’d gotten here. That had disappointed him a bit. He was looking forward to blowing something up if he got the chance. Who wouldn’t?

There were also a lot more civilians than he expected to find in an army base and that seemed to have changed the tenor of the whole place. Only rarely did anyone address someone by their rank, and when they did, it was usually one of the older civilian women. Not many children around, but if you were into foxes in their fifties, you would be spoiled for choice. The old biddies seemed to be the ones running the show, even though they technically had to do what the army liaisons told them. Most of those guys were happy to let them run wild if it meant they were staying out of the way. Unless they directly contradicted something the army wanted done, they were free to do as they pleased.

Wes leaned against one of the construction trailers and watched the older women lining a group of children up and shuffling them onto a school bus. The boys were all wearing the same thing, a kind of green jumpsuit, and the girls all wore blue shapeless dresses. The children ranged between about four and up to fifteen, since older girls were eligible for civilian work assignments. He couldn’t get over how weird it all looked.

“Hey, Wes.” Called Buck. “Sergeant MacDunn sent me to get you.” That’s what it was supposed to be, anyway. Wes was just guessing, because when Buck spoke, it sounded more like, “Aywess. Sarnt Mack Dun sent me tah fetch ya.” Wes followed Buck to the armory, all the while picturing him as the lack wit mascot for this unit. He would wear a coonskin cap on top of a KKK hood, or something. That wasn’t a fair assessment, but fuck it, that’s how he felt. Fucking simpletons. Everywhere.

Beside the armory, M16 rifles had been leaned up against the trailer, as well as a row of Kevlar helmets.

“What’s all this?” Wes asked Buck.

“New toys.” Buck seemed waaaaaaay too excited about all this. The rest of the platoon was lined up and there were some new faces Wes didn’t recognize.

“All right, listen up.” MacDunn started. “We’ve got some new orders and some new equipment.”

“New?” Wes asked with a raised eyebrow. These rifles had probably last been used in Vietnam from the look of them.

“That’s enough.” MacDunn said. Grab a weapon and a helmet and get in a vehicle.

They drove to one of those new subdivisions that had been a field since before the revolutionary war. There were tons of these all over the place in this part of the country. One, usually dirt poor family, had held this land since the reconstruction era and now the prices had skyrocketed. Developers would snatch them up, cut it up into the tiniest lots imaginable and then build houses that were only barely up to code. The result was a neighborhood of boring houses without trees around them. Wes hated these.

The platoon gathered around MacDunn’s SUV that was parked in the middle of the abandoned street. There didn’t seem to be anyone around for miles.

“Okay.” MacDunn said. “We’re going to split up into groups of two. You will go to each house and attempt to ascertain whether it is occupied or not. Occupants are to be scanned and photographed, and transport will arrive for them later today. Empty houses are to be checked for weapons and supplies. Anything of value will be placed in a garbage bag and put out near the mailbox. Any questions?” Wes raised his hand.

“So we’re breaking into people’s houses?” He asked.

“No, you’re gaining entry into empty houses to check for supplies.”

“How is that any different?”

“Breaking into people’s houses is illegal. If they’re not home, then there’s no way to determine who owns the house, therefore, it belongs to the government.” Wes furrowed his brow.

“What if someone is home and they shoot at us.”

“Shoot back.” MacDunn said in a way that indicated question time was over. Wes glanced around at his fellow soldiers, all decked out in their fancy new war gear. This didn’t look right either, he thought to himself. “You there.” MacDunn pointed. “With the hunting rifle. What’s your name?”

“Brian.”

“You and Wes are together.” He said. “Start on that side of the street.” MacDunn paired the rest of the platoon up and sent them off. Brian nodded at Wes and together they trudged towards their assigned house.

“This is so fucking stupid.” Wes said under his breath, not caring if Brian heard him or not.

“Agreed.” Replied Brian quietly. Wes cast a sideways glance and tried to figure out if Brian was just being a smartass or if he really did agree. He couldn’t tell. They stood on the front porch and rang the doorbell. Nobody answered. Brian peaked into the windows but could see nothing. Wes pounded on the door.

“US Army!” He shouted. “Open up!” Nothing. He and Brian stood side by side at the door looking like some weird militant wing of Jehovah’s Witnesses. Across the street, they could see Holt and Buck banging on the door of another house. After a few seconds of silence, Holt stepped back and kicked in the door. It gave way in one motion and he high-fived Buck.

“Fucking idiots.” Brian said causing Wes to smile. They turned back to their door. “Doesn’t seem to be anyone home.” Brian observed. MacDunn watched them from his vehicle.

“So kick the door in.” Suggested Wes.

“Fuck that.” Brian shot back. ”You kick it in.”

“So I can get shot?” Wes recoiled. “No fucking way.” Brian sighed and examined the door. A large window beside it was close enough to reach the door from inside. Using his elbow, he easily smashed the pane and reached inside, opening the door slowly.

“Hello?” He called. “Don’t shoot! We’re with the Army!” There was no response and he entered the house with Wes behind him. When they got inside, Wes shut the door.

“This is fucked up, right?” Wes asked. “It’s not just me.” He could just picture some crazy survivalist type who was thrilled at the end of all limits, bursting out of some shelter and blasting their asses. He hadn’t signed up for this. He didn’t even want to be carrying a gun. This wasn’t fucking Syria, after all.

“You got that right.” Brian said. “What the fuck do they mean ‘anything of value’? We’re basically robbing people’s houses. This isn’t right.”

“Yeah.” Wes realized Brian’s objections were based more in selflessness than his own. “We shouldn’t be stealing from people.”

“I’m just going to say we didn’t find anything.”

“Good idea.”

“Do you think that’s what everybody else is going to do?” Wes shrugged.

“I doubt it. These motherfuckers are pretty good about doing what they’re told.” Suddenly, a flurry of shots rang out from inside one of the houses. They dashed outside and saw two of the soldiers retreating from one of the houses as they fired indiscriminately back through the door. The rest of the platoon converged on the house, but by the time they got there, the shooting was done.

“What happened?” MacDunn shouted.

“She…” One of the soldiers involved stammered. “She shot at us!” Through the open front door they could see the body of a woman in her seventies lying face down in an ever-widening pool of blood, a small silver pistol in her hand. Wes and Brian looked at each other, both wondering, ‘What the fuck?’