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The armored battle tanks advanced across the Alaskan snow fields, their tracks grinding the snow into intricate patterns. A pair of APC's trudged along behind the four M1A1 Abrams Main Battle Tanks. If one stood on top of one of the tank turrets, and looked forward, he'd know exactly what their target was. A small cluster of igloos and blue, metal buildings stuck out of the snow like a set of moguls.
"Range... 3 clicks. Open fire... now." A voice grated through the comm-net.
The tanks drove forward, pausing intermittently to fire off a high-explosive shell towards the small building cluster. Soon, the general area was on fire, and it was evident that the local inhabitants weren't too happy. As the tanks drew closer, they were sprayed with small arms fire from a pair of bunkers arrayed outside the settlement. A pair of shots, and the bunkers were silenced, smoke billowing out. The tanks advanced past the bunkers, slowed down, and waited for the APC's to drop their load - two full assault squads of USSA troopers.
"All right fellas... Move through real careful - you see anything that moves, blast it. These damn collaborators don't deserve any more than death." The man giving the orders moved forward, assault rifle at ready. "John, take your squad right, I'll take the left."
"You got it, Sam... sir." A man who came out of the other APC answered.
Captain Sam Wychin advanced next to the tank with practiced ease. Soon, the multi-ton machine was rolling through the settlement's central 'street', dispensing death and destruction. Corpses littered the ground - a dead sectoid here, a bloody human there. Wychin spotted some movement inside an igloo, and motioned with his hand. Then, he primed a grenade, and threw it inside. A second later, there was a scream, and a bang. Wychin grinned as he waved the rest of the team on.
Soon, there was only one uncleared building left in the entire town, such as it was. What vaguely resembled a two-story UFO with a single door was surrounded by tanks, APC's and infantry.
"Cutters! Up here, now!" Bellowed Master Sargeant John Poole. "Since these guys won't open up by themselves, let's see if we can't make our own door!"
A 'yes sir' was followed by the heavy footsteps of a man with a blowtorch and a gas canister on his back approaching the UFO wall. "Where'd you want me to cut it, sir?" The man asked.
Before Poole could answer, something happened to interrupt the conversation. A loudspeaker of some sort blared - "We surrender!"
Wychin looked up. "I see... " He spoke into his comlink. "All right guys... let 'em out. We can always shoot them for treason later. In fact, we probably will." He grinned, then he yelled out. "All right, aliens and their bootlickers... come on out, slowly, with your hands up. I see a single weapon, we shoot!"
In response, the doors slid open, and a few sectoids, followed by an equally small and ragged amount of humans emerged.
"All right, people. Round 'em up and call in for transport... we've got some interrogating to do." Wychin pointed his rifle at a sectoid. And then, a little bit of execution. He added in his thoughts.
---Sargeant Michael Thornside looked at the screen showing the security camera's view of a holding cell. A sectoid was sitting there, with a human on the bench next to it. The human was crying - it was impossible to tell whether it was a man or a woman, so ragged was its appearance. The sectoid looked at the human with its large black eyes - and put a hand on its shoulder. The human shuddered. Mike slammed his fist into the table. He knew what would happen to both the human and the sectoid soon. They'd be tortured, interrogated, every last drop of information extracted from their writhing bodies. Then, they'd be shot. Such was the fate of all 'traitors'. With a look of grim determination on his face, he stood up and walked out of the room. Krotyla had died a traitor's death - but it was no traitor.
Captain Sam Wychin yawned as he sat at his desk. Planning broad strategic moves and familiarizing oneself with the logistics of an army was a daunting task for someone who'd never managed more than what basically amounted to an extended platoon. Recently, he'd visited Sophie Thornside, whom he put in charge of the wounded - the United Alaskan Army had a surprisingly efficient medical staff, and Sophie wasn't having any trouble managing. As soon as we secure the area... he never finished his thought.
Mike Thornside came through the door, without knocking.
"What's up, Sarge? Moral troubles? Sticking up for some aliens perhaps?" Wychin's voice was full of sarcasm as he grinned. "If it wasn't that, you'd probably have knocked first..."
Mike shook his head. "Sorry sir. I was just thinking..."
Sam interrupted. "Actually, I was about to call you in here anyway... I was just going through a list of stuff we captured along with the city - turns out there's a whole research institute campus just outside the city. I figure you'd do a much better job in a lab than out there fraggin' aliens... " Wychin leaned back in his chair. "So, I want to put you in charge of the place. Fix it up, and start working on some tech."
Mike was understandably surprised. "uh... yes sir. It'd be great..."
Wychin smiled. "Good. I'll give you the details and your research goals later... Now what was it you wanted to yell at me about?"
Mike shook his head. "Well, actually... I was thinking that some of those sectoids might have technical knowledge that'd be useful for alien technology research - perhaps you could transfer them over?"
Wychin's grin never left his face. "Good call, Mike. I'll have the interrogation teams pick out the non-psionic techs and meds... and transfer 'em over."
Mike nodded. "Yes sir. Thank you sir..."
Wychin nodded as well. "Dismissed, Sargeant."
That was weird... Mike thought as he turned on his heels and left the room.At least I saved them...
---Captain Sam Wychin looked at the prisoners, then at the rest of his firing squad. Squaddie Jean Kemp and David Harrison were there, rifles trained on the prisoners. Those were a motley crew - a handful of sectoids, and a pair of particularly staunch humans who'd refused to join the ranks of the army.
"You freaks are traitors to humanity... or damned alien bastards. In either case, you're guilty of crimes against humanity - intent to exterminate and refusal to fight. You're gonna die, freaks. So is all of your kind. Humanity will prevail once again - but you won't be there to see it." Wychin clicked the safety off on his rifle. "Last words, thoughts anyone?"
"We didn't do anything wrong!" Someone cried out.
"Wrong answer, traitor." Wychin glanced over at the firing squad. "Attention!"
The squad aimed the rifles at the prisoners.
"Aim!"
"Fire!"
Written on November 1st by "Michael Thornside"