Chapter 2: Ruby Hudson

Setting up cruel dragnets and clandestine torture rituals were only the beginning of the nightmare. Public opinion demanded that the "threat within" had to be taken care of by any means necessary. The federal government decided that, in the absence of enough vacancies in the prisons, it would be easier to keep tabs on the "target population" by concentrating them within a small geographic area. Thus "preventive internment" became a reality. Districts of internment, referred to as "districts" by the authorities and more simply, "ghettoes" in popular parlance, sprang up in the biggest cities. They were hastily set up; the locals were evicted, the Arabs and Muslims and others were brought in, and they were to be monitored…perhaps even deported if needed.

Resistance was futile. Resistance meant death. America would be protected from terror at any cost.

You're probably wondering how the people shipped to these "ghettoes" dealt with their predicament. But before we delve into that, what about those charged with rounding them up? It was the aftermath of a horrible series of terror attacks. The country was still at war. I'm sad to report that the target population found few friends in their fellow Americans, weary from the endless carnage. Here we turn to a federal agent assigned to round up some families for internment, Ruby Hudson, age 28.

It's too damned cold…why the hell did they decide to do this thing tonight?! It must be, like, a hundred below zero or something. Not that you care. I'll bet you're cuddled up in front of a nice radiator. If these shit-eaters hadn't been cowering in there in the first place, I wouldn't be here freezing my ass off. Messes up my mood. Oh well. I woudn't care as long as we could just go in already! Should be easy, anyway. They're just a bunch of lousy towel-heads. Go in, grab 'em, haul 'em off to the "ghetto." Simple.

That's what was running through my mind on the night of my first roundup. Hell, that's what ran through my head most nights when we first started. Hell, that�s what ran through my head most nights when I first started going on these missions.

I remember that the street was pitch-black and empty, as per curfew regulations. Not that anybody would want to be outside on a freezing night like that one anyway--and definitely not with armed soldiers hanging around. I was shivering as I stared at the old tenement across the street. There weren't any lights shining in any of the windows, so it was kinda hard to make it out from the other buildings. But this one was different. This one didn't have civilians in it, only squatters. Dirty, Allah-loving squatters for that matter. Hell, a sniper could've been lurking in there, waiting for just the right opportunity to pop some lead into my skull. But then they turned on the spotlights and lit up the building with that blinding light that hurt my eyes.

Crisis averted.

I took a moment to examine my rifle again…for the third time--perhaps I'd find some grave defect in it this time around? Miraculously, it still had the same amount of bullets in it, and everything seemed to be in working order--it wasn't like the bastards were gonna invoke Allah to hex my weapon, right? Anyway, I was fucking bored, what the hell d'you want from me? It was my first mission. The tension was killing me. Anyway, when I felt like I couldn't stand it anymore, I heard a voice on our radios:

"OK, we're going in!"

Finally…the words that I had been waiting for. I joined the other soldiers that were in my squad as we assembled and crept single-file across the street and through the dark doorway. As I entered, I cleared all irrelevant thoughts from my head effortlessly. It was years of training that made it so easy, but then again, some things were better if they weren't so easy…

The lights were out. I remember very vividly that a stupid dog was barking as the lead guy in the squad was making his way through the building. It only had the chance to bark once; there was a muffled gunshot and a squeal as the bullet entered the dog's head. And just to ensure that the mutt wouldn't alert anybody else with its death whimpers, the soldier put another bullet in his neck. I remember feeling uneasy when seeing it. Nobody questioned the action, though, and we all moved on as if nothing notable had happened. Remorse had no place during a mission, anyway.

We were at the end of a short hallway lined by doors on either side. They were positioned at the foot of a staircase, and a door built into the back of it, I believe, led into a boiler room. A series of hand gestures from the squad leader sent us all scattering into pairs. Our flashlight-mounted rifles cast eerie-looking circles of light all over the walls, floors, and ceilings. They didn't help too much; we all had to rely on our hunter instincts for this one. One pair stayed behind to guard the stairs, another pair went to check the boiler room, and the rest went off to check the apartments.

I kicked open the door to one apartment and stepped to the side instinctively. You never knew if someone with an automatic rifle was waiting on the other side; if so, I didn't want to get perforated with lead. While my buddy covered me, I peeked my rifle inside, following the halo of light with my eyes as it traveled along the floor, the walls, the sofa, the bookshelf, around the TV, a tacky painting, and an empty pack of cigarettes lying on the coffee table. My trigger finger was just itching; my heart was fluttering. All for nothing though; there was nobody hiding in there. We crept further into the apartment and checked the rooms. We found nobody.

Within minutes, the squad reassembled by the staircase, each pair reporting to the squad leader that they'd found nothing. Then we proceeded up the staircase, utilizing our stealth training to the fullest; not one sound betrayed our presence. Not one. You could've been in there and you'd think you were all alone. Our prey already knew that we were here; no use in giving them more clues as to our exact whereabouts.

The second floor was eerily quiet… too quiet for my taste. In my experience, silence often signifies a trap or an ambush, besides that fact that it can make you very uneasy, especially if the area was totally dark and there were armed squatters who'd gladly die before being taken. But that element of suspense and danger was what made this job so alluring. I remember wondering whether the people we were rounding up felt the same way, but I brushed it aside quickly.

"Concentrate on the mission, Ruby," I thought. "Concentrate…"

Once again, the team split up and searched each apartment. My partner and I took a more gung-ho approach this time, by bursting into the apartment without hesitation. As we entered the living room, we surveyed the area, noting any possible hiding spots or ambush spots, such as behind sofas or behind the overturned table. Then we each checked one of the bedrooms. By myself, I had to be more cautious. Someone could've been in there, waiting…with a gun pointed at me. I had good body armor, but that didn't make me a god. That would take the excitement out of it, and the roundup wasn't turning out as exiting as I though it'd be.

Anyway, the room was a mess. There was no furniture except for a foul-smelling mattress, and the floor was concealed with a thick layer of clothes and junk. There wasn't anybody in there…unless, of course, one of the squatters was Thumbelina.

CRACK!

It sounded like it had come from the bathroom!

I turned around and crouched in front of the bathroom door directly across the hall. My partner followed within seconds, and we each took our positions on either side of the door. The door was ajar, and I can still remember that strong acrid odor of spent gunpowder wafting in the air. You never forget that smell. After waiting a few tense moments, we kicked the door wide open, and God, was my trigger finger aching to empty that gun. As the light illuminated the bathroom we saw a man's corpse slumped in the bathtub, which was rapidly filling with blood. One of the walls had been splashed with more blood, accented with a pockmark.

"Everything alright here, Private Hudson?"

The squad leader was standing behind us just outside the door. Apparently he possessed superhuman speed to have arrived there just in time.

"Shot himself just before we came in," I said. "Must've thought going with the Devil was better than going with us."

"Serves him right, the piece of filth. Leaves more room for the rest of them."

I couldn't help but agree.

Then another gunshot rang out nearby, and then another, followed by a muffled moan, and then one last gunshot. Somebody had put up a fight, and had paid the price.

No biggie. Served him right, the piece of filth.

The squad finished searching the rest of the floor without any further incident, then moved on to the third floor. But a hail of bullets forced a quick retreat.

"Shit!" I thought to myself. "Someone's eager to die young!"

I heard the squad leader bellow, "Cease your fire!" His voice echoed off the walls. "Drop your weapons and surrender immediately! We have you completely surrounded! There is no escape!" Except though suicide, perhaps.

I could hear curses coming from upstairs, and some muttering about "the children."

"This is your last chance! Give up now, or we will go up there and subdue you!" 'Subdue' was just a euphemism for perforating them with lead. And if it came to that I wouldn't have any regrets about it.

"I will give you ten seconds!" More curses shot out. He started counting.

"Ten…"

"Nine…"

"Eight…"

"Seven…"

My finger started itching to squeeze the trigger. I could hear a baby crying, but only for an instant. I could also hear them arguing frantically. One of them was uttering a prayer too, I think. No response otherwise. So he kept counting.

"Six…"

"Five…"

"Four…"

They were desperate. And desperate people do desperate things.

"Three…"

"Two…"

"One…"

This is it!

"Okay, if that's how you want it, we're coming in!"

The ensuing gunfight didn't last long. We were better equipped and better trained than the squatters. After a momentary burst of gunfire, and a chorus of screams, I heard several bodies slump to the floor. "Move in! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!" One by one, we swarmed down the dark hallway.

Then three more people popped out of a door down the hall! The fucking idiots were screaming some sort of war cry to fucking Allah while brandishing machetes. Just like a bunch of barbarians. In the little bit of light from my flashlight I could see that one of them was making a beeline for me!

So I did what came naturally. I fired shot after shot at his chest and legs but the bastard continued to rush toward me as if I hadn't hit him at all. I could see a glint of insanity in his beady little eyes. His teeth were bared like a shark or something, but before he could sink them into my flesh, he slumped to the floor. A few more shots to his head and he was done. The others fell, too, their kamikaze techniques futile. Applaud their bravery if you will.

What a rush! It felt like minutes but it lasted only moments. But there was no time to celebrate or wait for my heartbeat to slow down. We all burst into each apartment to make sure no one else was preparing more ambushes. I heard more screaming coming from down the hall from the same apartment the ambushers had come from. As we drew nearer, the screams intensified. They came to a stop by the dead bodies of the gunmen. I was actually a little shocked at their age. They were probably no older than seventeen or eighteen, twenty-one tops. They really must have been desperate.

I heard heavy breathing and muffled sobs coming from behind a door. The squad leader shouted, "We know you're in there! Your bodyguards are dead! We'll give you a chance to come quietly, but don't you dare try anything funny." No response. "You have ten seconds to start coming out of there before we start shooting again! Ten…nine…eight…"

Suddenly, a woman's voice cried out to us, "Wait! Stop! Don't do this! There are children in here!"

Ah, so there were children in there…so logically, we were now helpless to anything, right? I didn't think so--the squad leader seemed to agree. "If you don't want us to hurt them, you better surrender peacefully and maybe we'll take it easy on you!"

"No, give us an excuse to shoot y'all! " I remember thinking. I fought the urge to squeeze the trigger again.

Eventually, one by one, women began filing out of the apartment, some clutching infants to their chests, others with children clinging to them for dear life. And their crying was deafening. It made my ears burn to hear it, and all I wanted was to make them shut the fuck up somehow, before I gave them all a real good reason to cry.

One child in particular was a bit reluctant to go, and he was holding on to the doorframe with all his little might. I wasn't having any of that shit. I tried to peel him off the doorframe, but the little sand nigger just wouldn't let go. So again, I did what came naturally…I slapped him hard in the face, causing him to yelp and start whining pathetically. Waaah, waaah… At least it made him let go so he could cover his face. I hoisted him over my shoulders and the kid screamed bloody murder as he tried to wriggle free. His mother, a frail, sickly woman, tried to go after him but she was held back as she pleaded with tears in her eyes. She knew it was all futile.

I couldn't have cared less.

Our search thus completed, we forced the remaining squatters outside at gunpoint, where they were unceremoniously tossed one by one into two black vans--children were kept separate from their mothers. I didn't know why that was. Perhaps it was just psychological torture or something. It didn't matter. What mattered was that the roundup had been completed, and a bunch of terrorist lovers were cooped up in the "ghettos" instead of planning another attack on America. Hell, I'm glad we stopped paying attention to all those selfish antiwar pussies who don't know a goddamn about what kind of danger we protect them from every day. But I don't do it for them--I do it for me and mine, and the greater good. That's what it's all about.

Later on I'd discover that roundups usually didn't end violently; you'd go in, get them out, take them away, and be done with it without any bloodshed. And as far as first roundups go, this one was actually exiting too. Gave me something to talk about for a while.

After all, they say you should enjoy your work, and I certainly did.