“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Curt Rogers.”

“I like that,” Tim said. “Nice Christian name. It fits you, too.”

Curt shrugged. He didn’t quite know what to make of the stranger, especially with his intense eyes.

With a fresh beer, Curt began to relax again.

“You know, I’m glad I met you,” Tim said. “And you know why?”

Curt shook his head.

“Because I’m forming a group that I think you and a couple of your buddies ought to join.”

“What kind of a group?” Curt asked skeptically.

“A border brigade,” Tim said. “An armed border brigade. You see, the regular Border Patrol who are supposed to be protecting this country from illegal aliens are not doing their job. Hell, the Mexican border just ten freaking miles away is like a giant sieve.”

“Really,” Curt said. He’d not thought much about the border. He’d been much too preoccupied with the rigors of boot camp.

“Yes, really,” Tim said, mocking Curt’s response. “I’m telling you, this is a serious situation. You and I and the rest of our Aryan brothers and sisters are soon going to be the minority around here.”

“I’d never thought about that,” Curt said. It was the first time he’d even heard the word Aryan and had little idea of what it meant.

“Hey, you’d better wake up,” Tim said. “It’s happening. This country is on the brink of being taken over by niggers, spics, slanty-eyes, and queers. It’s going to be up to people like you and me if our God-fearing, self-reliant culture is to survive where people work for a living and queers stay in the closet. I tell you, not only are these other races seeping in here like water through a sponge, but they’re reproducing like flies. This is one hell of a problem. We just can’t sit around on our asses anymore. If we do, we only have ourselves to blame.”

“How are you going to arm the border brigade?” Curt asked. “If you got some crazy idea that people like me could help, think again. We can’t take our ordnance off the base.”

“Weapons are not a problem,” Tim said. “I’ve got a goddamn arsenal in my basement, including fully automatic M1s, machine pistols, scoped sniper rifles, and Glocks. I even have uniforms for us ‘cause I already got about ten navy guys involved. We’ve already been on patrol.”

“Have you come across any aliens?” Curt asked. Awed by the firearms Tim described, Curt’s estimation of the stranger soared.

“Bet your sweet ass,” Tim said. “We’ve interdicted almost a dozen.”

“What do you do with them once you catch them, turn them over to the Border Patrol?”

Tim laughed scornfully. “If we did that, they’d be back the next night. The Border Patrol’s idea of interdiction is to slap their wrists, scold them, and then turn them loose.”