Curt’s first operational border brigade excursion had been disturbing. It had started auspiciously with lots of laughter. Everyone was drinking beer from ice chests in the back of the SUVs as they drove south in a convoy of three vehicles, hop-skipping down Interstate 5. Each vehicle was playing Skrewdriver cassettes, which Tim had gotten from England, at high volume. It was a festive atmosphere.

North of the border they’d turned east into the desert. At a site preselected by Tim, they stopped and bivouacked. They put up tents and started a fire. As night fell, they cleaned up their dishes, doused the fire, and set out toward the border. Dressed as they were in desert camouflage, they blended in except for their drunken hilarity.

Curt was having the time of his life. Finally he was truly a part of a group that was, according to Tim, racially pure and of like mind. He also felt they were doing something important, although he doubted they could sneak up on anyone. If nothing else they’d scare any aliens back the way they’d come.

Tim divided the group up into twos. He positioned the pairs at set intervals spread out about a quarter mile back from the border. He chose Curt as his partner, a fact that made Curt proud. It was also good because Tim had made sure he and Curt had the best location. They were on top of a mesa-like rise that was the highest point of the whole area.

They hunkered down on a patch of sand with the sandstone conveniently jutting up behind them. Leaning back against the rock, they broke out fresh beers from their portable thermos pack. The metallic snap of the tabs as they broke in unison was a delicious sound in the dark, arid wilderness.

The night was gorgeous and mild as the rock radiated its stored warmth. Above, the Milky Way appeared as if strewn with a million diamonds. A soft wind blew in from the Pacific, just strong enough to be felt on open skin.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tim commented. He unhooked his communicator from his belt and placed it on a flat rock. He used the radio to keep in touch with the other teams.

“It’s unbelievable,” Curt said. “When I grew up in Brooklyn, I never knew something like this existed.”

“It’s a great country,” Tim said. “Too bad it’s going to the dogs because of the freaking government.”

Curt nodded but didn’t say anything. As mesmerized as he was by the surroundings and numbed by beer, he didn’t want to get into another discussion about the Zionist Occupied Government.

A few minutes passed in silence. Curt took another sip of his beer. “Have you ever been to this location on previous sorties?” Curt asked. At Tim’s insistence they used military terms whenever possible.

“Several times,” Tim said.

“Did you see any action?”