"Another day"

We used to think that the first sign of trouble would be a flashbang
at four a.m. In reality, trouble came to dinner.

We had friends over. After the meal, we relaxed on the veranda, coffee
mugs and apple pie slices at the ready. A typically gorgeous sunset
shined radiantly through the thick, moist haze. For a while, no one
spoke and only the whine of a rare mosquito intruded on the
tranquility. Then we heard a rumble, no more than a subsonic vibration
which carried through the ground and put us out of the mellow mood.

In the minutes which followed, we saw black-and-whites roll up the
street to our quiet dead end. A Ferret armored car came up and parked
sideways to us. The sound of helicopter blades came in strong right
over us, and we hurried inside as the prop wash began to throw napkins
off the dinner table and swirl leaves on the veranda floor. Just as we
read JSCTV logo on the helicopter, a second one came in. That one
circled the block slowly and there was no missing the rocket pods
under the skids or the miniguns in the doors. Homeland Guard, if I got
the markings right.

"Sorry," I said to the guests "Bad timing all around."

Arkadij ignored my statement. "Daj avtomati," he said. His wife Sacha
nodded and extended her hand imperiously. She looked pretty pale, we
all did. Jen ran to den and returned with two AKMs and some
pouches. Our guests took off for the basement. Jen and I stayed,
considering the situation.

We knew that the house was the usual matchstick and veneer production,
useless as cover. If we could wait till they entered and then hit, at
least the rockets wouldn't come till after the troops cleared
out. With luck, we'd get a few of them first. We settled around the
fireplace, covering each others' backs. Jen rocked in a magazine and
turned on the sight. With the left-overs of our dinner still on the
veranda, there was no chance that they'd think the place un-occupied
and walk right in. And if we didn't come to the door, they might
suspect that something was amiss.

What did they want? Who knows! Could have been been anything, the way
all human behavior has been criminalized. As far as we knew, we had
nothing obvious, only arms, some radio scramblers, a bit of Columbian
coffee for our own use. We didn't flaunt what we had, not that it
would have mattered in the long run. The coffee alone was good for
five to ten. There'd be no sympathy even from the neighbors. They'd
have to live the the eye sore of ruined house for weeks till the
clean-up.

We heard no challenge before the first flashbang. It sounded duller
and more distant than we expected. Sacha's voice, ringing with guilty
relief, came through on the intercom: "Next door!" she yelled "They
are doing the next door." We hazarded a look outside. We lived at the
top of a dead end. The next house on the left, apparently unoccupied,
was getting worked over. The evidence truck backed up right to where
the living room picture window used to be, and the loading
commenced. They went through the night, with spotlights illuminating
the gutted house. Municipal power was still cut off from earlier. By
daybreak it was over, and the law withdrew to divvy up the spoils.

The four of us stretched out in the den, exhausted. Jen mastered a
weak smile. "We live again," she said bleakly "Until the next time."