"What's your name?"

"Iljanka, comrade."

"Very well." The supervisor said, signaling towards a dark-green tent. Iljanka picked up his bag, thanked the supervisor, and headed for his temporal encampment. The next in line stepped up to the supervisor.

Although Iljanka knew he would be sharing this tent, nobody else was here yet, so he picked the closest bunk to the entrance. The wind might cool him in the warm Mexican night. Outside he could here the hundreds of Transport Hind's flying in from Cuba, delivering their lethal payload, which will wreck havoc on America soon. A large sergeant entered the tent, murmured something towards Iljanka, threw his bag on one of the bunks at the end, and eventually himself. Iljanka saw the distinct stripes on his sleeves; a veteran from the first war. Apparently he didn't feel much for talking, so Iljanka left him alone. He took his bag and picked out the handgun. He pulled out the clip, counted the bullets and put it aside. He aimed at an invisible target, but didn't pull the trigger. He caressed the gun and started cleaning it. Then another soldier came in, just a conscript, as so many was in this camp. The soldier picked the bunk next to Iljanka.

"Good day, comrade" he said.

"Day, comrade." Iljanka said without stopping his cleaning. "There's no point in saying good anymore."

Iljanka saw the soldier rerun his words. Then he shrugged and started to discuss another matter.

"Did you see the special government soldiers?" He whispered. "They're all over camp."

"If you want to live, never mention anything about the government officials." Iljanka whispered back to the soldier on an ordering tone. The sergeant looked up. But quickly turned away after seeing the look on Iljanka's face. Iljanka knew what happens to soldiers who are not loyal, or nose in the officials their business. They all get executed or get an unwanted part in horrific testing where none would return. It seemed like the red-blue dressed officials know what the soldiers think. The soldier looked at Iljanka's gun, and immediately saw the difference to his own.

"That's not a standard issue handgun, or is it, comrade?"

"No, it's…" He couldn't finish his words or yelling came from the outside.  Iljanka put down the gun, stepped outside joined by the soldier, and in a moment by the sergeant. Three red-blue soldiers pulled a soldier out of a tent. One of the soldiers kicked him on the outside of the knee, so he'd fall to his knees in the center of the camp. Soldiers came to look.

"You filthy allied dog! You plan on defecting aren't you? You plan on joining your allied friends across the border? Seems like you've been betrayed!" One of the three soldiers yelled, who'd seem to be higher ranked than the other two. The accused soldier searched for words.

"But, I…I." He murmured.

"You are nothing but a filthy allied dog! You pay for this disgusting act!" Then the official pulled his gun and shot him through the head. A dead silence, except for the flying Hind transports, came.

"Now everyone sees what happens to traitors!" The official said, pointing at the dead soldier. He signaled his colleagues and walked away.

Iljanka knew everyone would be just dying to invade America now…

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