Invasion Day: An Oral History of the Veech War by Micah Gurley (good books for high schoolers .TXT) 📕

The same few journalists reported "barbaric practices" in your army.

(He chuckles.) I bet they did. America's pre-invasion army had gotten soft. I had soldiers complaining about sleeping on the ground. I had officers demanding their own mess in the field. Those are just a few of the issues that came up at the beginning. All during an invasion of our world. No, not if you were serving under me. The first thing I did was order all soldiers, officers, and enlisted to complete a physical training test. If they didn't pass, they were out. Simple as that. I didn't need any obese paper-pushers playing the part of soldiers. I gave them a month to prepare. Many didn't. We lost thousands of soldiers that way, but in my opinion, they were dead weight.

But I imagine you’re talking about the lash. I make no apologies for it. We had no time for bottom-feeding predators who take advantage of bad situations. I heard what the refugee camps were like in the West. I wasn't going to have that. Any man or woman caught stealing, raping, or bullying faced the lash. Barbaric it might be, but it worked. Our camps were safe during the war, which allowed my volunteers to focus on the aliens and not the safety of their families.

Civilians weren't the only ones to receive punishment. Any soldier I commanded faced the same consequences. Any bigotry, sexism, or cowardice were all handled the same way. I had two rules. Fight the enemy and conduct yourself as a soldier. Any soldier who came up short paid the price, regardless of who they were.

Is it true Terran Space Command approached you?

Yeah, they came and talked to me, but I wasn't going to do that for the same reason I didn't leave before. My son is here, and here is where I'll stay. Besides, I'm Army; I'm not going on any ship, including a spaceship. They had many good officers to choose from. I have nothing but respect for those who did go into space. I know they'll do us proud.

Mr. Thompson slams the table: Family! Family first, young man.

Jackson: Alright, pop, he's just asking a question.

The older Thompson turns his eyes on me. He squints, then points a massive finger in my direction. A man who can't protect his family ain't no man!

A young man walks up behind Jackson and gives me a wink. His son, a spitting image of his father, though five inches taller. You tell him, Grandpa!

Mr. Thompson points at his grandson. You don't sass your elders, boy. I'll turn you over my knee. He stands up slowly, slapping away Jackson's hand, and moves to stand next to his grandson, who places a hand under his arm to help support him.

Jackson: You ready, Pop?

Mr. Thompson: Of course I'm ready, I'm standing up, aren't I? Let's go see your mother; she'll be waiting.

Jackson's smile fades: Sure, Pop. Go ahead and take him out, son. The younger man walks out with his grandfather.

His memory comes and goes these days, not a young man anymore. I hope you got what you need, young man.

I thank him and assure him I did.

He gives a nod, turns, and walks toward the exit, not noticing the diners who stand as he goes by.

Tim Barone

New York City

A native of New York City, Tim Barone is slim and short, with a pronounced widow's peak. He is a survivor of the first battle of Washington D.C.

Yeah, I was there, and it was a cluster… sorry, a colossal mess. I don't know who planned that offensive, but they should be charged with mass murder like that Indian general. I mean, we were fighting like it was the Revolutionary War all over again, hand to hand and all that. Not to mention the shields and freakin' lightsabers. I am not kidding, man, it was crazy.

You have to understand that the first battle of D.C was the first major push on the Veech. The top brass, those who were still alive, wanted to attack immediately. They reasoned that the Veech would still be organizing and not ready for an attack. Maybe they were right in theory, but the problem was, we weren't prepared to attack either.

I was part of the 29th Infantry Division, based out of Fort Belvoir, Virginia. We're a reserve division made up of national guard units from six states. I got the call to report on the day the Jhi showed up. I was surprised it took that long, but losing the big brass in the pentagon probably had something to do with that, or maybe it was just the communication lines. Either way, I was already ready. I knew the call would come.

I was living in Williamsburg at the time, not too far away, so I made my way to Fort Belvoir as quickly as I could. The roads were a mess. Burning cars, trucks, and accidents were everywhere. People on that stretch of road didn't die immediately, being twenty miles from ground zero, but they lost control of their vehicles, and the result was the same. It was ugly.

When I arrived at the base, the order of the day seemed to be confusion. You had guys like me trying to report in, along with thousands of people from other units moving with a purpose. I was directed to a relatively empty spot and told to wait there. I hadn't been waiting too long when a buddy of mine showed up. We called him Grin because he was always happy. He told me his story, and we caught up a little. We spent the rest of the evening spotting and directing members from our unit.

The next day, we had about sixty percent of our unit. It's a miracle that many showed up. People died in all kinds of ways on Invasion Day. Anyway, our unit was lucky, some reserve units only had twenty to thirty percent show. Everyone understood.

Once