Field Commission 13

Three minutes after noon, it starts. I don't like the sound level, order everyone down. A second later, round a bend comes a plane, probably only 50 feet up, strafing. It's an antique, gotta be stolen from a museum. Now me, got a thing bout antiques, slow to react.
Not Parvana, she pumps most of a clip into it. Hits a fuel tank or line and it goes up in a fireball. Everyone cheers.
I'm lying next to her, "that was a Messerschmitt 1014. Only four left in the whole world."
She stares at me in total disbelief, "get with the program. Wanna be ****ing dead? Now there are three."
"Sor-ry."
She punches my arm playfully, "hey, no prob. Reckon that was Official Ra or Unionist?"
"Official Ra."
"Yeah my guess too. So, what'll the Unionists do?"
"Maybe steal some of those tanks."
She looks at me oddly, "they could do it too. I mean, run em. Lot are vets."
It's the Brit CO on the com device, "understand you shot down a plane?"
"Not I ma'am, one of my corporals."
"Good show! But watch out, lotta antiques were stolen, lay low at any engine sound."
"Roger."
"What make was it?"
"ME 1014."
"Sad, really sad."
By now there is no vehicular traffic, I mean civvy.
Between Christmas and New Year almost everything except bars is closed and there is a bar within 100 yards of wherever you are.
No VCP work left to do, our main function, staying alive, scanning the skies and roads.
I'm surprised to find I feel a sense of joy, feel more alive than ever before.
An hour later, I spot two rooftop snipers crawling into position, blow them away.
As one weapon clatters down to the street, Parvana gasps, "wow, a real M16 and you damaged it." I glance, see her sly wink.
She goes over, picks it up, "crap, just a reproduction, these people have no class."
I hear a call nearby, "Yank, you hear me?"
"Yes."
"The bar, to your left, take a look."
I do.
"Yank, come over here, safer inside, we don't want you hurt."
I turn to Parvana, "I'll check myself, if it's a trap, blow the lot away."
A minute later, I've searched, clean, I wave them over, one by one.
The bartender grins, "y'all are on duty, so no alcohol. Whatever else you like."
We take turns standing guard near the window and pass a pleasant afternoon as the world goes insane outside.
"Don't go home tonight, Yank. Too dangerous on the street, sleep here."
We do, sharing sentry duty. We can hear tanks in the next street but they never come our way. No one answers on the com device. The bar phone is dis.
The siege lasts three days. Parvana and I are the only ones with decent salaries, so we simply buy food for the rest.
The bartender, ever cheerful, gives "our gallant Allies" a 25% discount. He's being generous, rest in the bar pay full price. Still least he ain't a rip off. He coulda raised prices, but didn't.