THE CARGO PLANE with the handful members of One God's Army soared over the destructed and searing city of New Orleans.

Below in the staging area in the war-torn streets, Capt. Roberta Jensen was treated for minor burns on the side of her neck and for the blisters on the sole of her feet caused by her melted boots. It was an assuagement that the fabric of her panoply uniform was fire-proof or else she would have been badly disfigured by the earlier conflagration in the hotel.

She wore a fresh pair of boots that she ordered one of her troopers to part from. The hero-cop gaited over searching for her superior—Head of Police General Jan Macready, who was debriefing the rest of the recouped captains from several assault taskforce divisions.

Nearby the building façade, there were several female e-SWAT privates who tagged a collected pile of severed thumbs amputated from the dead rebels' hands—that will be used for fingerprint identification in the future CIA investigation. The more than three thousand corpses of both the fallen OGA and the Aryans Sisterhood militia head-shots were photographed—and the bodies were later incinerated on the burning city's pavements by the large team of flamethrowers.

Roberta joined the group of Elite commanders who proceeded into the facade section of the fundraiser auditorium. It was partially destructed by an incendiary in the pyrrhic battle which ended two hours ago in New Orleans—with the rout withdrawal by the fleeing insurgents after the five hours of street fighting.

There were a dozen Elite Soldiers guarding an impounded row of more than fifty handcuffed One God's Army POWs who were forced on their knees—some of the Hors de combat was bleeding profusely from gunshot injuries but they were denied of any medical attention.

A communication Elite-soldier came in a hurry to the superior officers and informing them. "Sir, we got the President on the line." Jan Macready replied. "Okay, I will take it." The hesitant soldier told in a lower voice...

"Err Sir, the President wants to speak to Capt. Jensen."

The soldier switched the device on—and gave the communication tablet to Roberta—and a visual of Cory appeared on the screen...

"Jensen, what is the status? I heard you went after the Preacher—did you body-bag the bastard?"

"Madame President, I shot him twice but his people created a diversion by blowing up the entire hotel to the ground; but I am very sure with the gunshot wounds he had sustained—the Preacher would be dead by now."

Roberta told with a straight face with the shameful excuses coming from someone of her calibre of a hero-cop status hailed by the media.

"Not good enough and don't assume Jensen—I want to see his fucking body! —and that is why I gave a clear instruction to every one of you that he should not escape tonight because he is bound to strike back at my administration with more of his terrorist acts once he has recovered from whatever fucking gunshot injuries."

Cory sighed in disappointment, she was still insatiable for an outcome but responded without blowing her top...

"So none of you damn idiots here can confirm if that Jesus-freak had died earlier tonight?"

Roberta Jensen who was holding the communication tablet had to reply on behalf of everyone's clemency. "We have round-up lots of One God's rebels here, Madam President; I will interrogate them now." this was Roberta's only answer to precede so to get Cory's approval...

"Do it quick, dammit—and keep me on the feed—I want to personally watch how you do it!"

Roberta was under pressure with the president micro-managing -- but she maintained a pokerfaced when she passed the tablet back to the communication soldier who then pointed the device—and she followed Roberta approaching the gathered POWs—one of the Intersexual cried out, holding another of his kind with seeping blood wounds...

"Please do something, Sir...he is in shock and needs medical attention."

Roberta took out her pistol and executed the haemorrhaging androgynous Hispanic rebel at point-blank, coup de grace—and she then kicked the Intersexual who spoke up a moment ago in the face, tirade aloud to the rest...

"The moment you all stood up with that Preacher, you all have signed your own death warrant—now where is he?"

Captain Jensen stared moratorium at the faces of her prisoners, singling them out one by one while she trained the pistol; she stopped at the next kneeling Hispanic Intersexual who cried out in fear...

"I don't know where he is!"

"Don't lie, I shot your fucking Preacher a few hours and he is now seriously wounded—I am going to bleed you all to death like him if you don't talk!"

Jan Macready played the good-cop at the discretion to the surrendered rebels—by responding to their grovels and remonstrance...

"If you cooperate, we will give you all the medical attention you need. Just tell us where the Preacher is?"

"Please, spare us, we don't know," was the response by the bleating soldier of God's Army.

"Wrong answer!"

Roberta shot him dead—blood splatted on Jan Macready's pants and she stepped back in repulsion. Cory was grinning on the tablet that was held by the anguished e-SWAT communications soldier who was forced to see the coldblooded execution; her trembling hands that held out the device—while her president in DC was relishing the inhumane interrogation...

Roberta then pointed the gun at the next Intersexual who was an oppressed black—she does a reverse psychology slant and spurned out...

"What about you? Hey coon, you want to die too? Is your fucking life that worthless? Yeah, the fact is that the white fucking coward of a Preacher has now escaped—leaving you all niggers here to die—you still wanna die for him?"

"We will gratefully die for our Preacher—any time, any moment of any given day!"

"It is your lucky day then!"

Roberta blasted him in the head after hearing his reply, and pointed the gun to the next new breed—the other black also hollered out in revulsion...

"Me too, bitch-cop—kill me! Long Live God's Army! Long Live The Preacher!"

Roberta pulled the trigger again...

Her blank gaze roved around in apprehension by the tightlipped valour of the captured prisoners—Roberta also feeling the pressure that her capability and credibility was being scrutinized by the eyes in Washington...

But the wait was short-lived when Roberta heard a hysterical scream at the far end—a shemale stood up, causing all guarding soldiers to point their rifles at the terrified Kiki-boy...

"Don't kill me—I will tell you where they have taken the Preacher to—don't kill me, please!"

Roberta stepped forward towards the end of the line where the Wesleyan youth hoisted—a redneck Intersexual behind him cautioned in disgust at Kiki...

"You are a betraying spineless fool!"

Roberta fired a fatal bullet to shut him up permanently.

Cory was reassured that the interrogation was now heading somewhere—with the presence of a rat in the group...

"Talk now, where is he?" Roberta demanded—another Hispanic Intersexual nearby voiced out. "Kiki, No! Even if you tell her, she will kill us all later—and even you too!" Roberta booted him in the face hard, and it caused Kiki to be disorientated in trepidation by the brutal display of aggression—the histrionic Wesleyan babbled out while facing all the other subsist prisoners crouching below on their knees...

"I don't give a fuck about your damn Preacher—and I will certainly not die for him like the rest of you religious retards—you get me?"

Roberta came towards Kiki, swaggering minatory steps with her smoking hot-barreled pistol in hand—the coward Intersexual tried to convince her—but he began to stammer in fright, like his early days in Wesleyan; where he was ridiculed for it and they named him Kiki for stuttering...

"Officer Jensen, I will tell...tell you everything... but it will cost me my life...I will only speak, once...once all these loyal fools are dead, they...they will kill me if I tell you this!"

This made Roberta laugh, "okay, just talk now and I will deal with them later," —but the terrified Kiki saw all the prisoners were staring absorbedly at him...

"Will you spare me...life then, Office Jensen?"

He did not know how to address the echelon ranking in the e-SWAT, but only knew her more from his Wesleyan days as the national hero super-cop in the TV news, and hearsay gossips and stolen newspaper of Jensen's crime-fighting when he was in prison. Standing in front of his hero idol for the first time, Kiki now sought her reprieve but the gun was pointing sharply onto his forehead...

Roberta replied in haughty malevolence...

"Yes freak, talk before I lose my patience! I still got lots of other brains to blow up here for an answer—now where is the damn Preacher?"

The handcuffed Kiki used his foot and pointed at another white genuflected Intersexual rebel in front of him—it was the resourceful and unflagging factotum—Russell Collins; the rube who was recently chosen as the leader of the Caucasians quarter in the Council of 13 over the educated Wesleyans clique.

Kiki prated his traduce...

"Him! He is one of...of the Preacher's member of...the Council of 13...I heard him talk on the walkie to...to one of the Preacher's right-hand man—Hajja, his name was Hajja, the leader to the niggers...I learned where they have taken the Preacher...kill him now...and...then I tell you where Officer Jensen!"

Roberta blasted Russell Collins forehead at point-blank without any mote of remorse, the lifeless corpse fell back; she pointed smoking gun back again on Kiki's face—Roberta had enough of Kiki's indict games...

"Okay you fool, you have his blood on your hands and dick—tell me where the Jesus fucker is now?"

"They...they have flown the Preacher...to Mexico!"

Roberta grabbed him by his AOG uniform lapel and mauled into him...

"You are lying! How is that possible, you she-fuck—I shot him twice and why the fuck would they take him outta the country to fucking Mexico? Would he not be dead by now without any medical attention?

"Tell me the truth!"

Roberta barked in incense disbelief because she was very convinced that Doran should be dead at this point of the moment...

She thumbed the safety back on her pistol, Kiki-boy was in suppliant tears, moving on the same spot, grovelling and begging for mercy...

"I am not lying, please Boss...believe me, that....that was what I heard him say—Mexico!"

They both looked at the dead white general before the perturbed Roberta swung to pistol-whip Kiki—he flew backwards, sprawling below with a broken nose...

Roberta was really angry at herself for her hesitation of not shooting the Preacher in the head a few hours ago—but instead, she executed her signature 2-kill shots—'could the Preacher have survived?' Now with that mistake, she was back answerable to her President...

Roberta paced back and grabbed the tablet back from the communications soldier, "Madame President, you heard the snitch—the Preacher is on the way to Mexico but he is in a critical state, and I don't think they will take the road—it will be more likely out by air."

*

Cory was in the conference room in the Whitehouse with Agent Wolfe standing beside her, peering incredulously back at Roberta on the big screen. The maladjusted president spoke up, sounding slightly histrionic...

"God-dammit! It is maybe too late; he is halfway out of the country by now. Anyways, I will send the Air Force to turn back all planes that are heading to the fucking Mexican airspace," she coordinated with her Secret Service, "Wolfe, go and do that now!"

Heeding back to Roberta on the big screen, Cory then responded new commands...

"Jensen, spare the rat—he may be useful for any further investigation—as for the rest of the she-male dirt-bags, I don't take prisoners. Now give the Head of Police Macready a rifle—I want to see it with my own eyes of Macready shooting them all down!"

An Elite soldier came forward and dispensed Jan Macready with a loaded rifle but she stepped back, recalcitrant—refusing to accept it and shrieked out...

"No Madame President, I will not shoot any of the captives in cold-blood!"

President Madeline Cory bellowed in frenzy at the obtuse woman...

"What the fuck—we are in the middle of a civil war crisis here—and as your Commander In Chief, I have given you a direct order! How dare you turn me down?

"Macready, do it now!"

"No Ma'am, I...I can't!" Macready begins stammering like Kiki...

Cory stared a moment at the shaken woman in her decorated uniform—she shook her head and began invective the Field General in front of the lower-ranking officers present...

"Just as I figured, my Head of Police is a yellow-bellied coward; someone who never pulled the trigger to even kill a fucking spider in her entire career."

The opprobrium ridden Jan Macready avoided the browbeat eye contact with the tablet that was held towards her by the communications soldier; Cory mortified the Head of Police further in a loathing tone...

"You were such an incompetent imbecile out there in the streets just now—you can't even properly execute tonight operation! I am totally holding you responsible for the Preacher's escape! I want to see your damn resignation this very minute, do you hear me, you hopeless cunt! Now get the fuck out of my face!"

The president gave a new order...

"Jensen, kill all those bastards now!"

All the helpless nonentity Intersexuals of all ethnic races looked up at the larger than life Roberta Jensen grabbing the automatic from the soldier— she made a noncommittal check of the loaded magazine cartridge. The rebels recited lachrymosely aloud the common prayer taught to the One God's Army by their Preacher-leader in the desert...

She pointed the nozzle towards them...

Some retch their guts out; most of them hardly reached the middle of their supplication as their last-words when the loud discharge hail of bullets drowned their screams of fear. Some got up on to their feet and tried to flee but the rest of the troopers opened fire—cutting them down as their bodies piled over one another...

When the smoke has finally settled down, scores of dead insurgents lay mangled with bullet ruptures; only a single falsetto voice was still shrieking out aloud—the Wesleyan was fully covered red wet with their thick warm blood. He grappled about before he threw up all over himself. His hands were still cuffed behind his back—he dropped backwards and fainted while choking onto his own vomit.