The White Dress

Welcome to the second story in my Future War series.

These stories are designed to show National Security Professionals that the surest way to fail is to remain stagnant in our creative thinking, give the reigns over to THE bureaucracy, and ignore new innovations and technologies.

Set in the same timeline as my first installment Task Force Wolf, The White Dress takes us back to North America, where drug smuggling, human trafficking, and border security have been transformed by a unique combination of technology, geopolitical instability, and innovative policy.

The White Dress story was designed around two concepts co-created by the participants of our first LAB Chat. During the workshop, two teams of participants sought to understand the concepts of Swarming and Pirating using a new tool called The Cube of Understanding (now named the U Cube). They then used a tool called The Cube of Experimentation (now named the X Cube) to create an entirely new future threat. Although we ran out of time, the teams came up with two amazing ideas for future threats, “Zombie Swarming” and “Life Pirating.”

Please feel free to share and tell me what you think in the comments.

Oh, by the way, 100% of this story can happen today.?#Justsaying

The White Dress by Lieutenant Colonel Daniel Gomez.

Maria nervously straightened the pleats of her white dress. It was October 3rd, 2033, and tomorrow, she was finally going to see her father again. She pulled on a loose thread, biting the end off with her teeth. Maria wanted to make sure she looked pretty for her father. She hadn’t seen him since her 10th birthday and could not contain her excitement.

Maria had been sitting for hours, her palms began to sweat, and the small patch on the back of her neck grew itchy. Her Mom told her not to touch it.

“Déjalo quieto (Leave it alone),” her Mom told her the last time she reached for it.?

She knew her Mom was nearby, but it was too dark to see inside the trailer. The refugee leader had to separate the children from the adults as they were loaded up.

Maria didn’t know his name, but her Mom called him Cachorro because his head was small and his eyes were big and brown like a puppy’s. He had met them in Guatemala, where they were picked up, and they have been together ever since.

“Lo siento, se?orita (I’m sorry, miss),” he said when he loaded them into the trailer. “Pronto estaran juntos (You’ll be together soon).”

Maria remembered the last time she felt her Mom’s touch. It was only a few hours ago, but to her, it felt like an eternity.

“Maria, you need to be a big girl today. I’m counting on you,” her Mom said, running her fingers through Maria’s long black hair.

“When we get to the states, we’ll use the phone to call Papi, and everything will be Ok again,” she said softly, tucking a small satellite phone into her bag.??

“Amor (Love), run to the border soldiers if we get separated. They will take care of you”, she reassured. “And remember to use your English,” she added.?

The truck trailer hit a large bump, tossing Maria into the metal side of the trailer, wrinkling her pleats again.

“Ay!” she exclaimed, spilling the contents of her bag onto the floor. She blindly searched the bed for her items. Her fingertips touched the plastic casing of her phone, and she picked it up. She tried to play it off like she was still smoothing out her wrinkles, but it was so dark no one would have noticed.

“Jesús!” she gasped when a hand shot out from the darkness covering her mouth.

“Cállate (Shut it!)!” Cachorro whispered harshly.?

The trailer lurched to a stop suddenly. Maria, her mother, and the three dozen passengers froze in silence; the only sound was a muffled conversation between the driver and someone else outside.?

Cachorro’s fingers slowly released the grip on her mouth.

A man loudly whistled as another shouted, “Vamos (Let's go)!”

With the sharp hiss of air brakes releasing, the truck continued forward down the dusty road.

There were seven trucks in total. Five filled to the brim with refugees from Paraguay, Uruguay, and Chile, and two packed with La Fuerza Coyotes and their equipment.

Their destination was an unguarded crossing point in the middle of La Zona, right along the Rio Grande.

Hernán’s black SUV followed the trucks closely. He was determined to get this batch through to the other side. Since La Guerra del Sur (War of the South), his packages have increased, but his smuggling success rate has not. The refugees kept coming. Argentina’s 2029 bloody campaign to unify the South had succeeded. Millions crossed the continent to escape the carnage.

La Fuerza saw an opportunity. They would continue their domination of the drug trade but also be poised to double their revenue from trafficking these “refugees.” The demand was high, and so was the supply.

It worked for a while. The Wall couldn’t stop them. For every section built, La Fuerza would shift crossing points. Once it was complete, they used military tactics, heavy ordnance, and demolitions to create breeches. The Wall, without an effort to defend it, was just another obstacle to overcome. One daring mission required joining forces with six other cartels. They blew open one hundred and thirty-two holes in The Wall, all within a four-mile span. La Fuerza turned The US Wall into Swiss cheese. Their Drones would block sensors, snipers would shoot the dogs, and Chinese antitank missiles would take out any Border Patrol agents stupid enough to respond.

Business was good… until The Pact changed everything. An agreement between Mexico and The United States, The Pact created a 5 km un-governed Zone between the two countries. With it came a Letter of Marque, a license that allowed private entities to conduct security operations within La Zona. Multiple organizations answered the call. All of the cartels suffered, but La Fuerza was hit the hardest.?

Hernán’s convoy crossed the border into La Zona. He would oversee La Fuerza’s Alpha crossing, as fifteen “burritos,” drug-carrying traffickers with flight packs, would infiltrate across Bravo and Charlie, flying at tree top level. He knew that he had to get at least thirty percent of this drug package through, and he had a plan to do just that. He got the idea at his sister’s farm one day. She had these goats that would faint at the slightest noise or movement. His sister told him it was a genetic condition.

“What use are fainting goats?” he asked.

“Los chivos (The goats)?” she laughed. “If I was a hungry panther, and I chased a prized llama and a goat across the field, which I am eating for dinner?”

Hernán clicked his radio, “Donde estan los migrantes con los puntos? (Where are the migrants with the dots)” he asked.

“Camiónes dos y cinco, Se?or (Trucks two and five, Sir),” the response came.

The demand for drugs changed over the years. Cocaine was almost eradicated when a bio-engineered fungus infected all of the Coca plants in Colombia. It was replaced quickly by Meth, Bombé, Xylazine, Durian, and Hope. They all had their moments, but the demand didn’t last.

The flavor of 2033 is a new drug called Seizure. It was a highly addictive hallucinogen that was patched or licked. It causes euphoria in its users, combined with a trance-like catatonic state. Users would stand swaying in the breeze for hours before falling into an extended period of unconsciousness. Users in the US wanted something unique, and La Fuerza would give it to them. They were able to open up a new supply chain from Africa through Brazil and up through Mexico.

The convoy sped through La Zona, passing a dilapidated garage. Hernán’s SUV pulled into the garage, the opening gate revealing a large tactical operations center.

“El area esta despejado (We’re clear),” a man stated, saluting Hernán.

“Lanza los Burritos y el Drone (launch the Burritos and the Drone),” Hernán commanded.

The Drone’s imagery appeared on the screen as it launched from the garage’s roof. Fifteen burritos flew off to the east and west while five migrant trucks, a cliff spanner, and a security team continued north.

As the convoy pressed through the darkness, Maria’s excitement rose. Her father left Chile only a year ago. They received a message that he had safely crossed the US and would pay for their travel north. Maria knew this; the trip's last leg was the most dangerous. Her skin felt prickly. She released the grip on her bag and reached back to scratch the patch on her neck. She felt a quick rip as her fingernail caught its corner. She looked down and saw the white dot sticking to her finger. Panicking, she wiped it onto the trailer wall. She knew she was in trouble; the Coyotes must’ve put it there for a reason.???

“Mami,” she whispered into the darkness.

“Mami,” she called again, louder. Nothing.

Maria’s Mom couldn’t hear her. She considered calling out for Cachorro, but the truck came to an abrupt halt.

The doors opened, and bright lights drenched the refugees. Maria shielded her eyes from the painful rays.

“Muévete (Move),” a man shouted.

She followed closely behind Cachorro, using the shade of his back to search for her Mom.

The sound of sandals crunching across the rocky ground filled the air as dozens of refugees exited the trailers. Maria peered through the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of her, to no avail.

An armed Coyote grabbed Cachorro’s shoulder and shouted, “Haga cinco líneas en el río, separadas por 50 metros (Make five lines at the river, 50 meters apart)”.

As the crowd separated to form the lines, Maria saw her.

“Mami!” she shouted as she ran to her.

“Amor (My love), come come,” she answered, taking her by the hand and heading towards the river.

“Cinco líneas (Five lines)!” the man shouted again.

Maria saw the Coyotes remove five machines off the trailer and head to the water’s edge.

The man closest to her turned on the machine, and it began to extend one-meter-wide metal sheets in sections high above the raging river.

Hernán watched the bridges deploy on the screens, “Estado (Status)?” he asked.

“Todavía claro (Still clear),” a man responded.

He spoke into the radio, “Todos se preparan (Everyone, prepare yourselves).”

Cachorro, now standing at the river's edge, shouted, “Cruzan (Cross)”!

The mass of humans began to slowly make their way across the bridges. Maria heard a buzzing in the air as her mother pulled her forward onto the sheet metal.?

“Mami, I need to tell you something,” Maria said softly.

“Later, let’s go,” she replied, making her way across the bridge.

Maria pulled on her Mom’s sleeve again, “No, Mami… I… I… espere (wait)… the buzzing stopped”, she whispered.

Maria looked back to shore as a flash of light, and a deafening boom broke through the night sky. The Coyotes’ truck exploded in flames, launching flaming shards of twisted metal into the air.

“Los Salvadores!” a Coyote shouted before cannon fire cut him in two.

“Run!” Maria’s Mom yelled as a hail of gunfire strafed the river’s edge.

Maria saw another Coyote firing wildly into the air before he too, disappeared in an explosion. She looked to the other side of the river and saw two huge searchlights turn on.

A speaker blared instructions in English and Spanish, “Stop where you are. You have been caught illegally crossing La Zona. Cease all movement and surrender yourself to the nearest security force.”

The refugees spilled across the river, the sound of battle filling the air.?

When the refugees reached the other side, they quickly dove into the thick brush, flowing in every direction. White lights danced among the thickets, the shouts of soldiers close behind.

Cachorro led Maria, her mother, and a few more refugees into the waist-high grass. They made their way up the embankment to a small clearing under a large tree overlooking the river.

Maria’s Mom turned around and grabbed her forcefully, staring into her eyes. Her hands combed nervously through her hair and neck as if searching for something. She patted her down, giving her a tense smile. “Good, good. Listen, mi hija (my daughter), you must run, find Papi, use your phone when you are safe.”

Maria nodded, but her eyes grew wide as she saw Cachorro take out a knife from the corner of her eye. He reached behind his head and winced. When his hands came forward, they were dripping with blood, a white patch sitting in his palm.

Maria looked back at her Mom, tears filling her eyes, “Why Mami? Mami, por qué (why)? You’re here; let’s go!” she cried.

Cachorro lifted his knife, taking a step toward Maria and her Mom.

Hernán stared at a static-filled screen; a localized EMP had taken out his command and control drone. He heard the screams of his men calling for help across the radio as they were massacred by the Saviors’ ambush.?

He flipped open the covering of a large button on his dashboard, his men looking on nervously. Hernán keyed his radio as he pushed the button, “Los puntos estan activados, Bravo y Charlie hazlo (The dots are activated, Bravo and Charlie execute).”

A high-frequency transmission sped through the air at the speed of sound.

“Go!” Maria’s mother yelled again, throwing her daughter to the ground next to Cachorro as the signal reached her.?

The transmitter embedded into the patch on her neck received the signal, activating an electric shock strong enough to burst the microplastic shell. Her sweat quickly mixed with the Seizure now oozing from the package.

“Go, go,” she tried to yell again, choking sharply on her words.

Maria watched in horror as her Mom’s head shot sidewise and then twisted upwards, a guttural groan emanating from her throat. Her feet twisted left, then right, locking into place. Her torso started convulsing like a rag doll, arms flailing back and forth. Her eyes rolled back, and foam formed at the corners of her mouth.

Maria reached out to her Mom as Cachorro grabbed her by the shoulders. They watched the other refugees standing by the tree turn twisted and contorted like her mother.

She felt her feet lift off the ground and, through her tears, looked out towards the river. She saw a sea of half-frozen corpses, shuddering and groaning into the night.

Maria cried out to her mother again, “lo siento (I’m sorry)!” as Cachorro carried her deeper and deeper into the brush.

The next few hours were a blur. Maria was carried, dragged, and dropped. She crawled, waded, and hid in the dark. Keeping up with Cachorro, she ran as fast as she could; all the while, the sound of gunfire and men getting quieter by the step.

They came to rest on the side of a paved road headed north. Maria pressed her body as close to the culvert as possible, the dry concrete cooling her skin. Cachorro crawled up the embankment; he looked left, then right, then left again. He slid down and nodded to her.

Maria clenched her bag tightly, looking down at her dress. Instead of a soft off-white, it was now a dusty reddish clay covered in mud and thorns. Instead of smooth, nicely pressed pleats, it was marred with rips and dangling threads. She looked back toward the direction of the river one last time, a final tear sliding down her face. She stood up and turned toward the road, her voice barely a whisper, “I’m sorry.”??