Homefront: The Voice of Freedom (15 page)

Salmusa smiled.

Danziger’s eyes flared. “Where are my wife and daughter? Huh? Where are they? I haven’t seen them in three months, you bastard.
Where are they?
”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know. They were taken to another facility when you were arrested. I am sure they are fine. Tell me, Mr. Danziger, if there is one thing you could say to the American people right now, what would it be?”

The man thought about it. “I’d tell them to fight you bastards in our streets and neighborhoods. I’d say pick up any weapon you can find and kill the first Korean you see. I’d tell ’em to organize into resistance groups and give you hell. And I’d wish them luck.”

Salmusa nodded. “All right. We will distribute your words along with your photograph to the American people. We will drop thousands of them from airplanes, all over the country. How about that, Mr. Danziger?”

The dissident frowned. “I don’t believe you.”

“Wait right there. Oh, forgive me. You can’t go anywhere, can you? I’ll be right back.” Salmusa stood and went to the door. He opened it and clapped his hands. Three men in KPA uniforms entered, one rolling a small wheeled table with a laptop computer on it. The other man carried a camera. The third soldier went straight to the pulley and lowered the noose level with Danziger’s face.

“Oh, Jesus,” Danziger said. “What do you want from me? What do you want me to tell you?”

The soldier slipped the noose over the prisoner’s head and slipped the knot tightly around his neck. Meanwhile, the Korean with the computer typed on the keypad. Salmusa addressed him, “You heard and got his words down verbatim?”

“Yes, sir.”

Salmusa examined the monitor, which displayed a recently-created layout of an 8 1/2 by 11–inch flyer. The designer had placed text at the bottom—
HORACE DANZIGER DIED FOR THESE WORDS: “FIGHT THE BASTARDS IN OUR STREETS AND NEIGHBORHOODS. PICK UP ANY WEAPON YOU CAN FIND AND KILL THE FIRST KOREAN YOU SEE. ORGANIZE INTO RESISTANCE GROUPS AND GIVE THEM HELL. I WISH YOU LUCK.”

“Very good. Let’s see if Mr. Danziger approves.”

The operator turned the laptop table around so the prisoner could see it. He shut his eyes and gasped. “Please, don’t do this. Please …”

“I’ll take that as ‘approved,’ ” Salmusa said. “You see, Mr. Danziger, this will teach the American public that
anyone
who spouts treachery and disrespect will suffer the same fate as you.” He then nodded at the soldier operating the pulley. The man flipped a switch. The rope grew taut and slowly lifted Danziger, and the chair, off the floor.

The photographer stepped forward and snapped several shots of the dissident hanging by his neck.

Salmusa didn’t wait until the prisoner was dead. He ordered, “Pick the best one and paste it on the flyer. Then take it to the distribution center for printing and allocation. If this doesn’t strike fear in the hearts of our enemies, I don’t know what will.”

He then left the room and made a call to the Pasadena Rose Bowl on the Captain-in-Command’s working radio.

“This is Salmusa,” he said when Pasadena’s captain
answered. “I have thought about the deterrent. I don’t have time to come down to Pasadena today, so this is what I want you to do. Select a hundred prisoners at random and hang them from street lamps all along Hollywood Boulevard. Make sure each of them has a sign around their necks that reads: ‘Anti-Korean Dissident.’ I want the task completed by the end of today.”

The Captain-in-Command knew not to refuse Salmusa’s orders.

MAY 20, 2025

It’s hard to believe I’m alive—against all odds—and I’m in the company of a wayward National Guard unit
.

Out in the middle of the Mojave Desert
.

I know I haven’t been writing much in the journal. I spent almost four months at the Marine base, all alone, and not once did I lift pen to paper. What can I say? I didn’t feel like it. I had other things to do, like learn how to fire a friggin’ M4 rifle! To tell the truth, I was living like a hog in slop. I had enough food to feed an army, books to read, a gun to play with, and a vast obstacle course and miniature town to run around in
.

I didn’t want to leave, but I had to. The goddamned Koreans came
.

It was toward the end of February when the planes flew overhead and dropped flyers everywhere. I don’t think they thought anyone was at the base; they were probably just carpeting the country with them. They wanted every American citizen to see their propaganda
.

The first drop was a simple flyer urging the population to migrate toward “food shipment centers” in the big cities like Los Angeles. “Displaced persons” programs had been implemented so everyone could get food, shelter, clothing, and other necessities. Supposedly the Koreans were “hiring” American
workers to bring back the power grid and other utilities. The leaflet claimed there had been a “peaceful exchange” between governments and that the Norks were in our country to “help” us
.

Right
.

I knew then and there that if the Koreans were running these programs, I wanted no part of them
.

If the leaflet hadn’t been so scary, it would have been funny. Whoever wrote the thing needed a better command of the English language. One sentence read, “Make bathroom waste drops at local supermarket deposit facility for clean happyness.” WTF??

Then, in March, planes dropped a slightly thicker document—a small twelve-page book wrapped in plastic. It was lightweight, but I’m sure it injured a few people when it hit them on the heads. The cover was all red, had that bastardized American flag with the Korean coat of arms plastered over it, and was titled: DEMOCRATIC PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF AMERICA – OATH OF LOYALTY AND ASSIMILATION HANDBOOK. Well, this so-called handbook was nothing but bullshit. It was supposedly written by the “North Korean Liberation Assistance Bureau” for “Bringing America Back to Greatness.” Yes, there was an oath of loyalty that every American was expected to learn. Throughout the book were stupid pictures of Korean soldiers overlooking “happy” American families in their homes, or “friendly” Korean doctors and businessmen saying, “We are here to help you.” There were lists of new holidays, such as Kim Jong-un’s birthday, his father’s birthday, his grandfather’s birthday, and so on. And there were the rules, such as curfews run by the Koreans rather than our own people. At the end was a list of “helpful phrases” in Korean, but if you ask me, none of them were particularly helpful. They were subservient. How do you say, “I will obey,” in Korean?

At least the English grammar had improved
.

Well, after this, I fully expected the Norks to come rolling up to the base and making themselves at home. But for some reason, they never showed up … until the beginning of May. They must have been too busy taking over military bases that were actually functional, with stuff to steal. Since the Twentynine Palms base had been closed years ago, they must have figured there was nothing here but buildings. But now that more Koreans were in the country, they needed the housing for their troops
.

It was midday on May 2. I heard the rumble of tanks and marching troops. Using the binoculars, I spotted them in the distance heading up the road from town. I knew I had to get out of there, and fast
.

I grabbed my backpack, which I had already stuffed with emergency supplies—water bottles and food packages, first-aid kit, some extra Marine utility uniforms—the M4 and ammunition, and a cap, and I ran like hell to the northern end of the base. Luckily I had the presence of mind to bring the wire cutters. So, as the Koreans blew off the gate on the southern fence, I cut a hole in the northern one. I slipped through and ran northeast—straight into the boiling hot Mojave Desert
.

I was there for two weeks
.

Jesus. Looking back, I realize how idiotic that was. There were a few days I thought I’d rather be a prisoner of the Koreans. I about died, I kid you not. For one thing, the food lasted only five days and the water lasted ten. Zip. Gone. And I was lost. I didn’t know where the hell I was. There were mountainous ridges all around me. Nothing but sand and dirt and cactus and prickly brush and snakes and spiders and big giant ants and my old friend, the buzzard, flying over my head the entire time. He knew if he waited
long enough, he’d get man meat. But I never gave him the satisfaction
. Fuck you, buzzard!

And then there was the sun. My God, I never thought the sun could be so hot. I took to finding holes at the bases of cliffs to sleep in during the day, and I walked at night. Then it was cold as shit
.

I shot a jackrabbit one day. Managed to build myself a fire and eat the damned thing. I tried my best at skinning it, but I still got a mouthful of fur. Yuck. I was no frontiersman. I didn’t know a damn thing about surviving in the desert. I had to wing it, you know what I mean? And it was tough. One day I just sat there and cried. And I’m sure that son of a bitch buzzard was up there laughing at me
.

Well, I lost track of the days, but it must have been ten or eleven since I left the base. I was barely moving. I was weak from hunger, dehydration, and heatstroke. Nevertheless, I successfully fashioned a little den out of a tiny cave inside an outcrop of big rocks. I nestled in there and waited to die. I cursed the day I made the decision to leave Los Angeles. I cursed the Norks again and again. I prayed, even though I never went in for that stuff much. I became delirious. I had weird hallucinations and talked to desert spirits and thought I saw God
.

Then, three days ago, on May 17, a National Guard unit happened to stroll by. They picked me up and saved my life. I’m still recovering from heatstroke and dehydration, and it’ll be some time before I’m completely well. But I thought I’d write down what I could since all I can do is lie here inside one of their tents. Anyway, I’m tired now so I’m going to sleep. If you see that buzzard, tell him to go fuck himself
.

Later, man
.

MAY 21, 2025

Walker opened his eyes and saw a man standing over the cot, one of the National Guardsmen that saved his life. A man in his forties, dark hair with gray at the temples. Lean and fit. Intelligence behind the eyes.

“You awake?” he asked.

Walker nodded. Tried to sit up.

“Whoa, it’s okay, just stay down. You need to regain your strength.” The man handed Walker a canteen with a straw in it. “Have some water.” Walker sucked it greedily. “Easy. Gotta make it last. We’re in the desert, remember?”

The tent interior was very warm. Walker saw through the flaps that it was daylight.

“What time is it?”

“It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

“What
day
is it?”

“It’s Wednesday, May twenty-first.” The man took the canteen away and held out his hand. “I’m Captain Michael Hennings. I’m in charge of the unit here.”

Walker shook his hand. “Ben Walker.”

“I know. We met when we first found you, but you were in pretty bad shape.” He indicated the journal and pen lying on the ground by the cot. “You must be feeling better. You’ve been writing.”

“Yeah, it’s just a … I don’t know what it is. A journal of sorts.”

“Are you a Marine?” Walker shook his head. “You mind telling me how you came to be all alone in the Mojave Desert with an M4 rifle and Marine uniform on?”

“You got some time? It may take awhile.”

“We’ve got all day. When we found you, the men were exhausted and about to drop like flies. Two guys have heatstroke, like you. I decided we needed to camp for a few days so
everyone
could recover. We’re not going anywhere,
yet
. But pretty soon we have to pick up and keep moving.”

Hennings unfolded a wood-and-canvas stool and sat by the cot. Walker proceeded to tell him his story, beginning with the day of the EMP blast. He covered the short time he spent with the Spitfire, his encounters with gangs on the highway, and his breaking into the Twentynine Palms base. But in the end he had more questions than answers. “So where do we stand, Captain?”

“That’s quite a story, Walker. You’re lucky to be alive. I take it you’re not up to speed with what’s happening in our country.”

“Like I said, I figured the Koreans invaded. I have one of those bullshit documents they dropped from planes, some kind of loyalty handbook.”

Hennings nodded. “I have one of those, too. Information is being pieced together by word-of-mouth because there’s still no official communication between our government and the people. Comlinks are down and the military has no way of talking to each other. What news we get is from the Norks, and that’s only through dissemination of their propaganda.”

“So nothing still works? Electricity? Phones?”

“Nope. The Koreans have instituted teams of
American manpower—or I should say
slavepower—
to repair some of this stuff in the big cities. But it’ll all be for the Koreans’ benefit, not ours.”

Walker blinked. “Christ. So how did this happen?”

“As you know, on January 16, the Koreans detonated a nuclear device over America. That caused the EMP. Two days later a massive force landed in Hawaii. They took our Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam, you know, our military hot spot. There’s a rumor going around that they’ve planted a nuclear weapon in Honolulu and are holding our government hostage with it. Threatening to set it off, if our military strikes back. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but we have to act on the assumption that it is.

“Anyway, on January 25, they attacked the West Coast. Simultaneous landings in LA, San Francisco, and San Diego. Our own carrier planes from Hawaii dropped paratroopers farther inland. After a couple of days, they secured all of our active military bases in California and got their hands on C-17s to send paratroopers all the way across the United States, dropping troops in key cities. We’re not even sure what they’re holding. They’re well organized, well trained, and they mean business. They’ve set up martial law in the occupied cities.”