Homefront: The Voice of Freedom (16 page)

Walker shook his head. “My God. It’s unbelievable. This is America, for Christ’s sake.”

Captain Hennings shrugged. “America hasn’t been on top of the world lately. The last ten years took a few chinks out of our armor. We were vulnerable. Sitting ducks.”

“What about our own military? Where are they?”

“Actually, every branch of the military—and the National Guard—put up a pretty good fight at first. There were some fierce battles in California, Oregon, and Washington. I don’t know what happened in
cities farther inland. One of the problems is the Norks captured a lot of our equipment and weapons. They brought along American stuff they’d obtained from Japan and South Korea, and then added more in Hawaii. When they took over our bases in California, they just slapped their flag over the American insignia, and now they have our tanks, planes, Humvees, you-name-it. It’s ironic, really. We’re fighting against our own technology. I hate to say it, but our military strength is simply not what it was. They clobbered us, Mr. Walker. They sent units running. In our scattered and fractured state, we couldn’t drive them away.

“By March, it was pretty much a done deal. Army, Air Force, Marine, and Navy units had to act autonomously, so they went into hiding. The National Guard units did the same. That’s what we’re doing, although we have a purpose. We’re not running, we’re regrouping. It’s gonna be a different kind of fight from now on.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is a war that’s gonna be fought by the people, Mr. Walker. There are resistance cells sprouting up all over. They’re made up of soldiers who didn’t run away, National Guard units like us, policemen, firefighters, Texas Rangers, and plain, ordinary folks who want to take up arms and make a stand. Take us, for example. We were stationed in San Diego. Got our asses whipped. We moved out and fought two more battles on the road. Lost half the unit. But we received some promising intel, so we’re actually now on our way to a hardened complex in Utah, near Bryce Canyon, where a resistance cell is supposedly operating. Apparently, this place was shielded from the EMP, so they’re supposed to have radios and tanks and vehicles. We’re gonna join up with them.
But it’s a long, hard trek through the desert. It was the only way to go without the Koreans spotting us. They keep a close aerial watch on the major highways. I guess they figure no one is crazy enough to cross the desert.”

Walker thought about what Hennings had said. “It’s like Vietnam, or Afghanistan, in reverse. We couldn’t win those wars because the enemy fought with guerilla tactics. That’s what we have to do.”

“You’re right, Mr. Walker. This is
our
jungle and we know it a lot better than the Koreans. This war’s gonna be won in our cornfields, in the streets of our cities, and in the suburbs—what’s left of them.”

“Does anyone know anything about Washington? Where’s the president?”

“We don’t know if he’s alive or dead. Last I heard, he was holed up somewhere safe. Another rumor is that he’s in England. No one knows. Hell, we don’t know if the Koreans are
in
Washington or anywhere else on the East Coast. But we have to assume they are.” He handed Walker the canteen again. “Want some more?”

“Sure.”

As Walker took a sip, Hennings said, “We lost our doc in the last battle, but we knew enough about heatstroke to take care of you. You were pretty delirious when we found you. Thought you were gonna start shooting that M4 of yours, but you were too weak to pick it up.”

Walker sat up and put his feet on the ground. “I’d like to try standing.”

“All right.” Hennings helped him, but Walker felt his knees buckle. “Just lean on me.” They moved to the tent flap and Walker pulled it open. The intensely bright sun almost blinded him, but after a moment he could focus on the campsite—eight tents, a burned
out campfire, three Humvees, and several horses standing under a canvas lean-to to protect them from the sun.

“Wow, where did you get the vehicles?”

“They were in a shielded garage at our base. Not every piece of equipment fell into Korean hands. The horses we picked up at a ranch in Escondido. They don’t like this heat. Have to keep ’em hydrated, and they drink a hell of a lot more water than we do.”

“Where’s all your men?”

“Sleeping, I guess. We’ve been moving at night. Too hot in the daytime. I came to check on you, but I’m going back to my bunk in a minute.”

“How are you on supplies? Food and water?”

“We’re good. The Humvees are full of stuff.”

Walker felt dizzy and said, “I’m gonna lie down again.” Once back on the cot, he asked, “How bad is it in the cities?”

Hennings shook his head. “Bad. The Koreans are doing what they can to feed everyone, but the rules they’ve imposed are harsh. It’s like Nazi Germany. People have to carry their identity cards on them at all times, and you can be arrested for nothing. They’ve created detention facilities that are more like concentration camps. The Norks have no problem executing civilians. They hang people from light poles. Families are missing loved ones and don’t know what happened to them. They force qualified people to work—you know, engineers, mechanics, programmers—to help rebuild the infrastructure. A lot of civilians are forced to be Quislings.”

“What?”

“Quislings. Individuals forced to work for the KPA. They keep things running in the occupied territories.”

“Collaborators?”

Hennings shrugged. “The difference is they’re being forced to do it. The Koreans have their families in a detention center or somewhere with the threat of violence hanging over their heads. The Quislings have no choice but to cooperate. Unfortunately, because they’re at a low level and have no official title in the Korean hierarchy, they often become scapegoats if something goes wrong.”

Walker sighed. “I don’t know what to say. It’s worse than I thought.”

“Oh, and then there are the race riots. You know about them?”

“No. Wait, yeah, I did hear something. About a mob attacking Koreatown in LA and burning it down?”

Hennings nodded. “That was the beginning. It’s been going on for some time now. Anyone obviously not part of the KPA who is Asian is a target. It’s crazy. Instead of fighting the real enemy—the KPA—the people are taking it out on American citizens who happen to be Asian. Now younger Korean Americans and other Asians are fighting back against the mobs. Americans attacking Americans. It’s become an all-out war, and both sides are fighting the wrong enemy.”

Walker rubbed his forehead. “Jesus, what a mess.”

Hennings sat on the stool again. “So, listen, Mr. Walker. Once you’re able to get around, what are your plans? You said you had to escape from Twentynine Palms when the Koreans got there. Where were you going, anyway?”

“I didn’t have a plan. I just headed out here ’cause I didn’t think the Koreans would follow me. I was hoping I’d make it to Vegas or somewhere.”

Hennings nodded. “We can give you a compass and a map. That might help.”

“Thanks.”

The captain stood. “Well, I’ll let you get some rest. We may pull out tonight, so we’ll leave you the tent. We have plenty since we lost so many of our guys. I’ll see you before we go.”

Hennings started to leave, but Walker got up. “Captain, wait.” He was unsteady on his feet, but at least he could stand without help. “Take me with you.”

The man shook his head. “Can’t do it. You’re not trained. You’d be a liability.”

“I learned how to shoot the M4. I’ve gotten pretty good, too.”

“You’re not trained to be a soldier, Walker. If we run into a squad of Norks and get into a firefight, I don’t want to have to babysit you. Sorry.”

“Wait. Look, I’m a journalist. A reporter. What if I became your embedded correspondent? You know, it’s done all the time. Reporters tag along with army units to give first-hand accounts of what’s happening. We need that. Americans need that. I want to find a way to get the
truth
to the people. I may not have a way to disseminate it right now, but I can start compiling stories. Eventually we’ll come across radios that work or something. Somebody out there is broadcasting information—I know that to be true. A guy I met told me about an underground network of folks with repaired radios, or maybe they were shielded from the blast. As time goes on, more and more people will have access to repaired equipment. You need me, Captain. I can be your
voice.
”

Hennings pursed his lips and looked at Walker. “You’re not in any shape to move. You still need recovery time.”

“Don’t some of your other men, as well? Are they ready to leave tonight?”

“They’re gonna ride in the Humvees until they get better.”

“Is there room for one more?”

Hennings opened the tent flap and looked out. “Let me sleep on it. I’ll let you know tonight.” With that, he left and walked across the campsite to his own quarters.

Walker returned to the cot, willing himself to feel better. There was no way in hell he was going to let the Guardsmen leave him alone in the desert again.

JUNE, 2025

As time passed, Walker and the other two Guardsmen with heatstroke eventually recovered. The unit moved northeast across the Mojave at a snail’s pace, simply because it was too hot to travel very far during the day and too cold at night. The trek was especially difficult for the horses, which weren’t used to desert conditions. As Captain Hennings once remarked, “After all, they’re not camels.” The unit of nineteen men clocked, at best, twelve miles a day.

Once Walker felt better, he got to know the other men. There was Johnson and Hodge, Kowalski and Masters, Drebbins and Mitchell, Marino and Goldberg, and others whose names he never remembered … and then there was Sergeant Kopple, who took the journalist under his wing. On the day the group set off again, he introduced himself.

“You Walker? I’m Sergeant Wally Kopple,” he said. “I’ve been given the dubious task of taking you through basic training on-the-go, so to speak.”

“Call me Ben. Thanks, I could use the training.”

“Never call men by their first names. You’re Walker. And I’m Sergeant Kopple. Got it?”

“Sure.”

Kopple was a crusty military lifer in his late forties. His
longish gray hair, mustache, and facial hair were a direct contrast to the more traditional buzz-cuts and clean-shaven appearance the other men had, although most of the soldiers hadn’t shaved or had haircuts in weeks. Hennings, on the other hand, used a straight razor on his face every other day, without water or lather.

On the first day that Walker felt able, Kopple instructed him to bring the M4 to a “practice range” a few meters from camp. He coughed hoarsely and said, “The beauty about the desert is the entire place is a practice range.” He pointed to a cactus shaped uncannily like a human being standing twenty yards away. “Shoot that guy’s head off.”

Walker held the rifle up and peered through the scope.

“Hold on, hold on, wait a sec,” Kopple said. “You’re holding your breath. Relax and breathe.”

Walker had never thought of that. He’d always unwittingly anticipated the recoil and fought against it. He raised the rifle again.

“Hold on, hold on, wait a sec. First of all, you need to ask yourself, is that a long range target, a medium range one, or a short range one.”

Walker guessed. “Medium?”

Kopple coughed and shrugged. “Sure. Some instructors might say it’s short range. That’s about twenty yards so it could go either way. One rule of thumb for short and medium range targets is the more rounds, the better. Use burst fire.”

“If you say so.”

“Why don’t you try your three-burst mode and blow the shit outta that cactus.”

Walker flipped the switch up and aimed. When he squeezed the trigger, the rifle popped three times in rapid succession. The cactus remained intact.

Kopple coughed and said, “Don’t worry, you’re doing fine.”

“I missed it completely.”

“You’re tensing up. You’re doing what I call ‘spray and pray.’ In other words, when you’re spraying, don’t panic. Keep your aim controlled. You may want to aim slightly lower than the head or torso to compensate for that itty-bitty recoil.”

Walker tried again. This time he blew away the upper third of the cactus-man.

“Excellent!” Kopple said. “We just might make a soldier out of you yet. Let’s try some long range shooting.” He coughed again.

“Wally, er, Sergeant Kopple, that cough sounds kinda bad. Are you all right?”

Kopple waved him away. “Don’t worry about it, it’s probably cancer. It’s been like this for almost a year. All kinds of crap comes up sometimes.” He pointed to a group of cacti fifty yards in the distance. “See those guys over there? That’s a squad of Koreans, aiming right at you. What do you do?”

Walker raised the gun.

“Hold on, hold on, wait a sec. What firing mode you gonna select?”

“Spray fire?”

“That might work, but I find that single-shot mode is pretty good for long range. I guess it depends on how many of the enemy you’re facing. Let’s say it’s just one guy instead of six. Try shooting the cactus on the far left with just one shot.”

Walker aimed. He did his best to place the crosshairs on the cactus’ “head.” He squeezed the trigger—and missed.

“That’s okay, that’s okay. Try again. Aim a little lower. You’ll get used to it.”

“I thought I
was
used to it. I’ve been firing this thing for a couple of months!”

“Try it again. Go for a body shot.”

Walker raised the rifle, aimed, remembered to breathe, and squeezed the trigger. Sure enough, most of the cactus was gone.

“Wow.” Walker stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it. “It’s loud. My ears are ringing. I still haven’t gotten used to that.”

“You need some ear plugs, although during a firefight you’ll need to be able to hear your mates. Now this time use the three-burst spray on those other guys. Put that slight recoil to good use. For that much distance, it’s best to aim for the upper chest. Not only will your target suffer the damage from a bullet to the chest, the recoil of the second or third shot will probably take the head off. Or you could try a strafing technique, but I don’t advise it because it wastes ammo.”