Homefront: The Voice of Freedom (20 page)

The National Guard unit moved on a week after we arrived in August. I could tell Captain Hennings felt bad about taking the men away from such an
idyllic place. The guy I’m really going to miss, though, is Wally. Sergeant Kopple. We finally got to where we were calling each other by our first names, and he never does that with anyone. I’m worried about him ’cause he’s got a bad cough. Sounds serious. I hope they have a real doctor where they’re going so he can have it checked out. Of course, with the state of the union being what it is, medicine could be hard to come by. He wouldn’t be able to get X-rays. So, what the hell … anyway, I wish him well
.

At any rate, I didn’t have to go with the Guardsmen because I wasn’t a National Guard. I elected to stay. I couldn’t think of any place else that might be in as good a shape as Vegas. And besides, Kelsie had caught my eye. Big time
.

Later, man
.

NOVEMBER 8, 2025

I’m now a radio DJ, can you believe it? I’m known as “DJ Ben.
”

The idea began in September when Kelsie and I went to the electronics parts depot and got a bunch of junk to make a homemade radio. I also picked up an old CD player and some CDs. A little later, Kelsie and I went in together and bought a portable engine-generator. Cost us 3000 chips. So Kelsie and I built our own transmitter and receiver. It’s really a jury-rigged transistor board. Actually she’s the one who did all the work. Anyway, it’s really this circuit board thingy with tubes on it, and it can plug into an antenna that she made out of aluminum. Now we can receive stuff like that tired old recording by the president (which hasn’t changed since May) and even some reports from other folks
who have repaired or rebuilt radios. So far we’ve heard from seven people. There’s a guy who calls himself Yankee Doodle—he’s in Washington State somewhere. There’s a guy in Texas called Max. Depending on how clear the sky is, we can receive stuff from as far away as Missouri
.

So then I wanted to start broadcasting on my own. Kelsie fixed the transistor board so we can plug the CD player into it and actually send out music over the air waves. Add a microphone and—voila! Introducing DJ Ben!

At first I did it to amuse myself. I’d play some of my favorite oldies and do a sort of smooth DJ voice. After a while, I started giving news reports. I relayed what I learned from some of the other guys making broadcasts. Mostly I did the whole “peace and love” thing, trying to get people to cooperate with each other, ’cause that’s the only way we’re going to get out of this mess
.

Then, around Halloween, lo and behold—I started receiving messages! “Hey DJ Ben, play some Led Zeppelin!” “Please DJ Ben, play Frank Sinatra!” “Keep it up, DJ Ben, you’re making us all feel better!” Well, that made my day. If playing music boosts morale around the country, then that’s what I’m going to do
.

DECEMBER 24, 2025

It’s Christmas Eve!

Don’t have much new to report. It’s been a pleasant four months in Vegas. Kelsie and I keep busy playing around with the “radio station” and spend the rest of the time between the sheets
.

I’ve been making friends over the airwaves. I’m in regular contact with Yankee Doodle and Max. I’ve
been able to share information about the Occupation they’ve told me, and vice versa
.

Did I mention how crazy I am about Kelsie?

Now if the Koreans will just stay away and leave us alone, everything will be great
.

Merry Christmas to all!

JANUARY 12, 2026

“You’re live,” Wilcox said as she adjusted the frequency on the transmitter. They sat in their makeshift “station” in one of the upper floor rooms in Caesars Palace. They’d found that the higher up they were, the better the transmission.

Walker winked at her and spoke into the microphone. “This is Radio Free America broadcasting to you from the edge of darkness. Greetings to all of you out there in Korealand. Have you had your daily serving of kimchi? Ha ha, just kidding. This is DJ Ben bringing you another hour of uninterrupted, commercial free news and music. Tonight we have a special treat for you. I’d like to be able to say I have Miles Davis himself in the studio this evening, but I’ve only got a CD of his classic 1959 album,
Kind of Blue
. It’s nice and moody, not just a little melancholic, and oh, so exquisite. And what a band, too. Not only Miles, but John Coltrane, Cannonball Adderley, Paul Chambers, Jimmy Cobb, and Bill Evans. Amazing stuff.

“But before I get to the music, I want to thank everyone who’s been broadcasting news to me. I’ve tried to assimilate the information and intel I’ve been receiving and am dedicated to delivering it to you, America, just in case you didn’t hear it from the original sources. So
keep your stories coming in, folks, and I’ll do my best to get ’em out there. Now for the news.”

Wilcox placed Walker’s notes in front of him and kissed his cheek. He smiled at her and studied the sheet.

“I don’t know how old this is, or when this actually occurred. I’m afraid we’ve had a major setback in our fight against the Koreans in San Pedro, California. Locals are calling it the ‘San Pedro Firestorm.’ Apparently a small group of workers, aided by a squad from the U.S. Army Corp of Engineers, managed to cause a series of major explosions at the Conoco-Phillips Oil Refinery just southeast of Los Angeles airport. The Koreans had control of the refinery, and our boys decided they’d rather destroy the oil than let it fall into the hands of the enemy. Unfortunately, the fires were driven by heavy winds and moved south, engulfing the Long Beach Naval Complex before shifting west. Two weeks after this report was made, areas of San Pedro were still burning. Well, folks, as I said, I don’t know how old this report is, so hopefully those fires are out now. Nevertheless, I think the refinery workers and the Corp of Engineers should still be commended for their bravery. Here at Radio Free America, we try to impart only the truth, but seeing that I’m DJ Ben and all, you’re also going to get a little bit of editorializing.”

Wilcox handed him the next report.

“This next piece just came in from Yankee Doodle, our correspondent in Washington State. First, a little background to the story. In the days following the Korean invasion—God, was that almost a year ago?—the city councils of both Seattle, Washington, and Portland, Oregon, staged nonviolent ‘sit-ins’ on the steps of both city halls. The Korean military responded by hanging these government officials from downtown light poles.”

Walker paused to take a breath and adapted a more serious tone.

“I’m sure those of you in the big cities have seen atrocities like this. It pains me to report them, but as I said earlier, the truth must be heard. At any rate, in the weeks and months that followed, rebels in the two cities instigated a series of arson events against the main shipping areas to keep the Norks from using them. On January second of the New Year, five Elliot Bay cargo facilities were destroyed. The Occupational government then announced a dusk-to-dawn curfew with a strict shoot-on-sight policy for any Americans caught out during that time. This extreme imperative was brought home to Seattle Americans when three days ago, on January ninth, an ambulance crew was stopped and executed by Korean military forces while attempting to answer a midnight call for help. Yankee Doodle reports that both Seattle and Portland have become lawless areas after dark with civilian authorities unable to respond to any crimes or emergencies. So, my friends, it’s probably best to stay indoors during the curfew hours. One day we
will
take back our cities from these Korean dickheads.”

Wilcox suppressed a laugh; the testimony was too sobering to act otherwise.

“I suggest to those of you listening that on the anniversary of the attack, on January sixteenth, get together with as many of your family, friends, and loved ones, and hold a vigil. Organize it as you think best. If it’s prayer you’re into, then go for it. If you want to burn effigies of Kim Jong-un, knock yourselves out. If you just want to hold hands and be silent for a few minutes, that works, too.

“That’s our news for this evening, January twelfth, 2026. Keep that truth coming in and I’ll do my best to get it out there. Once again, this is DJ Ben. And
now, here’s Miles Davis and his sextet, performing the album
Kind of Blue.
”

Wilcox hit the CD player button and the jazz standard “So What,” began it’s plaintive, soulful groove. Walker switched off the mic.

“How’d it sound?”

“You’re getting better and better,” she answered. “You know, I think you could parlay this new talent of yours into something bigger.”

“What do you mean?”

“Right now you’re very entertaining. You’re fun to listen to and you play good music. But when you read the news, especially the more serious stuff, I see and hear a passion that might be very useful. To the Resistance, I mean.”

Walker creased his brow. “I don’t understand. Isn’t reporting these things useful to the Resistance?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud. Maybe we need to establish a stronger transmitter so we know you’re reaching the entire country. Then I think you could really do some good. You’re very inspiring, Ben. I think you need to become something a little less frivolous than ‘DJ Ben.’ ”

Walker rubbed his chin. “I’m flattered. Let me think about it. In the meantime, sure, let’s make a better transmitter. But first, let’s go to bed.”

“Isn’t it a little early?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Who said anything about sleeping?”

She slapped his arm and laughed.

JANUARY 21, 2026

Salmusa removed the “Iron Fish,” a specially-designed iron-lined radioactive repellent suit supplied by the People’s Nuclear Transport Company. It was
much like a scuba outfit, only baggier. The face mask resembled any other protective gas mask except that it, too, was iron-lined and contained eye goggles made of an unbreakable plastic, originally designed by NASA, used for windows on space shuttles. The suit was not completely efficient. A man wearing the Iron Fish could not be exposed to the Cocktail Materials for more than five hours, or he could be contaminated. Contamination meant death.

After depositing the suit in the decontaminator, Salmusa stepped naked into the shower and scrubbed himself with near-scolding hot water. He took no chances with the dangerous chemicals. They had killed at least sixty Korean scientists and handlers since their creation on Marcus Island in Japan. Nevertheless, Operation Cocktail was a success. The combined Materials—X, Y, and Z—were ready for implementation of the Brilliant Comrade’s master plan, Operation Water Snake.

Salmusa turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried himself. The next procedure was to pass through the radiation detector to see if any remnant of the Materials was left on his body. After he passed the scan, he quickly dressed and then went to the office at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory in Livermore, California, where he’d spent much of the last three months. As the overseer of Operation Water Snake, Salmusa took this particular assignment far more seriously than anything he’d thus undertaken for Kim Jong-un and the Greater Korean Republic.

He sat and studied the scientists’ reports. It was determined that to maintain the high levels of the three combined Source Materials, mixing and depositing the Cocktail worked best underwater. Unfortunately, team members who physically performed
the below surface task of mixing and depositing the Cocktail would die from the exposure. The Brilliant Comrade already decreed that these volunteers would be designated as martyrs for the GKR.

Salmusa was pleased. It had been a long, complicated process to reach this point. Transporting the Source Materials from Marcus Island in Japan to Los Angeles, and then delivering them to Livermore, had taken months. Now it was time for the Korean People’s Army Light Infantry Division to carry the Materials to the five designated Deposit Locations on the western banks of the Mississippi River. By the beginning of February, Operation Water Snake would commence.

The Light Infantry was charged with staging and deployment of the Cocktail at Deposit Locations 2, 4, and 5. Two groups of American collaborators from Montana and Texas, code-named Red Eagle and Red Bison, respectively, were responsible for staging and deployment at Locations 1 and 3.

A knock at the door interrupted Salmusa’s thoughts.

“Yes?”

One of his assistants, a young man named Byun Jin-Sang, opened the door and stood at attention. “Sir! The radio broadcast you’ve been anticipating is on.”

Salmusa stood quickly and followed Byun into another room where new electronic equipment, including a high-powered radio receiver, lined the walls and shelves.

The American was already speaking over the airwaves. Salmusa stood and listened, his eyes narrowing with hatred.

“—wish we could all, and I mean everyone in the world—and that means
you
, Koreans!—could
remember John Lennon’s words “give peace a chance.” We’re going to play some more of John Lennon’s music—but first, I have this report from our correspondent Max in Texas.

“Apparently a misplaced airdrop of Korean Special Forces led to a hasty march through downtown Galveston, Texas, where the idiots were met with a nasty surprise. Elements of the Texas National Guard and an estimated ten thousand-plus citizens attacked the invading forces along Interstate-45 with a mixture of light infantry firearms and deer rifles. I regret to report that losses were tremendous on the American side, especially when the Norks called in air support. Attack helicopters showed up and made short work of the Texans’ defensive positions. However, a minor victory occurred when several tugboat operators launched their explosive-laden ships against the Galveston Causeway, bringing it down. Score one for America! This distracted those dog-eating Koreans long enough for two dozen privately owned pleasure yachts packed with women and children to make it out of the Port of Galveston before those Korean Nazis managed to secure it. Our people slipped out under their very noses and sailed to Mexico.”