Homefront: The Voice of Freedom (26 page)

It was a brilliant plan.

Salmusa was proud to have offered an addendum to Executive Order 434, which Kim Jong-un implemented. While no one actually made “suggestions” to the Brilliant Comrade, it was possible to phrase one so that it seemed as if the idea was a natural extension of the leader’s wishes. Salmusa was better at that ploy than most of Kim’s advisors and yes-men. His suggestion was that in order to maintain the integrity of the new Mississippi Border for the length of the Occupation and through completion of the Greater Korean Republic’s plans, the Light Infantry Division would redeposit additional Source Term supplies of the Cocktail every seventeen to twenty-four months.

A subdivision of the Occupational Police would be responsible for regular patrol of the border through the use of armed drones at bridges and other points of crossing. Additionally, every three to six months, a special division would set grass and forest fires in strategic areas within a ten-mile radius surrounding the river. Fires could mobilize the radioactivity material again, converting the elements to an airborne form that would enter the atmosphere in a different structure and redistribute itself across the landscape and population.

Now, two months after Operation Water Snake
was accomplished, Salmusa watched as fires raged on the ground below. It didn’t matter that Muscatine, Iowa, would be destroyed. There was no longer anyone living there.

Human beings could not be within five miles of the river without wearing an Iron Fish or comparable radioactivity-resistant suit. Even then, five hours was the maximum amount of exposure a person could take. No one knew exactly how high the airborne contamination reached; needless to say, simply walking or driving across a bridge without a suit was impossible.

The Brilliant Comrade would be pleased. Salmusa had finished touring all five Deposit Locations and confirmed that everything was in order. It was time to return to GKR headquarters in San Francisco, for his work with Operation Water Snake was completed. He thought wryly that from north to south the Mighty Mississippi was no longer Old Man River.

It was now Dead Man River.

APRIL 6, 2026

Walker stepped into the space at Home that the leaders facetiously called the “War Room.” Situated in one of the first-floor bedrooms in one of the houses, it was where Boone Karlson, Nguyen Giap, Hopper Lee, Wally Kopple, and Connor Morgan met to discuss resistance strategy.

“You guys wanted to see me?”

“Come in, Ben,” Karlson said. “Have a seat.”

They were situated around a table. A large map of Montrose adorned one wall, while a map of the United States decorated the other. Various colored pins dotted each map in key locations.

Walker took a chair. “So are we going to save the world today? What’s up?”

“Ben, we’ve been discussing your plans to broadcast from that old radio station. How soon will you and Kelsie be ready to do so?”

“Five or six days, I should think. Why?”

“You think you can be ready in four?”

Walker rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’d have to ask Kelsie. She’s really the brains of the team. I just complain. Why?”

Morgan answered for Karlson. “Because the Norks will probably be here by the tenth. They’ll be crawling over this town like cockroaches.”

Karlson added, “We received intel that a heavy Korean force is headed this way. The information we got out of our prisoner is true. Montrose is a key target because of the shale oil mining outside of town. They’re bringing tanks and a battalion of an estimated five hundred light infantry soldiers. We think there are already fifty to a hundred men in Montrose already, so a liberal estimate makes it a total of six hundred. There are roughly thirty fighting men and women here at Home. The odds are comparable to that of the Alamo.”

“Jesus,” Walker said.

“Let ’em come!” Morgan growled. “I ain’t gettin’ any action sittin’ here on my ass!”

Karlson ignored him. “There are other resistance cells besides us, of course, but I have no idea how big they are. Eventually we’ve got to establish communications with them and coordinate our efforts. But until then, with the added Korean troops, it means it’s going to be even more difficult for us to accomplish tasks in town. We’re not sure how much access you’re going to have to the radio station once they’re here.”

Kopple started to speak but went into a coughing spasm instead. Everyone looked at him with concern and shared worried glances with the others around the table. The sergeant gasped for breath and Giap handed him a bottle of water. Kopple took a few sips and eventually relaxed. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I was about to say we all think what you and Kelsie are doing is important. You and I have talked about how the resistance can use your natural ability to fire up people. We want you to make a broadcast before the Koreans get here and make sure everyone knows about the Mississippi River. And you need to tell anyone listening to join the Resistance. No more complacency. No more submission.”

Karlson continued. “We know the Koreans can pinpoint where a radio signal is coming from. Unless you can get the station up and running before they get here, you’re not going to have a chance to make the broadcast.”

Walker said, “We could continue to use Hopper’s equipment. So far Kelsie and I have managed to get away with making broadcasts from different areas of town. I haven’t made any transmissions in the last few days because we’ve been so busy repairing the station, but we could try and slip in some quickies at night. We haven’t gotten caught yet. If the Koreans are listening, they’re probably confused as to where we really are because we keep moving.”

“But the whole point of using the radio station is for its long-range capacity,” Karlson said. “We need you to get the word out to all of America.”

“I understand that.” Walker rubbed his chin. “You do know there’s an elementary school on the same street as the radio station? And it’s in service. There are children there.”

“So maybe that’ll help with your cover. A lot of parents are seen in the mornings and in the afternoons picking up their kids. It’s one of the few elementary schools still active in Montrose.”

Walker nodded. “Okay. So you’re saying we have until the tenth.”

“Right.”

Walker sighed. “Then I guess we better get to work.”

APRIL 9, 2026

Over the next three days, Walker and Wilcox worked like madmen to finish repairing the station.

Located on Rose Lane, the building hadn’t been used in perhaps a decade. Much of the electrical
equipment was fried by the EMP. The antenna on the roof was useless, so Wilcox had to build a new Yagi-Uda-style device from scratch. Although she was able to plunder parts from the old aerial, the trick was going to be attaching the new antenna to the roof without any Korean sentries in town noticing. One advantage was that Rose Lane was somewhat isolated in the northeast area of town, with the station on the far end of a dead-end street. The elementary school, built during the previous decade, was located in the middle of the block.

The Korean presence was mostly concentrated downtown, with occasional visits by patrols to the suburban regions. Walker and Wilcox thought it prudent to enlist Jim’s help and the services of the cell’s baker, a woman named Naomi.

In order for Walker and Wilcox to work longer hours at the station, they needed someone to stand guard and warn them if a KPA soldier came sniffing. The cell’s electronics team had already repaired a number of walkie-talkies. Karlson, Morgan, Lee, and Giap used them to communicate with each other when they were away from Home. Walker asked if two more instruments could be quickly repaired and allocated to him. Thus, Jim would position himself with one at the entrance of Rose Lane and man a cart containing samples of Naomi’s homemade bread to “sell.” His walkie-talkie was hidden in a bread loaf, to be used only in case of an emergency. To prevent someone wanting to buy the crucial loaf, it was “decorated” with coloring that resembled mold. Karlson approved the plan because it would also generate some income for the cell.

On the day before the expected influx of Korean troops, the couple was ready to mount the antenna on the roof. They had cut a hole in the studio ceiling
and placed a step ladder under it so Wilcox could access the roof quickly without having to go outdoors. Inside the building, the studio’s console was almost repaired and functioning. Wilcox had built new input jacks so they could plug in their homemade transistor board and microphone. Even though it was LPAM—low-powered AM broadcasting—which wasn’t as strong as Wilcox would have liked, by pushing their signal through the studio’s more powerful transmitter and out the Yagi-Uda, allegedly it would reach both coasts. The only thing remaining to be done was rewiring a mess of cords beneath the console. Since it reminded Walker of spaghetti, he left that intimidating job for last.

Wilcox stood on the roof and surveyed the dark sky. “Looks like a storm is coming,” she called down through the hole.

Walker stood inside the studio at the base of the ladder. “We gotta remember to put the cover on when we leave tonight. You ready to plug in the drill?”

“Sure.” She knelt with a power drill in hand, the cord strung down into the room. Walker plugged it into a hand-cart-mounted engine-generator they had brought from Home. Although portable, the machine was heavy enough that two people were required to carry it.

“Okay!”

“Fire that baby up!”

Karlson allotted only so much gas for the generator. They had to use it sparingly, but drilling holes in the roof for the antenna base was necessary. Wilcox fit the stand where she’d made marks and proceeded to work.

Two blocks away, at the other end of Rose Lane, Jim sat in a lawn chair under a beach umbrella. So far
he’d sold six loaves of bread since setting up shop that morning. There were only four left. Poor Naomi couldn’t churn out enough product, for which there seemed to be a demand, especially with all the parents dropping off their kids at the school in the mornings. What would he do when there were no more loaves to sell? How could he justify remaining on the sidewalk if the KPA came around? It wasn’t going to take long for word to get back to the Koreans that he was selling bread on the street. They were sure to check him out sooner or later.

A woman with a baby stroller appeared along Main Street/Highway 50, saw the stand, and approached him. “How much for the bread?” she asked.

“A dollar a loaf.”

“That’s very reasonable. I’ll take two.”

“Money’s not worth a lot these days, you know,” Jim said. “Just trying to help out our neighbors.”

He considered raising the prices in the future to discourage customers.

Two loaves left and it was only mid-afternoon.

School let out. Most parents didn’t want their kids walking home, so they came to pick them up. Jim’s anxiety increased as several moms and dads strolled past with their sons and daughters, but luckily no one stopped to shop.

Back at the radio station, Wilcox finished drilling. Walker shut off the generator, climbed the ladder, and helped her with the antenna. After telescoping it, the thing was twelve feet long. With the added height of the building, it would stick up over thirty feet in the air. Given that Montrose’s elevation was approximately 5,800 feet above sea level, the broadcast quality should be pretty good.

“Okay, I’ll need you to hold it steady while I attach it to the base,” she told him. Together they
raised the antenna upright and positioned it over the holes she’d drilled in the base. The wind had risen, so Walker had to struggle with the aerial to keep it still.

“I see what you mean about a storm coming.” The bottom slipped out of place, knocking a bolt out of Wilcox’s hand. It rolled off the roof. “Damn!”

“Ben, hold it!”

“I’m trying!”

Jim looked back at the end of the lane. The station building was visible from where he sat, but it was far enough away that activity on the inside wasn’t easily discernable. However, with Walker and Wilcox on the roof erecting the antenna, they weren’t hard to spot.

He turned back to see another woman and a teenage girl approach the stand. Jim stood and smiled. “May I help you, ma’am?”

Then his spine turned to ice. A man wearing the unmistakable dark olive green Korean People’s Army uniform appeared on his rounds at the intersection of Rose Lane and Main Street. He saw the bread cart and started walking toward it.

“Let’s see,” the woman said. “You have three loaves left?”

“Uhm, just two, ma’am. See, that one there is a little moldy.”

“Oh. Eww.” She laughed a little. “Well, I can’t say I haven’t eaten a little moldy bread in the past year.”

Hurry up, lady
! Jim thought. He had to warn Walker.

“I’ll take all three. That’s a dollar each, right?”

“Uhm, I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t in good conscience sell you that moldy loaf. I’m a doctor, you see. Well, not technically, I was a male nurse before all the trouble began, but I know a lot about this stuff. You’d get pretty sick if you ate that loaf.”

The Korean was twenty yards away.

The woman frowned and said, “Well, all right. I’ll take those other two, then. Next time you need to come out here with a lot more.”

“Er, my wife can make only so many at a time. You know how scarce flour is.” He packaged the two loaves just as the Korean approached the stand and stood a few feet behind the woman. He stared at Jim with interest.

The woman felt the soldier’s presence and turned. “Oh,” she said. Returning her focus to Jim, she made a face. “I guess I’ll take my bread and go.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She gave him two dollars and departed quickly with her daughter, leaving the vendor alone with the Korean.

“Hello,” Jim said. “I’m sorry, I just sold my last loaf. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

The soldier took three steps closer and barked, “Identity card!”

Shit, shit, shit
! He willed the Korean,
Don’t look over my shoulder! Don’t look down the block
!

Jim dug into his pocket and pulled out the proper identification. “Here you go.”