by Bobby Akart
As Duncan tossed and turned through the night, managing brief stretches of restless sleep, all he could think about were his new friend’s words. The soldiers are preparing for war. Dear Leader is calling on all men and women to fight.
His brain wanted to deny their statements. I killed Dear Leader. You have an imposter leading your country. Then he began to consider the possibility that he’d shot the wrong man. He was having difficulty recalling the events. His gut told him something was off, especially because the troops were able to surround them so quickly.
Had little sister duped everyone? Was this a setup to kill a body double to provoke a war? Or was this some kind of recorded message to the people of North Korea to mask their Dear Leader’s death?
After hours of running the possibilities through his head, it began to ache, and Duncan finally drifted off to sleep. He awoke to the shuffling of feet above him. He had no concept of time or even whether it was day or night. He was well hidden for a reason. The DPRK soldiers would kill him. Then they’d place everyone in this house, and their extended families, into work camps for the rest of their lives.
Nobody in North Korea really knew what was happening outside their borders. However, if they were preparing for war and calling up all conscripts of their so-called million-man army, he needed to get moving and find a way out of the country. There was no time for rest.
Duncan slowly sat up against the wall that acted as a headboard. Today, the dizziness was gone, as was the headache from the night before. The herbal medicines used by Sook worked wonders. He racked his brain to think about the location of his rifle. He remembered hiding it near a fallen tree, just uphill from a creek bed that he followed before plunging into the small river.
His rifle was his security and the only way to defend himself. If he could locate it, then the next order of business would be a boat to take him into international waters and the Yellow Sea.
Duncan swung his legs around to the side of the bed and sat upright. He fumbled in the dark to locate the kerosene lamp, which had been placed on a table by his side. A box of matches sat on the base and he struck one, providing light in the room. After the lamp was lit, he surveyed his surroundings from a new perspective.
His clothes were neatly folded on a chair next to his boots. It appeared the blood had been washed out by Sook or her family. His chest rig was slung over the back of the chair. Ammunition magazines were still inserted in the Velcro pockets, but his sidearm was nowhere in sight. He presumed it was upstairs for safekeeping, or he’d lost it during his tumble into the river.
He wiggled his toes and found the smallish wool socks to be tight on his feet. The tingling sensation was no longer present, and he attempted to stand.
Duncan’s legs failed him. His knees buckled, and he began to topple forward. His attempt to grab an empty chair for support did not help matters, as his unsure footing caused it to tip over as well. Duncan spun around and crashed into the wall with his back with a thud, knocking over the chair in the process. The commotion grabbed the attention of Sook and her father, who came running down the stairs.
Sook reached him first and bent down on her knees to inspect his head. “No. No. No. Too early! You must rest more.”
Duncan dismissed the pain in his upper back and began to laugh as he thought of the old commercial in which the elderly woman lay on the kitchen floor needing help. Her words caused him to chuckle as he repeated them in his mind, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.
His laughter eased the tension in the room and instantly became contagious. Both Sook and Chae laughed along with him as they helped him off the floor and back to the side of the bed.
“Thank you,” he said to each of them. He took a deep breath and regained his composure. “Sook, I have to leave.”
“Too early. You need recovery. Much too early.” She gently pushed against his chest and shoulders, attempting to force him to lie down.
He touched her soft hands and smiled. “No, Sook. I have to leave for your safety and mine.”
Her father asked her a question in Korean and she quickly responded. He looked at Duncan and waved his index finger back and forth.
“Ani. Ani. Neomu ppalli.”
Duncan grinned and shook his head. He didn’t need an interpreter. Chae was giving him the same admonishment.
He took Sook by the hands and spoke. “Sook, listen to me. I know I need rest. There is not time for rest. The soldiers will close the ports and waters. I must go very soon.”
“Rest,” was her response.
“No, I must go by boat to the South. Into the Yellow Sea.”
Her father asked for an interpretation, and the two spoke back and forth for several minutes. The conversation appeared to be heated for a moment and was completed with the older man sitting defiantly in the corner with his arms crossed and his chin stuck out.
Tears began to fall down Sook’s face, causing Duncan concern.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Sook wiped the tears from her face and answered, “Father will help you escape to the South. He insists you take me with you—for a better life.”
Duncan looked to Chae, who continued to maintain his defiant posture. He nodded his head once before sticking his chin up in the air a little higher.
“Sook, this will be dangerous. I may die. I cannot be responsible for you.”
“I told this to Father, and he said I am strong young woman. I can help you. Duncan, I do not want to leave my family.”
She then turned to her father and began to plead her case. The body language of father and daughter said it all. He was adamant.
“He will not change his mind. He is old and stubborn. But he loves me.”
Duncan considered his options. Having an interpreter like Sook could be helpful if they encountered a South Korean fishing vessel or even as a stalling tactic when they were boarded by any North Korean patrols. Plus, if they were successful in reaching South Korea, he would need help communicating with the locals to find his way to a military installation.
“Sook, can you help me find my way to the creek where I fell into the river? I need to find my rifle.”
She hesitated for a moment before answering, “We have your small gun upstairs. You can have it back.”
“Thank you, but that is not enough. I need my long gun. My battle rifle.”
She turned to her father and spoke to him in Korean once again. After a few minutes of arm waving and drawing a crude map on the dusty floor, she addressed Duncan.
“My father believes he knows the creek. This has been his home since he was born. He knows the woods and rivers very well. Tomorrow, we will take you there.”
Duncan smiled and patted her on the hands again. “Today, Sook. We will go look today.”
Chapter 42
November 29
DPRK Commando Headquarters
St. Louis, Missouri
St. Louis, Missouri—the gateway to the American heartland. Its iconic Gateway Arch rose high above the Mississippi River, paying homage to America’s expansion to the west. It also served as a symbol of purpose to Kyoung-Joo Lee, a commander in North Korea’s Lightning Death Squad who had spent years in Canada training operatives and then sneaking them into the United States with expertly prepared forged identification documents. He’d devoted nearly a decade to providing a gateway for his operatives to enter the United States. His efforts were coming to fruition.
The plan designed by Dear Leader many years ago was fully operational now. The first step was to recruit and train an elite fighting force specializing in soldier power skills, as Kim referred to them. North Korea had the largest special-forces organization in the world, numbering nearly two hundred thousand men and women. They were trained in unconventional warfare and, for the purposes of this mission, insurgency operations.
Lee was just one of several dozen commanders of the Lightning Death Squads spread around America. Initially trained to attack South Korea, Kim saw an opening, an
alternative to conventional thinking. When a new president was elected in South Korea, one who seemed to turn his back on the West, Kim considered a different tack.
Rather than invade South Korea for purposes of reunifying the Korean Peninsula, he would take down his real nemesis, the mightiest empire in the history of mankind—America. And, he surmised, it would be remarkably easy. As he’d learned while studying abroad, in the words of their revered President Abraham Lincoln, America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves from within.
Kim had seen economic and societal collapse in his lifetime in South America. Sometimes these things evolved slowly. However, collapse could be encouraged. The result of his analysis was the plan to take America down to her knees.
Lee was assigned to Canada, along with two other leaders of the Lightning Death Squads. They had three counterparts in Mexico, whose primary function was to smuggle arms and commandos using drug cartels in Mexico in exchange for laundering their money through North Korea.
The money-laundering arrangement was a win-win for Kim. The Mexican cartels had just begun to invest their ill-gotten gains in the unregulated bitcoin crypto-currency. The North Koreans had used Bureau 121, their highly feared cyber operation, to steal bitcoins from crypto-currency depositories around the globe and effectively manipulate the crypto-currency trading market.
The cartels provided access to the United States. The North Koreans assisted them in their money-laundering schemes. Both sides benefitted financially from the cyber capabilities of Bureau 121.
Over the years, the number of commandos in the United States grew to an astonishing force. Through advance planning, they remained hidden from scrutiny as America’s immigration battles focused on the influx from South and Central America. Illegal aliens from Asian nations weren’t on anybody’s radar.
The numbers of commandos grew, and with the help of the Mexican drug cartels, they were well armed with weapons and high-tech communications gear. While most of America was unable to communicate with one another, the disciplined commandos had stored their electronics in simple Faraday cages consisting of a small galvanized steel trash can, a cardboard or foam lined interior, and heavy-duty aluminum foil to wrap each component.
When the EMP attack occurred, the commandos retrieved their weapons and electronic gear. They immediately accumulated in forty-seven large cities across the United States to receive their orders.
St. Louis was one of the regional DPRK headquarters because of its centralized location. This was not Lee’s primary assignment. He was considered a rover, one of the higher ranked officers who’d be called upon to perform special tasks. Over the years, these chosen commandos were allowed to handpick their six-man squads.
They were assigned advanced weaponry and military gear. Lee was also provided two older vehicles, a 1970 Chevrolet Suburban and a 1969 Chevrolet Blazer, which were immune to the effects of an EMP blast.
The high-ranking officers of the Lightning Death Squads met in Cheltenham, a neighborhood in the Central West End area of St. Louis. This part of the city was known for its relatively large Asian population, so many of the commandos had settled there.
The leaders discussed the objectives originally assigned to them by Dear Leader. Disrupt the Americans’ command and control structure, destroy transportation routes, including the bridges along the Mississippi River, and sow seeds of chaos in the inner cities to force the American military to devote their resources to controlling their own people.
However, a wrinkle had emerged in their plan—Texas. Several hundred DPRK operatives were located in the five major metropolitan areas of the state, including El Paso, Houston, Dallas-Fort Worth, San Antonio, and Austin.
Dear Leader had learned of this two days prior and immediately issued orders via their satellite communications linkup to destroy the Texas power grid also. This task must be completed from within, he ordered, as they could not risk firing another nuclear EMP at the United States.
Lee volunteered to spearhead the operation. With his men, he’d travel the seven hundred miles to the Lone Star State, he said sarcastically, and show them whose star shines brightest on this planet. He vowed to raise the flag of North Korea over the Texas capitol in honor of Dear Leader.
Chapter 43
November 29
Oldman River
Fort Macleod, Alberta, Canada
Fort Macleod was a small town of three thousand Canadians who were proud of their history as being the first Mounted Police settlement in western Canada. Built on the Oldman River, which stretched east-to-west from the Rockies to Hudson Bay, the town boasted that it was a small town with a big heart. Unfortunately, the apocalypse changed a person’s outlook on life.
Every small town had a persona, so to speak. Woodstock, Vermont, had been labeled the prettiest small town in America. Destin, Florida, was known as the Redneck Riviera. Pacific Grove, California, was known as Butterfly Town, USA. All of those labels were thrown out the window when the panic hit the populations of these villages and hamlets.
An us-versus-them mentality took hold. At first, Fort Macleod residents rallied together to lend support. But as is typical in modern society, fingers of blame began to be pointed. News trickled into the town that the power grid had collapsed because an EMP attack had been initiated against the United States.
Anger and hostility grew towards the US as a result. Canadians in Fort Macleod became upset their happy lives were disrupted because of American drama, as they called it. Their first actions were to close access to the town to all travelers, a practice adopted by most small Canadian towns in the region.
Their second official act was to purge the town of American ex-pats, including famous actress and comedian Amy Schumer, who’d denounced their citizenship and moved to Fort Macleod seeking a better life.
This action by the Fort Macleod municipal government was met with some resistance by longtime residents who opposed the purge. After some debate, a compromise was achieved. Following the purge, the properties and belongings of the Americans were seized for distribution to the Canadian-born residents. In compromise, and compassion, the Americans were given a ride to the U.S.-Canada border in horse-drawn carriages so they didn’t have to walk.
The civic leaders of Fort Macleod were largely part of the Nationalist Party of Canada, an unregistered political group that advocated a strong national identity based upon the promotion of Canada’s European heritage and culture. As a result, the town took on an independent streak that revealed itself after the power grid collapsed.
Located at the intersection of major highways traveling east-west and north-south, town leaders decided to exact a toll from any travelers who crossed through their town. The tolls varied according to the traveler’s capabilities. Resistance to payment was greeted with denied access and, if argument was involved, with swift punishment.
Once again, some local residents objected to the practice as being inhumane. They said we should be helping people rather than stripping them of their belongings and dignity. But after reality was explained to them that soon the town would run out of food, even those in dissent acquiesced in order to share in the spoils.
It took Cooper and the rest of the riders longer than anticipated to reach the railroad bridge, and at ten in the morning, the town of Fort Macleod was in full swing. The group took a position atop a slightly elevated hill and shared time with the binoculars. They studied the town and placed most of their attention on Route 2 where it crossed the river.
“It appears they sucker people onto the bridge,” started Cooper as he relinquished his turn with the glasses. “They have four guys manning the barricades on the town side of the river, two for each lane.”
“Yeah,” said Pacheco. “But I also see a group hiding behind those metal buildings. When travelers come onto the bridge, this group closes them in and traps them. Then they have to give in to the town’s demands.”
> “Pretty low-down,” mumbled Riley.
Palmer stood and looked back up the highway over Cooper’s head. “Guys, there’s a group coming from the north. It’s a wagon pulled by two horses. Looks like a family.”
She handed the binoculars to Cooper, who confirmed what she’d seen. He turned the binoculars back to the metal building and the men seen by Pacheco. They were scrambling around and taking up positions behind stalled vehicles.
“It’s gonna be an ambush,” said Cooper.
“Should we warn ’em, Coop?” asked Palmer.
Cooper grimaced and thought about it for a moment. “Nah. Sadly, by the time we get over there to warn them off, the people from town will see us and screw up our plan. Instead, let’s use their problem as a distraction to help us cross the old railroad bridge.”
“Do we stick to the plan of going over one at a time like we discussed?” asked Morales.
“Yes, when the wagon approaches the bridge, I’ll go across first at an easy, nonthreatening pace. Pacheco, you come next. Then Palmer, Morales, and Riley.”
“Okay,” said Riley. “What if we run into trouble?”
“Good question,” replied Cooper. He pulled the map out of his pocket. “Once you’re across, immediately follow the old rail bed to Crowsnest Highway, which runs west to east into Fort Macleod. Cross the highway and we’ll meet in this open area. I can barely see it through the binoculars, but it looks like a big field. Once we’re together, we’ll make our way south.”
“And if there’s trouble?” Riley asked again.
“The main thing is to stay separated until we meet up at the rendezvous point,” began Cooper as he traced his fingers along the map to illustrate his response. “It’ll be out of sight from the guys on the bridge. If things go really bad, then ride south along this small road, looks like it’s called eight-ten. There’s a lake on the west side of the road called McBride Lake. We’ll meet up there.”
