by John
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.
FOURTEEN
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.”
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 a
long 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 read
y 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.
FIFTEEN
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.
