by John
“I had no choice. It was either perform their slave work, under the auspices of ‘employment,’ or be executed. I kind of like being alive, even if it’s under enemy occupation, so I did what I had to do. That didn’t make things better in my community. I was branded a collaborator in some circles. But last summer, I joined a resistance cell in the city. I was able to provide intel on what the Norks were doing. Then, one day, I discovered Goliath.
“Its systems have some shielding that protected it from the EMP, so it still worked. I just had to restart it, so to speak. The remote control box, however, didn’t. I had to get it up and running on the sly. Took me two months. Then, one day, I liberated Goliath, stole him from the Koreans right out from under their snotty noses. I never went back to work. I guess I’ll be fired. I won’t be able to get a letter of recommendation from ’em.” He snorted at his own joke.
“Anyway, I eventually heard through the grapevine about this cell in Montrose, Colorado, where we’re going. There’s a big operation there to prevent the Koreans from taking over the shale oil mining that’s outside of town. Last word I got was they needed people to help steal some jet fuel from the mine. I didn’t ask permission, I just left San Francisco with Goliath. I met up with Nguyen along the way and I got sidetracked. So here I am.”
Walker and Wilcox related their own stories as the sun began to set. Giap announced they would continue their journey at two a.m., so they should all get a little rest for a few hours. Before retiring, Walker and Lee got to discussing race and nationalism and the conflicts of being a Korean American.
“Look, Ben,” said Hopper, “despite what happened in the race riots, no one is more patriotic than me. I’m not anti-Korean, but you better believe I’m anti-Korean government. What Kim Jong-un has done is despicable. He’s no better than Hitler. He has shamed our people and my heritage. I would like nothing more than to go over to Pyongyang and kick his little butt. Well, I’d let Goliath do it. I’m afraid I’m not much of a combat guy. Are you?”
“Not really, but I’ve learned a lot in the past year. Wally taught me a bunch of stuff a while back. I’m a pretty good shot. I just don’t have much combat experience. Today was my second firefight. I don’t count what happened in Vegas.”
Lee chuckled wryly. “Yeah, well, what happens in Vegas …” Then he realized it wasn’t funny and shut up.
They all settled on the ground with sleeping bags and blankets. While some of the men smoked cigarettes made from tobacco they’d grown themselves, Lee pulled a shortwave radio and a generator from one of the Humvees and showed them to Walker and Wilcox. Giap appeared and explained, “We listen every day. Sometimes we hear news from the Resistance.”
Walker looked at Wilcox. “Kelsie, do you think we could hook up our transistor board to this thing? I haven’t made a broadcast since before the Vegas bombing.”
Lee frowned at Walker. “You make broadcasts?”
“Ever hear of DJ Ben?”
Lee’s eyes widened. “You’re DJ Ben? Holy shit! We love you! Nguyen, this is DJ Ben!”
Giap smiled for the first time in Walker’s presence. He delivered a slight bow of his head and remarked, “Glad you with us.”
Kopple came over to the group and asked, “What’s going on? I thought we were going to bed.”
“Kopple, Ben here is DJ Ben!”
The sergeant eyed Walker up and down and nodded. “I knew that.”
“No you didn’t!” Lee turned on the radio and twisted the tuner until the static cleared. The airwaves were silent.
“Do you hear much chatter?” Walker asked.
“Not much. But it’s increased over the last two or three months. Especially after you started playing your music,” Lee said. “Every now and then we’ll hear something from resistance cells around the country. There’s a guy in Washington State that broadcasts a lot.”
“Do you mean Yankee Doodle?”
“Yeah, that’s him! And there’s a guy in Texas—”
“Max?”
“Uh huh. Do you know Cecilia, up in North Dakota?”
“Uhm, no, I haven’t heard of her.” Walker addressed both Giap and Lee. “Mind if we try to bring DJ Ben back on the air?”
No one objected, so Wilcox spent the next half hour working with Lee to make the two units compatible. Giap commented in his inimitable broken English that the couple’s combined expertise would be a valuable asset to the cell.
Finally, Wilcox opened the antenna and set it on top of one of the Humvees.
“I’m not sure what kind of signal we’ll be able to send since we’re so deep in the forest. We may not get anything out at all,” she warned.
Lee marveled at the transmitter she had created. “This is incredible. Very clever. I think with the added umpf from my receiver, we should be able to get something over the air. Look, see that indicator? It jumps when I tap your microphone. There’s definitely a signal. Let’s just hope it gets past the tops of these trees.”
Wilcox handed the mike to Walker. “You’re live, sweetheart. Knock yourself out.”
Walker suddenly felt self-conscious with everyone watching him. Nevertheless, he cleared his throat and spoke. “Good evening, my fellow Americans, this is DJ Ben coming to you from an undisclosed location in our beloved United States. I’m sorry to have been out of touch the last couple of weeks, but we’ve had some serious setbacks. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Las Vegas was carpet bombed by the Norks on January twenty-fourth. That’s right, the city of Las Vegas was completely destroyed. Thousands of people died at the hands of those Korean monsters. They used F-Thirty-Fives and B-Twos stolen from our own military bases. Up to that day, the enemy left Las Vegas alone. Why did they decide to suddenly bomb the shit out of a city that was no threat to them? I can’t answer that, my friends. It was an act of pure evil. Who can explain evil? How can anyone justify the slaughter of innocent civilians? This will not stand!”
The sudden intensity in Walker’s voice startled those around him.
“The time has come, more than ever, for you to resist these fuckers who have hijacked our country. It’s time to say, ‘that is enough!’ Some of you are already fighting back. Resistance cells are popping up all over the country. And guess what. The Koreans don’t like it! The more we keep ’em busy chasing resistance cells, the less they’ll be stealing our natural resources and imprisoning and killing civilians. So let’s give ’em a taste of old-fashioned American spirit and start kicking their asses!”
He paused a moment to calm down. Then he looked up at the night sky peeking through the tops of the trees. “Unfortunately, I have no way to play music tonight, folks. You’re going to need to imagine it. But if I could play something tonight, I would probably go with that old Jefferson Airplane tune, ‘Volunteers.’ Any of you remember that?” He winked at Wilcox. “My girlfriend’s grandma used to play it back in the day. ‘Volunteers of America, volunteers of America.’ I know you’ve heard it. Well, it’s time to volunteer, my friends. If you can do it, join up. The Resistance needs you. This is DJ Ben signing off, for now. Good night.”
As soon as Wilcox switched off the transmitter, everyone applauded. Walker shrugged and held up his hands with modesty.
“Thanks, everybody,” he said. “Let’s get some shut-eye now, what do you say?”
Lee put away the equipment as Walker and Wilcox prepared their sleeping bags. Kopple squatted beside them and whispered, “Walker, that was great.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Listen, I think you could go even further with that stuff.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” He coughed and spat away from them. “Damn, that hurt.”
“You all right?”
“Yeah. I mean that kind of cheerleading you do. You could become the ‘voice of the Resistance.’ ”
“I just tell the truth. What more can I do?”
Wilcox answered, “Ben, that’s what I’ve been telling you to do! The tru
th is exactly what needs to be told. You could be the Keeper of the Truth.”
Kopple agreed. “Yeah, forget DJ Ben and this music stuff. Focus your efforts on creating a different persona. DJ Ben served his purpose, but things are more serious now. You’ve got the gift of gab, man. Use it.”
Walker wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Okay.”
“Okay. Good night, you two.”
“ ’Night, Wally,” Wilcox said.
In fifteen minutes, the entire cell was asleep.
WALKER’S JOURNAL
MARCH 20, 2026
After the location of the Dome was compromised, the Ragtags and Nguyen Giap’s resistance cell traveled on back roads from Bryce Canyon over to Capitol Reef National Park. Then we had to go out of our way southeast simply because the terrain was too impassable to go straight east. We went down to Orange Cliffs Canyon and White Canyon, and then ended up in a ghost town called Blanding. From there we marched north again and hooked up with Route 666—I kid you not—and took that east into Colorado. Oh, and there are a lot of mountains.
During the trek from Utah, Kelsie and I trained with Wally. He instructed Kelsie how to handle a gun and some basics on defending herself. Mostly he taught us plain old soldier chutzpah. Nguyen got into the act, too. During time off when we weren’t traveling, he gave us tips on guerilla tactics and ran drills in which we practiced stealth. That guy is sharp. Kelsie now carries a handgun. In fact, we both do. Wally gave us each M9s, so now I have that and my trusty M4.
We reached Montrose, Colorado, on March 8th.
Through radio communications, we met up with a resistance cell located there at an abandoned machine parts warehouse in town. At first, both sides were wary of each other, because Hopper had picked up some warning transmissions that the Norks were sometimes posing as Americans over the airwaves—or forcing Americans to make the transmissions, which seems more likely—and setting up ambushes. This happened to a cell in Texas. My friend Max reported that a group from Austin consisting of Texas Rangers and former Highway Patrolmen was completely wiped out after they thought they were getting reinforcements from an Arkansas cell. Very disturbing.
Anyway, our rendezvous turned out okay.
The Montrose cell is led by a black guy named Boone Karlson, who was formerly a policeman in the city. It was the first resistance cell in Montrose; apparently there are more popping up in different sections. Boone’s is a group of about 40 people that live in a camouflaged compound called Home, and it’s a really cool place. It’s located in the abandoned southeastern suburbs of the town, hidden right in a normal neighborhood of houses. Home takes up several houses and backyards bordered by tall thick trees, between which is suspended a camo mesh to conceal it from aerial surveillance. They’ve got an underground tunnel through which they enter and exit when performing military missions, so as not to draw attention to the compound. There are entire families living there—women and children—and a small army of men. They’ve set up a nice little communal system where they grow their own food, catch rainwater, use power generators for essential tasks, and repair electronics as needed. There’s even a school for the kids and swing sets in the yards. Areas have their own functions; for example, there’s a spot where a guy does nothing but repair circuit boards and electronics. Another fellow raises goats in a pen for the milk. They’ve even got a guy who blows glass! I saw him making bowls and drinking glasses for everyone to use. The military aspect is well organized. I’m really impressed.
There are some interesting characters in the cell, too. The guy you can’t miss is Connor Morgan, a true legend of the Resistance. I think he’s a little older than me, from North Carolina. Connor’s a one-man army, but I think he’s a bit off. I don’t know if he’s just plain crazy or if he’s just overly intense, but I find him intimidating. He may be a loose cannon, but he’s a gung-ho fighter and everyone respects him. I don’t think he’s afraid of a damn thing.
As for Boone, he’s pushing 40, I’d guess, and he’s pretty down to earth. Smart man. Seems a little world-weary, but I guess that comes with the territory when you’re the leader. He and Connor are sometimes at loggerheads, but you can tell they really admire each other. So far, Boone and Nguyen get along and there’s been no vying for the leadership role. Nguyen understands Boone is in charge of the Montrose cell. The Ragtags and the Utah folks instinctively tend to follow Nguyen’s orders, but Boone could supersede those if he wanted.
Then there’s Rianna, an attractive woman in her late 20s who I think is part Hispanic. She’s a tough cookie, having grown up in the backwoods of Colorado. She’s apparently very skilled at guerilla tactics. She’s kind of quiet, but I can tell she doesn’t miss a thing. I get the feeling she could be pretty dangerous, but Kelsie and I like her a lot.
There’s a light Korean presence in Montrose, but the word on the street is a massive force is coming to exploit the nearby oil shale mining industry. The cell captured a KPA infantry man last week and Connor had no qualms about torturing the guy for information (Connor tends to enjoy doing that). The soldier said the Koreans plan to build labor camps and draft the civilian population into working the mines. The KPA also intend to build a fucking wall around the city to keep people inside. I have a feeling it’s going to get pretty bad here soon.
Kelsie and I carry fake ID cards now. Everyone in Montrose has to do so. When we’re not at Home, we do go into town and act like normal citizens. A KPA soldier could appear at any time on the street and ask anyone for his or her identity card. If you’re caught without one, you’re taken to KPA headquarters in downtown Montrose for an interrogation. They figure you’re either new to town, in which case you might be a member of the growing Resistance, or you’re bucking the system by not carrying a card, in which case you might be a member of the growing Resistance! No matter what, they give you a hard time.
Boone told Kelsie and me about an abandoned radio station in Montrose. It was a local one that back in the day broadcasted country and western music. Kelsie and I took a look at it and decided we could use it. There’s a big antenna on the roof that’s busted, but there’s still a lot of equipment inside. Kelsie thinks she can repair it; at the very least, she hopes we can plug in our transistor board to the station’s control console and broadcast a message that’ll reach the entire U.S. from West Coast to East Coast and from Canada to Mexico. We have to sneak into town by way of the tunnel, but we started the job two days ago. Kelsie figures it might take a month to get it up and running. In the meantime, I’ve been using Hopper’s radio to make DJ Ben transmissions with no music. Hopper’s afraid the Koreans might be able to trace the signal to Home, so Kelsie and I have been moving around town in the evenings and broadcasting from different secluded spots. One night we got inside an old, closed Wal-Mart. Another time it was at the top of a water tower! That was a little hairy, climbing up there and trying to do a transmission without being seen by Korean sentries. So far, though, we haven’t been caught. On a clear night we’ve heard back from several other resistance cells. There really is an entire network of underground radio folks out there. Besides my buddies Yankee Doodle and Max, I made contact with Cecilia up in North Dakota and a fellow named Derby in, I think, Kansas City. But the radio station is our best bet for a long-range broadcast.
Rianna just rang the bell for chow time. All this resistance work makes me hungry, so I’m signing off for now.
MARCH 23, 2026
Writing this in haste … Some good news and some really bad news.
Last night, Connor and a reconnaissance team took out a Korean supply unit west of town. I wasn’t there, but I wish I had been just to see Connor in action. He’s a madman. He risked revealing his association with the Resistance by attacking the Koreans, but he knew they probably had some good intel. Turned out they did. Well, in typical Connor fashion, he and his men killed all of the Koreans except for one, and they brought him back for a little interrogation of our own. The good news is Connor’s team also brought ba
ck a lot of the Koreans’ stuff, like meat in a refrigerated truck. That’s going to be nice to hold on to, but we have to keep it hidden.
Anyway, the bad news—Hopper translated some of the Korean orders and determined the supply unit was only stopping temporarily in Montrose. They were actually on their way to Muscatine, Iowa. Everyone was puzzled by that. Why the hell are Koreans stationed in Muscatine, Iowa? So Connor tortured the Korean prisoner, and that’s how we found out what’s happened to the Mississippi River.
Christ Almighty. It’s bad. It’s really bad.
TWENTY-ONE
APRIL 4, 2026
As the MH-10 Scout helicopter flew over Muscatine, Iowa, Salmusa had a bird’s-eye view of the mission’s progress. Even at a height of four thousand feet, Salmusa took care to wear an Iron Fish suit. The air above the deserted city and the polluted river next to it was seriously dangerous. He didn’t care about the weak Americans contracting radiation poisoning, but he certainly didn’t want to experience that horrible death himself.
It had been a busy four months to reach this point. When he finished his preliminary work on Operation Water Snake at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, the Korean agent continued to oversee the next and most important stage of the Brilliant Comrade’s most ingenious attack on the United States of America. It was the culmination of years of thought, effort, and sacrifice.
It was known from the very beginning that in the pursuit of its many noble and glorious goals around the globe to confirm the Greater Korean Republic at its rightful place at the top of the new world order, the Occupational Forces in America faced a unique dilemma. As detailed by the Brilliant Comrade himself in Executive Order 434, the objective in America was to not only deliver a quick strike to expunge the land and its people of any remaining natural and technological resources, but also to exact revenge for enduring decades of the country’s arrogant “superiority.” However, even after the successful deployment of the EMP blast and the crippling effect it had on the American population and infrastructure, the Occupational Forces, which consisted of army and naval troops, weapons, food, medical supplies, vehicles, and contraband, would no doubt find themselves stretched to capacity. The Brilliant Comrade was wise to acknowledge the Korean forces did not have the necessary resources needed to invade, occupy—even temporarily—and systematically exploit the entire region of the continental United States to the fullest extent.
