Alt.History 101 (Alt.Chronicles)

by Ken Liu

  From the rain, and prying eyes.

  Our passion flows freely when given the opportunity, real and unreserved. Long after we’ve exhausted ourselves, the rain continues to fall. Eventually, we allow it to lull us into the most foolish mistake we could possibly make.

  We fall asleep.

  I’m the first to wake. It’s not the rain or more thunder that rouses me, but the lack thereof.

  That, and Calvin’s fellows calling his name.

  “Strough!”

  “Calvin, where are you, buddy?”

  “Corporal Strough, present yourself immediately!”

  Calvin is slow to wake, even as I rock his shoulder back and forth. “Cal, you have to wake up. Cal!”

  There’s a moment when Calvin finally shakes off the last thin veil of sleep that he looks so peaceful and perfectly beautiful that I dread the realization that’s coming for him.

  The sound of his name being called shatters that peace like a fist to a mirror. He’s to his feet in a shot, and me with him. There’s no time for questions or anything else. We have only minutes, maybe less, to dress and make ourselves presentable.

  Time runs out too soon when the flap is pulled wide and a blinding ray of sunshine invades the tent. Calvin and I raise our arms instinctively against the intrusion of light, only half dressed.

  Several bodies pile through the opening, their tone changing almost immediately upon entering.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “Oh, holy shit…”

  “I’ll be damned! Strough’s a faggot!”

  Calvin tries to stammer out a response, getting all but two or three words out before one of the soldiers—his brother in arms—steps forward and cuffs him across the jaw. “Shut your mouth, fucking traitor!”

  I know better, and yet I charge anyway. Another soldier puts me on my knees right next to Calvin, my vision half-blinded from the force of his cross. “Sit down,” he says. “We’ll get to you in a minute.”

  “Get him outside,” the first soldier says, and I know what they’re going to do. I try to pull myself to my feet even as the man who hit me shovels a fist into my gut, sending me to my knees again.

  “You want to see what happens to traitors? Why don’t you come out too, you commie son of a bitch?”

  It’s not a question, and before I know it I’m hoisted up by more hands than I can count. They march me outside and make me stand there while the soldiers who were searching for Calvin as if their own lives depended on it only moments before suddenly turn against him. They take turns, tagging in and out of the ring that’s formed and pummeling Calvin with potshots while he staggers and tries to defend himself. Meanwhile, their fellows stand by, laughing all the while.

  “Cowards!” I lunge forward, only to be held back. Before I can object further, I’m gagged with someone’s filthy handkerchief.

  Another man tags in and I know that one way or the other, this fiasco is nearing a tragic end. Dancing around the obviously punch-drunk Calvin, the soldier taunts him with fake jabs that leave him flailing to defend himself. This last part comes much to the audience’s delight, and the soldier plays on it as their latest champion cocks back for the final blow.

  I’m screaming through the makeshift gag and thrashing against my captors, desperate for any intervention whatsoever. Another hard blow lands against the back of my head. My vision swims and someone grabs a fistful of my hair, holding my head up.

  “No, no, not so fast, pinko. You’re gonna want to see this.”

  By now any sense of fairness has left the fight. To even call it a fight is a perversion in its own right. Others have joined in now, circling Calvin as they take turns taking shots. How he’s even still conscious, let alone on his feet, is beyond me. Tears pour down my face as he’s rocked by punch after punch, the last of which finally takes him to his knees. I’m sure I’m about to watch the man I love be beaten to death before my eyes when the lynching is interrupted by a crack of rifle fire.

  “Everyone, stand fast and declare yourselves,” Sergeant Dennehy says as he marches on scene. He looks from me to Calvin to the men who only moments before were so gleefully pummeling him, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Well?”

  The soldiers who minutes before were in command of the scene all but prostrate themselves before Dennehy. Everyone starts speaking so fast it’s hard to tell what’s being said, but all of it is against Calvin. Still clinging to consciousness, I thrash against the men holding me. Dennehy’s eye finally lands on me and he raises a hand, silencing everyone instantly.

  “Since you’re all so keen on being heard, how about we hear from this one? Private, remove that gag.”

  The gag is pulled from my mouth and I’m released. Pitching forward on hands and knees, I wretch up the disgusting taste growing in my mouth like a fungus. The very thought makes me gag again. Then I collect myself, insofar as I’m able to raise up and look the man in the eyes. “This man saved my life,” I say, pointing to Calvin. He’s woozy but still in a fighting stance, ready to take on all comers. “This man saved my life, and they’re beating him to death for it—”

  “Bullshit!”

  “They’re fags, Sarge!”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” I say, spitting out a clot of blood. Then I look to Calvin, swallowing the cry that threatens to break my voice. “This man saved my life, and they’re beating him to death for it. And because we’re in love.”

  The collective response is uproarious, a mixture of braying guffaws and sarcastic catcalls. Of the group, only Dennehy remains unreadable.

  “Take ‘em to the stockades,” he finally says. “We’ll figure out what to do with them in the morning.”

  Somehow the men holding us interpret that statement as a license to beat on us again. Even as Dennehy turns his back on us and the lights start to go out, I register the second, larger audience. A group of my fellow prisoners has gathered outside the circle of soldiers, watching from afar, whispering to one another. Condemning me and Calvin, too, no doubt.

  Then I meet Calvin’s eyes one last time and everything dissolves to black.

  I come to in a vacuum, coughing and sputtering. My head is pounding nearly as hard as my heart. I’m trying to come to my senses in this strange void, feeling like I’m buried alive, when a familiar voice pulls me out of that dark place.

  “And I thought I took a hard beating.” Calvin’s voice is close but distant. Probably a side effect of whatever head injury I have and the fact that we’re in the stockades. I’m remembering it all now, my brain finally starting to put the pieces in order. The sprint from the storm. The gift of the rain and the night we spent together. The discovery the next morning and everything that ensued.

  “I’m not a soldier like you,” I remind him.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not a soldier anymore.”

  I should have known that, I realize. My head is starting to clear, even if the pain isn’t going anywhere. “I’m sorry, Calvin.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m still in love with you. That’s what matters most to me.”

  “Calvin…”

  “Don’t. I’ve been awake an hour or two, and I’ve had some time to think. I’ve thought about all the things you might say to try to comfort me, or shift the blame to you, and just… just don’t, okay? I love you, Anatoly Brantov. That’s where this conversation begins and ends for us. I love you and I wouldn’t do one thing differently.”

  His words are as comforting as they are heartbreaking. This is where our lives will end, I realize, and I’m sure he does, too. The worst part is that even though we’re together in these final moments, there’s still a wall separating us physically. What I wouldn’t give to hold him the way we held each other the night before.

  “Remember that plan I was talking about?”

  That conversation seems so far away, yet given the circumstances, I can’t wait to revisit it. To think of something beautiful, even if it is impossible. “The one that made no damn sense? Ye
ah, I remember that one.”

  “It made sense to me,” Calvin says quietly. “When I was a boy, I used to go hunting with my uncle about a hundred or so miles from here. The cabin wasn’t much, but it had a beautiful view, a nice little pond nearby, lots of game around it. He died years ago, but I bet it’s still there. It would probably take some fixing up, but hey, what have we been doing around camp all this time, right? Anyway, that was my first thought. There’s lots of open, uncontaminated country out there now that everyone’s off trying to save what’s left of the world. We could have made something for ourselves if we’d just taken the chance.”

  “We took a chance last night,” I remind him.

  “The best night of my life.”

  “Whatever it costs us, I want you to know it was worth it.”

  “Me, too. I love you, Ani.”

  “I love you, too, Cal.”

  With little else to do after that heartfelt exchange, we fall into a fitful doze against the wall we share. Who doesn’t need a bit of beauty sleep the night before their execution, after all? We’ve all but resigned ourselves to that fate when the first explosion rocks the camp. Dozens of screams follow, but not the kind I’ve ever heard in camp. Not pained or passive or injured or wailing. They sound angry, defiant.

  “What the hell?” Calvin murmurs.

  “Something is happening. Quick, lie flat on the floor and show them your hands.”

  No sooner do we lay ourselves flat than the shots ring out. Several more explosions go off, one after another. The guard towers, I realize. They’re coming down. Gunfire mixes with the screams and shouts. Even secured within the stockades, we smell the smoke.

  “Strough! Did you have a hand in this, you piece of shit?” one of the men guarding the stockade shouts.

  “We didn’t do anything!”

  “Oh, that’s all I needed to hear from you.”

  “You and me,” another voice says. “Let’s drag them out here and end them.”

  The doors open and Calvin and I are dragged out, despite out best efforts to resist. There’s no point in trying to reason with our captors. The camp is in full rebellion, but their cruelty won’t allow us to live even a few more minutes than they.

  “Make them kneel in front of each other,” one of the men suggests. “That way they can watch each other die.”

  Two shots follow. Or is it ten or twenty? It all happens so fast and there’s too many to count. All I know is that we’re not dead…

  We’re not dead…

  We’re not dead…

  The shock of the shots wears off quickly. My vision clears and once again, Calvin and I are staring at each other, though clearly neither of understands what has happened. The soldiers who were about to execute us moments before are lying nearby, blood rapidly pooling beneath them.

  “Help Anatoly up,” a familiar voice commands. It belongs to Arkedy Verat, the camp’s lowlife enforcer. “His friend, too. Do not harm him. I don’t care that he was one of them.”

  I’m puled to my feet by the same men I defended Irena against only days earlier. One of them pats me down, checking to see if I’m been hit, but I wave him off. All I want to do is hold Calvin close, and there he is. We embrace gratefully, his face pressed against mine as our tears mingle upon our cheeks.

  Arkedy stands before us, looking every bit the man in charge. In a matter of days, he’s gone from shiftless thug to the leader of a camp revolution. It’s a remarkable transformation, made all the more so given that we apparently owe our lives to it.

  “Arkedy,” I say incredulously. “How? Why?”

  Surveying his handiwork, Arkedy offers a casual smirk. “Oh, this? It’s been in the works for a while. We didn’t have enough people with us to guarantee success until you and your friend were thrown into the stockades. Who would have guessed your goody-two-shoes nice-guy routine would be a better rallying point than some dusty old notions of national pride?”

  Who knew, indeed? Certainly not I, though I can’t say I disagree with the results.

  The camp is in remarkably good shape, all things considered. Most of the tents appear intact, with only a few small fires already out or under control. The towers have been destroyed, but otherwise much of the camp is still more or less habitable.

  Nearby, a group of my former prisoners stands guard over the defeated Americans. “What will you do with them?” Calvin asks.

  Arkedy fixes him with a hard, appraising stare. “What do you think I should do with them?”

  Calvin looks at the men he used to consider brothers and I can see the conflicting emotions on his face. He would be well within the right to wish them punished for what they did to us, at least in my book. But Calvin isn’t that kind of man, and that’s why I love him. “Treat them well,” he says. “Use them to negotiate.”

  “And if the Americans don’t want to negotiate?”

  Calvin shrugs. “Place them in small groups around the camp. If nothing else it should buy you some time, keep you from being bombed.”

  Listening intently, Arkedy nods. “Shrewd. Very shrewd.” Then he looks to me, a grin crawling across his lips. “I like this one, Ani. He’s smart.”

  Calvin and I chuckle awkwardly. After so many months of hiding our secret, we’re not used to being spoken of in the same sentence, at least in such a way. Sensing this, Arkedy changes the subject. “We’ll talk more of this later. For now, come. Let’s get you both cleaned up, fed. You must be exhausted.”

  None of what Arkedy says is untrue. Calvin and I are tired and filthy and hungry. A shower and a hot meal would do us wonders, there’s no doubt about that. Looking to Calvin, though, I see it in his face. He wants only what I want: for us to be rid of this place forever.

  Arkedy is surprised when I tell him what we would prefer. “A jeep? But where will you go? There’s nothing around for miles.”

  Calvin and I smile. Finding each other’s hands, we lace our fingers together. “We have some ideas for where to start.”

  “The people here respect you, you know. You’re welcome to stay,” Arkedy says. “The both of you. No one would bother you.”

  I shake my head. “Thank you, but no. We can’t stay here.”

  “They’ll find you, you know. The Americans.”

  “Maybe. At least we won’t be sitting ducks.”

  Arkedy chuckles, nodding. “Fair point. Let’s go get you that jeep, then.”

  “Thank you, Arkedy.”

  Even with all the commotion around camp, it doesn’t take long for Arkedy to scare up a jeep for us. He is the man of the hour, after all. He even throws in some dried rations, a small cache of bottled water, plus two pistols and a long rifle that have been liberated from their previous operators.

  “A little bit of old country hospitality,” he calls it. Although I never imagined embracing Arkedy Verat in this lifetime or any other, I do now. He’s somewhat less enthused, but endures nonetheless. “Safe travels, my friend.”

  “Take care of our people,” I say as Calvin and I climb into the jeep. “And make sure someone reads to the children.”

  Arkedy nods, clearly amused. “Classic Anatoly.”

  Starting the jeep, I take us around the camp’s perimeter. In some way it’s a victory lap. In others, a reminder that it wasn’t all bad. Almost, but not all.

  The last we ever see of the camp is when it disappears from the jeep’s rearview mirror.

  “So,” Calvin says once it’s just us and the horizon on either end. “How does it feel?”

  “How does what feel?”

  “To finally be free.”

  Sparing a glance from the road, I smile. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  The road ahead is long and dangerous. There’s no telling what we’ll find when it ends for us. For now, though, Calvin and I have each other. We’re not idealists, not after what either of us has seen. But there’s comfort in knowing we defied the odds to this point. Maybe together we can do it a little longer.

 
; A Word from Logan Thomas Snyder

  Beginning on November 2, 1983, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) conducted a joint, large scale military exercise known as Able Archer 83. The purpose of this exercise was to simulate a fluid transition from conventional warfare to nuclear warfare. This was a scenario that many experts at the time felt was increasingly likely in the near future, given the mounting tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union, as well as the massive nuclear arsenals possessed by both.

  In recent years, a number of key figures from the CIA, NSA, KGB, and other agencies have come forward to reveal that not only did Able Archer 83 simulate a nuclear war, it nearly caused one. As part of the exercise, NATO raised its readiness condition to DEFCON1, the highest level of alert. This move was perceived by officials in the Soviet Union as an attempt to conceal a nuclear first strike. In response, they readied their arsenal. For nearly ten days, only a handful of the top military and civilian officials on either side knew that the world stood on the brink of mutually assured destruction.

  In the alternate timeline of my story, Able Archer 83 served as a tactical ruse to conceal a first-strike engagement against an increasingly hostile military power. Tensions between the two superpowers had rarely been higher. Six months prior to Able Archer 83, Soviet General Secretary Yuri Andropov warned U.S. Secretary of State Averell Harriman that relations between the nations “may be moving toward a red line”. And only two months earlier, another “near-miss” occurred when the Soviet nuclear early warning system twice falsely reported the launch of U.S. Minuteman Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles. While we can all be grateful the series of events in my story never came to pass, it would not have been the first time in history that one opposing force launched a devastating preemptive strike upon another.

  While I was intrigued by the larger implications of this potential event, ultimately I was drawn to its aftermath and a simpler, smaller story about two people who find each other on opposing sides of an unforgiving conflict. Wars break down humanity, but ultimately it’s the survivors who rebuild it. Anatoly and Calvin have nothing but each other and their love. After all, what’s left to fight for when the rest of the world burns itself to the ground?