Homefront: A Story of the Future Collapse

by Matthew Gilman

  “You were never there.” Choi said. “I’ll protect you. Now drive.”

  On the roof of a neighboring house three hundred yards away, Sophie collapses the rifle down to fit in her bag. The General was dead; the man that had repeatedly raped her in a room for months until he bored of her. The other man she wasn’t sure who he was, but that wasn’t the target. All together four men were dead and somehow only one was from her hand. She wondered what was happening in the room for the other man to turn on the rest. Either way she was happy. Less Chinese in the city were better in her opinion.

  The barrel twisted off and she slid the two parts of the weapon in her bag. Sliding back from her position she exited the roof and disappeared into the rocky pine-covered terrain of the west coast wilderness.

  That night, in an abandoned apartment building, Sophie met up with Jenny. A habit had started with Sophie of going out on her own to find targets. Jenny didn’t like it but understood Sophie’s desire to constantly put pressure on the Chinese forces.

  The basement was damp and smelled of mildew from the dehumidifiers no longer working. When the cotton wipes punched through the barrel without any carbon Sophie knew her weapon was clean. Setting the barrel down, she picked up the stock and looked at the notches cut into the synthetic stock. She had added every single mark that covered the rifle. The knife in her hands was nothing more than a Swiss army knife, something a boy scout would be jealous of. She had not counted the notches before now. The next one would be the largest cut into the stock. It represented the man that used her as a plaything for so long. The anger she still felt sliced the blade into the stock. His number would not be forgotten. She would always remember when he was added to the list of thirty-two men she was responsible for killing. It took thirty-one lives to reach this moment and she didn’t feel any better.

  Folding the blade, she placed it back in her pocket and set the rifle down. She never considered her mission over after that day. In the back of her mind she knew that there were other people like the General who were doing the same thing to other women. She never forgot the people gunned down at the prison. Satisfaction would not be achieved until the war was over.

  Year 4

  Chapter 31

  The resistance group had put a big dent into the operations of the Chinese during the winter months. Snipers had dwindled the high command down to the point where the officers in mainland China dreaded being sent in, viewing it as a death sentence.

  The C4 didn’t last long, being used to destroy a radio tower and a generator the Chinese used for electricity. After that the vehicles were sabotaged and bombs were rigged with materials stolen or found in the city. Rachael was killed while fleeing the scene of a bombing. John and Hanna escaped, but not without the loss of a comrade they relied on.

  Choi made it back to the command center where he radioed Beijing and told them of the death of General Sun. To his surprised they appeared to know nothing of his expected execution and was given the command of the area. He was now in charge of the city and expected to run the docks, supplies, movement of forces in the area, and take care of the American problem.

  Choi hung up the phone and smiled at the driver whose name he didn’t even know.

  “Sir?” was the only thing the driver could say.

  “I am now General of the invasion force,” Choi said, announcing the news to the man who saved his life. The news was spread over radio and word of mouth. Choi took up residence in the former Microsoft office building which featured a restaurant that he had put back into service. His plan was to never leave the building, relying on his subordinates to deliver information on the progress of things. The blonde he was fond of was moved into the building with her own level dedicated to her. From this building in Belleview he could overlook the operations while he was safely outside of the city with a floating bridge separating himself from the men who would have him killed.

  Seattle became a war zone with trucks and buildings exploding at least twice a day. While the soldiers responded to the initial event, a separate one would take place elsewhere while they were distracted. The Chinese grew frustrated as they were playing catchup all day. Sometimes snipers would take a few men out responding to the blast and they were pinned down the rest of the day, unable to respond. The city had come under siege.

  The handful of resistance fighters that infiltrated the city were training more people to add to the problem. Messages were sent to the Rangers at arranged times, giving intelligence and other information back to the men. The resistance gathered what they could about the General in charge. General Choi was now in charge of the Chinese forces and had moved up the ladder quickly when General Sun was assassinated. In his current position he was held up in a tower with bulletproof glass he had installed, having learned from General Sun’s mistake and could only be reached directly inside the tower.

  Dallas worked at finding a way to reach this man that he wanted. He didn’t want the man dead, he wanted General Choi in his possession to interrogate. Choi was the man in charge of the fire mission that killed Clive and he was going to set things straight, making them even in his own mind.

  Choi felt like he was the U.S. forces in Baghdad after the initial invasion. Eyes were set on greed instead of getting the job done and now he was forced to clean up the mess. On his desk sat the books of General Petraeus who solved the Iraq problem. The only issue Choi found with the method was an inability to connect with the American people. To encourage them was to create further uprising. The Americans were not one to enjoy occupation even if it was in their own best interest. He had to think of something else that would solve the problem, but continued to read the books anyway hoping for something else that would present itself.

  Choi asked Beijing for snipers to counter the resistance they were experiencing. Snipers could be trained to fight other snipers in what was referred to as a duel. Choi liked the idea and asked for a half dozen to be sent for the job. The men arrived three months later after Choi had lost two dozen men in various attacks. The stress he was under made his hair turn a speckled white that he hated seeing in the mirror. His blonde mistress told him he looked sexy but he never believed it, taking the frustration out on her in various ways she appeared to enjoy.

  Choi launched his counter offensive pushing troops into the mountains in numbers he had never used before. Several units were sent in at various locations to patrol and gather intelligence. His hope was that the soldiers would encounter the Americans that were causing him trouble and he could send in the rest of the troops to engage. After a week this appeared pointless until they finally had an encounter.

  Chapter 32

  The spring months had been cool and rainy, countering the mild winter and hot summer months that the Washington area had been experiencing the last few years. The fishing was great for Ben as he used his fly rod to pull trout from the river. He waited for the salmon season where he could spear fish and fill a cooler the men stole from a cabin in the woods. The salmon would be smoked and stored for the winter months while they waited out the season.

  The silk line flew over the river, hovering over the spot he wanted to drop it and waited to see if the fish would bite. This was the life he wanted to be living. Fishing was a meditation he could engage in for the rest of his life. In the old ways his hobbies could lead him to bankruptcy and loss of a job. Fishing could become an obsession if he let it. Moving out deeper into the water, Ben found a pool that he suspected of housing trout. He flung the line over to the dark water and waited for a reaction. Sure enough the fly disappeared and he was engaged in a struggle with a trout at least a foot long, maybe bigger. As he worked the line, he moved back to the shore to trying to beach the fish not wanting to risk breaking the line. Moving onto the shore his feet were planted and he worked to tire the fish.

  It was at this moment, with a smile on his face and the satisfaction of bringing in a personal record catch that Ben died. A bullet passed through his brain and he never knew what h
appened. His existence would always remain in that moment like a kamikaze pilot reaching a Zen meditation while flying into the side of a U.S. aircraft carrier. If Ben continued to exist in the world it was that blissful moment of reeling in the trout that had him completely engulfed in the moment.

  Ben’s body was discovered by Kelly who returned with the cooler from camp. He stayed in the tree line while viewing the sight with a tear running down his cheek. Ben had been the most valuable member of the group the weeks after the world went to hell. He taught them everything about how to survive in the wilderness and kept them alive through the wildfire by taking them to the cave they sheltered in. Now he was dead from the cowardly act of a sniper.

  Kelly went back to the camp. The somber look on his face told the group what had happened. Dallas said nothing and grabbed his M14 from the tree he slept by. Taking a handful of ash, he covered his face and created his suit that would conceal him in the forest of the north west.

  “You can’t go out there on your own,” Kelly said.

  “Where is he?” Dallas asked.

  “The river,” Kelly said. “He sent me back to camp to get the cooler.”

  “Sniper?” Dallas rubbed ash on his face.

  “Looks that way,” Kelly said. “One shot.”

  Nobody blamed Kelly for coming back to the camp. Had he stayed he would have been the sniper’s second victim of the day. Dallas checked to see if the M14 was loaded. He twisted the silencer off the barrel and tossed it on his sleeping bag.

  “When you hear a shot, go get Ben.”

  Dallas stormed out of the camp and moved to the river. It took him three hours to move the last two hundred yards towards the river. That was fast in sniper speed. Through his scope he could see Ben’s body lying on the rocks, the water crashing over him. He was face down in the water and could see the clean wound exposed on his head.

  Regaining his focus, Dallas shifted his attention to the opposite side of the river. At this point the river was over fifty yards wide. The current was slow here with large rocks making it easy to fly fish. The sun was moving along the length of the river and was still hours from setting. Sitting there in the shade of the trees, Dallas could sense that the sniper was still out there. His gut told him that the hunt wasn’t over. Looking back at Ben’s body he saw the fishing reel still in his hand and the dog tags on his neck. The sniper would want proof of the kill for when he went back to camp. The dog tags were the trophy he would try to take. Knowing that the tags were still on Ben’s body, Dallas waited.

  The flies buzzed around Dallas’ head as he lay in the humid dirt. Sweat dripped from his head, down his nose and chin. His skin itched and yet he didn’t move. The flies bit his skin and explored around his eyes and ears. Still, he laid there.

  The sun began to set and the flies were replaced by the mosquitoes. He could feel the needle like bites on his skin already irritated by the flies that plagued him during the evening hours. His hands were a feeding ground for the mosquitos, after forgetting to bring gloves. The dirt and muck he rubbed on them didn’t help.

  The moon shone above the river and reflected on the water in broken pieces. The slow moving water broke up the image. Dallas listened. The moonlight wasn’t the best and his eyes adjusted to the night. He started to hallucinate and constantly questioned if he was seeing something or imagining it. Shadows moved and the nocturnal animals played games with him. Raccoons crawled their way to the riverbed to clean their food. For dirty scavengers they were clean with their food.

  The sound of the water changed. The constant ripple of the water had a flow that didn’t change. As Dallas listened there were changes taking place, like rocks being moved or blocked. Watching the river, Dallas could see the outline of something slowly making its way across the river. He questioned if he was seeing things and focused on the image. The dark blur almost appeared to hover over the water instead of walking. As the figure came closer to Dallas’ river bed the sound of footsteps shifting the water could be heard.

  The safety was already off on the rifle. Dallas didn’t want to give away his position by the sound of a click when he was ready to fire. The figure was less than fifty yards away and moving towards Ben’s body, the one that had been lying face down in the water all day. The one the figure put there while his friend was fishing.

  Shifting the rifle to his face, Dallas looked down the sight and waited for the shadow to move into position for him. The figure stood over Ben’s body then bent down. Dallas lined up the shot, then fired. The crack rang through the mountains and could be heard miles away. The figure slumped into the water.

  Smacking his hand, Dallas killed at least a dozen mosquitoes in one blow. The back of his hand was speckled with blood from the engorged bellies of the insects.

  Unsure if the sniper had a spotter or not, Dallas waited. When the man’s body started to move he still waited. He was sure if there was a spotter there would have been return fire on his position. There was little possibility a spotter couldn’t have seen the flash of the shot.

  Slithering his way to the shore, Dallas moved to the riverbank. Once he reached Ben’s body he stood and saw the man who had killed his friend.

  Wheezing breaths escaped the sniper’s lungs as he fought to breathe. The contrast of the white eyes looked up at Dallas from the river. Bending down, Dallas took the sniper’s rifle and tossed it to shore. The man, covered in a ghillie suit, bounced in the flowing river.

  Dallas looked for some kind of identification and found none. The sniper had been sent out with nothing, preventing his death from being used as propaganda. Once the man was checked, Dallas stood above him still hearing the wheezing. A lung had collapsed and he was struggling to breathe while bleeding internally. Placing one foot on the sniper’s chest he pushed the man under the water and held him there with the weight of his body. Arms flayed for a minute then stopped. There wasn’t much fight left in the man and Dallas was somewhat disappointed.

  Once the deed was done, Dallas dragged both bodies from the river. Kelly and Budd came to the spot almost expecting to see Dallas dead. From their guess it was going on 3am. The sun would be up in three or four hours. The sniper was stripped and Ben’s body taken away. When they were finished the snipers body was tossed out into the river where it would flow out to sea, if it didn’t snag on shore against a fallen tree.

  Funerals were taking place too often these days. Ben’s body was buried next to Clive’s on the mountainside, his fishing reel used to mark the spot. It seemed more fitting than using his rifle. Ben was more of a sportsman than a soldier, at least that’s what he said. The men could see it. If he had to choose between going to war or going camping, Ben would have chosen camping.

  One evening he shared with Dallas his plan to collect his pension and live off of it while hunting and fishing all day. Of course the attack on Washington D.C. changed all of that and Ben found himself in the middle of a war. He wanted to buy a piece of land in Alaska and spend his days living off the land. If there was anybody that could have done it, it was him.

  The rest of the day the Rangers were in mourning. They stayed away from one another and dealt with the loss in their own way. Budd made the arrows that Ben was always working on. Kelly cleaned all the rifles in the camp then went through the pistols and took stock of their supplies. Keeping busy was how he dealt with things. Dallas slept throughout the day having spent all night waiting for the sniper.

  The next day the mourning was over, at least in appearance. Dallas was looking over the maps they had and started to make plans.

  “We need supplies,” Dallas said, looking over the supplies they had. River was looking at the map and the plans that Dallas had already laid out on paper.

  “You want to hit the prison camp?” River said.

  “About fucking time,” Budd commented.

  “No,” Dallas corrected. “I want it to look like we are hitting the prison camp.”

  “If we aren’t hitting the prison than what ar
e we doing?” Budd asked.

  “Going after the big guy,” Dallas said. “We are getting Choi.”

  Chapter 33

  The sniper team of Amber and Scott had quickly learned the best places to set up shop for hitting the Chinese. Areas that were out in the open and housed a concentration of soldiers were their primary targets. The motor pool and supply areas were a favorite. At first they would focus on guard posts and men on patrol. The low ranks they were taking were replaced instantly and nobody seemed to notice. Amber had no problems with the safe routine they had discovered. Scott on the other hand didn’t like it.

  From the window of the former office building, Scott looked through the scope. Amber focused the binoculars and they discussed which one of the unlucky men in the street they would send back home in a bag.

  A Humvee was parked in front of a restaurant that was turned into a dining area for the higher ranking officers.

  “Do you see Choi?” Amber asked.

  “Nope,” Scott was hoping, but the man had disappeared after the General was killed. “What about the driver?” Amber asked, looking at the easy shot.

  “I’m not interested in easy,” Scott explained. “If I wanted easy we would have gone back to the motor pool and taken out a few more mechanics.”

  “Hold on,” Amber said looking at the doors to the restaurant. Two soldiers walked over to the door and opened both sides while three men in officer’s uniforms walked out. “You see this?”

  “Already on it.” Scott focused on the uniforms and already had his target in mind. The one still wearing a hat would be the primary target.

  Scott flipped the safety off and squeezed the trigger. The muffled sound of the suppressor told little about their location. With two more officers in the street, rushing for the Humvee Scott considered it a good opportunity to break his one rule. Shoot once and move.