Dong laughed at his last thought while he snubbed out his cigarette. He knew the answer. Life was less than cheap in the People’s Republic of China. His comrades and he were taught that an individual life, let alone happiness, was a negative when compared to the collective benefit of the People. If his death, and the death of all these civilians in this neighborhood, could help to ultimately defeat the enemies of the People’s Republic, then yes, the People would benefit from his, or anyone else’s, death.
Dong checked his watch. The ROC patrol was not expected for another thirty minutes. He lit another cigarette.
Chen Liling stopped in front of the butcher’s shop that had four ducks hanging in the window, just as she had been told to do. Despite her best efforts not to, she looked around apprehensively to see if there was another shop window with four ducks hanging in it. She worried that she would look out of place carrying such a big basket. She did not. There were many shoppers, most carrying bags and similar baskets. Contrary to her fears, she blended in fine. Her heartbeat felt irregular to her, as if it would thump right out of her chest. Liling slowed down her breathing and tried to relax. She had to. Her ability to think clearly and act precisely would mean the difference of life and death for her, her family, and all she held dear.
Story Limen looked down at his drink. Much to his surprise, he had developed a taste for scotch with green tea. A month ago, when he first arrived in China, it seemed such an awkward concoction, but not so much now. He glanced at his cell phone to check the time, 9:28 a.m. He sighed from boredom before finishing off his cocktail and ordering another.
He was feeling sorry for himself to be stuck this far north just to report on the war. It wasn’t fair, but nothing in his life had been. He found in life that few are ever given what they need, and even fewer are given what they want.
“Life just dumps on some people,” his mother had taught him. “There’s nothing you can do about it.”
And so it seemed to be now with his career. Limen worked hard to get people to like him, but it seemed more people were repelled by him than attracted. He hadn’t been able to impress his superiors enough to give him his big break. It appeared his only path to advancement was through hard work. So when the Tang administration put out the call for American journalists to report the real Sino-American War to the American populous, Story Limen volunteered. Or so he told the girls he met in Shanghai. Truth was his boss at Los Angeles Network Television had ordered him to go, or file for unemployment.
Initially, Story considered unemployment preferable. He loved the LA party scene and thought government subsidies would be enough to establish himself as a video blogger. Then he heard from guys at work that Chinese women thought American journalists were “really hot,” and a guy could have his pick and then some. So, to the consternation of his mother, Story Limen “volunteered” to answer President Tang’s call to be a “war journalist.”
His first two weeks in Shanghai were a blast. However, Story found the women were not as accommodating as he’d been led to believe. Still, he had a good time. Better than the last two weeks he had spent in Zhengzhou. Drugs were harder to get a hold of this far north, but at least there was booze. He needed it to take his mind off the cold, (which he had absolutely no tolerance for), and the Marines.
He hadn’t had to deal with too many of them in Southern California, since most were deployed for the war. Now, however, he felt like he was in the middle of the whole Marine Corps. It was rare that he could hit a bar in the area and not run into at least a few Marines. For some reason, they were being allowed off base at night. Story told others he found them too loud and audacious. However, he tended to be that way himself; the truth was he just felt uncomfortable around them. They scared him. After all, they were trained to kill people. That made them very dangerous, especially given their stupidity, or so he thought. Why else would they have volunteered to be used by the fascist Marine Corps in this foolish war against the People’s Republic of China?
After a month in the new Republic of China, he’d received a tip from a drinking buddy working for the same network. His buddy had heard from an anonymous source that ROC “storm troopers” might crack down on a residential market area known for its loyalties to the People’s Republic. Story Limen showed up, with camera, to check it out. However, he found it too cold to wait outside for long. Thinking the locals were fools to tolerate it, he found an open bar where he could order a drink and warm up.
Liling stamped her feet to warm up. Her legs ached a bit, but the pain was nothing compared to what she felt inside. She wanted so badly to be with her husband and son. They were everything that made life on earth matter for her. Without them, she saw no point to her life. She had to do this for them. She had to do this for her son, Ji, to have a better life, to have more liberty than she had ever known growing up. The irony of her situation did not escape her.
She couldn’t see them, but she could hear the convoy coming towards the street corner where she was waiting.
Liling remembered the day Chen Ji was born. He was such a joy following so much pain, and worth every minute of it.
The lead vehicle passed her. It would not be much longer. Liling began to cry; she wanted nothing more than to be with her family.
She recalled the first moment Ji had looked her in the eyes and smiled after she had fed him. It was such a sweet and, now, a painful memory.
The ROC convoy stopped, just as she had been told it would. She could hear the honking of car horns and some shouting in the distance, but ignored it. She only had seconds to do this right and save the lives that mattered the most to her. She dashed for the nearest military truck in front of her. An ROC soldier yelled at her to stop, but she paid him no mind. There wasn’t time. She dove under the truck and flipped the switch in the basket. The explosion was instant. Her pain was short.
What scared Story Limen more than the sound was feeling the explosion. Within a moment of wondering what had just happened, gunfire erupted outside. As he lay on the floor seeking protection, it occurred to him that this must be the tip he had gotten. He seriously questioned whether it was worth risking his life to get footage of the event. When he saw the bar staff breaking out their own rifles, he decided it was best to leave.
On the street, he could see an ROC convoy had stopped; soldiers were deploying. He wondered who they were attacking. He saw a lot of smoke to his right and could hear distant screaming. He began filming, although it wasn’t apparent what exactly was happening. Limen thought it had to be the ROC cracking down on the people still loyal to the People’s Republic.
Lieutenant Dong got the call over the radio. The woman had come through as planned. It was time to move on to the next phase of the offensive. He snubbed out his cigarette and looked at the man tied up next to his toddler son. Dong had concluded there was no easy way to do what he had been ordered to do. He just had to do it fast and get it over with. He pulled out his pistol and shot the man between the eyes. Despite every intention he had not to, he looked into the screaming boy’s eyes. He immediately took aim and pulled the trigger. He had broken his promise to the woman, but then he had to, he had orders. The man might have talked, and sometimes, the truth is not what is best for the People.
The boy? The Red Army had determined the boy would only get in the way of the operation. Dong’s training taught him liberation isn’t free. The People demand sacrifices.
Dong rushed to get out of the apartment that just hours before had been a home.
“Dude! Track my fucking phone! I don’t know these fucking streets!” Limen hysterically screamed into his phone. “Just get some media drones over here now!” He was getting frustrated that his colleague didn’t seem to comprehend the gravity of the moment. “It’s fucking going down now! That’s what I’m trying to fucking tell you! The rat-bastard ROC are making their move now! It’s going down. Marines could be here any minute; get the fucking drones over here ASAP!”
Limen disconnected and began filming, althoug
h all he recorded was people screaming and running around. He heard more popping sounds from small-arms fire. He picked up on the direction it came from, but the last thing he wanted to do was go towards it.
Limen felt dizzy and was breathing hard. He was surprised by his terror. He had always considered himself an adrenaline junkie. When it came to skateboarding or snowboarding, he was more hard-core than any of the other guys he knew. In video combat/shooter games he was invincible. But now, he felt paralyzed with fear and doubt. If he went to the sound of the guns, he might get some good footage and advance his career; or he might get killed. Incapable of making a decision, he stayed right where he was.
After crossing two streets and traversing through three apartment buildings that had been tunneled through, Lieutenant Dong and his radioman, Corporal Ling Chen, reached a flight of stairs. This led them to an apartment floor completely occupied by the Red Army’s Gansiduí. Every soldier was dressed as a civilian, but all were armed. They had yet to open fire as planned. The ROC convoy had stopped farther down the road than anticipated. None would do anything until told by their commander. Dong ordered all who had a visual on the enemy to fire. The others were to stand by. A sudden twinge of fear made him wonder if the plan was going to work. Then he saw the media drones in the air, and his optimism was renewed. If the American press was there, how could they lose?
Harris was playing cards with Murphy, Watson, and Bergman. Their game table was an upside-down box in the parking lot, behind the dumpsters. They tolerated the cold morning air and the smell of trash so they could smoke while they played cards for cash. This was due to the recent crackdown on smoking by Lieutenant Bowman, one of the junior officers in the new political unit that FedAPS had assigned to the hospital. It appeared Bowman’s sole purpose was to tell everyone what they were doing wrong. His petulant hovering over the Marines and hospital staff had earned him the nickname Nurse Butterbar. All the same, Lieutenant Bowman was adamant about personnel complying with every regulation he wanted to enforce. Harris and others, however, were taking the no-smoking and gambling regulation as more of a suggestion. Moving their game outside was their form of compromise.
“It’s on! Shit’s going down!” Lance Corporal Menendez shouted as he hobbled on a crutch and bionic braces. The four card players turned to see what the commotion was about.
“The fuck you say, Menendez. Make some goddamn sense, will you!” Corporal Watson was losing money and in a foul mood.
“The Pricks attacked. Marines are fighting to the north of us.” Menendez huffed from his exertion. “The fucking war is back! It’s on TV!”
The Marines grabbed their money and sprinted back, as best they could, towards the ward. Without crutches or braces, Harris and Bergman were the fastest.
Harris stopped long enough to hold the door for Bergman, who was recovering from a shattered arm. The others were too far behind, so they ran down the hall towards the TV lounge. A crowd gathered watching a TV mounted on the wall across from the main nurses’ station. Footage from media drones provided an aerial view of US Marines engaged in combat with non-uniformed gunmen.
“Why is this not on speaker yet? Arnell! I said I want this on speaker!” Nurse Butterbar shrilled from across the hall. Within seconds the sounds of the broadcast were playing throughout the hospital. Harris struggled to balance what was on TV with everything he remembered, and all that he felt, about the war.
Although he didn’t like Marines, Story Limen felt relief when they showed up. He would never admit it to anyone, but their arrival gave him confidence that everything would be all right. Limen began to make his way towards the gunfire, hoping to get some good war footage of the Marines killing Chinese civilians, or perhaps a wounded Marine crying in despair. It could be his big break if he could capture something extraordinary.
Limen screamed as he jumped out of the way of an armored personnel carrier that came within inches of him. The vehicle skidded to a stop; the mounted machine gun began firing multiple bursts. The back hatch opened, and Marines charged out. It amazed him how the Marines could look as if they already knew where they were going and what to do in all this chaos.
Hiding behind an old concrete barricade, Limen could not see who was shooting at the Marines. However, he got excellent video footage of Marines pouring out of the APC and firing their weapons. It was the most intense thing he’d ever seen in his life. Thick smoke began to infiltrate the battle. Limen loved it. He couldn’t have asked for better special effects in his video. He checked his monitor screen to confirm the camera was in stream mode. The knowledge that his video was being broadcast live, perhaps internationally, gave him the courage to move forward with the Marines. He just made certain to stay behind them.
Lieutenant Dong waited exactly five minutes, as ordered, after the smoke was released. He then signaled Corporal Ling Chen to detonate the explosives. Two streets over, away from all the fighting, an entire block of buildings exploded. Although expecting it, Dong jumped from the noise. They’d used, what seemed to him, an excessive number of explosives in an attempt to create as much confusion and civilian deaths as possible.
Corporal Ling Chen never even flinched. He didn’t care who died as long as it was not him. He looked to Lieutenant Dong for further orders.
“We’ll wait a little bit,” Dong ordered as he pulled out another cigarette and lit up. With absolutely no acknowledgment of the lieutenant’s order, Corporal Ling Chen lit up as well.
Story Limen fell to the ground screaming, but his voice was lost in the explosion. He heard Marines yelling, but was too scared to comprehend what they said.
“Are you hurt?” a hovering Marine shouted in his face.
Limen didn’t know if he was hurt or not, but he shook his head no. The Marine pulled him to his feet and dragged him to the safety of a concrete barricade.
Even through the ringing in his ears, Limen heard the cracks from small-arms fire and the screams of the wounded. The air was thick with smoke and dust, but Limen no longer saw it as a cool touch to the footage. The Marines began moving out into the chaos. Too insecure to stay in the location alone, Limen decided to stay close. He moved out behind them.
Already dressed in civilian attire, Lieutenant Dong Fan and Corporal Ling Chen patted each other down to make sure they had removed anything that could identify them as part of the People’s Liberation Army. As per orders, they walked out of the building they were in and split up. They were now on their own to work their way north to the People’s Republic of China.
Dong pulled out a white handkerchief, brought specifically for this purpose, and waved it over his head.
“No kill me! No kill me!” Dong shouted at the top of his lungs. “Civilian!” he shouted again in the best English he could muster.
“Ju shou! Tang xià!” a US Marine yelled–Hands up! Lie down!–in his best Chinese. Two other Marines efficiently patted Dong down while the other Marine kept his rifle on him. Satisfied that he was unarmed and not a threat, they let him up and moved on.
Dong looked over and saw a Caucasian man with a video camera, and assumed him to be an American journalist.
Surely fate is on my side, Dong thought, but he resisted the urge to smile. Instead, he screamed and wailed.
“Family! My family! Marine killed my family!” Dong cried in front of the camera. The idea that he could get a medal and promotion in the PLA for this took a bit of the sting out of killing so many innocent people. Dong felt like a lucky man.
“They got media drones, but no fucking helos?” Bergman asked, not really expecting an answer. Nor did Harris offer one. His bloodlust was rising. He now despised himself for having spent so much time in the hospital.
As if on cue, Marine attack helicopters appeared on the TV screen. Then the footage cut to a view from the ground. Despite bad visibility the Marine infantrymen were moving forward. Then everything on the television screen shook from a huge explosion. Much of the audio was drowned out by the screaming cameraman. H
arris thought the camera guy was hit, perhaps seriously wounded, but then the cameraman was up and moving again. The station changed back to the view from the media drones. They saw an entire residential block completely demolished.
“Oh, my God,” one of the nurses at the station gasped. “What could have happened?”
Some whispered among themselves. Most stood in silence.
“It appears the Marine helicopters may have blown up that apartment building. Do we have any official explanation why this, what I believe to be a residential building, would be a military target?” the voice of a female anchor squawked from the hospital speakers.
“As of yet, Gloria, we cannot even get an official explanation as to why US Marines were even escorting an ROC convoy in the demilitarized zone. Which, last we were told, is a violation of the cease-fire agreement.” Another faceless voice, this time male, spoke.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Les, but aren’t the Marines allowed in the demilitarized zone, just not allowed to have loaded weapons with them?”
“Perhaps, Gloria. But the fact remains either way that the Marines appear to be in flagrant violation of President Tang’s cease-fire agreement.”
A media drone showed footage of a wounded Marine being dragged to safety by two of his comrades. The broadcast quickly cut away to a scene of Chinese noncombatants running, wailing, and dying in the streets.
“They blew up the building! That’s what happened! Those goddamn Marines are blowing up the city!” Lieutenant Bowman decreed as he approached self-righteousness. Harris’s eyes zeroed in on Bowman. To Harris the FedAPS officer became the embodiment of the media’s contempt. Hatred of all those who mocked and condemned everything he loved filled him. Nurse Butterbar was oblivious to it all.
The TV news broadcast cut to a scene of a man yelling and crying, although he had no tears on his face.
“Family! My family! Marine killed my family!” the man cried into the camera. As if to drive home the point that he was in pain, the man began to slap himself on the head.
The Last Marine : Book Two (A Dystopian War Novel) Page 5
