Homefront: The Voice of Freedom (24 page)

“Sorry!” he cried. “Didn’t mean it! Mistake! Sorry!”

Everyone relaxed. The Korean newcomer stood frozen in his tracks, ready to fire his own M16. Kopple said, “Hopper, come here. Let me introduce you to my buddy.”

“He’s your
buddy
? Are you sure about that?” the man spoke perfect English with no accent. The guy was obviously an American.

“Sorry, I thought you were Korean,” Walker said, holding out his hand.

The man shook it. “I
am
Korean, by birth. But I was born and raised in San Francisco. Hopper Lee.”

“Ben Walker.” He introduced Kelsie to him and then pointed at Goliath. “This is yours?”

“It belongs to all of us, but yeah, I’m the one who teaches it tricks. So far I haven’t got it to shake hands, roll over, or speak on command, but it does just about every thing else I tell it to do.” He held up a stainless-steel box the size of a DVD player. Knobs, buttons, a view screen, and a small antenna adorned the top. “The magic is all here in this device. I rebuilt it myself.”

“That’s awesome, man.”

“I was out with Goliath on a reconnaissance mission when you guys were attacked. I guess I got here just in time.”

“I’ll say.”

Walker noticed the other soldiers tending to their dead comrades. Giap instructed his men to bury their dead and leave the Koreans to rot. Besides, there were too many of them. By his count, the resistance cell had wiped out forty men. Next they were to grab necessary supplies from the Dome and be ready to move out before sundown. It wouldn’t be long before the enemy knew their unit had been vanquished and reinforcements would arrive. The longer the resistance cell lingered there, the greater the danger.

“Where’re their tanks and other vehicles? We saw a tank the other day near St. George. I assume it was on its way here,” Walker said to Kopple.

The sergeant coughed, spat, and replied, “A tank won’t fit in the path. We don’t own a tank so it didn’t matter to us. That’s one reason why we’re going to Colorado to join up with that other cell. They have a
lot
more stuff. Who knows where that tank you saw was going? Could be Salt Lake City.”

“I recognize two of these Humvees. Didn’t you have three before? And what happened to your horses?”

“We lost one Humvee in a battle we fought
between Vegas and here. Giap here had one. The horses, well, they didn’t make it across the desert, sorry to say.” He handed Walker a shovel. “If you’re volunteering, I guess you better start digging.”

   The motley crew of Ragtags and the Bryce Canyon resistance cell, which in total comprised seven men and two women, evacuated the Dome quickly, headed northeast of the national park, and had their dinner deep in the forest. A couple of men doled out sandwiches made of peanut butter and bananas, and another broke out water bottles. While Giap and Kopple planned the route they would take across Utah and into Colorado, Walker and Wilcox had a chance to sit with Hopper Lee and hear the story of the invasion from a Korean American’s perspective.

Lee was in his early thirties and had a small frame, but he had an energetic, wiry temperament; he spoke and gestured a mile-a-minute. What was most distinctive about the man, however, was the facial disfigurement. Two long recent scars ran from his right eyebrow, over an eye, across his cheek, and down to the bottom of his chin.

“I know you’re wondering about my face,” he said intuitively. “Happened in San Francisco. I’m a casualty of the race riots. You heard about them?”

“Yeah,” Walker replied. “Damned ridiculous, if you ask me.”

“It was a gang of redneck sons of bitches who had nothing better to do than terrorize Korean families in our neighborhoods. The creeps were in the process of raping a fifteen-year-old girl when I stepped in to try and stop it. Left-handed asshole with a knife did this to my face. That knocked the fight out of me, I’m afraid. Couldn’t save the girl. I still hear her screams to this day. I never found out what became of her.
When I came to, another Korean-American family had taken me into their house to patch me up. Turned out I didn’t lose my eye and I could still see. Fucking miracle, if you ask me. But the riots continued. It was chaos outside. Our goddamned fellow Americans wanted to kill us. But hey, that’s all in the past. Once the North Koreans started instituting martial law in the city and cracking down on violence, the riots eased off.”

Like Walker, Lee was a civilian who hadn’t had real military training. He explained that he was a third generation Korean American who had earned his living as an electrical engineer and mechanic. Once Wilcox heard that, she and Lee engaged in a technobabble conversation that went over Walker’s head, but he was pleased she had found a kindred spirit. The couple learned that Lee was an all-around fix-it man in San Francisco before the EMP and had won several awards at events like the DARPA Grand Challenge. After the occupation, he was recruited by the North Koreans to repair military and essential equipment for their needs.

“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 truth 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.

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
.