Just before dusk, a Russian Tigr tooted its horn at the gate. A moment later, it pulled down the driveway and parked directly in front of Winston’s forward-facing vantage point. Two PLA soldiers emerged, ripping Julie Calef from the rear of the truck. She was naked and appeared to have been assaulted, her face engorged and bruised, hair partially torn from her scalp, and blood streaming down the insides of her thighs. Julie was a frightened feral animal, anxious to be put down. A small group of soldiers assembled around her, ready to pounce on whatever life might still be left in her.
“Aw, shit,” Winston said, knocking his head against the wall.
“What is it now?” May asked, somewhat disengaged with the reality just outside the wall.
“They got Julie. Julie Calef.”
May climbed across the bed toward Winston, but he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “No no. Stay right there. You don’ wanna see this.”
He watched a dozen soldiers encircle Julie until one brave Russian grunt unzipped his pants, his weapon at the ready. The two soldiers who had delivered Julie to this frenzied mob pushed her face into the side of the barn and held her steady against it, kicking out her feet and holding her arms in a spread-eagle position. Her eyes were at the same level with Winston’s, and may have locked with his had she not already given up during her three days of torture. She did not fight back or cry out as the Russian PLA soldier raped her, her head crashing loudly into the side of the barn, weak whimpers clearly audible inside the apartment. Winston closed the flap, unable to bear witness to the atrocity, and unable to aid the girl whom he had known since birth and who had been so helpful to him only days ago. May stared into infinity, listening to Julie, wondering if she had the same horrific fate awaiting her. The soldiers’ brash cheering became so vociferous that Winston scrambled to his feet, grabbed his rifle, and opened the apartment door before May even realized what he was doing — he was determined to stop Julie’s suffering one way or the other. He was out the door before May got to her feet.
“Winston! You fool! Get back in here!” she shouted, not concerned about being heard above the deafening shouts of the soldiers outside.
Winston heard May’s pleas and stopped mid-barn and turned toward her. Tears streamed from his eyes, though his face was twisted into rage. He lowered the rifle and looked around the barn. It was empty, except for several gardening tools, including a shovel, that still hung on the wall near the window he and May climbed through on the first day of the invasion, and a dozen military cots now took up the space. This was bad news. The barn was now a barracks.
“You can’t save her,” May said tenderly.
Defeated and overwhelmed, and still undetected, Winston staggered back into the apartment. He set the gun down, May locked the door behind them, and he looked out the slit to see Julie. Several other soldiers had lined up, eager for their turn with the pretty, young American girl. Suddenly, the throng was hushed and parted in two — it was the North Korean major beating a path toward Julie and the Russian soldier who was mounting her. Major Chaek reached the soldier just as he climaxed, and without warning, unsheathed his steel-gray Kizlyar combat knife and drew its glorious blade across the assailant’s neck. His hot gore sprayed Julie’s back, and she renewed her struggle to escape. Major Chaek grasped the soldier’s hair, his neck agape, and shoved him to the ground where he would bleed out in seconds. He sheathed his weapon with haste.
“Hold her still!” he ordered the two men who had control of Julie’s flailing arms, “and you fall in line!” he shouted at the crowd of soldiers, some of whom had attempted to wander away, unwilling to be witnessed as bystanders, but quickly assembled at his command.
Major Chaek spoke in perfect English as he addressed Julie, who was on the verge of unconsciousness. Winston’s eyes and ears were mere inches away as he spoke softly into her ear.
“I am Major Chaek Sojwa. I am truly sorry for this crime against you,” he said, “but war is war and to the victors go the spoils. I know, I know, you are thinking that is a cliché. And rightfully so. But if you think about it, war itself is a cliché, is it not? In reality, there is much more at stake for us than simply losing this war. For example, we, the PLA, as victors, will be forced to maintain this country and its citizens. We will be obliged to help rebuild America’s infrastructure, find employment for displaced workers, feed, house, and clothe them. Rebuild the economy, which your leaders failed to do after the election of your ghastly president. The tasks are simply innumerable. Now, I ask you, is that really winning? I say it’s losing and you arrogant Americans have won yet again.”
“Bullshit,” Winston whispered to himself.
Julie mustered all the strength and courage she had left. “Go to hell.”
“Alas, I am standing in hell. Here, in America, it is my hell. However, I see that you are suffering. Let us end that now. I will help you, but I shall first endeavor to scold my men for their very, very poor behavior.”
Major Chaek took Julie in his arms and teetered her toward the ranks. They were precisely lined up and silent. He promenaded her, still naked, through the lines of men, holding her upright with his left arm, and mockingly demanding, “this savagery is no longer a part of the PLA’s mission! No longer shall we rape and torture our enemy’s children! No longer shall we inflict unnecessary and excessive pain on our enemy. For we are men of much higher principles than this barbarism!”
Suddenly, the Major unsheathed his Kizlyar blade and drilled it through Julie’s heart. She was just as surprised as Winston was. They both fell to their knees.
“From this day forward,” the Major shouted, “we simply kill any and all Americans who cross our path! We will send them to hell! We are the killers of the infidels! We are the scourges sent upon them! We are the People’s Liberating Army!”
The rows of soldiers erupted with cheers and cries, their ranks disassembling, the Major glorified for his great wisdom and leadership skills. He left them to celebrate, giving new orders to his officers, and saluted Med’s head as he disappeared back into the house with the generals. Four soldiers carted Julie’s and the soldier’s corpses into the woods, presumably to the same spot where Med’s headless torso now rotted.
Winston pulled himself to May’s side — she was softly weeping — and they lay together, their emotions suffering and drained. The soldiers’ uproar eventually died down, and May and Winston slept through the night and into the next day, neither of them able to comprehend the barbarism they witnessed, but thankful that they had this time together in their safe place. Med, Julie, and unknown scores of other Johnsonville residents had suffered alone. And while May slid into the abyss, Winston’s internal rage strengthened and solidified.
Hard
By the beginning of the fourth day in the apartment, May and Winston were growing accustomed to the abrasive noises that permeated the apartment — soldiers speaking in both English and foreign tongues, engines droning, helicopters flying overhead, and gun and mortar reports in the distance. It was after ten in the morning when Winston’s eyes opened. He sat up and spied May’s slippered feet under the shower curtain, with the bucket on the floor behind her feet. She was going, he thought, that was good. He lay back down, listening to the sounds outside, and longed for the afternoons when he would sit under Medusa before she was felled, or at her stump afterwards. He’d close his eyes and take in the warmth of the sun, its rays inducing a tranquil slumber. A light aircraft might whirr high above. Ben might be cutting his grass, the fragrance sweet to his senses. Birds might sing him a lullaby. The clouds might decorate the sky. The travelers on Route 75 might help to lull him to sleep as they passed by, and May always kissed him gently on his sweaty forehead, stirring him to wake for iced coffee and a small snack, what she called “afternoon tea.”