The Long Day
Major Chaek returned to the encampment several hours later, his entire right leg encased in a plaster cast, to find that Captain Jennings had assigned Dong-joo to guard the barn’s door. He wore an armed Tabari backpack, and he attempted to appeal to the hobbling superior officer, but the Major wouldn’t hear it — not now that the soccer game had been lost — not now as they prepared to engage the United States in home turf nuclear warfare. He found Captain Jennings and his two assistants standing in the driveway, the master controller in Jennings’ hands.
“Sir. How’s the knee?” Captain Jennings asked.
Major Chaek shook his head in disgust, “It was imprudent of me to let my guard down, Captain, and I paid the price. The elderly Americans… they remember… they remember the wars they fought in… and the excuses why they fought those wars never mattered… they may be feeble, but they are tenacious, and we must remain diligent in our pursuit for victory.”
“Agreed. An update, Sir.”
Jennings pointed coyly up to the heavens. Major Chaek looked up to see the twelve drones hovering high above their heads, so high that they were inaudible, in a circle formation around all of Johnsonville.
“Here, take a look,” Jennings handed the master controller to Major Chaek.
Twelve live, high-definition videos streamed their feeds back to the Major in real-time. All of Johnsonville was covered — from the Sparrows’ residence where they now stood, to Calef’s and downtown and beyond. One video feed was a zoomed-in view of the two of them talking, and another zoomed in on two PLA soldiers emerging from Trip’s Pizza.
“Remarkable,” the Major crooned.
“I’ve targeted myself. Watch closely.”
Captain Jennings sprinted away, past Medusa’s stump to where Woo-jin still struggled for breath at the shoreline, around the house, past the damaged front porch, and back to the Major.
Major Chaek watched the screen intently as the drone’s camera followed Captain Jennings’ every move. Had he observed another drone’s feed, he would have seen Winston’s face pop out momentarily from under the highway overpass.
“Outstanding,” Major Chaek said while the captain caught his breath. He handed over the master controller.
“Thank you, Sir.”
Captain Jennings keyed a simple command into the keypad, and the entire encampment stopped to watch the twelve large drones descend and land in the driveway in two straight rows of six.
“All drones will be fully charged,” he reported, “all Tabaris are armed and stored, of course, excluding the one Corporal Sang is currently wearing.”
“Yes, and why is that, Captain?”
“I modified that particular Tabari to execute its countdown should our position somehow become compromised. Corporal Sang’s finger has been inserted tightly into the Tabari in lieu of the firing pin. Should it be removed, the countdown will immediately commence, and as you have been briefed, when one Tabari begins its countdown, they all count down. As long as they are within a twenty-mile radius of the master controller.”
Captain Jennings made a grand motion simulating a large explosion.
“It would be an honorable death.”
“It would be a most impressive death. From Macon to Marietta and beyond would be obliterated.”
“And is there a failsafe?”
Captain Jennings pointed to the display on the master controller, “yes. As I mentioned to the generals earlier, you must enter the nine-digit disarming code here.”
“And what is the code?”
Jennings looked at the Major curiously.
“Certainly you cannot be the only officer to know the code.”
“The generals and my two assistants…”
“What is the code, Captain, or should I bring this matter to the Generals’ attention?”
The captain lowered his voice. “Three, one, four, one, five, nine, two, six, nine.”
“Clever. We don’t want to risk a simple mishap detonating these bombs prematurely.”
“No, Sir. Sunrise is at 7:34 a.m. My men and I will be at the ready before dawn.”
“I believe tomorrow to be our Thanksgiving Day, when we claim this land as our own.”
“I believe that to be ironic, Sir.”
“Carry on, Captain.”
Dong-joo stood at attention at the barn door as Major Chaek passed.
“You have a most important task ahead of you, Corporal Sang. Perhaps this mission will make amends for you losing the game today.”
“I will not disappoint you again, Sir!”
“Where is the prisoner?”
“At the water’s edge, Sir!”
May dissolved back onto the bed, found Bukowski’s Post Office, and tore several pages from it. She searched the apartment frantically for something to write with, but came up empty. Feeling like she was about to pass out, she reached down and wetted her fingers with her own blood from the saturated t-shirt tourniquet and inscribed “𝜋” on several of the torn pages as many times as she could before she fainted.
Major Chaek limped past the stump and to the shore where he saw Woo-jin’s head bobbing and out of the water, his lungs gulping for air, his eyes glassy and wet with fear. Major Chaek knew that look well — it was the face of a man who knew he was at death’s door. He paused to watch Woo-jin momentarily, unaffected by the soldier’s anguish, turned his back, and entered the house.
Woo-jin watched Major Chaek hobble away through the distortion of Robin Lake’s cold water, and continued his Buddhist meditation — alternating calm, shallow breathing with long periods of holding his breath under the water. Seul-ki’s pure image cleansed his mind of the panic that might overcome other men. He slowly counted to ten with his head submerged under the water, eyes wide open, and let his head’s natural buoyancy lift his flared nostrils to the surface to expel carbon dioxide and fill his lungs again with oxygen. He did this until the curious PLA soldier came by every now and again to check on him, at which times he feigned suffering. By lights out, Woo-jin was all but forgotten.
Winston readied himself as the sun set. He had studied all that he could about bullet and shrapnel wounds, and was confident that he could help May, even with only the meager medical supplies in the apartment. If she were still alive, she would be in shock. He understood what to do, and he tried to keep his feelings of helplessness at bay. But those feelings were difficult to quash as he stood at the side of the trash pile and contemplated the six new bodies, naked and bloodied. He knew every one of these men — had called them friends, partook in their families’ most important celebrations and achievements, and loved and respected them like his own family members — especially Ben. He longed to have the shovel that hung in his barn so he could bury them with Julie and Med, whose respective father and brother now lay there among the corpses.
Sunset was coming earlier and earlier, and tonight it would be at 7:19 p.m., during the PLA’s dinnertime, and less than an hour before the trash crew would show up right where he currently stood. Winston affirmed his decision to go back to the apartment during dinnertime instead of waiting another excruciating three hours for lights out. He returned to the underpass to wait, re-reading Shrapnel and Projectile First Aid under the dusky evening sky. Amadeus crept out of the cover of the pines and sat ten feet away. Winston looked up and set the book aside when he recognized his old friend. He slowly shifted his body to the ground and held out a hand, rubbing his thumb and fingers together.