The Last Marine : Book Two (A Dystopian War Novel) Read online

  Out of boredom, Kruschinsky lit up a cigarette.

  Enjoy it while you still can. Kruschinsky laughed. He’d promised his wife he would quit smoking now that the war had ended and he was getting out of the Marine Corps. He really didn’t mind. A big part of him looked forward to the new life.

  First Battalion, First Marines was standing on the parade deck of the Marine Corps Recruit Depot, San Diego, for just over an hour, waiting for one last inspection before they stepped off for the downtown parade and presidential ceremony.

  For the Marines, this day had started at 0300. There was a company inspection at 0500 to ensure they were ready for the parade. Then a battalion inspection at 0630 to ensure they were ready for the parade. At 0730 the Marines were trucked down to MCRD for another inspection at 0830, this time by FedAPS, to ensure they were ready for the parade.

  They were scheduled to step off for the parade at 0930. At 1100, President Tang would pay tribute to their service, the Marine Corps’ birthday, and commemorate the new Marine Corps war memorial. When the ceremony was over, the Marines would be trucked back to Camp Pendleton, where they could change into civilian clothes and be dismissed for a four-day weekend, which most of them would spend down in the San Diego area.

  It was now 0900. Their final inspection had yet to take place.

  A FedAPS colonel finally did show up at 0915, without a snowball’s chance in hell of completing an inspection by 0930. He publicly warned the Marine officers that if the Marines were not up to “presidential” standards, they would have to personally answer to him. No one knew what was meant by “presidential standards,” nor was there time to find out. They had orders to step off at 0930 to meet the president of the United States, and that was exactly what they did.

  President Tang relaxed on the sofa wearing his jogging pants (which he never jogged in) and a T-shirt. He sipped his coffee and watched the live media coverage of First Battalion, First Marines march down the Pacific Highway for a presidential speech and ceremony he knew would never take place. The women he had spent the night with were finally dressed and being escorted from the presidential suite. Secret Service and his aides were getting ready to “evacuate” from the dangerous situation that was to erupt this morning. Tang enjoyed being able to sit and drink coffee while others scurried about for his benefit. It was just one more thing to love about the presidency.

  I’m the most powerful man in the “free world.” Tang smiled and shook his head at his own cynicism.

  He hadn’t slept for thirty-six hours. The night before had been taken up with booze, cocaine, and, thanks to Mo Tariq, one of President Tang’s female aides. Far from feeling tired, (again thanks to Mo Tariq’s supply of Adderall), Story Limen felt razor sharp.

  There’d been so much to celebrate. Tariq promised November 10 would be the biggest day of his career if he cooperated with Tang’s agenda.

  Tariq informed him of the administration’s interest in starting a federal media agency. Of course, it would not be under the direct supervision of the presidency. Rather, it would be an independent bureau within the Federal Agency of Public Safety.

  “Our intention is to assure the American people they’re receiving news unfettered by profit motive and ratings,” Tariq explained. “And, of course, you’re on the short list of media stars to become the new face of ‘FedAPS News.’”

  Why not help the American people in the name of social justice? Limen thought. It’s an opportunity to create history, not just report it. A chance to be the top journalist in the world. Forget the money, it’s a chance to become immortal!

  “If you come through for us, for the people,” Tariq had promised, “the gig is as good as yours.”

  As a show of good faith, the Tang administration allowed him exclusive access to D’Shon Cuppell and Johnny Sanchez for the entirety of the Peace March. This was a big deal. Due to the march’s close proximity to the presidential ceremony honoring the Marines, FedAPS was limiting media access for the purpose of presidential security. No media drones were allowed, and only select journalists could attend.

  “We want the people to lose their fear of Black First and to understand that those at the Peace March are just as patriotic and love this country just as much as they do,” Tariq stated with a wry grin. “Even if they express it differently than most Americans.”

  “Mo, after the people see my coverage of D’Shon Cuppell, they’ll want him as the next President of the United States,” Limen promised. Both men laughed.

  “That’s fantastic.” Tariq slapped Limen on the back. “I told President Tang myself you were the perfect journalist for this job. Now, let’s seal this deal with a party.”

  So far, Hannah Tse found the morning a big disappointment. She tried to keep an open mind; after all, she had had very high hopes for the day. Now Hannah realized she might have been too romantic, perhaps unrealistic, in her anticipation. However, to be involved as an intern with what everyone at the network was describing as a historical day, she’d found it impossible not to get caught up in the hype.

  Her job, on this “historic” occasion, was to follow Story Limen and D’Shon Cuppell around Peace Village and on the Peace March. With a handheld camera, she would record their interaction with the people and between themselves. Hannah had tried to get a good night’s rest, but was too excited to sleep. At least she’d gotten an early start and had a hearty breakfast with Jayden Hase, one of Limen’s assistants.

  They arrived at Peace Village before the scheduled 4:30 a.m. time of arrival set by Limen. Story Limen, however, arrived at 5:30 a.m., smelling like booze. Without explanation nor apology, he yelled at them to “look alive” and popped some pills.

  Working with Story Limen was another major disappointment in her internship. Ever since the Marketplace Massacre, he’d gotten big stories and was now media gold. Hannah was an ambitious journalism student. Despite warnings that Story Limen was a substance-abusing jerk, if not an outright addict, Hannah volunteered to be on his team. She was determined to make it work.

  Now in San Diego, following Limen and Cuppell with a video camera, she was wondering if she had made the right choice. Both men were trying too hard to look profound and comfortable as they worked their way through the crowd at Peace Village, preparing for the march.

  Like bad actors reciting memorized lines, Hannah thought. Both men look shallow and superficial. Perhaps editing can make them look better.

  “Watch your step!” Jayden warned Hannah in time to save her from stepping in a pile of human waste.

  “Ugh! That’s disgusting!” Hannah blurted. “Thank you, Jayden! You’re my buddy!” It’s a shame what these people have done to the park. It’s trashed!

  “This place is a minefield,” Jayden warned.

  Garbage was strewn everywhere between the tents. The park was littered with beer cans, liquor bottles, cigarette butts, and used condoms.

  These people are living in their own filth, she wanted to shout, but was afraid of offending the protesters.

  The protesters, it turned out, were another disappointment for Hannah. There had been a lot of talk at the network of a big WAR presence at the march. Hannah had been thrilled by the notion. She wanted to meet some of these prophetic activists who, early on, had predicted the inevitable woe that awaited the United States if it fought the People’s Republic of China.

  During her high school years, Hannah had been repulsed by WAR and other protesters against the Sino-American War. In the late 1940s some of her ancestors had escaped the communists and come to the United States. Decades later, the American Tses were very anti-communist and pro-Republic of China.

  When the war started, her older brother joined Clark’s Marine Corps. He told the family he was part of a select unit. However, for security reasons, he couldn’t communicate home much about what he was doing. Five years later, when Hannah was a freshman at Arizona State University, the Marine Corps notified her parents of their son’s death. The US government sent a letter
stating its regret they couldn’t send his body home to be buried. Some weeks later, her parents received a letter of appreciation and some kind of medal he’d been awarded. Hannah felt hurt over the loss of her brother. That hurt evolved into anger.

  At Arizona State, her professors taught that the Marines didn’t allow Asians to serve with other Marines. Clark claimed it would be too confusing on a battlefield. Instead, Asian-Americans in the military faced bigotry and persecution at the hands of their fellow countrymen. Her anger evolved to a sense of betrayal.

  There were reports of Asian-Americans involved in “top secret” missions overseas in the war. However, student protesters, professors, and even the news media said these special operations involving Asian-Americans were just Clark’s propaganda. Hannah started going to anti-war rallies on campus. She found the WAR organizers to be sophisticated and appealing. They tapped into her sense of anger and seemed to direct it towards a moral purpose. Eventually, Hannah fell in love with a campus WAR organizer named Ivan, and embraced the anti-war movement. Without a conscious decision, she’d become a progressive. Now out of school, and her romance with Ivan ended, Hannah still idealized the progressive cause. In addition to her ideology, she figured WAR would make a story with national potential even bigger. While the irony of her thinking was lost on her, she dreamed of the potential the day held for the movement.

  WAR protesters were infamous for their black clothes and red bandanas. Yet what she saw of the crowd was a lot of pink, green, and yellow. Many carried the red flag of the People’s Republic of China in addition to rainbow flags and some upside-down American flags. Most had signs that read Ragnarsson is a War Criminal, Marines = Toxic Masculinity, and Stop Genocide of the People Now. Others had pictures of the late President Clark with an Adolf Hitler mustache. Some had the Marine Corps Eagle, Globe, and Anchor in a red circle with a diagonal line running through it. She also saw a picture of a young Marine she remembered seeing on the news a few years ago. Although she could not remember his name, she did remember the controversy of him killing a little girl.

  At ASU, she’d found the movement passionate, the men masculine and intellectual. But here, she found few who seemed intellectual, and fewer who seemed masculine. Most of the people appeared to be intoxicated or extremely hungover. A few seemed flat-out crazy. However, none fit her romantic image of the militant revolutionary.

  To add to her disappointment and frustration, Hannah was consistently being groped as she tried to work. The first time she thought it might have been a mistake. Then, after a few more occasions, she wondered if it was her imagination. She asked Jayden if he had noticed anything. He acted defensive, and he said he hadn’t. She asked him to keep an eye out for her. He said he would, but he was no help. The groping only became more blatant and more aggressive. Jayden only managed to claim he had not noticed anything.

  She began to be concerned for her own safety. She wondered if she was being silly, paranoid perhaps. Hannah wanted to be professional. She decided to approach Limen and Cuppell about it after they finished their latest pontification in front of the camera.

  She was relieved to see the crowd was moving. She knew the Marines were planning to step off at 9:30 a.m., and the Peace March wanted to start at the same time so as to parallel the Marine march.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Limen.” Hannah had tried to wait for a break in the conversation between Limen and Cuppell, but the two never seemed to stop talking long enough. “Can I talk to you in private, please?”

  “Now?” Limen, visibly irritated, asked. Cuppell stood there giving Hannah a hard stare. “Well, what is it?”

  Hannah realized Limen wouldn’t care. His attitude said her concerns weren’t important to him. She feared he might actually get mad enough to terminate, or at least damage, her internship.

  Could he really be that shallow and vindictive? Hannah studied the angry expressions of the two men she was assigned to record for posterity. Yes. Yes, he could. Quickly, she thought of an excuse.

  “Sir, I was thinking, as everyone is falling in for the demonstration, if we could work out a shot of the two of you shaking hands, or even embracing. You know, to show solidarity and brotherhood, that sort of thing.” Hannah hated the way insecurity had caused her voice to trail off at the end.

  “Hannah, yes! That’s fucking brilliant!” Limen exclaimed, to her relief.

  Harris looked at his watch. The news anchor said the parade would take about an hour to get to the site of the presidential ceremony commemorating the Marine Corps monument.

  “This parade has got to be a whole lot more enjoyable to watch on TV than to see in person.” McCurry spoke, reentering the TV lounge with drinks. “Here’s your soda.”

  “Thanks,” Harris replied absentmindedly.

  “Seriously, though,” McCurry continued, “I can’t believe so many people came out to show their appreciation. Especially after all the bad press we’ve been getting. I bet security has to be a pain in the ass down there.” With no response from Harris, he gave up on the conversation.

  Seeing MCRD on TV, Harris’s mind drifted back to the day he and Billy Hastings graduated boot camp, and they’d managed to get Coke and bourbons at the airport. Harris glanced down at the tattoo on his forearm. Men, women, and children waved American flags and cheered as First Battalion marched through downtown. The news anchorman talked of this bringing closure, an end to the war. Everyone looked happy on TV; Harris didn’t feel happy. He missed his father. He missed Hastings. He missed others lost in the war. He ached over the missed opportunity for victory for which they died.

  Cuppell could not have been happier.

  This reporter can’t kiss my ass hard enough. It’s got to be driving Sanchez crazy! Cuppell relished the media attention Forge had delivered him.

  “No justice! No peace!” Cuppell shouted and pumped his fist in front of the camera held by Hannah Tse.

  Cuppell’s eyes shifted from left to right. As the Peace March progressed south, there was noticeably less police presence. Eventually, there was none. Forge had really come through for him.

  Of course he would, Cuppell thought. I am the one destined to lead this movement. I am chosen, no one else. Nothing will make me fail. This is my time.

  A figure dressed in all black, face covered with a red bandana, dashed out in front of the protesters and popped a red smoke grenade. Just as Forge said would happen. Cuppell’s adrenaline surged.

  “Now is the time! Now is the place!” Cuppell screamed as he abruptly turned west, leading the Peace March into San Diego’s business district. He looked forward to the violence and destruction awaiting the people of San Diego and the United States Marine Corps.

  Tse was confused, but excited, to see the procession turn west.

  This story’s going to get bigger! Hannah grinned. FedAPS will stop them! We’ll have a confrontation with law enforcement!

  Tse looked up from her camera screen for a better peripheral perspective. However, red smoke obscured her perception. Shocked to see no FedAPS nor SDPD in sight, she turned around and was further surprised to see the crowd had grown to a sea of black. Many now wore red bandanas around their faces, or some other sort of mask to conceal their identity.

  She jumped when a string of firecrackers went off close to her. Many of the protesters whooped and hollered, excited by her fear. Drums, whistles, and horns joined in the cacophony. Hannah panned her camera around to record the chaos of the protesters.

  Cuppell and Limen turned around to talk to the camera, only to see the young camerawoman filming in the opposite direction.

  “Hannah! What the fuck! We’re over here,” Limen chastised. “Attagirl. Glad you could join us,” he mockingly praised. “D’Shon”–Limen instantly switched to an empathetic and concerned demeanor with the camera on him–“are you surprised by the intensity of the crowd’s passion?”

  “Not at all! The police are always trying to intimidate us. To scare us out of practicing our rights. BUT WE WILL N
OT BE INTIMIDATED!” Cuppell screamed to nearby protesters.

  “FUCK THE POLICE!” someone jumped in front of Hannah’s camera and screamed. “FUCK THE POLICE!” Others joined in the chant. Cuppell pumped his fist in the air. Sanchez joined in the chanting.

  “Have the police intimidated you before?” Limen leaned in close with his microphone to get Cuppell’s response.

  “Southern California, just like the rest of the United States, has a tradition of fascist, racist tactics against the people. But we will not be intimidated! The people will be heard! FUCK THE POLICE!” Cuppell joined in the chant and proceeded west.

  Hannah panned the camera around again. She saw considerably more black-clad radicals in the crowd. Many waved the black WAR flags and red flags of the PRC. To her amazement the crowd became louder.

  It sounds like hell, Hannah thought.

  For all the speculation of police intimidation, she saw no SDPD nor any FedAPS, which were supposed to have secured the area. She did see two men and one woman, all in black with red bandanas, run to a nearby bank building. The taller of the men and the woman struck the front window with their flagpoles, shattering it. The shorter man threw in four lit flares. Soon the lobby was engulfed in flames. Smoke curled out the front, toward the cheering protesters.

  “Jayden, are you getting this?” Hannah yelled to Jayden.

  “The burning coffee shop?”

  “No, the bank.” Hannah’s mind wrestled with the fact that two buildings had been set on fire, and President Tang was supposed to be giving a speech nearby.

  There will be no speech today, she realized. It’s too dangerous for the president. Still, what a story! Excitement overrode her prudence.

  “Hannah! Turn your stupid ass around and film us!” Limen yelled at the intern. “That is YOUR job. Let Hase do his. One more fucking time, and you’re done!”