Weekend Liberty

It has been a month since he has seen his girlfriend and the idea of a six-hour drive, seemed like a walk in the park for him. As the clock ticks in his shop above his head, he eagerly waits for it to strike 4:30. The last hour of his shift at Combat Camera, he thinks of what he and Veronica are going to do this weekend. Hiking, and driving through Northern Arizona, cross his mind, but he is more than eager to kiss her and hold her tonight.

“Alright MC3, enjoy your liberty this weekend!” His chief says.

“Will do Chief! I am going to take my camera gear with me to shoot scenic shit this weekend.” He responds.

“Alright MC3 White, make sure your gear is accounted for. Enjoy!”

His Jeep Wrangler is packed with a small bag of clothes, and his rifles to go shooting and his camera gear. White tosses two cans of Monsters and a bag of sunflower seeds in the passenger seat and connects Pandora to his radio to listen to some Disturbed before he departs San Diego.

There is something about the open road that liberates his mind and soul, from the stress and chaos of work. To the rest of the Navy, he is perceived to have the easiest job of just taking photos, video and writing stories. His job in combat camera is to train for combat and be there to document events. He wants a break from the routine work and to spend as much time as possible with Veronica before he is deployed to the Middle East next month.

“Hey babe, you just called as I was heading out. See you in six hours!” he says as Veronica calls him.

“I’ll have a nice dinner or midnight snack ready for you John, drive safe babe.” She says. He is so used to being called White that the simple use of his first name is even liberating to him.

Veronica and John met at a Halloween party at his sister’s college in Tempe, Arizona a year ago. She has a couple of years to go to finish her pre-med at Arizona State, then off to Med School. She is a little taller than John at 5’ 10” with a slender body, brown hair and black slim glasses.

“The U.S. Navy believes that the missing North Korean submarine has sunk…” the radio says as John changes the station to some jazz music. He finds it relaxing, switching back and forth between heavy metal and jazz, for these long drives alone with his thoughts. “North Korea also claims that it has a hydrogen bomb ready for use…Luck be my lady tonight.”

A few hours into the drive, out in the middle of the Sonoran Desert, he starts to slow down as the signs guide him to a border patrol checkpoint. He rolls down his window and makes eye contact with the officer. He slowly waits for an indication from the officer to proceed. Usually there is no hesitation because he fits a common military profile, with his high and tight haircut and demeanor.

“Are you a U.S. citizen sir?” the officer asks.

“Yes sir.” John responds.

“Drive safe!” The officer says as he gestures the jeep forward his hand.

John smiles and then rushes to regain his speed. The cool breeze blowing through his hair trying to grab the hair out of their follicles gives him the sensation of freedom. During these drives, it is the sense of freedom that the open road provides him, along with motivating music that keeps him ticking. But sometimes he gets carried away with the sights of the mountains and mixture of colors in the skies before sunset, that he tends to speed.

In such a rush, he lost his focus from the speedometer. Now he sees red and blue flashing lights behind him.

“Dammit!” He says as he begins to pull over to the side of the freeway.

He keeps calm and puts his hands on the steering wheel. The reason being, he has a back seat full of rifles and ammunition in the trunk. He doesn’t want to alarm the officer.

“Do you know why I am pulling you over sir?” The officer says.

“Speeding, and officer, I would also like to let you know I have a few rifles and a pistol in the car.” John says.

“Thank you, where are you going and where did you get them from?”

“Well sir, I am a resident of Arizona, I bought most of them there a couple years ago before I joined the Navy. The pistol and SKS I bought back in California.”

The officer inspects the back seat and as John opens the trunk, the officer opens the case and inspects the pistol.

“Okay, well just wait here for one second.” The officer says.

While waiting for the officer, John’s hands are still on the steering wheel as he observes the officer in his rear view mirror. He is just passed Yuma and kind of glad it is an Arizona highway patrolman pulling him over. The sun is also setting behind the officer and the nearby mountains, slightly blinding his view of the police car.

John observes that the sun seems to be growing brighter each passing second. Within a matter of his brain receiving that signal from his eyes, he now sees a large expanding mushroom cloud conquering the horizon from the west.

“Holy shit!” John says as he jumps out of his car to get a better view. The officer, seeing John, jumps out of his car with his pistol drawn.

“LOOK!” John yells.

The officer drops his pistol in the desert sand as he turns his head to the amazingly tragic sight.

The two didn’t stand there for very long. Drivers, either distracted by the flashing lights, and now by the mushroom cloud, began to crash into each other. That itself, was an experience now less worthy of their attention due to the circumstances everyone found themselves in.

John and the officer rushed to help those in the small pileup. He grabs his medical kit from his jeep and begins to perform basic aid. The officer and him are working side by side.

“What is your name officer?” John asks.

“I am Jordan Clay, how about you?” The officer asks.

“I go by John. Any word from your radio what that was Jordan?” He asks.

Jordan checks his radio to only receive static.

“Well if that was a nuke, an EMP blast would knock out all of our electronics and even our vehicles.” John says. “Man, from the looks of it, San Diego just got destroyed!” His eyes begin to water as he thinks about all his friends still over there.

“I don’t even know where to go now, I have to report somewhere… they probably think I am dead!” John says.

“Who are they?” The officer asks.

“I don’t know who launched the nuke, probably North Korea’s missing submarine. Those who think I am dead, are most likely dead themselves!” John says as tears begin to take over his face. Officer Clay grabs hold him.

“Get it together man! You have no choice now, keep your composure!” he yells at John. “I am a former Marine, a raider to be exact.”

John wipes his tears and readjusts himself. He walks to his jeep and grabs his gear and rifle. He checks his Nikon camera and luckily his camera wasn’t damaged by the EMP waves.

“Well marine, what shall we do?” he asks.

A smile erupts on Officer Clay’s face “Well looks like we are walking what ever we do.” He laughs.

“There is an air station around here right?” John asks.

“Yes it is, about six mikes east.” Officer Clay says as he walks toward his patrol car to grab his gear and shotgun.

“Well I am sure you have police business to attend to, but I am heading to that marine air station!” John says. “I want to get back home Veronica, ASAP.”

“It looks like no one is seriously hurt here and shit has seriously hit the fan. John, I am coming with you.”

The officer and John walk away from the tragic sunset, with their weapons slung around their back and John’s camera around his neck. About 30 minutes into the march, they are forced to drop to the ground on the side of the interstate as a plane buzzes by overhead.

“Looks like a drone!” John yells.

“And not one of ours either!” Officer Clay responds.

“It came from the south, probably from Mexico!”

“Look! It’s coming around again!” Clay says as he points at it.

John, in the prone position, aims his rifle at the incoming drone. He fires a burst of three rounds.

“You got it!” Clay yells out of pure excitement.

They both run towards the falling bird, and John grabs his Nikon to take a few pictures as it falls into the soft sand of the Arizona desert. The drone has is definitely different than anything either of them have seen before. They scan for any indentifying markings, to find Chinese markings and a communist Chinese flag on the under belly of the bird. They pick up together with the desire to bring it to the marine base. It is now very dark out, and the two men talk about the service as they struggle to carry the drone, when suddenly flashlights blind their faces. They do not who is pointing them at them, but they speak English.

“Freeze!”

The two men listen as they drop the drone.

“Identify yourselves!” yells the light bearers.

“I am MC3 John White, U.S. Navy assigned to COMCAM!”

“I am officer Jordan Clay, Arizona Department of Public Safety!”

The light bearers lower their flashlights and the two frozen men get a chance to see who they are. They are marines, on a patrol of the perimeter.

“What brings you here?” a marine asks.

“We shot down this drone earlier, and thought it would be of interest to national security.” John responds. “I am also reporting for duty, since my command probably no longer exists!”

“Follow us!” the marine orders.

The two men follow the platoon of marines to the base camp. Once they arrive, they are greeted by a gunnery sergeant. He is more than six feet tall, and looks like what you would expect out of a marine with his “high and tight” haircut with white hair and an intimidating chin. His voice is piercing and demands respect.

“Gentlemen, you ever watch the Alamo?” Gunny asks.

“Yes Gunny!” Both men respond together. Officer Clay seems to snap right back into walking and talking like a marine.

“Well, I got some news for you! This is it! South of the border, there is an entire division of Communist Coalition forces, composed of Chinese, Korean, and Venezuelan forces. We are the only ones here to defend the south west region from invasion.”

He grabs a vest and marine patterned desert uniform.

“I expect that the both of you are here to fight?” Gunny asks as he hands the vest and uniform to John.

“Yes Gunny!” again, they both respond.

“Great, Officer Clay, here is a set for you as well. The both of you report to the armory and arm the fuck up!”

“Yes Gunny, right away!” the two men rush to the armory.

“Gentlemen…Its over there!” Gunny points them to the right direction.

Jordan and John arrive at the armory and load up with M4 carbine mags and 9mm mags. Both get issued a pistol and a M4 Carbine.

“Corporal, can I get a bungee cord for my camera?” John asks and the corporal hands it over.

The two men haven’t eaten in hours and smile when the corporal hands them an MRE [Meal Ready to Eat]. Once they get to their new assigned platoon, they sit down to chow down.

“Man, who would have thought…we’d be fighting an invasion off today?” John asks. “I mean, 10 hours ago I was off to see Veronica, and now I am here in Yuma, sitting in a fox hole freshly dug by marines.”

“Who is Veronica?” Jordan asks.

“Oh my girlfriend in Tempe, Arizona. She is a pre-med student at Arizona State. Do you have a wife or girlfriend?”

“No, I’ve been single for the past few months. Some girls don’t understand my past. I don’t want to blame it on the service or say I have PTSD, but four tours to Iraq and Afghanistan will fuck you up.”

“Ah gotcha…yeah, I haven’t been to Iraq yet, was going in a few months. I’ve been doing a lot of training in preparation for it, I guess I am green as fuck when it comes to combat.”

As soon as he completes that sentence, explosions start erupting all around them. John and Jordan, jump into their foxhole, rifles pointed toward the southern border. Bullets start hitting the dirt behind them. The bombs are decimating foxholes on their left and right and the screams for medics are competing with the airwaves of the explosions. John turns around, grabs his Nikon and snaps a few pictures of the chaos. In his viewfinder, he sees men charging. They’re not marines. He quickly grabs his M4, and opens fire on the charging enemy. Jordan keeps his aim toward the southern border as the enemy charge from the south as well. The lines of foxholes that still exist have marines shooting north and south. They are truly surrounded and shooting blindly into the night. As John reloads, he tells Jordan to cover him and as Jordan reloads, John covers him, until eventually they both run out of ammo. Jordan grabs his pistol, John grabs his Saiga .308 and launch their last rounds toward the enemy, but they just won’t stop. The dead pile up on both sides, making it harder to see the approaching enemy soldiers. Then they notice men crawling through the dead. Jordan tosses his pistol and grabs his combat knife. John grabs his pistol and starts shooting at the crawling communists. It has reached the point, where you can’t tell the living from the dead, and John runs out of ammo quick. Now they both are left with their combat knives and the foxholes around them become silent, but not the enemy. They keep advancing forward.

“Well John, I guess this is it, I am glad to have fought with…” Jordan falls to the ground next to him after receiving a fatal shot to the neck.

“Fuck!” John yells at the top of his lungs, trying to stop Jordan from bleeding out, but its too late.

He crouches down in his foxhole and grabs a picture of his girlfriend from his wallet. His eyes begin to swell with tears as he holds the picture tight. It hits him hard; he is going to die no matter what. He takes his Nikon, sets it on video mode and presses record.

“Hey Veronica, I love you!” He says as explosions and bullets erupt around him.

He places the camera above the foxhole and on its edge. Just as he gets up to charge he kisses Veronica for one last time. He wasn’t alone; the other marines that survived were synchronized in their last stand.

“Zhè shì shénme, níkāng xiàngjī? (What is it, a Nikon camera?)” A Chinese officer asks his subordinate, as he grabs it to see the photos and the video. “Tāmen shì rúcǐ yǒnggǎn. Zhèyàng de hǎo bīng làngfèi! (They are so brave. Such a waste of a good soldier!)”