William Weber - Turning the Tide

His aide, Colonel Guo Fenghui, knocked briefly before entering. “Sir, the convoy leaves in ten minutes.”

General Liang chopped at the smoke with his hand. “Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

Guo stiffened at his superior’s reproach. “If you stay behind you’ll be captured.”

“And if I return?” Liang countered. “What will happen to me then?”

Both men knew perfectly well what would happen. The Communist Party politburo would blame the failure on him, make him a convenient scapegoat and televise his public execution. No, this was not the thanks he’d expected for a lifetime of loyal service. They’d been double-crossed and hampered by a grassroots American resistance movement that required far more military assets than they could spare. They’d invaded an incredibly large country and, like Hitler’s invasion of Russia during the Second World War, China’s victory had depended on a lightning advance. One she’d failed to deliver.

“No, I will wait here and accept my fate without flinching.”

Colonel Guo’s eyes flitted back and forth, as though he were searching for some way to convince the general to flee.

“Finish destroying those sensitive files and then I want you to leave,” General Liang told him. “And that’s an order.”

Guo’s eyes were red, his skin splotchy. “It was a pleasure to serve with you, sir.”

Liang stood. “Likewise.”

Guo saluted and then turned to leave.

“Colonel,” Liang called after him. “Do not forget what became of Japan after she awoke the sleeping giant. One day soon the Americans will land on our shores. Promise me you’ll be there to stop them when they do.”

Colonel Guo promised he would and left.

When he was gone, General Liang finished his cigar, removed his Type 77 service pistol and put a bullet through his temple.

Knoxville, fourteen days before EMP

John pulled up to James Wright’s house and killed the engine. Exiting the vehicle, he tugged at the brim of his 278th ACR ball cap, stifling the urge to curse. Wright’s front yard had become unrecognizable. The grass was knee high and in some places even higher. Weeds had pushed up through cracks in the driveway. There was no longer any mystery deciphering where Wright’s property ended and his neighbor’s began.

John wondered how many visits from the city he’d already received. No doubt Wright would not be a popular man in this neighborhood as long as his neglect continued to devalue the homes around him.

As his own life had slowly come back under control, John had come by several times in the previous weeks and James had never come to the door. Back then it was his wife Susan who had answered, usually with their youngest son Bradley cradled under her left arm. Even then the yard had begun showing signs of inattention and John had offered to mow the lawn, but Britany would have none of it. It was James’ responsibility. If someone took that away from him, what reason would he have for getting out of bed in the morning?

As it was, James still hadn’t managed to find a job. And that was part of the reason John was here now. His contracting business had started to pick up steam and it was time he began looking for some qualified subcontractors. Some of the properties John was working on needed painters and he knew James had done this kind of work before enlisting.

The mailbox by the front door overflowed with letters and bills. Those that didn’t fit were piled in a small heap on the ground. John was beginning to wonder if the family had moved without telling him. Peering in through the living room window, he noticed that a light was on. He knocked nearly half a dozen times before James finally answered the door.

His army buddy didn’t look well at all. He was wearing dirty briefs and a robe, stained with what John thought was peanut butter. Wright’s long and tangled hair along with his heavy beard made him look more like a squatter than the owner.

“I was going to ask how you were doing,” John began. “But I don’t think I need to anymore.”

Wright glanced over his shoulder, squinting at the light. His flesh was pale, nearly translucent, like a man who hadn’t seen the sun in ages.

“I was just in the middle of some stuff,” Wright said.

John nodded, not feeling the need to call out his friend’s lie. “What about Britany and the kids? They around?”

A long pause as Wright brought the two ends of the bath robe together. “Gone.”

“For good?”

Wright nodded, his eyes glazing over.

“You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping well,” John said, reaching down to collect the mail on the ground.

“Can you blame me?”

He handed the letters to Wright, who set them on an even bigger pile next to the door. “I’m not here to blame you, James. I’m here because I’m your friend. You haven’t been returning my phone calls. I’ve come by a bunch and each time all I see is your grass getting taller.”

Wright looked past John at the miniature jungle growing on his front lawn. “Yeah, the phone got cut off.” His eyes found John again. “What’s your secret, John? You’re always cool and under control. Never show a single crack.”

“You couldn’t be further from the truth there, James. I hit the bottom just like you. Hit it so hard I practically bounced and nearly lost everything I held dear. I dare say you might have gone one step further. But you know what made all the difference in the world?”

“What, John?” Wright said, his right hand coming out from behind the door, revealing a beer he’d been concealing. “The fact that you’re so perfect that you never make a mistake?”

“Wrong there again. You’re two for two, James. I fail more than I succeed. Not sure if you know that. Every victory is a battlefield littered with defeats. But the truth is, no one’s counting. No one who matters anyway, ’cause it isn’t how many times you lose, but whether you can pick yourself up off the ground.”

“Is that why you came by, John, to gloat and shower me with your pearls of wisdom?”

John paused. “The truth is I came by because we’re friends and friends help one another.”

Wright was shaking his head.

“I also came by to offer you a job, James. And by the looks of things, you could really use one. But I didn’t get back on my feet all alone. Not even Diane could help me with that. Judging by your current living conditions, we might be suffering from the same thing.”

“Really? And what’s that?”

“PTSD, James. Didn’t even realize I had a problem myself until I was too drunk to walk through my own front door. When your elderly neighbor and your wife have got you propped up, you know something isn’t right. But it was the thought of losing my kids, imagining the crushed looks on their faces when Diane packed them up and left for good, that’s what pushed me to start seeing a counsellor.”

“Oh, I don’t believe this,” Wright began. “You come here feeding me this Sigmund Freud routine about how you started talking about your feelings. You’re a coward, John. We’re soldiers. That’s what we were trained to do. Kill people. You go through a thousand military manuals and you’ll probably never find the word kill, did you know that? The military’s come up with a million ways to avoid saying the word, but when you boil it down, that’s what we do. We’re trained to take another man’s life. Snuff it out without giving it a second thought. And if you’re too weak to take that like a man, then you can step off my property and never come back.”

John’s chest was tight as Wright’s hands clenched into fists, his face turning purple. He took a deep breath and spun on his heel to leave. Wright was still watching him, his chest heaving as John began to walk away. A second later John stopped and turned around. “A real man faces his demons head on,” John said in a low voice. “The coward in me wanted to run and hide. Hide in a bottle of booze, hide by pushing everyone close to me away. Admitting I needed help and facing those dark memories was the toughest battle I’ve ever fought and I came a hair’s breadth from losing.”