Lets Read: World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War

Home Front USA
Home Front USA

Article:
TAOS, NEW MEXICO

[Arthur Sinclair, Junior, is the picture of an old-world patrician: tall, lean, with close-cropped white hair and an affected Harvard accent. He speaks into the ether, rarely making eye contact or pausing for questions. During the war, Mister Sinclair was director of the U.S. government's newly formed DeStRes, or Department of Strategic Resources.]


Ah joy, another powerful, sophisticated hero of the American public, another Junta weirdo. DeStRes is one of their funnier incredibly powerful bureaucracies, I will grant. The hatchet men of all the nasty little infighting the American military immediately engaged in once they realised how absolutely badly they'd ratfucked themselves.

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I don't know who first thought of the acronym "DeStRes" or if they consciously knew how much it sounded like "distress," but it certainly could not have been more appropriate. Establishing a defensive line at the Rocky Mountains might have created a theoretical "safe zone," but in reality that zone consisted mainly of rubble and refugees.


The initial Rockies Reclamation was probably the last Sound And Thunder war the Americans are likely to have. Quick and dirty air strikes on the LA swarms blew half the city to pieces, but broke the back of the ghouls behind the mountains.

The most they had to deal with from a refugee perspective was internal, though - they brought a lot less people out west than you'd expect them to have, if they were actually in the business of trying to save as much as they could.

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There was starvation, disease, homelessness in the millions. Industry was in shambles, transportation and trade had evaporated, and all of this was compounded by the living dead both assaulting the Rocky Line and festering within our safe zone.


Much as I consider them all contemptible - you'll rarely find a unit of border guards for a Redeker Zone that doesn't have numerous allegations of extortion and criminal brutality against refugees - the American troops on the Rocky Line had one hell of a first year, guarding passes which were either just funnels for the undead in the summer or waist deep snowdrifts in the winter. Someone can be a monster and still have fought bravely.

I shan't shed tears over their deaths, though.

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We had to get our people on their feet again—clothed, fed, housed, and back to work—otherwise this supposed safe zone was only forestalling the inevitable. That was why the DeStRes was created, and, as you can imagine, I had to do a lot of on-the-job training.


The Americans realised pretty quick that their food came from the Midwest and their war materiel came from either out east or across the sea, and nevermind their clothes - Bangladesh wasn't going to be exporting anything anytime soon.

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Those first months, I can't tell you how much information I had to cram into this withered old cortex; the briefings, the inspection tours . . . when I did sleep, it was with a book under my pillow, each night a new one, from Henry J. Kaiser to Vo Nguyen Giap.


See, the problem the Americans had - the problem that was going to mean the ghouls ate them alive, Yonkers or no Yonkers - was that their military procurement was smeared all over the place.

Huge swathes of the tail of their military got devoured before they fired a shot at Yonkers, and it got worse afterwards. By the time they were behind the Rockies, they knew they were on borrowed time.

Neither Kaiser nor Giap are going to save you here.

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If my father had been alive, he probably would have laughed at my frustration. He'd been a staunch New Dealer, working closely with FDR as comptroller of New York State. He used methods that were almost Marxist in nature, the kind of collectivization that would make Ayn Rand leap from her grave and join the ranks of the living dead.


Americans are so funny about the New Deal - it wasn't marxist, babes. Also, they weren't meaningfully able to copy it - they couldn't engage in widespread public infrastructure works, they weren't especially good at reining in corporations, nor did they try especially hard. What America did instead was mostly just retooling a lot of their population into military or military-supporting industries, which was able to keep them ticking over during the reconquest.

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Tools and talent?

A term my son had heard once in a movie. I found it described our reconstruction efforts rather well. "Talent" describes the potential workforce, its level of skilled labor, and how that labor could be utilized effectively. To be perfectly candid, our supply of talent was at a critical low. Ours was a postindustrial or service-based economy, so complex and highly specialized that each individual could only function within the confines of its narrow, compartmentalized structure.


America absolutely still had a proletariat who could - with a surprisingly short lead-in time - successfully retool America into a somewhat functional state with a surprisingly limited reduction in quality of life or technological level.

They left most of it behind.

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You should have seen some of the "careers" listed on our first employment census; everyone was some version of an "executive," a "representative," an "analyst," or a "consultant," all perfectly suited to the prewar world, but all totally inadequate for the present crisis. We needed carpenters, masons, machinists, gunsmiths.


The dumb motherfuckers. They followed the Redeker plan to the letter, and one of the things that consequently slipped through the net was to prioritise evacuation according to income - this makes a sort of sense. Middle to high income citizens are the least likely to cause trouble for a fragile government.

Of course, Redeker didn't write his plan on the assumption anyone would attempt to break out into the rest of America after leaving it to die, so he didn't consider the need to rearm to this extent.

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The first labor survey stated clearly that over 65 percent of the present civilian workforce were classified F-6, possessing no valued vocation. We required a massive job retraining program. In short, we needed to get a lot of white collars dirty.


So they had to do this, lol. The Junta realised pretty fast that they'd gotten themselves into a pickle - Redeker's plan always hinged on the idea that you just held your redoubt. As Orange Eighty-Four this was "until we can convince another country to save us" and in the apocalypse, it was simply indefinite - but they couldn't do this, they were only able to hold power through the nationalistic lie they sold the people - that this was all necessary for the reconquest.

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You would have entire suburban neighborhoods of upper-middle-class professionals, none of whom had possessed even the basic know-how to replace a cracked window. Those with that knowledge lived in their own blue-collar "ghettos," an hour away in prewar auto traffic, which translated to at least a full day on foot. Make no mistake, bipedal locomotion was how most people traveled in the beginning.


It remains wild to me that even now, American trains are, like… terrible? This is the obvious solution to not having enough cars or fuel for cars, which remains a problem even now, but they just… barely build any trains. They've got a handful of passenger trains, more than they used to? But like… Christ.

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Solving this problem—no, challenge, there are no problems—was the refugee camps. There were hundreds of them, some parking-lot small, some spreading for miles, scattered across the mountains and coast, all requiring government assistance, all acute drains on rapidly diminishing resources. At the top of my list, before I tackled any other challenge, these camps had to be emptied.


This is part of why I never understood the claim that the Americans always meant to retreat behind the Rockies - they'd been planning these huge processing sites along the Mississippi which they then just… abandoned, and meanwhile behind the Rockies, they just have the 10 million refugees who made it over the mountains in these, like, random shanty-town camps?

It was an extremely ad-hoc attempt to salvage a completely fucked plan.

Article:
Anyone F-6 but physically able became unskilled labor: clearing rubble, harvesting crops, digging graves. A lot of graves needed to be dug. Anyone A-1, those with war-appropriate skills, became part of our CSSP, or Community Self-Sufficiency Program. A mixed group of instructors would be tasked with infusing these sedentary, overeducated, desk-bound, cubicle mice with the knowledge necessary to make it on their own.


The great re-education. Most places had to do this, but the Americans gave themselves deliberately skewed demographics, so they had a steeper hill to climb. The weird prescriptivist gender norms they outside of the military itself didn't help, either.

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It was an instant success. Within three months you saw a marked drop in requests for government aid. I can't stress how vital this was to victory. It allowed us to transition from a zero-sum, survival-based economy, into full-blown war production. This was the National Reeducation Act, the organic outgrowth of the CSSP. I'd say it was the largest jobs training program since the Second World War, and easily the most radical in our history.


Reshaping your entire economy into a furnace for the eternal military machine is not archetypical of, like, the New Deal, or even the Stalinist-era Five-Year-Plans. No, this sort of radical reshaping of your economy is… Not social democratic or leftist, delicately.

Which is part of why it kinda just… fell apart? As the war ended. The New Clique is trying to rebuild a more functional sort of military dictatorship, and they've kept America mostly functional, but they're at the limit of what you can do with this sort of corporatist economic organisation, I think.

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You've mentioned, on occasion, the problems faced by the NRA…

I was getting to that. The president gave me the kind of power I needed to meet any physical or logistical challenge. Unfortunately, what neither he nor anyone on Earth could give me was the power to change the way people thought. As I explained, America was a segregated workforce, and in many cases, that segregation contained a cultural element.


The Junta in these early days wasn't really interested in removing these thought patterns, either. They weren't, like, exceptionally racist, not like the civilians they deposed or the CSA they ended up fighting? But they got a lot of mileage out of penal labour and so on, and you don't need me to tell you that those systems in America are built to be fed by racism.

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A great many of our instructors were first-generation immigrants. These were the people who knew how to take care of themselves, how to survive on very little and work with what they had. These were the people who tended small gardens in their backyards, who repaired their own homes, who kept their appliances running for as long as mechanically possible. It was crucial that these people teach the rest of us to break from our comfortable, disposable consumer lifestyle even though their labor had allowed us to maintain that lifestyle in the first place.


They do still have this weird fetishisation of the low-income immigrant worker? Like, they keep begging for immigrants because there's a deep seated ideological fascination with the idea that they are "harder workers" intrinsically, and can teach that, can improve the weak will of the American worker or whatever.

Not that they were expected to work harder for less because of racist systems and a lack of support, no no, they just are… inherently harder workers?

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Yes, there was racism, but there was also classism. You're a high-powered corporate attorney. You've spent most of your life reviewing contracts, brokering deals, talking on the phone. That's what you're good at, that's what made you rich and what allowed you to hire a plumber to fix your toilet, which allowed you to keep talking on the phone. The more work you do, the more money you make, the more peons you hire to free you up to make more money.


It's funny that the example he uses is a classic of the Professional-Managerial Class - this is because they destroyed this class. Not the bourgeoisie small business tyrants, or the franchise owners of fast food restaurants, or the car dealership owners. Not even the Silicon Valley brain trust. No, they were useful for the industrialisation process, or for understanding how to go about feeding the people, or the important innovations which bring hope to America or whatever.

Blowhard.

Article:
Now they were being trained as custodians for a munitions plant in Bakersfield, California. One woman, a casting director, exploded. How dare they degrade her like this! She had an MFA in Conceptual Theater, she had cast the top three grossing sitcoms in the last five seasons and she made more in a week than her instructor could dream of in several lifetimes! She kept addressing that instructor by her first name. "Magda," she kept saying, "Magda, enough already. Magda, please." At first I thought this woman was just being rude, degrading the instructor by refusing to use her title. I found out later that Mrs. Magda Antonova used to be this woman's cleaning lady.


This is where I get to talk about some of the weird gender politics of the Old Clique - isn't that fun.

The American Junta for the duration of the war allowed women to serve in the military. Frontline, backline, footslogger fighting ghouls, neckbreaker killing dissidents, you name it, they let women do it.

The American Junta also consistently ingrained in the civilian population an undeniable gender segregation; women were trained to be "custodians" in munitions plants, not the actual line workers. Women could train women for support roles like this, but the actual work was the province of men. Women were caregivers and caretakers, men were workers, producers.

And soldiers were soldiers, independent of this. I know someone from America who wrote an essay about the way "soldier" was essentially a third gender under the Junta during the war, a distinct, separate group which could run roughshod over anyone else.

Article:
I met one gentleman on a coastal ferry from Portland to Seattle. He had worked in the licensing department for an advertising agency, specifically in charge of procuring the rights to classic rock songs for television commercials. Now he was a chimney sweep. Given that most homes in Seattle had lost their central heat and the winters were now longer and colder, he was seldom idle.


Remember at the start of the book, when our boy was sniping at Chongqing because they lacked a centralised power grid?

Interesting, isn't it?

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I know it sounds a little too Norman Rockwell, but I hear stories like that all the time. "You see those shoes, I made them," "That sweater, that's my sheep's wool," "Like the corn? My garden." That was the upshot of a more localized system. It gave people the opportunity to see the fruits of their labor, it gave them a sense of individual pride to know they were making a clear, concrete contribution to victory, and it gave me a wonderful feeling that I was part of that. I needed that feeling. It kept me sane for the other part of my job.


The Americans love repeating over and over, with increasing volume, that actually it's so much more fun to live in a country with a life expectancy 20 years below the pre-war average and an economy barely outside of subsistence.

You'd almost believe they were lying about it.

Article:
Ask anyone how the Allies won the Second World War. Those with very little knowledge might answer that it was our numbers or generalship. Those without any knowledge might point to techno-marvels like radar or the atom bomb. [Scowls.]


This is part and parcel of an old American cope. The Allies won the Second World War because the Soviet Union bled herself white training and equipping tens of millions of young men and women to fight, kill and die to defeat the fascist beast. They prefer to focus on the logistical elements further from the front than that.

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Anyone with the most rudimentary understanding of that conflict will give you three real reasons: first, the ability to manufacture more materiel: more bullets, beans, and bandages than the enemy; second, the natural resources available to manufacture that materiel; and third, the logistical means to not only transport those resources to the factories, but also to transport the finished products out to the front lines.


It isn't even intrinsically wrong - this was all necessary! - but it just bugs me. It is an erasure of the human cost of resisting fascism.

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This time we were the Axis. The living dead controlled most of the world's landmass, while American war production depended on what could be harvested within the limits of the western states specifically. Forget raw materials from safe zones overseas; our merchant fleet was crammed to the decks with refugees while fuel shortages had dry-docked most of our navy.


The US Navy remained active throughout the war; ask the survivors along the Gulf of Mexico how they stayed out of the Christian States, lol.

The reason the Americans didn't get raw materials from safe zones overseas was that by and large when they arrived at some poor fucking country trying to resist the rising horde after their American protectors fucked off into the sunset and asked for some rubber or, I don't know, aluminium? They'd tell them to fuck off.

Article:
California's agricultural base could at least erase the problem of starvation, if it could be restructured. The citrus growers didn't go quietly, neither did the ranchers. The beef barons who controlled so much prime potential farmland were the worst.


Ranchland sucks shit for farming on. That's why it is used for ranching instead. The Americans very nearly stumbled into a famine until someone finally got it through their fucking heads that the reason their grain crops kept failing over and over was that the soil wasn't up to it.

They were able to farm on what used to be crop growth for cattle, I guess? But they still needed the meat, they weren't exactly growing a lot of high-protein vegetables.

I remember, once we'd linked up with Cardiff and Swansea, we went north, salvaged the sheep farms across Wales. Fortunately for us, we didn't have morons in charge, so we didn't end up trying to grow fucking barley in a mountain valley or whatever.

Article:
Did you ever hear of Don Hill? Ever see the movie Roy Elliot did on him? It was when the infestation hit the San Joaquin Valley, the dead swarming over his fences, attacking his cattle, tearing them apart like African driver ants. And there he was in the middle of it all, shooting and hollering like Gregory Peck in Duel in the Sun.


I was on herding duty for a solid year and a half before rotating to the Red Guards as part of the land thrust on Merseyside once I turned 18. It wasn't… like this? We didn't have swarms properly behind our lines, we just had the ghouls that wandered past the Anglesey cordon, the ones that stumbled out of isolated villages, or across from places like Wolverhampton - this was before we'd broken the Brummies out of their siege, remember.

We'd build these little watchtowers (you can still see them, if you're in the Welsh Valleys) and you'd be up there in teams of four, with eight hour shifts - one on duty, two off duty and one sleeping - with a spotlight for night observation, and a couple quad bikes at the bottom of the tower. At first they had these shitty old guns; bolt action hunting rifles and shotguns with rust patina up the outsides of the barrel, but they didn't need to be any good. By the time I was posted there, they'd gotten trade and supply set up outside Britain, and the Shepherds were issued with little armalites from our friends across the Irish Sea. We'd see the sheep starting to flee - they could outrun a ghoul on their pastures, but not forever - and whoever was on duty would grab the walkie-talkie and their gun, head downstairs and drive out to kill the handful of ghouls menacing the sheep.

If there were too many, you retreat and tell the tower to radio for backup, and they mobilise the Red Guard at the nearest garrison. I only lost three sheep to enemy action in 18 months.

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I warned him that when the hordes of starving refugees showed up to finish what the living dead started, he'd have no government protection whatsoever. Hill was a brave, stubborn bastard, but he wasn't an idiot. He agreed to surrender his land and herd only on the condition that his and everyone else's breeding stock remained untouched. We shook on that.


Don Hill is, from what I can tell, a horrible piece of shit, but he got the absolute last laugh here; the government very literally came to him hat in hand to restore some of the ranches, and he'd gotten a monopoly on breed stock west of the Rockies.

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We had an entire industry of over a hundred thousand employees working three shifts, seven days a week: collecting, cataloging, disassembling, storing, and shipping parts and pieces to factories all over the coast. There was a little trouble, like with the cattle ranchers, people not wanting to turn over their Hummers or vintage Italian midlife crisis mobiles.


Mostly pointless, doing this. There's not a lot of use for the more complicated parts in one of these cars except "running one of these cars" - and the roads still work. We just seized all the cars, used them for a large part of our logistical network, and when a part broke, someone could look it up and crack open one of the cars from that same company to harvest it. Disassembling all of them was pretty silly.

But this was all a sideshow. The Department of Strategic Resources mostly existed for…

Article:
Of all my adversaries, easily the most tenacious were the ones in uniform. I never had direct control over any of their R&D, they were free to green light whatever they wanted. But given that almost all their programs were farmed out to civilian contractors and that those contractors depended on resources controlled by DeStRes, I had de facto control.


… This. DeStRes mostly acted - a little early on, but an awful lot later - to be the weapon wielded in the bloody internal war the Junta waged on its more fractious subdivisions - a lot of the air force retreated south, not west, and the ones who went west were the recipients of that scorn from the rest of the military.

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"You cannot mothball our Stealth bombers," they would yell. "Who the Blank do you think you are to cancel our production of tanks?" At first I tried to reason with them: "The M-1 Abrams has a jet engine. Where are you going to find that kind of fuel? Why do you need Stealth aircraft against an enemy that doesn't have radar?"


The American Air Force essentially no longer exists. They were increasingly folded back into the Army as their planes and bases got defunded, and eventually the Army conducted a hostile takeover to seize their remaining assets before the Navy could.

America stopped producing tanks because America lost their tank factories. The Army was in ascendance throughout the crisis, and it's only post war, as it factionalised, that the Navy was able to align with some of them to form the New Clique.

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They were insufferable, with their all-hours phone calls, or just showing up at my office unannounced. I guess I can't really blame them, not after how we all treated them after the last brushfire war, and certainly not after almost having their asses handed to them at Yonkers. They were teetering on the edge of total collapse, and a lot of them just needed somewhere to vent.


Lip-service must always be paid to the poor, mistreated pre-war military, and their excesses after the retreat dismissed as "needing somewhere to vent"

Even now, America has refused to acknowledge or apologise for the brutal treatment of civilians - especially women, in ways I shan't touch on - by retreating GIs who "needed somewhere to vent".

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[He grins confidently.]

I started my career trading on the floor of the NYSE, so I can yell as hard and long as any professional drill sergeant. After each "meeting," I'd expect the call, the one I'd been both dreading and hoping for: "Mister Sinclair, this is the president, I just want to thank you for your service and we'll no longer be requiring…" [Chuckles.] It never came. My guess is no one else wanted the job.


Bollocks.

He never got removed because he made himself indispensable, like a horrible little spider at the centre of a web, holding a position with ill-defined limits which everyone one day wakes up to realise is incredibly, horrifically powerful. Similarities between this and figures within the Soviet Union at critical points in its history need not be made explicit.

And he was aligned with the President's backers, anyway.

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[His smile fades.]

I'm not saying that I didn't make mistakes. I know I was too anal about the air force's D-Corps. I didn't understand their safety protocols or what dirigibles could really accomplish in undead warfare. All I knew was that with our negligible helium supply, the only cost-effective lift gas was hydrogen and no way was I going to waste lives and resources on a fleet of modern-day Hindenburgs.


I've been told subsequent to my previous post that apparently dirigibles do, actually, have a space in anti-ghoul warfare, so I suppose I'll just eat crow on this. I still contend the Americans use the damnable things in too dangerous a manner - they lose one every year or so, that can't be normal.

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I also had to be persuaded, by the president, no less, to reopen the experimental cold fusion project at Livermore. He argued that even though a breakthrough was, at best, still decades away, "planning for the future lets our people know there will be one." I was too conservative with some projects, and with others I was far too liberal.


Trust me, it's just 10 years away. Just another 10 years, I swear, just like I said 10 years ago. You plan for the future by building hospitals and roads, clean water and sewage treatment, by settling in for the long haul. Not by funding ridiculous fucking boondoggles.

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Project Yellow Jacket—I still kick myself when I think about that one. These Silicon Valley eggheads, all of them geniuses in their own field, convinced me that they had a "wonder weapon" that could win the war, theoretically, within forty-eight hours of deployment. They could build micro missiles, millions of them, about the size of a .22 rimfire bullet, that could be scattered from transport aircraft, then guided by satellites to the brain of every zombie in North America. Sounds amazing, right? It did to me.


The fact that Silicon Valley tech bros went entirely unmolested by the junta is archetypical of how much the junta remained profoundly capitalist, just a sort of capitalism which cannot afford a PMC.

Anyway, obviously this shit didn't work, just like the Infinity Ships don't work (Company has entered administration, by the by - sucks to suck)

Article:
I could have gone head-to-head against the military for the duration of the war, but I'm grateful, in the end, that I didn't have to. When Travis D'Ambrosia became chairman of the Joint Chiefs, he not only invented the resource-to-kill ratio, but developed a comprehensive strategy to employ it. I always listened to him when he told me a certain weapons system was vital. I trusted his opinion in matters like the new Battle Dress Uniform or the Standard Infantry Rifle.


You shouldn't have. Both of those things are dogshit.

But yes, once Travis had secured the Chair - and his old boss was the Secretary of State - the bureaucratic purges of the military stopped. Sinclair had a good working relationship with the Old Clique. Close.

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What was so amazing to see was how the culture of RKR began to take hold among the rank and file. You'd hear soldiers talking on the street, in bars, on the train; "Why have X, when for the same price you could have ten Ys, which could kill a hundred times as many Zs." Soldiers even began coming up with ideas on their own, inventing more cost-effective tools than we could have envisioned.


Why is this taken as some, like, incredible achievement? Soldiers talk shop like this all the time. I remember when we were being moved up to help to clear Birmingham street by street, headed for the siege at the centre, we were just sat in the train and this guy - Phillips, I think? - just goes "Why aren't we issued those breach and clear rams? We've gotta use crowbars instead. Doesn't make sense."

Learnt later that they'd just… not really thought about it? The rams were great, though. Meant you absolutely had to wait for backup before you could break into a locked room.

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[Sinclair points above my head to the opposite wall. On it hangs a heavy steel rod ending in what looks like a fusion of shovel and double-bladed battle-axe. Its official designation is the Standard Infantry Entrenchment Tool, although, to most, it is known as either the "Lobotomizer," or simply, the "Lobo."]

The leathernecks came up with that one, using nothing but the steel of recycled cars. We made twenty-three million during the war.

[He smiles with pride.]

And they're still making them today.


I have heard nothing but derision from my girl for the fucking Lobotomiser. She lost hers deliberately early in their war, and never looked back. Picked up a handaxe from somewhere, used that instead.

Too heavy. Too unwieldy. Rusts like you wouldn't believe. Almost impossible to make the damn thing keep an edge. And no, I couldn't tell you why America continues to churn out this shit. I couldn't even tell you why they made it - they didn't need to entrench on the front lines, and the people who were digging - gravediggers after battles, sanitation workers before battles… they should have, like, guards posted at their position? That's how a normal military does this.

That's all we get from this particular Junta hatchet man, and this seems like a good place to cut off, because next time I get to talk about one of the politicians involved in American democracy going for a long walk off a cliff.


Donate to the Walvis Bay Railroad [HERE].

Donate to the Sanatorium for Infirm Women in Russia [HERE]; the women out of the Bratsk camps have started arriving, and… they really need the funds urgently.

Offering my critical support to the WRC in this time, also, though this isn't a call to action.

AN: The DeStRes fits way too well as a funny little agency quietly able to purge from relevance their political rivals. I had no choice but to imply their leader is similar to Stalin in this way.

Anyway, the Lobo is fucking dumb.

I've edited smthg abt the ranching bc I am a dumb baby who doesn't understand California. My bad.
 
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Home Front USA, Part 2
Home Front USA, Part 2

Article:
BURLINGTON, VERMONT

[Winter has come later this season, as it has every year since the end of the war. Snow blankets the house and surrounding farmland and frosts the trees that shade the dirt track by the river. Everything about this scene is peaceful, except for the man with me. He insists on calling himself "the Whacko," because "everyone else calls me that, why shouldn't you?" His stride is fast and purposeful, the cane given to him by his doctor (and wife) serves only to stab at the air.]


This fucking guy. At least he got his turn in the big seat. Was it worth it to go along with the end of America's democracy (such as they had one, I suppose)

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To be honest, I wasn't surprised to be nominated for vice president. Everyone knew a coalition party was inevitable. I'd been a rising star, at least until I "self-destructed." That's what they said about me, right? All the cowards and hypocrites who'd rather die than see a real man express his passion. So what if I wasn't the world's best politician? I said what I felt, and I wasn't afraid to say it loud and clear.


Imagine how bitter you have to be to complain about being snubbed in pre-war politics after an apocalypse in which you got to serve as President.

It is that level of bitterness, I think, which was why he led the charge in the Democratic Party to enter a coalition with the Republicans, especially as the junior party, especially given the circumstances at the time. Just this ardent, searing desire to stick it to all the people who he blamed for his own failure as a politician.

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That's one of the main reasons I was the logical choice for copilot. We made a great team; he was the light, I was the heat. Different parties, different personalities, and, let's not kid ourselves, different skin colors as well. I knew I wasn't the first choice. I know who my party secretly wanted.


Crass.

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You mean the elections?

Elections? Honolulu was still a madhouse; soldiers, congressmen, refugees, all bumping into one another trying to find something to eat or a place to sleep or just to find out what the hell was going on. And that was paradise next to the mainland. The Rocky Line was just being established; everything west of it was a war zone. Why go through all the trouble of elections when you could have Congress simply vote for extended emergency powers?


I will grant, this was a work of fucking genius. If you cancel elections, extend emergency powers… everyone sees, you know? People know you've suspended democracy, they start to wonder about how much power is being granted to the military…

It's too visible. What you want to do is form a coalition of both the parties of any relevance, thus relegating any opposition to your rule to either have to abandon the party infrastructure and form a splinter party, or move to one of the smaller, shittier parties, which are pretty commonly not granted ballot access in various States.

This allows you to have elections without elections, and over the course of a handful of elections, people will steadily become disinterested in voting when it doesn't matter, participation will drop, and almost without anyone noticing, you slide into a dictatorship.

No one would do that though, obviously.

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Well…we were in his temporary office, the "presidential suite" of a hotel. He'd just been sworn in on Air Force Two. His old boss was sedated in the suite next to us. From the window you could see the chaos on the streets, the ships at sea lining up to dock, the planes coming in every thirty seconds and ground crew pushing them off the runway once they landed to make room for new ones. I was pointing to them, shouting and gesturing with the passion I'm most famous for. "We need a stable government, fast!" I kept saying. "Elections are great in principle but this is no time for high ideals."


Right, Air Force Two - Air Force One never got out of Washington DC before being overwhelmed, and the President killed himself. That leaves our erstwhile President who brings the "Light" sitting pretty, fourth in line behind the VP, the Speaker of the House - before she died being escorted from the Capitol, shot by some nutsack Fundie - and the President Pro Tempore of the Senate.

The thing about the President Pro Tempore is that he's the oldest guy in the majority party. Dude didn't survive the retreat across the Rockies - he was driven in a motorcade, rather than getting a flight.

So suddenly, by sheer coincidence, all that stands between our upstanding Military Man Secretary of State and the Presidency is the Vice President, and, well… he's sedated in the suite next to you.

And I find it fun that in the retellings, "the Whacko" plays the classic bad cop here - it's part of how they sell their little soft coup; by pretending everyone was telling them to do a hard coup, and they nobly refused out of their abiding love for America. It's pretty obnoxious, you can see it in all of their myth-making.

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The president was cool, a lot cooler than me. Maybe it was all that military training…he said to me, "This is the only time for high ideals because those ideals are all that we have. We aren't just fighting for our physical survival, but for the survival of our civilization. We don't have the luxury of old-world pillars. We don't have a common heritage, we don't have a millennia of history. All we have are the dreams and promises that bind us together. All we have…[struggling to remember]…all we have is what we want to be."


You see? It is almost artistic, to have him struggle to remember, as though any of this shit were real. I'm sure the President thought he was saving America's ideals - this is why he wanted to abandon the East Coast, after all. To preserve "real" America.

The American Junta has always venerated this guy, even the ones who seized power from his designated successors, and I think it might be as simple as being that he was the one to break the seal on deposing the legitimate government in favour of a military regime.

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He knew that America wanted a Caesar, but to be one would mean the end of America. They say great times make great men. I don't buy it. I saw a lot of weakness, a lot of filth. People who should have risen to the challenge and either couldn't or wouldn't. Greed, fear, stupidity, and hate. I saw it before the war, I see it today. My boss was a great man. We were damn lucky to have him.


Oh, fuck you.

The weak, filthy civilian rulers refused to rise to the challenge, but luckily the General serving as Secretary of State was strong enough and heroic enough to take over, but he totally wasn't a Caesar, even though he took over through a combination of backroom deals and brutal hard military power where needed.

It's fucking insulting is what it is.

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The business of elections really set the tone for his entire administration. So many of his proposals looked crazy at first glance, but once you peeled back the first layer, you realized that underneath there existed a core of irrefutable logic. Take the new punishment laws, those really set me off. Putting people in stocks? Whipping them in town squares!?! What was this, Old Salem, the Taliban's Afghanistan?


Right, straight from talking about the coup to talking about their "justice system" I guess. Give me fucking strength.

But yes, the new American solution to most "petty" crime was brutal corporal punishment and public shaming, including the consequential "this person is now inferior, and can be treated worse by their neighbours"

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It sounded barbaric, un-American, until you really thought about the options. What were you going to do with thieves and looters, put them in prison? Who would that help? Who could afford to divert able-bodied citizens to feed, clothe, and guard other able-bodied citizens? More importantly, why remove the punished from society when they could serve as such a valuable deterrent?


And as the enlightened Mr Sinclair so helpfully indicated earlier, lawyers are to be similarly considered something you cannot afford. Let people be judged by their communities, punished by their communities and forgiven by their communities, I understand was the line used by the Press Secretary when asked.

That's not a justice system! What you have here is a lynch mob, only some of them are wearing badges!

Is it any fucking wonder the New Clique took power after the war, when it became clear this wasn't gonna change?

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At a time when everyone was pulling together, helping each other out, working to protect and take care of one another, the worst thing you could do to someone was to march them up into the public square with a giant poster reading "I Stole My Neighbor's Firewood." Shame's a powerful weapon, but it depended on everyone else doing the right thing. No one is above the law, and seeing a senator given fifteen lashes for his involvement in war profiteering did more to curb crime than a cop on every street corner.


Got a lot of Senators whipped, didn't you? War profiteering, 15 lashes. Insufficient care when discussing classified information, 50 lashes. Defeatism, 100 lashes.

That last one died. Funny that they tended to be senators more critical of the coalition - from left and right - isn't it?

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Yes, there were the work gangs, but those were the recidivists, those who'd been given chances time and time again. I remember the attorney general suggesting that we dump as many of them into the infested zones as possible, rid ourselves of the drain and potential hazard of their continued presence. Both the president and I opposed this proposition; my objections were ethical, his were practical.


Of fucking course that odious little worm from New York suggested this.

Lots of places did this; our theoretical overlords up in Scotland did this pretty regularly. Some Royal Navy ship would pull up by a shoreline and they'd send a rowboat out with these poor fucking prisoners on it, shivering against the wind, generally in literal rags.

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We were still talking about American soil, infested yes, but, hopefully one day to be liberated. "The last thing we needed," he said "was to come up against one of these ex-cons as The New Grand Warlord of Duluth." I thought he was joking, but later, as I saw the exact thing happen in other countries, as some exiled criminals rose to command their own isolated, and in some cases, powerful fiefdoms, I realized we'd dodged one hell of a speeding bullet. The work gangs were always an issue for us, politically, socially, even economically, but what other choice did we have for those who just refused to play nice with others?


This is one way of framing it, sure. We had a lot of people in the Guards with Scottish accents is all I'll say. I think in Europe they had more trouble, because their governments were trying to govern, you know, more people.

The Work Gangs thing is really funny, though - most countries did that! It wasn't some, like, incredibly last-resort type deal, it was completely uncontroversial to do this. Was it kinda fucked? Sure! Was it as bad as the corporal punishment the Americans did? No! Fuck no!

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You did use the death penalty.

Only in extreme cases: sedition, sabotage, attempted political secession. Zombies weren't the only enemies, at least not in the beginning.


Sedition and Sabotage are such broad terms. Attempted political secession they mostly used - early on - to drop the hammer of God on some sovcit creeps, so I'm not shedding too many tears, Seattle excepted - but they counted any number of things as Sedition and Sabotage. They still do, come to that; by the argument that money is speech, donating to the Strike Fund of a Union you are not in? Counts as sedition. Striking without permission, or striking in certain key industries? Counts as sabotage.

Criticising the government too harshly, often enough, counts as sedition.

Doing any of these things can still get you hanged from a gibbet in a public space.

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The Fundies?

We had our share of religious fundamentalists, what country didn't? Many of them believed that we were, in some way, interfering with God's will.

[He chuckles.]


I have to say, the American refusal to ever acknowledge the De Facto successor states they murdered is… bold? You almost have to acknowledge the chutzpah.

Anyway, after those opening few months, most fundies were aligned with the Christian States weirdoes, led by the new Senator out of Texas, who said the zombies were possessed by demons drawn from hell by Cultural Marxists, Gay Marriage and Social Justice. The idea the zombies worked for God was, obviously, not a sustainable one.

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[He waves the thought away.]

They got a lot more press than they should have, all because that nut-bird tried to kill the president. In reality, they were much more a danger to themselves, all those mass suicides, the "mercy" child killings in Medford…


Bold, as I said. My guy you fought an actual war with these people, and it was only the Mexicans breaking through their unguarded back lines that got you into Texas proper.
But I mean, yes, there were a lot of people who believed the reason the zombies were brainless and kept trying to bite them was that they had been raptured, that their soulless corpses were now being moved by angels that were trying to spread the rapture. They just didn't last long, for obvious reasons.

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same with the "Greenies," the leftie version of the Fundies. They believed that since the living dead only consumed animals, but not plants, it was the will of the "Divine Goddess" to favor flora over fauna. They made a little trouble, dumping herbicide in a town's water supply, booby-trapping trees so loggers couldn't use them for war production.


I'm actually with him on this - this was an overblown threat. At most there were a few bombs used when people started hacking down, like, millennia old Sequoias and Redwoods for firewood? Which, honestly… fine. Good, actually. Cut down different trees, arseholes.

Unfortunate that they failed, honestly. The Sequoia and Redwood forests of California will never recover.

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The Rebs, on the other hand: armed, organized political secessionists. That was easily our most tangible danger. It was also the only time I ever saw the president worried. He wouldn't let on, not with that dignified, diplomatic veneer. In public, he treated it as just another "issue," like food rationing or road repair. He'd say in private…"They must be eliminated swiftly, decisively, and by any means necessary." Of course, he was only talking about those within the western safe zone.


The Seattle Commune was such a mad, desperate thing to attempt. Obviously rest in power and so on, but like… they must've known how that was going to end? And forget about the poor sods in Hawaii who protested for less subordination to the Federal Government.

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Why is that?

Because, as the saying went, "We didn't leave America. America left us." There's a lot of truth to that. We deserted those people. Yes, we left some Special Forces volunteers, tried to supply them by sea and air, but from a purely moral standing, these people were truly abandoned. I couldn't blame them for wanting to go their own way, nobody could. That's why when we began to reclaim lost territory, we allowed every secessionist enclave a chance for peaceful reintegration.


"Enclave". Give me strength, lol. The Socialist Republic of the Great Lakes had sixteen million people, and the Christian States had 20. The CSA were evil, obviously, and got what they deserved, but twenty million people isn't a secessionist enclave, it's a hostile state.

And, like, yes, obviously these rival governments did not accept "just submit to our military dictatorship, we promise we won't execute your leadership."

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But there was violence.

I still have nightmares, places like Bolivar, and the Black Hills. I never see the actual images, not the violence, or the aftermath. I always see my boss, this towering, powerful, vital man getting sicker and weaker each time. He'd survived so much, shouldered such a crushing burden. You know, he never tried to find out what had happened to his relatives in Jamaica? Never even asked. He was so fiercely focused on the fate of our nation, so determined to preserve the dream that created it. I don't know if great times make great men, but I know they can kill them.


Bolivar was a deep cut, I've got to say - that was, what, some shitty little city in Missouri that they blew to hell because it was run by a theocrat and they weren't negotiating with people like that after Texas.

The Black Hills, on the other hand, was one of the most vile fucking massacres the Americans did. They just, like… fucking massacred the Lakota people. They hid that they did it for a while, but eventually the bloodless sociopaths in the "Special Units" for dealing with rebs blabbed. Lot of people deserted when they found out.

But yeah, no, the worst part was that the President was sad about it. Fuck off. Genuinely. When you have to hold someone whilst she weeps for her people, you can talk about how sad the military dictator was when he had to call in artillery to slaughter native tribes in the land his government illegally seized from them. Is that account still accruing interest, do you think?

His family in Jamaica was probably fine. Jamaica's doing fine.

Oh, and I'm glad he's dead. Blood cancer, right? I hope it fucking hurt.


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WENATCHEE, WASHINGTON

[Joe Muhammad's smile is as broad as his shoulders. While his day job is as the owner of the town's bicycle repair shop, his spare time is spent sculpting molten metal into exquisite works of art. He is, no doubt, most famous for the bronze statue on the mall in Washington, D.C., the Neighborhood Security Memorial of two standing citizens, and one seated in a wheelchair.]


There's a lot of statues on the Mall now, but I do like his. Less unpleasantly jingoistic than most of them.

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The recruiter was clearly nervous. She tried to talk me out of it. Had I spoken to the NRA representative first? Did I know about all the other essential war work? I didn't understand at first; I already had a job at the recycling plant. That was the point of Neighborhood Security Teams, right? It was a part-time, volunteer service for when you were home from work. I tried explaining this to her. Maybe there was something I wasn't getting. As she tried some other half-hearted, half-assed excuses, I saw her eyes flick to my chair.


A whole lot of people really, like, genuinely didn't think disabled people could serve and survive in the war. There was an unpleasant sort of eugenics bent to it - this idea that they would, because they're inherently weaker, less capable - die. That everyone with a disability would perish, or at best be a useless burden on their friends and neighbours.

We had this too, honestly. Lots of comrades weren't allowed to serve because of their disabilities, at first. Eventually the leadership got their heads screwed on straight, but it took a while. Longer than it should've.

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I laughed. I laughed right in her face. What, did she think I just showed up without knowing what was expected of me? Didn't this dumb bitch read her own security manual? Well, I'd read it. The whole point of the NST program was to patrol your own neighborhood, walking, or, in my case, rolling down the sidewalk, stopping to check each house. If, for some reason, you had to go inside, at least two members were always supposed to wait out in the street. [Motions to himself.]


The NST program was, like, a proto-cop deal, but specifically for property.
Whilst obviously he deserved to be allowed to serve in it, that doesn't make it not kinda fucked. You needed someone to check for outbreaks but some of the other shit they did wasn't so uncontroversial.

Nothing, like, appalling? But not great.

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Hell-o! And what did she think we were facing anyway? It's not like we had to chase them over fences and across backyards. They came to us. And if and when they did so, let's just say, for the sake of argument, there was more than we could handle? Shit, if I couldn't roll myself faster than a walking zombie, how could I have lasted this long? I stated my case very clearly and calmly, and I even challenged her to present a scenario in which my physical state could be an impediment. She couldn't. There was some mumbling about having to check with her CO, maybe I could come back tomorrow. I refused, told her she could call her CO, and his CO and everyone right up to the Bear[1] himself, but I wasn't moving until I got my orange vest. I yelled so loud everyone in the room could hear. All eyes turned to me, then to her. That did it. I got my vest and was out of there faster than anyone else that day.


God, the "Bear" - one of the President's old war buddies so he got the nod, and nevermind that he was halfway fucking dead. He only lasted a year before succumbing.

It was the fact that he kept up this habit - appointing men who'd fought with him in the 1990s and 80s and were now ancient, senile freaks - that created the New Clique who quietly opposed the President, for all that they venerate him now.

Anyway, Joe's right, here. This sort of neighbourhood patrolling is incredibly important - one of the first things you need to get up and rolling before you can declare an area secure - but it's also not, like… you don't need to be able to run a mile in full kit to do it? Good call on his part to make a scene about it, though. The Americans aren't wrong about the motivating force of shame.

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Like I said, Neighborhood Security literally means patrolling the neighborhood. It's a quasi-military outfit; we attended lectures and training courses. There were designated leaders and fixed regulations, but you never had to salute or call people "sir" or shit like that. Armament was pretty nonregulation as well. Mostly hand-to-hand jobs—hatchets, bats, a few crowbars and machetes—we didn't have Lobos yet.


Right, that's why you didn't use Lobos.

Honestly, if you literally haven't got another weapon, the Lobo isn't, like, worthless? It's like a heavier, shit pick axe, which in turn is like an unwieldier shit sledgehammer.

If you can't get an actual polearm, just use something blunt or spiky that you can heft, babe. You don't want to be trying to slice a ghoul to death, but a spike through the eye or a hammer through the back of the head will get you out of trouble.

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At least three people in your team had to have guns. I carried an AMT Lightning, this little semiauto .22-caliber carbine. It had no kick so I could shoot without having to lock down my wheels. Good gun, especially when ammo became standardized and reloads were still available.


If it's crap and it works…

I find it funny the way there's this odd sort of double think Americans need to employ sometimes - it was good when ammunition became standardised, and when reloads were still available.

By the time the Americans went on the offensive they had declared the back line cleared, and therefore the fact that they could no longer provide their fancy new standardised rounds to their NSTs was officially not a concern.

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Teams changed depending on your schedule. It was pretty chaotic back then, DeStRes reorganizing everything. Night shift was always tough. You forget how dark the night really is without streetlights. There were barely any houselights, too.


I remember sitting on the roof of the service station with my sister, after dinner, the night before we left to try to make it to Bristol, and just looking up. The dark was never good enough in the South East to stargaze, before the collapse, but that night, I swear you could see everything. No light pollution at all, not from Oxford or London or anywhere.

The smog never got as bad in Britain as in places like California. We could see the whole damn Milky Way.

We shared a bottle of whiskey my sister had swiped from one of the minibars, and she told me what it was like being my age, back before the crisis. Clubbing, going out to meet boys, drinking with your mates… She told me I could do that once we got to Bristol, and I didn't tell her I was gay. It didn't feel like the time; we could talk about these things once we got to Bristol. She mentioned maybe going to university, too. She'd always been smarter than me.

That was the last peaceful night I had with my family. We set off for Bristol along the road network - it was easier than travelling cross country. My parents thought we could skirt along the Oxford Bypass, get to the A road that linked it down to the Bristol motorway.

They were wrong.

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We patrolled with flashlights, basic civilian store-bought models; we still had batteries then, with red cellophane on the end to protect our night vision. We'd stop at each house, knock, ask whoever was on watch if everything was okay.


Moving swiftly on - it's bizarre he had these issues - when I was still in a small group, we had the wind-up torches that whirred as you wound them, and then once I got to Bristol they gave me one of those heavy maglite torches, with the heavy aluminium cases? The ones halfway to being a baton. I wasn't even in a patrol group, this was just for personal use because the psychiatrist I was assigned was like "She needs to feel safe on her own, not just protected by others." They also gave me a crowbar.

Batteries are not that hard to make. Very funny that America tried to present itself as being ready to push across the continent when they were running out of basic shit like this.

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The early months were a little unnerving because of the resettlement program. So many people were coming out of the camps that each day you might get at least a dozen new neighbors, or even housemates.


You know what would prevent you having this issue? Stop living in suburbs. You didn't even have cars at this point, the suburbs are worthless to you!

We ended up basically tearing down a lot of suburbs in the cities we linked up with - they'd already started in Bristol when I arrived. The city ends and the countryside begins, without the suburban sprawl around it. It was nice. And safer, too. Night patrolling is a lot less scary inside a well-lit building.

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Did I really need a three-thousand-square-foot house, three bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen, living room, den, and home office? I'd lived alone for years and suddenly I had a family from Alabama, six of them, just show up at my door one day with a letter from the Department of Housing. It's unnerving at first, but you get used to it quickly. I didn't mind the Shannons, that was the family's name. We got along pretty well, and I always slept better with someone standing watch. That was one of the new rules for people at home. Someone had to be the designated night watchman.


I'll say this for them - the West Coastal American suburbs are some of the most interesting communities you'll see. Army brats from across America stuffed into the same homes as the people already there, along with Mexican and Centroamerican families that immigrated, all living in these weird isolated suburban homes, so each house is almost its own little community, divorced from its neighbours.

Obviously this didn't continue across the rockies, but still, it's an odd little microcosm.

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We had all their names on a list to make sure they weren't squatters and looters. We'd check their ID, their face, ask them if everything was all quiet. They usually said yes, or maybe reported some noise we'd have to check out. By the second year, when the refugees stopped coming and everyone got to know each other, we didn't bother with lists and IDs anymore.


It is insane to still have the concept of "squatters" and "looters" after a societal collapse like this. If someone's living in a property now, you write down a name and send it up the chain to whoever is keeping track, so you don't end up assigning refugees to occupied properties, and if someone's looting a property for… What? The old appliances? Some clothes? Bedding?

Who gives a fuck? None of that stuff is expected to remain usable, it's all already been written off. Why do you care?

This is cop brain. The idea that you need to defend property from trespassers or thieves, when like… an abandoned house is an abandoned house. Let people live, Christ.

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[Shivers for dramatic effect.]

There were still a lot of deserted houses, shot up or broken into or just abandoned with the doors left wide open. We'd put police tape across all doorways and windows. If any of them were found snapped, that could mean a zombie was in the house.


I never had to do neighbourhood patrolling, but clearing tiny Welsh villages was a little like this. Going house to house, never sure if there'll be a ghoul in this one. Somehow it would always be overcast, raining so you could barely hear, so your radio felt like it would be less effective.

Not terribly high on my list of nightmares, but it features occasionally.

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One time I almost got tagged. We were clearing a two-story job: four bed, four bath, partially collapsed from where someone had driven a Jeep Liberty through the living room window. My partner asked if it was cool to take a powder break. I let her go behind the bushes.


Happens to the best of us. Not taking a powder break - although it does - but getting cocky and distracted, and nearly getting got. They aren't even terribly stealthy, it's why it's so embarrassing.

My brush with death, we'd decided to clear this set of holiday cottages in the Brecon Beacons - we didn't really think they had any ghouls, but you have to checkbox these things, and no one had bothered to ride the quads out there to have a poke around. We were bored, we had a few days leave from basic training - not enough to get back to Cardiff - and the sergeant just asks if we want a little taste of actual service, helping him out.

We're camped out halfway to the cottages when the corporal - odious little gobshit - tells me to go fetch some firewood. So I get up, grab my armalite and he goes "You planning to hunt us some trees, private? You won't be far, leave the gun."

Thankfully, I was pretty sure he wanted to steal her - neat and tidy little gun, that one, though I wouldn't want to use it in anger against a horde; 20 years in the ground in a provo cache hadn't done her any favours in the "not jamming" department.

So I tell him that I'll be keeping my gun, and I wander into the woods, mostly caught up in self-righteous teenaged fury that I had to go through basic training even though I'd "pretty much" already been active duty in the valleys, and I turn a corner, still caught up on the monumental unfairness of being a teenager, and walk almost clear into a ghoul. It'd been pinned to a tree by a… something? Some sort of farm equipment?

Whatever it was, it kept the ghoul pinned, and also had fucked up its lungs and throat enough that the thing couldn't moan. It bit about a half inch from my face though, because I wasn't expecting a ghoul to be right there.

So I shot it, and everyone came running.

One near miss story is much like another, except in how the person it happened to feels about it.

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Zombies weren't the only problem we had to deal with back then. There were looters, not so much hardened criminals as just people who needed stuff to survive. Same with squatters; both cases usually ended well. We'd just invite them home, give them what they needed, take care of them until the housing folks could step in.


This is such an unnecessary layer of bureaucracy to ensure property rights are processed in order. Just let people squat, dude.

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There were some real looters, though, professional bad guys. That was the only time I got hurt.

[He pulls down his shirt, exposing a circular scar the size of a prewar dime.]

Nine millimeter, right through the shoulder. My team chased him out of the house. I ordered him to halt. That was the only time I ever killed someone, thank God. When the new laws came in, conventional crime pretty much dried up altogether.


This is such cop shit. "Professional bad guys" - are you listening to yourself?

Anyway, I have no doubt there were still criminals but just let people run. You don't need to pursue or kill someone over the property of some probably zombified suburbanite?

And no, the new laws did not make crime "pretty much" dry up. They made you feel like it, because you got to see the subhuman thieves and criminals get beaten, got to see them bleed, and you then got to judge them on sight for the rest of their life. That didn't actually reduce crime, though, because people generally don't just steal because they hate you. They tend to steal for a reason. That doesn't change just because you're whipping and shaming people if you catch them.

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Then there were the ferals, you know, the homeless kids who'd lost their parents. We'd find them curled up in basements, in closets, under beds. A lot of them had walked from as far away as back east. They were in bad shape, all malnourished and sickly. A lot of times they'd run. Those were the only times I felt bad, you know, that I couldn't chase them. Someone else would go, a lot of times they'd catch up, but not always.


Feral kids are genuinely very sad, and very few Countries are helping them at all any more. I'll put a couple of links at the bottom for places you can donate to, but it's pretty grim.

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The biggest problem were quislings.

Quislings?

Yeah, you know, the people that went nutballs and started acting like zombies.


Discourse around this phenomenon is so fucked. So fucked. The Americans love to push the idea it's incurable, because they murdered the fuck out of these people on their march to the Atlantic.

It's an unexplained clinical problem in the brain - from what (little) I understand, caused by exposure to the virus without becoming infected. It just makes you believe yourself to be infected.

With enough treatment - dialysis usually, but it takes an age to remove the toxin - and time, everyone suffering this can recover.

We used to call them GDs - Jeeds? - "Ghoul Delusions".

It feels less condemnatory than actively calling the poor unfortunates nazi collaborators.

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Well, as I understand it, there's a type of person who just can't deal with a fight-or-die situation. They're always drawn to what they're afraid of. Instead of resisting it, they want to please it, join it, try to be like it. I guess that happens in kidnap situations, you know, like a Patty Hearst/ Stockholm Syndrome–type, or, like in regular war, when people who are invaded sign up for the enemy's army. Collaborators, sometimes even more die-hard than the people they're trying to mimic, like those French fascists who were some of Hitler's last troops.


This is a rank misunderstanding of many things. Firstly; the Stockholm Syndrome thing is functionally unrelated. Not a real condition. Secondly - collaborators were not collaborating out of a fawn response, they were collaborating because they agreed with the nazi regime and the mass genocide of the Jewish population and others.

People with this condition instead generally just… act like a ghoul. No pre-existing conditions, nada. Different kettle of fish.

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But you couldn't do it in this war. You couldn't just throw up your hands and say, "Hey, don't kill me, I'm on your side." There was no gray area in this fight, no in between. I guess some people just couldn't accept that. It put them right over the edge. They started moving like zombies, sounding like them, even attacking and trying to eat other people.


Again - it is a neurological illness. People did not do this because they "just couldn't accept that"

This is weirdly victim-blamey.

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This was a death sentence and he knew it. He was ready to do himself until we discovered that the guy I shot had bright red blood pouring from his head. When we checked his flesh we found he was still warm! You should have seen our buddy lose it. It's not every day you get a reprieve from the big governor in the sky. Ironically, he almost died anyway. The bastard had so much bacteria in his mouth that it caused a near fatal staph infection.


He's talking about a guy who got bitten by one of these "quislings" - human bites fucking suck to deal with. Worse even than cat bites, truly.

I didn't see any/many Quislings, personally, and I didn't really even hear much about them until after the war. I think our people just shot them, honestly?

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We thought maybe we stumbled onto some new discovery but it turned out it'd been happening for a while. The CDC was just about to go public. They even sent an expert up from Oakland to brief us on what to do if we encountered more of them. It blew our minds.


The CDC wasn't "about to go public" - you cannot be this credulous. The CDC was sitting on it, because it was one of those depressing facts that the American public found so unpleasant, even during the war. If they tell you they're "about to go public" they mean "because we've been caught"

They went public because it was becoming obvious that this was a "thing" and there was no way to cover up that some people who were otherwise normal, might have enough build up in their brains to flip some switch, turn them into an almost-zombie.

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Did you know that quislings were the reason some people used to think they were immune? They were also the reason all those bullshit wonder drugs got so much hype. Think about it. Someone's on Phalanx, gets bit but survives. What else is he going to think? He probably wouldn't know there was even such a thing as quislings. They're just as hostile as regular zombies and in some cases even more dangerous.


Blaming Phalanx on "Quislings" is a new one by me, I've gotta say. It wasn't a diagnosis you saw with any frequency before you got the real collapse, and the megaswarms.

It's pretty out there, though. Phalanx made people feel safe because they were told it made them safe. Nothing more or less than that. Quislings don't enter into it.

Article:
How so?

Well, for one thing, they didn't freeze. I mean, yeah, they would if they were exposed over time, but in moderate cold, if they'd gone under while wearing warm clothes, they'd be fine. They also got stronger from the people they ate. Not like zombies. They could maintain over time.


… They also got weaker due to disease, malnutrition and, like, starvation? Exhaustion? Blisters and other foot or knee damage?

Trying to pretend Quislings are scarier than ghouls is some hardcore backline baby shit. You've not seen a swarm, you've not shot one in the gut and done next to nothing, even with half his chest blown off, and organs hanging out. Quislings are just unarmed dudes. They're not a real problem militarily.

Article:
But you could kill them more easily.

Yes and no. You didn't have to hit them in head; you could take out the lungs, the heart, hit them anywhere, and eventually they'd bleed to death. But if you didn't stop them with one shot, they'd just keep coming until they died.

They don't feel pain?

Hell no. It's that whole mind-over-matter thing, being so focused you're able to suppress relays to the brain and all that. You should really talk to an expert.


This is all garbage. They do flinch [HERE] from pain, and they flee from guns [HERE].

They tend to retreat towards swarms, though, which never ends well for them, the poor things.

Quislings are mostly sad.

Article:
Okay, well, that's why we could never talk them down. There was nothing left to talk to. These people were zombies, maybe not physically, but mentally you could not tell the difference. Even physically it might be hard, if they were dirty enough, bloody enough, diseased enough. Zombies don't really smell that bad, not individually and not if they're fresh. How do you tell one of these from a mimic with a whopping dose of gangrene? You couldn't. It's not like the military would let us have sniffer dogs or anything. You had to use the eye test.


Ghoulstink isn't that pronounced immediately, no. I could buy this confusion?

But like, if he has gangrene, you're obviously being very stupid declaring things dangerous? He's already actively dying by the time you kill him.

Article:
Well, our orders were to capture quislings if possible, and use deadly force only in self-defense. It sounded crazy, still does, but we rounded up a few, hog-tied them, turned them over to police or National Guard. I'm not sure what they did with them. I've heard stories about Walla Walla, you know, the prison where hundreds of them were fed and clothed and even medically cared for. [His eyes flick to the ceiling.]


This isn't really truthful. America plays lipservice to capture and rehab for "Quislings" - they stuff them all in Walla Walla and never let them out. They're not being treated for this, so they're not improving.

They just keep these people in confinement in Walla Walla to look like they're doing anything.

Article:
You don't agree.

Hey, I'm not going there. You want to open that can of worms, read the papers. Every year some lawyer or priest or politician tries to stoke that fire for whatever side best suits them. Personally, I don't care. I don't have any feelings toward them one way or the other. I think the saddest thing about them is that they gave up so much and in the end lost anyway.


It is such a weird, incomprehensible disease - why does this happen? Why does it happen the same over and over? Why do the zombies still hate them?

It's fucking strange, I don't know.

Calling it here, I've written an awful lot, and this isn't a bad place to put a pin in it.

Donate to the Walvis Bay Railroad [HERE].

Donate to the Sanatorium for Infirm Women in Russia [HERE]; the women out of the Bratsk camps have started arriving, and… they really need the funds urgently.

Donate to the Lakota [HERE] - they're trying to rebuild as well as they can.

There's a masterlist of Feral Child Charities you can donate to [HERE].

There's a charity for helping those living with Ghoul Delusion Syndrome (GDS) [HERE] and one advocating for shutting down Walla Walla to transfer them to a proper mental health institution [HERE]

Offering my critical support to the WRC in this time, also, though this isn't a call to action.

AN: I covered a few of the finer details of the American coup, here. A lot of the actual purging of disloyal (to the coupists) higher ups or spooks occurred in the DC pullout, as did the necessaries to get Their Guy(™) high enough up the list of succession to just do some light blackmail to gain absolute control.

The Neighbourhood Watch dude was interesting, though his Cop Shit views kinda bled through.
 
Home Front USA, Part 3
Home Front USA, Part 3

Article:
MALIBU, CALIFORNIA

[I don't need a photograph to recognize Roy Elliot. We meet for coffee on the restored Malibu Pier Fortress. Those around us also instantly recognize him, but, unlike prewar days, keep a respectful distance.]


Say what you will about the man's full throated support for the junta, he makes good movies. Shit politics, but good movies. Isn't that always the way?

Article:
ADS, that was my enemy: Asymptomatic Demise Syndrome, or, Apocalyptic Despair Syndrome, depending on who you were talking to. Whatever the label, it killed as many people in those early stalemate months as hunger, disease, interhuman violence, or the living dead. No one understood what was happening at first. We'd stabilized the Rockies, we'd sanitized the safe zones, and still we were losing upwards of a hundred or so people a day.


There's, like a few actual conditions causing "ADS" - not a real diagnosis, by the by. "Damn, people just die, that's crazy" isn't a diagnosis.
Probably the clearest fit for the symptoms is Sudden Arrhythmic Death Syndrome. Generally speaking pre-war it was due to people failing to recognise the symptoms of Heart Failure, but during the war it became more common because people were under increased stress, America had that policy of discouraging "healthy" people from seeing the doctor and lots of people weren't that invested in their own health anyway.

But even still, SADS shouldn't have this large an impact? I expect most of these deaths are Carbon Monoxide poisoning. You can argue, if you like, that cases of this would be higher than expected because of apathy about turning off heaters or extinguishing fires in the hearth and so on, but really the problem here is the nature of infrastructural collapse.

Beyond that, the stress hormones that living like this cause are a proximate cause of like… a bunch of shit?

Most of this comes from a medical textbook from the pre-war - it was my mum's, and sometimes I read it - so it could be out of date, I don't know. I'm confident that "wow people just be dying" isn't a diagnosis, though.

Article:
Suddenly I was a nobody, an F-6. The world was going to hell and all my vaunted talents were powerless to stop it. When I heard about ADS, the government was trying to keep it quiet—I had to find out from a contact at Cedars-Sinai. When I heard about it, something snapped. Like the time I made my first Super 8 short and screened it for my parents. This I can do, I realized. This enemy I can fight!


I love how, like… incidentally these people keep revealing just how much their junta keeps quiet. Ghoul Delusion, the fact that people were dying in their hundreds in their homes, exactly how little they controlled their vaunted "Safe Zone"...

I think because the Junta managed to pull it all together over time, people forget just how close they got to completely imploding in the early days? They didn't really know how to be a government.

Article:
And the rest is history.

[Laughs.]
I wish. I went straight to the government, they turned me down.

Really? I would think, given your career…

What career? They wanted soldiers and farmers, real jobs, remember?


Like this! You're running a wartime government and you're too caught up on your stupid ideological objection to the existence of people doing anything but physical labour to recognise that propaganda might be important.

Article:
I'd use my own equipment, my own people, all I'd need from them was access to the military. "Let me show the people what you're doing to stop this," I told him. "Let me give them something to believe in." Again, I was refused. The military had more important missions right now than "posing for the camera."


I almost don't even believe this? The idea that the military junta was like "Oh there's no way we could POSSIBLY pose for the camera, that's so wasteful…

But like, on the other hand he didn't get to do any proper propaganda until later, so I think it legitimately is that the military just plainly didn't trust a Hollywood filmmaker, which is wild, given how incestuous the two had always been. I guess that's what you get when you exclusively elevate out of touch old generals.

Article:
Couldn't you have become a freelance journalist, gotten a government press pass?

It would have taken too long. Most mass media was either knocked out or federalized. What was left had to rebroadcast public safety announcements, to make sure anyone just tuning in would know what to do.


The American media has still never moved past this. The Government sweepingly seized - sorry, "federalised" them all, and all their upper management is still made up of the appointees from that time.

And like, hell, I wouldn't want to get hanged for sedition.

Article:
I had to do something immediately. I took a DV cam, some spare batteries, and a solar-powered charger. My oldest son came with me as my sound man and "first AD." We traveled on the road for one week, just the two of us on mountain bikes, looking for stories. We didn't have to go far.


This is such a charming story of the plucky director against it all…

If it was true at all, it was only true for Five Colleges.

Article:
Just outside of Greater Los Angeles, in a town called Claremont, are five colleges—Pomona, Pitzer, Scripps, Harvey Mudd, and Claremont Mckenna. At the start of the Great Panic, when everyone else was running, literally, for the hills, three hundred students chose to make a stand.


They didn't really have a "choice" - the suburbs were already seething with zack, fleeing would've been impossible. And there were a thousand of them to begin with.

That's important. Everyone talks about the Battle of Five Colleges without mentioning that more than half of them died. There's a memorial at Scripps, so I gather.

Article:
They turned the Women's College at Scripps into something resembling a medieval city. They got their supplies from the other campuses; their weapons were a mix of landscaping tools and ROTC practice rifles. They planted gardens, dug wells, fortified an already existing wall. While the mountains burned behind them, and the surrounding suburbs descended into violence, those three hundred kids held off ten thousand zombies! Ten thousand, over the course of four months, until the Inland Empire could finally be pacified.


The worst were the early days, when they kept discovering, over and over, new gaps in their defences. That was where the majority of their deaths happened. By the second month apparently zack was just sitting outside, moaning away, and the battle was to stay sane.

By the time the military finally arrived, they'd been sitting pretty at 305 students for months. I guess that's why if you don't know, you assume they were always about 300.

Article:
We were lucky to get there just at the tail end, just in time to see the last of the undead fall, as cheering students and soldiers linked up under the oversized, homemade Old Glory fluttering from the Pomona bell tower. What a story! Ninety-six hours of raw footage in the can. I would have liked to have gone longer, but time was critical. One hundred a day lost, remember.


This was a photo op. Probably not for his benefit - though maybe a little. Mostly, it was for the sanctioned federalised media - they'd finally worked out they needed some hope.

The army had arrived about three weeks earlier, and the students had communicated their situation was stable; they were worried about wasting government time, about people dying elsewhere because the soldiers were busy here.

Most of the soldiers peeled off elsewhere whilst the American bureaucracy chewed over this propaganda coup they'd been handed.

Article:
We had to get this one out there as soon as possible. I brought the footage back to my house, cut it together in my edit bay. My wife did the narration. We made fourteen copies, all on different formats, and screened them that Saturday night at different camps and shelters all over LA. I called it Victory at Avalon: The Battle of the Five Colleges.


I've never seen this film. I'm not sure how I feel about that, honestly, but my wife flatly refuses to watch it, and I'm not going behind her back on this.

Article:
The name, Avalon, comes from some stock footage one of the students had shot during the siege. It was the night before their last, worst attack, when a fresh horde from the east was clearly visible on the horizon. The kids were hard at work—sharpening weapons, reinforcing defenses, standing guard on the walls and towers. A song came floating across the campus from the loudspeaker that played constant music to keep morale up.


There were six hundred of them left before this last attack, but they'd had to pull back from their original line - that was meant to be held by a thousand, right? - and they weren't sure how many ghouls would be able to find their way through their defences. Little Malcolm was going around with his camera, trying to get shots of everyone so even if they all died, someone would find it and remember they tried.

Article:
A song came floating across the campus from the loudspeaker that played constant music to keep morale up. A Scripps student, with a voice like an angel, was singing the Roxy Music song. It was such a beautiful rendition, and such a contrast with the raging storm about to hit. I laid it over my "preparing for battle" montage. I still get choked up when I hear it.


She just wanted to make people smile. Or, not "people" - her girlfriend, on the ramparts, before that final, grimmest battle. So she sings this 80s song about dancing with her girl. The absurd romance of it, that was why she did it.

Like I said, she refuses to watch the film.

Article:
How did it play with the audience?

It bombed! Not just the scene, but the whole movie; at least, that's what I thought. I'd expected a more immediate reaction. Cheering, applause. I would never have admitted this to anyone, even to myself, but I had this egotistical fantasy of people coming up to me afterward, tears in their eyes, grabbing my hands, thanking me for showing them the light at the end of the tunnel.


I wonder if some of his problem is that Five Colleges was too, like… real? People enjoyed it, sorta, but it never hit the propagandistic notes of his other works, the scripted ones.

He never made another unscripted film, so I guess he learnt that lesson.

Article:
What happened?

Two weeks went by. I got a real job, helping to reopen the road at Topanga Canyon. Then one day a man rode up to my house. Just came in on horseback as if out of an old Cecil B. De Mille western. He was a psychiatrist from the county health facility in Santa Barbara. They'd heard about the success of my movie and asked if I had any extra copies.


This is not true. The "ADS" situation was not what his films were for. That was mostly going away as America made their safe zone actually, like, safe? And actually started to work on liveability.

No, the man who rode up on horseback worked for the State Department. Very quickly after he got sent packing by some ideologue in DeStRes, the propaganda wonks found out and realised the gold that'd been thrown away.

After Five Colleges aired they were confident he matched the vibe they were going for, and up rides the man from the state department.

Article:
Success?

That's what I said. As it turns out, the very night after Avalon made its "debut," ADS cases dropped in LA by a whole 5 percent! At first they thought it might just be a statistical anomaly, until a further study revealed that the decline was drastically noticeable only among communities where the movie was shown!


Here's a fun question about films - how do you screen one to people?

Well, you need power - enough that you can waste some on a theatre - and you need some sort of community organisation - enough that you can get the news out to people that there's a film to watch - and you need a group who give enough of a shit about your population to organise all this. The film itself is irrelevant - they saw similar drops in unexplained deaths in San Francisco and they were airing Toy Story up there.

Five Colleges may well have improved people's mood, but like I said - that wasn't really why people were dying.

Article:
The point is it worked. It made a difference, and it gave me a job for the rest of the war. I got a few volunteers together, as much of my old crew as I could find. That kid who shot the Claremont stock footage, Malcolm Van Ryzin, yes, that Malcolm, he became my DP. We commandeered an abandoned dubbing house in West Hollywood and started cranking them out by the hundreds. We'd put them on every train, every caravan, every coastal ferry heading north. It took a while to get responses. But when they came…


I'm going to just ignore his discussion of ADS from now on - once more, this is not a real medical condition.

Article:
[He smiles, holds his hands up in thanks.]

Ten percent drop throughout the entire western safe zone. I was already on the road by then, shooting more stories. Anacapa was already wrapped, and we were halfway through Mission District. By the time Dos Palmos hit screens, and ADS was down 23 percent…only then did the government finally take an interest in me.


Anacapa is just silly. It is a completely fictitious story of someone using the lighthouse on Anacapa Island to guide ships through the Zombie Shoals around Ventura, until he's able to contact a naval vessel to come and clear the shoals. I think people like it because it's just... gentle? You never even see a zombie.

Mission District is a far more stylised - and popular - take on the Five Colleges concept - a small group defending a location until the army saves them. Mission District works better because it is entirely falsehood, and therefore easier to craft an uncomplicated narrative with.

The pretence that this was when the government took interest is funny. I think it's because they knew there was no way to spin his having access to their stupid boondoggles without their permission.

Article:
Is that when you made Fire of the Gods?

[Nods.]
The army had two functioning laser weapons programs: Zeus and MTHEL. Zeus was originally designed for munitions clearing, zapping land mines and unexploded bombs. It was small and light enough to be mounted in a specialized Humvee. The gunner sighted a target through a coaxial camera in the turret. He placed the aim point on the intended surface, then fired a pulse beam through the same optical aperture. Is that too technical?


Christ, Fire of the Gods. Such an unbearable documentary. All waffle and no substance, no engagement with the topic, just bland, dreary going over of the facts.

Article:
On higher settings it punched right through their foreheads. On lower settings, it literally boiled their brain till it exploded through the ears, nose, and eyes. The footage we shot was dazzling, but Zeus was a popgun next to MTHEL.

The acronym stands for Mobile Tactical High Energy Laser, codesigned by the United States and Israel to take out small incoming projectiles. When Israel declared self-quarantine, and when so many terrorist groups were lobbing mortar rounds and rockets across the security wall, MTHEL was what knocked them down. About the size and shape of a World War II searchlight, it was, in fact, a deuterium fluoride laser, much more powerful than the solid state on Zeus. The effects were devastating. It blasted flesh from bones that then heated white before shattering into dust. When played at regular speed, it was magnificent, but at slo-mo…fire of the gods.


Israel used the Iron Dome missile defence system for this, because they determined the MTHEL was not up to the task, and required too many expensive and difficult to source and transport chemicals.

MTHEL is a classic wunderwaffe - expensive, flashy, ineffectual and mostly of use as a propaganda tool. Even that wasn't enough to save Fire of the Gods, though - as a documentary it barely touches on anything but some labcoat talking about how his laser works, and then some slow motion footage of a laser blowing up a ghoul's head?

Maybe I'm missing something seeing this after the war, maybe it was more effective if you were a civilian in those early months but like… even just watching it, this thing is obviously crap? It takes it a few seconds to focus on one ghoul, and the damn thing has to be holding pretty still for it to work.

Article:
MTHEL was due to close a month after shooting. Zeus had already been chopped. We had to beg, borrow, and steal, literally, to get it reactivated just for our cameras. DeStRes had deemed both as a gross waste of resources.

Were they?

Inexcusably so. The "M" in MTHEL's "Mobile" really meant a convoy of specialized vehicles, all of which were delicate, none truly all-terrain and each one completely dependent on the other. MTHEL also required both tremendous power and copious amounts of highly unstable, highly toxic chemicals for the lasering process.


Right, just so. They were worthless. I don't really think they would provide any propaganda value? Propaganda for us was always, like… footage of Red Guards destroying ghouls, dramatisations of particularly heroic rescues of civilians, things like that?

And like, I know America did stuff like that too? I've seen Dos Palmos. I just find this continual insistence - it started here, but hasn't finished - that America is still on the military cutting edge? To be quite irritating.

You can't even mass produce polymer stocks any more, you're not on the bleeding edge of technology.

Article:
They were that bad?

Not for their original role. MTHEL kept Israel safe from terrorist bombardment, and Zeus actually came out of retirement to clear unexploded ordnance during the army's advance. As purpose-built weapons, they were outstanding. As zombie killers, they were hopeless duds.


Neither of these statements is true. MTHEL was never used by the Israelis, and unexploded ordnance - mines or whatever - got blown up in the traditional way; controlled blasts by the bomb squad. The propaganda about America's military and technical prowess hasn't stopped just because the cameras aren't rolling.

Article:
So why did you film them?

Because Americans worship technology. It's an inherent trait in the national zeitgeist. Whether we realize it or not, even the most indefatigable Luddite can't deny our country's technoprowess. We split the atom, we reached the moon, we've filled every household and business with more gadgets and gizmos than early sci-fi writers could have ever dreamed of.


America has not technologically recovered from when they decided everyone doing anything but working in a factory or a field had no valid vocation. They gutted their own STEM fields as cleanly as they gutted their legal and artistic ones, and that profound self inflicted wound is only growing more dramatic - they're actually on the brink of being unable to restore and maintain their nuclear deterrent, and there's a reason the junta keeps loudly proclaiming they don't care about the air force, and that lighter-than-air soft body craft are all they need.

Article:
But it didn't.

But it didn't matter. The movie was such a hit that I was asked to do a whole series. I called it "Wonder Weapons," seven films on our military's cutting-edge technology, none of which made any strategic difference, but all of which were psychological war winners.


I couldn't tell you if "Wonder Weapons" was an effective piece of propaganda for the average American, but I'm pretty confident it wasn't meant for that - it soothed the ruffled feathers of various American generals. Similar series' continued throughout the war, and even to now.

The film they made about their last-gasp defences on aircraft carriers recently was quite interesting, honestly. It's like… this minigun turret that vomits explosive shot at an incoming missile. It's supposed to only be used for whatever gets through the carrier's escorts, jammers and longer range defences, which they also showed off, but like…

They don't have any planes for their carriers? The whole thing is a ridiculous vanity project. They've got sparse ammunition for jammers and counter-fire missiles, even less for their escorts, so theymostly show off the goalkeeper guns which destroy anything in the last half kilometre, but like… not only is that a last resort, but, again, their Carriers are worthless. Pure vanity.

Article:
The truth was that no matter what we did, chances were most of us, if not all of us, were never going to see the future. The truth was that we were standing at what might be the twilight of our species and that truth was freezing a hundred people to death every night. They needed something to keep them warm. And so I lied, and so did the president, and every doctor and priest, every platoon leader and every parent.


Bold argument for propaganda, but not surprising. We had to lie to you, for your own good. Think of us - the government, the military, the media - as your parents, telling you it'll be okay.

How's this any different from the pre-war Government they were complaining about? Well, the trick is - as far as this book, or indeed the Junta as a whole is concerned - that the problem with the pre-war Government lying was that in addition to keeping the population distracted and in the dark, they didn't "do what needed to be done" whilst lying to the public.

It is a profoundly contemptuous view of the public, that they literally cannot and should not be trusted to make decisions, to know what is happening. There's a reason they still don't have open elections.

Article:
Did you ever hear of The Hero City?

Of course.

Great film, right? Marty made it over the course of the Siege. Just him, shooting on whatever medium he could get his hands on. What a masterpiece: the courage, the determination, the strength, dignity, kindness, and honor. It really makes you believe in the human race. It's better than anything I've ever done. You should see it.


Ah, Hero City. The film that valorises the New York City survivors during the war, their heroism and grit.

Watching it, you'd never believe New York was only one of the cities to survive, even on the East Coast. New York learnt from Philly and Boston, and certainly from Chicago. When the Government offers you a surrender if you dissolve your government and return to civilian life, you accept, because the alternative is the oily black smoke that New Yorkers in their various observation platforms could see rising from other cities who had refused.

Article:
Which version did you see?

I wasn't aware…

That there were two? You need to do some homework, young man. Marty made both a wartime and postwar version of The Hero City. The version you saw, it was ninety minutes?

I think.


Both versions of The Hero City were post-war; the film could only be released once New York was liberated, and America's war ended at New York, famously so. The second cut was released… about 2027? It isn't easy to find in America, because whilst it doesn't officially rise to the level of sedition, it's close?

It's also ugly - you can get it on DVD in Cuba, so I have seen it; the whole 4 hours.

Article:
Did it show the dark side of the heroes in The Hero City? Did it show the violence and the betrayal, the cruelty, the depravity, the bottomless evil in some of those "heroes'" hearts? No, of course not. Why would it? That was our reality and it's what drove so many people to get snuggled in bed, blow out their candles, and take their last breath.


It shows the ugliness in New York, and it shows the atrocities some of the people who came out of it as heroes, but it also shows - and this is where it touches, feather light, on sedition - the debates in some of the towers about surrender. There's a little footage of explosions over the horizon; it isn't clear where the footage comes from, or what city it was getting the business end, but it is clear the New Yorkers saw.

There's no judgement in it, as a film, which is almost an impossibility for a film maker to achieve - it's very good, though I don't know that I'd recommend it, it's pretty, uh… heavy.


This feels like a good place to stop - the last interview in Home Front USA is from an Air Force Colonel, and there's quite a bit to discuss, but it is quite a bit different from this.

Donate to the Walvis Bay Railroad [HERE].

Donate to the Sanatorium for Infirm Women in Russia [HERE]; the women out of the Bratsk camps have started arriving, and… they really need the funds urgently.

Donate to the Lakota [HERE] - they're trying to rebuild as well as they can.

There's a masterlist of Feral Child Charities you can donate to [HERE].

There's a charity for helping those living with Ghoul Delusion Syndrome (GDS) [HERE] and one advocating for shutting down Walla Walla to transfer them to a proper mental health institution [HERE]

Offering my critical support to the WRC in this time, also, though this isn't a call to action.

AN: So! The specific, personal reason for why this reviewer knows and cares so much about the junta, revealed! I have been weighing up doing this for a while, since about Yonkers?

I'm also playing a little with how she writes about various things, so like… how's that worked?
 
Home Front USA, Part 4
Home Front USA, Part 4

Article:
PARNELL AIR NATIONAL GUARD BASE, TENNESSEE

[Gavin Blaire escorts me to the office of his squadron commander, Colonel Christina Eliopolis. As much a legend for her temper as for her outstanding war record, it is difficult to see how so much intensity can be compacted into her diminutive, almost childlike frame. Her long black bangs and delicate facial features only reinforce the picture of eternal youth. Then she removes her sunglasses, and I see the fire behind her eyes.]


Why does he keep describing how attractive the childlike women are and how childlike the attractive women are? It's a very odd choice when you are just talking about, like, a military officer?

Article:
I was a Raptor driver, the FA-22. It was, hands down, the best air superiority platform ever built. It could outfly and outfight God and all his angels. It was a monument to American technical prowess . . . and in this war, that prowess counted for shit.


I love the American party line on this. Simultaneously the most bald-faced lie and the most revelatory piece of information possible.

Article:
That must have been frustrating.

Frustrating? Do you know what it feels like to suddenly be told that the one goal you've worked toward your whole life, that you've sacrificed and suffered for, that's pushed you beyond limits you never knew you had is now considered "strategically invalid"?


They couldn't keep their fighters in the air. Nothing eats parts like a fighter, and most of the factories in the US that could make parts for them were mostly full of ghouls at this point. Forget about anything else - the F-22 was mothballed because they became impossible to use. It is the same motivation behind the royalists grounding all their Apaches.

Article:
Would you say this was a common feeling?

Let me put it this way; the Russian army wasn't the only service to be decimated by their own government. The Armed Forces Reconstruction Act basically neutered the air force. Some DeStRes "experts" had determined that our resource-to-kill ratio, our RKR, was the most lopsided of all the branches.


First of all - supremely fucked to compare having your fighter jet taken away to being forced to beat your friend's head in with a rock?

Secondly - there's a chicken and egg situation with the air force in the junta; was the air force neutered because they were politically in the cold, or was the air force politically in the cold because they were neutered?

DeStRes cut the air force because the air force couldn't stop them from cutting it, which was because they'd left half their assets outside of their own grasp.

Article:
It had been considered a triumph, until Yonkers. Now we were told that the price of one JSOW kit—the materials, manpower, time, and energy, not to mention the fuel and ground maintenance needed for the delivery aircraft—could pay for a platoon of infantry pukes who could smoke a thousand times as many Gs.


We've had the lies, now it is time for the revelation. Do you know why you drop a bomb rather than send an infantry platoon? The bomb is more expensive; it has more or less always been more expensive. Rifles are cheap, bullets are cheap.

Leave aside matters of range here - there is a premium on human life. A pilot dropping a bomb on a swarm of ghouls is in almost no danger. An artillerist firing a GMLRS on a swarm of ghouls is in almost no danger. A tanker aiming the battle cannon of an M1 Abrams into the heart of a swarm is in almost no danger.

A soldier standing in a line with his buddies, clutching his rifle? Is in danger. Often, in fact, they will die. For a group which made such a fuss about how ill-treated the average soldier was in the pre-war military, the Junta carved away every last shield between their soldiers and the shambling horde.

The Junta's cost analysis makes absolutely no account for the lives of their soldiers being worth a bent penny.

Article:
They went through us like an industrial laser. The B-2 Spirits, gone; the B-1 Lancers, gone; even the old BUFFs, the B-52 Big Ugly Fat Fellows, gone. Throw in the Eagles, the Falcons, the Tomcats, Hornets, JSFs, and Raptors, and you have more combat aircraft lost to the stroke of a pen than to all the SAMs, Flak, and enemy fighters in history.


They lost fighters because they couldn't keep them operational. They lost bombers because there was blood in the water, and navy thought they might be able to keep more of the fleet operational if they ratfucked the air force.

It worked, sorta.

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At least the assets weren't scrapped, thank God, just mothballed in warehouses or that big desert graveyard at AMARC. "Long-term investment," they called it. That's the one thing you can always depend on; as we're fighting one war, we're always preparing for the next one.


Of course they dumped them in the Boneyard. I will pay any American - in good, hard Cuban Pesos, not whatever passes for the dollar these days - if even a dozen of the fighters in the boneyard still fly.

Almost all the planes there have been gutted for parts to repair the scant handful they still keep operational, and rotations to the Boneyard had a reputation in the US army for being a cushy way to supplement your salary.

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Our airlift capacity, at least the organization, was almost left intact.

Almost?

The Globemasters had to go, so did anything else powered by a "gas guzzling" jet. That left us with prop-powered aircraft. I went from flying the closest thing to an X-Wing fighter, to the next best thing to a U-Haul.


I think the Americans pretend to focus on fuel as their problem in the war because they've "fixed it" with the reconquest, but between resecuring much of Alaska in that first Spring and the refineries in California and Washington, fuel was not the concern.

Their global network of trade partners is shot to hell and their own industrial memory atrophied in the war. That is why they stopped using jets and are still visibly struggling even now to rearm.

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Was that the main mission of the air force?

Airborne resupply was our primary objective, the only one that really counted anymore.


Airborne resupply sucks ass; you don't get enough through, and getting yourselves up in the air and over to your target eats up resources you'd ideally be handing over at the other end. We never did it.

Running caravans through unsecured areas is unpleasant, but served two key purposes - it breaks up swarms as they begin to conglomerate, as parts of them break off to pursue the caravan, and it maintains a regular two-way line of travel and communication between your enclaves, which is the beginning of forming a state. I was never a guard on one, but when we were prepping for Birmingham I rode desant on a truck out of Liverpool. It was fun, putting down ghouls as we cruised past.

Of course, that was once the area was relatively cleared out. The runs up to Liverpool before we cleared the harbours for shipping were fairly abominable.

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[She points to a yellowed map on the wall.]

The base commander let me keep it, after what happened to me.

[The map is of the wartime continental United States. All land west of the Rockies is shadowed a light gray. Amongst this gray are a variety of colored circles.]


I'd love to see this map. It has never been clear exactly what the Americans categorised their outposts as. I do know that at every stage they refused to acknowledge the existence of other successor states, even when they doctrinally accounted for them.

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Islands in the Sea of Zack. Green denotes active military facilities. Some of them had been converted into refugee centers. Some were still contributing to the war effort. Some were well defended but had no strategic impact.

The Red Zones were labeled "Offensively Viable": factories, mines, power plants. The army'd left custodial teams during the big pullback. Their job was to guard and maintain these facilities for a time when, if, we could add them to the overall war effort.


They had very few "Red Zones" of any real value, honestly - you cannot keep a factory in, I don't know, Kansas, ticking over for half a decade on a drip feed of spare parts, especially when most of those parts are meant to come from a factory in, like, North Dakota, which you didn't secure, or failing that, a factory in South Korea which the South Koreans didn't secure, because it was only for export and they didn't prioritise it.

They were able to reopen the mines, by and large. The rest they had to rebuild.

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The Blue Zones were civilian areas where people had managed to make a stand, carve out a little piece of real estate, and figure some way to live within its boundaries. All these zones were in need of resupply and that's what the "Continental Airlift" was all about.


There weren't many of these.

Or, I tell a lie - as you get further east, these zones stopped looking to the government for assistance and started looking to each other. As they did this, they began organising, usually along parallel lines to those which existed as part of the state (which had been ripped out during the retreat). These lines would usually be a different sort of organisation - activist groups, marginalised communities, unions, churches.

And in those sentences you have a canned history of the rise of the Socialist Republic and the Christian States.

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It was a massive operation, not just in terms of aircraft and fuel, but organization as well. Remaining in contact with all these islands, processing their demands, coordinating with DeStRes, then trying to procure and prioritize all the materiel for each drop made it the statistically largest undertaking in air force history.

We tried to stay away from consumables, things like food and medicine that required regular deliveries. These were classified as DDs, dependency drops, and they got a backseat to SSDs, self-sustaining drops, like tools, spare parts, and tools to make spare parts.


I understand the people in Blue Zones that remained Blue were mostly pretty happy with the type of supplies they got, but not the frequency - though I suppose that's self selecting. Zones that couldn't survive off of "SSDs" didn't survive the war to complain about their drops.

Airborne Resupply was never ideal, but they had to do it - partially because the means of their retreat and their approach to retreating meant they couldn't easily leave the Rockies in those first few crucial years, under siege from the swarms they drew out West as they were.

The main reason, though, was that a land convoy to their holdings east of the Rockies would get intercepted by a successor state - the SR and CSA were the biggest games in town, but by no means the only ones, especially in those early days. Even some of the people who'd embrace them with open arms in the reconquest weren't above piracy to get what they wanted.

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"They don't need fish," Sinclair used to say, "they need fishing poles." Still, every autumn, we dropped a lot of fish, and wheat, and salt, and dried vegetables and baby formula…Winters were hard. Remember how long they used to be? Helping people to help themselves is great in theory, but you still gotta keep 'em alive.


It's quite funny that they drape this in virtue; they didn't, like, decide to only ship food to these enclaves when they had no other choice. To borrow his analogy - California had lots of fishing poles, but not a lot of spare fish.

A lot of enclaves collapsed; every nuclear reactor east of the Rockies was shut down because they couldn't keep them running without a steady supply of Uranium, coolant…

I don't think the Americans have been able to reactivate many of them, for a variety of largely political reasons.

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Sometimes you had to drop in people, specialists like doctors or engineers, people with the kind of training you just can't get from a how-to manual. The Blue Zones got a lot of Special Forces instructors, not only to teach them how better to defend themselves, but to prepare them for the day they might have to go on the offensive. I have a lot of respect for those guys.


It didn't take the Americans long to realise they were losing Blue Zones, and not just to ghouls. Not usually to ghouls, even - as a rule of thumb if they've not been overrun after a year, the ghouls aren't getting in. Usually they'd make contact with one of the successor states and end up aligning with them.

That was when the Americans started to put Special Forces teams in more important Blue Zones. Forget about going on the offensive, this was about keeping the boot on the neck. They weren't blind to what was happening in other countries. Our situation must've concerned them, and the Russians downright terrified them.

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That goes for the pilots as well.

Hey, I'm not minimizing our risks at all. Every day we had to fly over hundreds, in some cases thousands, of miles of infested territory. That's why we had Purple Zones. [She refers to the last color on the map. The purple circles are few and far between.] We set these up as refuel and repair facilities. A lot of the aircraft didn't have the range to reach remote drop zones on the East Coast if in-flight refueling assets weren't available. They helped reduce the number of ships and crews lost en route. They brought our fleet survivability up to 92 percent. Unfortunately, I was part of the other eight.


The Junta had a bastard of a time getting to some of their remote drops. To get to the East Coast they had to fly through the St. Louis-Colombia/Memphis-Charlotte corridor and then break north or south to get to their drop zone, whilst to get to the blue zones clinging to the Gulf Coast, they had to dip down over Mexico and then skim the coast, flying low.

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I'll never be sure what exactly brought us down: mechanical malfunction or metal fatigue combined with weather. It might have been the contents of our payload, mislabeled or mishandled. That happened a lot more than anyone wanted to think about. Sometimes if hazardous materials weren't packaged properly, or, God forbid, some shit-for-brains QC inspector let his people assemble their detonators before crating them for travel…that happened to a buddy of mine, just a routine flight from Palmdale to Vandenberg, not even across an infested area. Two hundred Type 38 detonators, all fully assembled with their power cells accidentally running, all set to blow on the same freq as our radio.


I'm pretty sure I know what brought her down, just like how I know two hundred detonators don't get set to blow on the radio frequency of the plane transporting them by mistake.

The CSA was a lot more confrontational than the Socialist Republic of the Great Lakes, was on the offensive more or less constantly, and they had a lot of sympathisers west of the Rockies willing to "inadvertently" blow a plane into a fine mist for money or salvation.

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[She snaps her fingers.]

That could have been us. We were on a hop from Phoenix to the Blue Zone outside Tallahassee, Florida. It was late October, almost full winter back then. Honolulu was trying to squeeze out just a few more drops before the weather socked us in till March. It was our ninth haul that week. We were all on "tweeks," these little blue stims that kept you going without hampering your reflexes or judgment. I guess they worked well enough, but they made me have to piss my kidneys out every twenty minutes.


Those blue pills sell at a premium, now. People will pay dealers an awful lot for such cleanly produced meth. I don't know why they didn't just use amphetamines; people argue they wanted their pilots addicted, but I think meth was just cheaper.

And sure, they don't "hamper your judgement" when you're off your face tweaking. I will say - they saved her life.

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I'd just zipped up when suddenly there was this massive jolt like God had just drop-kicked our tail…and suddenly our nose was dipping. The head on our C-130 wasn't even really a toilet, just a portable chempot with a heavy, plastic shower curtain. That's probably what ended up saving my life. If I'd been trapped in a real compartment, maybe knocked out or unable to reach the latch…Suddenly there was this screech, this overpowering blast of high-pressure air and I was sucked out right through the rear of the aircraft, right past where the tail should have been.


They flew too high, got bipped on CSA radar and some sociopath blew the tail off their Hercules with a SAM.

The CSA adored doing this shit. The SRGL was a lot more restrained; get picked up on CSA radar and you'll find out when you pick up a missile. Get picked up by the SRGL over their airspace and you'll find out when someone gets on the radio and redirects you to O'Hare and relieves you of your cargo.

I'm not super interested in defending the morality of doing that - we were never in a position where there were statistically significant supply runs over our territory, so never faced the issue, whilst they were.

Survivors of their missile command swear blind it was only over their airspace, not their entire radar envelop, so, like, you tell me the ethics here, I guess.

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That was the worst moment, right there, just hanging helplessly. I could see the other chute, above and north of me by about three and a half clicks. I looked for the others. I tried my radio again, but wasn't able to get a signal. I figured it had been damaged during my "exit." I tried to get my bearings, somewhere over southern Louisiana, a swampy wilderness that seemed to have no end.


The CSA filled those swamps with Junta planes, and I can't tell you why beyond flexing their muscles? It's not like the supplies could be salvaged.

I expect the blast killed the rest of the crew. I hope so, anyway; if they were just unconscious, they either died on impact or… didn't.

The Junta made such unbelievably fragile radios, also - my girl says her unit's radio operator would go through 3 or 4 a month, and they were just walking with it.

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Did the air force prepare you for situations like these?

We all had to pass the Willow Creek Escape and Evade program in the Klamath Mountains in California. It even had a few real Gs in there with us, tagged and tracked and placed at specific marks to give us the "real feel." It's a lot like what they teach you in the civilian manual: movement, stealth, how to take out Zack before he can howl your position. We all "made it," lived, I mean, although a couple of pilots washed out on a Section Eight.


Why do you need to test with actual ghouls? Why didn't they at least muzzle them? They can't have muzzled them if they were in danger of dying.

They still do this, apparently. Every officer cadet in their army, navy and air force has to go through this ridiculous gauntlet to ensure they are "prepared for Zack".

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You wanna talk about being alone in a hostile environment, try my four years at Colorado Springs.

But there were other women…

Other cadets, other competitors who happen to have the same genitalia. Trust me, when the pressure kicked in, sisterhood punched out. No, it was me, only me. Self-contained, self-reliant, and always, unquestionably self-assured.


Misogyny in the US Military at this time was odd, because it existed - it still exists, obviously, but they've stamped down hard - in this strange sort of quantum state where it was tolerated for other troops, other cadets and instructors to give shit to female cadets and to a lesser extent women in their first few years in the service, to "weed out" the weak, and this only stopped once they got high enough in rank as to be insulated…

But if you weren't in the military, any soldier was effectively considered above reproach.

So a Sergeant, say, would be condescended to by her senior officers and questioned by the privates under her, but if a civilian talked back to her, he'd lose his teeth from those same privates, or be threatened with a sedition arrest by those selfsame officers…

My wife says it was unbearably restrictive - even where it was good, it was still that you were being "protected" by other soldiers. By my understanding, the conceit that all soldiers were above civilians, and therefore that a female soldier has the right to beat or arrest a civilian for disrespecting her, without needing intercession from a male soldier, is now more solid.

I don't know what the internal culture is like - my information about the state of their military internally is 13 years out of date - but from the outside, a lot of the New Clique and their most prominent underlings are women so, like, maybe they've achieved their enlightened military egalitarianism.

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I unclasped my chute—they teach you not to waste time concealing it—and headed in the direction of the other chute. It took me a couple hours, splashing through this cold slime that numbed everything below my knees. I wasn't thinking clearly, my head was still spinning. No excuse, I know, but that's why I didn't notice that the birds had suddenly beat it in the opposite direction.


That'll be the meth combining with the adrenaline to start leaving her a little away with the fairies.

Birds are pretty good warning for when ghouls are nearby - I knew a dude who swore blind he'd gotten from Warwick Castle to Manchester just using his falcons as a warning system.

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I did hear the scream though, faint and far away. I could see the chute tangled in the trees. I started running, another no-no, making all that noise without stopping to listen for Zack. I couldn't see anything, just all these naked gray branches until they were right on top of me. If it wasn't for Rollins, my copilot, I'm sure I'da been a goner.

I found him dangling from his harness, dead, twitching. His flight suit had been torn open[5] and his entrails were hanging…draped over five of them as they fed in this cloud of red-brown water.


Okay, I've been ignoring footnotes so far, but this one requires engaging with - "[5] At this point in the war, the new Battle Dress Uniforms (BDUs) were not yet in mass production."

I'm not a pilot, but replacing a Nomex flight suit with a Kevlar-Poly Blend infantry uniform does not, to me, scream "what a good idea" - instead it mostly just screams things like "it has grafted to my skin," "My fucking flight suit melted" and "oh god, the burns".

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I found myself burning up, mentally. Fucking weakling, I told myself, f**king loser. I started to spiral, not just hating myself, but hating myself for hating myself. Does that make any sense? I'm sure I might have just stayed there, shaking and helpless and waiting for Zack.

But then my radio started squawking. "Hello? Hello? Is anyone out there? Anyone punch outta that wreck?" It was a woman's voice, clearly civilian by her language and tone.


This is the meth. She's shaky, panicking, filled with self loathing. America fucked over their pilots really pretty badly, riding them into the dirt and then dosing them to the eyeballs and sending them out again. They had an almost 10% attrition rate on missions which shouldn't have involved encountering an enemy. Either the CSA shot down more than I thought, or hopping pilots on meth in lieu of letting them sleep was unwise.

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I answered immediately, identified myself, and demanded that she respond in kind. She told me she was a skywatcher, and her handle was "Mets Fan," or just "Mets" for short. The Skywatch system was this ad hoc network of isolated ham radio operators. They were supposed to report on downed aircrews and do what they could to help with their rescue.


Did the American Junta ever adequately explain why they never just… reactivated some Air Traffic Control towers to guide their planes in? Like, Baton Rouge or Lafayette were probably too small to have a "full" Air Traffic Control Centre,, but every airport's got a tower, every tower's got a radio…

Like, I get that the planes have to fly mostly dark to avoid… this? But they could've at least told them a plane would be going overhead - I'm sure if they were looking they could've seen it go down? There's 50 miles between the two cities and it is flat swampland.

But they weren't told, so they weren't looking.

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I reached for my GPS but it had been torn from my suit when I was sucked out of my ship. I had a backup survival map, but it was so big, so unspecific, and my hump took me over so many states that it was practically just a map of the U.S.…my head was still clouded with anger and doubt. I told her I didn't know my position, didn't know where to go…

She laughed. "You mean you've never made this run before? You don't have every inch of it committed to memory? You didn't see where you were as you were hanging by the silk?"


Part of the Junta's calculation is that looking for their pilots when they go down is an inefficiency - their official view is that the odds of surviving the crash are so long that when a plane fails to arrive they mark the crew as MIA - no search and rescue is attempted until or unless one of the barely sanctioned Skywatchers calls in that they've got contact with survivors on the ground. Try your best not to think about how many pilots died waiting for rescue that wasn't coming.

Even still, the cost of printing multiple maps along her route shouldn't have been beyond their capacity.

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I checked on the map and realized that directly north of me was the I-10 freeway. Mets told me that was the best place for an S&R pickup. She told me it shouldn't take any longer than a day or two at best if I got a move on and stopped burning daylight.


She was lucky to ditch this far south. Much further north, she's out of range of the naval guns in the Gulf and the CSA S&R would've snatched her.

A white dude pilot could usually fast talk his way into having realised the error of his ways and become a pilot for the CSA. White female pilots like Christina here would end up married off to some southern Good Ole Boy to teach her her place in the world. Anyone else would probably have used their sidearm to kill themselves before the CSA could reach them.

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She said, "Stay alive, stay alive and do your job." Then she added, "And stop using up your weekend minutes."
She was talking about battery power—she didn't miss a trick—so I signed off and started moving north across the swamp.


That's another thing - the American radios used such corroded batteries they could barely hold charge.

Some of this is their general contempt for stuff that does not directly kill the enemy, some of it is their callous calculation that pilots won't survive a crash, but most of it is a terrible lack of capacity. Lithium was hard to come by for America, at least until they got Chile to start mining and shipping it again.

On that note - batteries in America are about to get real pricy and real shit again, so buckle up.

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She warned me to stay off it and every other road that crisscrossed the basin. "Roads mean cars," she said, "and cars mean Gs." She was talking about any bitten human drivers who died of their wounds while still behind the wheel and, because a ghoul doesn't have the IQ points to open a door or unbuckle a seatbelt, would be doomed to spend the rest of their existence trapped in their cars.


I'm about to unleash some patented "unsubstantiated musings" - the risk of this was always overstated. They'll moan, so the claim goes, and attract more zombies. But you can't hear shit through a car window. Motorway travel was never that dangerous, and I can't imagine some tiny road through a Louisiana swamp would be much worse. She probably drew more by splashing through the wetland.

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She said, "You'll be up above the swamp. How are more zombies gonna get to you?" Because it was built several stories above the swamp, this section of the I-10 was the safest place in the whole basin.


There's enough stories of America's various unmaintained elevated highways coming down during their reconquest that I find myself somewhat doubtful. Tell me it's because they were damaged by fire from burning out trucks all you like - how do you know the I-10 wasn't? And how do you know it was built right? Look at the Royalists' moronic armoured motorways!

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I saw a lot of bones on the patches of raised mud. I couldn't tell if they were human or animal. One time I found this rib cage; I'm guessing it was a gator, a big one. I didn't want to think about how many Gs it took to bring that bastard down.


I didn't see many big critters like that until London; the ghouls ate the wildlife in most of the zoos and safari parks, and what they couldn't eat took sick; the wolf pack at Longleat were almost dead from that virus the ghouls generate - they have to bite to fight, right? - when someone found them. Vets had to work overtime to save enough to maintain pack cohesion.

The hippo in London Zoo, that was what scared me, though. A ton and a half of muscle, fat and bone, and it'd been overwhelmed. There were dozens of broken ghouls around it, but they'd crushed it under weight of numbers, eaten the whole thing. Poor brave brute.

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The first G I saw was small, probably a kid, I couldn't tell. Its face was eaten off, the skin, nose, eyes, lips, even the hair and ears . . . not completely gone, but partially hanging or stuck in patches to the exposed skull.


They rot slow, but they do rot, especially somewhere hot and wet, like Louisiana.

Not so much in the British South West. They'll be slouching around intact on the Scilly Isles until someone pulls their finger out and sends troops out there.

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It couldn't moan, its throat had been too badly mangled, but the splashing might have attracted attention, so I put it out of its misery, if it really was miserable, and tried not to think about it. That was another thing they taught us at Willow Creek: don't write their eulogy, don't try to imagine who they used to be, how they came to be here, how they came to be this.


Idiot. I know that's unfair; this is a weirdly common issue even in trained soldiers. A suppressor reduces how loud a gunshot is, yes. It reduces muzzle flash, sparing your eyes, yes. It protects your ears from the sound of the gunshot, yes.

It makes a gunshot quieter than a hand splashing in water? No.

We weren't issued suppressors for "stealth" - you got a suppressor if you were going to be unable to shield your ears or eyes. Otherwise you'll feel tempted to do something like this.

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I found myself wondering why it had been the only one I'd seen.

That was a practical survival question, not just idle musings, so I got on the radio and asked Mets if there was something I was missing here, if maybe there was some area I should be careful to avoid. She reminded me that this area was, for the most part, depopulated because the Blue Zones of Baton Rouge and Lafayette were pulling most of the Gs in either direction. That was bittersweet comfort, being right between two of the heaviest clusters for miles. She laughed, again…"Don't worry about it, you'll be fine."


Lafayette and Baton Rouge eventually got themselves enough breathing room to push out - they cleared the I-10 about 3 years in, started clearing the swampland, established a stable enough and large enough "Blue Zone" that they could start to hold elections.

By the time the Junta reached them, Louisiana had its own state government back up and running as a multi-party democracy, completely ready to rejoin the United States of America. The Junta appointed a military governor with sweeping powers for the duration of their war with what was left of the CSA, and to coordinate the reclamation of New Orleans from the dead, which was accepted as necessity.

The military governor remained in power until about three years after the war, and in that time, Louisiana's democracy was subsumed into the broader American system, through a combination of inertia, corruption and outright malfeasance on the part of the federal government. They had a democracy in their state and the federal government smothered it with a pillow.

There's a lot of anger in Louisiana about that. Lot of anger all over America about things like that.

I might start skimming, hope that's alright with everyone.

She finds an SUV in the swamp full of civilian prepper shit; a guy drove it into the swamp, got stuck and shot himself.

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I couldn't see any other wound, no bites, nothing. That hit me hard, a lot harder than the little faceless kid. This guy had had everything he needed to survive, everything except the will. I know that's supposition. Maybe there was a wound I couldn't see, hidden by his clothes or the advanced decomposition. But I knew it, leaning there with my face against the glass, looking at this monument to how easy it was to give up.


I don't want to, like, armchair psychiatrist this, but she isn't talking about the guy in the car, here. It is manifestly obvious why a man sitting in an SUV stuck in a swamp would shoot himself.

I remember looking at a body hanging from our service station's bridge, thinking similarly about how they'd just given up. Whenever you start wondering why someone gave up, about how easy it was to give up? You're wondering about giving up.

At least, I was.

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I brought up the idea of maybe using the SUV itself. Mets asked if I had a tow truck and some jumper cables. Almost like a kid, I answered no. She asked, "Then what's keeping you?" or something like that, pushing me to get a move on. I told her to just wait a minute, I leaned my head against the driver's side window, I sighed and felt beat again, drained. Mets got on my ass, pushing me. I snapped back for her to shut the f**k up, I just needed a minute, a couple seconds to…I don't know what.


Not a chance a car works after marinating in a Louisiana swamp for over a year. She wanted to salvage the SUV because she wanted it to matter, wanted the man having given up to not be nothing but loss and waste.

See, when I felt this sort of way, it was because I had undiagnosed and untreated depression. She was feeling this sort of way on account of being on meth.

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I must have kept my thumb on the "transmit" button for a few seconds too long, because Mets suddenly asked, "What was that?" "What?" I asked. She'd heard something, something on my end.

She'd heard it before you?

I guess so, because in another second, once I'd cleared my head and opened my ears, I began to hear it too. The moan…loud and close, followed by the splashing of feet.


She kills a bunch of ghouls, turns her brain off for a minute and drops into fighter pilot sicko mode, and that puts her in a better mindset.

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It was another twenty minutes before Mets asked me for an update. I gave her a body count and she told me to remind her never to piss me off. I laughed, the first time since I'd hit the mud. I felt good again, strong and confident. Mets warned me that all these distractions had erased any chance of making it to the I-10 before nightfall, and that I should probably start thinking about where I was gonna catch my forty.


No one really likes to talk about it, but there's something undeniable about the power you feel like you have when you put a whole bunch of ghouls in the dirt. The first time I ever had a gun - an ugly SIG 9mm I took from the belt of a police officer rotting on one of their barricades in Oxford once I was alone - I put down four ghouls and very nearly blew out my own eardrum. Made me laugh until I cried.

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I got as far away from the SUV as I could before the sky started to darken and found a decent enough perch in the branches of a tall tree. My kit had this standard-issue microfiber hammock; great invention, light and strong and with clasps to keep you from rolling out. That part was also supposed to help calm you down, help you get to sleep faster…yeah, right! It didn't matter that I'd already been up for close to forty-eight hours, that I'd tried all the breathing exercises they taught us at the Creek, or that I even slipped two of my Baby-Ls.[6] You're only supposed to take one, but I figured that was for lightweight wussies.


Another footnote - [6] - "Baby-Ls": Officially a pain reliever but used by many military personnel as a sleep aid. - opiates.

I can't say I'm terribly surprised she went over her dose, any more than I'd be surprised if she took another one of her "tweeks" when she woke up the next morning - mixing heroin and meth is apparently rather pleasant.

I knew a lot of people who treated opiates like tic-tacs in the war, and that was without being in a military which handed out little baggies of them.

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I slept hard. The sky was already light by the time I opened my eyes. I'd been dreaming about, what else, Zack. His moans were still echoing in my ears when I woke up. And then I looked down and realized they weren't dreams. There must have been at least a hundred of them surrounding the tree. They were all reaching excitedly, all trying to climb over each other to get up to me.


I guess they smelt her? I'm not sure. Maybe the shooting she did earlier attracted some attention?

I used to sleep like the dead as a kid, but now the slightest noise rouses me. It isn't the worst possible trauma response I could've picked up, even if I do end up tired. Better than sleeping through, I think.

I picked it up later than it would've been useful. Waking up in a hotel room and seeing a ghoul's pallid grey hand scrabbling uselessly at the chain across the door is a pretty singularly awful experience, and I had it more than once. I only got into the habit of light sleeping once I was in the Guards. Not even in basic; only once on deployment. Anglesey left a mark.

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According to my map, the I-10 was close enough for me to make a run for it, be spotted by a rescue chopper, and be lifted off before these stink bags would ever catch up. I got on the radio, reported my situation to Mets, and told her to signal S&R for an immediate pickup. She told me to be careful. I crouched, I jumped, and cracked my ankle on a submerged rock.


Getting up on the elevated Highway when pursued by ghouls means that unless your rescue helicopter happens to already be in the area, you're just running onto an enclosed platform with no way out, pursued by a swarm. That's how people die.

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I reached the freeway, looming above the swamp like the ruins of a Roman aqueduct. Mets had been right about its relative safety. Only neither of us had counted on my injury or my undead tail. There was no immediate entrance so I had to limp to one of the small, adjoining roads that Mets had originally warned me to avoid. I could see why as I began to get close. Wrecked and rusting cars were piled up by the hundreds and every tenth one had at least one G locked inside.


There's literally no way a person is getting onto a freeway without a ghoul being able to follow. They're just not safe.

We retain a monkey brain assumption that High=Safe, but if the only way to get there is a gentle slope, you'll just end up leading the swarm up after you.

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Grabbers?

The ones reaching through broken windows. On the open road, I at least had a chance of dodging them, but on the on-ramp, you're hemmed in on either side. That was the worst part, by far, those few minutes trying to get up onto the freeway. I had to go in between the cars; my ankle wouldn't let me get on top of them.


People do this a lot. Conjure up "better" ways they could've acted in life-or-death situations, if it weren't for this or that or the other. It's a coping mechanism.

In reality, clambering over rusting and wrecked cars - masses of twisted metal and uneven heights - would've been slower and more dangerous.

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She never let up, never gave me an inch. "What are you, some weak little victim?" At that point I thought I was. I knew I could never make it. The exhaustion, the pain, more than anything, I think, the anger at f**king up so badly. I actually considered turning my pistol around, wanting to punish myself for…you know. And then Mets really hit me. She roared, "What are you, your f**king mother!?!"


One of the symptoms of abuse of drugs like meth or amphetamines is auditory hallucination. In her case, these hallucinations took the form of a voice for her better judgement, and saved her fucking life.

Substance abuse under the junta is fascinating, and someone should write a book on it. The airforce are all on meth, the navy drinks and the army does whatever they can get their hands on.

There's not a real appetite to change any of this, even in the New Clique, so it isn't going anywhere.

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A black dot was heading at me from out of the morning sun. It was following the freeway and grew very quickly into the form of a UH-60. I let out a whoop and popped my signal flare.

The first thing I saw when they winched me aboard was that it was a civilian chopper, not government Search and Rescue.


Lucky, lucky girl.

Lafayette and Baton Rouge had four helicopters between them, and kept them flying through trade into the Gulf; they never traded directly with Cuba or anyone, but they traded with ships that traded with Cuba, so it's a little moot.

They talk a lot after this about her "Skywatcher" - Christina insists she was real, probably a Marine or Navy pilot.

So far as it goes, they didn't section 8 her because there wasn't any reason to believe she was crazy as opposed to just tweaking and sleep deprived.

This is such an incredibly long section that doesn't really… say very much? Sorry about it.

Next time I finally get to go insane, because he interviews a bloodless royalist creep, so I get to talk about Britain.

Donate to the Walvis Bay Railroad [HERE].

Donate to the Sanatorium for Infirm Women in Russia [HERE]; the women out of the Bratsk camps have started arriving, and… they really need the funds urgently.

Donate to the Lakota [HERE] - they're trying to rebuild as well as they can.

Donate to drug relief for veterans from the masterlist [HERE] - there's a bunch of charities in a bunch of countries, for veterans from a bunch of countries. Pick your favourite.

AN: This is such a long interview, jeez.

Anyway, next up is the British interviewee, who I hate. This sort of bumbling "Oh golly gosh, I'm just such an awkward geeky British man who loves the monarchy" schtick is, like… can we just skip to the bit where you call me a slur? Very familiar sort of pseudofash tory.
 
The Royalist.
The Royalist.

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PROVINCE OF BOHEMIA, THE EUROPEAN UNION

[It is called Kost, "the Bone," and what it lacks in beauty it more than makes up for in strength. Appearing to grow out of its solid rock foundation, this fourteenth-century Gothic "Hrad" casts an intimidating shadow over the Plakanek Valley, an image David Allen Forbes is keen to capture with his pencil and paper. This will be his second book, Castles of the Zombie War: The Continent. The Englishman sits under a tree, his patchwork clothing and long Scottish sword already adding to this Arthurian setting. He abruptly switches gears as I arrive, from serene artist to painfully nervous storyteller.]


Of course he's in Bohemia.

There's, like… three schools of thought on "Bohemia" - the Czechs maintain it is not a thing, and has not been a thing since Czechoslovakia's reforms in 1948, a fact cemented in the 1997 constitutional act, whilst the German Southern Command - supposedly "Bavaria" - recognises the "secession" of parts of various Czech border regions and considers them "Bohemia" - the fact that they match the "Sudetenland" and have been ruthlessly ethnically cleansed by militias from Bavaria with strong ties to the Bavarian government? A coincidence.

The EU, in the spirit of compromise, recognises the entire Historical Region of Bohemia and declares it the EU Province of Bohemia, which pleases no one, but broadly favours the Bavarians; its all part of their broader project to pretend there's no war on, whilst Leipzig coordinates with the Czechs to crush the hateful little shits in Bohemia.

I grant Forbes at least that he isn't in the actual no shit Bavarian-held territory, so maybe this is just the Americans following EU guidelines. I doubt it.

There's a self-consciousness to British Royalism, honestly; the claymore is ridiculous. It was ridiculous in the war, it's more ridiculous now. They wear them because they have this absurd fucking idea that because the royalist government survived in northern Scotland, they're all akin to the jacobites now.

Dressing up as a Georgian gentleman-scholar with a claymore on your back whilst you sketch a castle is a fucking performance.

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When I say that the New World doesn't have our history of fixed fortifications, I'm only referring to North America. There are the Spanish coastal fortresses, naturally, along the Caribbean, and the ones we and the French built in the Lesser Antilles. Then there are the Inca ruins in the Andes, although they never experienced direct sieges.


Almost none of these fortifications ever mattered. When they were used - when people decided to hole up in crumbling half-collapsed fortresses without heating or roofs - they tended to either only be a "siege" for about a week, tops - much longer than that, and you'll typically start to see people dying of disease or exposure - or fall to the swarm.

This may become something of a theme, but I'll touch later on why I am so strident about this.

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Also, when I say "North America," that does not include the Mayan and Aztec ruins in Mexico—that business with the Battle of Kukulcan, although I suppose that's Toltec, now, isn't it, when those chaps held off so many Zed Heads on the steps of that bloody great pyramid. So when I say "New World," I'm really referring to the United States and Canada.


Kukulkan was a Maya temple, but I'm confident he doesn't care. He knows he's talking to a largely American audience - that's where the affected "those chaps" and "bloody great pyramid" shit comes from, along with "the New World" and "the Continent".

It's easy to underestimate the royalists, because they're so odious and have this affect of being out of touch and harmless, but they play propaganda games and they play them well. Maintaining a regime with such utterly negligible public support takes work.

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This isn't an insult, you understand, please don't take it as such. You're both young countries, you don't have the history of institutional anarchy we Europeans suffered after the fall of Rome. You've always had standing, national governments with the forces capable of enforcing law and order.


This is some insane reactionary shit, the idea that Europe remains defined by fear of the barbarian hordes coming across the border to destroy law and order, that Europe's endless struggle with barbarism from within and without has given Europeans some ineffable strength above that of the "New World" - they hide it behind talk of castles and the like, but beneath the surface you find very 20th century ideologies.

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I know that wasn't true during your westward expansion or your civil war, and please, I'm not discounting those pre–Civil War fortresses or the experiences of those defending them. I'd one day like to visit Fort Jefferson. I hear those who survived there had quite a time of it. All I'm saying is, in Europe's history, we had almost a millennia of chaos where sometimes the concept of physical safety stopped at the battlements of your lord's castle. Does that make sense? I'm not making sense; can we start again?


Valourising castles is quite useful, because it lets you quietly express approval for the worst fucking shit imaginable - American westward expansion, the British empire in the Caribbean, Spanish colonialism and so on - whilst being able to hide behind proclaiming you only meant to say you like castles and people are reading too much into it.

And it should go without saying; the perception of European history as a thousand years of grateful peasants cowering within the walls of their noble lords is ahistorical.

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Right then. Castles. Well . . . I don't want for a moment to overstate their importance for the general war effort.
In fact, when you compare them to any other type of fixed fortification, modern, modified, and so forth, their contribution does seem quite negligible, unless you're like me, and that contribution was what saved your life.


More people would survive the war in Europe in Amazon warehouses than in castles [SOURCE], but for all he says he doesn't want to "overstate their importance" he proceeds to do so at length, and subsequently build an entire fucking monarchist mythology around how important castles were.

It wasn't meaningfully a castle which saved his life, either. He's so full of shit I bet his eyes are brown. He survived by clinging like a tick to the crowned hag.

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This doesn't mean that a mighty fortress was naturally our God. For starters, you must understand the inherent difference between a castle and a palace. A lot of so-called castles were really nothing more than just great impressive homes, or else had been converted to such after their defensive value had become obsolete.


Right, you need a proper castle, one that hasn't been degenerated for comfort, one that still exists to defend European Law And Order.

I don't even know if he knows that he means it this way? It's stupid, too - insofar as any castles were relevant, modernised ones were better than ones left to crumble into ruins, windows in the ground floor or not. Most of the people who spent any time in a castle needed clear sight lines and the ability to sleep under a roof in a warm bed more than they needed a moat and a drawbridge, because they'd only be there for one night, on their way to an actual survivor enclave or state.

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You'd be better off in a modern block of flats with the staircase removed. And as far as those palaces that were built as nothing more than status symbols, places like Chateau Ussé or Prague "Castle," they were little more than death traps.


We had started building these, as the war went on. Mixed use blocks of flats - the bottom floor is an office that's only used in daylight hours, with either a ladder or a hoistable staircase leading to the higher floors where people would sleep.

It makes fire safety a little more complicated, but so does every measure against ghoul attack.

Chateau d'Ussé and Prague Castle were never put under serious siege, though cleansing Prague Castle after the war was a nightmare.

Which is another thing about fucking castles that he just glosses over; they're pure shite to clear out later when your idiotic defence fails. Ghouls don't care if you're hiding in a priest hole or a servants corridor - they can smell you, hear you, sense you in that evil, ineffable way. No, the people who get ambushed in a castle are the people clearing it.

If they ever say they had the hardest war though - laugh in the face. I'd have killed to wander through Waddesdon Manor smashing shit with a crowbar to lure out the literal ghouls that used to be Tory ghouls.

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Just look at Versailles. That was a first-rate cock-up. Small wonder the French government chose to build their national memorial on its ashes. Did you ever read that poem by Renard, about the wild roses that now grow in the memorial garden, their petals stained red with the blood of the damned?


The French government didn't have a lot of choice; direct federal control only covers so much of central France, and there might've been a riot if they'd put the memorial in Paris proper.

It's a good poem, though I suspect he doesn't get it.

He probably thinks it's sad, a tragic musing on the loss of life; that's a common enough read, but I know anger when I read it.

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Not that a high wall was all you needed for long-term survival. Like any static defense, castles had as many internal as external dangers. Just look at Muiderslot in Holland. One case of pneumonia, that's all it took. Throw in a wet, cold autumn, poor nutrition, and lack of any genuine medications . . .


Not unique to castles. We saw this all over; I remember being at the front of an advance into Wolverhampton, and we were the first to reach the stadium; we had some hope for them in there - there had been tens of thousands across the various Liverpool-Manchester stadiums, but someone cracked open the padlocks on Molineux and the smell was like a punch in the gut.

Tuberculosis, would you believe it.

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And then there were fires like the ones at Braubach and Pierrefonds; hundreds trapped with nowhere to run, just waiting to be charred by the flames or asphyxiated by the smoke.
There were also accidental explosions, civilians who somehow found themselves in possession of bombs but had no idea how to handle or even store them.


Fire was a nearly constant blight on smaller survivor communities. If you don't have enough people to start working on restoring and defending power stations, you need fires in the winter to avoid freezing to death, and if you've locked yourself in a fortified location - like a castle, or a block of flats - you can end up burning yourselves to death. Swathes of London still haven't even been rebuilt. The blackened, gutted ruins of dozens of blocks of flats, all within sight of each other.

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At least that was a mistake based on ignorance. I can't even begin to forgive what happened at Chateau de Fougeres. They were running low on supplies, thought that they could dig a tunnel under their undead attackers. What did they think this was, The Great Escape? Did they have any professional surveyors with them? Did they even understand the basics of trigonometry? The bloody tunnel exit fell short by over half a kilometer, came up right in a nest of the damn things. Stupid wankers hadn't even thought to equip their tunnel with demolition charges.


They were terrified, you arsehole. Was it foolish? Yes. They'd somehow contrived to attract a swarm far larger than they could cope with, and were trying to find a way out with what they had. Obviously the tunnel was a disaster - they were hacking through close to solid rock! - but ultimately everyone in that castle was already dead. At least this gave them a chance.

There is something I find acutely offensive about some chinless royalist gloating about the people who died because they didn't have the good luck to be hiding with a regiment of the household fucking guard.

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Yes, there were cock-ups aplenty, but there were also some noteworthy triumphs. Many were subjected to only short-term sieges, the good fortune of being on the right side of the line. Some in Spain, Bavaria, or Scotland above the Antonine[2] only had to hold out for weeks, or even days. For some, like Kisimul, it was only a question of getting through one rather dodgy night.


Spain was a marvel. I know people have their complaints; they were always fairly surly with smugglers, and there's the perennial controversy about refugees in the Pyrenees, but it was Spanish built G36s that armed us for the big push. The advantages of there being an actually functional state in Europe cannot be overstated.

I have nothing so kind to say about Bavaria.

Kisimul is funny because you will never meet people less grateful for being "saved" by their national government than Scots from the Highlands and Outer Hebrides. A whole slew of people absolutely aware that the only reason they were in danger to begin with was that the government told refugees to flee there to be safe, and the only reason they survived was that after the previous three governmental retreats failed, relatively few people listened to them this time.

Kisimul was lucky not to be Beaumaris, left to fend for itself - hell, it was lucky not to be Lancaster Castle, devoured by the swarm the government led to their doors.

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But then there were the true tales of victory, like Chenonceau in France, a bizarre little Disneyesque castle built on a bridge over the Cher River. With both connections to land severed, and the right amount of strategic forethought, they managed to hold their position for years.

They had enough supplies for years?

Oh good lord, no. They simply waited for first snowfall, then raided the surrounding countryside. This was, I should imagine, standard procedure for almost anyone under siege, castle or not.


I always find it odd - people in sieges like this looked at snow and ice as a positive, which didn't ever properly fade. There was someone in my unit who'd holed up in a school for two years before being rescued, and they always laughed when it snowed, even though it meant miserably stumbling through slush, trying not to let your fingers freeze off.

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It's not surprising how many defenders chose to remain in their strongholds even with the opportunity to flee, be it Bouillon in Belgium or Spis in Slovakia or even back home like Beaumaris in Wales. Before the war, the place had been nothing but a museum piece, a hollow shell of roofless chambers and high concentric walls. The town council should be given the VC for their accomplishments, pooling resources, organizing citizens, restoring this ruin to its former glory. They had just a few months before the crisis engulfed their part of Britain.


Okay I can't let this slide - this just isn't true, really. Bouillon I will give a pass - even once they'd cleared Bouillon town, they still withdrew to the castle as and when they needed to defend against a swarm, but Spis? Spis had a company of retreating Slovakian infantry hole up in it with half the population of Spišské Podhradie for a week. It's a big ruin, but it's a ruin. Once they'd cleared the ghouls - the other half of the population - they moved back into town and used the Chapter House; it has a roof, for one.

As for Beaumaris; they were doing fine, as was the rest of northern Wales, until they were told with a moment's notice that several million englishmen would be coming to take up residence on Anglesey as a defensive position. They got their castle set up just in time for the rest of the population of Anglesey to be evicted and sent to Holy Island to "secure" Anglesey proper for the retreat.

Two companies of the Royal Welsh First Battalion held the Holyhead causeway for a week whilst the Dublin ferry lifted fifty thousand people off the Holy Island, and all the while Beaumaris sat behind their walls with two million ghouls screaming at the gate, and politely refused the British Government's offer to evacuate them to their next holdout, which they assured them would be secure this time.

So I suppose by such a metric they "refused to flee," yes.

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Even more dramatic is the story of Conwy, both a castle and medieval wall that protected the entire town. The inhabitants not only lived in safety and relative comfort during the stalemate years, their access to the sea allowed Conwy to become a springboard for our forces once we began to retake our country.


Fuck Conwy.

A tiny horde - maybe a couple of thousand - was thawing out around Conwy and they weren't looking like they were going to be able to hold out - they'd sent out foragers too early the autumn before, discovered the ghouls were less frozen than they expected, lost about half their fighting fit, and then had a bad winter - so command down in Cardiff scraped together a relief force and marched them on up.

This was before my time, but by my understanding, they'd scarcely dropped the last ghoul before some pearl clutching Tory was hoisting the Union Jack above the town and taking pot shots with what was no doubt his grandfather's grousing piece.

Someone might've forced the issue, but one of the cruisers from the navy's fallback position on the Isle of Man was lurking in the area, so instead they got to keep Conwy throughout the stalemate years.

It was quite useful to them in disposing of their undesirables at first - they didn't believe we would last, so whenever someone started to cause trouble, they'd be shipped down to Conwy and pushed out the gates at speartip. That accelerated once they broke the siege of Glasgow and swelled their population with a bunch of Glaswegians; a girl in my unit - the 1st Orphaned, odds and sods from areas outside of our political control - was from Clydeside.

They stopped doing that when we took Birmingham, treated Conwy as nothing more than a military outpost - they finally used it in '26 as a friendly launch point to crush the hardliner Red Guards who hadn't seen the writing on the wall.

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Have you ever read Camelot Mine?

[I shake my head.]

You must find yourself a copy. It's a cracking good novel, based on the author's own experiences as one of the defenders of Caerphilly. He began the crisis on the second floor of his flat in Ludlow, Wales. As his supplies ran out and the first snow fell, he decided to strike out in search of more permanent lodgings. He came upon the abandoned ruin, which had already been the sight of a halfhearted, and ultimately fruitless, defense.


Camelot Mine is a good book. I wouldn't read it if you want to know what "really" happened at Caerphilly - there's some intense flights of fancy regarding how many ghouls attacked, how much was done by this one dude and how long it had to hold out, but it's entertaining. I wouldn't want to speculate on the author's politics; he acquiesced to socialist rule easily enough, but he's also pretty happy now so who knows.

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He buried the bodies, smashed the frozen Zed Heads, and set about restoring the castle on his own. He worked tirelessly, in the most brutal winter on record. By May, Caerphilly was prepared for the summer siege, and by the following winter, it became a haven for several hundred other survivors.

[He shows me some of his sketches.]

A masterpiece, isn't it, second largest in the British Isles.


Not to downplay it, but they only had to hold out for a year and change; by the third autumn of the war, the clearing of South Wales was reaching the point where patrols from Cardiff would consistently draw away chunks of Caerphilly's ghoul "moat".

By the summer after, when I arrived in Bristol, Caerphilly had been cleared, and the band of clear space stretched across South Wales and along to Bath.

Caerphilly spent the rest of the war as an ammunition dump and fallback point for civilians in case of a ghoul incursion.

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What's the first?

[He hesitates.]


Windsor.

Windsor was your castle.

Well, not mine personally.

I mean, you were there.


Windsor Castle is genuinely offensive, and needs to be considered separately from various castle sieges.

Article:
It was, from a defensive standpoint, as close as one could come to perfection. Before the war, it was the largest inhabited castle in Europe, almost thirteen acres. It had its own well for water, and enough storage space to house a decade's worth of rations. The fire of 1992 led to a state-of-the-art suppression system, and the subsequent terrorist threats upgraded security measures to rival any in the UK. Not even the general public knew what their tax dollars were paying for: bulletproof glass, reinforced walls, retractable bars, and steel shutters hidden so cleverly in windowsills and door frames.


Firstly - it was not. Windsor Castle is halfway into the town of Windsor, just across the river from Slough and barely a stone's throw from London, and has been an indefensible ceremonial palace for most of its life.

The reason Windsor Castle held out is that they weren't satisfied with all the shit they'd already spent on the "Royal Residence" - all the ludicrous crap he mentions they charged the public for to protect the royals - no, this wasn't enough. They deployed the Coldstream and Grenadier Guards entirely to Windsor Castle, and had the paras on standby through the entire war.

When you're staking a claim to be holding a propaganda piece this close to London, I suppose you don't want to risk it. God knows the footage of Buckingham Palace being overwhelmed didn't do them any favours from a propaganda perspective.

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But of all our achievements at Windsor, nothing can rival the siphoning of crude oil and natural gas from the deposit several kilometers beneath the castle's foundation. It had been discovered in the 1990s but never exploited for a variety of political and environmental reasons. You can believe we exploited it, though. Our contingent of royal engineers rigged a scaffolding up and over our wall, and extended it to the drilling site. It was quite an achievement, and you can see how it became the precursor to our fortified motorways.


I'm not sure there is anything quite as unforgivable as being the precursors of the Armoured Motorways, frankly. Such a moronic concept - elevating a motorway like those American highways, even though we lack even their extremely flimsy excuse for doing it.

Do you want to know how to create mass transit which will remain functionally immune to the ghouls, transport people in complete safety at great speed between cities? Build a railway. Even without armoured trains, you're essentially immune to individual ghouls, and once you've armoured them, you can run clean through a swarm, shooting them at leisure.

Like, this is one of the bare handful of things consistent across most of the world - trains are back, baby.

Obviously, miserably, our royalist friends are the exception. They built a proof of concept for fortified motorways - "Armoured Motorways" strictly speaking - from Dundee to Aberdeen - elevated and expanded parts of the old A90 - and then started one from Dundee to Inverness; they started this during the war and it still isn't finished.

It is a weird and somewhat pathetic attempt to ape the Americans on an issue where they just straightforwardly do not care.

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On a personal level, I was just grateful for the warm rooms, hot food, and, in a pinch…the Molotovs and flaming ditch. It's not the most efficient way to stop a Zed Head, I know, but as long as you've got them stuck and can keep them in the fire…and besides, what else could we do when the bullets ran out and we were left with nothing else but an odd lot of medieval hand weapons?


It is profoundly unfair that they sat in their castle with their guards and their supply runs and got to have generators and heat whilst so many other people froze to death.

They were still burning crude by the time we were clearing London. Choking black smoke pouring into the sky to the west, the whole time, a constant smoke signal of our compromise. My unit was kept away from it, but there are pictures of the defenders; men and women in their thirties and forties, their uniforms stained by the smoke, faces still grim as they tracked our movements through their scopes.

We so nearly had them. We were so close. We never should've gone for London.

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There were quite a bit of those about, in museums, personal collections…and not a decorative dud among them. These were real, tough and tested. They became part of British life again, ordinary citizens traipsing about with a mace or halberd or double-bladed battle-axe. I myself became rather adept with this claymore, although you wouldn't think of it to look at me.


This isn't quite unique to the royalists - arriving survivors would occasionally have a museum piece polearm or what have you - but it is increasingly a symbol of being upper class, a pretence of being from some ancient lineage of British nobility, and forget that the ancient lineages of British nobility hit the world wars like a brick fucking wall.

Men like David Allen Forbes play this ludicrous game where they are pretending to be the old landed gentry - what the French called the Sword Nobles - and we all just have to ignore that they aren't. They portray themselves as being the inheritors of ancient and storied traditions of the Laird in his castle, with his claymore and his ridiculous fucking pretensions, and nevermind that that's a ridiculous ideology, it isn't even true.

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[David hesitates before speaking. He is clearly uncomfortable. I hold out my hand.]

Thank you so much for taking the time…


There's…more.

If you're not comfortable…

No, please, it's quite all right.


He practised this in front of a mirror. This sort of "Oh, it hurts so much, I'm trying to hold it together as a noble British Gentleman" shit is so fake.

Noxious little turd.

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[Takes a breath.] She…she wouldn't leave, you see. She insisted, over the objections of Parliament, to remain at Windsor, as she put it, "for the duration." I thought maybe it was misguided nobility, or maybe fear-based paralysis. I tried to make her see reason, begged her almost on my knees.


I appreciate that he inadvertently lets slip just how much of an aristocratic creep this dude is, being as he was advisor to the queen.

The objections of Parliament, for what it's worth, were not especially lengthy or strenuous - they played it out as a pretty piece of propaganda, which helped the royal image after Prince Charles got bitten being evacuated from Clarence House and William and Harry both fled to the Isle of Man so fast they left skidmarks.

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Hadn't she done enough with the Balmoral Decree, turning all her estates into protected zones for any who could reach and defend them? Why not join her family in Ireland or the Isle of Man, or, at least, if she was insisting on remaining in Britain, supreme command HQ north above the Antonine.


The Balmoral Decree was an almost entirely retroactive decree, with the exception of Balmoral proper - every royal property south of the Royalist cordon was already either overrun by ghouls or occupied by survivors. Balmoral itself was only occupied by "survivors" very briefly.

She did nothing for anyone during the war.

Article:
What did she say?

"The highest of distinctions is service to others." [He clears his throat, his upper lip quivers for a second.]


Do you know what got us through it? That second winter, when we'd looted the shops, eaten the crops we'd been able to harvest from the fields from that last pre-collapse year?

The weekly whump-whump-whump of a helicopter, jaunty as you like, flying directly overhead to land in Windsor Castle and ensure the evil old crone got her fucking foie gras. Every week. People died of pneumonia, too weak with hunger to fight it off. Whump-whump-whump. Babies starved when their mothers couldn't feed them. Whump-whump-whump. A half dozen of our older residents said they were going looking for food, and we found they'd hanged themselves from the rail bridge, maybe a quarter mile from camp. Didn't want to keep draining our resources. Whump-whump-whump.

Spite kept us going. Spite and the thought that if we lived, we could give an accounting of the nerve, the fucking arrogance, that was her decision to "stay behind" and draw resources from survivors who hadn't been given that choice, survivors who had to stay, who needed support.

So spare me the quivering of your upper fucking lip. She died at 92, in a warm bed surrounded by her family who had been flown in especially for the privilege, with doctors keeping her pumped full of opiates until the last. How many others got that privilege? How's that for service to others.

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Her father had said that; it was the reason he had refused to run to Canada during the Second World War, the reason her mother had spent the blitz visiting civilians huddled in the tube stations beneath London, the same reason, to this day, we remain a United Kingdom.


That isn't why we remain a United Kingdom. We remain a United Kingdom because when we controlled half of England and all of Wales, we trusted our fucking leaders when they told us you were giving us the honour of clearing London because you recognised you'd abdicated responsibility. We even trusted them when we had to start burning our dead in the streets because the graveyards were choked.

And when we were worn down and blunted by the horrors in and below what used to be the capital, our leaders said there had been enough dead heroes and we realised what was happening when they joined the fucking government.

That is why we remain a United Kingdom. Because when they saw where this would need to go, our commanders blinked, and we were too trusting to notice.

Don't fucking talk to me about concessions. None of them were worth shit.

Article:
Their task, their mandate, is to personify all that is great in our national spirit. They must forever be an example to the rest of us, the strongest, and bravest, and absolute best of us. In a sense, it is they who are ruled by us, instead of the other way around, and they must sacrifice everything, everything, to shoulder the weight of this godlike burden.


It took three years after the war for King William V to be granted the power to propose laws to the House of Commons to vote on, over the protestations of the Workers' Party of Great Britain, traitors to the revolution though they are.

Article:
Otherwise what's the flipping point? Just scrap the whole damn tradition, roll out the bloody guillotine, and be done with it altogether. They were viewed very much like castles, I suppose: as crumbling, obsolete relics, with no real modern function other than as tourist attractions. But when the skies darkened and the nation called, both reawoke to the meaning of their existence. One shielded our bodies, the other, our souls.


This is their core ideological stance, more or less laid bare - the royal family defended our souls. We owe it all to their "godlike" selves, as we owe it to the castles, to the romans and their "Antonine Wall".

We have returned to the protective embrace of our ancestral strength under our divine monarchy, and thus are saved.

It is some acutely fascist shit. It should also be familiar, if you have read anything about how the Holy Russian Empire justifies itself. They're different though, in the eyes of the various allies of the UK, for all that America talks out of both sides of it's mouth about the HRE.

Donate to the Walvis Bay Railroad [HERE].

Donate to the Sanatorium for Infirm Women in Russia [HERE]; the women out of the Bratsk camps have started arriving, and… they really need the funds urgently.

Donate to the Lakota [HERE] - they're trying to rebuild as well as they can.

AN: I didn't realise until I was reviewing this just how much Max Brooks clearly views Britain as a, like, theme park? Britain only exists insofar as you want to talk about castles and the royal family and swords oh my.

Also the dude dressing as a Georgian has such strong Rees Mogg energy.
 
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Around the World, And Above
Around the World, And Above

Article:
Ulithi Atoll, Federated States of Micronesia

[During World War II, this vast coral atoll served as the main forward base for the United States Pacific Fleet. During World War Z, it sheltered not only American naval vessels, but hundreds of civilian ships as well. One of those ships was the UNS Ural, the first broadcast hub of Radio Free Earth. Now a museum to the achievements of the project, she is the focus of the British documentary Words at War. One of the subjects interviewed for this documentary is Barati Palshigar.]


Radio Free Earth saved an awful lot of lives over the course of the apocalypse, and the fact that one of the premier documentaries about it is the one that places it in the same breath as the "Prince Regent's Address" that the Royalists put out from the Isle of Man feels grotesquely unfair.

It's kinda weird how Micronesia had a totally fine war, but then their immediate post-war was fraught; lots of countries came looking for their old naval ships. Curiously, the Americans less than a lot of others - a number of American ships within the Pacific Continent remained loyal to the American government even within places like Ulithi, which gives the Americans some pull they might lose if they try to take their ships back. And they'd have to maintain them, which they don't want to have to do.

There's been a little kerfuffle about who has a claim on the Ural.

Article:
Ignorance was the enemy. Lies and superstition, misinformation, disinformation. Sometimes, no information at all. Ignorance killed billions of people. Ignorance caused the Zombie War. Imagine if we had known then what we know now. Imagine if the undead virus had been as understood as, say, tuberculosis was. Imagine if the world's citizens, or at least those charged with protecting those citizens, had known exactly what they were facing. Ignorance was the real enemy, and cold, hard facts were the weapons.


I think doing this sort of work; combatting misinformation, trying to give people the best chances of survival, worldwide, all at once… you need to believe the virus story. You need to make yourself believe this is all rational, possible.

Outside of that - she's right. The deliberate and constant refusal to tell the public anything, anything at all, made this an apocalypse, rather than just a difficult few years.

Article:
When I first joined Radio Free Earth, it was still called the International Program for Health and Safety Information. The title "Radio Free Earth" came from the individuals and communities who monitored our broadcasts.


Radio Free Earth was what the Americans called it - not necessarily as the annoying Cold Warrior concept that it sounds like, just… it seemed to appeal, a tongue in cheek little reference.

We always called it the World Service, so I can't claim to be immune to this sort of barely-even-humour.

Article:
It was the first real international venture, barely a few months after the South African Plan, and years before the conference at Honolulu. Just like the rest of the world based their survival strategies on Redeker, our genesis was routed in Radio Ubunye.


There's quite a contrast between the two South Africas, isn't there? The USSA in the Cape with their Redeker plan, and the Republic in the East, their supplies shot to hell and refugees streaming across this new border they suddenly have through the middle of their country, still trying to save as many of their citizens as they could.

Article:
What was Radio Ubunye?

South Africa's broadcasts to its isolated citizens. Because they didn't have the resources for material aid, the only assistance the government could render was information. They were the first, at least, to my knowledge, to begin these regular, multilingual broadcasts. Not only did they offer practical survival skills, they went so far as to collect and address each and every falsehood circulating among their citizens. What we did was take the template of Radio Ubunye and adapt it for the global community.


The Republic of South Africa's pre-war government continued these broadcasts until their enclave was overrun, and they were resumed by the largest of the survivor communes still living once they found out what had happened.

South Africa had some really niche myths going around - the secession of the Cape obviously fuelled some of them, but "racist Afrikaners invented zombies" wasn't the most out there of the theories they had to address, nor was South Africa the worst country for theories and claims.

Article:
I came aboard, literally, at the very beginning, as the Ural's reactors were just being put back online. The Ural was a former vessel of the Soviet, then the Russian, Federal Navy. Back then the SSV-33 had been many things: a command and control ship, a missile tracking platform, an electronic surveillance vessel.


The Ural was a goddamn marvel - they coordinated the entire radio system through her computer banks, and you could barely detect a static hiss even in Britain, about as far from where she was moored up as you could get.

The satellites obviously were also pretty vital, but the Ural did so much in those first few years of broadcasts.

Article:
Unfortunately, she was also a white elephant, because her systems, they tell me, were too complicated even for her own crew. She had spent the majority of her career tied to a pier at the Vladi-vostok naval base, providing additional electrical power for the facility. I am not an engineer, so I don't how they managed to replace her spent fuel rods or convert her massive communication facilities to interface with the global satellite network.


Ships are incredibly complicated. A pretty solid chunk of the old Royal Navy was docked in various ports we claimed, and with a few exceptions, we couldn't get them working reliably enough.

We did get a lot of rifles in exchange for those ships, so they weren't a total bust.

As far as the Ural - the general exodus of Russian ships from Vladivostok as their government increasingly moved down the trans-siberian railroad towards them, becoming more and more of the theocracy it is - was impressive enough that there's a number of books about it, and a film is being talked about, I believe.

Article:
I specialize in languages, specifically those of the Indian Subcontinent. Myself and Mister Verma, just the two of us to cover a billion people . . . well . . . at that point it was still a billion.

Mister Verma had found me in the refugee camp in Sri Lanka.


She's lucky. Not just to reach the camp - although there were only about six million Indian refugees to be allowed into Sri Lanka total - but also to make it through it; the Sri Lankan Indian Refugee camp had about 30% casualties, some because they'd been bitten before they came and had to be put down, but a lot from the disease and malnutrition which comes inevitably from trying to stuff so many more people into an island with a population of 20 million already. Honestly they didn't do too badly - a 3 in 10 attrition rate is about average. But still; she's lucky to have survived, spent the war on the Ural instead of Sri Lanka.

Article:
We had worked together several years before at our country's embassy in London. We thought it had been hard work then; we had no idea. It was a maddening grind, eighteen, sometimes twenty hours a day. I don't know when we slept. There was so much raw data, so many dispatches arriving every minute. Much of it had to do with basic survival: how to purify water, create an indoor greenhouse, culture and process mold spore for penicillin.


I remember listening to this, before Bristol; learning how to make potable water, how to grow food inside… it wasn't enough but it helped, you know?

We never got the mold spore thing working, though. Really, like… borderline impossible, actually. To make penicillin pure enough that it works properly without a lab. I guess it worked in Bristol, so maybe it was for that - for the new governments which lacked institutional knowledge.

Article:
I'd never heard the term "quisling" or "feral"; I didn't know what a "Lobo" was or the false miracle cure of Phalanx. All I knew was that suddenly there was a uniformed man shoving a collection of words before my eyes and telling me "We need this in Marathi, and ready to record in fifteen minutes."


The fact that the Americans sent in data bragging about their stupid axe-shovel is just so wild - why would anyone need to know about it? Why tell everyone about it? Were they expecting people to try and replicate it? Leaving aside that it's terrible - reproducing something from a radio broadcast? Are you joking?

Letting people know Phalanx was worthless was good, though - there were a lot of places where people assumed if the Americans had been using it, it must've been worth using, and they'd trade guns, ammunition, actual medicine, for this worthless placebo. I don't know how many lives they saved with that - it's impossible to know, because how can you tell who would've bought Phalanx and didn't, and of those people, who would've been careless about getting bitten if they thought they were safe?

Article:
What kind of misinformation were you combating?

Where do you want me to begin? Medical? Scientific? Military? Spiritual? Psychological? The psychological aspect I found the most maddening. People wanted so badly to anthropomorphize the walking blight. In war, in a conventional war that is, we spend so much time trying to dehumanize the enemy, to create an emotional distance. We would make up stories or derogatory titles . . . when I think about what my father used to call Muslims . . . and now in this war it seemed that everyone was trying desperately to find some shred of a connection to their enemy, to put a human face on something that was so unmistakably inhuman.


There's the inverse problem, now - there's an entire generation which - to survive - has atrophied our natural empathy. We do not need to dehumanise our enemies now; we are primed to believe a monster can wear a human face, to believe we can kill them without guilt or concern.

It isn't good - you can see the consequences in the footage coming out of Central Europe, Siberia, South America. Battles are a lot bloodier than they used to be. There's a lot less surrendering now.

Article:
Can you give me some examples?

There were so many misconceptions: zombies were somehow intelligent; they could feel and adapt, use tools and even some human weapons; they carried memories of their former existence; or they could be communicated with and trained like some kind of pet. It was heartbreaking, having to debunk one misguided myth after another. The civilian survival guide helped, but was still severely limited.


I heard about a guy - an officer in the Red Guards, not my unit - who kept a little ghoul child with a muzzle and oven mitts, tried to train it with little bits of meat. He was so sure it was getting to understand what he was trying to train it to do. Eventually someone found out and he got a court martial.

No one has been able to keep a consistent story on who that ghoul had been to him, before it was a ghoul.

I never read the civilian survival guide - we didn't have many copies in Britain, but as I understand it, the stupid thing was actively harmful to most people who did, so.

Article:
Oh really?

Oh yes. You could see it was clearly written by an American, the references to SUVs and personal firearms. There was no taking into account the cultural differences…the various indigenous solutions people believed would save them from the undead.


The personal firearms thing is real; a lot of Americans are really confused when they find out that, I don't know, the defenders of some school in some small town in rural England couldn't just "arm up" once it all froze over. The idea that every house in a rural town wouldn't have at the very least a handgun was baffling to my wife.

Article:
Such as?

I'd rather not give too many details, not without tacitly condemning the entire people group from which this "solution" originated. As an Indian, I had to deal with many aspects of my own culture that had turned self-destructive.


This is good of her. A lot of people love to talk about these things as though they are somehow justification to condemn entire peoples, and conveniently forget that there wasn't anywhere where people covered themselves in glory on the "don't engage in disastrous traditional solutions which will not help" front.

There were pogroms in an upsettingly large number of European Cities, is all I'm saying, and the CSA in America couldn't decide if they were blaming the Jews, Catholics or Queers. This isn't some "oh those savages in Africa" or whatever.

Article:
There was Varanasi, one of the oldest cities on Earth, near the place where Buddha supposedly preached his first sermon and where thousands of Hindu pilgrims came each year to die. In normal, prewar conditions, the road would be littered with corpses. Now these corpses were rising to attack. Varanasi was one of the hottest White Zones, a nexus of living death. This nexus covered almost the entire length of the Ganges.


Two hundred million ghouls along the Ganges, give or take - it isn't completely clear, because when it was cleared by the expedition out of Nepal, not all the ghouls remained in fit state to be identified. A ghoul hit by a mortar shell is a greasy smear in the dirt.

They didn't even kill them all - there was a concerted effort to draw ghouls away, down deeper towards the Deccan, where there was no one still alive to suffer them.

Article:
Every country had a similar story. Every one of our international crew had at least one moment when they were forced to confront an example of suicidal ignorance. An American told us about how the religious sect known as "God's Lambs" believed that the rapture had finally come and the quicker they were infected, the quicker they would go to heaven.


From what I know of them, God's Lambs were bad. Like, deliberately contriving to turn in large public spaces, contaminating blood banks with ghoul blood, sabotaging ammunition production bad.

We didn't have people like them, not exactly. We had a lot of people who blamed minorities for the spread; lots of scare stories about mosques full of ghoulified young women because "the muslims" wouldn't let their women go to see a doctor or whatever. We didn't have many actual religious fanatics, just a lot of bigots pretending we did.

Article:
Another woman - I won't say what country she belonged to - tried her best to dispel the notion that sexual intercourse with a virgin could "cleanse" the "curse." I don't know how many women, or little girls, were raped as a result of this "cleansing." Everyone was furious with his own people. Everyone was ashamed. Our one Belgian crewmember compared it to the darkening skies. He used to call it "the evil of our collective soul."


God, the sky in those early years. It felt like the end of the world. It wasn't as bad for us as for a lot of places, but even still, it was always cold, and the sun was weaker than you imagined it should be. Nights felt longer, summer felt shorter.

I don't want to talk about the rest. We all know it happened - for some people, all it took was that they had the excuse, the death sentence of the bite already burning through their blood, and they took the opportunity to use it. It was never as localised as people want to think.

Article:
I guess I have no right to complain. My life was never in danger, my belly was always full. I might not have slept often but at least I could sleep without fear. Most importantly, I never had had to work in the Ural's IR department.


There's different sorts of danger.

Also, everyone seems to believe most people had a harder war than them - on the front lines all the time, sweeping and clearing buildings.

Most survivors, obviously, survived because they were in low risk situations - they lived somewhere that a survivor state rose up, or a retreating government, or they just lived somewhere rural, and missed the whole thing.

I don't know. Collectively most people want to argue they had an "easy ride" of the war. Until, I suppose, you reach a certain level of "this fucking sucks" - then you start to talk about how you had the hardest war. To hear people tell it, no one's war was average.

Article:
IR?

Information Reception. The data we were broadcasting did not originate aboard the Ural. It came from all around the world, from experts and think tanks in various government safe zones. They would transmit their findings to our IR operators who, in turn, would pass it along to us.


They were already in communication with Bristol by the time I was there; they wanted intelligence on what Britain was like, what we knew about the ghouls here. Every once in a while, command would send out orders and someone would have go out and do something pointless and stupid - I spoke to a girl who said her squad was sent out to, like… a field? There had been a rabbit warren there that the ghouls had dug up and they wanted to know what made this one different from all the others.

… Apparently the rabbits had myxy. Poor things were blind and helpless, unable and unwilling to run. That's why the ghouls were able to chase them down. Not sure what information that gave them, though.

Article:
There were millions of wretched souls scattered throughout our planet, all screaming into their private radio sets as their children starved or their temporary fortress burned, or the living dead overran their defenses. Even if you didn't understand the language, as many of the operators didn't, there was no mistaking the human voice of anguish. They weren't allowed to answer back, either; there wasn't time. All transmissions had to be devoted to official business. I don't want to know what that was like for the IR operators.


I smashed my radio the first time I heard something like this. I hadn't used it for coming up on a month - the government stations played the same thing over and over; "Shelter in place, wait for relief, do not panic, do not flee." and the Bristol station was still just asking people to come to Bristol on repeat - but I was bored walking on the A 34, and I decided to play with the dial, looking for a channel playing music. I thought there probably had to be one, left on repeat or something.

Instead there was a little boy sobbing down the line. His dad had pushed him into the attic of their house, pulled away the ladder and told him to wait for daddy to come back, but Daddy was back, and he was "not right" and he was scared, and there wasn't any food and someone had to come help him, come help him please.

I was only fifteen, and my radio couldn't even transmit, it was just a receiver, but the guilt still clings. I could've done something.

Instead I threw my radio off a bridge and kept walking. I try not to think about it.

Article:
When the last broadcast came from Buenos Aires, when that famous Latin singer played that Spanish lullaby, it was too much for one of our operators. He wasn't from Buenos Aires, he wasn't even from South America. He was just an eighteen-year-old Russian sailor who blew his brains out all over his instruments. He was the first, and since the end of the war, the rest of the IR operators have followed suit.


Never listen to the Buenos Aires final broadcast. It will break your heart, and that's if you have no emotional connection to the lullaby. From what I understand, it left such a scar on the Argentinian psyche that they only got the population of Buenos Aires over a hundred thousand this year.

No one wanted to go back.

Article:
Not one of them is alive today. The last was my Belgian friend. "You carry those voices with you," he told me one morning. We were standing on the deck, looking into that brown haze, waiting for a sunrise we knew we'd never see. "Those cries will be with me the rest of my life, never resting, never fading, never ceasing their call to join them."


I don't know if they could've done better for these people. I don't think we will ever know that - there are, after all, none of them left. But we can remember their sacrifice, and that will need to be enough.

Enough of this maudlin; next up is Korea.

Donate to the Walvis Bay Railroad [HERE].

Donate to the Sanatorium for Infirm Women in Russia [HERE].

Donate to the Lakota [HERE] - they're trying to rebuild as well as they can.

Donate to the UNS Ural Museum Ship on their website [HERE].

AN: This interview going as hard as it does has absolutely no right to be placed between monarchism man and unsolicited, like, borderline phrenology about North Koreans. Let me know what you think of it.
 
Around the World, And Above, Part 2
Around the World, And Above, Part 2

Article:
THE DEMILITARIZED ZONE: SOUTH KOREA

[Hyungchol Choi, deputy director of the Korean Central Intelligence Agency, gestures to the dry, hilly, unremarkable landscape to our north. One might mistake it for Southern California, if not for the deserted pillboxes, fading banners, and rusting, barbed wire fence that runs to either horizon.]


Of course he interviews a South Korean spook from the fucking KCIA about North Korea. Who else would you ask?

Note, if you would be so good, the rusting barbed wire, the crumbling pillboxes. This is important later, because some odd assumptions are made.

Article:
What happened? No one knows. No country was better prepared to repel the infestation than North Korea. Rivers to the north, oceans to the east and west, and to the south [he gestures to the Demilitarized Zone], the most heavily fortified border on Earth.


And they knew in advance; we know the pre-war Chinese military told them about the ghouls, hoping North Korea might be willing and able to distract whatever American forces were in South Korea whilst they went for Taiwan. This was before the Americans pulled out, of course.

Article:
You can see how mountainous the terrain is, how easily defensible, but what you can't see is that those mountains are honeycombed with a titanic military-industrial infrastructure.


The North Korean bunker network is surely extensive, but I can't imagine it is as vast as he tells the interviewer here, and it is mostly around a focal point at Pyongyang; old declassified South Korean documentation of the seismology imply that it sort of spiderwebs out from Pyongyang.

He must know this; there's no way Seoul has released information that is more sophisticated than the Deputy Director of the KCIA has seen.

Article:
Their population was heavily militarized, marshaled to a degree of readiness that made Israel look like Iceland. Over a million men and women were actively under arms with a further five in reserve.


I vaguely remember something about this; it fed into the Taiwan Strait crisis. North Korea had mobilised a chunk of the Worker-Peasant Red Guards and for a lot of people that cemented that China was gearing up for "the big one".

Article:
More important than this training, though, and most important for this kind of warfare was an almost superhuman degree of national discipline. North Koreans were indoctrinated from birth to believe that their lives were meaningless, that they existed only to serve the State, the Revolution, and the Great Leader.


There's a perception I get, from reading stuff like this and from speeches they give, from their general posturing around China… The South Korean government truly believes the North Koreans - certainly pre war - were, like… orcs? Barely human monsters, sworn to be eternally loyal to their Dark Lord.

North Koreans were mostly just people living in a dictatorship with a low-ish standard of living. The difference between them and the people of, I don't know, Equatorial Guinea, is that North Korea is famous for being a dictatorship. But don't worry - it gets worse.

Article:
This is almost the polar opposite of what we experienced in the South. We were an open society. We had to be. International trade was our lifeblood. We were individualists, maybe not as much as you Americans, but we had more than our share of protests and public disturbances. We were such a free and fractured society that we barely managed to implement the Chang Doctrine during the Great Panic.


As the outbreak was beginning, the South Korean government, in the personage of the NIS - the intelligence agency which later returned to being the Korean CIA - arrested the leadership of the most prominent leftist party in the country for "plotting with the North".

This was the society that they believe was "too free". Nevermind that 10 companies made up 60% of their economy, and when Samsung said jump, their government said "Yes sir!"

The Chang Doctrine was Redeker again. It's always just Redeker again.

Free and fractured, sure. Too many protests, sure. God it's gross how much time he spends interviewing spooks and generals.

Article:
That kind of internal crisis would have been inconceivable in the North. They were a people who, even when their government caused a near genocidal famine, would rather resort to eating children than raise even a whisper of defiance. This was the kind of subservience Adolf Hitler could have only dreamed of.


This is insane. They were people living in a dictatorship. They didn't "whisper defiance" because it would get them fucking shot. You ought to be familiar - you were under military rule until 1993, and your own fucking intelligence agency was torturing domestic opponents until 1999.

Article:
If you had given each citizen a gun, a rock, or even their bare hands, pointed them at approaching zombies and said "Fight!" they would have done so down to the oldest woman and smallest tot. This was a country bred for war, planned, prepared, and poised for it since July 27, 1953. If you were going to invent a country to not only survive but triumph over the apocalypse we faced, it would have been the Democratic People's Republic of Korea.


If you preface everything this guy says with the knowledge that his intelligence agency helped bring into power and keep in power the daughter of South Korea's most infamous military dictator, then his insistence that the North Koreans are all murder robots primed to follow their leader off a cliff - as opposed to being people who don't want to die? - makes a lot more sense.

But no the level of sacrificial suicide you are describing here is weird cult shit. I would've thought you'd know the difference? Military dictatorship is what South Korea does to its citizens, weird cult shit is what your president gets up to.

Article:
So what happened?

About a month before our troubles started, before the first outbreaks were reported in Pusan, the North suddenly, and inexplicably, severed all diplomatic relations. We weren't told why the rail line, the only overland link between our two sides, was suddenly closed, or why some of our citizens who'd been waiting decades to see long lost relatives in the North had their dreams abruptly shattered by a rubber stamp. No explanation of any kind was given. All we got was their standard "matter of state security" brush-off.


As far as anyone can tell, this was when Kim Jong-Un was informed by his agents in China that the Chinese government was serious about their plans to invade Taiwan once the outbreak took America's eye off the ball.

And like, in one of those cases where being a dictator of a small and precarious country was something of a disadvantage, Kim Jong-Un appears to have responded by freaking the fuck out. The North Korean leadership weren't morons - they knew China was keeping a lid on their outbreak by far finer margins than they knew, and Kim Jong-Un knew that going for Taiwan actual would be a disaster; they'd have to move so much materiel and manpower around, outbreaks were going to go from being on the simmer to boiling over before anyone realised.

So he pulled out. Cut contact with South Korea, stopped following Chinese "advice" on foreign policy, and enacted North Korea's absolutely monstrous take on the Redeker plan.

Article:
Unlike many others, I wasn't convinced that this was a prelude to war. Whenever the North had threatened violence, they always rang the same bells. No satellite data, ours or the Americans, showed any hostile intent. There were no troop movements, no aircraft fueling, no ship or submarine deployment. If anything, our forces along the Demilitarized Zone began noticing their opposite numbers disappearing.


North Korea started to pull back hard. They closed every border - which did their economy absolutely no favours, once they stopped being able to send workers into China - and started preparing.

Article:
We knew them all, the border troops. We'd photographed each one over the years, given them nicknames like Snake Eyes or Bulldog, even compiled dossiers on their supposed ages, backgrounds, and personal lives. Now they were gone, vanished behind shielded trenches and dugouts.

Our seismic indicators were similarly silent. If the North had begun tunneling operations or even massed vehicles on the other side of "Z," we would have heard it like the National Opera Company.


I find it amusing how he talks confidently about knowing the North Koreans were not engaging in exceptional amounts of tunnelling, and that the South would've easily spotted this.

You know, considering what he's about to peddle. The North Koreans did not all disappear into a tunnel network no one had ever discovered or imagined was the scale it would need to be. If I really wanted to, I could probably talk to a "North Korean" in, like, a month, tops.

Article:
We also saw a complete halt to human intelligence infiltration. Spies from the North were almost as regular and predictable as the seasons. Most of the time they were easy to spot, wearing out-of-date clothes or asking the price of goods that they should have already known. We used to pick them up all the time, but since the outbreaks began, their numbers had dwindled to zero.


Was the UPP entirely made up of North Korean agents and had to be dissolved, or were North Korean spies laughably out of touch and incompetent? Which is it, dude? It cannot be both.

But I mean, it can. North Korea is the archetypical "both strong and weak" enemy for South Korea.

Article:
What about your spies in the North?

Vanished, all of them, right about the same time all our electronic surveillance assets went dark. I don't mean there was no disturbing radio traffic, I mean there was no traffic at all. One by one, all the civilian and military channels began shutting down. Satellite images showed fewer farmers in their fields, less foot traffic in city streets, even fewer "volunteer" laborers on many public works projects, which is something that has never happened before. Before we knew it, there wasn't a living soul left from the Yalu to the DMZ. From a purely intelligence standpoint, it appeared as if the entire country, every man, woman, and child in North Korea, had simply vanished.


This both is and is not true. North Korea certainly would look empty on South Korean satellites by the end of this operation, but the "how" of it isn't exactly mysterious.

There's satellite footage - and testimonies - of the 18 million or so North Koreans considered surplus to requirements for the survival of the state being forced across the Yalu into Jilin and Liaoning. This included large portions of their military, though few of the upper ranks.

Most successful South Korean spies, so far as we can tell, were successfully able to argue their way into the remaining 5 million North Koreans who were not exiled.

Article:
This mystery only stoked our growing anxiety, given what we had to deal with at home. By now there were outbreaks in Seoul, P'ohang, Taejon. There was the evacuation of Mokpo, the isolation of Kangnung, and, of course, our version of Yonkers at Inchon, and all of it compounded by the need to keep at least half our active divisions along our northern border.


Their version of Yonkers. Right. Just like Yonkers. The only real difference being that in Korea, the intelligence services took a more forward role, and the military took the shaft.

But honestly I can see why they'd be spooked - North Korea was not acting rationally. The Chinese were spitting furious about it - the provincial party secretaries in Liaoning and Jilin were scrambling to deal with the influx, they had outbreaks cropping up unexpectedly, an early foreshadow of the nightmare when they went for Taiwan, and the entire rest of the North Korean population just disappeared.

The standing assumption I believe was that they were planning to uncan some sunshine over Seoul whilst the South Koreans struggled to contain their outbreaks.

Article:
Too many in the Ministry of National Defense were convinced that the Pyongyang was just aching for war, waiting eagerly for our darkest moment to come thundering across the 38th Parallel. We in the intelligence community couldn't disagree more. We kept telling them that if they were waiting for our darkest hour, then that hour had most certainly arrived.


The South Korean military has been more or less entirely brought under the domain of the KCIA since the war. The Ministry of National Defence was devastated by the ghouls, and then literally occupied by military units loyal to the KCIA as the war came to a close.

All this has happened before, and all this will happen again. This is why he frames the intelligence community as the rational sceptics in the room at the time - it was, so they claim, necessary for the security of South Korea against the ghoul threat and to avoid provoking the North Koreans, that they claim military authority.

Of course, now they're in charge, they're pretty gung ho about provoking the Workers' Republic, so.

Article:
Tae Han Min'guk was on the brink of national collapse. Plans were being secretly drafted for a Japanese-style resettlement. Covert teams were already scouting locations in Kamchatka. If the Chang Doctrine hadn't worked . . . if just a few more units had broken, if a few more safe zones had collapsed . . .


It is testament to how abjectly fucked the Russians were at this point that South Korea, in the middle of actually legitimately collapsing, was able to engage in covert operations on Russian soil. Hell, Japan was able to completely occupy Kamchatka, though the HRE might be thanking them for that now.

Article:
Maybe we owe our survival to the North, or at least to the fear of it. My generation never really saw the North as a threat. I'm speaking of the civilians, you understand, those of my age who saw them as a backward, starving, failed nation. My generation had grown up their entire lives in peace and prosperity. The only thing they feared was a German-style reunification that would bring millions of homeless ex-communists looking for a handout.


The wretched contempt for the North Koreans just bleeds through, doesn't it?

And why would they be homeless, anyway? They weren't homeless in the DPRK, so why would they be homeless after reunification?

I jest, obviously. They'd be homeless because all the housing stock would be purchased by South Korean Chaebols and they wouldn't be able to afford rent.

Anyway, they aren't stoking fear of North Korea because they're scared of the bunker rats we all have to assume are still living there. They're stoking fear of North Korea because the Workers Republic of Korea in Jilin has a similar population to South Korea but is, you know, not a complete fucking basket case run by a religious cultist. They're terrified.

Article:
That wasn't the case with those who came before us . . . our parents and grandparents . . . those who lived with the very real specter of invasion hanging over them, the knowledge that at any moment the alarms might sound, the lights might dim, and the bankers, schoolteachers, and taxi drivers might be called to pick up arms and fight to defend their homeland. Their hearts and minds were ever vigilant, and in the end, it was them, not us, who rallied the national spirit.


Love some veneration of older generations (who lived under a military dictatorship) and therefore had the vigilance to rally the national spirit, unlike the young, weak of heart and mind.

Just adore how open the fascism is, honestly.

Article:
I'm still pushing for an expedition to the North. I'm still blocked at every turn. There's too much work to do, they tell me. The country is still in shambles. We also have our international commitments, most importantly the repatriation of our refugees to Kyushu. . . . [Snorts.] Those Japs are gonna owe us big-time.


Would you believe Japan and Korea don't get on now? I'm shocked. Shocked!

They play nice because America makes them play nice, but as it becomes clearer and clearer that America isn't going to come roaring back to prominence on the world stage, the claws are starting to come out. I give it a year before they're skirmishing over Tsushima and the Liancourt Rocks.

Article:
I'm not asking for a recon in force. Just give me one helicopter, one fishing boat; just open the gates at Panmunjom and let me walk through on foot. What if you trigger some booby trap? they counter. What if it's nuclear? What if you open the door to some underground city and twenty-three million zombies come spewing out? Their arguments aren't without merit.


These are not the arguments used. The arguments used - the arguments that keep the South Koreans below the DMZ and the WRK above the Yalu - are that for either to enter North Korea, they're violating the claimed territory of the other. Forget about the DPRK. For either South Korean or Jilin Korean forces to enter the northern half of the Korean peninsula would represent an invasion of their opposite number.

Article:
We know the DMZ is heavily mined. Last month a cargo plane nearing their airspace was fired on by a surface-to-air missile. The launcher was an automated model, the type they'd designed as a revenge weapon in case the population had already been obliterated.


Another argument is that the DPRK is clearly still kicking, if only just. Something's clearly gone wrong - you can't imagine they intend to stay in their bunker complex forever - but there's absolutely no fucking chance that any of their automated defences are still working after 20 years without maintenance - they can't even keep a pillbox or razorwire functional for 20 years without replacement parts, and you expect us to believe their SAM turrets are just ticking over fine?

Article:
Conventional wisdom is that they must have evacuated to their subterranean complexes. If that is true, then our estimates of the size and depth of those complexes were grossly inaccurate. Maybe the entire population is underground, tooling away on endless war projects, while their "Great Leader" continues to anesthetize himself with Western liquor and American pornography.


The bunker complexes must be larger than anticipated, sure, but they aren't as large as he pretends to believe they could be; he would be able to tell!

But the official position of the South Korean Government on the WRK in Jilin is that it does not exist, and if it does exist, it is Chinese propaganda, and contains no ethnic Koreans. As such, they have to claim no North Koreans were exiled, and as such… they have to pretend to believe that Kim Jong-Un retreated into the bunker complex with the entire population of North Korea.

And we know more than they hint. A couple of years into the crisis, when South Korea was looking at its most dire, there was a broadcast from Pyongyang calling for South Koreans to rise up against their government, promising that the Korean People's Army would cross the DMZ in force to defend them against the living dead and their government both.

This broadcast told us an awful lot about what was going on down there, because it was delivered by Supreme Leader Kim Yo-jong.

For Kim Yo-jong to be the ruling member of that family - given she was only 28 at the time - something terrible must have befallen her siblings, without substantially altering the attitude of the North Koreans in the bunker complex towards them. To me, this screams ghoul. An outbreak in the highest levels of their bunker complex could've easily killed or turned her older siblings without having resulted in substantial broader concerns.

So far as "how" the infection got in - I think it was probably the South Korean spies. Recall that this was before the outbreaks had really gotten going; only China and North Korea knew, at this point. If a South Korean spy got through the initial screening to get into the "let us all become mole people" meeting, they'd be assumed to be clean of the zombie taint. If they'd slipped out a side exit to try and contact Seoul, though… Been bitten by a homeless person whilst doing it? Do you think they'd tell anyone in the bunker? People would ask questions, like "what were you doing out there". So they didn't tell anybody, and then eventually they turned within the bunker complex.

There have been no broadcasts since that one, either - no uprising in South Korea was forthcoming, either, but the South Koreans don't like to acknowledge the broadcast at all, because it caught them completely by surprise, and set them into a tizzy where they deployed units to the DMZ and lost about half their remaining enclaves in two months.

Article:
Do they even know the war is over? Have their leaders lied to them, again, and told them that the world as they know it has ceased to be? Maybe the rise of the dead was a "good" thing in their eyes, an excuse to tighten the yoke even further in a society built on blind subjugation. The Great Leader always wanted to be a living God, and now, as master not only of the food his people eat, the air they breathe, but the very light of their artificial suns, maybe his twisted fantasy has finally become a reality.


My view, personally, is that the North Koreans thought everyone would fuck it up. They didn't think any other governments would survive - China knew it was coming and was still planning to fuck around and find out, they must've thought everyone else would do worse.

And once everyone else did worse, North Korea could open their bunkers and come out armed and ready to liberate the people of South Korea, Japan and so on, and become hegemon of the Sea of Japan, if not further. But then the other governments didn't collapse - indeed, some of them are stronger than ever, and filled with antipathy for the Kim dynasty, and they realised the difficulty they would face if they ever opened up. So they haven't.

Article:
Maybe that was the original plan, but something went disastrously wrong. Look what happened to the "mole city" underneath Paris. What if that occurred in the North on a national level? Maybe those caverns are teeming with twenty-three million zombies, emaciated automatons howling in the darkness and just waiting to be unleashed.


Maybe they all died. Maybe there are 5 or 6 million ghouls locked up down there. Or maybe some parts of their network are flooded, and others still work, still allow them to repair and maintain their defences. Or maybe they're fine down there - as fine as you can get under the circumstances.

Whatever the truth is, it has nothing to do with why he's not allowed into North Korea.

I'll be covering Japan next. Looking forward to that.

Donate to the Walvis Bay Railroad [HERE].

Donate to the Sanatorium for Infirm Women in Russia [HERE].

Donate to the Lakota [HERE] - they're trying to rebuild as well as they can.

Argentina will be free! Donate to the cause [HERE]. This link might be illegal in your country, be careful.

AN: Did you know in 2013 South Korea was ruled by a cult? Did you know they declared a major-ish political party of being spies for the North and outlawed the party?

Such a normal, individualistic country. It is also weird how frequently he just… describes fascism. Next up we have some extremely cringe inducing japanese stuff.
 
Around the World, And Above, Part 3
Around the World, and Above (Part 3)

Article:
KYOTO, JAPAN

[The old photo of Kondo Tatsumi shows a skinny, acne-faced teenager with dull red eyes and bleached blond highlights streaking his unkempt hair. The man I am speaking to has no hair at all. Clean-shaven, tanned and toned, his clear, sharp gaze never leaves mine. Although his manner is cordial and his mood light, this warrior monk retains the composure of a predatory animal at rest.]


This is such an obvious, like… letting this guy start an interview talking about how once he was pathetic and weak, but now he's a disciplined, sharp-eyed warrior monk, and you can be too, if you'll just pay the monthly subscription and purchase the requisite brain pills or whatever the fuck.

The dividing line between the leadership of Japan's various profoundly alarming warrior cults and the grifters scamming impressionable Americans out of their money is so fine and so blurry as to be meaningless.

Article:
I was an "otaku." I know that term has come to mean a great many things to a great many people, but for me it simply meant "outsider." I know Americans, especially young ones, must feel trapped by societal pressure. All humans do.


Maybe it is my personal biases, but why would he choose to interview this guy? Quite aside from being pretty odious, he's just not got a whole lot to say?

I don't know. I would've interviewed Nomura Kimiko, if I wanted to talk to someone about the Fall and Rise of Japan - she isn't per se a good person, but she's not a grifter, and she was fighting from Kansai to Kamchatka and back. She's not even controversial; the Japanese government loves her.

Or one of the Yakuza who ran people from Kyushu to South Korea when the government pulled out - the Kudo-kai are willing to give interviews, I believe.

Or maybe the good Doctor, the man with the spreadsheets, who knows better than anyone alive how Japan crumbled.

Really just anyone except an imperial irrendentalist who used to be an otaku shut in would be preferable.

Article:
However, if I understand your culture correctly, individualism is something to be encouraged. You revere the "rebel," the "rogue," those who stand proudly apart from the masses. For you, individuality is a badge of honor. For us, it is a ribbon of shame.


There is an odd predilection with individualism; it is variously exalted and condemned. It is one of America's shining virtues, and yet in the next breath is why they nearly perished, needed to be taken in hand by their government, given menial labour and an enforced sense of community, have dissent be made illegal…

Here at least it makes sense; he's criticising pre war Japan, and then praising America because he wants to keep them sweet. It doesn't need to be coherent.

Article:
We lived, particularly before the war, in a complex and seemingly infinite labyrinth of external judgments. Your appearance, your speech, everything from the career you held to the way you sneezed had to be planned and orchestrated to follow rigid Confucian doctrine.


This isn't coming from wanting individualism, not as such. This is a place of contempt and condemnation for the civilian nature of the rigid rules and regulations. Doctrine and regulation without the military strength behind it. It is a fascist's objection to the liberal state.

Article:
Some either have the strength, or lack thereof, to accept this doctrine. Others, like myself, chose exile in a better world. That world was cyber space, and it was tailor-made for Japanese otaku.


He has to thread a really fine line here, it's pretty impressive he even attempts; to subject yourself to the pre-existing hierarchy is either strong or weak, depending, and fleeing it is either strong or weak. Hell of a way to sound like you're saying something whilst making no statements anyone could easily object to.

Article:
I can't speak for your educational system, or, indeed, for that of any other country, but ours was based almost entirely on fact retention. From the day we first set foot in a classroom, prewar Japanese children were injected with volumes upon volumes of facts and figures that had no practical application in our lives.


This is all well and good, but what he wants instead - what he has consistently advocated for, what is taught in the Monastic Schools his organisation runs - isn't critical thinking and a thoughtful, student-first approach to learning.

No, the Shield Society schools teach a two-tier system where some students learn "Life Skills" to make them more useful cogs in machines, and others learn war.

Repulsive little man.

Article:
You can understand how this education would easily lend itself to an existence in cyberspace. In a world of information without context, where status was determined on its acquisition and possession, those of my generation could rule like gods. I was a sensei, master over all I surveyed, be it discovering the blood type of the prime minister's cabinet, or the tax receipts of Matsumoto and Hamada,[1] or the location and condition of all shin-gunto swords of the Pacific War.


He's going to use his "knowledge" of where all the factory produced piece of shit WWII swords were in a minute. Bear with me.

Article:
When the crisis reached Japan, my clique, as with all the others, forgot our previous obsessions and devoted our energies entirely to the living dead. We studied their physiology, behavior, weaknesses, and the global response to their attack upon humanity. The last subject was my clique's specialty, the possibility of containment within the Japanese home islands.


Convenient.

Also, just a note - I have obviously no way of researching this dude beyond skimming his website, there's hundreds of people like him in Japan, so the point where he starts to embellish the truth is a little hard for me to pinpoint, precisely.

Article:
I was the first to hack into Doctor Komatsu's personal hard drive and read the raw data a full week before he presented his findings to the Diet. This was a coup. It further elevated my status among those who already worshipped me.


Once more wishing he had spoken to the Doctor instead of this fucking guy. The man's a prick, but he knows more about Japan's collapse than anyone else alive.

Like, I get why he's done it - the warrior cults in Japan are one of the most pro-American subcultures, and they want to lay the groundwork in case they pull some shit, but still, it does make for a profoundly frustrating read; the guy is just reeling off his traditional barely veiled tirade against pre-war Japanese liberalism.

Article:
Japan's low crime rate gave it one of the relatively smallest and most lightly armed police forces in the industrialized world. Japan was pretty much also a demilitarized state. Because of American "protection," our self-defense forces had not seen actual combat since 1945.


This is a growing refrain in Japan - that if they hadn't been castrated by the Americans after the war, they'd have survived the apocalypse easily.

It is a belief which leads naturally into wretched imperial apologia, which is growing increasingly common.

America's alliance system in East Asia is in shambles; South Korea and Japan hate each other, Hainan is terrified enough that they're reopening communication with the mainland and everyone remembers Taiwan, so no one trusts American promises of protection any more.

Article:
So it took us all by complete surprise when Doctor Komatsu publicly declared that the situation was hopeless and that Japan had to be immediately evacuated.


This is the last chronological thing he says that I think can be seen as uncontroversial fact. Everything about his life hereafter I think should be taken with a pinch of salt.

Japan's evacuation was a desperate gamble - they didn't think they could pull off a 'conventional' Redeker; the country was too densely populated and not nearly armed enough - so they decided instead to pull those they could out and launch an occupation of Kamchatka to wait the ghouls out.

Article:
That must have been terrifying.

Not at all! It set off an explosion of frenzied activity, a race to discover where our population might resettle. Would it be the South, the coral atolls of the Central and South Pacific, or would we head north, colonizing the Kuriles, Sakhalin, or maybe somewhere in Siberia? Whoever could uncover the answer would be the greatest otaku in cyber history.


This is where I start to get suspicious; he wasn't stupid, and I don't think his parents were either. I don't think he was unaware that the evacuation was concerning, or indeed that the evacuation plans only called for at most 10% of the population to be evacuated.

No, I think he's claiming to be unaware because he wants to make his story "cooler" and more transformative.

Article:
What about your parents?

What about them? We lived in the same apartment, but I never really conversed with them. I'm sure they thought I was studying. Even when school closed I told them I still had to prepare for exams. They never questioned it.


I obviously never met his parents, but this seems unlikely. It would be obvious he was lying. I think this is part of an embellishment; part of his sales pitch is that he went from as unready as possible to being "a badass" and You Can Too.

Article:
I woke up that morning, as I always did; gratified myself, as I always did; logged on, as I always did. It was midday before I started to feel hungry. I hated those feelings, hunger or fatigue or, the worst, sexual desire. Those were physical distractions. They annoyed me.


But then he can't stop himself from some autofellatio about how even as an Otaku he was distancing himself from material desires or whatever.

This is after his parents have died or disappeared in some way. I personally assume they died trying to get the family out of the city, and he was with them. His escape does not ring true.

Article:
You never questioned where your parents were?

The only reason I cared was because of the precious minutes I was wasting having to feed myself. In my world too many exciting things were happening.


I do think this is almost a slip. He's trying to come across as having been disenfranchised from society, but he hits closer to "heartless" instead.

Article:
How long did this go on for?

About three days. The last post, from another otaku in Sendai, stated that the dead were now flowing out of Tohoku University Hospital, in the same cho as his apartment.


Granting that this happened, it was less because they all got eaten, and more because as the government pulled out, they shut down the power stations behind them, to prevent accidents like the one at West County in America. Most people who died in Japan - most people in Japan, then - died after the evacuation, not before.

Article:
And that didn't worry you?

Why should it? I was too busy trying to learn all I could about the evacuation process. How was it going to be executed, what government organizations were involved? Would the camps be in Kamchatka or Sakhalin, or both? And what was this I was reading about the rash of suicides that was sweeping the country? [3] So many questions, so much data to mine. I cursed myself for having to go to sleep that night.


Japan had a crazy high proportionate suicide rate; something like seven in a hundred people left behind by their government in the evacuation. This isn't terribly surprising; a professor got up in front of the Diet and said everyone in Japan was fucked if they didn't get evacuated, and then most people didn't get evacuated.

More Japanese survivors got out through Yakuza trafficking lines to South Korea and elsewhere than the official evacuation, which has resulted in a massive swell of Yakuza numbers, especially in the south.

Article:
When I woke up, the screen was blank. I tried to sign on. Nothing. I tried rebooting. Nothing. I noticed that I was on backup battery. Not a problem. I had enough reserve power for ten hours at full use. I also noticed that my signal strength was zero. I couldn't believe it.


I'm fairly sure this is not true. I think most of what he says from here on out is not true, but I think it is informative about the ideological shit Tatsumi is trying to play here.

Article:
One server might go down, maybe even a few, but the whole net? I realized it must be my computer. It had to be. I got out my laptop and tried to sign on. No signal. I cursed and got up to tell my parents that I had to use their desktop. They still weren't home. Frustrated, I tried to pick up the phone to call my mother's cell. It was cordless, dependent on wall power. I tried my cell. I got no reception.


Japan shut off all power to different cities at different times, depending on how defended the power stations were.

There are some claims that they shut down some places proactively, but there's a lot of unfocused disdain towards the government, so it's hard to get a read on how true that is.

Article:
Do you know what happened to them?

No, even to this day, I have no idea. I know they didn't abandon me, I'm sure of it. Maybe my father was caught out at work, my mother trapped while trying to go grocery shopping. They could have been lost together, going to or coming back from the relocation office.


There's a lot of this sort of feeling, in Japan but also everywhere - the complete lack of knowledge what happened to family and friends. I'm not sure if it is better or worse than knowing.

The Japanese government kept running relocation offices even in cities pretty much totally overrun, even when they wouldn't be relocating anyone else, but I don't think those are what he meant. Other people also ran relocation offices in Japanese cities; Yakuza, some of those odd religious cults, even, slightly alarmingly, some Keiretsu. They all wanted different things, but they all got, in the end, the same thing; the loyalty of an unsettling proportion of the surviving Japanese public.

Article:
My knuckles split, the sight of my own blood terrified me. I'd never played sports as a child, never been injured, it was all too much. I picked up the monitor and threw it against the wall. I was crying like a baby, shouting, hyperventilating. I started to wretch and vomited all over the floor. I got up and staggered to the front door. I don't know what I was looking for, just that I had to get out. I opened the door and stared into darkness.


In two minds. I think it is eminently feasible that he had a breakdown like this, but equally, I think this has a tinge of "I was so pathetic (in contrast to once the crisis and my philosophy were able to fix me)" which sits far too comfortably with his whole, like, erection pills and 12 step programs vibe, you know?

But like, obviously I wasn't in Kokura with him, so I can't say either way for sure.

Article:
Did you try knocking at the neighbor's door?

No. Isn't that odd? Even at the height of my breakdown, my social anxiety was so great that actually risking personal contact was still taboo. I took a few steps, slipped, and fell into something soft. It was cold and slimy, all over my hands, my clothes. It stank. The whole hallway stank. I suddenly became aware of a low, steady scraping noise, like something was dragging itself across the hallway toward me.


I can never decide whether I'm amused or pissed when fascists wax lyrical about the loss of community or whatever. They identify the problem, the atomisation of society and alienation people feel, and then they go "the solution is the cult of war".

Anyway, he's basically making shit up, now. The dark hallway stinking of ghoul, the half-ghoul dragging itself across the floor towards you? He might as well have said "Then a scene from a movie happened".

Article:
Kokura was engulfed in hell. The fires, the wreckage…the siafu were everywhere. I watched them crash through doors, invade apartments, devour people cowering in corners or on balconies. I watched people leap to their deaths or break their legs and spines. They lay on the pavement, unable to move, wailing in agony as the dead closed in around them. One man in the apartment directly across from me tried to fight them off with a golf club. It bent harmlessly around a zombie's head before five others pulled him to the floor.


There's no way he looked out the window and saw this. This is the idea people have in their heads of how a city falls, but it's both slower and faster than this; you don't get people otherwise going about their day until one day all hell breaks loose, and you don't get a mass swarm in the city within hours of the power going out. This is a story he's telling, it's part of his patter.

This is closer to what you see when a swarm breaks open a safe zone than what you see in the opening days. People otherwise going about their lives suddenly dealing not with one or two ghouls but thousands.

Article:
Then…a pounding at the door. My door. This…[shakes his fist] bom-bombom-bom…from the bottom, near the floor. I heard the thing groaning outside. I heard other noises, too, from the other apartments. These were my neighbors, the people I'd always tried to avoid, whose faces and names I could barely remember. They were screaming, pleading, struggling, and sobbing. I heard one voice, either a young woman or a child on the floor above me, calling someone by name, begging them to stop. But the voice was swallowed in a chorus of moans. The banging at my door became louder. More siafu had shown up. I tried to move the living room furniture against the door. It was a waste of effort. Our apartment was, by your standards, pretty bare. The door began to crack. I could see its hinges straining. I figured I had maybe a few minutes to escape.


This whole sequence is described in such an earnestly unbelievable way. It fits what he wants to sell too well - the otaku loser everyone thinks is worthless suddenly learns how to survive and thrive when the vestiges of modern civilisation are torn away. There's some stuff later in this interview to really drive home his point for anyone who didn't properly understand it.

Article:
Escape? But if the door was jammed…

Out the window, onto the balcony of the apartment below. I thought I could tie bedsheets into a rope…[smiles sheepishly]…I'd heard about it from an otaku who studied American prison breaks. It would be the first time I ever applied any of my archived knowledge.

Fortunately the linen held. I climbed out of my apartment and started to lower myself down to the apartment below. Immediately my muscles started cramping. I'd never paid much attention to them and now they were reaping their revenge. I struggled to control my motions, and to not think about the fact that I was nineteen floors up.


He did not do this. I don't have anything more to add really - he did not do this. There would not be enough bedding, he would not have enough time, the balcony bars would not be strong enough. He did not do this.

The next section is profoundly unpleasant. He makes it to the apartment below, which is barricaded and safe, but…

Article:
I slid the bathroom door open and was blown back by this invisible, putrid cloud. The woman was in her tub. She had slit her wrists, long, vertical slices along the arteries to make sure the job was done right. Her name was Reiko. She was the only neighbor I'd made any effort to know. She was a high-priced hostess at a club for foreign businessmen. I'd always fantasized about what she'd look like naked. Now I knew.


We get this hateful shit. Reiko is judged here, for failing to survive, for killing herself, far more harshly than others who made the same decision. She's sexualised, we are told she is a hostess at a club, she is killed and there's a decided sense that these things are tied together - she's weak, used to finery, she's decadent, a whore, and she caters to foreigners. And thus, she is incapable of surviving, she kills herself, stinks of putrescence and disease.

If it weren't for later portions, I might think I was reading too much into this.

Article:
Strangely enough, what bothered me most was that I didn't know any prayers for the dead. I'd forgotten what my grandparents had tried to teach me as a little kid, rejected it as obsolete data. It was a shame, how out of touch I was with my heritage. All I could do was stand there like an idiot and whisper an awkward apology for taking some of her sheets.


And he uses her as a place from which to talk about how he has become out of touch with his Japanese Heritage, stolen from him, and isn't that a shame?

The reactionary shit simmers barely under the surface here, it's like an abscess. By the end of his interview he lances it.

Article:
It took me three days to make it all the way down to the ground floor. This was partially due to my disgraceful physical stamina. A trained athlete would have found my makeshift rope antics a challenge so you can imagine what they were for me. In retrospect it's a miracle I didn't plunge to my death or succumb to infection with all the scrapes and scratches I endured.


He humblebrags a lot about how even though he had a disgraceful physique and was working on no sleep, his strength of will allowed him to climb 19 stories using bedsheets. It's dumb.

Article:
There wasn't anything?

[Smiles.]
This was not America, where there used to be more firearms than people. True fact—an otaku in Kobe hacked this information directly from your National Rifle Association.

I meant a hand tool, a hammer, a crowbar…

What salaryman does his own home maintenance?


This whole section is a parable on the emasculation of Japan - men don't have guns, they don't do their own maintenance, all they have is hapless golfing and business work, and thus Japan was uniquely unprepared, and must return to stronger times.

It's classic fash shit.

Article:
By now I had my entire escape plan worked out: land on the fourth-floor balcony, break into the apartment for a new set of sheets (I'd given up looking for a weapon by then), slide down to the sidewalk, steal the most convenient motorcycle (even though I had no idea how to ride one), streaking off like some old-timey bosozoku,[4] and maybe even grab a girl or two along the way. [Laughs.]


He talks about this as though getting on a motorbike and riding into the sunset is more ridiculous than what he's trying to convince us actually happened.

Anyway he claims he got ambushed by a ghoul and had to leap to safety at another balcony. After three days without sleep, three days climbing down the face of a building whilst ghouls try to kill him at every turn.

Whatever, man.

Article:
My eyes fell on the only other item in the room, a Kami Dana, or traditional Shinto shrine. Something was on the floor beneath it, I guessed a suicide note. The wind must have blown it off when I entered. I didn't feel right just leaving it there. I hobbled across the room and stooped to pick it up. Many Kami Dana have a small mirror in the center. My eye caught a reflection in that mirror of something shambling out of the bedroom.


This whole section exists to valorise Japanese veterans of the Second World War and the traditional ways of life - that's why the Shinto shrine very literally saves his life by warning him.

Article:
The adrenaline kicked in just as I wheeled around. The old man was still there, the bandage on his face telling me that he must have reanimated not too long ago. He came at me; I ducked. My legs were still shaky and he managed to catch me by the hair. I twisted, trying to free myself. He pulled my face toward his. He was surprisingly fit for his age, muscle equal to, if not superior to, mine.


The difference between how this old man - who also committed suicide - is depicted; he's still strong, more muscular than Tatsumi, more driven even as a ghoul, and how Reiko was depicted early is, I think, genuinely telling.

Article:
He snarled and came at me again. I backed up, tensed, then grabbed him by his one good arm. I jammed it into his back, clamped my other hand around the back of his neck, and with a roaring sound I didn't even know I could make, I shoved him, ran him, right onto the balcony and over the side. He landed face up on the pavement, his head still hissing up at me from his otherwise broken body.


Three days without sleep, food or water. Come on now.

Anyway this is pretty normal - he's discovered his Faith or Will or whatever, and now he's got the vigor and strength to do what must be done, like the samurai-soldiers of old.

Article:
That's what had caught my attention, one last photograph that was on the bare wall in his bedroom. It was black and white, grainy, and showed a traditional family. There was a mother, father, a little boy, and what I guessed had to be the old man as a teenager in uniform. Something was in his hand, something that almost stopped my heart. I bowed to the man in the photograph and said an almost tearful "Arigato."


You see, he served in the Imperial Japanese Army, this undoubtedly fictitious old man. Served as an army officer. I could speculate about whether he served in Nanking, or make some other snide remark about how evil the IJA was, but there's no point - this didn't happen. He did not climb down 19 stories in 3 days, without eating, sleeping or drinking, tying together bed sheets and leaping from balcony to balcony. That didn't happen.

No, this is mostly relevant as the final open statement - not merely Japan's martial past, not merely Japan's imperial past, but specifically Imperial Japan of WWII was what saved him, what - he implies - saved Japan. The shield society is one of the most overtly pro-IJA of the various pseudo-fascist cults they have knocking around - it's even named after a previous paramilitary which tried to restore the Emperor - and it's certainly the largest but they're all pretty much like this.

Article:
What was in his hand?

I found it at the bottom of a chest in his bedroom, underneath a collection of bound papers and the ragged remains of the uniform from the photo. The scabbard was green, chipped, army-issue aluminum and an improvised, leather grip had replaced the original sharkskin, but the steel…bright like silver, and folded, not machine stamped…a shallow, tori curvature with a long, straight point. Flat, wide ridge lines decorated with the kiku-sui, the Imperial chrysanthemum, and an authentic, not acid-stained, river bordering the tempered edge. Exquisite workmanship, and clearly forged for battle.

[I motioned to the sword at his side. Tatsumi smiles.]


I've seen Shin Guntō - not like, a lot? Cuba's a long way from anywhere you're likely to find one, but we get a few Americans who had them. They're machine stamped, obviously, and mass produced. They suck absolute shit, and no one who has tried to use one of these broadly ceremonial weapons in anger has a single good word to say about them except "it isn't as heavy as a lobo".

But then, I've seen pictures of Kondo Tatsumi, too - I looked him up and he's in a bunch of pictures on the Shield Society website - and the sword he's always posing with isn't a fucking guntō.

It's too short, the handle's too modern - he tries to cover for this here, but it's clunky - and the blade is fairly ordinary stainless steel, like you'd see for a kitchen knife. It isn't a guntō, it isn't big enough to be a katana, and it isn't fancy enough to be from a museum or a specialist blacksmith. There's really only one other place he'd have been able to find a 'sword' like this.

If you ask me what happened, what Kondo Tatsumi really experienced? I think his parents found a way off Kyushu; a Yakuza. I think they went, the three of them, to meet the Yakuza who was going to traffick them out. I think this was probably once the outbreak was simmering, not yet boiling over, but I think the Yakuza was dead when they arrived. Killed his parents. And I think Kondo took the shitty wakizashi from the Yakuza's belt, and fled. Because that glorified dagger he waves around isn't a katana, and is an obviously extremely modern sword. I'm sure it's basically "okay" at killing ghouls, because most handheld things made of metal are, but I doubt it's a lot of fun trying to destroy the brain with it.

But if you were wondering - yes, you can purchase an exact copy of his sword, to best get in touch with your inner samurai, to understand what riled them to wage war on the world in earlier, more savage days.

It'll be machine stamped, and probably made of mild steel.

This is going to be a long update - the interview with his "sensei" is next.

Article:
KYOTO, JAPAN

[Sensei Tomonaga Ijiro knows exactly who I am seconds before I enter the room. Apparently I walk, smell, and even breathe like an American. The founder of Japan's Tatenokai, or "Shield Society," greets me with both a bow and handshake, then invites me to sit before him like a student. Kondo Tatsumi, Tomonaga's second in command, serves us tea then sits beside the old master. Tomonaga begins our interview with an apology for any discomfort I might feel about his appearance. The sensei's lifeless eyes have not functioned since his adolescence.]


Horrible reactionary arsehole though he was, Tomonaga Ijiro was also pretty obviously being manipulated by Tatsumi; he was a full hundred years old when he died, which was, what, a month after this book came out?

Obviously I won't be shedding any tears over the guy who resurrected an imperial restorationist paramilitary, but elder abuse is elder abuse.

Article:
I am "hibakusha." I lost my sight at 11:02 A.M., August 9, 1945, by your calendar. I was standing on Mount Kompira, manning the air-raid warning station with several other boys from my class. It was overcast that day, so I heard, rather than saw, the B-29 passing close overhead. It was only a single B-san, probably a reconnaissance flight, and not even worth reporting. I almost laughed when my classmates jumped into our slit trench. I kept my eyes fixed above the Urakami Valley, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of the American bomber. Instead, all I saw was the flash, the last thing I would ever see.


It's almost completely unrelated to him, but I was thinking. I was nearly too young for it, but I still remember - these were the only nuclear weapons used in anger, the ones dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Almost enough time had passed that by natural causes there was no one living with the scars of nuclear war.

That's not true any more. Hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of people are blind or burned or sick because of nuclear weapons. From Islamabad to Tehran to Xilinhot to fucking Shanghai.

There's people I pass on the street with radiation burns on their hands, forearms, faces. It's commonplace.

We were on the brink of having shown the simple restraint to let nuclear war drop from our collective memory, and we pissed it away without a backwards glance.

I don't know. It's shit.

I would have to be a pretty massive hypocrite to come out as anti nuclear proliferation after Sellafield, but I do find myself wishing no one had the fucking things, since we've let the genie out of the bottle.

Article:
So many times I tried inquiring about some manner of employment, some work no matter how small or demeaning. No one would have me. I was still hibakusha, and I learned so many polite ways to be rejected. My brother begged me to come and stay with him, insisting that he and his wife would take care of me and even find some "useful" task around the house. For me that was even worse than the sanatorium. He had just gotten back from the army and they were trying to have another baby.


Learning his arsehole brother was a junior officer in the Imperial Japanese Army does illustrate why he was such a piece of shit, I think.

There's some mythologising within their cult that the officer Tatsumi got his sword from was Tomonaga's brother, but since Tatsumi didn't get his sword from an officer, I think that's just shit Tatsumi heavily implies to make himself seem more legitimate as a successor, given the old man was dying.

I don't know how well that's worked, but they're still pretty unified.

Article:
I left the sanatorium without informing my brother. I didn't know where I was heading, only that I had to get as far from my life, my memories, myself, as possible. I traveled, begged mostly…I had no more honor to lose…until I settled in Sapporo on the island of Hokkaido. This cold, northern wilderness has always been Japan's least populated prefecture, and with the loss of Sakhalin and the Kuriles, it became, as the Western saying goes, "the end of the line."


This is just nationalist grousing about having lost them. They're Japanese again now, for the moment. Seized them as they returned from Kamchatka.

The Russians aren't pleased, though they're probably more pissed about Kamchatka itself.

There's going to be a war before too long. China's direct intervention in Khabarovsk is probably the death knell for the HRE, and if they're supporting the Russians this much, it means they don't plan to stop when they reach the Japanese occupied zones.

Article:
In Sapporo, I met an Ainu gardener, Ota Hideki. The Ainu are Japan's oldest indigenous group, and even lower on our social ladder than the Koreans.
Maybe that is why he took pity on me, another pariah cast out by the tribe of Yamato. Maybe it was because he had no one to pass his skills along to. His own son had never returned from Manchuria. Ota-san worked at the Akakaze, a former luxury hotel that now served as a repatriation center for Japanese settlers from China.


The old man's criticisms of pre-war and Imperial Japan are quite rare - he was generally pretty positive about it - but he was pretty strong on wanting their new Japanese Empire to have no internal minorities they discriminate against. That Japanese Koreans and the Ainu should both be accepted as an equal part of the Imperial Machine.

This isn't a view many of his adherents ever really came to embrace; the general view of Japanese Koreans is that they're Yakuza, and the general view of the Ainu is that they shouldn't exist. Tatsumi just wants both groups to integrate into nonexistence, lose their independent culture and become "normal" Japanese people.

Article:
I was still working at the Akakaze when I heard of the first domestic outbreak. I was trimming the Western-style hedges near the restaurant, when I overheard several of the guests discussing the Nagumo murders.


Things in Japan flared up pretty quickly, or maybe were just reported widely enough that people had a better understanding of how fast the crisis would spread when it breached containment. It was maybe a week between the murders in Nagumo and the outbreaks across far too many hospitals in far too many cities.

Article:
The voice that finally convinced me of danger came from the hotel's manager, a stiff, no-nonsense salaryman with a very formal manner of speech. After the outbreak in Hirosaki, he held a staff meeting to try to debunk, once and for all, these wild rumors about dead bodies coming back to life. I had only his voice to rely on, and you can tell everything about a person by what happens when he opens his mouth.


Honshu was on the brink of collapse before the rest of Japan was even really dealing with the infection at all. I think it must have been pretty surreal, living on Hokkaido or Kyushu, knowing hell was coming and your government wouldn't be stopping it.

Article:
And so, for the second time in my life, I fled. I considered warning my brother, but so much time had passed, I had no idea how to reach him or even if he was still alive. That was the last, and probably the greatest of all my dishonorable acts, the heaviest weight I will carry to my grave.


His brother was almost definitely dead by this point, but I don't imagine that matters. I know survivor's guilt when I see it.

Article:
I left at night and began hitchhiking south down Hokkaido's DOO Expressway. All I had with me was a water bottle, a change of clothes, and my ikupasuy,[2] a long, flat shovel similar to a Shaolin spade but which also served for many years as my walking stick.


It is literally just a shovel. It isn't a Shaolin spade, it certainly isn't a fucking ikupasuy - that's an Ainu prayer stick.

They sell them, of course, on their online shop.

Article:
No one was sure what the next day would bring, how far the calamity would spread, or who would be its next victim, and yet, no matter whom I spoke to or how terrified they sounded, each conversation would inevitably end with "But I'm sure the authorities will tell us what to do." One truck driver said, "Any day now, you'll see, if you just wait patiently and don't make a public fuss." That was the last human voice I heard, the day before I left civilization and trekked into the Hiddaka Mountains.


I don't think there exists a state in the world any more with this sort of faith in the government, now. It was squandered pretty well universally. I can't say I miss it.

Article:
I was very familiar with this national park. Ota-san had taken me here every year to collect sansai, the wild vegetables that attract botanists, hikers, and gourmet chefs from all over the home islands. As a man who often rises in the middle of the night knows the exact location of every item in his darkened bedroom, I knew every river and every rock, every tree and patch of moss. I even knew every onsen that bubbled to the surface, and therefore never wanted for a naturally hot and cleansing mineral bath.


Nah. Visiting a national park a few times a year in a specific season to collect vegetables does not make you know it this well.

What made him think he was this clear on where things were in the park I would probably put down to mental decline more than anything else.

He was a horrible fascist, but Jesus, the dude was pretty obviously a puppet a long time before he died.

Article:
Something did arouse me from my sleep one morning, but not a collection of giggling students, and no, it wasn't one of them either.

It was a bear, one of the many large, brown higuma roaming the Hokkaido wilderness. The higuma had originally migrated from the Kamchatka Peninsula and bore the same ferocity and raw power of their Siberian cousins. This one was enormous, I could tell by the pitch and resonance of his breathing. I judged him to be no more than four or five meters from me. I rose slowly, and without fear.


It's almost funny, he talked about how he could've used his spade to fight off this bear but chose not to.

A man in his 80s with a shovel deciding not to try to fight one of the largest bears in the world is not some grand choice, it is a simple acknowledgement of basic reality.

But being frank, this story is clearly allegorical - he faces his death before an avatar of the gods and is saved by the need the gods have of his service against the undead.

Article:
By exiling myself into the wilderness, I had polluted nature's purity. After dishonoring myself, my family, my country, I had at last taken that final step and dishonored the gods. Now they had sent an assassin to do what I had been unable to for so long, to erase my stink. I thanked the gods for their mercy. I wept as I prepared myself for the blow.


This remains a core ideological point of their specific vein of ideology; by our impurity and dishonour, we are by nature deserving of death, and only through the act of killing those more impure than us can we redeem ourselves in the eyes of the gods.

During the war, those "more impure" were ghouls, but it's been years since Japan was cleared, and the language these warrior cults use hasn't changed.

Article:
I could hear it reaching out to me, groaning and swiping at empty air. I managed to dodge its clumsy attempt and snatched up my ikupasuy. I centered my attack on the source of the creature's moan. I struck quickly, and the crack vibrated up through my arms. The creature fell back upon the earth as I released a triumphant shout of "Ten Thousand Years!"


This has been sanitised for American audiences; the war cry has been translated literally to conceal it, because Americans have engaged in serious historical myth making about "Banzai Charges" and they really want to make out the imperial restorationists out to be their loyal and harmless allies. Whilst also wanting to venerate and build up their own military history, including the pacific war.

It must be hell, writing propaganda for the Junta.

Article:
It is difficult for me to describe my feelings at this moment. Fury had exploded within my heart, a strength and courage that drove away my shame as the sun drives the night from heaven. I suddenly knew the gods had favored me. The bear hadn't been sent to kill me, it had been sent to warn me. I didn't understand the reason right then, but I knew I had to survive until the day when that reason was finally revealed.


People believe what they want to believe to get through things like this.

I do apologise for my shortness here; two consecutive chapters that are just part of the opening pitch of a fascist paramilitary in Japan is getting a little much for me.

Article:
And that is what I did for the next few months: I survived. I mentally divided the Hiddaka range into a series of several hundred chi-tai.[3] Each chi-tai contained some object of physical security—a tree or tall, flat rock—some place I could sleep in peace without the danger of immediate attack. I slept always during the day, and only traveled, foraged, or hunted at night. I did not know if the beasts depended on their sight as much as human beings, but I wasn't going to give them even the most infinitesimal advantage.[4]


This I think he was either fed by his cult or he made up after talking with Tatsumi. He did not patrol the 150 kilometre mountain range. I expect he settled a little spot for himself and stayed there. He was old enough by war's end that he could probably be convinced of anything.

But no, a blind man in his eighties did not patrol an entire mountain range. He talks about paying attention to his other senses, which; sure, that probably helped him survive! He still didn't patrol the whole range.

As regards the footnote - "To this day, it is unknown how much the living dead depend on sight" - no it isn't. They're blind, they just have some sixth sense for people. They don't blink and their eyes get all scratched up - they're blind. The only people who disagree are people who want to pretend the ghouls do not have some extrasensory ability to find us.

Article:
Was there ever a problem with long-range detection, not being able to see an attacker several miles away?

My nocturnal activity would have prevented the use of healthy eyesight, and any beast several kilometers away was no more a threat to me than I was to it. There was no need to be on my guard until they entered what you might call my "circle of sensory security," the maximum range of my ears, nose, fingertips, and feet. On the best of days, when the conditions were right and Haya-ji[5] was in a helpful mood, that circle extended as far as half a kilometer. On the worst of days, that range might drop to no more than thirty, possibly fifteen paces.


A ghoul several kilometres away is a ghoul that does not matter to your patrol. This isn't unique to him.

I do not believe he had a 500 metre sphere of awareness, though I imagine he thought he did.

Article:
Did you always kill your enemy on the first strike?

Always.

[He gestures with an imaginary ikupasuy.]

Thrust forward, never swing. At first I would aim for the base of the neck. Later, as my skills grew with time and experience, I learned to strike here . . .

[He places his hand horizontally against the indentation between the forehead and nose.]

It was a little harder than simple decapitation, all that thick tough bone, but it did serve to destroy the brain, as opposed to decapitation where the living head would always require a secondary blow.


Not a chance that a shovel withstands being driven through more than maybe 10-12 skulls, I think.

Like, here's the thing. I'm sure he spent the war in the national park until he was found by Kondo Tatsumi, and I'm sure he killed a few ghouls in the process, but I don't think that many of them ever went into the national park, and I don't think he killed dozens or hundreds, because he was old and blind. That's just a useful claim now, when they're trying to frame their cult as being the sole saviours of Japan.

Article:
The answer came to me on the eve of my second winter in exile. This would be my last night in the branches of a tall tree. Once the snow fell, I would return to the cave where I had spent the previous winter. I had just settled in comfortably, waiting for dawn's warmth to lull me to sleep, when I heard the sound of footsteps, too quick and energetic to be a beast. Hayaji had decided to be favorable that night. He brought the smell of what could only be a human being.


He presents this like a crusade. Like the moment he discovered the "truth" of what happened to Japan, he was resolute in devoting his time to it. His "last night in the branches of a tall tree" - he will not be returning to his way of life.

This is of course not true - if he was living in the middle of the national park, we can assume he spent more nights in it on his way out - and even as a metaphor, it wasn't until it'd been almost a year that their group was large enough to start to make even the slightest impact, and they didn't go into a major settlement before then. Hardly a sweeping and urgent crusade.

Article:
I had come to realize that the living dead were surprisingly bereft of odor. Yes, there was the subtle hint of decomposition, stronger, perhaps, if the body had been turned for some time, or if chewed flesh had pushed through its bowels and collected in a rotting heap in its undergarments. Other than this, though, the living dead possessed what I refer to as a "scentless stink." They produced no sweat, no urine, or conventional feces. They did not even carry the bacteria within their stomach or teeth that, in living humans, would have fouled their breath. None of this was true of the two-legged animal rapidly approaching my position. His breath, his body, his clothes, all had clearly not been washed for some time.


Ghoulstink is a definite thing, but it is also substantially different from the smell of a living - dirty - person; the nauseatingly putrid sweetness of their slow rot, the almost… dusty? Body odour - they still have it, but it exists at a remove from the smell of a live human's sweat, the stronger putrescence from whatever is within their stomach and gut, slowly rotting from the inside.

You couldn't mistake a person for a ghoul by scent, not even if they had gangrene. He's not quite right about the breath, though; they don't breathe, so you can't smell it super well, but the stench rising out of their digestive tract tends to roil out from the mouth at the first opportunity, which is pretty close to bad breath.

Article:
It was still dark so he did not notice me. I could tell that his path would take him directly underneath the limbs of my tree. I crouched slowly, quietly. I wasn't sure if he was hostile, insane, or even recently bitten. I was taking no chances.

[At this point, Kondo chimes in.]


They were the only two people in this national park. Amongst the only people in Hokkaido full stop. As such, I obviously cannot comment on the truthfulness of this account of their meeting. Not in so many words.

That being said, this is clearly a pre-prepared spiel that the two of them reel out. Rehearsed.

Article:
KONDO: He was on me before I knew it. My sword went flying, my feet collapsed from under me.

TOMONAGA: I landed between his shoulder blades, not hard enough to do any permanent damage, but enough to knock the wind out of his slight, malnourished frame.

KONDO: He had me on my stomach, my face in the dirt, the blade of his shovel-thing pressed tightly against the back of my neck.


He was an octogenarian. This did not happen.

Article:
TOMONAGA: I told him to lie still, that I would kill him if...

KONDO: I tried to speak, gasping between coughs that I was friendly, that I didn't even know he was there, that all I wanted to do was pass along and be on my way.

TOMONAGA: I asked him where he was going.

KONDO: I told him Nemuro, the main Hokkaido port of evacuation, where there might still be one last transport, or fishing boat, or…something that might still be left to get me to Kamchatka.


You don't accidentally walk into the middle of a National Park. I don't know exact details, but it is pretty clear from survivor testimony in Hokkaido that people knew about the old man living in the National Park. I've got to assume Tatsumi sought him out deliberately. I suspect he lied about this to Tomonaga. He made his way all the way from Kokura in Kyushu to Hokkaido without ever picking up any real survival skills, and there's really only one way someone can do that.

I'm about to perform a magic trick, by the way - I'm going to get myself legally barred from ever travelling to Hokkaido.

You see, some of the less insane Japanese Red Brigades have mentioned finding individual survivor corpses, their supplies completely looted, with single stab or slash wounds. From behind, or whilst sleeping. Yakuza in Kansai have talked about this as well, but the Shield Society seems not to have noticed this happen at all.

I'm sure Tatsumi had nothing but good intentions when he sought out the blind old man in the woods, though. Probably he wasn't even the one who killed those other survivors.

But Tomonaga didn't have many supplies - that wasn't how he operated - so Tatsumi stuck around for a while, they started to salvage a situation, picked up some more followers, and he realised that grifting was a more stable source of supply and income for the post war.

Article:
TOMONAGA: I did not understand. I ordered him to explain.

KONDO: I described everything, about the plague, the evacuation. I cried when I told him that Japan had been completely abandoned, that Japan was nai.

TOMONAGA: And suddenly I knew. I knew why the gods had taken my sight, why they sent me to Hokkaido to learn how to care for the land, and why they had sent the bear to warn me.

KONDO: He began to laugh as he let me up and helped to brush the dirt from my clothing.

TOMONAGA: I told him that Japan had not been abandoned, not by those whom the gods had chosen to be its gardeners.


They still sometimes call themselves the gardeners of Japan, but the people they're talking about are, like, leftists, immigrants and the yakuza, rather than ghouls.

Article:
KONDO: At first I didn't understand…

TOMONAGA: So I explained that, like any garden, Japan could not be allowed to wither and die. We would care for her, we would preserve her, we would annihilate the walking blight that infested and defiled her and we would restore her beauty and purity for the day when her children would return to her.

KONDO: I thought he was insane, and told him so right to his face. The two of us against millions of siafu?

TOMONAGA: I handed his sword back to him; its weight and balance felt familiar to the touch. I told him that we might be facing fifty million monsters, but those monsters would be facing the gods.


Eighty million. There were eighty million ghouls in Japan.

They mostly got cleared by other groups, but I won't take it all away from the Shield Society and its splinter groups, which were also vile fascists. They cleared - and still control - Hokkaido, and they probably dealt with about a quarter of the Honshu swarm.

And I wonder - out of base curiosity - how long it took Tatsumi to convince Tomonaga that his shitty Yakuza dagger was his brother's sword? Do you think it was quick? Or do you think Tomonaga took a while to accede?

That's the end of the Japan section, by the way - and thank fucking Christ. The Americans realised just how badly Japan was doing way too late, realised the government was going to fall one way or another, and that they probably couldn't work with the gangs, and definitely couldn't work with whichever of the various freak shit Red Brigades is currently looking like winning, so they've had to very quickly start to try and make groups who actively and unashamedly justify Imperial Japan and are named after paramilitaries which actively attempted coups in the Cold War look like sane and reliable allies. That's why the two chapters are right next to each other, and why they are presented so uncritically.

Japan's a fucking mess. When it collapses into civil war - and it will - an awful lot of people are going to begin massacring each other from day one.

Next up we get the deeply stupid Cuba cope.

Donate to the Walvis Bay Railroad [HERE].

Donate to the Sanatorium for Infirm Women in Russia [HERE].

Donate to the Lakota [HERE] - they're trying to rebuild as well as they can.

Argentina will be free! Donate to the cause [HERE]. This link might be illegal in your country, be careful.

I would put a link to a Japanese Communist Party or organisation here, but they so frequently reveal themselves to be completely loco that I had to put an awful lot of research into vetting one, had everything lined up, and then the Japanese Workers' League schismed into about six different groups which all hate each other, so… Just leave Japan to it, I think. You don't want to donate money to a group and then discover they spent it buying anthrax.

AN: These chapters nearly broke me. Japan is written so appallingly weeb in this book, and he put the sections back to back. He also cannot stop himself from naming organisations after their most sociopathic Cold War equivalent. Its terminal.
 
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Around the World, And Above, Part 4
Around the World, And Above, Part 4

Article:
Cienfuegos, Cuba

[Seryosha Garcia Alvarez suggests I meet him at his office. "The view is breathtaking," he promises. "You will not be disappointed." On the sixty-ninth floor of the Malpica Savings and Loans building, the second-tallest building in Cuba after Havana's José Martí Towers, Señor Alvarez's corner office overlooks both the glittering metropolis and bustling harbor below. It is the "magic hour" for energy-independent buildings like the Malpica, that time of the day when its photovoltaic windows capture the setting sun with their almost imperceptible magenta hue. Señor Alvarez was right. I am not disappointed.]


The Cuba interview is… what it is. I'm pretty sure it took place in Miami, though, being as that's where Alvarez is living.

This building isn't "energy-independent" really - you can't really get a skyscraper to be "energy independent - it runs off the Juragua plant, and is the central office for most of the industry in Cienfuegos.

There's something of a sleight of hand going on here - there was a savings and loans association in Malpica tower for a while, but it wasn't, like, the whole tower? And it wasn't a bank, not really. It was like… people pool their resources as a community and use them to pay for communal projects? From, like, replacing the equipment at a children's playground to building a new cinema in the area or renovating a block of flats without having to wait for the central government to get to it. It was never, like, ideal? It was a government guaranteed line of credit for when people wanted to engage with markets, before Cuba got truly into gear transitioning away from playing at having market economics in the ports. It wasn't a very large part of the building even at the peak, Alvarez just used to work there, before getting his fat paycheck from the Americans and then fleeing the country when he got caught.

Article:
Cuba won the Zombie War; maybe that's not the most humble of statements, given what happened to so many other countries, but just look at where we were twenty years ago as opposed to where we are now.


This cannot be denied. Cuba's never going to be, like "the premier world power" - the days when a small-ish island nation can dominate the globe are done, and no one's shedding tears for them, but Cuba's absolutely brimming with power, affluence and political optimism that's genuinely quite surprising for new arrivals. And there are always a lot of new arrivals.

Article:
Before the war, we lived in a state of quasi-isolation, worse than during the height of the cold war. At least in my father's day you could count on what amounted to economic welfare from the Soviet Union and their ComEcon puppets. Since the fall of the communist bloc, though, our existence was one of constant deprivation. Rationed food, rationed fuel…the closest comparison I can make is that of Great Britain during the Blitz, and like that other besieged island, we too lived under the dark cloud of an ever-present enemy.


There's a funny sort of irony to how the soviet union was vital for Cuba during the Cold War, and then Cuba was pretty important in reverse during this war.

Also, it was never the Blitz that caused British rationing, but talking about the u boat war brings it tremendously close to talking about the US blockade, doesn't it?

The ration system is cool though, honestly. It was probably not quite so cool under sanction, but now it is just a pretty straightforward system where the government provides you with what you need to live, and you work on top of that.

Article:
The U.S. blockade, while not as constricting as during the cold war, nonetheless sought to suffocate our economic lifeblood by punishing any nation that attempted free and open trade. As successful as the U.S. strategy was, its most resounding triumph was allowing Fidel to use our northern oppressor as an excuse to remain in power. "You see how hard our life is," he would say. "The blockade has done this to you, the Yankees have done this to you, and without me, they would be storming our beaches even now!" He was brilliant, Machiavelli's most favored son. He knew we would never remove him while the enemy was at the gates.


Americans love to present Castro as paranoid, now that he's dead and buried - and now that they lack the force projection to threaten Havana. The blockade was what suffocated Cuba's economy. The Americans did literally try to storm Cuba's beaches. Those things happened, Castro didn't make them up!

"Machiavelli's most favoured son". Jesus.

America's strategy was also, like, famously unsuccessful. They radicalised Castro through their unrelenting hatred of an independent and free Cuba, they failed to even begin to remove Cuba's socialist nature, and the whole point of it was removing Castro, so it doesn't really make any sense to describe it as successful whilst also claiming it was the blockade that kept Castro in power.

He's talking out of both sides of his mouth here - the blockade worked and was successful, but also was bad, and helped the communists stay in power. This is because they don't ideologically oppose the principle of blockading communists into submission - they just don't have the naval strength to do it manually or the diplomatic strength to pressure other countries into obeying their sanctions.

Article:
Cases were small and immediately contained, mostly Chinese refugees and a few European businessmen. Travel from the United States was still largely prohibited, so we were spared the initial blow of first-wave mass migration. The repressive nature of our fortress society allowed the government to take steps to ensure that the infection was never allowed to spread. All internal travel was suspended, and both the regular army and territorial militias were mobilized. Because Cuba had such a high percentage of doctors per capita, our leader knew the true nature of the infection weeks after the first outbreak was reported.


This is really weird. Cuba didn't survive the war by being "repressive" or a "fortress society" - Cuba survived by the fact that they very quickly established what was going on, informed the general public; this was about concurrent with Israel, but a fair bit quieter, because they didn't have any land borders for people to notice, and mobilised the militia, swelling the military from about forty thousand to about a million, and they rapidly contained any burgeoning outbreaks.

Turns out that an open and clearly communicated directive on what the plague was, what symptoms it had, the nature of the infection, how it spread and the absence of a cure was enough to prevent a panic and allow for relatively straightforward containment.

Article:
By the time of the Great Panic, when the world finally woke up to the nightmare breaking down their doors, Cuba had already prepared itself for war.

The simple fact of geography spared us the danger of large-scale, overland swarms. Our invaders came from the sea, specifically from an armada of boat people. Not only did they bring the contagion, as we have seen throughout the world, there were also those who believed in ruling their new homes as modern-day conquistadors.


This problem is overstated. Even a slow bite will turn someone in a few days - it isn't terribly difficult to quarantine people on their ships for a few days, and most people who would get on a boat and flee to Cuba, especially in the early days, were mostly just relieved to be met by an actual government. People trying to overthrow governments was more common in smaller countries, countries with less notably effective militaries; Iceland is the most commonly cited example, but by no means the only one - a lot of Central American countries spent a good few years executing American adventurers. That was about what started to make it sink in for people; America couldn't stop them any more. The King's crown was slipping from his head, as it were.

Article:
Look at what happened in Iceland, a prewar paradise, so safe and secure they never found the need to maintain a standing army. What could they do when the American military withdrew? How could they stop the torrent of refugees from Europe and western Russia? Is it no mystery how that once idyllic arctic haven became a cauldron of frozen blood, and why, to this day, it is still the most heavily infested White Zone on the planet? That could have been us, easily, had it not been for the example set by our brothers in the smaller Windward and Leeward Islands.


There's some weird racist nonsense coming up, but first I'll just stop here for a moment - Cuba was never going to be Iceland. Was never in danger of being Iceland. They did not need to have an example set for them by the West Indies Federation.

Furthermore - the issue with Iceland wasn't a lack of military readiness leaving them susceptible to refugees. Iceland's fatal outbreak wasn't from refugees, it was domestic. Hell, evidence is that it came from one of the American bases on the island before they pulled out. Refugees to Iceland overwhelmingly went peacefully into the isolation camps for 2-3 weeks and were then released. This imagery of the swarms of infected refugees pouring across borders and through ports to overwhelm the poor, naive country with open borders and immigration isn't, like, true?

Article:
Those men and women, from Anguilla to Trinidad, can proudly take their place as some of the greatest heroes of the war. They first eradicated multiple outbreaks along their archipelago, then, with barely a moment to catch their collective breaths, repelled not only seaborne zombies, but an endless flood of human invaders, too. They spilled their blood so that we did not have to. They forced our would-be latifundista to reconsider their plans for conquest, and realize that if a few civilians armed with nothing but small arms and machetes could defend their homelands so tenaciously, what would they find on the shores of a country armed with everything from main battle tanks to radar-guided antiship missiles?


This is really, like, not true. The men and women of the West Indies Federation - it wasn't that yet, but the pre war governments were mostly imploding, so it became that pretty quick - weren't fighting with small arms and machetes, dude. There's a peculiar sort of racialisation? The idea that the predominantly Black people from these various islands would obviously be using machetes rather than, like… normal modern weapons? And they didn't kill all that many living people - most people came pretty peacefully. It was the American tourists arriving in the Caribbean in those early days with pre-existing bites that were the largest problem. Once the panic kicked off, you didn't get many infected actually making it to places like Antigua.

Article:
Not all of the refugees were Yankees; we had our share from mainland Latin America, from Africa, and western Europe, Spain especially—many Spaniards and Canadians had visited Cuba either on business or holiday. I had gotten to know a few of them before the war, nice people, polite, so different from the East Germans of my youth who used to toss handfuls of candy in the air and laugh while we children scrambled for it like rats.


God, what a truly piteous bootlicker. Even the western tourists were nicer than the former communist ones, you say?

Tourists are arseholes. Doesn't really matter where they're from. That being said - Cuba was doing better during the Cold War, when the mean nasty East Germans were coming, so colour me doubtful that the wealth disparity was worse then than it was when they were getting tourists from the West.

Article:
The majority of our boat people, however, originated from the United States. Every day more would arrive, by large ship or private craft, even on homemade rafts that brought an ironic smile to our faces. So many of them, a total of five million, equal to almost half of our indigenous population, and along with all the other nationalities, they were placed under the jurisdiction of the government's "Quarantine Resettlement Program."


I didn't have to go through this - by the time I arrived, entry was reduced enough that it was just a week in a hotel room, a doctor's visit and then you're in.

But like… this is presented as some terrible tyranny when it was completely normal for a country to do this. Israel did it too. Just because America was in too abject of a state to do this properly doesn't mean it is somehow bad to do it.

Article:
I would not go so far as to call the Resettlement Centers prison camps. They could not compare to the lives suffered by our political dissidents; the writers and teachers . . . I had a "friend" who was accused of being a homosexual. His stories from prison cannot compare to even the harshest Resettlement Center.


Alright, I guess we need to talk about this.

Cuba was intensely and institutionally queerphobic for a long time - this began before the revolution, but Castro's regime continued and intensified it. It was only in the early 2000s, barely before the crisis began, that this started to change in a way that wasn't being reversed at the same time.

It is one of the various things where the crisis probably did Cuba a favour - without the blockade making everything feel quite so fraught, Cuba was able to open up a little, and that combined with the existing trend towards protections for LGBTQ people in Cuba, we finally got to where we are now - there's constitutional protection for LGBTQ people that goes so far beyond just "same-sex marriage" and is consistently updated with input from the entire population. LGBTQ rights within the Republic are the best in the world, and the state has formally apologised for the treatment of queer people historically.

Anecdotally, I feel safe kissing my wife on the street in Havana, and have friends from back home who cannot say the same about London.

Men like Seryosha Garcia Alvarez, men who put quotation marks around "friend" when they talk about their queer friends, who talk about how terribly unfair it was that they were accused of being a homosexual, men who's progressivism begins and ends at snippy remarks about Castro? America can keep them.

Article:
It was not easy living, however. These people, no matter what their prewar occupation or status, were initially put to work as field hands, twelve to fourteen hours a day, growing vegetables in what had once been our state-run sugar plantations. At least the climate was on their side. The temperature was dropping, the skies were darkening. Mother Nature was kind to them. The guards, however, were not. "Be glad you're alive," they'd shout after each slap or kick. "Keep complaining and we'll throw you to the zombies!"


Even socialist prison guards are prison guards, but the resettlement camps didn't work like this, so you'll excuse my doubt. Even before they were as lax as they were to me, they didn't keep people in resettlement camps for long - there were millions upon millions of people arriving, they couldn't possibly guard them all in camps like this. You got two to three weeks, then got moved on to a more permanent home.

People had to work in a farm or a factory, sure. There was no alternative - Cuba was not a wealthy country, America's blockade had seen to that, and it wasn't a breadbasket. Feeding as many people as they suddenly had to was Cuba's real crisis, so spare me the crocodile tears that everyone had to work.

12 or 14 hour shifts were not commonplace.

Article:
Every camp had a rumor about the dreaded "zombie pits," the hole in which they'd throw the "troublemakers." The DGI [the General Intelligence Directorate] had even planted prisoners in the general population to spread stories about how they personally witnessed men being lowered, headfirst, into the boiling lake of ghouls. This was all just to keep everyone in line, you see, none of it was actually true . . . though . . . there were stories about the "Miami whites."


This, on the other hand, is just openly fictional. The Cuban government did not plant prisoners in the camps; people wouldn't be in the fucking camps long enough for it to be worth it, and by and large people didn't need to be "kept in line" because they weren't prisoners. They arrived by choice and they lived in Cuba by choice.

Cuba didn't have any ghouls; once they wiped them out, they didn't reintroduce them, on account of how absolutely idiotic that would be.

There were persistent rumours about ghoul pits, because there are always persistent rumours about ghoul pits, but it was only once the crisis was over that some of the people who moved back to America started to reassure each other that they only believed in them because the communists must've tricked them into it.

Article:
The majority of American Cubanos were welcomed home with open arms. I myself had several relatives living in Daytona who just barely escaped with their lives. The tears of so many reunions in those early, frantic days could have filled the Caribbean Sea. But that first wave of postrevolution immigrants - the affluent elite who had flourished under the old regime and who spent the rest of their lives trying to topple everything we'd worked so hard to build - as far as those aristos were concerned . . . I am not saying there is any proof that they were thrown to the ghouls by their fat, reactionary, Bacardi blanka drinking asses . . . But if they were, they can suck Batista's balls in hell.


The majority of American refugees to Cuba - both during the crisis and subsequently - were not Cubano. Most American Cubanos who identified as such politically died in Miami, refusing to go to Cuba.

Cuba took in a lot of people with absolutely no historic connection to Cuba. There was no border check except the checking for infection that they did. People got let into Cuba without any background checks, because there was a world-destroying crisis, and that isn't the time to be finicky.

The only exception I can think of offhand was when that one cunt who was so mad that Castro took his family's slaves that he fought in the Bay of Pigs, helped the CIA track down and murder Che, trained war criminals in South Vietnam and was so involved in the Iran-Contra affair that he murdered an American federal agent to cover it up… And then had the guts to try to flee to Cuba when things in America got a little bit too spicy.

They still didn't lower him feet first into a ghoul pit, though. They just shot him.

Article:
[A thin, satisfied smile crosses his lips.]

Of course, we couldn't have actually attempted this kind of punishment with your people. Rumors and threats were one thing, but physical action . . . push a people, any people too far, and you risk the possibility of revolt. Five million Yankees, all rising in open revolution? Unthinkable. It already took too many troops to maintain the camps, and that was the initial success of the Yankee invasion of Cuba.


This is where we begin to enter a uniquely American cope. It can't just be that a communist country is doing well, is doing communism, has a happy population and higher quality of life than America. It must be that actually, secretly, without knowing it, America won. The "success" of the "Yankee invasion".

The overwhelming majority of the American refugees to Cuba were people so desperate and grateful that they just integrated into Cuban society because they didn't want to rock the boat. Hell, most of them were never terribly ideological - most people aren't.

We found this back home. Rural Britain wasn't exactly a hotbed of revolutionary sentiment, but when you know, deep in your bones, that the communists are the only reason you aren't grey and moaning right now? You either change your mind on communism, or you stop paying attention to politics.

And in Cuba, especially, for many people things were - whisper it - better than pre-war America. This is another thing the American Junta hates. People keep emigrating to Cuba, and very very few people who went to Cuba in those early years ever came back, even once America had reconquered itself. Very few of those 5 million Americans remained, ideologically, "American" for long.

Article:
We simply didn't have the manpower to guard five million detainees and almost four thousand kilometers of coastline. We couldn't fight a war on two fronts. And so the decision was made to dissolve the centers and allow 10 percent of the Yankee detainees to work outside the wire on a specialized parole program. These detainees would do the jobs Cubanos no longer wanted - day laborers, dish washers, and street cleaners - and while their wages would be next to nothing, their labor hours would go to a point system that allowed them to buy the freedom of other detainees.


This isn't true. Like, this sort of pseudo-slavery was much more America's bag, which is why they're so desperate to pretend Cuba also did it.

Cuba just integrated people into the population. The wage thing is a misrepresentation; Cuba's very slowly transitioning away from using currency internally, and one of the things that gets floated every once in a while is to reduce wages across the board, with the idea being that you only get paid so you can personally interact with some of Cuba's capitalist neighbours. It never really goes anywhere, because if we're going to transition away from markets and money, we should just do it, but it gets grabbed occasionally so America can pretend Cuba's got this sort of "work for nebulous reward" thing, too.

Article:
It was an ingenious idea - some Florida Cubano came up with it - and the camps were drained in six months. At first the government tried to keep track of all of them, but that soon proved impossible. Within a year they had almost fully integrated, the "Nortecubanos," insinuating themselves into every facet of our society.


Does he think people are stupid? Or just uninformed? Is this just carelessness?

Tell me - if we are to believe that this prison-slave system is how the Americans got out of their alleged prison camps - why was a Floridian able to propose it? Linear time would suggest this hypothetical Floridian would be in a prison camp at the time he came up with this "ingenious" slavery idea.

There's some truth to the fact that the Nortecubanos were integrated within a year, but not because of this shit.

Article:
Officially the camps had been created to contain the spread of "infection," but that wasn't the kind spread by the dead.


Again… they very much were just to contain the infection. Cuba did not have the resources or personnel to keep people in prison to prevent the "infection" of capitalism. They also did not need to.

Article:
You couldn't see this infection at first, not when we were still under siege. It was still behind closed doors, still spoken in whispers. Over the next several years what occurred was not so much a revolution as an evolution, an economic reform here, a legalized, privately owned newspaper there. People began to think more boldly, talk more boldly. Slowly, quietly, the seeds began to take root. I'm sure Fidel would have loved to bring his iron fist crashing down on our fledgling freedoms. Perhaps he might have, if world events had not shifted in our favor. It was when the world governments decided to go on the attack that everything changed forever.


This is… almost? True. He implies this was because of the American exiles, and was a "liberalising" trend - private enterprise and what have you.

But no. The economic reforms were away from industry being purely state run or market, and closer to the workers having major control over the means of production in their factories or fields. The "legalised, privately owned" newspapers were newspapers printed by workers collectives unaffiliated with the government, minority rights groups, socialist theorists, university marxist societies. Truthfully they had almost nothing to do with the Nortecubanos at first, and everything to do with the increased freedom after the American blockade went down. Cuba had enough now, could trade freely the world over. Without being under siege any more, they could loosen their control.

Castro… is a difficult one to call. Did he want to crack down? I don't think so. Even to the end, Castro was a Red, and I think - I like to think - he was happy to see Cuba finally get to spread her wings and show everyone her beauty, what marxism could achieve in the Caribbean.

Cuba's decision to provide material support to various countries during the reconquest remains deeply controversial - a lot of people blame them for a lot of dead socialists, but I'm not sure Cuba could've prevented many of those deaths.

Article:
Suddenly we became "the Arsenal of Victory." We were the breadbasket, the manufacturing center, the training ground, and the springboard. We became the air hub for both North and South America, the great dry dock for ten thousand ships. We had money, lots of it, money that created an overnight middle class, and a thriving, capitalist economy that needed the refined skills and practical experience of the Nortecubanos.


This is fucking hilarious. No, in the middle of a vast industrial campaign to arm and support the war efforts of two continents, Cuba did not decide to shift gears into capitalism suddenly. Nor did it develop a fucking "middle class".

I like, by the by, how earlier in the book we hear that most Americans didn't have any practical industrial experience, they were all stupid and had to perform hard manual labour, but now they have "refined skills and practical experience".

No, largely Cuba span up their industry within their existing workforce, with Nortecubanos represented roughly proportionate with the rest of the population.

Article:
We shared a bond I don't think can ever be broken. We helped them reclaim their nation, and they helped us reclaim ours. They showed us the meaning of democracy . . . freedom, not just in vague, abstract terms, but on a very real, individually human level. Freedom isn't just something you have for the sake of having, you have to want something else first and then want the freedom to fight for it. That was the lesson we learned from the Nortecubanos. They all had such grand dreams, and they'd lay down their lives for the freedom to make those dreams come true. Why else would El Jefe be so damned afraid of them?


If he ever comes back to Cuba, Alvarez is going to be punched in the face so hard he'll shit teeth. No, Cubans did not learn from Americans what it was to lay down your life in pursuit of the grand dream of freedom. They learnt that lesson in the 1950s. I guess they did have to learn it from Americans, but not because those Americans were so gosh dang democratic. The opposite, really.

This is purely for American domestic consumption - Cuba is just like us. Cuba is capitalist. Cuba loves us, because we taught them freedom.

Article:
I'm not surprised that Fidel knew the tides of freedom were coming to sweep him out of power. I am surprised at how well he rode the wave.

[He laughs, gesturing to a photo on the wall of an aged Castro speaking in the Parque Central.]


There's always got to be a conspiracy with these people. Fidel Castro couldn't have just been an old, sick man who wanted to resign, no, he knew that capitalism was about to win!

Castro retired. Because he was old and tired. No conspiracy needed - he died a year later, you fucking ghoul.

Article:
Can you believe the cojones of that son of a bitch, to not only embrace the country's new democracy, but to actually take credit for it? Genius. To personally preside over the first free elections of Cuba where his last official act was to vote himself out of power.


Okay, now is as good a time as I'm going to get to talk about Cuba's democracy, so here goes, because it is a little confusing.

Cuba is still a one party state. The Partido Comunista de Cuba is the only political party within the republic, but Cuba is a democracy.

In 2015, as his last act prior to retirement, Fidel Castro instructed the Seventh Congress of the PCC to rescind the faction ban, allowing different groups within the PCC to campaign against one another.

Democracy in Cuba works within the PCC. We go to regional meetings, and we elect a local delegate from several candidates within the party; there's usually a pretty broad slate, and they're generally very responsive to concerns, because recall is a pretty constant threat, and then they go to the National Assembly and represent our interests. Generally speaking, the factions are not super stable, because there's endless jockeying for a majority in the National Assembly, so individual members will try their best to represent their voting public.

The system is extremely responsive, and I think it is fairly representative, and when combined with the semi-frequent national surveys on constitutional changes to specific laws, I think we have a good thing going - certainly it is more democratic than the Americans have, even if they theoretically have more political parties.

You can't vote against communism, but that isn't terribly surprising, nor does it bother me.

Article:
That is why his legacy is a statue and not a bloodstain against a wall. Of course our new Latin superpower is anything but idyllic. We have hundreds of political parties and more special-interest groups than sands on our beaches. We have strikes, we have riots, we have protests, it seems, almost every day.


This isn't true at all, really. This is a view of Cuba designed as part of a campaign to convince uninformed Americans not to emigrate there, because America is haemorrhaging young people to places like Cuba and Mexico.

Cuba's got riots, strikes and protests, sure. America doesn't. That doesn't make America more free. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Article:
You can see why Che ducked out right after the revolution. It's a lot easier to blow up trains than to make them run on time. What is it that Mister Churchill used to say? "Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all the others." [He laughs.]


He couldn't stop himself, huh. He got almost all the way through an interview where he pretended to be a "normal Cuban" despite living in Miami and hating Cuba, but he got to the end of the interview and panicked that his new fascist friends might not realise he was with them, so he stuffed "gloating about Che dying," "revolutionaries just want to blow things up" and "unlike the people who make trains run on time" which is such a tired old fascist claim that everyone must recognise it on sight, right?

But then, to make absolutely sure they knew he was a hateful turd, he quotes Winston fucking Churchiil. Wretched man.

Anyway, that's all I have to say about Cuba. If you want to know more - come to Havana! It isn't difficult to get there.

Next up - China. Always touchy for the yanks, talking about China.

Donate to the Walvis Bay Railroad [HERE].

Donate to the Sanatorium for Infirm Women in Russia [HERE].

Donate to the Lakota [HERE] - they're trying to rebuild as well as they can.

Donate to a South American group of your choice [HERE] - it's a masterlist.

AN: Found this one a lot easier than Japan, because I wasn't cringing as I read. Comments make me happy so please leave one. If you like. Would you believe the resume of the Cuban Exile who got executed was actually a pruned back take on a real guy.
 
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Around the World, And Above, Part 5
Around the World, and Above, Part 5

Article:
PATRIOT'S MEMORIAL, THE FORBIDDEN CITY, BEIJING, CHINA

[I suspect Admiral Xu Zhicai has chosen this particular spot on the off chance that a photographer would be present. Although no one since the war has ever remotely questioned either his or his crew's patriotism, he is taking no chances for the eyes of "foreign readers." Initially defensive, he consents to this interview only on the condition that I listen objectively to "his" side of the story, a demand he clings to even after I explain that there is no other.]


At least he doesn't try to claim Beijing is in the United Federation, which is a small mercy.

It is really odd that after interviewing the CIA director in his salt-of-the-earth office and a US General on the front lines of the cool reclamation, or the lady doing a walk-through advertisement of her reinvented suburb, he goes "oh the Chinese Admiral is trying to make himself look good!"

Like, yeah of course he is - so is every public figure you've interviewed. Even most of the more private figures were deliberately chosen; he's trying to present a specific narrative! Does he expect us to believe his British interviewee was by pure happenstance painting a castle in rural Czechia.

But it's different when it's China, obviously.

Also, like… of course there's an opposing side to this story. Admiral Xu Zhicai is right but detractors still, like, exist? It was a civil war. Some people think they should've gotten involved sooner, some people think they picked the wrong side, round and round it goes.

Article:
We were not traitors - I say this before I'll say anything else. We love our country, we loved our people, and while we may not have loved those who ruled both, we were unwaveringly loyal to our leadership.

We never would have imagined doing what we did had not the situation become so desperate. By the time Captain Chen first voiced his proposal, we were already on the brink. They were in every city, every village. In the nine and a half million square kilometers that made up our country, you couldn't find one centimeter of peace.


I think it is interesting to compare and contrast this with how America is presented - this is no less true of America at the same point, but the Americans never say it. It is the core conceit that they used for the radical transformation of their political system, but they never admit how bad it got for them - they cling to the pretence that they maintained a safezone, even whilst admitting they had to clear that safezone and it took months to make it safe.

If you're in America, there's value in reading about China's early war in American sources because it is as close as you'll get to insight into what it was like in America at the start. Just subtract the presence of PLA forces - the US Military was much less committed to defending their population.

Article:
The army, arrogant bastards that they were, kept insisting that they had the problem under control, that every day was the turning point and before the next snow fell upon the earth they would have the entire country pacified. Typical army thinking: overaggressive, overconfident. All you need is a group of men, or women, give them matching clothes, a few hours training, something that passes for a weapon, and you have an army, not the best army, but still an army nonetheless.


Christ, is every navy like this?

The PLA was… maybe correct? It isn't trivial to determine - they kept the ghouls in check pretty well until they were ordered to invade Taiwan.

As it turns out, rapidly shifting formations around and trying to organise the logistics of a naval invasion does not synergise well with keeping a lid on an infestation of ghouls endlessly threatening to boil over.

They thought that once they'd taken Taiwan and redeployed to the mainland, they could have re-suppressed the ghouls across China and been back in control, if not clear completely, by the next Spring.

Article:
That can't happen with the navy, any navy. Any ship, no matter how crude, requires considerable energy and materials to create. The army can replace its cannon fodder in hours; for us, it might take years. This tends to make us more pragmatic than our compatriots in green. We tend to look at a situation with a bit more…I don't want to say caution, but perhaps more strategic conservatism. Withdraw, consolidate, husband your resources. That was the same philosophy as the Redeker Plan, but of course, the army wouldn't listen.


I am supremely confident that Admiral Xu Zhicai did not say this. He did not claim China should've done the Redeker plan, or that the navy was advocating for this.

Like, there's no way. I don't even need to look up what he has said about this - and he probably hasn't said anything, the WRC released a pretty terse statement that their personnel had been led to believe they were being interviewed regarding a UN report; this was before they quit the UN in protest of the Mexico debacle, obviously - to know that he did not advocate Redeker. Absolutely nonsensical claim.

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They rejected Redeker?

Without the slightest consideration or internal debate. How could the army ever lose? With their vast stockpiles of conventional armaments, with their "bottomless well" of manpower…"bottomless well," unforgivable.


Early on, China did indeed "reject Redeker" - they were controlling things completely fine.

Later, as the situation worsened, many within the PLA advocated for a steady and systemically expanding web of connected enclaves, which would ideally save much of the Chinese population.

This obviously does not follow the Redeker plan, but that isn't because the Chinese believed they had endless human waves to burn against the ghouls.

He makes some extremely unsubstantiated claims about how early Maoist China based their politics around surviving a nuclear exchange, and he uses this to claim quite a lot about how the Chinese army acted.

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Numbers, that was the philosophy of my grandparents' generation, and it was the strategy the army was quick to adopt once our experienced, professional troops were devoured in the outbreak's early stages.


It should go without saying - the PLA did not lose three million soldiers with specific anti-ghoul training within the early stages of the outbreak.

Like, this is the part of the narrative the Americans try to sell that must stink, right? China knew before anyone else, China was talking about it in their general military channels when no one else knew about it… and China was caught more flat footed than America by it.

No, China's issue was political in nature. Their military was more than capable of handling the situation, their public more than willing to deal with it as needed.

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Those generals, sick, twisted old criminals sitting safely in their bunker and ordering wave after wave of conscripted teenagers into battle. Did they even think that every dead soldier was now a live zombie? Did they ever realize that, instead of drowning them in our bottomless well, we were the ones drowning, choking to death as the most populous nation on Earth found itself, for the first time in history, in danger of becoming fatally outnumbered?


They did Redeker, you see. The evil twisted old fucks in their bunker looked around at the places that'd had to resort to Redeker already - South Korea, Germany the USSA, America herself - and saw governments with an iron grip on the scruff of their public.

This was before Leipzig, before the Philippines, it was even before the CSA. There was not yet concrete evidence that when you left people to die, they didn't just die. Beyond the obviousness of that fact, of course.

Only a fascist or a credulous fool would be so dismissive of the agency of the people as to assume that when abandoned to die, they wouldn't form any sort of coherent response, that the ability to form a state rests only within the grasp of the pre-war government. Whatever else is true of the PRC's politburo - they were not credulous fools.

Opposition to the Beijing government's policies coalesced in - where else - Shanghai.

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That was what pushed Captain Chen over the edge. He knew what would happen if the war continued along its course, and what our chances for survival would be. If he thought that there was any hope, he would have grabbed a rifle and hurled himself at the living dead. He was convinced that soon there would be no more Chinese people, and perhaps, eventually, no more people anywhere. That was why he made his intentions known to his senior officers, declaring that we might be the only chance of preserving something of our civilization.


This is one theory, certainly. I would even go so far as to say it is what Captain Chen told his senior officers.

I don't believe it, though. I don't believe it was purely self preservation that led them to consider deserting with their boat, because I don't believe Captain Chen thought there was no hope. China was still close to a functional country - though it was closer to two functional countries, really.

I personally think he took the Admiral Zheng He out of play for the same reason the crews of the Trident submarines scuttled the fucking things. Launching nuclear warheads at a foreign power is one thing, what he was worried about is quite another.

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How long did it take to prepare?

Three months. It was hell. Qingdao, our home port, was in a constant state of siege. More and more army units were called in to maintain order, and each was just a little less trained, a little less equipped, a little younger, or older, than the one that came before it. Some of the surface ship captains had to donate "expendable" crew to shore up base defenses. Our perimeter was under attack almost every day. And through all of this we had to prepare and provision the boat for sea. It was supposed to be a routinely scheduled patrol; we had to smuggle on board both emergency supplies and family members.


It makes the narrative that they left purely because China was so badly overrun difficult to justify when you can outright see that to leave they had to follow normal protocols because China… still had those.

See, the thing about China is that it didn't collapse because of the ghouls. Once they had the situation stable, it was mostly just…fraught, like this? The political manoeuvring between the people in China answering to Shanghai and the people answering to Beijing meant that no garrison was ever stable, but if your city was being defended at this point, that wasn't liable to change any time soon.

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Family members?

Oh yes, that was the cornerstone of the plan. Captain Chen knew the crew wouldn't leave port unless their families could come with them.

How was that possible?

To find them or to smuggle them aboard?

Both.

Finding them was difficult. Most of us had family scattered throughout the country. We did our best to communicate with them, get a phone line working or send word with an army unit headed in that direction. The message was always the same: we'd be heading back out on patrol soon and their presence was required at the ceremony. Sometimes we'd try to make it more urgent, as if someone was dying and needed to see them. That was the best we could do.


Like this - I have no doubt it was difficult to contact their families, I have no doubt they didn't all make it, but it wasn't impossible like it would've been for a submarine in Faslane or one of the American ones.

I wouldn't want to engage in counterfactuals, but I'm pretty sure that had the Beijing government collectively fallen down a flight of stairs and died, China would've contained their problem within a couple of years?

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What about the captain? Did he have family?

His wife had left him in the early eighties. It was a devastating scandal, especially in those days. It still astounds me how he managed to both salvage his career and raise his son.

He had a son? Did he come with you?

[Xu evades the question.]


The worst part for many others was the waiting, knowing that even if they managed to make it to Qingdao, there was a very good chance that we might have already sailed. Imagine the guilt. You ask your family to come to you, perhaps leave the relative safety of their preexisting hideout, and arrive only to be abandoned at the dock.


I know it isn't the same - I'm not going to say it is - but I knew people who contacted relatives and asked them to cross the country to reach the Republic, and the guilt if those people didn't make it - if they died on the way, trying to get past one of the cities we hadn't reached yet - was consuming.

This situation is probably why they got flagged so quickly as being AWOL - family members arriving hours or days late, asking about the launching ceremony and being questioned. I'm sure they knew that was a risk, though. Difficult situation.

It made their efforts to performatively complete their patrol futile, though.

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What about coming over to our side, America, or another Western country?

[He flashes a cold, hard stare.]


Would you? The Zheng carried sixteen JL-2 ballistic missiles; all but one carried four multiple reentry warheads, with a ninety-kiloton yield. That made her equivalent to one of the strongest nations in the world, enough power to murder entire cities with just the turn of a key. Would you turn that power over to another country, the one country up until that point that had used nuclear weapons in anger? Again, and for the last time, we were not traitors. No matter how criminally insane our leadership might have been, we were still Chinese sailors.


This is fucking hysterical - America at this point was flattening Los Angeles with artillery in a desperate bid to stem the bleeding in the fraction of a country they had left.

They wouldn't defect anyway - his counter here is not wrong - but the fact that America was doing worse than China probably helped that along.

It is an odd cognitive dissonance that the Americans expect people to employ; they describe China's situation, which was better than that experienced by Americans at the time, and then tell them to their faces that this was the worst-case scenario for a country. Baffling.

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The first few months passed as though it was merely a regular patrol. Missile subs are designed to hide, and that's what we did. Deep and silent. We weren't sure if our own attack subs were out looking for us. In all probability our government had other worries. Still, regular battle drills were conducted and the civilians trained in the art of noise discipline. The chief of the boat even rigged special soundproofing for the mess hall so it could be both a schoolroom and play area for the children. The children, especially the younger ones, had no idea what was happening. Many of them had even traveled with their families across infested areas, some barely escaping with their lives. All they knew was that the monsters were gone, banished to their occasional nightmares. They were safe now, and that's all that mattered.


Within 48 hours of the scheduled end of their patrol, both of China's Type 95 Hunter-Killer submarines were deployed to track the Admiral Zheng He.

It took that long because until then, the Chinese Government(s) didn't know whether they'd just taken their families on their regular patrol for safe-keeping, deserted to a foreign power, or just gone AWOL with a substantial portion of the Chinese nuclear arsenal. Once it was clear they weren't coming home, out the Attack Submarines went.

Concurrent with this was the launch of another of China's nuclear capable submarines. Maybe it should've rung alarm bells in Shanghai - sending out another boat before the last one had come back was odd - but the Politburo had been making illogical decisions like this all war.

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Did you have some way of monitoring the crisis?

Not immediately. Our goal was stealth, avoiding both commercial shipping lanes and submarine patrol sectors . . . ours, and yours. We speculated, though. How fast was it spreading? Which countries were the most affected? Was anyone using the nuclear option? If so, that would be the end for all of us.


You can't expect me to believe they were completely deaf but also independently started to wonder about nuclear war, sight unseen. Iran, Pakistan and India had already had their short, sordid little war by now, even if no one was quite sure on the details. This sort of conversation only makes sense if you know that they knew.

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Lieutenant Commander Song, our reactor officer, had brought aboard his watercolors and had painted the scene of a city in ruins. He tried to say that it wasn't any city in particular but we all recognized the twisted remains of the Pudong skyline. Song had grown up in Shanghai. The broken horizon glowed a dull magenta against the pitch-black sky of nuclear winter. A rain of ash peppered the islands of debris that rose from lakes of melted glass.


They had been AWOL for three week after the end of their three month's patrol when the other Type 94 surfaced and fired two of its 16 JL-2 missiles.

One of them was equipped with four nuclear warheads, and it turned Shanghai into a tiny furious sun for long enough to blind everyone who saw it and survived.

The other was one of their four conventional missiles, and it hit - and breached - the Three Gorges Dam. In theory, this would sweep the radioactive fallout into the Pacific Ocean, leaving Shanghai swept clean and fit for reoccupation.

The politburo broke the uneasy peace in China in a single act of breathtaking cruelty, and the civil war began in earnest. The rebels started with a total decapitation of their government, but also with maybe 2/3rds of the remaining PLA and almost all of China's industry.

The offending submarine didn't survive long enough to strike the rebels again; a Type 95 Hunter-Killer submarine broke its spine with a torpedo and it imploded.

They knew this when they went AWOL - they didn't know when, but they knew Beijing would order this strike.

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Semblance as in active communication, or passive surveillance?

The latter. He knew Song's painting and our apocalyptic discussions were the result of our long-term isolation. The only way to quell any further "dangerous thought" was to replace speculation with hard facts. We'd been in total blackout for almost a hundred days and nights. We needed to know what was happening, even if it was as dark and hopeless as Song's painting.


They've always been sketchy about where they took their boat during the war, and especially during that first long deep dive - they caught some flak from survivors later for not surfacing to help boats in distress, and if people knew where they were exactly, they might've caught more heat.

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Up until this point, our sonar officer and his team were the only ones with any knowledge of the world beyond our hull. These men listened to the sea: the currents, the "biologics" such as fish and whales, and the distant thrashing of nearby propellers. I said before that our course had taken us to the most remote recesses of the world's oceans. We had intentionally chosen areas where no ship would normally be detected. Over the previous months, however, Liu's team had been collecting an increasing number of random contacts. Thousands of ships were now crowding the surface, many of them with signatures that did not match our computer archive.


He's lying. I don't know if the interviewer is too stupid to catch it - it isn't an especially subtle lie, but in theory someone might miss it.

The ocean is fucking vast - all of human shipping, from the largest cargo ship to the tiniest most pathetic rowboat would cover a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of the surface. If you took your submarine to the remote recesses of the ocean, you wouldn't see shit. The odds of there being anything anywhere near you would be nil.

The shipping lanes are the shipping lanes for a reason, and I expect they were cowering under one, banking on the weight of shipping overhead to conceal their signature. Hence why when they surfaced they were surrounded by ships.

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Over the next few weeks, we observed dozens of military vessels, too, any of which could have probably detected us, but none of which seemed to care. You know the USS Saratoga? We saw her, being towed across the South Atlantic, her flight deck now a tent city. We saw a ship that had to be HMS Victory, plying the waves under a forest of improvised sails. We saw the Aurora, the actual World War I–era heavy cruiser whose mutiny had sparked the Bolshevik Revolution. I don't know how they got her out of Saint Petersburg, or how they found enough coal to keep her boilers lit.


I don't know what he saw, not having been on their submarine, but he did not see the HMS Victory. I know people who saw the HMS Victory, broken to pieces on her drydock, crawling with ghouls. The last historic vestige of Britain's imperial might tried to take to the seas again, restore her lost glory. As soon as they let the water into her drydock, she broke. Her keel couldn't take the pressure any more.

A lot of people saw the Victory sailing the sea, though. They also saw the Flying Dutchman. And UFOs.

Maybe he saw the HMS Warrior - she wasn't in drydock, and there wasn't any sign of her when we cleared Portsmouth, apparently.

The Aurora, as I understand it, did okay? Not, like, great, but she sailed about a bit, towed some people out of trouble and then nipped back to Leningrad once the dust had settled.

The Americans are always so fucking pleased with themselves about the "Super-Sara" but like… the damn thing ought to have been under her own steam, and the fact that she wasn't doesn't seem to have concerned them as much as it should've.

It is easy to underestimate how absolutely annihilated the American fleet was by their collapse. They couldn't safely run their nuclear navy any more, and the Kitty Hawks were overrun. The Sara was lucky enough to already be at the breakers.

It's pretty interesting, honestly, the justifications the Americans keep coming up with for why they're running their new Carriers on diesel.

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We pitied these people, pitied what could only be their hopeless fate. To be adrift in the middle of the ocean, and prey to hunger, thirst, sunstroke, or the sea herself…Commander Song called it "humanity's great regression." "We came from the sea," he would say, "and now we're running back." Running was an accurate term. These people clearly hadn't put any thought into what they would do once they reached the "safety" of the waves. They just figured it was better than being torn apart back on land. In their panic they probably didn't realize they were just prolonging the inevitable.


A lot of people died at sea - I know if you survived at sea, you tended to have a better life, but if you died out there, you tended to die slower, and tended to know it was coming, too. At least on land we didn't have that nearly as often.

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Besides the scopes we could monitor both civilian radio traffic and even some satellite television broadcasts. It wasn't a pretty picture. Cities were dying, whole countries. We listened to the last report from Buenos Aires, the evacuation of the Japanese home islands, too. We heard sketchy information about mutinies in the Russian military. We heard after reports of the "limited nuclear exchange" between Iran and Pakistan, and we marveled, morbidly, at how we had been so sure that either you, or the Russians, would be the ones to turn the key. There were no reports from China, no illegal or even official government broadcasts. We were still detecting naval transmissions, but all the codes had been shifted since our departure. While this presented something of a personal threat—we didn't know if our fleet had orders to hunt down and sink us—at least it proved our whole nation hadn't disappeared into the stomachs of the undead. At this point in our exile any news was welcome.


China was neck deep in civil war by this point - dating by the fall of Buenos Aires, at least - so it wouldn't be a surprise that they'd changed their codes.

By my understanding it was pretty horrific stuff, fighting a civil war whilst caught in the midst of an apocalypse. Sometimes, only sometimes, when I talk to Chinese veterans, I can sympathise with the people in our government who baulked at crossing that rubicon.

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Raiding derelicts was still strictly forbidden. Even when we spotted what looked like a deserted vessel, at least a few zombies could be heard banging belowdecks. Fishing was a possibility, but we had neither the material to rig any kind of net, nor were we willing to spend hours on the surface dropping hooks and lines over the side.


He talks about being short of food and medicine, which I can believe, and about derelicts.

Finding a derelict is like finding a failed defensive position - there could be medicine in there, maybe even guns, almost certainly food. There will be ghouls in there. You can guarantee it.

Deciding not to risk dealing with ghouls makes sense, but it meant they had to find soil to grow their own food.

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We began our search off the mid-Atlantic coast of South America, from Georgetown, Guyana, then down the coasts of Surinam, and French Guyana. We found several stretches of uninhabited jungle, and at least by periscope observation, the coast appeared to be clear. We surfaced and made a second, visual sweep from the bridge. Again, nothing. I requested permission to take a landing party ashore. The captain was not yet convinced. He ordered the foghorn blown…loud and long…and then they came.


I'm unsure how many ghouls we are meant to believe are hanging around in the jungle, but it isn't anywhere close to enough for there to be ghouls on every stretch of random jungle coastline.

It's just that the political risks of landing a nuclear submarine on the coast of a continent were judged too high - if they all got wiped out and the submarine was beached on a reef or an island, that's one thing, if it were beached in French Guyana that's a much worse kettle of fish.

Central America and the more northern regions of South America mostly didn't do all that badly - they were largely winning by this point, so I think they were right to assume it would be found if they got overrun. So instead they went to one of the various Pacific archipelagoes - the places were already absolutely rammed full of naval warships, I guess they assumed it would make them less notable?

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We'd heard transmissions or made visual observations of many of those specks of land. We learned about the overcrowding, the violence…we saw the gun flashes from the Windward Islands. That night, on the surface, we could smell the smoke as it drifted east from the Caribbean. We could also hear islands that weren't so lucky. The Cape Verdes, off the coast of Senegal, we didn't even see them before we heard the wails. Too many refugees, too little discipline; it only takes one infected soul. How many islands remained quarantined after the war? How many frozen, northern rocks are still deeply and dangerously in the white?


This idea that the various islands either collapsed under refugee violence or ghoul infestation is weird, honestly. Cabo Verde starved. The various islands which did abjectly fuck it - Iceland, the Falklands, the Åland Islands - were generally speaking close, either politically, geographically or both - to a country or continent where lots of high to middle income people were fleeing.

Because, like, those are the refugees you need to worry about - the ones who can afford a flight. Every other refugee is about as likely to be infected as anyone else. Americans don't like to hear this, because their government has put a lot of money since the war into turning their southern border impermeable.

Weird thing about the sections of America's southern border with actual walls, near cities or major roads - the guard towers point in, not out.

Anyway, they go to Manihi in the South Pacific, because it is about as far from China as they could get away with.

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Manihi had changed utterly since I was a newly married ensign. The pearls were gone, the oysters were eaten, and the lagoon was crowded with hundreds of small, private boats. The motus themselves were paved with either tents or ramshackle huts. Dozens of improvised canoes either sailed or rowed back and forth between the outer reef and the dozen or so large ships that were anchored in deeper water. The whole scene was typical of what, I guess, postwar historians are now calling "the Pacific Continent," the refugee island culture that stretched from Palau to French Polynesia. It was a new society, a new nation, refugees from all over the world uniting under the common flag of survival.


The Pacific Continent is interesting; the only time the interviewer acknowledges a nation that didn't exist before the apocalypse that rose up out of the apocalypse, and it is one that… doesn't exist?

It isn't "a new nation" or "a new society" - there was and is no unifying governance, no unified culture even. About the only shared "thing" was some general consolidation of resource? If a specific atoll had more power ships than they needed, they'd talk to the government of an archipelago without enough power and too many of the massive cargo ship they would cover in greenhouses, and little tug boats will drag the ships around.

From this they built up the modern, like… proto-supranational union? Sort of like the EU but a little tighter. More military, I guess? They have some unfortunate links to the US, specifically, so I'm not the World's number one Pacific Federation fan, lol.

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We became millionaires, or…at least the barter equivalent: food, medicine, any spare part we needed or the raw materials to manufacture them. We got our greenhouse, along with a miniature waste recovery plant to turn our own night soil into valuable fertilizer. We "bought" equipment for a gymnasium, a full wet bar, and home entertainment systems for both the enlisted mess and wardroom. The children were lavished with toys and candy, whatever was left, and most importantly, continuing education from several of the barges that had been converted into international schools. We were welcomed into any home, onto any boat. Our enlisted men, and even some of the officers, were given free credit on any one of the five "comfort" boats anchored in the lagoon. And why not? We lit up their nights, we powered their machinery. We brought back long forgotten luxuries like air conditioners and refrigerators. We brought computers back online and gave most of them the first hot shower they'd had in months. We were so successful that the island council even allowed us a reprieve, although we politely refused, from taking part in the island's perimeter security.


This was fairly common - ships from the nuclear navies of every country that had a nuclear navy would end up sitting in a port, selling power in exchange for whatever they could get, which would usually be "whatever they wanted".

Contrary to rumours, we did not have the HMS Vengeance tied up in the Port of Liverpool until she sailed away when the decision was made to fold into the royalists. How would we even do that? Why, the crew would have had to agree a cover story in advance, and the scrutiny on the Vanguard-class Submarines is so high, we never could've gotten away with that!

We had the Artful tied up in the Port of Liverpool. Astute-class Hunter-Killers were less vigorously tracked than the actual nuke boats, and she hadn't even been officially "finished" when she launched.

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How long did you stay in Manihi?

Several months. I don't know if you would call them the best months of our lives, but at the time it certainly felt that way. We began to let our guard down, to stop thinking of ourselves as fugitives. There were even some Chinese families, not Diaspora or Taiwanese, but real citizens of the People's Republic. They told us that the situation had gotten so bad that the government was barely keeping the country together. They couldn't see how, when over half the population was infected and the army's reserves were continuing to evaporate, they had the time or assets to devote any energy to find one lost sub. For a little while, it looked as if we could make this small island community our home, reside here until the end of the crisis or, perhaps, the end of the world.


China did not lose more than half their population to the infected. Evidence suggests, paradoxically, they lost less proportionately than most countries to infection - a symptom, I suppose, of running around armed all the time.

Also, most of the places most vulnerable to the ghouls ended up falling to their opposition in the civil war, which didn't result in them rising again from the dead.

The country looked on the brink of falling into a renewed warlord era, so I suppose it was reasonable to suppose they weren't still sending forces after missing submarines, but I think given the way the war started, they should've known that both the 'main' rebel faction and the loyalists had a vested interest in tracking the other submarine that could wipe out a city at the press of a button.

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Song and I had shore patrol duty, the night it happened. We'd stopped by a campfire to listen to the islanders' radio. There was some broadcast about a mysterious natural disaster in China. No one knew what it was yet, and there were more than enough rumors to keep us guessing. I was looking at the radio, my back to the lagoon, when the sea in front of me suddenly began to glow. I turned just in time to see the Madrid Spirit explode. I don't know how much natural gas she still carried, but the fireball skyrocketed high into the night, expanding and incinerating all life on the two closest motus. My first thought was "accident," a corroded valve, a careless deckhand. Commander Song had been looking right at it though, and he'd seen the streak of the missile. A half second later, the Admiral Zheng's foghorn sounded.


The Manihi Attack was about a month after the wildfire started in Hubei and eventually consumed what was left of Wuhan. They try to pretend this was the Three Gorges Dam later, but no, this was the Wuhan fire.

It isn't a massive deal per se - it's a fairly subtle narrative the Americans try to push. They don't lie about the dates or anything, they just imply and dance around things.

To hear the Americans tell it, China comprehensively bottled it against the ghouls, then had a brief civil war, and then after a war that lasted a few months and ended "easily" they still took longer than the Americans did to clear all the ghouls in their country.

So they pretend the war kicked off only a short while before the Manihi Duel, as opposed to almost a year earlier.

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As we raced back to the boat, my wall of calm, my sense of security, came crashing down around me. I knew that missile had come from one of our subs. The only reason it had hit the Madrid was because she sat much higher in water, presenting a larger radar outline. How many had been aboard? How many were on those motus? I suddenly realized that every second we stayed put the civilian islanders in danger of another attack. Captain Chen must have been thinking the same thing. As we reached the deck, the orders to cast off were sounded from the bridge. Power lines were cut, heads counted, hatches dogged. We set course for open water and dived at battle stations.


A Type 95 Hunter-Killer Submarine with a clear view of its target and absolute surprise does not accidentally hit a LNG tanker rather than a submarine. It was a warning shot - they wanted the Admiral Zheng He to surrender itself in exchange for the lives of everyone else on Manihi. I expect they were planning to have her use her warheads to break the back of the rebellion - it almost worked once, why wouldn't it work again? It seems that the Hunter-Killer had been there a while, sitting just out of sight, watching - with only the crew onboard, they didn't have the acute food and water crisis that the Admiral Zheng He had - and waited for the order from the Politburo to bring them in or put them down.

They underestimated Captain Chen and his crew. Most of them - Admiral Xu Zhicai amongst them - are happier with their medals for this than their medals for the other thing.

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At first, the captain wouldn't fight. He chose to bottom the boat, set her down on a sandy plateau at the bare limit of our crush depth. The Type 95 began banging away with its active sonar array. The sound pulses echoed through the water, but couldn't get a fix on us because of the ocean floor. The 95 switched to a passive search, listening with its powerful hydrophone array for any noise we made. We reduced the reactor to a marginal output, shut down all unnecessary machinery, and ceased all crew movement within the boat.


I could never be a submariner. I have an instinctive and rightful terror of this specific scenario.

Or, I guess, the specific scenario once the ghouls are all over their submarine and one of the freaky half-liquefied ghouls you get at that depth was able to pull itself into their reactor exhaust vent. Sitting at the bottom of the sea, slowly overheating under siege from ghouls whilst a submarine built to kill you stone dead rumbles around overhead.

Hell of a thing.

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We fired at the same time. Our torpedoes passed each other, as both subs tried to get away. The 95 was a little bit faster, a little more maneuverable, but the one thing they didn't have was our captain. He knew exactly how to avoid the oncoming "fish," and we ducked them easily right about the time our own found their targets.


Keeping your crew disciplined and drilled enough to perform manoeuvres like this after six months on a tropical island with their families, whilst every other living soul on the island is grateful enough to give them anything, at the end of the world… is a quiet testament to just how exceptional a commander Captain Chen was.

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One thing that wasn't painless was to watch the light behind my captain's eyes die with the sounds of the doomed sub.

[He anticipates my next question, clenching his fist and exhaling hard through his nose.]

Captain Chen raised his son alone, raised him to be a good sailor, to love and serve the state, to never question orders, and to be the finest officer the Chinese navy had ever seen. The happiest day of his life was when Commander Chen Zhi Xiao received his first command, a brand-new Type 95 hunter-killer.


To do all that, knowing who might be commanding the submarine opposite? There's a reason this story gets a lot of play in China. It is almost a parable - the father who loves his country so much, but makes the mistake of raising his son to obey the state over the people, and is forced to kill his son to save the people - the lesson of course being that treating your government as beyond question is a bet that will end only in agony and tragedy.

The fact that it transpired that despite teaching his son loyalty, he had taught his son also enough compassion and moral fibre that the son, too, had independently chosen the people over the state was just a cherry on top, a real life happy twist on a tragedy. It is a very commonly told story in China, and has a decent amount of play elsewhere, being a story from those years with a happy ending, and very few fucking ghouls.

Which just made it stranger that the book presents this as something about which they can do a "big reveal" later? It'd be like writing a book of interviews about WWI and treating Lenin's return to Russia as a surprise twist?

I was talking to some Americans though - actual no shit Americans from the continental United States - and the topic came up and like… they didn't know the story? It isn't widely known in America; they knew, vaguely, that the Chinese Civil War was bookended by nuclear strikes, but no real details.

America's "misinformation filters" don't fuck around.

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The next morning when Captain Chen did not appear for first watch, I went to his cabin to check on him. The lights were dim, I called his name. To my relief, he answered, but when he stepped into the light . . . his hair had lost its color, as white as prewar snow. His skin was sallow, his eyes sunken. He was truly an old man now, broken, withered. The monsters that rose from the dead, they are nothing compared to the ones we carry in our hearts.


Honestly this isn't a bad way to be told this tale? I could do without the occasional inserts from our American friends, but the Admiral is a good storyteller - there's a reason he's the highest ranking veteran of the Admiral Zheng He. All the senior officers got promotions, only Admiral Xu made Admiral.

Almost all the senior officers, I mean - the weapons officer left the service.

But anyway, I don't mean to get too distracted. All I'm saying is that the Admiral gave a good interview telling this story. Covers the core conflict well.

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From that day on, we ceased all contact with the outside world. We headed for the arctic ice, the farthest, darkest, most desolate void we could find. We tried to continue with our day-to-day life: maintaining the boat; growing food; schooling, raising, and comforting our children as best we could. With the captain's spirit gone, so went the spirit of the Admiral Zheng's crew. I was the only one who ever saw him during those days. I delivered his meals, collected his laundry, briefed him daily on the condition of the boat, then relayed his orders to the rest of the crew. It was routine, day in, day out.


Six months under the ice cannot have been a lot of fun, especially suddenly absent the Captain's authority and presence. Xu downplays his own role; other veterans of the Admiral Zheng He are pretty unanimous in crediting him with salvaging what little morale they retained in those long dark months.

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Our monotony was only broken one day when sonar detected the approaching signature of another 95-class attack sub. We went to battle stations, and for the first time we saw Captain Chen leave his cabin. He took his place in the attack center, ordered a firing solution plotted, and tubes one and two loaded. Sonar reported that the enemy sub had not responded in kind. Captain Chen saw this as our advantage. There was no questioning in his mind this time. This enemy would die before it fired.


I suppose if you've already mentally buried your son, making it certain that he's dead might give you some sort of closure?

Wretched situation.

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Just before he gave the order, we detected a signal on the "gertrude," the American term for an underwater telephone. It was Commander Chen, the captain's son, proclaiming peaceful intentions and requesting that we stand down from GQ. He told us about the Three Gorges Dam, the source of all the "natural disaster" rumors we'd heard about in Manihi. He explained that our battle with the other 95 had been part of a civil war that the dam's destruction had sparked.


This is a very altered representation of what he said.

The focus on the destruction of the Three Gorges Dam over the nuclear strike on Shanghai makes sense, because America likes to pretend China's collapse was due to incompetence, not malice, but the claim that it happened in any way concurrently with "rumours" in Manihi is, like, flagrantly untrue?

The Civil War against the pre-war Government in China lasted almost two years - even taking Beijing didn't end it - and all told, about six hundred million people died. It was not a quick one and done thing overshadowed by ghouls that had already eaten most of the country.

In China, as elsewhere, most deaths were due to starvation; the collapse of global trade and the impossibility of farming cut especially deep in China, where the war made it even more impossible to farm.

Only about one in every three deaths in China over the crisis resulted in a ghoul.

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The sub that attacked us had been part of the loyalist forces. Commander Chen had sided with the rebels. His mission was to find us and escort us home. I thought the cheer was going to carry us right to the surface. As we broke through the ice and the two crews ran to each other under the arctic twilight, I thought, finally, we can go home, we can reclaim our country and drive out the living dead. Finally, it's over.


That was not his mission. I have nothing against Mr Chen - he was a morally upright man during the war, and I gather he transitioned well into civilian life, is a creditable public servant - but his mission was not one of humanitarian desire to bring the crew of the Admiral Zheng He home. No, the revolutionaries had learnt from their oppressors.

The war should by rights have been over by this point - the loyalists held what Tibet? Hainan? A smattering of other shitty little enclaves held by shitty little men?

But it wasn't. The Politburo still had their bunker, still had a sizeable chunk of the army, and had enough of the materiel of war held essentially to ransom to make it difficult to imagine China winning the war against the dead without it.

Article:
There was still one last duty to perform. The Politburo, those hated old men who had caused so much misery already, were still holed up in their leadership bunker in Xilinhot, still controlling at least half of our country's dwindling ground forces. They would never surrender, everyone knew this; they would keep their mad hold on power, squandering what was left of our military.


"At least half" was extremely pessimistic; they had like a quarter?

Also, I don't think anyone was really planning to ask the Politburo to surrender? Like, to my knowledge the rebels at no time offered terms to the actual Politburo. Their death warrant was signed in the ashes of Shanghai.

Article:
And you decided to end the fighting.

We were the only ones who could. Our land-based silos were overrun, our air force was grounded, our two other missile boats had been caught still tied to the piers, waiting for orders like good sailors as the dead swarmed through their hatches. Commander Chen informed us that we were the only nuclear asset left in the rebellion's arsenal. Every second we delayed wasted a hundred more lives, a hundred more bullets that could be thrown against the undead.


One nuclear sub was swarmed under, one imploded under Commander Chen's dispassionate gaze - though I can understand why he wouldn't have told his father at the time, just like I can understand why Captain Chen didn't tell his son that he thought he'd killed him.

China's policy on nuclear weapons during the crisis was similar, as I understand it, to basically every other nuclear power - as and when your silo is overwhelmed, you have a duty to disable the nuclear devices within. This policy was by and large followed, even if "overwhelmed" typically meant "by the opposition in the war" rather than "by the undead".

That's why America barely has a fraction of their nuclear deterrent, and the HRE and RSFSR haven't nuked each other into the stone age - most countries lost their nuclear capacity during the war. Only the submarines reliably survived, and even then not all of them; if a country has lost their ability to refuel the sub during the crisis, their deterrent is on borrowed time and everyone knows it.

Article:
So you fired on your homeland, in order to save it.

One last burden to shoulder. The captain must have noticed me shaking the moment before we launched. "My order," he declared, "my responsibility." The missile carried a single, massive, multi-megaton warhead. It was a prototype warhead, designed to penetrate the hardened surface of your NORAD facility in Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado. Ironically, the Politburo's bunker had been designed to emulate Cheyenne Mountain in almost every detail. As we prepared to get under way, Commander Chen informed us that Xilinhot had taken a direct hit. As we slid beneath the surface, we heard that the loyalist forces had surrendered and reunified with the rebels to fight the real enemy.

This is straightforwardly just fantasy. The destruction of Xilinhot marked the end of the PRC as a coherent body, and the removal of a unifying impulse from the various "loyalist" warlords, but it was a long time before they could get the majority of loyalist warlords to surrender or wipe them out, and even that required a negotiated settlement with the Tibetan warlords, the calving off of the Workers' Republic of Korea up North and accepting that Hainan was going its own way for the moment.

Like, the reason China hadn't completely cleared their infection by the time the Americans did was that they were still shooting each other and therefore didn't invest as much time as they could've to hunting down the ghouls stumbling about in the ruins of Suzhou.

Article:
Did you know they had begun instituting their own version of the South African Plan?

We heard the day we emerged from under the ice pack. That morning I came on watch and found Captain Chen already in the attack center. He was in his command chair, a cup of tea next to his hand. He looked so tired, silently watching the crew around him, smiling as a father smiles at the happiness of his children. I noticed his tea had grown cold and asked if he would like another cup. He looked up at me, still smiling, and shook his head slowly. "Very good, sir," I said, and prepared to resume my station. He reached out and took my hand, looked up into, but did not recognize, my face. His whisper was so soft I could barely hear it.

What?

"Nice boy, Zhi Xiao, such a good boy." He was still holding my hand when he closed his eyes forever.


This… is not an answer to the question he claims he's answering? Like, it's really clumsily done, too.

If I had to guess, I would say he was asked about the day Captain Chen died, and the interviewer just stuck that first sentence on? It's genuinely pretty outrageous to do this, and it hasn't been done well; he was clearly asked about the day his Captain died, because that's literally all he talks about in that answer?

It seems like a weirdly weak effort, honestly. The American efforts to make their people believe in the universality of Redeker don't extend to China as much since the Americans started to pull out of East Asia; it is a difficult lie to tell, because it pisses off Chinese people something fierce if you tell them that they fought a Civil War so they could do Redeker.

Anyway, that's the Voyage of the Admiral Zheng He.

Tune in next time to see me get unreasonably mad about the character assassination of dead spacemen.

Donate to the Walvis Bay Railroad [HERE].

Donate to the Sanatorium for Infirm Women in Russia [HERE] - they're going to need more than ever as they push towards Vladivostok.

Donate to the Lakota [HERE] - they're trying to rebuild as well as they can.

Donate to a South American group of your choice [HERE] - it's a masterlist.

Donate to the Shanghai Victims Association [HERE] - they cover all the people displaced by the Dam, too, don't worry.

AN: I don't actually think I did that much to change this one? His China takes are bad, but the actual concept and prose here is pretty good. I'm not really being IC when I say the "China is also doing Redeker" insert at the end reads as a clumsy and crude insertion into an otherwise pretty good narrative.

Let me know what you think?
 
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