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| December 29, 2006 Alaskan in Exile by Neil Zawicki [Editor's note: This week, Neil
Zawicki delights us with his continuing saga of Luke Pastoriak, a
wandering immigrant in the world of TV. To get caught up to speed on
the story (trust us, it's worth it), you will have to do a little backtracking. Click here for parts 1 through 3 of the story, here for part 4, here for part 5, here for 6, here for 7, and here for part 8. When Neil's epic tale is complete, we promise to put the entire thing in one, easy to navigate location. Enjoy.]
The Television of the United States, Part Nine 
The truck came to an abrupt stop, and Johanna awoke from a
bad sleep. Outside, soldiers jumped down from vehicles and formed up in
loose lines.“Who’s on point, goddammit?!” shouted a tall man from the front of the truck. The sun and the dust and the desolation made Johanna squint. “Tell Delta to get motivated or they’ll be guarding the fucking shitters for the rest of the invasion!” The officer looked at Johanna with belligerent eyes. “Who’s this?” he said, looking at her but not speaking to her. A pair of young cocky troopers appeared at her side. “She’s good, sir,” one of them said. “She’s media. Gonna make us all stars.” “You came out here to watch?” asked the officer. “You could say that,” said Johanna, taking his picture and acting interested. A group of soldiers sprinted past, and the officer turned his attention to them. Others started to shout, and Johanna and the officer hopped onto the hood of the truck to watch. Up ahead about 70 yards, they could see a military vehicle. It was light green and flew a blue flag with a white dot in the center. Two soldiers climbed out of the stopped vehicle and took positions on the ground. A voice sounded over a loud speaker: “You have entered the sovereign territory of the White Dot Collective,” called the voice, “declare your intentions or be fired upon.” A young soldier tugged at Johanna’s leg to get her attention. “Hey reporter, you got your camera ready?” A loud bang punctuated his question, and Johanna looked up to see the vehicle on the horizon explode in flames. Next, a frenzy of automatic weapons fire erupted from every available troop on the line, cutting down the remaining White Dot soldiers, who were running away. Then, everything got quiet and strange. Some troops began to laugh. Others reloaded their rifles. “Just like the range,” said a troop next to Johanna. “Did you see those fucks run like that? This shit’s gonna be easy.” The sound of rushing air was followed by a crackling noise, and a tank just 20 feet away exploded, scattering troops to the ground. Johanna wasn’t sure if she’d jumped or fell, but she was on the ground also. “Second squad, guns up!” shouted an anonymous voice, and several soldiers got up and rushed forward, forming a line on a nearby ridge. More shells came in, sending metal and smoke and body parts all around Johanna. Next, five helicopters appeared behind the column and raced toward the opposing forces. One of them exploded and spun slowly to the ground as the other four let loose with a hail of rockets. These images were sterilized through digital satellite feeds and then fed to viewer citizens several hundred miles away. They sat in cafes and living rooms and watched footage of speeding tanks and wide shots of buildings exploding as the words, “Pastoriak orders invasion: resistance is heavy,” scrolled at the bottom of the screen. People watched in silence. Some clapped. “The president is expected to give a statement later today,” said a reporter, as the flag of the Television of the United States – red and white stripes behind a small rectangle of static – waved slowly in the background. “Until then, we’ll continue to bring you live coverage of the war.” Luke sat alone in a dimly lit room. Three television monitors painted him blue with light. He listened. “Several hundred enemy soldiers are reported dead in fighting east of Topeka, just 40 miles beyond the border with the White Dot Collective,” declared the reporter. “Local officials claim a hospital was destroyed during the fighting there.” Luke took a deep, heavy breath. “Elements of the 34th light infantry division are fortifying positions along the Marais Des Cygnes River, bracing themselves for an expected counter attack from White Dot forces.” Luke watched as a young captain wearing muddy battle fatigues and a helmet came into view, smoking a cigarette and rubbing his face and chin compulsively. “We got hit pretty hard just about an hour ago,” said the captain. “But we’re stable now and ready to repel any counter strike from the enemy.” “How many of your men did you lose?” asked the reporter. The captain thought for a long time. “We’re at about half strength right now,” he said. “But we’ll hold out.” The reporter went on to say the enemy forces preparing to attack numbered nearly 20,000, but Luke didn’t have time to listen as his aides entered the room and told him it was time to go live and give his statement to the media. At the same time, in a half-destroyed farmhouse on the front, Johanna sat crowded with tired soldiers. Two of them were putting the final connections together to get a live satellite signal on a video monitor. The screen came to life to reveal Luke standing at a podium. The room erupted in cheers. Johanna felt a chill through her body. Then, Luke began to speak. “I just want to give my gratitude to our troops,” he said. The room was silent. “I, ah … I know that this has not been easy and that a lot of you are fighting hard and I just want to say thank you. We’ll get through this together.” Luke appeared startled as the pack of journalists in front of him lit up with questions. He picked one. “Mr. President, what to you say to the people that claim you only started this war to win the election?” Luke smiled. “Tell that to the troops,” he said. “It was troopers that said it,” replied the journalist. A soldier next to Johanna threw a beer can at the screen. “Get fucked,” he shouted, “they had it coming!” Luke spoke again. “I want everyone to understand that our reasons for fighting go far beyond the election,” he said. “We’re fighting for a good and noble purpose.” “Could you tell our viewer citizens what that purpose is?” asked another journalist. Luke thought about it for a second and smiled, and then he replied: “Ratings,” he said. “Market share.” The press corps burst with laughter, and then they began to applaud. Luke shouted over the celebration: “And when it’s all over, we’ll make billions in syndication!” Neil Zawicki, exiled Alaskan, is Editor at Large for Insurgent49, a former reporter for the Alaska Star, and winner of the Alaska Press Club's 'Best Columnist' award. He is now living out the rest of his days in an undisclosed location in Oregon. He can be contacted at hondo23@gmail.com 'Alaskan In Exile' appears on insurgent49.com every Friday. |
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- column archive -
December 22, 2006 December 15, 2006 December 8, 2006 December 1, 2006 November 24, 2006 November 17, 2006 November 10, 2006 November 3, 2006 October 27, 2006 October 20, 2006 October 13, 2006 October 6, 2006 September 29, 2006 September 22, 2006 September 15, 2006 September 8, 2006 September 1, 2006 August 25, 2006 August 18, 2006 August 11, 2006 August 4, 2006 July 28, 2006 July 21, 2006 July 14, 2006 June 30, 2006 June 23, 2006 June 16, 2006 June 9, 2006 June 2, 2006 May 26, 2006 May 12, 2006 May 5, 2006 April 28, 2006 April 21, 2006 April 14, 2006 April 7, 2006 March 31, 2006 March 24, 2006 March 17, 2005 March 3, 2006 February 24, 2006 February 17, 2006 February 10, 2006 February 3, 2006 January 27, 2006 January 20, 2006 January 13, 2006 January 6, 2006 December 30, 2005 December 23, 2005 December 16, 2005 December 10, 2005 December 2, 2005 November 25, 2005 November 18, 2005 November 11, 2005 November 4, 2005 October 28, 2005 October 21, 2005 October 14, 2005 October 7, 2005 September 30, 2005 September 23, 2005 September 16, 2005 September 9, 2005 September 2, 2005 August 26, 2005 August 19, 2005 August 12, 2005 August 5, 2005 July 29, 2005 July 22, 2005 July 15, 2005 July 8, 2005 July 1, 2005 June 24, 2005 June 17, 2005 June 10, 2005 June 3, 2005 May 27, 2005 May 20, 2005 May 13, 2005 May 6, 2005 April 29, 2005 April 21, 2005 April 14, 2005 April 7, 2005 April 1, 2005 - also by this
writer -
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Reserved. in-sur-gent (in sur'jent), n. 1. a member of a group which revolts against the policies of its leadership. |
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