Invasion: Ice Hammer Book 1

By Basil Sands

It only took an instant for the world to come crashing down.

The bombs came first, and the troops were close behind. Life in the dream that was America ceased when a deadly new alliance of Communist states from Russia, China, and their allies invaded from the North.

The invasion splits Brad Stone's family apart. His wife, Youngmi, is captured and exploited by Alaska's new Communist warlord. Brad and his sons narrowly avoid massacre and retreat into the icy wilderness. Brad, a former Marine, finds himself thrust to the front as the warrior they call “Ice Hammer” – a leader, a legend, and the most wanted man in occupied Alaska.

Brad, Youngmi, and their sons Ben and Ian must find their way through the horrors of war. They may not live to see victory, but they will not live as slaves. They have already learned a brutal truth:

The age of peace has ended. The age of the Ice Hammer has begun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Permuted
• Release date: Dec 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781682613948

Book preview

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 59

CHAPTER 60

CHAPTER 61

CHAPTER 62

CHAPTER 63

CHAPTER 64

CHAPTER 65

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PROLOGUE

Headquarters

Electronic Warfare Command

Chinese People’s Liberation Army

May 23rd

Second Lieutenant Liu Xinying leaned back in his chair, smiling triumphantly as he watched lines of code scroll across the screen before him. The numbers and symbols spoke to him with the power of a lover’s whispers, sending tingles of pleasure down his spine. The bastards would not see it coming. He tugged at the uniform shirt that looked like a sack dropped over his scrawny frame. Today he felt like a real soldier. Boyish as he was, none of the other men dared harass him. The kind of war he waged had little need for big muscles, but nonetheless required strength, speed, and endurance of the mind, if not the body. And ruthlessness. No one in all the millions of soldiers in the People’s Liberation Army possessed those qualities like Liu Xinying.

He glanced at the video feed for the hidden camera he kept aimed at Colonel Lim’s clerk, Mai Hong. In the barracks, they called her the boss’s sexretary. Maybe now she would see him as a man. She rose and stretched, chest straining against her uniform blouse, as if she knew he was watching. His mouth twitched in a lustful grin. Once the Americans started screaming, Mai Hong would scream for him as well.

He turned back to his screen and chuckled as he imagined the panic when their computers went black, their airplanes vanished from radar, cell phones, televisions, and radios all sat mute, giving them no sign of what was wrong. No sign of what was coming. Every system they relied on, taken down by a nineteen-year-old computer genius from the desert wastes of Xinjiang Uygur, China. The grin stayed on his face as he reached for the phone and dialed Colonel Lim’s office.

Liu watched as Mai Hong answered the call. Her sexy voice elicited a bead of sweat on his forehead and he felt a tightening stiffness below.

She said, Colonel Lim’s office, this is a secure line. Senior Private Hong speaking. How may I direct your call?

This is Lieutenant Xinying. Tell the colonel everything is verified and I await his command to execute the procedure.

CHAPTER 1

Anchorage, Alaska

June 2nd

U.S. Customs Agent Lyle Parker walked among the cargo containers checking the numbered labels against the manifest in his hand. Nearly a third of the Port of Anchorage’s holding area was full of the fifty-three-foot-long steel boxes offloaded from commercial vessels, stacked six high for more rows than he could count just by eyeballing them.

Damn, said the young man beside him. Why is it that right when the largest container ship I have ever seen shows up in Anchorage that the computer system has to go down?

Lyle Parker sneered. Because, Agent Bond, someone higher up wanted to test whether or not you paid attention in the academy to all those classes you young pups referred to as ‘old school.’

This is going to take a couple days to get through with just the two of us.

Then, I suppose, Agent Bond, you should shut your yap and get to work.

Lyle Parker had never been known as a patient man. After a twenty-year career as an Anchorage police officer, and another twenty with the customs service, dealing with technical failures and other SNAFU moments was an expected part of the job. Dealing with smart-mouthed lazy-ass youngsters like Agent James Bond (yes, that was the man’s real name) had grown less and less easy. At sixty-three years old, he was six months past the date at which he could have retired with a second full pension and started living a life of ease at his cabin in the Talkeetna Mountains, and vacationing with his wife Darlene in the Bahamas in the coldest part of winter.

Scratch that, he thought. I’ll be vacationing by myself. Damn woman couldn’t wait a couple more years for me to retire and walked away from what would’ve been a good sunset.

Now that he had no one to vacation with, Lyle figured he’d just work till he dropped dead. That might be sooner than he’d like if this kid kept pegging his stress-meter.

Lyle glanced at his watch. We’ve got a little over two hours on this shift, then, at four, overtime kicks in. We’re cleared for up to four hours of OT tonight, so as long as you don’t waste time dicking around, we should get almost half of these done before we go home. Then finish up in the morning. He pointed far to the left, a little over a hundred yards distant. You start from the last row down there and I’ll start on the other end. We’ll meet in the middle of this half. Call me on the radio if you go to take piss or a dinner break.

Meet in the middle? Agent James Bond sniggered. The way you move, old man, I’ll probably meet you in the middle of your half. Bond laughed out loud as if he thought he was the funniest thing since Bill Cosby.

Now Cosby, he was a truly funny man. But this butt-head is just plain getting on my nerves.

Lyle sucked in a deep, calming breath and gave Bond a blank stare. Shut up and get to work, kid. If you’re not at least at the point I am by quitting time, I’m going to reassign your ass to the city docks in Cold Harbor starting next week.

Bond shut up. He knew Lyle wasn’t joking because he’d done something similar to two other agents who’d been caught fudging their checklists a couple weeks ago, even though that left the Anchorage office severely shorthanded. Those two nutjobs now comprised the entirety of the customs office at Adak Island a thousand miles out in the Aleutian chain. Bond turned and walked to his side of the containers to start the manual count.

* * *

If the company had properly labeled the containers, and if the stevedores followed the order that had been given them, 21374A should be on the bottom level in the front row, fourth from the end. Captain Zhang Po Tzu stretched his neck, eliciting a loud pop that echoed in the small insulated room that took up two-thirds of the container designed to carry any variety of products via ship, rail, and tractor trailer. The designers of the fifty-three-foot-long containers had probably not envisioned using them to transport human cargo. Especially not a cargo of twenty men hidden behind a false wall covered with a single deep layer of normal-looking cargo.

Nearly a thousand containers per ship, two ships. Two-thirds of the containers held twenty men plus their personal weapons and gear. The other third contained more gear, larger weapons, ammunition and an assortment of armored tactical assault vehicles. In all, they were an invasion force of thirty thousand of China’s finest soldiers. And Captain Zhang, eldest son of illustrious General Zhang Ko Bai, commander of Alaska Invasion Forces of the People’s Army, was in command of the 27th Military Security Detachment. He was sent in the first wave of the invasion force to gather immediate intelligence, set up internment and elimination procedures for all resistance groups, and to ensure that none of the Chinese soldiers failed to acquit themselves with all the honor expected of an illustrious heritage.

A yellow light came on by the container’s false back wall which was designed to open wide in its entirety with the flip of a lever.

He keyed the talk button on his radio and said, Fox Squadron, prepare to launch.

Fox Squadron ready to launch, sir.

Dragon Squadron, prepare to launch.

Dragon Squadron ready to launch, sir.

Snake Squadron, prepare to launch.

Snake Squadron ready to launch, sir.

Zhang knew that all the other detachment commanders were relaying identical orders to their squadrons, companies and platoons as they approached zero hour, both here in the far north, and at cities all along the coasts of the United States and Canada. After two weeks at sea, in a tight-fitting box with a dozen men and his armored Humvee, they would finally see the light of day as they stepped onto the soil of a faraway land. His was a small part, but he would be one of the swords that cut the head off the great dragon nation that had ruled the Earth for decades.

He turned to his trusted NCO, Senior Sergeant Lao Lu Ding. Lao was not only the detachment senior NCO, non-commissioned officer, but had been Zhang’s mentor since he’d joined 27th Security six years earlier as a junior lieutenant fresh from the academy. Lao was like an uncle to him, teaching him the ways of the army more effectively than any class he had ever taken. He had also been in many battles during his long career, and twice had saved Zhang from the enemy’s killing hand.

These men are so young, Zhang said. So many will not survive the day.

Don’t worry, Captain, Lao said, this is a surprise attack, and these Americans are soft and unprepared. They are naive and will crumble quickly.

I expect you are right, Senior Sergeant. Zhang glanced at the faces of the other men in the container. Other than Lao, who was in his early forties, Zhang, at twenty-six, was the oldest man by two years.

A blue light came on beside the yellow one. His pulse throbbed in his neck and he wished he’d taken a piss thirty minutes ago. He glanced at his watch. It read 4:13 PM.

He keyed the radio again. Two minutes to launch.

Six double-clicks was the reply as the three squadron leaders acknowledged.

He stared at his watch as the seconds counted down.

Lao pulled back the charging handle of his QBB-95 bullpup light machinegun, chambering a round, then flipped the safety off. He shot a smile across to Zhang and nodded. See you on the other side, Captain.

A young private put his hand on the lever that would fling the secret door open for them to spill out.

Ten, nine, eight, seven...

* * *

Agent Parker looked up at the third container in the row and saw what looked like a problem. The number on the front label of the container did not match the number on the side. The containers were supposed to have identical numbers on all four sides, which were to match the number transmitted by the RFID chip installed inside the container. With the computer system down, he could not read the RFID number, but he could check the other numbers, note the anomaly, and check it further in the morning when the system was back online. He glanced over to container number four and verified its front and side number did match, then walked around to the back of container three to take a look back there.

As he rounded the back of the container, a loud clang just feet behind him made his heart leap into his throat. Four decades of law enforcement sent instinctive commands to his limbs and, without even thinking, he drew the Glock 22 .40-caliber on his hip and raised it to chest height. Confusion filled his mind as he tried to process what he was seeing. The back of container number four was quickly swinging open on its own, something he’d never seen before. The same thing was happening to the hundreds of other containers down the row and up the stacks. Rope ladders descended from the upper containers.

Then faces appeared. Angry, grimacing faces clutching guns. The first man out shouldered his weapon and pointed it at him. Parker squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession and the man’s face exploded in a mass of red gore. More men came charging out over the dead man and Parker fired as fast as his finger could squeeze the trigger. Two more men fell dead and a third spun back from a shoulder shot. Then the end finally came with a thunderous roar.

Customs Agent Lyle Parker, a divorced and retired police officer, felt a thud in his chest like being hit with a ten-pound sledge hammer. Blackness overcame him as his body was shredded by hundreds of 5.8mm bullets impacting all at once.

He got his wish, and worked until the day he died.

* * *

Captain Zhang screamed in fury as the pink mist that had been Lao’s brain sprayed across his face. Several of his men dropped dead the second they stepped out of the container.

This was supposed to be a cold landing! There was not supposed to be resistance yet!

Return fire!

His voice roared above the shouts of the men frozen in fear at the unexpected scene.

Return fire!

His eardrums nearly burst from the explosions of the shots fired, amplified tenfold as they bounced off the walls of the tiny metal room. Threat eliminated, the men poured out of the containers and advanced towards the city. Zhang’s Humvee rolled out into the clear air, and he jumped in. They rolled forward, in Humvees, armored assault vehicles, and on foot, killing every human they contacted who was not wearing a Chinese People’s Army uniform.

Zhang wiped Lao’s blood off his face, looked at his hand, then pointed his QBB-97 assault rifle out the window and shot down two dock workers who were running away. They both slammed face-first into the hard-packed gravel of the shipyard. One was clearly dead. The other writhed on the ground, moving his legs as if trying to run, but unable to get his feet under him. A moment later, Zhang smiled as he saw an armored assault vehicle roll over the two men, the living one’s scream rising over the clamor of the invasion as the Army of the People’s Republic of China liberated this oppressed land from the gluttonous imperialists who’d laid waste to so much of the world.

CHAPTER 2

Gorsuch Boy Scout Reservation

Chugiak, Alaska

The story stick. Ben couldn’t believe it. His first summer as a paid camp counselor and his dad was handing him the story stick.

You’re going to need this, son, said his father. Dubbed the Campfire Wizard by the other scout leaders, his dad was the most famous storyteller at Alaska’s scout camps, maybe even in the whole country. His face beamed with pride as he looked into his son’s eyes.

Thirteen-year-old Ian stood next to him, eyes nearly shut in a bright grin.

Ben felt as though his head were about to touch the wispy clouds that drifted high above the mountain tops. Are you sure, Dad? I mean, I don’t think I’ve earned the right to use your story stick yet.

He stared at the carved images of bears, wolves, and eagles decorating the shaft just below the handle, worn smooth and shiny by his father’s own grasp over the past seventeen years. Cut from a slender birch sapling before Ben was born, the well-worn walking stick looked comfortable yet strong. A leather thong looped through a hole at the top to encircle the bearer’s wrist.

It’s just a stick, replied his father. The story comes from inside you, and I think you are ready.

Yes sir, Ben said. His heart raced as he grasped the stick. His dad often said that the handle was just the right size for a grown man’s hand. As he took hold of it, his hand wrapped fully around it, fingers meeting thumb.

He was finally a man.

* * *

Brad Stone burned with pride as he watched the two boys walk into the familiar campground, one as a paid staffer and the other as a camper. He whispered a prayer that they would do well and be safe over the coming days. He climbed into The Beast, the nickname the kids at his church had given his big red F250 Super Duty, and pulled out of the dusty parking lot, the truck’s engine rumbling with a throaty growl. He followed the camp road out of the forest and back onto the Glenn Highway heading towards Anchorage. The Chugach Mountains of South Central Alaska a perfect backdrop to the majestic feeling pulsing in his chest.

His thoughts turned from the boys he was leaving at camp to the wife he was heading home to. It was Monday afternoon and he had managed to get leave for half of the day, plus all of Tuesday for a bit of rest after working more than twenty hours overtime on a server upgrade through the weekend. He would be sitting down with his lovely wife for a pleasant, and hopefully romantic, evening. The next thirty-six hours would be just the two of them, with no work phone calls, no kid-interruptions, nothing to disturb what he had in mind. Nights like this had been few and far between since their first son JJ had been born more than twenty-four years earlier.

He pressed the button on his Bluetooth headset and voice dialed Youngmi.

"Yoboseyo," came his wife’s husky voice. She hated the deep, raspy sound that often got her accused of being a lifelong chain smoker. She had never even tried smoking, tobacco or anything else, in her life. Brad loved the sound though. It was low, calming, and sexy. Like an Asian Lauren Bacall, her voice was a verbal snuggle every time she spoke.

Hey baby, the boys are at camp and I’m on the way home, he said. I hope you took a nap, cuz it’s going to be a long night of sweating under the sheets like newlyweds.

Chagi, she replied with the Korean word similar to honey in English. I’m with Mom and Youngji.

Oops. His face flushed a deep red even though he was alone in his truck. Please tell me you’re not on speaker phone.

No, I’m not, she replied. We just left the PX and are heading home. And to answer your prior statement, everything is ready as per standard operating procedures. I think the sequence should run with full interactive output once you log in.

Twenty-five years and you are still so good at running my code. He was a network admin and she a web programmer. Using computer jargon to talk dirty just seemed natural.

You just have to make sure to have sufficient hard drive size and may need to do a RAM upgrade for sequence reproduction. I do need to advise that you’ll need all the processing power possible to meet the program requirements.

Hard drive and RAM size is not a problem, it all adjusts dynamically during processing, Brad replied. My system is nearly overclocked in pre-processing as it is. Of course, we’ll have to run the program a couple of times to make sure the results can be replicated.

No problem here, she said with a voice that belied a straight face. My software is capable of multiple reboots, as long as RAM refresh rate can remain consistent.

Brad burst with an abrupt laugh. Holy cow, I’d better stop this conversation right here or you’re going to make me have an accident. You want me to pick you up at your mom’s or sister’s when I pass by?

"Pssshh...just...pssshh...house......don’t..."

The connection dropped. He glanced down at his phone’s screen. No Signal flashed on the small display. He wondered when Alaska was ever going to get caught up to the rest of the world in cellular technology, if there would ever be sufficient phone towers to not drop out every other call.

He sped down the Glenn Highway towards Anchorage. The sun shone bright as it hung high in the cobalt blue sky on this perfect June day. Twenty-four hours of sunshine to light the way to the epitome of long-term marital bliss. The thought that in forty-five minutes he would be settling down to a nice cold bottle of Australian Cabernet and his very hot wife’s not-so-subtle innuendos drew his foot down onto the accelerator like a gravity well.

CHAPTER 3

Youngmi

Sun Ja rolled her eyes as she turned away from the sidelong glance at her firstborn, Youngmi. She looked into the rear view mirror and saw her younger daughter Youngji’s face turn a deep shade of red, eyes squinted and teary, mouth pressed tight as she tried to contain the laughter that threatened to burst through stressed lips. She turned the crimson Audi A7 into the Lower Hillside community and cruised through the neighborhood towards her older daughter’s house, shaking her head.

No, just come straight home, don’t go to Mom’s. Jimmy is picking up Youngji at our house in a little bit. He was also going to borrow your table saw, I hope you don’t mind I said okay. Youngmi waited for his reply but none came. Honey? You there?

She looked at the smartphone’s display screen. An X appeared over the signal icon.

Phone lose signal? her mother said in heavily accented English as she pulled into Youngmi’s driveway.

Yeah, we need new phones. This happens too often with these things.

Her mother switched to Korean, You also need to think of new ways to do sexy-talk with your dirty-minded husband.

What? Youngmi blurted in English. In the back seat, Youngji finally released the tension, the laugh exploding with a nasal snort.

Just because I’m past seventy doesn’t mean I’m an ignorant old woman, her mother replied in her native tongue. RAM. Hard Drive. Computer words all sound so pornographic. Like you’re some Dongduchun red-light whore.

Oh, jeez, Mom, Youngmi said, her face turning nearly as red as the car. That’s really not any of your business...and not fair to call names like that.

You just remember, her mother said, you are too old for more babies, so don’t get pregnant.

Really, Mom, Youngmi replied, now speaking Korean, I’m also old enough to know plenty of ways to have fun without… She stopped suddenly and hid her face in her hands. Oh my God...I can’t believe I am having this conversation with my mother.

Playing around like that is what got you in trouble with him in the first place, her mother said with that scolding voice Youngmi had hated since she was a teenager.

Youngmi glanced back at her sister, who was now laughing in full body convulsions. No help there.

Trouble? Mom, we’ve been married more than twenty-five years. We have a grown son and two teens, a nice house, and he even went so far as to meet your standards and bought me a Mercedes. I think it worked out pretty good.

Yeah, but still, you get pregnant now and it is trouble worse than before. Her mother’s voice caught a little as she finished that sentence. Youngmi looked directly at her mother and caught the sparkle of a tear in the corner of her eye.

Umma, Youngmi said, using the Korean equivalent of mommy, you okay? Something bothering you?

Her mother wiped at her eyes briskly and shook her head. No, it’s nothing.

"Something is bothering you. Is Appa okay?"

Youngji’s laughing fit dwindled as she caught the serious tone in her mother’s voice.

He’s fine, she waved away the question, the sergeant major is always fine. More tears formed in her eyes.

Youngji wiped her own eyes with the tips of her fingers, a smile still quivering on her lips. What’s going on, Umma?

Her mother let out a short sigh, took a deep breath, and then said, You know I sometimes have dreams. This morning I had one that was very bad.

What was it?

That’s just it, I can’t remember any details, their mother said. Just shadows, dark images, and fear. Very much fear.

The words hung in the air, a long quiet pause. The purr of the idling high-performance engine was the only background sound.

Something terrible is going to happen. She sucked in a sharp breath to steel herself. When was the last time you spoke to JJ?

Yesterday, Youngmi said. JJ was her oldest son. Twenty-four. He lived in his own house across town but worked as a cook for the oil companies on Alaska’s North Slope and was away sometimes for months at a time. He came by to get some mail that came to our house instead of his apartment. He went back to the slope this morning. Why?

I don’t know, her mother replied, nothing specific. I just feel like something very bad will happen. Maybe to him. Maybe to you or Brad or the boys, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Youngmi reached over and put her hand on her mother’s.

Oh, her mother tried to blow it off. I think I’m just an old woman getting too emotional in my later life. All those years, after your father had the affair, I showed no emotions. Just turned away. Then I ran away and left you two. When you came to me later as teenage girls, I was so mean to you. But it was not because I hated you. I loved you both so much, but every time I looked at your pretty faces, I saw your father’s eyes looking back at me. And I hated your father for leaving me.

Both daughters remained silent. Their mother had never opened up to either of them emotionally. This was completely new territory for all of them.

But now...I... Their mother rubbed out a tear with her thumb. Now...the meanness is all worn away. Now I feel too much for my grandchildren, and my daughters. I even worry for your stu...for your husbands.

Umma, don’t talk like that, Youngji said, you always took care of us, we knew...

Don’t lie to me, her mother replied forcefully. I was a terrible mother to both of you, I abandoned you when you were so little and mistreated you when you came to me as teenagers. Your stepfather treated you better than I did. But all that time, even if I didn’t show it, I loved you. I want you to know that. I loved you.

Neither said anything in reply. She was right. She had run off with an American GI after their father’s affair brought the evil stepmother into their life. Neither the mother nor her daughters, both now in their forties, had ever broached the subject since being reunited ten years later. Over time, they had grown closer and their stepfather, U.S. Army Command Sergeant Major Tyler Wilson, had treated the girls with more than just respect; he had treated them as if they were his natural daughters even though they were in high school when he met them.

Both women were at a loss for words as their mother broke down in real tears, something she almost never did. The fear that emanated from her was a tangible thing. It evaporated the humorous mood that had been in the air only moments earlier.

Get out, their mother said, wiping tears from her eyes and forcing her lips into a weak smile. I’m just a crazy old woman. I’ve got to go to church for choir practice, I’ll pray about it there. In the meantime, don’t get pregnant, Youngmi. And you too, Youngji. I don’t need more grandchildren. Both of you are too old for babies. If either of your husbands gets you pregnant, I’ll delete his floppy disk.

That elicited another snort from Youngji as they got out of the car. Her chuckles slowly died away as they watched as their mother back into the street and drive out of the neighborhood.

I hope Mom is all right, said Youngmi, worry lines deepening on her forehead.

Youngji waved the concern away. I think she’s been watching too many Korean dramas since Jimmy showed her how to use the internet. Those shows are so depressing.

Yeah, maybe. Youngmi nodded as she pressed the sequence on the garage keypad, causing the door to yawn open. They always seem to have themes like our old life, but never with happy endings.

"Hey Unni, Youngji used the affectionate title for an older sister. Can I get some kimchi from you? I’m all out and Jimmy has been craving kimchi chigae lately."

No problem, Youngmi pointed to the fridge in the garage, there’s most of a jar in there. Get it yourself, but only take half. It’s all I’ve got till next week when I go shopping. I have to go to the bathroom. That iced coffee we had earlier is going to make my bladder pop.

Youngji grabbed the gallon jar from the fridge and took it into her sister’s kitchen. She took a glass snap-lock container from a cabinet and a pair of tongs from a drawer, then set about transferring a huge chunk of the spicy pickled cabbage to take home and make the ubiquitous pork stew with afterburn her husband loved as much as any Korean native she’d ever known. As she lifted it out, suction formed around the mass at the narrow point of the jar’s opening. She gave it a sharp tug that elicited a loud, wet schlap. An arc of bright red kimchi juice sprayed across her previously clean white t-shirt as if spitting at her in revenge for being forced from the jar.

Oh man!

Youngmi came out of the bathroom at that moment and stepped back into the kitchen in time to see the red streaks spreading across her sister’s shirt. ‘Oh man’ is right. That might be ruined if we don’t get it washed out right away. Go upstairs and take one of my shirts. Squirt some Spray & Wash on yours and see if we can’t get the stain out.

Thanks. Youngji pulled the shirt away from her skin so that the red pepper and garlic would not burn her flesh as the pungent spices soaked through. She ran up to Youngmi’s bedroom, pulled off her stained shirt, then opened her sister’s dresser drawer and took a multi-colored t-shirt with the words HOLLYWOOD STYLE emblazoned across the front and back in fancy sequined lettering. She put it on and jogged back downstairs with the dirty shirt in her hand. She went into the laundry room and sprayed the stain remover across it, scrubbing it in, and then dropped it onto the laundry basket.

She came back into the kitchen and asked, Is this shirt okay?

Yes, that’s fine, Youngmi said. As a matter of fact, you can keep it. I’ve been wearing it so often lately I’m tired of seeing it on me. You look much better in it anyway. I bought it when I was about ten pounds lighter.

The land line phone on the counter jangled a Christmas tune the boys had set it to six months earlier. Youngmi grabbed it, making a mental note to have the boys change the ring tone as soon as they got home. As a computer programmer, she was embarrassed to admit she could not figure out how to set the ring tone on her own house phone. The caller ID said Public Telephone.

Hello? She paused. Yeah, sure Jimmy, here she is. She handed the phone to Youngji, It’s your chubby hubby.

Youngji snatched the phone from her sister. Don’t listen to her, Jimmy, she’s just jealous I got the buff one. She smiled into the phone as she listened to the voice of her husband. The smile faded, replaced by a look of concern. What? Are you okay? A pause. "Yeah,