The Stand

attending Kent State University in Ohio went on the warpath—big time. The two thousand rioters consisted of first mini-semester summer students, members of a symposium on the future of college journalism, one hundred and twenty attendees of a drama workshop, and two hundred members of the Future Farmers of America, Ohio branch, whose convention happened to coincide with the grassfire spread of the superflu. All of them had been cooped up on the campus since June 22, four days ago. What follows is a transcription of police-band communications in the area, spanning the time period 7:16–7:22 P.M.

“Unit 16, unit 16, do you copy? Over.”

“Ah, copy, unit 20. Over.”

“Ah, we got a group of kids coming down the mall here, 16. About seventy warm bodies, I’d say, and… ah, check that, unit 16, we got another group coming the other way… Jesus, two hundred or more in that one, looks like. Over.”

“Unit 20, this is base. Do you copy? Over.”

“Read you five-by, base. Over.”

“I’m sending Chumm and Halliday over. Block the road with your car. Take no other action. If they go over you, spread your legs and enjoy it. No resistance, do you copy? Over.”

“I copy no resistance, base. What are those soldiers doing over on the eastern side of the mall, base? Over.”

“What soldiers? Over.”

“That’s what I asked you, base. They’re—”

“Base, this is Dudley Chumm. Oh shit, this is unit 12. Sorry, base. There’s a bunch of kids coming down Burrows Drive. About a hundred and fifty. Headed for the mall. Singing or chanting or some damn thing. But Cap, Jesus Christ, we see soldiers, too. They’re wearing gas masks, I think. Ah, they look to be in a skirmish line. That’s what it looks like, anyway. Over.”

“Base to unit 12. Join unit 20 at the foot of the mall. Same instructions. No resistance. Over.”

“Roger, base. I am rolling. Over.”

“Base, this is unit 17. This is Halliday, base. Do you copy? Over.”

“I copy, 17. Over.”

“I’m behind Chumm. There’s another two hundred kids coming west to east toward the mall. They’ve got signs, just like in the sixties. One says SOLDIERS THROW DOWN YOUR GUNS. I see another one that says THE TRUTH THE WHOLE TRUTH AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. They—”

“I don’t give a shit what the signs say, unit 17. Get down there with Chumm and Peters and block them off. It sounds like they’re headed into a tornado. Over.”

“Roger. Over and out.”

“This is Campus Security Chief Richard Burleigh now speaking to the head of the military forces encamped on the south side of this campus. Repeat: this is Campus Security Chief Burleigh. I know you’ve been monitoring our communications, so please spare me the ducking and fucking and acknowledge. Over.”

“This is Colonel Albert Philips, U.S. Army. We are listening, Chief Burleigh. Over.”

“Base, this is unit 16. The kids are coming together at the war memorial. They appear to be turning toward the soldiers. This looks nasty. Over.”

“This is Burleigh, Colonel Philips. Please state your intentions. Over.”

“My orders are to contain those present on campus to the campus. My only intention is to follow my orders. If those people are just demonstrating, they are fine. If they intend to try breaking out of quarantine, they are not. Over.”

“You surely don’t mean—”

“I mean what I said, Chief Burleigh. Over and out.”

“Philips! Philips! Answer me, goddam you! Those aren’t commie guerrillas out there! They’re kids! American kids! They aren’t armed! They—”

“Unit 13 to base. Ah, those kids are walking right toward the soldiers, Cap. They’re waving their signs. Singing that song. The one the Baez crotch used to sing. Oh. Shit, I think some of them are throwing rocks. They… Jesus! Oh Jesus Christ! They can’t do that!”

“Base to unit 13! What’s going on out there? What’s happening?”

“This is Chumm, Dick. I’ll tell you what’s happening out here. It’s a slaughter. I wish I was blind. Oh, the fuckers! They… ah, they’re mowing those kids down. With machine guns, it looks like. As far as I can tell, there wasn’t even any warning. The kids that are still on their feet… ah, they are breaking up… running to all points of the compass. Oh Christ! I just saw a girl cut in half by gunfire! Blood… there must be seventy, eighty kids lying out there on the grass. They—”

“Chumm! Come in! Come in, unit 12!”

“Base, this is unit 17. Do you copy? Over.”

“I copy you, goddammit, but where’s fucking Chumm? Fucking over!”

“Chumm and… Halliday, I think… got out of their cars for a better look. We’re coming back, Dick. Now it looks like the soldiers are shooting each other. I don’t know who’s winning, and I don’t care. Whoever it is will probably start on us next. When those of us who can get back do get back, I suggest that we all go down in the basement and wait for them to use up their ammo. Over.”

“Goddammit—”

“The turkey shoot’s still going on, Dick. I’m not kidding. Over. Out.”

Through most of the running exchange transcribed above, the listener can hear faint popping sounds in the background, not unlike horse chestnuts in a hot fire. One may also hear thin screams… and, in the last forty seconds or so, the heavy, coughing thump of mortar rounds exploding.

Following is a transcription taken from a special high-frequency radio band in Southern California. The transcription was made from 7:17 to 7:20 P.M., PST.

“Massingill, Zone 10. Are you there, Blue Base? This message is coded Annie Oakley, Urgent-plus-10. Come in, if you’re there. Over.”

“This is Len, David. We can skip the jargon, I think. Nobody’s listening.”

“It’s out of control, Len. Everything. L.A. is going up in flames. Whole fucking city and everything around it. All my men are sick or rioting or AWOL or looting right along with the civilian population. I’m in the Skylight Room of the Bank of America, main branch. There’s over six hundred people trying to get in and get at me. Most of them are regular army.”

“Things fall apart. The center does not hold.”

“Say again. I didn’t copy.”

“Never mind. Can you get out?”

“Hell no. But I’ll give the first of the scum something to think about. I’ve got a recoilless rifle here. Scum. Fucking scum!”

“Luck, David.”

“You too. Hold it together as long as you can.”

“Will do.”

“I’m not sure—”

Verbal communication ends at this point. There is a splintering, crashing sound, the screech of giving metal, the tinkle of breaking glass. A great many yelling voices. Small-arms fire, and then, very close to the radio transmitter, close enough to distort, the heavy, thudding explosions of what might very well be a recoilless rifle. The yelling, roaring voices draw closer. There is the whining sound of a ricochet, a scream very close to the transmitter, a thud, and silence.

Following is a transcription taken from the regular army band in San Francisco. The transcription was made from 7:28 to 7:30 P.M., PST.

“Soldiers and brothers! We have taken the radio station, and the command HQ! Your oppressors are dead! I, Brother Zeno, until moments ago Sergeant First Class Roland Gibbs, proclaim myself first President of the Republic of Northern California! We are in control! We are in control! If your officers in the field try to countermand my orders, shoot them like dogs in the street! Like dogs! Like bitches with shit drying on their rumps! Take down name, rank, and serial numbers of deserters! List those that speak sedition or treason against the Republic of