4. 1999 Star Wars Memoir: High Schoolers vs. Aliens
My mom was right — young girls can wait. But you shouldn't make them wait too long.
Later, I forgot which day it was, I asked her if she had someone she liked.
She said, "Yeah, a fool."
I said, "That's rough. A loser?"
She nodded and said, "A total loser."
01
"Bro, tell me a story about 1999."
One early morning, I was making buns, and my sister walked in and said this to me.
I'm thirty this year. Maybe forty. When you spend every season of the year selling buns like me, it's easy to lose track of your own life. Sometimes I feel like I'm actually eighty, half a century removed from that war. But I couldn't explain any of this to my sister. She wanted stories, and all I could tell her was the muffled sound of those stories sinking beneath the surface.
I set down the meat cleaver, squinted, and lit myself a cigarette. I said, "Where to begin? Let's start from when they bombed the school."
The story began in July of 1999.
A group of unidentified aliens blew up my school.
At first, only three flying saucers appeared, shrieking across the sky. My classmate Drake had been sent out to stand in the hallway as punishment for not turning in his homework. When the saucers flew past, Drake and the entire hallway disappeared.
Students downstairs were shouting, "Third floor, your hallway just fell down!"
I poked my head out. Chaos below. Drake was still standing in the rubble, maintaining his punishment posture, completely carbonized.
My jaw dropped.
The physics teacher said, trembling, "What just happened?"
I said, "Teacher, it's bad... Drake is smoking."
We ran out and dragged Drake from the wreckage. The girls in class splashed water on him. He spat out a mouthful of ash, eyes wide, and asked, "What the hell happened?"
I said, "Flying saucers dropped a bomb on your head."
Our teacher walked over and gripped his hand. "Drake, are you alright?"
Drake said, "Teacher, I don't think I can turn in today's homework."
The old man burst into tears right then and there. He said, "Drake, don't worry about it. No more homework. Just go in peace."
Drake nodded solemnly and said, "Resisting alien invaders is our duty. Comrades, don't worry about me. Grab your weapons and charge."
02
That jerk Drake, of course, didn't die. He got a few scrapes and was dumped in the school shop to rest. The whole thing came too suddenly — students and teachers had no idea what had happened, standing blankly on the athletic field. The disciplinary director shouted, "Which student set off firecrackers in the hallway again?!"
But I saw it clearly. I'd been sitting in the classroom, watching two flying saucers identical to the ones in Nostradamus's Great Prophecy soar past.
I grabbed my bag and ran for the school gates. I had to get to the district office. My superior was there. I had to receive the organization's top directives.
You've probably guessed by now — I was no ordinary high schooler.
That year I was twenty-two, so I was a high schooler who looked remarkably old. Damn it.
Actually, five years earlier, I had taken the college entrance exam. But that year's national paper was brutally difficult. If I hadn't applied for the military track, I'd have been sent home to farm. Right after enrolling, the university had me sign a wartime mobilization confidentiality agreement.
In '98, I graduated. The university leadership found me.
They said, "You're the top graduate this year. Now, your country needs you."
I said, "Are we hitting Yugoslavia or Vietnam?"
They said, "You're expelled."
I felt like I was dreaming, some absurd, ridiculous dream. That day in the office, the Party secretary said to me, "Leo, there's a conspiracy."
I immediately burst into tears. "So you were messing with me, weren't you?"
The secretary said, "The aliens were originally scheduled to visit China in the summer of 1999, but they secretly communicated with the Americans. We intercepted their communications. Once the alien mothership arrives in Washington, the saucers will launch an attack on us. But don't worry — we've prepared intercontinental missiles."
I said, "To blow up the aliens?"
He said, "To blow up the Americans."
I said, "Alright. Poor Americans."
He said, "We fear no sacrifice. We will fight to the end for the liberation of all humanity."
Secretary, Leo failed Political Theory eight times. My advisor reminded him: his intelligence is below average. Perhaps stick to something he can actually understand.
The secretary said, "After organizational review, we've decided to assign you back to the local district office. You'll be embedded in the school, and when necessary, mobilize the entire student body."
He gripped my hand and said, "This will be a people's war."
So I returned to the district office, becoming a fighter against alien invaders — Little Leo at the service desk. That's right, no official title. My job description was exactly: Little Leo, go find Grandma Wang's missing cat.
To resist alien invaders, I had spent two years in that small county's district office, finding cats and mediating marital disputes... I don't think anyone on this planet wanted to annihilate the aliens more than I did.
I ran into the office. It was empty. The aunties had all evacuated early. Only Sophie was inside.
She was rolling out dough on the office desk.
My liver quivered. I said, "Boss, what are you doing?"
She said, "Shh. Do you hear that? The sound of bun wrappers slowly growing. What filling do you want tonight?"
I collapsed. "Ma'am, aliens are invading. Can we forget about the wrappers for a moment?"
She rolled her eyes at me. "Pervert."
Sophie was my direct superior, also assigned to the "1999 Anti-Alien Combat Department." Born into a revolutionary family, she never made it to college. After graduating high school, she was assigned here, responsible for ground defense. This woman had a few screws loose. Her greatest passion in life was making buns, and her biggest dream was to create a bun with red revolutionary conviction.
03
We put on our combat uniforms and went to evacuate the public from various gathering places.
The streets. Dead silent.
This was the last summer before the millennium, and all the cicadas were hiding in the shade.
Sophie said, "Those saucers earlier were just reconnaissance craft. The organization sent word — they'll launch a full attack next week. We need to coordinate with the military and set up ground defenses."
I said, "If I desert now, I probably won't face a court-martial, right?"
Sophie said, "Comrade, why are you so negative?"
I said, "Have you even looked at what they issued us? — A pistol, fine. But only eight rounds. Oh, and a grenade, that's got more stopping power... What the hell does this say? Self-detonation Model 484."
Sophie said, "Calm down. Alien lasers are fast. You might not even have time to self-detonate."
I said, "I'm never going to self-detonate, thank you very much."
Amid our bickering, a heavy shadow suddenly swept over us. We looked up, dumbfounded.
Flying saucers, dark as storm clouds, blanketed the entire sky.
From a corner of the street, someone's radio was playing "I Only Care About You."
Dark clouds pressed down on the city, poised to crush it.
Sophie's communicator crackled. A weak voice came through. Sophie froze, then set the communicator down.
I said, "What's wrong?"
She said, stunned, "The military... wiped out. Completely."
04
That summer, the invaders came too fast. Nobody expected them to attack early. The aliens tore up their agreement with the Americans. The Pentagon was reduced to rubble in an instant.
No declaration of war, no warning, no conspiracy. Their goal, it seemed, had been the extermination of all humanity from the very start. Centuries ago, Nostradamus had prophesied the arrival of the King of Terror. He was right. In July of 1999, death and fear truly descended.
It wasn't that humanity didn't fight back. Earth had prepared a massive defense network, but the Y2K bug struck, and all computers overnight lost their computing capacity. Their intelligence level was roughly on par with me facing a math exam.
In the very first wave, the aliens broke through every line of defense on Earth.
Fighters were shot down.
Pacific warships were sunk.
Soldiers dwindled with every battle.
The guns across the land fell silent.
At least there was still hope. Pursuant to orders, hidden soldiers like me mobilized young people across the country.
On the last day of July, the United Front Department issued a major address — "On the Boundless Ocean of People's War." Many of my classmates, eager to dodge summer homework, eagerly signed up for combat. They piloted personal fighters, broke through the heavens, and were blown into the brightest stars in the night sky.
Young blood became columns of casualty data.
The Defense of Fuzhou: 30,000 fallen. The Jinan Counterattack: 50,000 fallen...