Om je alvast lekker te maken voor Homefront is er vandaag het eerst hoofdstuk van het boek The Voice of Freedom online gezet. Daarin kan je alvast een beetje de sfeer van Homefront op snuiven, hopelijk speelt de game net zo lekker weg als de onderstaande tekst om te lezen.

The repaired, jury-rigged walkie-talkie crackled with an unavoidable burst of strident static before the Vietnamese resistance fighter's voice came through loud and clear with his distinctive broken-English speech.
"Hurry, my friend! They coming! I see now! Three- no, four tanks! Large number troops. Hurry! Fast! Over!"
Ben Walker cursed silently as he struggled with the wiring beneath the mixing console. "Kelsie, throw me the wire cutters!" he called, but there was no answer. He bobbed his head out from under the counter and saw that she wasn't even in the control room. "Kelsie, where are you?" he shouted louder.
"On the roof with the antenna!" she yelled back. He could barely hear her through the hole they'd made in the studio's ceiling. "The wind is not co­operating!"
"Where are the goddamned wire cutters?"
"Aren't they by the generator?"


Walker scooted across the floor on his butt toward the hand-cart-mounted engine-generator, where Kelsie Wilcox had left the tool case. He rummaged through the various tools she'd dropped and finally found the cutters.
"Walker!" spat the walkie-talkie after another rup­ture of noise. "You almost done? Over!"
He grabbed the device and spoke. "Nguyen, how much time do we have?"
The two-way radio spurted again. "Five, ten min­utes, tops! I see troops, maybe five mile away on Highway 50."
Oh, Jesus, we'll never make it.
Walker left the walkie-talkie on the counter and returned to the mess of wiring under the console. As he cut and restrung the cables according to Wilcox's instructions, Walker feared his struggles over the last sixteen months had been for naught. After the ordeal of trekking across the desert, nearly dying, recover­ing, and then surviving the Las Vegas blitz, it made no sense that he should give up the ghost now. Not when he had finally found his true calling, a purpose that actually meant something. His college journal­ism professor, Shulman, once told him, "Walker, your thinking is way too existential for your own good. You need to relax and take life with a grain of salt." Back in 2011, when he was a mere twenty-year-old smart aleck and cynic, that kind of advice went right over his head.
Now that he was thirty-five, he could only dream of taking life with a grain of salt. No one in America could do that in 2026. Not with the destruction of the country's electrical infrastructure, the food and water shortage, the breakdown of mass communica­tion and transportation, and, worst of all, the Korean Occupation.
Korean Occupation. Just thinking those words sent shivers down Walker's spine. Never in a million years would he have thought the United States could be invaded by a foreign power during his lifetime.
No, Walker wasn't about to die now. He had to get the broadcast out before the bastards from the so-called Greater Korean Republic overran the small but strategically important city of Montrose, Colorado. Walker had to get the abandoned and decrepit old radio station working so he could rally the resistance fighters. It was his job and his destiny.