As he sipped his coffee, a Private Swanson called out, “Looks like we have one person walking toward us, Sergeant.”
Sergeant Bond went to the Entry Control Point front window and looked out. Sure enough, a small figure was approaching, walking alone through the snow. The figure looked oddly familiar. Then it dawned on him. Grandma Knudsen had returned.
Just as the first reports of attacks in Kansas were rolling in, Grandma Knudsen had checked in at the POE. “I’m going to contact some friends and relatives in Minnesota, Sergeant. I should return in about a week or so.”
“Ma’am, I have no orders to prevent anyone from leaving, just very limited entry until what’s happening in Kansas shakes out. But, well, someone old enough to be my grandma…”
She flashed a healthy, teeth-filled smile. “I appreciate your concern, young man. But, I have made it this far in life, despite certain aliens trying to eat me.”
A couple of the soldiers of Norskie descent had quickly told Sgt. Bond about Grandma Knudsen, that no one or nothing would dare bother her. Rumor was that she was actually Hera, Goddess of the North, in disguise. That last comment Sgt. Bond completely blew off. But he did not blow off what she had in her small pack.
“A replica Colts Walker .44? You shoot this?”
The medium height woman who suddenly looked a lot stronger than at first glance smiled. “My late husband was a black powder fanatic. I enjoyed doing most anything with him. So, yes, he taught me to shoot, as well as to load cap and ball. That nine inch barrel and large .44 caliber, when loaded to maximum, has Magnum abilities in stopping power. Want me to demonstrate?”
“No. Ma’am. I believe you. If nothing else, this makes a handy metal club. How far do you need to travel to meet your friends and family?”
“Not far, Sergeant.”
Sergeant Bond soon realized that he was not about to get much more out of her. He mentally shrugged. It was her funeral.
“The Customs Inspectors will give you a re-entry document. Please don’t lose it, Ma’am, as everyone is a bit on edge right now, with Kansas and all.”
“Well. I hope my friends and family can help with that. I promise I’ll see you in a few days, Sergeant Bond.” They had given her a mug of hot coffee, and she was last seen walking due east. Sergeant Bond, though he would never admit to it, had been worried ever since. If that nice older lady turned up missing… He kept kicking himself for at least not finding some way to send an armed soldier with her. She had reminded him of his two late grandmothers.
Now, about a week later, she was back, looking as healthy as ever. Sgt. Bond walked out to meet her, with a large grin plastered to his face. “Grandma Knudsen, to say I am glad to see you is a great understatement. I was afraid we had lost you.”
She flashed a smile with a twinkle in her eyes that made her look decades younger. She then reached up, stood on her tip toes and kissed his cheek.
“You are a very nice, caring young man, Sergeant.”
She then turned and pointed from whence she had just walked.
“I have some friends and extended family following me. I came forward first so as not to cause you and your people some alarm. There are quite a few, and some have weapons. But they are friendly. In fact, one of them would like a chance to talk with Madam President.”
“Excuse me?” Sgt. Bond said, as what she said began to sink in. He then saw figures begin to emerge at a distance in the mist. And his jaw dropped.
He saw a long line of people, in the center approximately one hundred dressed in what had come to be known as American Viking garb, shields, weapons and all. And the line extended another five hundred either side with people in more modern military garb. Sgt. Bond thought he could make out a mass of other people, including children, behind the long line warriors.
“Leader Thor Heyerdahl would like a chance to talk with Madam President. He thinks he and his people—my people—can be of some help.”
Sgt. Bond turned on his heel, and beat feet to the Entry Control Point Building, grabbing the hotline to the National Command Post at Malmstrom Armed Forces Base.
“Malmstrom, we have a problem.”
President Sandra Paul was sitting in her office at the new capital building in Bismarck, North Dakota when the red phone rang. She had just received an update—finally, a ‘good’ update—on Abigail Young from General Reed. In fact, she was grinning from ear to ear when the word “wedding” had been mentioned. Nothing like a wedding of a beloved national hero to help people think more positively. This was especially true after the loss of life in Bloody Kansas. And the death of Sergeant Fuzz. So no matter what the problem was on the red phone, she would not let it spoil her good mood.
“Madam President here… Uh, what? Please repeat that?...Who? And all of these… American Vikings are just standing outside our port of entry? Okay. Stand by.”
She hit the outer office intercom.
“George. Come quick. I need you. And call the Vice President. He needs to be in on this also.”
Jeez. Just when she thought she could enjoy some happy news, the rest of the world had to intrude. Well, like they said, no rest for the wicked.
Hours later, Ranger Jackson maneuvered the armored limousine northbound on former Interstate 29 with practiced ease. Before someone became a Texas Ranger, you had to be a trooper with the Texas Department of Public Safety, with all of the accompanied pursuit driver’s training. It was now second nature. Keeping the well-kept vehicle at a hundred miles an hour was child’s play, especially since the last year had been spent repairing the major roads within the Unoccupied States. In the backseat were George Williams and Madam President. Both General Reed and Commissioner Miller had tried to place some armed personnel in the limo with the President, but she had refused.
“Send me some air-cover, General. I don’t think these people would be quietly waiting for my arrival if they were really that aggressive or had true ill will toward me. And besides, if there are some ten thousand individuals, as the surveillance satellites and drones show, they could have just walked over the limited forces we have in the area already. So, I think I will travel light.”
Thus, two re-conditioned A-10s were en route to the newly repaired runway at Grand Forks Air Base. Plus some Free Japan F-15EJs were on strip alert at Minot Armed Forces Base. But Madam President knew in her guts this was all unnecessary. She knew the people she was about to meet were to be important allies. Better yet, friends.
“About ten minutes out, Ma’am.” Andy Jackson said into the intercom connecting him with the back.
“Thank you, Ranger.” Madam President pulled a compact out of her substantial purse and checked her hair and makeup. She knew this was an unrealistic waste of time, as after all, who really cared what she looked like in this cold weather? But old habits die hard.
“Sure you want to do this now, and not use an intermediary first?” George Williams asked.
“Like they say, dear friend, time’s a-wastin’. This recent attack in Bloody Kansas shows us that we may have finally woken the dragon, as disorganized as it was. I have to act quickly, be bold and sure.”
For the umpteenth time, George wished his dear friend was wrong, But she was not. They existed on a shoestring of events.
“A mile away, Madam President. Want to park back a ways?” Ranger Jackson asked.
“No Sir. Pull right up to the entry point where Mr. Heyerdahl is waiting. George, grab those two thermoses of coffee and hard cider. Hopefully the contents are still warm.”
Then they arrived, the Ranger smoothly swinging the limo into a coned off parking spot. Jackson was out, opening the door for the President before any soldiers could react, his eyes watching for threats. Madam President stepped out and everyone snapped to attention.
“Please, gentlemen and ladies. Relax. Your job is hard enough as it is without me adding stress.” She went straight to the main door and was through it in one quick motion. She then saw the tallest and largest man she had eve
r seen.
For a fleeting second, she thought she had been fooled into meeting a robocop. Then she saw the grey streaked blonde hair and beard, the smiling eyes. The man was so tall he had to stoop a bit to stop from his head hitting the roof of the office. They both stepped toward the other, each putting a hand out to shake.
“Madam President,” the Giant of the North said loudly. “It is both an honor and a pleasure. Grandmother Knudsen has spoken highly of you.”
The President took his hand, seeing her sizeable hand become engulfed in it. She looked into his smiling eyes, and saw a good soul. She grinned.
“I think the pleasure will be all mine, Mister Heyerdahl.”
“Please, call me Thor. I have a tankard of warmed mead for your pleasure.”
“Beat you to it. I’ve got some coffee and hard cider. But I see someone knew I have a weakness for cookies. And call me Sal.”
The meeting that followed would become one of legends. For both of the participants would combine to play a pivotal role in the survival of the human race. But that would come later.
As the evening meeting in Grand Forks continued, Abigail Young was in her home, packing. Even though the General had asked her to wait an extra day before leaving for Deseret, she could not just sit still. So, she packed, and repacked, until she had everything she would need in a small case and backpack. Of course, added to this was her sheathed .44 Magnum Marlin and her recovered Glock.
“There. That ought to do it,” she finally said to herself. She felt the once again ever present canine eyes on her and looked at Young Fuzz. True to her word, Emily had dropped him off as soon as she knew Abigail was home. He had, just like his sire, had walked in, checked out Abigail’s quarters, decided it met his standards for safety, security and comfort, and had laid down. He’d been alternating between watching his mistress and scanning the area around her quarters with his nose and ears. When Abigail looked at the very large pup, as big as some adult dogs, she felt both a joy and a pang of sadness. She would always miss his father, Sergeant Fuzz. He had been her best friend. Forever. But now she had his son to raise, to love. She would never let Fuzz down in that regard. Emily had said that Young Fuzz was developing a bit faster, both physically and mentally, than a regular canine.
“Someone tweaked Fuzz. It bred true, dominant. So Young Fuzz will be like his sire, a bit of a super-dog. But even more so. He will be larger, but not too much. And, just as his gestation in the womb was a bit shorter, the time growing into adulthood will be a bit shorter. We’ll just monitor his growth, so that everything develops at a proper rate and ratio. We don’t want any spine or joint problems.”
Abigail smiled at Young Fuzz. She motioned him to come to her as she sat on her bed. He was up in a flash, his tail wagging. He tried to crawl up into her lap like some small terrier and she began to laugh, pushing him back.
“Fuzz Junior. You are not a lap dog. Neither was your father. Sit, and I’ll scratch your ears and chest.”
Young Fuzz sat at her feet, looked into her eyes with his adoring eyes. He knew she was the one for him. And Abigail knew that in return. Just as she had known that first day when she had met Fuzz Senior. The Avenging Angel scratched his chest and ears, and was rewarded with satisfied doggie grunts and sighs.
After a few minutes, Abigail stopped, then hugged him. “I can’t keep calling you Young Fuzz. The name is too awkward. I don’t think you sire would mind me calling you Fuzz. Officially, you’re Fuzz the Second. But short names work best for training, communications. Is that okay?”
Just like his namesake, he told her yes with a large tongue dog slurp and kiss. Which started her laughing again.
Her cell phone rang, and Abigail picked up. It was Aleks.
“Can we come over and join the fun? We can hear you laugh from our bedroom. And I’ve got someone for you to see.”
“Of course, sister. You and Torbin are always welcome.”
“Wait until you and Ichiro are married. That ‘always’ will vanish. Certain activities are meant for privacy.”
Abigail blushed, knowing what she meant. Which started a bit of stirring in her proverbial loins. Abigail controlled her thoughts, as her “loins” would get in the way of the trip she and Ichiro must take. She went and opened the front door for Aleks and Torbin. And met one of Young Fuzz’s sisters.
“Emily brought us Freya here. She’s a bit more Great Dane than Young Fuzz, taking more after her mother.” Freya was a beautiful merle, with Dane ears. Her coat was just a shade longer than a pure Great Dane. Otherwise, she did not look of mixed ancestry.
“Emily also said that thanks to some Squid developed and bootlegged science, we have a usable form of Norplant for dogs. Thus, no chance of incest when she comes in heat. As she will not.”
Fuzz met his sister, tail wagging. They were soon in the backyard chasing each other around.
“I decided I wanted a big, nasty dog to help protect our kids,” said Aleks. “Especially when Torbin or I are at work. Anybody who babysits gets a large dog to watch over them also. And since she is part Fuzz, I know what they will get.”
“I’ll help you train them.”
“I figure you would, little sister,” answered Torbin. Then he stepped forward and uncharacteristically hugged her. Abigail hugged back, feeling his love and caring.
“You okay, Abigail? Okay for this trip?”
“Yes, big brother. And Ichiro will be along with me. He’ll watch my back.”
Aleks then made it a group hug. “We still want to make sure you have…recovered.”
Abigail sighed. “Enough to do this trip.” She untangled herself from her family.
“Ichiro will help me work through any…after effects. He has told me more of his upbringing, learning to deal with his unique form of psychological makeup, his hyperactivity. He should be able to help me control my…destructive and dangerous side.”
Abigail knew that Torbin and Aleks had been briefed on what had happened during her medevac, the violence she had exhibited in the hospital. Most of it was like a foggy dream to Abigail, with an occasional flash of clarity. Plus, she knew about the work Colonel Bardun, the exobiologist, had done on her and Fuzz’s genetic makeup. Her and her late canine friend’s genomes had been modified, as had some of their basic cellular and muscular makeup. Abigail now knew this must have happened in Deseret, at least in her case. But she had a gut feeling that it extended well beyond just her. She would find answer, no matter how many toes she had to step on. Or break.
“Of course we’ll watch Young Fuzz for you. And Freya will help keep him company. Besides, then he can bond with my two trolls, like his sire did.” Aleks eyes began to tear up a bit at the thought of Fuzz and her two sons. Without him being there that fateful day…
Abigail took her adopted sister’s hand. “I know. It hurts every time I think about what he did for us. All of us. I guess there will be a memorial service for all the fallen from Bloody Kansas. Then, everyone will know who Fuzz really was, and will remember him. Like we do.”
She hugged and kissed Aleks.
“Now, excuse me while I make an early night of it. Let my Fuzz in when he is sufficiently worn out chasing his sister around. He’ll come to me, like his father did.”
Aleks and Torbin took their leave, went back to their side of the duplex.
“You know, Aleks, they will probably force us into field grade quarters any day now.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I just want to live next to Abigail forever. With her new Fuzz. It just seems like that is what it should be. Forever and ever.”
“Well, when she is married to Ichiro, they will want their own place. And hopefully, soon will be heard the pitter patter of little human feet.”
“Oh, that’s right, husband. Get all us women barefoot and pregnant. Typical male.”
“Hey, it takes two. Just remember who came to whose room… Ouch. Now was that nice? Try doing that when Freya’s around. She’ll protect me.”
�
��No, she’ll probably bite you when you act like a prick. At least, hopefully I can train her to do that.”
Torbin grabbed the love of his life, buried his face into where her neck met her shoulders and gave her a razzberry grammy kiss. Aleks began to laugh and giggle, tried to pull away. They heard their two sons stirring on the baby monitor.
“Ah, duty calls, my love. Rain check?”
“Of course, Aleks. By the way, I love you.”
“There has never been any doubt of that. Now let us check on the two results of that love.”
Abigail was getting comfortable in bed when she heard Torbin let Young Fuzz back into her residence. In a flash she had a large puppy on her bed, nuzzling her. She smiled, hugged and petted him. Fuzz completed the circular bed-making behavior many of his kind exhibit, and plunked down next to her, his head on her legs. She looked up.
“Thank you, Lord. One door closes so another may open. Please watch over me and mine in the coming days. I will need thy rod and thy staff near me. For I may be walking into the valley of death. Keep my family safe. Thank you. Amen.”
She and Fuzz slept the sleep of the innocent. As it should be.
As Abigail Young was getting some well-needed and deserved rest, Talbot was fleeing southward through Kansas on back roads. He had the remaining Abrams tank and Bradley fighting vehicle traveling with two SUVs full of some of his more trusted personnel. He would begin cursing periodically when he thought of that rout had apparently been caused by a few “crazy women” according to some of the people who they stopped in their head long flight. He had tried shooting a few to stop the retreat, but then the enemy mobile units had attacked, and everything went to hell.
So now he was down to his two remaining AFVs and his trusted few. No way would he try to retreat back through Kansas City. A full U.S.A. division was attacking from the north, slicing into the middle of his strung out units, not to mention all the militia personnel who were getting pay back on anything that moved. So, in the grand tradition of the Swamp Fox, he was running away so that he could fight again.
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